The Cormanus Chronicles

[Cormanus]

Days 4 and 5: 15-16 October 2016
Sydney

I got to stay with my eldest son who lives in Sydney. My brother, his wife and their children were visiting for the opening of an annual exhibition featuring some of my niece’s work. Over the course of the opening and two dinners, a jolly time was had by all.

Mildly the worse for wear, on Sunday afternoon I packed my bags and headed for Pterodactyl’s praying for a quiet night. Fat chance.

Pterodactyl shamed me into giving the bike a clean so he was prepared to be seen with it. After those labours we headed upstairs to shower, change and engage in a pre-dinner meditation.

Gotta get that chain right

Mrs Pterodactyl had prepared a feast to shame the Romans. That may have something to do with her Greek heritage. I couldn’t comment. I should add it wasn’t just for me the Pterodactyl’s had other friends passing through.

It was a wonderful dinner. I have insufficient words of praise for Mrs P's culinary skills. We had splendid food, good conversation, fine wine and then, to top it off, a cleansing ale and a quick look at the Japanese MotoGP. We knew it didn’t really matter what happened to Marc Marquez the following Saturday at Phillip Island.

With threats of being woken early, I fell, exhausted, into my bed.


Day 6: 17 October 2017
Sydney to Blayney (535 km)

[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=165iSJSVOTa4GcWPkL2iS__LmmTg&usp=sharing]Day 6: ing to Map

When you check every internet forecast and all you can find is ominous threats of solid rain, you have to expect you’re going to get wet. We loaded the bikes, hauled on our wets and headed out. It was dry most of the way north to Colo Heights, although we got caught in a brief shower just before stopping there for fuel. The rain gods continued to regard us with some favour as we made our way north along the Putty Road. We stopped for coffee at the Grey Gum Café before heading off into the famed “10-mile” a magnificent section of road loved by Sydney motorcyclists. For good reason. Mercifully the rain continued to stay away.

As we made our way westward through Jerry’s Plains to the top of the Bylong Valley things changed. The rain started in with a vengeance and it stayed with us for a good deal of what turned out to be a pretty miserable day.

I’ve ridden the Bylong only once, and it was a glorious day then. It’s a great road. It was OK in the wet too, but my Frogg Toggs again turned out to be completely and utterly useless so I was properly soaked and a bit miserable by the time we stopped for a late lunch at Rhylstone.

We were gearing up to get under way again, when a bloke came up to us and said, “Do you reckon you could give us a hand?”

We looked at him.

“This sheila fell off her Harley over the weekend and I’ve got to get it into a trailer to get it home.”

“Rightho,” we said and set off down the street.

Cormanus, the fool, forgot to put on his nearly useless wet weather jacket and so got even more ridiculously wet as, of course, the rain really set in while we were slipping around in the mud trying to fit a Harley into a trailer slightly too small for it. We got it in somehow and left the bloke to lash it all together for the trip to wherever he was going.

I should report that neither the sheila nor the Harley were particularly harmed in the accident.

The rain eased as we made our way south to Bathurst—home of Australia’s best known annual motor car race—and had stopped by the time we got there.

Bravely we pushed on and, of course, the rain started again. By the time we reached Blayney just under 40 kms south, it was pelting down and we pulled into the Exchange Hotel where the nice young man said there was indeed a bed and a fire as well. We showered and spread our wet kit all over the room. I went for a walk and found a kitchen where a very large young man was cooking toast and god knows what else. He certainly looked at me. I think he grunted.

Taking our sodden boots we went downstairs, put them in front of the fire and had a drink.

The following can be said for the Exchange at Blayney: the staff were friendly. The fire was hot, the beer was cold and the chicken parmigiana recommended by the staff was indeed excellent. And it was dry—the pub not the parmy.

On the other side of the ledger, the place needed a seriously good clean. The bathroom was, can I say, a very long way indeed from being appealing.

Still, it was, did I say, dry. And I slept OK.

Protecting my camera from the rain meant I took not a single photograph.
Day 7: 18 October 2016
Blayney to Walwa (511 kms)

[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1dF_JjBys8RhKk-Ht3dorss5o9yQ&usp=sharing]Day 7: Link to Map

The morning dawned cold but glorious. The sun was shining and the forecast, although a bit discouraging for later in the day, wasn’t so bad. I went in search of the kitchen and a cup of tea.

