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.

2014 MotoGP: Day 17

 

Devonport-Hobart 371 kms

Tasmania holds a special place in my heart. It was where I grew up, went to school, made lifelong friends, learned to sail and ride motorbikes and lived for 40 years. My children were born there and one still lives in Hobart. I left for various reasons, but not because I’d come to dislike it. Even though the weather is much less conducive to riding bikes than where I now live in Queensland, it is still possible to ride all year round if you’re prepared to deal with the cold.

It’s an island, rugged in parts. Stand on the beach near Strahan on the west coast looking west and there’s nothing between you and South America. Only South America, the South Island of New Zealand are nearer Antarctica.

I woke to a cool and overcast morning as the ship came alongside in Devonport. By not long after 0700 I was on the way out of Devonport following the ST and Guzzi of the blokes I’d boarded with the night before. It was cold and threatening rain, so there are no photographs of the early part of the trip.

The guys I was following had told me they took the ferry to Victoria at least once a year to go for a ride. They were both older than me (well, I think they looked it) and had been doing it for quite a while. I followed them to a place called Exeter where they were stopping while I was pushing on to Launceston. In Launceston, I was to meet an old mate who, in age falls into the 7.42% group of CB1100 forum members. He’s had lots of bikes and has recently bought a Ducati Monster 659 which has been tuned down a bit to make it a learner-legal bike in Australia. I think he bought it because it offered a bit of excitement without being as heavy as an in-line 4. He had timed the first service so he could meet me in Launceston and ride to Hobart with me. How kind was that?

Actually, it occurs to me that I should record here a vote of thanks to Graham. He and his wife came to stay for a few days in 2013 and while we were chatting about bikes I told him how much I liked the CB1100. He turned up a few reviews and really went to work on me to buy one if that was what I really wanted. I did. Thanks mate. It was a great decision.

I met him at his hotel and had a cup of tea to warm up before we lit out for Campbell Town, 70 odd kms to the south. We stopped there to refuel and have a belated breakfast. Actually, I think it was Graham’s second breakfast!

Even though tuned down a little, the Monster had no real trouble keeping up with the CB

We then turned east to ride the Lake Leake Road, one of the better riding roads among many in Tasmania. It climbs briefly over a range before falling away to the east coast and has a number of really good, fast sweepers. As we got to the top of the range, an irritating drizzle set in. I regret not putting on my wet weathers.

On the Lake Leake Road

I love the east coast of Tasmania. It’s a great place to ride a bike. It’s not too twisty, but it’s by no means straight either and you can get along at a good pace, particularly when you know the road a bit. It’s amazing how it came back to me as we made our way to Orford where we met my youngest son for lunch. I ate an excellent focaccia and enjoyed a welcome coffee while I dried out a little, warmed up and marvelled at how much weight my son had lost since last I saw him.

After lunch it was on with the wet weather gear, although I had a bet with Graham that it would stop raining once we were not many kms inland. It did, and that was great because the Orford to Hobart road was always one of my favourites as a young bloke. It’s better now than it was due to widening and a better surface and the enthusiast can maintain a cracking pace.

At Sorell we stopped and said our goodbyes as Graham was heading in a different direction. It had been a good ride and I’d enjoyed seeing the Ducatti up close.

I made my way to Hobart where I got off the bike for a couple of days to go sailing with my brother. It was one of the reasons I’d decided to come to Tasmania. Although other parts of Australia offer a more benign climate for sailing few, in my view, offer the range of convenient coastal cruising as Hobart. There are plenty of relatively isolated, sheltered bays to drop the anchor and some semi-sheltered waterways offering excellent sailing. Sailing has long been one of the things that has given me great joy, particularly cruising. The forecast was reasonably good and I was looking forward to seeing some old haunts again.

2014 MotoGP: Day 16

 

Melbourne-Geelong-Melbourne-Devonport 145 kms by road

It seemed a long time ago, during the manic day of running around between getting home from the Lions TT and leaving for Phillip Island, that the mechanic at the dealer had told me I’d be lucky to get more than about 3,000 kms from my rear tyre. I was annoyed at the time as it had done only 7,400 kms since I’d replaced it. Optimistically, I thought I’d try to make it last until I got home. But, on the way down to Phillip Island, Jalalski and Pterodactyl gave me a lesson in tyre inspection and I was no longer able to delude myself about the need for a new one.

