02-16-2016, 11:45 AM
Sunday 14 February (Valentine’s Day) dawned bright and sunny, with a promise of unreasonable heat building up during the day. A night of curry and lubricated philosophy had left me just a little lethargic. I read bits of the forum over a cup of tea.
‘What to do with the day?’ I asked myself, mostly because there wasn’t anyone else to talk to, ‘I know. I’ll ride to Texas.’
Of course, I decided to do this only because I wanted to do something to offer hope to my snow-bound northern hemisphere brethren.
I’d always had a yen to visit Texas—Australia's Number One Motorcyclist Friendly Town. See [url=http://www.southernqueenslandcountry.com.au/destinations/texas]here for information about Texas, although Pterodactyl will tell you this is more informative.
[url=https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=z5L5SB6CRw2M.kLviA1-MZPT8&usp=sharing]Link to map
I pulled out of Brisbane about 0900. It was a glorious day, but the temperature was already in the mid-high 20s and it was going to get hotter as I made my way inland.
As I wanted to ride one of the loops recommended by the Texans, I was keen not to take too long to get there. It was a 4-hour ride or thereabouts so I decided to take the fastest route, at least to Warwick, after which I’d turn south for what was said to be a good ride in from Stanthorpe.
Passing the turn to the Amberley RAAF base
I’m heading for those hills
The best bit of the ride to Warwick is just after you leave Aratula and the road becomes surrounded by bush. At that point you begin the climb to Cunningham’s Gap where the road passes through the Main Range. As you climb it gets cooler and you can hear the tinkling of bell birds for the final couple of kilometres before the Gap.
Leaving Aratula
You can see Cunningham’s Gap at the ‘V’ between the two hills
Approaching the Gap
Riding through Cunningham’s Gap
After Cunningham’s Gap the road is again flat as you run west-south-west to Warwick. I passed the turnoff to Toowoomba that I rode through the other way on my [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=7721]post new year ride. I like seeing signs that point me to more distant destinations—Sydney in this case.
From there to Warwick is a mere 13 kms and I was soon ordering coffee and eggs and bacon at the Bell Vue Café and guzzling water while I waited. It was about 1130 and getting very hot.
I was soon on the way again, turning south on the New England Highway for Sydney and Stanthorpe. The road is pretty and climbs through sparse bushland. It’s a quick ride and, towards the end you enter Queensland’s wine growing country. There’s a good few grapes grown in Australia, most of them originally in New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia. I’ve now lived in two states where a wine industry has emerged—Tasmania and later Queensland—and I remember the sneers of the older wine growing states. Tasmania now makes some seriously good boutique colder whether wines and one of the country’s leading wine critics has labelled a Verdelho from the Stanthorpe region as Australia’s best. It won’t be long, I suspect, before Queensland is recognised for the quality of particular varieties suited to it’s climate.
The most exciting thing that happened between Warwick and Stanthorpe was passing the aftermath of some sort of car-fest.
Stanthorpe boasts one of only two oenology schools in Australia, this one an interesting amalgam between a university, a school and a technical college. The technical college would be called a polytechnic in the UK; I don’t know what it might be called in the US but it’s a post secondary institution teaching important practical skills. In Australia, anyway, it’s a neglected education sector as everybody scrabbles to get a university degree in any possible subject. Basket weaving or tourism are both on my bucket list.
I filled up with petrol and turned off for what, in spite of the heat, turned out to be a truly delightful 100 km ride to Texas. It’s a secondary road with a good surface and very little traffic. It climbs through the bush before winding down into a valley cleared for farming. There are some good, long, sweeping curves as well as a couple of excellent patches of twisties to keep a bloke on his toes. The speed limit is 100 kph, good enough for an agreeable ride.
Climbing through the bush on the Stanthorpe-Texas Road
The valley ahead
It was stinking hot and the town was a hive of frantic activity; but, with persistence and patience, I managed to fight my way through the traffic and the crowds.
The town was a hive of frantic activity …
Lunch at the Texas Take Away will not rate a mention on EmptySea’s gourmet thread. The ham, cheese and tomato in the sandwich were at least fresh and a cup of tea went down OK. I then walked down the street to the Stockman Hotel and booked myself a room for the night.
The room was rudimentary, but I dumped some stuff, fought the temptation to have a beer, turn on the air conditioning and go to sleep before setting out to ride the western circuit. It was past 1400 and I figured if I left it too late, I could easily have the sort of marsupial encounter that neither of us would much enjoy.
Although you don’t ever really see it, the road takes you west on the north shore of the Dumaresq River and the Queensland-New South Wales border. It’s grass land and spinifex, dry country in spite of the endless floodways and signs warning of the risk of water.
Much of it is like this. Not a particularly exciting ride, but it would be glorious tooling along on a cooler day.
At Yelarbon, I stopped to fill the tank. The chap at the service station came outside, looked at the bike and said, ‘What year is it?’
‘Guess?’ I said.
‘Oh,’ he thought for a while, ‘about 1980?’
‘2011,’ I said.
‘Geez!’