The large gentleman was in exactly the same place as I’d seen him 12 hours before. Still making toast and stuff. Had he been there all night, I wondered?

“Can I make a cup of tea here?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, “but there’s no tea. They don’t give you anything. You have to have your own.”

“Right. Thanks,” I said and wondered off to finish packing and take my custom to the bakery across the street.

Things move slowly in Blayney and it took a while to get breakfast and fuel. Normally that would not have been a problem, but we were due to meet noroomtomove at around lunch time in Gundagai. By my reckoning that was around 3 and a half hours away.

We set off along the main road to Cowra before turning off near Woodstock to ride the Reg Hallstone Way to Lake Wyangala. A pretty ride, but, of course, the road we intended to travel had been blocked off and we were forced to take a detour which cost us more time.

A familiar sight: Pterodactyl steams ahead


I think this is rape seed. Whatever it is, it’s pretty.

We stopped for fuel in Harden; I sent a message to noroomtomove; and we got our skates on for the rapid ride along a great and quiet country road to Jugiong.

It’s a pretty road from Harden to Jugiong. Quick as well.

At Jugiong we joined the Hume Highway: the main artery between Sydney and Melbourne.
)


This is ther major route between Australia’s two biggest capital cities. I guess its modest size reflects the fact that our population is only around 24.5 million

As we charged down the Hume Highway to meet noroomtomove, I was sure I could see wisps of smoke from Pterodactyl’s bike. I got up close behind him and then alongside in the adjoining lane a couple of times and looked hard, but I just could not be sure.

We got to Gundagai and parked alongside a white CB1100 (and one makes three). After a while noroomtomove appeared and I met him for the first time. I also told Pterodactyl about the smoke and he had a good look under his bike.

I’m pretty sure I’ve exhausted most of the jokes about ‘one black one, one white one, but don’t let that deter you. At this point, given the state of Pterodactyl’s undercarriage and rear tyre, it was as near true as it was at any time on the trip.

This was not long after davidsargee’s [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=9576]thread about a leaking K&N oil filter appeared on the site. My bike had been serviced at a new place and they had put the first K&N filter on mine. I was telling Pterodactyl about the post only a couple of days before. We had, of course, agreed that we needn’t worry.

You can see it coming, can’t you? Of course Pterodactyl had a K&N oil filter on the bike and of course it was leaking. The smoke was oil on the hot exhaust and the engine block. On inspection, there was a good deal of the stuff on his rear wheel as well. At moments like this you acknowledge the gods of motorcycling and give thanks. Although I have no idea when the leak started, had been under way on the way between Harden and Jugiong where Pterodactyl had the bike leaded over more than on the freeway, this story may have taken a different turn.

We ate and made phone calls. Of course there wasn’t a bike shop in Gundagai, but there is one in Tumut some 40 kms away. When I rang it had a HiFlo oil filter that would fit so I asked them to put it aside for me and set off for what was a pretty, but totally uneventful ride. Not boring. It was an enjoyable road. Armed with two oil filters (I wasn’t risking mine doing the same thing and resolved to change it soon) and a new pair of waterproof trousers, I headed back to Gundagai and found Pterodactyl and noroomtomove in a workshop where a slightly unhelpful chap had been persuaded to lend Pterodactyl an oil filter wrench. We decided not to push our luck by doing a mass oil filter change.

The lads had done a good job of cleaning the tyre. So, with the new filter installed, off we went back towards Tumut intending to ride to Tallangatta for the night.

noroomtomove checks something before leading us out of Gundagai




Riding towards Tumut

From Tumut we headed for Tumbarumba.



These two photos are taken near Batlow between Tumut and Tumbarumba. The last one is included mostly because of the accidental capture of the Cormanus mobile photo technique. In the background are the Snowy Mountains, part of the Great Dividing Range

Shortly after these photos were taken our old friend the rain re-joined the ride and kept us company for the rest of the day. The new pants were an improvement on the Frogg Toggs, but not entirely making me wonder whether I should pay a bit more attention to how I dress myself when it’s damp.

At Jingelic we crossed the Murray River and the border into Victoria. Time passed, the rain continued to fall and we made our way through Walwa and along the C547. More time passed and we came to the junction with Guys Forest Road where there was a sign telling us the road ahead was closed.

