A bit of a ride: homeward bound

[Cormanus]

Day 23: Hobart-Melbourne

829 kms, only 379 kms on the bike

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I’m feeling a bit like the Angel of Death. While I’ve been in Hobart, another very old friend and former colleague has died. I should be going to the funeral, but I can’t do it and make the ferry.

Having loaded the bike, I went for one final coffee with my son before heading back to the east coast. I’d decided to retrace my steps; it was a better alternative than the highway and time and the weather militated against the alternatives. The Hobart-Orford Road offered its usual entertainment and, although I stopped briefly in Orford, I pressed on to Swansea before stopping for coffee.

Maria Island from Orford. There are some good anchorages there for the sailor.


Schouten Island and Freycinet Peninsular where there are more excellent anchorages.

The Lake Leake Rd, as promised, was better travelling east to west. I had it pretty much to myself and made the most of it. It was cool when I got to Campbell Town and stopped for lunch. I also bought a couple of bottles of what I hope will be excellent Tasmanian white wine to take home.

As I left Campbell Town, the weather looked foreboding and, sure enough, very soon after I turned off onto what my parents used to call ‘the back road’, I stopped to put on the wet weathers again. I needed them for all of about 10 minutes! I’ve always liked the back road. It runs through a remnant eucalypt forest, much of which has been cleared for farming land. It’s a fertile plain, nestling below an attractive mountain range.

The Great Western Tiers


On the back road north-west of Campbell Town


Mt Roland—not a particularly good photo, but I need one of a mountain!

Somewhere along this road I stopped and took the photograph that was to win me the SuperBrace.

The rest of the trip to Devonport was pretty, but uneventful. I was mostly able to stay off the main highway and, as I always do, enjoyed travelling through Tasmania.

As an added bonus I had the shared cabin to myself.
Day 24: Melbourne-Queanbeyan

729 kms

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This was to be a long day’s ride, so it figured something had to go wrong with my plan for a quick getaway from the ferry. Passengers are required to surrender gas bottles and other things that might go bang on boarding. When I was collecting my little camping gas bottle I realised that I didn’t have my expensive noise-cancelling headphones. I figured they must have fallen on the vehicle deck. Somewhat to my amazement, they were found and returned to me, but I had to wait nearly an hour to get them. Still, I was underway by 0800 or thereabouts.

I took the quickest route the GPS offered to get me east. It was flat, mostly freeway and boring. And, by the time I got to the tiny hamlet of Tinamba, I was thoroughly chilled. Cold just creeps up on me sometimes. Coffee and an excellent meat pie were suitably warming and I pushed on. At least the sun was shining.

While it was tempting to reride the Omeo Highway, or to take the Bonang Road, of which Pterodactyl speaks very highly, I really wanted to make it at least to Cooma. I had an arrangement to meet another old school mate in Canberra the following morning, Saturday, and didn’t want to have to ride too far to get there. I was also rearranging my original plan to get home. I had been aiming to arrive on about Tuesday or Wednesday the following week but, for various reasons, decided to try to push a bit harder and be home late on Monday or early Tuesday.

As I’ve said, although cool, it was a glorious day and getting warmer. At Orbost the road suddenly got both pretty and interesting. I was leading a line of traffic and could see another bike a few cars back. At some point we had to stop for some road works and he made his way forward through the traffic. A bloke and his daughter were riding a big Moto Guzzi. They had Victorian registration, so I let them go ahead, thinking to avail myself of some local knowledge. I’d been pretty careful as the Victorian police are legendarily enthusiastic about catching people speeding, but this bloke took off with gusto and I got caught up in the enthusiasm of it all. We had, shall I say, a spirited ride to Cann River where plenty of bikers were taking lunch.

It turned out the rider of the Guzzi had been deliberately holding himself in the traffic to control his urge to ride fast. When he found himself at the front, he couldn’t help himself. We had a good laugh about it. He told me that he, and many other bikers, were on their way to a major bike rally in the Snowy Mountains over the weekend. I don’t recall seeing many bikes between Cann River and Cooma, but I saw a lot in Cooma and, after that, a great many making their way south.



Leaving Cann River

It was surprisingly warm as I left Cann River, I put on lighter gloves and got out the camera. The road was pleasant enough and interesting early on, but not a patch on the Omeo Highway. Once it had climbed to the plateau, it was basically flat and fast. I was glad of that.





The high country.


Rally bound bikes in Cooma where I stopped for a cup of tea.


The back of the Swiss Motel where Jalalski, Pterodactyl and I had dried out after our [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=4453&pid=66988]horrendously wet trip south from Sydney. This day couldn’t have been more different.

