Sydney to Walcha
10 February 2019
Master Map
Way back on day 1 of this journey, Keyser Soze, Valvoline's partner, asked me why I would bother going into Sydney.
"To see my son," I replied.
He nodded. "Fair enough."
After a pleasant afternoon, dinner, and breakfast with my son and his wife, I was off again on a mission to get home. Something had come up which meant I should really be back by the middle of the day three days hence.
It was a largely uneventful ride over territory I've covered any number of times, so there aren't many photos and not much commentary.
I love riding over the Sydney Harbour Bridge, particularly on a nice day.
I chose to ride the Putty Road with its magnificent 16 kilometre section, still known as the 'ten mile'. A stop at the Grey Gum International Café is almost mandatory to check out the bikes and take coffee and food.
As I pulled into the Grey Gum, I noticed a copper sitting in his car parked under a magnificent gum tree. We made eye contact and I nodded at him. He made no movement. He continued to sit there until, just as I was finishing my coffee, he followed a T-shirt-wearing bloke on a Harley out of the car park and immediately pulled him over.
He was back by the time I was riding out and, bugger me if he didn't follow me out too. Teach me to be civil to people, I thought, and rode carefully under the speed limit waiting for him to pull me over for a licence check. He stuck with me for several kilometres until he'd had his fun; but didn't pull me over. I had a lovely ride through the ten mile and on through Singleton to Dungog along a road that, in spite of its crappy surface, I always enjoy.
Dungog has the worst main streets of any town I've been in on the bike. I've probably mentioned it before. It was somehow different this time, as leaving Cowra on Day 14, I'd accidentally discovered how the Dungog Council achieves this remarkable surface.
What you do, apparently, is send out two or three blokes with a truck full of hot bitumen and a shovel or two. The truck proceeds at a walking pace and the bloke or blokes amble along with it until they come to a pot hole. The truck stops and they nonchalantly chuck a shovel full of bitumen in the hole. It's important not to level the bitumen. Not only would it take time and effort, it may also reduce the bone-rattling effect as you drive over it. I think the idea is that you repeat this process over many years until the road is effectively resealed.
The important thing, though, is that you make sure the main street in front of the Council Chambers is impeccably maintained. I don't know why, because I'd like to think councillors get out sometimes. Nor can it possibly fool visitors as, short of arriving in a helicopter, there's no way of getting near Council HQ without having your entire skeleton severely shaken.
At Dungog, I rang the Apsley Arms in Walcha to book a room for the night. The bloke was really helpful until he told me the pub was not actually open and I could neither drink nor eat there. Was there a theme here? Has my reputation spread such that the hoteliers' grapevine means that, if I book somewhere, action is taken to make sure food and drink are off? I had visions of punters being driven out of the Apsley Arms in the hour and half or so it took me to get there.
The bloke continued to be helpful and allayed my concerns, telling me at least one of the other watering holes in town was serving food. I had Chinese, a couple of beers and an early night.