Pulling our bikes under a large eucalyptus tree, we strategized.

Ten minutes later we’d booked rooms in the Walwa Hotel and, with rain dripping from our gear, were enjoying the first beer of the day. Shower, dry clothes, more beer and some food (I forget quite what now) washed down with a glass or two of red and the day was complete.

Somewhere during the evening, I made the acquaintance of the Schitt family. They were interesting folk and kind enough to pass on a copy of their family tree which is of such interest that I thought I should share it with you.

The Schitt family tree
Day 8: 19 October 2016[/b/
[b]Walwa to Camp Confined Quarters (440 kms)

[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1hMBbiRbK2ZoWGZDXfSF5qeyTtVU&usp=sharing]Day 8: Link to Map

So far, when I’d been afflicted with afternoon rain on this trip, the next morning was glorious. This day was no exception. We awoke to bright sun and a good forecast. We ate the breakfast left for us by the hotel, packed up and rode across the street to refuel.


The service station was located at the General Store, outside of which sat a Furphy water cart. In Australian slang a [url= [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Furphy%5D]https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Furphy]furphy is an erroneous or improbable story claimed to be true. It is said—maybe it’s a furphy, I don’t know—that the term comes from these very water carts made by John Furphy & Sons of Shepparton, Victoria. Amongst other things, Furphy water carts carried water to Australian troops in World War 1. Soldiers would gather around them and drink the water, exchanging the sorts of truths that soldiers exchange. The term ‘furphy’ was born. Way before the water cooler.

The road south was closed, so we headed back towards Jingelic where, instead of crossing the Murray River, we stayed on the Victorian side and rode beside the river bank until we were catching glimpses of Lake Hume. It’s a glorious road. Little traffic, pretty, OK surface and not straight. What else could one want? The Murray, and its tributary the Darling River, are the lifeblood of the agriculture of Queensland, New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia. Fortunately for Australians, and indeed the rest of the planet, this system is in the hands of our political masters and no one need have any fear for it’s future.

There may be a quiz sometime on what the previous statement is an example of.







Views of the Murray River Road

The Granya Road from south of Bungil until the junction with the Murray Valley Highway was particularly agreeable for people for whom travelling in straight lines is challenging.



The entertaining sections of the Granya Road

From there it’s a fast ride to Mitta Mitta where we refuelled and took coffee and a meat pie in preparation for the Omeo Highway. Sadly for me, the most attractive feature of the Mitta General Store had disappeared since I was last there. Pterodactyl thought it may have found its way to the pub, but I couldn’t bring myself to check.

noroomtomove on the way to Mitta Mitta


The Mitta Pub
In my ever-so-humble opinion, the Omeo Highway is simply the best motorcycle road I’ve ridden. It takes nigh on 2 ½ hours to ride the 107 kms from the Mitta Pub to Omeo and it is, as I’ve said before, a little like paddling a canoe as you push the bars first one way and then the other. It’s an exhausting but beautiful and rewarding ride; one on which you have to send Pterodactyl on ahead to contain his disposition to claustrophobia.

Speaking of Pterodactyl, he recorded an excellent video of the Omeo Highway, a link to which can be found [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=7277&pid=110757#pid110757]in this post.

The best I can offer is a couple of photos.









As I recall there was a bloke here who wasn’t well and we stopped to make sure he was OK. The place is Anglers Rest.


The Cobungra River opposite Anglers Rest. There’s said to be good camping to be had





It was all I could do to get far enough ahead of these blokes and get off the bike in time to photograph them

The road is straighter and quicker for around 50 kms from Omeo south to near Ensay. It’s an agreeable respite before the final 50 kms to Bruthen which is as much fun as the earlier section. I’m not sure why there are no photos of this part of the day; perhaps it’s because my camera battery is getting old and doesn’t last like it used to. Given it took photos later on the day, it’s more likely that I just wanted to give into the riding.

The bikes were ready for petrol and we were ready for a cup of tea when we made it to Bruthen at about 4:00 pm.

A rest at Bruthen

The final leg of the day’s journey took us briefly on the Princes Highway to just west of Bairnsdale and then south and west. It’s the trade off for the pleasures of the earlier part of the day: flat, mostly straight and, for me at least, not very interesting.