I was sorely tempted to stop in Cooma, but there was easily time to make it to Canberra, or nearby Queanbeyan. I figured the local pubs would be full of rally bound bikers and accommodation might be hard to find, so after a cup of tea and refuelling I pressed on, arriving in Queanbeyan in good time to find a very reasonably priced cabin to stay in. I arranged to meet my friend in the morning and walked to the Royal Hotel for refreshments, a meal, a conversation with my wife, who was still overseas but heading home, and Pterodactyl who, much to my delight, planned to come riding with me on Sunday.



North of Cooma. Bikes heading south for the rally.

[redbirds_imp]

Excellent as always. What, no pics of the Guzzi? Was it a silver Breva?

[metallyguitarded_imp]

I thoroughly enjoy reading each of your reports! I try not to think of the day when you'll pull into your garage at home and the last report will be written.

[Elipten_imp]

+1. We could strap him in a side car with a camera and laptop when that day comes. Must have been a writer for a profession.


Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk

[Cormanus]

Day 25: Queanbeyan-Canberra-Sydney

445 kms

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The morning dawned muggy and foreboding. I was almost certainly going to get wet before the day was out.

I rode across the border into the Australian Capital Territory to have breakfast with an old school mate who I hadn’t seen for the best part of 40 years. I met his wife and daughter and we had a jolly enough catch up. His wife kindly took the photo below for me, but sadly didn’t quite get the framing right: You were meant to be able to see Parliament House (our Congress) behind and to my right. If you look closely, you can see the flag over the top of my blue bag.


I set off north, planning to ride some of the route I had taken with Pterodactyl in June.

Gundaroo




Windmills south of Crookwell. People get exercised about them, but I reckon they’re quite attractive.


I stopped to photograph this echidna after I nearly ran it over


Another milestone

I stopped for lunch in Taralga, a pretty town. It was blowing like stink by now, and I was quite pleased to have some respite from the buffeting.


Taralga

The trip north is reasonably quick along pleasant enough roads. Much of it is on the plateau of the Great Dividing Range so the wind was a bit of an issue.


Not long after I took this photograph I had to get off and out on my wet weather gear as the black clouds I’d been watching to the west got closer.

Since leaving Canberra I’d been pondering what to do about Sydney. I didn’t really want to battle the traffic and go there, but I didn't feel quite right about driving round it without visiting my son. At Oberon, I realised I couldn’t just ride past, so I rang him to see whether he was free that evening. Sadly for him he was, so I turned east.

Not long after I set out again, I got a text from him that said “Jesus a massive storm has just rocked in. I hope you’re OK.” I was. For most of the way into Sydney it was dry, although there was one section crossing the Blue Mountains when it was pretty wet. But I missed the storm that hit Sydney. Pterodactyl was to tell me later he'd been watching it on the weather radar and wondering whether I'd be caught up in it.

IIn Australia we don’t go in much for the sort of treatment of dignitaries we see on the TV from the US and elsewhere. And that I’ve seen in Asia. You know, where a massive police escort is provided and traffic is cleared to allow the VIP through. Occasionally, if the Queen or the President of the USA comes to call, we make an exception; normally, though, the VIPs have to take their chances on the traffic like the rest of us.

So I was surprised to see the traffic being waved over by a police motorcyclist who then stopped to make sure we all stayed put. I noticed he had a special number plate saying "VIP" and a number. Once the road was clear another motorcycle cop came hurtling past at Marquez-like speed. Was the whole episode an excuse for police to ride far too fast on the motorway, I wondered? But no, it was not long before a couple more motorcycle cops, a black Jaguar and a white van sailed past and we were allowed on our way again. I hope it was practice for the G20 a couple of weeks in the future and not the sign of things to come.

A couple of beers, a glass of red or two and an excellent meal at the Duck Inn, just up the road from my son’s place, rounded out quite a long day.

[emptysea]

EPIC ep·ic /e-pic/
noun
1. a long poem, typically one derived from ancient oral tradition, narrating the deeds and adventures of heroic or legendary figures or the history of a nation.

Another enthralling installment of the ongoing adventures of one our favorite moto-heroes. Thanks, Cormanus.

[Cormanus]

Day 26: Sydney-Uralla

558 kms

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With more than a little sense of déjà vu, I met Pterodactyl at the service station from which we’d started out southern adventure. It was chilly, but a very much better day: clear sky, bright sun. His bike sparkled beside mine which, in spite of having a bit of a wash in Hobart, was showing all the signs of having been on the road for a while. For no reason I can recall, we checked my oil and discovered it could not be seen in the sight glass. So we headed further into Randwick, having to stop to be breath tested on the way. Getting them early the morning after is now a favourite police sport.

I bought a litre of 30W/800 snake oil from Supercheap Auto and topped the bike up. Mindful of previous episodes with liquids in my top box, I wrapped the oil bottle very carefully in a plastic bag.

