Phillip Island - Lavers Hill
20 October 2014
Master Map
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 — both 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.