Between Bruthen and Camp Confined Spaces

A while later we arrived at what I’ve called Confined Spaces—noroomtomove’s house. I shan’t even try to do credit to the splendid irony of noroomtomove’s user name. Suffice it to say, there’s room not only to swing the proverbial cat bit also to let it go and not have it leave the park.

Pterodactyl aligning the bikes for a photo that yours truly made then such a balls of taking that he’s not prepared to post it. They’re so piss poor they can’t even be passed as ‘soft focus’ shots


Off the bikes at last

Thanks to noroomtomove and Mrs noroomtomove for accommodating us for the night. Mrs NRTM cooked us a welcome home–cooked dinner and we were asleep early. I was glad of that: the edges of the [url=https://www.google.com.au/?q=lurgy#safe=off&q=lurgy]dreaded lurgy that had plagued me for weeks had returned.
Day 9: 20 October 2016[/b/
[b]Camp Confined Quarters to Phillip Island (242 kms)


[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1qcisosqKSIyk6ngd583uNGnSIB8&usp=sharing]Day 9: Link to Map

Day 9 dawned fine and sunny, although the forecast for the next couple of days was ominous. The boys amused themselves with eating, some routine, minor motorcycle maintenance and shoe cleaning. By around 0900 we were under way leaving Camp Confined Spaces in our wake.

This shot is taken very close to noroomtomove’s spread. There’s not a lot of room, as you can see.

The ride to Phillip Island was relatively uneventful. We stopped at Inverloch for lunch and to acquire some provisions for the camp. After that Pterodactyl lead us a merry dance around the scenic and entertaining Cape Paterson Road. I don’t know why, but I’m always happy to see Bass Strait.







From the ride to San Remo

By early afternoon we were far from the wilds of the Omeo Highway and buried in the thick of traffic crossing the bridge from San Remo to Phillip Island.


Soon after we were at the racetrack and hunting for the best place for Camp CB.

The main gate at the Phillip Island MotoGP circuit


Camp CB had an OK view


This is a small part of the bug collection I accumulated on this ride. Victoria is certainly competitive in bugs per square kilometre!

Event organisers the world over have developed all sorts of clever ways to gouge coin from the pockets of hapless punters. On that front, there are few more vulnerable punters that thirsty Australian motorcyclists. To buy a can of beer at Phillip Island costs around $7. To buy a slab (a box of cans) costs around $54 or a little over $2 per can. Easy you say: buy a slab. Sure, but bikes don’t have fridges and I haven’t yet figured out how to fit an eski in my camping kit. Lazy bastards solve this by taking a support car, laden with tents, generators, eskis, fridges and god knows what else to PI, but not the denizens of Camp CB. We take only what will go on a CB.

But we’re nothing if not creative and with the aid of a bag of ice, the oft-ridiculed top box finally came into its own.

Shortly after this was taken noroomtomove said ‘Givi a beer, willya?’

The usual proceedings preceded sleep.

[emptysea]

I think we may have just stumbled upon The Cormanus Principle. To wit: The amount of rainwater absorbed during a motorcycle ride is directly proportional to the relative importance of the warmth and dryness of the post-ride accommodations while being inversely proportional to the importance of the cleanliness of those same accommodations.

[Cormanus]

Day 10: 21 October 2016
Camp CB, Phillip Island

The dreaded lurgy had me by a part of the anatomy that shall remain un-named. It was pouring with rain; the wind was strong enough to blow the tonic out of your gin; and it was warm and comfortable in my tent. I could hear the banshee like howl of motorcycle engines outside, so I could rest easy in the knowledge that the world was getting on with its business.

I stayed put and took no part in the day’s proceedings.


Day 11: 22 October 2016
Camp CB, Phillip Island

Day 11 dawned slightly more cheerful than its predecessor, although for a while we were diving in and out of our tents to get out of the showers. It was also still blowing hard. I felt a little better, so I joined the others wondering around the track, visiting the merchandise tent …




… eating, dodging squalls and watching chaps using motorbikes to dry the water from the track …



It was slow and painstaking, but you can see it worked eventually

Late in the day we found a shelter from the wind where we could set up our camp stoves and cook dinner, engage in spirited conversation and ponder the fate of the world.