Reoiled and ready to go.

Pterodactyl led us north through Sydney along a couple of motorways and, reasonably quickly, we were out of the worst of the built up area.

Inner Sydney. The lovely purple flower on the left is a jacaranda, imported into Australia from South America (I think) and ubiquitous north of Sydney at this time of the year. Adolescents in Queensland associate the flowering of the jacaranda with exams.


About to pass under Sydney Harbour. It doesn’t seem that long ago that going over water was a big deal. Now we can go under the floor of the sea.










The pretty road to Wiseman’s Ferry

There were lots of bikes at Wiseman’s Ferry, including a magnificent CBX that I missed getting a photo of. I was surprised: I thought nearly every bike in NSW and Victoria was south in the Snowy Mountains.

After a cup of coffee it was onto the punt for the trip across the Hawkesbury River.








Once on the north shore of the Hawkesbury, it’s a pretty trip alongside the river until you turn north towards Wollombi.








I’d really wanted to ride this road so I could say I’d been to Lemming Corner.


It’s a beauty, although our enjoyment of it was slightly marred by meeting a police car half way around it. There’s no photo; I was hanging on too tight.

Along with the remainder of the bikes that weren’t in the Snowy Mountains, we stopped for a lunch of burgers at the Wollombi pub. Pterodactyl decided he would continue north from Singleton (where I’d expected him to turn back) and ride to Dungog. At that point we’d go our separate ways.

Singleton. A new photo technique: random shot over the shoulder.

Of course there wasn’t any petrol to be had at Dungog on a Sunday, so we rode south a bit to Stroud, got fuel and said our farewells. It’s always good riding with Pterodactyl and this day had been no exception.

I headed north through Gloucester. After a while, I thought the road unfamiliar and switched on Karen (the GPS, named after the voice it uses). Sure enough—given I was wanting to make the best possible time—I’d missed the turn to Thunderbolt’s Way and was on the wrong road altogether.

Back I went. On the road down into the bottom of the gorge on Thunderbolts Way, I was passed by a diesel utility going like a bat out of hell. I let him go. On the way up the hill and the twisties, I got bored with the ridiculous speed limit and started enjoying myself. I love it that I’ve yet to meet a hill the CB won’t accelerate up. I soon caught the ute and passed him. It took him another 20-30 kms to catch me again and I let him go again, although his lead lasted only until the next hill when once more he proved no match for the CB. I didn’t see him again after that.

At Walcha I refuelled and, although the pub next to the service station had a couple of bikes parked out the front and looked inviting, I decided to risk the last 40 or so kms to Uralla. I say risk as it was getting late and I was a little concerned about dusk and kangaroos. As luck would have it, I had an excellent run and didn’t see a single roo. I arrived at the same time Pterodactyl sent me a text to say he was safe home in Sydney. He’d done well, riding 580 kms to my 560 or so.

A cheap bed at the Uralla hotel, a good steak, beer, red wine, a phone call with my wife who was safe at home, and I crawled into bed.

As I unpacked, I gave thanks for having put the oil in a plastic bag. Sure enough, in spite of the lid being on the bottle as tight as I could get it, it had leaked! I hate engine oil!

[emptysea]

I would have been nervous about following Pterodactyl around any road with "Lemming" in it's name....next thing you know, you're all off a cliff or something.

It seems to me that you have many MANY more spots where you can both eat well and sleep cheap. It's rare that I can find a good steak and a nice glass of wine (or a martini) within walking distance of the LaQuinta/QualityInn/etc at which we usually stay when on a tour.

Great pics...again. I love the random "over the shoulder" shot. I try to take 5 or so at a time in hopes that one of them comes out ok. Yours was great.

Thanks again!

[Cormanus]

I promise, I proceeded with great caution. I'm well over worrying about being the laggard when riding with Pterodactyl.

We're a bit lucky in Australia, I guess. We can either stay at a motel—I suspect like Quality Inn and other chains—or we can head for the old fashioned 'pub' where chaps go to drink and where there are rooms upstairs. Often they're rudimentary—a bed and a power point—and you have to share a bathroom with other punters, but they're usually cheap and, when I'm on the road, I'm usually only looking for somewhere to sleep. You can always get good beer and a reasonable glass of wine, but the food is, frankly, variable. There's a certain stodge that goes with pub food—too much deep frying and too many chips (fries in the US), but many do a perfectly acceptable steak or grilled fish with salad or vegetables. Pterodactyl and I have had some very, very ordinary pub meals and I think he thought we might be lynched in Guyra when we asked for a bottle of wine! We've talked about being more adventurous and trying local restaurants, but the attraction of not having to stumble very far to bed usually wins.

[the Ferret]

They can just pull you over for a breathalyzer test at random?