2014 MotoGP: Day 27

Uralla-Pomona 747 kms

Determined to get home, I was on the road reasonably early, passing a milestone just before 0730.

I’d decided the night before that, good though it is, I didn’t really want to ride the Nymboida road from Armidale to Grafton again, so I pushed north up the New England Highway to Glen Innes where I had breakfast before heading down the beautiful Gwydir Highway to Grafton. It was every bit as good as I remembered it, and just as pretty. There aren’t any photographs. It was cold; I can’t work the camera with thick gloves; and I wanted to reduce the number of stops I made.

Leaving Grafton the jacarandas were magnificent

The road to Kyogle is quick with not many cars. I’d decided to complete the trifecta and see the only son I’d not seen on this trip. That meant calling into Brisbane. Probably because I’d ridden both the Lions Rd and the Mt Lindesay Highway a couple of times recently, and to save some time, at Kyogle, and because it’s a fantastic ride I turned right for Murwillumbah. What a great road it is.

I stopped to take this photo for RandyB to give him comfort in his view about the upside down nature of this part of the world.

Just before Murwillumbah, the rain set in again so I donned the wet weathers for the final time. I stopped for petrol and a bite to eat before making what for me was a curious discovery. I’d only ever arrived and left Murwillumbah from relatively isolated inland routes, so I had a view it was an isolated sort of place. Leaving this time, I immediately found myself on a substantial road which had me back to a major built up area in only a few minutes. A quick look at a map later showed me it was almost a dormitory suburb for a major coastal hub.

The rest of the ride home was on the freeway and not worth describing. I stopped in Brisbane for a cup of tea with my son before heading north again to Pomona.

On the morning of 8 October 2014 when I left home

On the evening of 3 November 2014. Home again.

I’d travelled 7,560 kms according to the odometer, visited four Australian States, melted in the heat and ridden in cold, rain and snow. I went to a MotoGP. I fulfilled a dream and rode a motorcycle from my home to Tasmania. I got to see all three of my children. And I had a fantastic time. The CB performed brilliantly in all the conditions it faced. It really is a fantastic general purpose bike.

Thanks to Pterodactyl and Jalalski for being such excellent riding companions. For the bits we did together, I had a great time. I’m sorry you weren’t with me for the rest. More thanks to Pterodactyl for his advice and tips on great NSW roads to ride. There are some really good ones.

2014 MotoGP Day 26

Sydney-Uralla 558 kms

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.

Re-oiled 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 enter the tunnel under Sydney Harbour. It doesn't seem that long ago that going over water was a big deal. Now we travel 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 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!

2014 MotoGP: Day 25

Queanbeyan-Canberra-Sydney 445 kms

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 put 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.

In 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.

2014 MotoGP: Day 24

Melbourne-Queenbeyan 729 kms

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 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.

2014 MotoGP: Day 23

Hobart-Melbourne 379kms on the bike

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.

2014 MotoGP: Days 21-22

Hobart

There’s no map as the furthest I rode was a few kms over the river to the city, but I wanted to post a couple of photos.

As my friends had predicted, the weather turned appalling on Tuesday (Day 21). A front cracked in from the west. It was cold; it blew like stink; and snow fell on Mt Wellington which dominates the Hobart skyline. It was no weather for warm blooded riders like me. I hung around inside. Remember, northern hemisphere readers, this is spring and the snow is supposed to be behind us for the year. But this is Tasmania and anything can happen.

A snow capped Mt Wellington on Tuesday 28 October

The next day I rode over the city to see my son and have a gossipy lunch with some very old friends and former work colleagues. In South Hobart stands the Cascade Brewery, still making a reasonable drop. The snow had receded a bit, but it was still cold!

I parked the bike in Salamanca Place while I went for lunch.When Hobart was first settled, the stone warehouses in the background were actually on the wharf. A couple of hundred metres of land in front of them has been reclaimed.

This was the end of the outbound leg. Now all I had to do was get home again!

2014 MotoGP: Day 20

Hobart-Southport-Hobart 218 Kms

I’m not sure how this map will load if you follow the link to it, but if you scroll out so you can see the whole of Australia, you’ll see red markers for the two pubs I refer to later in this post.
One of dilemmas I always face when I go to Tasmania is how to fill my time. Because it was the first time for nearly 40 years that I’d been there on a bike, I wanted to ride some of Tasmania’s great roads as well as spend some time with family and friends.