Things looked OK at bed time.
Day 12: 23 October 2016
Camp CB, Phillip Island to Inverloch and return (119.6 kms)


[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=17s9f3U1X8O7Hko7lE2LiwjLY8Hk&usp=sharing]Day 12: Link to Map

In the welcome sunshine of the morning of The Race we rugged up against the wind and cold and set out through the slippery, greasy obstacle course the camp had become. People aren’t supposed to have cars inside the motorcycle camping area, but they can bring them in to unload their fridges and other necessities. Of course many of them never get taken out and it’s not strictly enforced. Of course, these clowns also always park them on the few bits of gravel or seal in the camping area making the life of motorcyclists even more difficult. I marvel sometimes at the thoughtlessness and selfishness of humans.

We were off for a mind-clearing blast on the Cape Paterson Road. It was cold and windy, but the sun was shining and it was good to be on the road for a while.

Bacon and eggs and coffee in Inverloch helped fortify me against the rest of the day.

The foreshore road at Inverloch

The boys hatch a plan while I sneak in the photo I’d made such a mess of at Camp Confined Space




Even when covered in mud and road grime, they’re fine looking bikes

Back we went to PI to brave “… the mud the crud and the beer …. A few bikes had arrived while we were away.


If you’re going to do something stupid like falling off playing at Moto Cross, it’s almost certainly going to happen when there’s an audience, so I was pleased to get back to the relative safety of the tent without having lost the CB in the mud.

Shortly after we got back we began the process of trying to find AussieFlyer—he of the splendid modded café CB. It involved a certain confusion about where exactly he was and a bit more walking than any of us really wanted, but eventually we tracked him down on the bank bang in the middle of turns 11 and 12 with a pretty good view. We made the acquaintance of his cousin before settling down to a beer and a conversation when we could get in a word over the howl of motorcycle engines.
AussieFlyer is a good bloke, although he’d wimped out on bringing the CB to the races. I thought it was so he could enjoy a beer, but he confessed that the extensive mods he’d made to his bike need a little bit of refinement. It’s not for me to say more about that, but I hope the work is done in time for the 2017 Australian CB Rally!

Anyway, we stood on the hill, had a beer or two and watched the races. I took a couple of photos and Marc Marquez completed the double for me—falling off for the second time I’ve been at PI. Cal Crutchlow held Valentino Rossi at bay for a magnificent win.



















And the winner is …

The circus packed its tents and machines and got ready to move on to Malaysia. We adjourned to our pavilion on the hill and enjoyed dinner and a glass of red or two before retiring to our unpacked tents.

[Cormanus]

Day 13: 24 October 2016
Phillip Island to Melbourne (187 kms)


[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1nG63m6uAxkxVpNueeYPyfZct1XY&usp=sharing]Day 13: Link to Map

It was a gloomy sort of morning—cloudy, cool and a bit unappealing. But at least it was dry as we packed up our camp and made ready to go our separate ways. Noroomtomove who, by my reckoning, had done a sterling job not to flee to the comforts of a mud-free hot shower and a comfy bed the evening before, was first to roll out. Pterodactyl and I left a bit later and made our way to San Remo for a cup of coffee.

After that we separated; him to return to Sydney; me to head to Melbourne to jettison some gear and collect Mrs Cormanus from the airport. To my considerable delight she had agreed to join me for the next leg of the trip which would take us across Bass Strait on the ferry to Tasmania. While most of our attention would be on catching up with family and friends, I planned we’d cover a bit of ground together on the bike.

I was a bit nervous about how it would go. Mrs Cormanus comes with me on the bike occasionally and enjoys it very much, but she is given to getting restless when she has to sit still for too long. Frequent stops are necessary, so she would not enjoy my usual touring schedule. So I wasn’t sure how she’d go spending too much time perched on the back. Still, I was delighted she was coming with me and that it would be in Tasmania which we both love.

The ride to Melbourne was uneventful. Straight roads, freeways, police officers, motorcyclists heading back from a weekend on the island, increasing traffic. Same old, same old. The Tom Tom app on my phone took me where I wanted to go without fuss and I took all my gear off the bike before heading to the airport to meet my wife.

