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Prologue
In which Cormanus receives an offer and hatches a plan
A motorcycle forum may not be the best place to confess that sailing rates ahead of motorcycling on my list of favourite pastimes. But, it does. Anyway, if I did it on a sailing forum, it would hardly be a confession. Would it?
The Offer
During the course of 2019, my brother invited me to go sailing in Tasmania. Acceptance was a no-brainer. Particularly given he was interested in sailing to Deal Island located in Bass Strait, the stretch of water between northern Tasmania and mainland Australia famous for its tides and frequently rough seas. It is also home to the tallest lighthouse in the southern hemisphere. Because my brother lives in the south of the state, we would have to sail almost the length of Tasmania’s beautiful east coast to reach our destination. “Count me in,” I said.
Then it occurred to me that I could ride there. Riding and sailing and then riding. All in one trip. And, if I was lucky, seeing some mates. What could be better?
The Plan
I sent an email to Pterodactyl, noroomtomove and Aussieflyer letting them know I’d be passing by in January and inviting them to join me. I was a bit surprised that they were all up for bits of it. There was even a possibility we might get 4 CB1100s in one place again, albeit briefly.
To my shame, I forgot to let Tezza know. Sorry, mate. I did recall late in the piece, but by then he had other plans.
Chapter 1
In which Cormanus comes to understand that no plan survives the first engagement with the enemy
My late father was fond of telling me that the great German general, von Moltke the elder, once said, ‘Of the three choices available to the enemy he always takes the fourth’. While I’ve never been able to find the quote, Field Marshal Helmuth Karl Bernhard von Moltke certainly wrote ‘No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first contact with the main hostile force’. Which is kind of the same thing, I guess.
Plans were made. Noroomtomove planned to ride into New South Wales and meet Pterodactyl and me at Dungog. Three would ride together to Boorowa and meet Aussieflyer. We would eat, drink and be merry and four would go riding for a day or two in the Snowy Mountains. We might also do more eating, drinking and merry making; who’d know? After all that, Pterodactyl would head north to Sydney and noroomtomove and Aussieflyer would escort me through Victoria and on to the ferry to Tasmania.
Then Australia caught fire. Queensland and northern New South Wales burned first. Then the fires moved south. The Snowy Mountains were out of bounds and there was a daily risk that planned routes would be impassable due to fire, smoke or the need to keep well out of the way of people fighting the fires or providing relief. Additionally, temperatures threatened to rise to the point where riding would be miserable. And that was without the smoke.
I looked seriously at abandoning the ride and catching a plane, but the financial penalties of cancelling my ferry booking made it prohibitive. I’d have to ride.
Noroomtomove dropped out. The fires were racing across Gippsland in Victoria in the general direction of his house. They didn’t get there. Pterodactyl and Aussieflyer were still in but were watchful and reserved the right to abandon the plan if circumstances changed.
At the last minute, I decided to leave a day later to avoid having to ride through much of New South Wales in temperatures above 40ºC. Pterodactyl kindly agreed to delay his departure by a day. Aussieflyer remained watchful, and hopeful.
Chapter 2
In which Cormanus gets under way a little early after all
As is customary in these chronicles, there are complete maps of the journey. The outward bound map can be found here. As usual, you can zoom in and out and view individual days using the legend on the map and toggling layers on and off.
[url=https://postimages.org/]
Unusually, I was not altogether looking forward to the ride. The prospect of heat, looking at the consequences of a long drought; fires forcing me to miss roads I love to ride, all the while wondering how much damage was being done to them; and the distinct possibility of having to make lengthy detours to avoid fire, left me feeling decidedly ambivalent about my decision.
I planned to leave first thing on Sunday 5 January; but, in the end I decided to leave after lunch on Saturday 4th as the worst of the day’s heat was focussed on southern New South Wales and Victoria and I'd planned a long first day. Removing my visor to clean it, I broke it. I know I’m clumsy, but the design is poor. I tracked one down at a dealer north of home—in the opposite direction to my intended route. It wasn’t too far so I loaded the bike and left in time to get to the dealer to pick up the visor before it closed. I made it. Just.
Then I headed out into a hot Saturday afternoon and made my way to Kyogle via the Lions Road.
I’ve reported on it often in the past and so won’t repeat myself now. It was hot, the detour for the visor took me longer than I anticipated and by the time I started along the Lions Road I had my fingers crossed I’d make it to the other end before skippy and family came out to play. I did and all was well.
The Exchange Hotel in Kyogle had a room, beer and a meal and I passed a pleasant enough evening. Australian country pubs were often built of brick or stone in the days before air conditioning. The accommodation is upstairs and a heat trap. The economics of retrofitting air conditioning don't stack up. The Exchange in Kyogle, while agreeably renovated, is such a pub. It was a hot night and I didn't sleep wonderfully well.
