Guyra to South West Rocks
Tuesday 12 August 2014
Click on the image for a detailed map
Click on the image for a detailed map
When I was a kid, an enterprising electrical manufacturing company called itself Linda. It had a big hit with its electric blanket, which it sold with the slogan "Sleep wonderfully warm with Linda". It was bloody cold when I woke; Linda was nowhere to be seen, but there was an electric blanket of indeterminate heritage. I was very glad of it.
By 9.30 am were 80 kms away in Ebor. My weather app showed this happy sight.
A promised maximum of 9°C; a current temperature of 5.6°C which was said to feel like 0.3°C. We stopped for very ordinary bacon and eggs and acceptable coffee.
We were in Ebor because our plan for the day was to ride the Armidale-Kempsey Road which would take us from the highlands back to the (warmer) coast. Said to be very beautiful, this bit of the trip was contingent on reasonable weather as 90 plus kms of the road is unsealed and the idea of that much downhill dirt in the wet held no appeal; indeed, it would have required the formulation of another plan.
The day had dawned fine, but cloudy. There was no tea to be had at the Guyra Hotel and we figured it would be a good plan to make the 80 km trip to Ebor, near the top of the Armidale-Kempsey Road where we could breakfast and refuel to make sure we had enough for the planned route. It was a good, fast road, although we saw more than the odd kangaroo. Charming for tourists, perhaps; unpredictable and potentially lethal for motorcyclists. There was occasional fog and even more occasional patches of sun, so by the time we got to Ebor and Fusspots Café the ends of my middle fingers were again very cold.
Finishing a mouthful, Pterodactyl said, "Did you see the barman's face when we ordered red wine last night?"
"No." For some reason, when I'm travelling with Pterodactyl, my memory is not what it should be, particularly early in the morning.
He looked at me pityingly.
"You know. We said we'd have the Shiraz and he just looked at us. Then he went and got three bottles of red, plonked them on the bar and said, 'Which one of those?' The whole bar went quiet and everyone looked at us as if we were from another planet."
Gradually my memory returned. All eyes in the bar had swivelled towards us as if to curiosities in the zoo. Was that the faint twang of banjo in the background?
I was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of a large and noisy Honda VTX1800 pulling up outside. The rider and his partner were heading to Brisbane via Armidale. It was a long haul, about 550 kms along the top of the Great Dividing Range; they were going to be horribly cold; and they didn't look to me like they were truly prepared for it.
By the time we'd eaten and refuelled, the riders of the VTX1800 had finished eating and were geared up. They fell in behind as we rode out of town but were more enthusiastic about ignoring the posted speed limit than me and quickly shot past. Pterodactyl didn't set off after them, so I assume he agreed. They were well ahead of us by the time we reached the junction of the Armidale-Kempsey Road.
It's another pretty road, but then I'm partial to Australian bush, particularly as it occurs on the sides of mountains. I can lose myself in long day dreams about the fellows who first forged the roads through here and how damnably tough it must have been. My partiality increases as the sun makes increasingly frequent appearances and I contemplate mercury rising in the thermometer.
We were almost immediately off downhill and it wasn't long before we were into the dirt. Luckily the steepest kilometre or so of it was covered with bitumen. Otherwise it was a good surface and dry, except for occasional patches of thick, powdery bull dust. It wasn't long before the bikes were covered in it.
The main risk was some galah in a 4WD bowling around a blind corner too quickly. As it happened we met only one, and we were far enough away from the corner for it not to be a threat.
After a while we stopped. I don't remember why; maybe just because we could.
It was time for some action photography.
We pressed on, down through the dry Australian Eucalypt forest.
Occasionally we'd stop for a photo opportunity
Galahs in 4WDs was one problem; the other was the prevalence of livestock wandering about on the road. Often they looked like they didn't appreciate being interrupted.
We forged on, eventually coming to the valley along the upper reaches of the Macleay River.
I thought wistfully of stopping, producing a thermos and having a cup of tea while contemplating the river. Another dream: I wasn't carrying a thermos.
Pterodactyl was in front of me and I startled a young cow which then insisted on running along the road in front of me. I probably could have chased it all the way to Bellbrook and established its top speed, but I kept stopping in the hope it would move far enough off the road that I could pass it without startling it. It obviously felt like being chased and ran along happily in front of me for quite a way before finally leaving the road.
By then the Pterodactyl was a long way ahead, although I didn't know it. I spent the next 20 or so kilometres wondering whether he'd pulled off the road and I hadn't seen him or would be waiting for me down the track. I decided to keep going and not long afterwards returned to the sealed road and allowed myself to ride hard onto the small town of Bellbrook. There, waiting for me in front of the local pub was Pterodactyl.
I'm not sure why, but he looked happier than me about it.
As we rested briefly, I admired the dust collected on Pterodactyl's oil cooler
A car full of locals stopped, climbed out and admired the bikes. I realised with some alarm that they were all clutching 'travellers' — Australian for beers carried in the car to quench the thirst between watering holes. Amusing, at least until you realise the likelihood that these blokes are working on 'travellers' for much of the day, bringing about a gradual but certain reduction in driving capacity. Wouldn't want to meet them later in the day.
The rest of the afternoon was uneventful except for two things. The first was the really excellent road from Bellbrook to Kempsey which, after carefully negotiating 90 plus kilometres of dirt down the hill, was truly a delight. We both indulged ourselves with some quick riding.
The second thing was my enjoyment of this road being very slightly marred by the rear wheel starting to slide out from under me on a right-hand corner. I think I hit a rock because the tyres gripped again immediately. But it caused me to slow down for a bit and contemplate how I managed right-hand corners in particular. This concern was to stay with me most of the way home.
With the benefit of hindsight, I wonder whether my subsequent insistence that I must have hit a rock or gravel or something didn't plant the seeds of this splendid rant in Pterodactyl's mind to germinate and bloom at Lemming corner on the way home.
In any event, it was my responsibility entirely.
We spent the evening in South West Rocks, a lovely spot and a favourite haunt of Pterodactyl's. I thought the fish and chips ordinary—there was no gravy on the chips this time, Ferret — and my comrade worked assiduously on his sustained assault on my memory capacity.
Sleep again came easily.