We were staying with my niece and her husband who had kindly agreed to store gear for us while we were in Tasmania, so we made our way there. They took us for a walk through Footscray past the Flemington Race course where Australia’s major horse race, [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melbourne_Cup]the Melbourne Cup is held on the first Tuesday of every year. The entire country stops to stuff itself with chicken and champagne and watch it on the television.

A great, authentic and inexpensive Vietnamese meal and a comfortable bed capped off the day.

Day 14: 25 October 2016
Around Melbourne thence to sea (376 kms)



[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1VC-KAGZN8zebt59dhmS9ez98wGk&usp=sharing]Day 14: Link to Map.

The morning was given over to repacking gear so there was room for me, Mrs Cormanus and the gear on the CB. The one, slight, technical problem was that Mrs Cormanus was to fly home from Hobart which meant we had to take her bag as well as mine rather than packing into one bag. We also had to address the problem of waterproofing and the back pack which Mrs Cormanus would not be able to wear while the bags were on the back.

So we came up with this inelegant, but practical solution.



And who said a CB1100 can’t carry a back pack with style?

After we’d sorted all this out and stashed my camping gear, the beer cool … er, top box and other things in the shed at my niece’s house, we decided to take a ride around Port Phillip Bay to see what we could see.

Not much as it turned out—for most of the way to Frankston the GPS led us a merry inland dance past houses and through endless traffic. However, we partook of an agreeable lunch at Waves on the Beach at Frankston before a leisurely ride back to the Station Street Pier where we were to catch the Spirit of Tasmania for the overnight trip to Tasmania.

Waiting to board.

Since I last caught the boat to Tasmania in 2014, it has undergone significant renovations and offers a more agreeable experience. The seating areas are more spacious and comfortable and there seem to be more of them somehow so one doesn’t feel quite so crowded.

We both like being at sea, so we passed an agreeable evening and, in due course, wandered off to the four-berth cabin we had to ourselves.

[noroomtomove]

Cormanus, thank you for the great write up, now our CB1100 colleagues can partake in the 2016 Phillip Island experience.

Mrs noroomtomove appreciates your compliment, your welcome.

Regards from Camp Confined Space

[Cormanus]

Day 15: 26 October 2016
Devonport to Carlton (376 kms)

[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1s8QIAbrMWYwtZId_o-sK3Ixsxm0&usp=sharing]Day 15: Link to Map

Last time I rode to Tasmania, I had this to say:

There’s plenty more to say. Tasmania is home to the second oldest white settlement in Australia. It’s the home of the Tasmanian Devil, immortalised by Bugs Bunny. Poor thing is endangered now by a cancer that eats away at its face.




Tasmania’s home to the Sarah Island and Port Arthur, both penal settlements remembered for their harshness. Port Arthur is also infamous for Australia’s worst mass shooting in April 1996 when an idiot ran amok killing 35 people and wounding another 25.

More cheerfully, it is now a producer of some of Australia’s best cold-climate wines. Great cheese and meat are produced and Cape Grim on Tasmania’s north-west tip is said to have the world’s cleanest recorded air. There’s fabulous walking and sailing to be had as well as some wonderful motorcycling.

Hobart, the capital, hosts the finish of one of the world’s great ocean yacht races, the Sydney-Hobart which is sailed from Boxing Day each year and attracts international competition. The record for the 630 nautical mile classic was smashed this year with Perpetual Loyal completing the race in 1 day 13 hours 31 minutes 20 seconds. The American ketch Kialoa III held the line honours record of 3 days 12 hours 46 minutes 21 seconds for 21 years from 1975. As I recall that’s the longest period the record stood.

However, like the UK’s Fastnet race, the weather can be very ugly, particularly across Bass Strait. In 1998, a storm sank 5 yachts and 6 people died. Only 44 of 115 starters finished the race.

The Spirit of Tasmania arrives in port early from its Bass Strait crossing. Luckily it had been a quiet night. The crew has you starting to disembark by 0630. When we were awoken by an announcement at 0545, my wife asked me where we were and was disappointed to discover that we were already alongside. She’d hoped to be able to watch our arrival and was disappointed to be driven out of bed and off the ship with such unseemly haste.

We both agreed a couple of days at sea would have been pleasant.

Loading the bike. The orange anchor points on the floor are for tying down bikes and cars. They have a simple system of straps which attach to the handle bars. You leave the bike in first gear on the side stand and they crank a bit of weight onto the straps and it isn’t going anywhere. Well, it hasn’t yet.