Figuring that the best time to do the change would be on my way back into Melbourne from the Great Ocean Road, I organised with a dealer in Geelong to get me some more Bridgestone Battlax BT45s. I had been intending to change to the Michelin PR3s but I was worried about Pterodactyl’s experience having to shave the centre stand while I was away from home and on a bit of a timetable.

Of course, this plan didn’t work and the tyres were not available on the planned Tuesday, so I had to retrace my steps to Geelong on a grey, cool morning. While the tyres were changed I had breakfast and caught up on my notes of the trip. The bike was delayed so I also made a start on the write up of the LionsTT. The bike appeared and I went to pay only to be told the front brake pads were close to the end. They had no OEM pads, but did have some others that were suitable, so it was back to the workshop for the bike and some more writing for Cormanus.

I also had a little wander around and saw this little treasure hiding out the back.

A little bit later, and a few hundred dollars lighter in the wallet, I hit the road back to Melbourne.

Neither the ride to Geelong or back is really worth describing. It was all freeway stuff. Quick and efficient.

In Melbourne, I had time to have lunch, finish packing, buy my niece and her husband a thankyou present and fill their car with petrol before making my way the few kilometres to the terminal where I was to catch the ferry for Tasmania.

Waiting for the ferry. The guy, second from the right, leaning on the post, was one of the tallest people I’ve come across for quite a while. He was with a group of off road riders who had ridden from the same area I live. The following morning, I rode after the two guys in front of me who were riding an ST and a Guzzi.

There were more bikes in front of us and another large contingent further aft.

On the ferry, the bikes stay in first gear on their side stand and are then tightly strapped down across the bars. The guys are careful and do a great job of making them secure.

It was an uneventful night on the ferry. I’d taken the chance of sharing a cabin and had an agreeable cabin mate who didn’t snore. I hope I didn’t.

2014 MotoGP: Day 15

Melbourne-Ballarat-Melbourne

I borrowed my niece’s car to drive my sister-in-law (her mother) to Ballarat for the funeral of our old friend’s mother. Sad, but OK: she’d had a good life and a long one.

By the time we got to back to Melbourne, parked the car and caught the train into the city, I was knackered. A couple of beers, half a bottle of red and a decent meal meant I needed a bit of sleep during a stellar performance from Pat Metheny. Almost a crime in my family, but I simply couldn’t help it. I was awake for the really excellent bits.

2014 MotoGP: Day 14

When I was a good deal younger, I had an album by Ian Matthews called Some days you eat the bear and some days the bear eats you. When I got up on a glorious but chilly morning, I had no idea it was (in large measure) going to be one of the latter.

It was a glorious morning. You can see the road into town from the east in the top right of the picture

Breakfast at the motel was a serious mistake: like the room, overpriced and very, very, very ordinary indeed. Neither of us was happy.

Things improved when we got under way. The road north to Colac where we’d decide to go to refuel was really enjoyable on a crisp, sunny morning and we made good time to a petrol station where we refuelled. We’d chosen Colac because it would give Pterodactyl a good launching point for a long and not very interesting trip back across Victoria towards Omeo where he had to stop to collect his watch. My plan was to head back down to the coast somewhere near Port Campbell, check out the Twelve Apostles, take some photos and then ride the Great Ocean Road back to Melbourne where I was going to spend two nights.

An alternative involved a ride north to Ballarat and lunch with some old friends before pushing on to Melbourne. Forgive my explaining the nature of the friendship, but it becomes relevant.

Early in my first marriage, my wife and I had a very good friend who not only introduced my brother to his wife, but also went on to marry my brother’s best mate. My old friend and her husband, with whom I’ve remained in touch, live in Ballarat. He has a neglected old BMW 750 in his garage.

I rang them and left a message. While Pterodactyl and I were having a coffee, my mate rang back and told me today would not be a good day to visit as his wife’s mother had died the previous weekend and they were preparing for the funeral the next day.

