As a young lad I spent a lot of time at the rodeo. They used to say my Dad could "ride a bit". Believe me, He could. To revisit the stamping grounds of my long lost youth I hit the [url=https://goo.gl/maps/fxo2jBa4D652]road to Condamine for the Condamine Bell Rodeo. My plan was to leave Sydney on the Thursday, camp near Walcha that night, arrive at Condamine on Friday afternoon and leave for the return to Sydney on the Sunday morning. The weather forecast was encouraging; a large high pressure system moving across the continent would push some east coast rain away leaving clear skies for at least five days, but cold. I chose a fairly direct route as I was a little pressed for time. Looking at the route I realised that day one was all about the ride. Out of Sydney and up the Putty Road to Singleton. A combination of fast sweepers, tight corners and straights culminating in the famous Ten Mile, now signed as 16kms of twisty bits. Despite metrification it is still known as the Ten Mile. I guess it has a better ring to it. I can't truly say wether it matches The Dragon for turn numbers as I lose count at about fifty when, not being a great multi-tasker, my cornering gets a bit ragged when I remove the second glove. But it can't be far behind though. From Singleton I headed north along the Dungog road. This road is a favourites of mine. It first climbs then crosses Sugarloaf Mountain and wends it way along open ridges to Dungog and Scone. From Scone it was up Thunderbolts Way on to the New England Tableland. Thunderbolts Way was a good motorcycle road, a steep climb (or descent) with tight turns of varying radii. I said "was" for a reason. Heavy rain, bush fire and log truck activity have badly degraded the surface and now great care is required to avoid potholes, loose gravel, heavy vehicle tyre depressions and steep dirt shoulders that encroach into the road. A beast waiting to bite the unwary biker. Some have been bitten, and bitten hard. In a mist produced by cloud I carefully ascended to the Tableland and then rode, at a good pace, the last 90kms to the Oxley Wild Rivers NP to camp at Apsley Falls campground. By the time I had set up camp the cloud had gone and the air was dry and cold. Both Cormanus and I have posted photos of the aforementioned roads in other threads, so none this time. But here are a couple of photos of my camp at Apsley Falls. The campground is well maintained and firewood is provided, along with toilets and water points. The water is good but is preferably boiled before drinking or cooking.
Despite an overnight temperature of 1degC (33.8F) I was camping light with an infantryman's hoochie. I wanted a quick getaway in the morning. You may note that the CB triple tree makes a superior tie point and that the centre stand rests on a piece of firewood as the ground was softish after recent rain.
For cooking and external warming I soon had a fire going. Internal temperature control was achieved by the usual EBR method. Dinner was a can of bacon and beans and a good look at the stars.
I was up at the crack of dawn, breakfasted (porridge and black tea) and packed up before seven. There were still plenty of kangaroos around so I delayed departure, planning on leaving around 8:30. To fill in the time I rode to the Apsley Falls itself, another 400meters or so into the park.
Apsley Falls drops around 100meters into a very narrow, slate lined, steep sided gorge. Not the sort of place a man wants to be wandering around in the dark. There is not a lot of water going over the falls in the photo below. In flood I am told it is spectacular.
Leaving Apsley I rode across the gentle sheep farming country of the New England Tableland which, after a gradual descent, gave way to the Moree Plains, an area of broad acre farming dominated by feed lots to service the live cattle export industry. The terrain is as flat as a pooh* carters hat, with motorcycle interest only a mite above zero. The sort of road where a good iPhone music library is a blessing. One positive was that the temperature increased to around 25degC. Perfect for riding.
![[Image: e7f8d713945990dcb75e6fdef2dd6b17.jpg]](https://cb1100forum.net/forum/uploads/imp/201509/e7f8d713945990dcb75e6fdef2dd6b17.jpg)
*Euphemism used to maintain Forum Decorum.
North of Goondiwindi (pronounced Gun-dah-windy), the landscape becomes harsher; scrubby, dry, with termite mounds and some small patches of prickly pear (not pictured). The road consists of very long straight stretches (30kms or so) with the occasional soft S-bend to make sure you are still awake.
Late afternoon I arrived at Condamine. Condamine, population 429 at the 2011 census, is serviced by a small hotel and a roadhouse. The roadhouse is an old style classic truckies' roadhouse and the hotel is described as "historic". I suspect "historic" means that it should have been demolished and rebuilt quite some time ago. Historic doesn't quite cover it. I liked it. Anyway the few locals who were propping up the bar were friendly so I wet my whistle and gained directions to the rodeo ground, about six kilometres out of town.
I soon had my tent set up.
I took a ride around the camp area.
I checked out some of the stars of tomorrows show. These boys had had their life path altered at an early age by a sharp knife.
Not so these boys. Everyone of them a 1000 kilos of testosterone fuelled muscle and meanness with names like Suicide, Nutcracker, Terminator and Romper Stomper. I didn't climb in to pat them.
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Enough of the travelogue and on with the show. Next day the sky was clear; after a cool night the temperature rose to 27degC (81F). A perfect day for riding horses, roping steers and riding bulls. Or even, like me, watching on with a cold beer in hand.
My young next-door neighbour Dave, unaffected by a couple of last night’s campfire rums, is pictured below warming up his rope arm for the day ahead. A good bloke. His family were very hospitable to me, inviting me to a feast of bacon and eggs for breakfast.
Barrel racing:
Above and below are the kids. Sure beats sitting at home watching reality TV.
Team calf roping. One rider has to "horn it" (he has), and the other has to "heel it" by putting his rope around both rear legs. This is done at a gallop and skill with a rope is a must.
Rope and Tie. From the gallop rope the calf, dismount and tie four legs together.
Like this.
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Well here comes the big one. Bull riding. I have never seen anything that requires more courage. It is not wether you will be hurt, it's just when and how bad.
Here is the crowd, if you can call this lot a crowd, looking on.
Hold tight cowboy, only eight seconds to go.
This boy is just about to find himself between a bull and a hard place.
You will note that whenever the bull is about those inside the fence are very prepared to be outside, or on the fence, at very short notice. Very smart. The only exceptions are the clowns. They will do anything, and I mean anything, to keep the downed rider safe at whatever the cost to themselves. It is their job.
Prizes were given, the music began and a good night was had by all. The next morning, with a slightly heavy head, I pulled up stumps and headed back home. Almost a carbon copy, reversed, of the ride up. Back to Apsley Falls for the night and then home on Monday afternoon. While at the Condamine truck stop getting petrol for the return I considered buying a key ring size Condamine Bell. No need really. I have this. Thanks again Gene and Evelyn.
I guess I had better clean Last Blast soon.
As our old mate Bugs Bunny says, "That's all folks" and thanks for listening.
Cheers.