In which Cormanus receives an offer and hatches a plan
A motorcycle forum may not be the best place to confess that sailing rates ahead of motorcycling on my list of favourite pastimes. But, it does. Anyway, if I did it on a sailing forum, it would hardly be a confession. Would it?
The Offer
During the course of 2019, my brother invited me to go sailing in Tasmania. Acceptance was a no-brainer. Particularly given he was interested in sailing to Deal Island located in Bass Strait, the stretch of water between northern Tasmania and mainland Australia famous for its tides and frequently rough seas. It is also home to the tallest lighthouse in the southern hemisphere. Because my brother lives in the south of the state, we would have to sail almost the length of Tasmania’s beautiful east coast to reach our destination. “Count me in,” I said.
Then it occurred to me that I could ride there. Riding and sailing and then riding. All in one trip. And, if I was lucky, seeing some mates. What could be better?
The Plan
I sent an email to Pterodactyl, noroomtomove and Aussieflyer letting them know I’d be passing by in January and inviting them to join me. I was a bit surprised that they were all up for bits of it. There was even a possibility we might get 4 CB1100s in one place again, albeit briefly.
To my shame, I forgot to let Tezza know. Sorry, mate. I did recall late in the piece, but by then he had other plans.
Chapter 1
In which Cormanus comes to understand that no plan survives the first engagement with the enemy
My late father was fond of telling me that the great German general, von Moltke the elder, once said, ‘Of the three choices available to the enemy he always takes the fourth’. While I’ve never been able to find the quote, Field Marshal Helmuth Karl Bernhard von Moltke certainly wrote ‘No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first contact with the main hostile force’. Which is kind of the same thing, I guess.
Plans were made. Noroomtomove planned to ride into New South Wales and meet Pterodactyl and me at Dungog. Three would ride together to Boorowa and meet Aussieflyer. We would eat, drink and be merry and four would go riding for a day or two in the Snowy Mountains. We might also do more eating, drinking and merry making; who’d know? After all that, Pterodactyl would head north to Sydney and noroomtomove and Aussieflyer would escort me through Victoria and on to the ferry to Tasmania.
Then Australia caught fire. Queensland and northern New South Wales burned first. Then the fires moved south. The Snowy Mountains were out of bounds and there was a daily risk that planned routes would be impassable due to fire, smoke or the need to keep well out of the way of people fighting the fires or providing relief. Additionally, temperatures threatened to rise to the point where riding would be miserable. And that was without the smoke.
I looked seriously at abandoning the ride and catching a plane, but the financial penalties of cancelling my ferry booking made it prohibitive. I’d have to ride.
Noroomtomove dropped out. The fires were racing across Gippsland in Victoria in the general direction of his house. They didn’t get there. Pterodactyl and Aussieflyer were still in but were watchful and reserved the right to abandon the plan if circumstances changed.
At the last minute, I decided to leave a day later to avoid having to ride through much of New South Wales in temperatures above 40ºC. Pterodactyl kindly agreed to delay his departure by a day. Aussieflyer remained watchful, and hopeful.
Chapter 2
In which Cormanus gets under way a little early after all
As is customary in these chronicles, there are complete maps of the journey. The outward bound map can be found here. As usual, you can zoom in and out and view individual days using the legend on the map and toggling layers on and off.
[url=https://postimages.org/]
Unusually, I was not altogether looking forward to the ride. The prospect of heat, looking at the consequences of a long drought; fires forcing me to miss roads I love to ride, all the while wondering how much damage was being done to them; and the distinct possibility of having to make lengthy detours to avoid fire, left me feeling decidedly ambivalent about my decision.
I planned to leave first thing on Sunday 5 January; but, in the end I decided to leave after lunch on Saturday 4th as the worst of the day’s heat was focussed on southern New South Wales and Victoria and I'd planned a long first day. Removing my visor to clean it, I broke it. I know I’m clumsy, but the design is poor. I tracked one down at a dealer north of home—in the opposite direction to my intended route. It wasn’t too far so I loaded the bike and left in time to get to the dealer to pick up the visor before it closed. I made it. Just.
Then I headed out into a hot Saturday afternoon and made my way to Kyogle via the Lions Road.
I’ve reported on it often in the past and so won’t repeat myself now. It was hot, the detour for the visor took me longer than I anticipated and by the time I started along the Lions Road I had my fingers crossed I’d make it to the other end before skippy and family came out to play. I did and all was well.
The Exchange Hotel in Kyogle had a room, beer and a meal and I passed a pleasant enough evening. Australian country pubs were often built of brick or stone in the days before air conditioning. The accommodation is upstairs and a heat trap. The economics of retrofitting air conditioning don't stack up. The Exchange in Kyogle, while agreeably renovated, is such a pub. It was a hot night and I didn't sleep wonderfully well.
) and had a wonderful time.