At this point, or thereabouts, I said farewell to Pterodactyl. He had a biggish day ahead, much of it not very interesting, but he can tell you about that. It was the end of the fourth good ride in less than 12 months with a bloke from 1,000 kms away who I met by chance on an Internet forum. We’ve yet to have a really bum day.

Now, as it happened, the plan for my second night in Melbourne was to meet up with my brother and his family to hear the great Pat Metheny. They were flying in from Tasmania for the purpose. So I rang my sister-in-law and found she intended now intended flying earlier to attend the funeral in Ballarat. We hatched a plan to borrow my niece’s car, drive to the funeral and then back to Melbourne in time for the concert.

With that sorted; I had one little chore before taking to the road to Port Campbell and the Great Ocean Road.

Wrong.

The chore was to fill a prescription. Should have been simple; but of course it wasn’t. It was a repeat prescription and by law in Australia pharmacists must sight the original prescription before issuing a repeat. Most of them leave it in a little paper folder behind the repeat. Not the a*sehole who’d first issued this script who’d decided he wanted me to go back there to fill all the repeats. So, although the pharmacist in Colac was very apologetic, she declined to fill it. Fair enough, I guess, but I was left wondering why life always dishes up these tidbits of important knowledge in the most irritating of circumstances.

I rang my doctor in the expectation that he’d fax a prescription to the pharmacy, but he was on a rare holiday so there was nothing for it but to take my chances at the local surgery. Everyone was very helpful, but they warned me the doctors were all booked up and I’d have to wait. I took a seat and caught up with reading on the CB1100 forum and elsewhere. Much later, I realised the waiting room had emptied. I asked at the counter to see what was happening.

“Haven’t you been seen yet?” the young woman asked, slightly aghast.

“No.”

Within 30 seconds I was in front of a doctor. Five minutes later I was out the door script in hand, apologies ringing in my ears. But by then it was well and truly time for lunch and my plans were in tatters.

Clutching my prescription, I ate lunch and reformulated my plan. All was not lost. I could ride to the coast at Skene’s Creek and then back along much of the GOR to Melbourne.

It turned out to be way better than expected. This was the bit where I got to gnaw on the bear, as it were. It was a glorious afternoon. The ride to the coast was very like the morning’s ride—a good country road through pretty hilly bush country without much traffic.

Gotta love a sign like that!

And now, because I feel my reporting duty strongly, here are some photos of the Great Ocean Road after I joined it at Skene’s Creek. As you can see, it was a great day for a ride.

You can see the road ahead

At the end of the GOR it’s life on the freeway to Melbourne. At a stop for fuel and a cup of tea, a text from Jalalski told me he was home in Sydney; a slightly later one from Pterodactyl told me he’d made Bright—a good ride on his part. I was already missing the brotherhood.

In Melbourne I stayed with my niece and her husband in their recently purchased house.

2014 MotoGP: Day 13

Phillip Island - Lavers Hill 433 kms

Watchers of the race will recall it turned cold in the afternoon causing havoc with the new asymmetrical tyres. The cold was driven by a south-westerly blowing in from the Southern Ocean via Bass Strait. It persisted all night, but at least we had little to no rain.

In the morning we were all up reasonably early and began the business of breaking camp. Sadly, Jalalski was to leave us at this point: work or some such other tedious business called him home. In the end he decided on the quick route up the coast which would have him home within a couple of days. Pterodactyl and I planned to head west along the Great Ocean Road, said to be one of Australia’s best rides, before parting company. He was to return to Sydney via Omeo to collect his watch; I was heading to Tasmania.

Jalalski was first out of the gate, the Sprint loaded to the gunwales. Pterodactyl and I were not far behind. We rode to San Remo, just over the bridge on the mainland where we had breakfast and refuelled. The debate about the merits of a ferry across the mouth of Port Phillip Bay versus the road through Melbourne ended as a no brainer. Even though there was no appreciable time difference, we both thought a ferry ride would have to be an improvement on inner city traffic.