Turns out he had his fourth CB750 complete with side car sitting in a shed somewhere. I never did get a look at it. He was pretty impressed and kept me standing in the melting sun talking bikes until I was saved by another customer.
Leaving Yelarbon, I immediately turned left and headed into spinifex country towards the border. Spinifex is the quintessential Australian outback plant—hardy, stunted and surviving almost anything. It’s the arboreal equivalent of the cockroach.
Spinfex Country
The bitumen soon ran out and I was on to gravel for the crossing of the Dumaresq River and therefore the border into New South Wales. To achieve this remarkable feat I crossed the historic Keetah Bridge. I’ve no idea why it’s historic, but it certainly looks like it’s been there for some time. A quick Google search revealed not much more than that everybody refers to it as historic. I suppose it must be.
It’s a pretty spot though.
I know the headers are disgusting, but it doesn’t really look like a 1980 model, does it?
East of the bridge I missed the turn. The distance between bridge and turn seemed wrong and the name on the sign for the road was different from the one on the printed instructions I’d picked up at the hotel. Watched by an indolent ruminant, I finally figured it and rode a pretty straight line along the New South Wales side of the Dumaresq.
Eventually I was greeted by this very welcome sight and rode quickly and happily along this narrow, deserted (I think I may have seen one car) country road where, although the surface is generally excellent, little tufts of grass peek through occasionally and, from time to time, the long grass verges encroach quite a long way into the road.
Again a glorious road for a tootle on a cooler afternoon.
Apparently, if you enter Texas from the south, you deserve a better sign that the one to the east.
I joined the Bruxner highway briefly before again turning north, crossing the river and arriving back in Texas.
A shower, a disgusting cup of tea (the local water), a bit of a rest and it was off to the bar for a complimentary beer. I had a couple before wandering across the road to The Texas Motel where the dining room was open. I was told I could have either red or white wine by the man behind the bar who, every time I looked at him during the evening, was pouring himself a generous Bundy and coke. I settled for white and a Chicken Parmigiana and salad (no fries).
I was pleased I settled on the white as it turned out to be what my children call ‘goon’—wine served from that marvellous Australian invention, the wine cask. In this splendid contrivance, 4 litres of vin ordinaire is loaded into an airtight plastic bladder complete with tap and then packed inside a cardboard box for protection and ease of storage. If you’re desperate, the bladders, if lightly inflated, make OK pillows and can also be used for making decent 4 litre ice blocks. Many of the red examples of goon are better used as paint stripper.
I was in bed early.
Endnote: A desperado drilling into the actual map of the afternoon’s ride, may notice that I appeared to walk all 137 kms of it. I didn’t; but, curiously, walking was the only way I could get it to agree to take me across the historic Keetah Bridge!
‘What to do with the day?’ I asked myself, mostly because there wasn’t anyone else to talk to, ‘I know. I’ll ride to Texas.’
Of course, I decided to do this only because I wanted to do something to offer hope to my snow-bound northern hemisphere brethren.
I’d always had a yen to visit Texas—Australia's Number One Motorcyclist Friendly Town. See [url=http://www.southernqueenslandcountry.com.au/destinations/texas]here for information about Texas, although Pterodactyl will tell you this is more informative.
[url=https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=z5L5SB6CRw2M.kLviA1-MZPT8&usp=sharing]Link to map
I pulled out of Brisbane about 0900. It was a glorious day, but the temperature was already in the mid-high 20s and it was going to get hotter as I made my way inland.
As I wanted to ride one of the loops recommended by the Texans, I was keen not to take too long to get there. It was a 4-hour ride or thereabouts so I decided to take the fastest route, at least to Warwick, after which I’d turn south for what was said to be a good ride in from Stanthorpe.
Passing the turn to the Amberley RAAF base
I’m heading for those hills
The best bit of the ride to Warwick is just after you leave Aratula and the road becomes surrounded by bush. At that point you begin the climb to Cunningham’s Gap where the road passes through the Main Range. As you climb it gets cooler and you can hear the tinkling of bell birds for the final couple of kilometres before the Gap.
Leaving Aratula
You can see Cunningham’s Gap at the ‘V’ between the two hills
Approaching the Gap
Riding through Cunningham’s Gap
After Cunningham’s Gap the road is again flat as you run west-south-west to Warwick. I passed the turnoff to Toowoomba that I rode through the other way on my [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=7721]post new year ride. I like seeing signs that point me to more distant destinations—Sydney in this case.
From there to Warwick is a mere 13 kms and I was soon ordering coffee and eggs and bacon at the Bell Vue Café and guzzling water while I waited. It was about 1130 and getting very hot.
I was soon on the way again, turning south on the New England Highway for Sydney and Stanthorpe. The road is pretty and climbs through sparse bushland. It’s a quick ride and, towards the end you enter Queensland’s wine growing country. There’s a good few grapes grown in Australia, most of them originally in New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia. I’ve now lived in two states where a wine industry has emerged—Tasmania and later Queensland—and I remember the sneers of the older wine growing states. Tasmania now makes some seriously good boutique colder whether wines and one of the country’s leading wine critics has labelled a Verdelho from the Stanthorpe region as Australia’s best. It won’t be long, I suspect, before Queensland is recognised for the quality of particular varieties suited to it’s climate.