The weekend on the boat had been excellent—a pleasant Friday night cruise down the Derwent River, a great sail in the D’Entrecasteaux Channel on Saturday far outweighed the slight disappointment of rain on Sunday. In any event, we still had a good sail for part of the way home. My brother has not long had the boat and it was the first time he had taken it away overnight. My son and I found it very comfortable; I think my brother was pleased with the way everything worked. I particularly liked opening the locker marked “First Aid” and discovering the wine cellar.

It was Monday morning and I had to be back in Devonport on Thursday evening to catch the ferry back to Melbourne. If I left Hobart on Wednesday I could take a couple of days and ride to Devonport via the west coast. The road from Hobart to Queenstown has a stretch known as the thousand bends as you wind down the final hill into Queenstown. Other stretches of the road—particularly west from Lake St Clair—are also fabulous for bikes. The only caveat is that it rains a great deal on the west coast and there’s bound to be snow on the road in winter. Theoretically it was spring so snow shouldn’t be a problem, but this is Tasmania where the advice goes something like “If you don’t like the weather come back in 10 minutes.”

Monday’s weather was not much chop—squalls of rain, cold, occasionally overcast—so I amused myself solving an IT problem. All the while I was talking to my son about riding to Huonville to meet him for lunch. I had two motives: one to spend some time with him; the other to ride to Australia’s southernmost hotel so I could post photos of Australia’s northern-most and southern-most pubs on this forum. I’d been lucky enough to travel to Thursday Island, site of the northern-most pub, for work some years ago. Sadly I did not ride there on a bike.

The weather cleared and I headed out. At Vince’s Saddle, the highpoint of the road to Huonville, I had to don the wet weathers but it didn’t rain too much, and it was fine when I got to Huonville.

Beside the Huon River

We ended up at the wrong café and had a pretty ordinary lunch, but it was good to catch up with my lad. You have to make the most of the time you can grab with your children when you don’t see them often.

After lunch, my son headed back to work and I turned my nose south.

For many years an argument raged about whether Australia’s southern-most pub was at Dover or Alonnah on Bruny Island. I think it was eventually resolved in favour of Dover, but fate took a hand when the Dover pub burned down and someone built a tavern at Southport, unequivocally further south.

It’s a great ride from Huonville to Southport. The road initially takes you alongside the scenic Huon River before turning inland to cut off the point on the way to Dover. It’s got some great twists and turns and the surface is good, although you have to watch out for gravel and bits of tree left by trucks. I guess I expected to see lots of log trucks, but didn’t. If you were out for the day you’d turn off at Geeveston and head out to the Tahune AirWalk, a fantastic elevated walk through the tops of the trees of an old Tasmanian forest.

It’s another 15 minutes or so from Dover to Southport. Again it’s a fun road for a bike and I enjoyed it. Here’s the CB at the southernmost point of my trip, looking southeast over Southport bay. The sea over the stern of the white boat is the Southern Ocean.

Just back up the road is the Southport Hotel and Caravan Park.

If the crow managed not to get a skin full in the Southport pub and flew some 3,685 kms ever so slightly west of north, it would arrive on Thursday Island off the tip of Cape York where it could have a well-earned drink at the Torres Hotel.

The remains of the Dover Hotel, once Australia’s southern-most pub

My mission to add a photo of the southernmost hotel in the country to my collection complete, it was time to head back to Dover and have a cup of tea with old friends who live with a spectacular view of Port Esperance. Great sailors, they warned me that the weather the following day would turn seriously vile.

By the time I left them, the rain was pouring down. Much to their amusement, I put the entire wet weather kit on. We agreed that the most effective armour against the rain on a bike would probably be a set of ocean racing wet weathers. It was a wet and miserable ride most of the way back to Hobart, but it stopped raining for the final bit, so the outside of my gear at least had dried by the time I got to my son’s house for dinner.

I’m not diligent about checking things and keeping notes, and I forgot to look at the odometer while I was at Southport but, by reviewing the distances recorded in these posts, at the southernmost point I had travelled at least 4,283 kms. Given the odd unrecorded running around and a certain speedo inaccuracy, it would have appeared slightly more than that, but it was still a good distance to have ridden.