Early morning in rural Tasmania

It was cold and there was evidence of rain during the night, but the forecast was reasonable, so we eschewed wet weather gear and set off along the north coast of Tasmania before turning south. Of course, trusting to the power of my memory (cue laughter) I didn’t use the GPS and turned too early. We had a brief early morning taste of dirt riding, but the surface was OK and the road was very pretty.

We searched in every town for a café, but found nothing until we got to Longford. Tasmania’s small towns, always quiet, have been rendered even quieter by the construction of a new main highway. After a cup of coffee and something to eat, I set off to show Mrs Cormanus a farm where I used to stay and be put to work in the September school holidays.

The farmhouse is just along the road to the right. The mountains in the background are the Western Tiers. They’re to the west from where I’m looking, but at the eastern end of the island’s central plateau.

I mention this diversion as an excuse to tell a story. I don’t remember the date on which I bought my first motorcycle, but I was 16 and still at school. The bike was a Honda CB175. It must have been before the September school holidays as I decided to ride it to the farm from my home in the south of the island. Google Maps tells me it’s all of 180 kms and about 2 hours 15 minutes riding. I recall it took me at least half a day and maybe more. In my defence, the CB175 did not cruise with the ease of the CB1100, the main road was a great deal windier and narrower so the trip was probably longer, and it was very cold. It made me realise touring on a large capacity motorcycle is a heck of a lot easier than on a small one.

Just down the road from where we looked at the farmhouse we had to make a decision about whether to head up the Tiers or keep heading east. On the basis that it was cold, we decided to stay lower down.

The road just south of the farm. It was the same as this when I rode it on the CB175 45 years ago.

The Lake Leake Road, running from the middle of the island to the east coast is a good ride on the bike with some good, fast sweeping corners. For the first time in my life, I turned off it and went into have a look at Lake Leake. Other than another couple enjoying the sun, the place was deserted.




Reaching the east coast, we turned south on an always enjoyable road.

A pretty section of the east coast road. I’ve never seen this part of Tasmania as green as it was this trip. The east coast, particularly, gets very little rain and is usually mostly brown in colour

At Swansea we stopped for lunch and were infuriated to be told we could only have bottled water (which we had to pay for) in the café. We learned later there was a problem with the local water supply and cafés were not allowed to supply tap water. We wished they’d told us: we would have felt better about the lunch.

From Swansea, there’s a lovely view to the Freycinet Peninsula and the mountains known as the Hazards. Once, on a work team building exercise, I climbed one of them at 0630 having not gone to bed until 0430. To this day, I’ve no idea how I made it.

A magnificent eucalypt in the main street of Swansea


Freycinet Peninsula and the Hazards

At Orford, a mere 55 kms down the road we had a comfort stop and admired Maria Island. The photo of Maria Island below was taken from what used to be the Raspins Beach camp ground where young motorcyclists would camp after a bit of a ride. Orford was a favourite spot for a weekend ride, partly because of the excellent ride to get there. It’s even more fun on a bike that doesn’t know what a hill is.


I got to ride that road yet again and enjoyed as much or more.

An hour or so later we arrived at Carlton Beach where we were to stay with friends. We’d ridden much of the length of the island touching the main highway only once and for less than a kilometre. And lots of it on great roads for a couple on a motorbike.

Day 16: 27 October 2016
Carlton and Hobart
It was a cold day with occasional showers; a car needed to be transported; and its heater was very welcome.

[Vic_imp]

wow, nice trip! you don't see many Vincent's on the road, but there one was.

[Cormanus]

Day 17: 28 October 2016
Carlton to Hobart via Tasmania Peninsula (207 kms)

[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1OJEOVvct3fKxI5IyyljoeLkSXH0&usp=sharing]Day 17: Link to Map

We were staying with my mate Graham and his wife. Graham is a long-term rider. When I last wrote of him, he had bought a Ducati Monster 695 which he was enjoying. His pleasure did not last all that long. A dealer at the other end of the island, repeated problems, and a neat procrastination until the warranty period was over lead to him selling it and replacing it with a Honda CB500X. Not as glamourous perhaps, but dependable.