The most exciting thing that happened between Warwick and Stanthorpe was passing the aftermath of some sort of car-fest.
Stanthorpe boasts one of only two oenology schools in Australia, this one an interesting amalgam between a university, a school and a technical college. The technical college would be called a polytechnic in the UK; I don’t know what it might be called in the US but it’s a post secondary institution teaching important practical skills. In Australia, anyway, it’s a neglected education sector as everybody scrabbles to get a university degree in any possible subject. Basket weaving or tourism are both on my bucket list.
I filled up with petrol and turned off for what, in spite of the heat, turned out to be a truly delightful 100 km ride to Texas. It’s a secondary road with a good surface and very little traffic. It climbs through the bush before winding down into a valley cleared for farming. There are some good, long, sweeping curves as well as a couple of excellent patches of twisties to keep a bloke on his toes. The speed limit is 100 kph, good enough for an agreeable ride.
Climbing through the bush on the Stanthorpe-Texas Road
The valley ahead
It was stinking hot and the town was a hive of frantic activity; but, with persistence and patience, I managed to fight my way through the traffic and the crowds.
The town was a hive of frantic activity …
Lunch at the Texas Take Away will not rate a mention on EmptySea’s gourmet thread. The ham, cheese and tomato in the sandwich were at least fresh and a cup of tea went down OK. I then walked down the street to the Stockman Hotel and booked myself a room for the night.
The room was rudimentary, but I dumped some stuff, fought the temptation to have a beer, turn on the air conditioning and go to sleep before setting out to ride the western circuit. It was past 1400 and I figured if I left it too late, I could easily have the sort of marsupial encounter that neither of us would much enjoy.
Although you don’t ever really see it, the road takes you west on the north shore of the Dumaresq River and the Queensland-New South Wales border. It’s grass land and spinifex, dry country in spite of the endless floodways and signs warning of the risk of water.
Much of it is like this. Not a particularly exciting ride, but it would be glorious tooling along on a cooler day.
At Yelarbon, I stopped to fill the tank. The chap at the service station came outside, looked at the bike and said, ‘What year is it?’
‘Guess?’ I said.
‘Oh,’ he thought for a while, ‘about 1980?’
‘2011,’ I said.
‘Geez!’
Turns out he had his fourth CB750 complete with side car sitting in a shed somewhere. I never did get a look at it. He was pretty impressed and kept me standing in the melting sun talking bikes until I was saved by another customer.
Leaving Yelarbon, I immediately turned left and headed into spinifex country towards the border. Spinifex is the quintessential Australian outback plant—hardy, stunted and surviving almost anything. It’s the arboreal equivalent of the cockroach.
Spinfex Country
The bitumen soon ran out and I was on to gravel for the crossing of the Dumaresq River and therefore the border into New South Wales. To achieve this remarkable feat I crossed the historic Keetah Bridge. I’ve no idea why it’s historic, but it certainly looks like it’s been there for some time. A quick Google search revealed not much more than that everybody refers to it as historic. I suppose it must be.
It’s a pretty spot though.
I know the headers are disgusting, but it doesn’t really look like a 1980 model, does it?
East of the bridge I missed the turn. The distance between bridge and turn seemed wrong and the name on the sign for the road was different from the one on the printed instructions I’d picked up at the hotel. Watched by an indolent ruminant, I finally figured it and rode a pretty straight line along the New South Wales side of the Dumaresq.
Eventually I was greeted by this very welcome sight and rode quickly and happily along this narrow, deserted (I think I may have seen one car) country road where, although the surface is generally excellent, little tufts of grass peek through occasionally and, from time to time, the long grass verges encroach quite a long way into the road.
Again a glorious road for a tootle on a cooler afternoon.
Apparently, if you enter Texas from the south, you deserve a better sign that the one to the east.
I joined the Bruxner highway briefly before again turning north, crossing the river and arriving back in Texas.
A shower, a disgusting cup of tea (the local water), a bit of a rest and it was off to the bar for a complimentary beer. I had a couple before wandering across the road to The Texas Motel where the dining room was open. I was told I could have either red or white wine by the man behind the bar who, every time I looked at him during the evening, was pouring himself a generous Bundy and coke. I settled for white and a Chicken Parmigiana and salad (no fries).
I was pleased I settled on the white as it turned out to be what my children call ‘goon’—wine served from that marvellous Australian invention, the wine cask. In this splendid contrivance, 4 litres of vin ordinaire is loaded into an airtight plastic bladder complete with tap and then packed inside a cardboard box for protection and ease of storage. If you’re desperate, the bladders, if lightly inflated, make OK pillows and can also be used for making decent 4 litre ice blocks. Many of the red examples of goon are better used as paint stripper.
I was in bed early.
Endnote: A desperado drilling into the actual map of the afternoon’s ride, may notice that I appeared to walk all 137 kms of it. I didn’t; but, curiously, walking was the only way I could get it to agree to take me across the historic Keetah Bridge!