Even so, although not far if you’re a crow, it was a 2-hour ride to Sorrento where we were to catch the ferry. It wasn’t a particularly interesting ride. Pterodactyl followed me and I diligently followed the GPS until I realised he’d turned off behind me. I turned around to go and find him. Apparently he didn’t like the way my GPS wanted to go. Fair enough. We were soon at Sorrento and in a line of bikes all waiting for the ferry. I suspect many of them were heading homeward after the MotoGP.

Bikes on the ferry — photos courtesy of Pterodactyl

It was a lovely crossing on a glorious day. We ate a poor example of the Australian meat pie and drank a coffee to set us up for the ride along the Great Ocean Road (GOR) to Port Campbell where we planned to have afternoon tea and decide where to spend the night.

There are no photos of the ride. I can’t remember why, but there probably wasn’t time. Once you get past Airey’s Inlet, there are almost no opportunities to overtake. Well, legally anyway. There are endless signs asking slow vehicles to pull over to let quicker vehicles past and endless areas for them to do so, but almost no-one can be bothered. We ended up—as I suspect you do on the GOR—with a line of cars, caravans, trucks and God knows what else in front of us far, far further than my eye could see. The road is very beautiful. It runs along the edge of the coast, often with quite steep cliffs on the other side of the road. If you like the sea—and I do—it’s a delight, and the traffic gave us an opportunity for the occasional view.

But why have a reasonably powerful motorbike with really excellent torque if you don’t use it? I was leading, as I recall, and I saw an opportunity to pass and took it. One by one and two by two we picked off the cars and trucks and caravans, seizing every opportunity the CBs were capable of taking. There was another rider behind us who immediately joined in. At some point I realised it was really quite a lot of fun and was just a wee bit gloomy when after 50 or 60 vehicles we streaked past the leading car. It was a small, red, 4-cylinder number being driven by an elderly lady who had the steering wheel in a vice-like grip and was staring straight ahead. She was not going to avail herself of the turnouts and carefully avoided looking in the mirror so as not to be reminded that she should. Turn-out that is. At least, that’s the conclusion I came to as we raced past onto clear road.

After that, I lost sight of the view, mostly, because the road required too much concentration.

Just after Apollo Bay, the road turns inland and climbs up the Ottway range. This part of the road is different, but also very beautiful and as good or better for riding as the coastal part.

After Lavers Hill, where we stopped for a quick look at a road house where Pterodactyl stayed on a previous trip, we wound our way back down the range to Princetown. Shortly after that we were again running close to the coast with magnificent views of the ocean. We passed the Twelve Apostles viewing point and pushed on to Port Campbell a very picturesque spot. We had a welcome coffee and stretched our legs while we decided what to do with the evening.

Port Campbell with the Southern Ocean in the background. Next stop Antarctica. But not for us.

We planned to stop at the Twelve Apostles and wander out to the coast to take photos of the amazing rock formations that give the place its name. Actually, I think there are now only 11; a few years ago, one just crumbled into the sea. There’s a photo here in an earlier post of Pterodactyl’s. Part of my thinking was that I might ride back the next day and have a look.

We decided not to stop for the lookout. It was getting late and the wind was decidedly chilly. We wanted get back to Lavers Hill to find accommodation. On the basis that there was fuel at Lavers Hill we headed off for the magnificent ride back. Once we reached the climb up to Lavers Hill we had the road pretty much to ourselves and we were able to make excellent time. I found what seemed like a new rhythm in the corners which I really enjoyed.

When we got to Lavers Hill as the dusk was falling, we discovered the petrol station had no fuel. We were both low and neither of us would make the 50 kms to the nearest pump. We were, as they say in the vernacular ... well, let’s just say we were in a spot of bother.

If it isn’t an Australian axiom, it ought to be: when in doubt, go to the pub. You’ll nearly always find what you’re looking for or a way to it. The pub in Lavers Hill is a beauty. It’s bar, roadhouse, petrol station (when the owner can get it) overnight cabins and camp ground. We couldn’t find accommodation or petrol and heard the story of how the distributors can’t be bothered coming, either to the pub or the other service station, because neither carries enough of a supply to make it worthwhile. The landlord, Paul, was splendidly, but humorously, bitter and twisted. In the way of some country Australian characters he produced a jerry can containing about 9 litres of fuel which Pterodactyl and I were able to divide between ourselves.

