02-12-2016, 08:58 AM
To the hills
The critical bit of Cormanus sojourn in the Solomon Islands—the bit that financed it—fell a long way short of expectations. With an enormous disappointment and heartache, my wife and I made the decision that I should abandon the work and we should retreat. This is probably not the place for outpourings of affection, but the decision was very generous on her part as she was doing good works and having a wonderful time.
So it came to pass that in early February I found myself back in Brisbane, Australia, reunited with my CB1100, my son and his partner, my step-daughter and her partner and their daughter. The forgoing list is not in order of importance. Really. It’s not.
I arrived homeless and alone. We had decided to rent out our house as we were planning to be away a couple of years and there were still tenants in it. My wife fled to the other side of the planet two days after I returned to the Solomons after Christmas leaving me to pack all her things to bring them back to Australia. A fitting punishment, I suppose. ‘Travelling light, mate?’ one of my countrymen wearing shorts and thongs and carrying nothing but a passport asked me in the Honiara airport as he eyed off the trolley bearing suitcases, computer bags and heaven knows what else.
Luckily, my son and his partner were kind enough to give me a bed for a few days until I was able to move into a house we are looking after for a bit.
I took the owners of the house to the airport and moved my stuff. I needed some proper tea—stuff with leaves that you have to brew in a pot not those tedious little bags made of powder from the floor sweepings in the tea factory—but all the while I was thinking about all the poor mugs in the northern hemisphere stuck in snow and sleet and cold and misery. What little thing could I do; what modest sacrifice could I make to try to brighten their dismal winter lives?
Pulling on my heavy Kevlar jeans and boots and a mesh jacket, I climbed onto the CB and set off across Brisbane to buy some tea. I was pleased about how well I remembered circuitous back roads. I found tea (although not quite what I wanted) at the Indooroopilly Shopping Centre. That fact is completely irrelevant. I just thought those of you who find some Australian place names curious, would like ‘Indooroopilly’.
The obligatory map. ([url=https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=z5L5SB6CRw2M.kMVOpfCpExAc&usp=sharing]Also here for those who like to play). The total trip was 126 kms.
I wound my way through the back streets of Brisbane until I got to Mt Coot-Tha (pronounced ‘cootha’) where I decided a lap around a very pretty loop would be agreeable. It was. Here’s a photo, although it looks pretty much like other roads I spent time on.
I’m not sure my experiment with the RLET angle devised by EmptySea is all that satisfactory
It’s a curious ride around this hill as every now and again a huge building and antenna appears in the bush. Mt Coot-Tha, the highest point immediately adjacent to Brisbane, is where the local free-to-air television stations’ studios and antennæ lurk.
Completing the loop, I turned off to head through the suburbs to the mountains north-west of the city. I was tailed for a while by a couple of bored police cops who thought it might be fun to make sure I stuck to the speed limit. I thought at first it was so they could admire the CB, but they never really got close enough.
I won’t bore you with yet another description of the Mt Nebo and Mt Glorious rides. I’ve reported on them before. Here’s some more photos.
To the left in this photo you can see a red eucalypt trunk. Some species turn this colour in the summer and I always find them glorious. There were plenty in evidence. I’ve no idea why, but Pterodactyl may well have an answer.
I stopped for a chicken schnitzel burger and coffee at the Mt Glorious Café, very motorcycle friendly and boasting a gleaming black Harley inside. I read about rides on the NSW/QLD border in an old copy of Australian Road Rider magazine while I digested. In company with Pterodactyl, I’ve ridden a good few of them.
I generally like to ride a circuit. The only options this day would either be too long and not sufficiently interesting to reward the effort or would involve too many urban roads. The truth was that the best riding was back the way I’d come. First, though, I had time to treat myself to a descent of the Northbrook Parkway—only so I could ride up it again. Like most hills, it’s much better going up; a great ascent through pretty bush and with some fabulous corners.
A post prandial experiment with the RLET angle. More practice I think
Is there something wrong with me? I always find these signs encouraging.
Photo opportunity at the White Cedar Park at the bottom of the hill
I had to ride back up the mountain into these clouds and I was worried that I might get a sprinkling. It’s all cloud by the way; there’s not an enormous peak lurking underneath it.
When I regained the mountain top I could easily have done the lazy thing and headed home. Altruistic to the last, I decided to descend another mountain road so I could try a little back road to the top I’d seen on other rides.
The name of the road and the encouraging sign will give you some idea of what I was about to let myself in for. I nearly abandoned it. Afte all, if I did, I’d get to ride back up the brilliant mountain road I’d just ridden down. But I like a challenge.
This photo is taken looking east-southeast towards the Pacific Ocean. The city of Brisbane actually lurks there somewhere (the CBD is behind the hill to the right), although you’d not realise it from the picture
The end of the Goat Track—mercifully it’s one way and not very long
I’m glad I rode the Goat Track. It’s aptly named. I’ve had more fun on dirt roads. There was a large centre-line of loose gravel which was not fun; some savage corrugations of the sort that give dentists the sort of dreams I can’t write about here; and some corners where the guide posts have been brilliantly placed to challenge the motorcyclist to retain a line keeping off the centre gravel patch (which has always been strategically widened) while at the same time not clipping the guide post with a knee or bar end. It was pretty though.
I rode home for a rest before heading out to the cinema for a complimentary screening of 45 Years. The review can be found in the Movie Reviews section of the forum.
May your winter pass quickly.
The critical bit of Cormanus sojourn in the Solomon Islands—the bit that financed it—fell a long way short of expectations. With an enormous disappointment and heartache, my wife and I made the decision that I should abandon the work and we should retreat. This is probably not the place for outpourings of affection, but the decision was very generous on her part as she was doing good works and having a wonderful time.
So it came to pass that in early February I found myself back in Brisbane, Australia, reunited with my CB1100, my son and his partner, my step-daughter and her partner and their daughter. The forgoing list is not in order of importance. Really. It’s not.
I arrived homeless and alone. We had decided to rent out our house as we were planning to be away a couple of years and there were still tenants in it. My wife fled to the other side of the planet two days after I returned to the Solomons after Christmas leaving me to pack all her things to bring them back to Australia. A fitting punishment, I suppose. ‘Travelling light, mate?’ one of my countrymen wearing shorts and thongs and carrying nothing but a passport asked me in the Honiara airport as he eyed off the trolley bearing suitcases, computer bags and heaven knows what else.
Luckily, my son and his partner were kind enough to give me a bed for a few days until I was able to move into a house we are looking after for a bit.
I took the owners of the house to the airport and moved my stuff. I needed some proper tea—stuff with leaves that you have to brew in a pot not those tedious little bags made of powder from the floor sweepings in the tea factory—but all the while I was thinking about all the poor mugs in the northern hemisphere stuck in snow and sleet and cold and misery. What little thing could I do; what modest sacrifice could I make to try to brighten their dismal winter lives?
Pulling on my heavy Kevlar jeans and boots and a mesh jacket, I climbed onto the CB and set off across Brisbane to buy some tea. I was pleased about how well I remembered circuitous back roads. I found tea (although not quite what I wanted) at the Indooroopilly Shopping Centre. That fact is completely irrelevant. I just thought those of you who find some Australian place names curious, would like ‘Indooroopilly’.
The obligatory map. ([url=https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=z5L5SB6CRw2M.kMVOpfCpExAc&usp=sharing]Also here for those who like to play). The total trip was 126 kms.
I wound my way through the back streets of Brisbane until I got to Mt Coot-Tha (pronounced ‘cootha’) where I decided a lap around a very pretty loop would be agreeable. It was. Here’s a photo, although it looks pretty much like other roads I spent time on.
I’m not sure my experiment with the RLET angle devised by EmptySea is all that satisfactory
It’s a curious ride around this hill as every now and again a huge building and antenna appears in the bush. Mt Coot-Tha, the highest point immediately adjacent to Brisbane, is where the local free-to-air television stations’ studios and antennæ lurk.
Completing the loop, I turned off to head through the suburbs to the mountains north-west of the city. I was tailed for a while by a couple of bored police cops who thought it might be fun to make sure I stuck to the speed limit. I thought at first it was so they could admire the CB, but they never really got close enough.
I won’t bore you with yet another description of the Mt Nebo and Mt Glorious rides. I’ve reported on them before. Here’s some more photos.
To the left in this photo you can see a red eucalypt trunk. Some species turn this colour in the summer and I always find them glorious. There were plenty in evidence. I’ve no idea why, but Pterodactyl may well have an answer.
I stopped for a chicken schnitzel burger and coffee at the Mt Glorious Café, very motorcycle friendly and boasting a gleaming black Harley inside. I read about rides on the NSW/QLD border in an old copy of Australian Road Rider magazine while I digested. In company with Pterodactyl, I’ve ridden a good few of them.
I generally like to ride a circuit. The only options this day would either be too long and not sufficiently interesting to reward the effort or would involve too many urban roads. The truth was that the best riding was back the way I’d come. First, though, I had time to treat myself to a descent of the Northbrook Parkway—only so I could ride up it again. Like most hills, it’s much better going up; a great ascent through pretty bush and with some fabulous corners.
A post prandial experiment with the RLET angle. More practice I think
Is there something wrong with me? I always find these signs encouraging.
Photo opportunity at the White Cedar Park at the bottom of the hill
I had to ride back up the mountain into these clouds and I was worried that I might get a sprinkling. It’s all cloud by the way; there’s not an enormous peak lurking underneath it.
When I regained the mountain top I could easily have done the lazy thing and headed home. Altruistic to the last, I decided to descend another mountain road so I could try a little back road to the top I’d seen on other rides.
The name of the road and the encouraging sign will give you some idea of what I was about to let myself in for. I nearly abandoned it. Afte all, if I did, I’d get to ride back up the brilliant mountain road I’d just ridden down. But I like a challenge.
This photo is taken looking east-southeast towards the Pacific Ocean. The city of Brisbane actually lurks there somewhere (the CBD is behind the hill to the right), although you’d not realise it from the picture
The end of the Goat Track—mercifully it’s one way and not very long
I’m glad I rode the Goat Track. It’s aptly named. I’ve had more fun on dirt roads. There was a large centre-line of loose gravel which was not fun; some savage corrugations of the sort that give dentists the sort of dreams I can’t write about here; and some corners where the guide posts have been brilliantly placed to challenge the motorcyclist to retain a line keeping off the centre gravel patch (which has always been strategically widened) while at the same time not clipping the guide post with a knee or bar end. It was pretty though.
I rode home for a rest before heading out to the cinema for a complimentary screening of 45 Years. The review can be found in the Movie Reviews section of the forum.
May your winter pass quickly.
thanks for the smiles and nice pictures 