Graham’s son recently had a nasty off and was still in hospital. He may not ever completely recover from the damage done to his pelvic region. Not unreasonably, Graham was pretty shaken by this and hadn’t spent much time on his bike. I made no suggestion of it, but he suggested a morning ride to blow out some cobwebs. We would ride a loop around the Tasman Peninsular and then meet his mate for a coffee.

It was a glorious day, so off we went.

The road out to the highway from Carlton is pretty good, and the highway’s not bad either. Indeed, except for the difficulty finding places to overtake legally, the road to Eaglehawk Neck is excellent. It all seems so much shorter than it did when I was a child.





On the way to Eaglehawk Neck

On the way we passed through the small town of Dunalley which was devastated by bush fires in January 2013. Dunalley is also the home of a canal which allows smaller vessels to cut off a good deal of sailing time between Hobart and Tasmania’s east coast. There’s swing bridge which is opened on request and you motor through it either with or against a very strong current. At the other end, the exit to the Mercury Passage can be exciting.


Eaglehawk Neck—Pirates Bay to the left and, in the centre of the picture on the right you can see Eaglehawk Bay


I’ve included this map as, aside from riding across the neck, we visited Tasman Arch and the cubed espresso bar

Eaglehawk Neck, seen in the picture above, is the isthmus attaching the Tasman Peninsula to the mainland. It was a deciding factor for the British to establish a penal colony at Port Arthur as it was easy to guard. Authorities discouraged swimming Eaglehawk Bay by peddling the rumour that it was shark infested and a line of half-starved dogs across the neck made sure there was no escape that was. I thought I had a photograph of the statue of the dog on the neck, but, if I do, I can no longer find it.

There used to be a community hall on the neck. As a teenager, I remember they used to back a projection truck up to it in the summer months and show films to holiday makers. I saw John Wayne in The Sons of Katie Elder there. I have no recollection of it.

We stopped at the Blue Seal Café which is set up in the old Post Office. The woman was very kind and helpful, but the coffee was not worth going back for.

We rode on in an anticlockwise direction around the peninsula, enjoying the glorious day and the scenery. As I think I mentioned, I don’t recall seeing Tasmania so green and well watered as it was on this trip.




We stopped at Nubeena because you need to after coffee and because we could. It was an opportunity to admire the scenery and the machinery.






We then made our way back across the peninsula turning north at Port Arthur which is now a national park and Tasmania’s major tourist attraction.

In its heyday as a prison, between 1833 and 1877, [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Port_Arthur,_Tasmania]Port Arthur was the home to Britain’s worst prisoners; criminals who had reoffended after being transported to Australia. And yet, it was, in its day, a model prison.

In 1996, it was the scene of an appalling massacre.

In spite of its troubled history, it’s a lovely place, set in a very picturesque surroundings and with a well-protected harbour. It’s a favourite stopping off point for sailors cruising around Tasman Peninsula.

Returning to Eaglehawk Neck, we turned right and rode around Pirates Bay, stopping at a food van at Tasman Arch. My friend Graham, although thin, seems to need to eat a good deal. We had, as I recall, a pleasant sit in the sun and a scallop pie.

Pirates Bay


There’s a blowhole at Pirates Bay, but it was very quiet
After inspecting the blowhole, we remounted and rode a few minutes up the hill to cubed espresso bar, which plies its trade in the warmer months. A young couple make excellent coffee and little cakes and pastries for which it is well-worth stopping.


Part of the attraction of stopping on a good day is the spectacular view down the south east coast of Tasmania.


After barely enough time to take a photograph, we were joined by Graham’s mate who has recently made a return to riding. He and his partner had been doing a jet boat ride along the coast you can see in the picture above.

On the riding front, he’s doing it tough.


We sat in the sun, talked some talk and then headed off towards home. Graham’s mate and his partner left us just before Dunalley to have a late lunch, while we rode home.

Having arrived, I packed my bag, collected Mrs Cormanus and we set off for the suburbs of Hobart to stay with my brother.

[Lord Popgun]

Cormanus, Do you ever have problems finding fuel? Or do you carry spare fuel somehow?

[Cormanus]

Haven't yet, popgun, although one does have to do a bit of checking before setting out to make sure one will get to the next fuel stop. There have been times when it's been a bit close.

I've never carried spare fuel.