Phew!

We went to the local motel where we found an overpriced room, but it was comfortable enough and there was undercover parking for the bikes. Luxury.

We walked back to the pub for a meal and discovered that the landlord’s real passion was cooking and wine. We had an excellent meal of lamb rump stuffed with fetta, a good bottle of Shiraz, and a couple of cleansing ales before wandering back to the motel for a sleep.

2014 MotoGP: Days 10-12

The starting point for my ride south had been riding to the Australian MotoGP at Phillip Island. If the truth be told, I was more interested in the ride than the races. So far, I’d not been disappointed.

That said, I enjoyed the weekend at the races much more than I expected and I’d do it again. The atmosphere in the campground was (mostly) pleasant—except for the unhappy drunk in the tent next to us whose maudlin disappointment with his treatment at the entertainment led him to practice burn outs on his Honda CB1300 at 2.30 am. Otherwise I marvelled at people who can afford to trash an entire rear tyre in a single session.

I enjoyed the intense competition of the Moto3 and the opportunity to watch the best riders in the world doing what they’re best at. I wanted Marquez to win and was excited by his prowess in the race: every lap he inched further ahead and looked unbeatable. Until he fell off. We saw it from where we were sitting—just above where it happened. At the same time, I was pleased for Rossi who seemed immediately to step into Marquez’ shoes and give the other riders a lesson in how to ride a motorcycle.

Other than that, I’m not going to say much about the races. Lots has been written, by better writers; many of you watched the races on the TV and probably got a better view than I did; and it’s a while ago now.

For the benefit of the foodies, I can report that the food at the track was, shall we say, not of a high standard, in spite of the best efforts of the folks in the food van to do something interesting. As noted, beer was expensive, but not sufficiently so to force a weekend of abstinence. The culinary high point came when a mate of Jalalski’s took us away from the circuit and into Cowes for a meal on the Friday night (Day 10). We ended up in a ‘modern Asian restaurant’ where I had something called Reconstructed Peking Duck which was really, really good. Pterodactyl got off to a bad start with his laksa as it was cold. He sent it back and, when it was replaced, with profuse apologies, I recall he said it was excellent.

My camera gave me its “Battery is exhausted” message before the big race. I hadn’t made adequate arrangements to recharge it, so there aren’t too many photos, but I’ll share some of them. In any event, it’s but a point and click number so not really up to the task of good race photos. I’ve included others courtesy of Jalalski.

When I crawled out of my tent on the first morning, this is what I saw

I could see this too. I find it odd to go to a live event and then watch it on a screen

Practice: I think that’s Marquez at the rear

Right to left: Aleix Espargo, Karel Abraham, Dani Pedrosa

A lovely place for a race track, although that’s about the direction the really, awful weather can come from

Note the absence of the brake lever. The bike had been adapted for a one-handed rider

The following are shots o bikes in the 'Show and Shine'.

This Indian was to do a lap of honour before the races on the Sunday to mark 100 years of GP races in Australia

Back in the Great Outdoors ...

At a tent near us, a woman had invented a technique for catching seagulls. She’d filed the barb off a fish hook and trailed it with some bait on the ground. Seagulls, being terrible scavengers couldn’t resist. By keeping the weight on the line once they’d bitten, she was able to catch them and decorate them with soluble hair paint. The sight of fluorescent seagulls cruising the edges of the circuit must have caused many a substance abuser to wonder whether she’d had enough.

As an aside, this woman had ridden with a group from Cairns in far north Queensland, a 3,000 plus km ride that made my efforts pale into insignificance.

Another rear tyre turns to smoke

Sunset at Phillip Island

The Indian rides again

This CB1300 was the one that did it’s best to demolish a rear tyre at 0217 or thereabouts. The rider went home leaving his tent for anyone who wanted it.

That’s the end of the Cormanus collection of Philip Island photos. The following shots are some of the many taken by Jalalski.

Behind where we sat on race day was a motocross. Jalalski got some great shots of that.

Pterodactyl and Cormanus hatching a plan: