Brisbane to Uralla
12 October 2016
Click on the image for a detailed map
It’s different living in the country. You turn out of the drive and within minutes you’re on the freeway heading south at the speed limit. In the city you have to navigate the traffic and the lights and the pedestrians and the cars just to get to the freeway. When you get on it, there’s way more traffic; hundreds of cars jostling for position. And trucks, all offering the possibility of throwing a retread at a hapless motorcyclist.
On the other hand, I’m at least an hour and a half closer to where I wanted to be than had I started back in the country; probably more because I couldn’t have resisted a quieter ride down more peaceful but longer country roads.
So, by 08:30 I’ve arrived in Kyogle where it’s time to refuel and have a cup of coffee.
But it’s actually 09:30 as I’ve crossed the Queensland-New South Wales border and they have daylight saving time and we don’t.
When I was a lad and living way down south, Queensland had something of a reputation of being a land of rednecks. It was known for its artfully constructed gerrymander and generally authoritarian approach to anyone with an opinion that didn’t align with the government of the day. All that came to an end in 1989 when the populace, fed up with the corruption of the incumbent government finally voted it out of office.
Some years later I had moved to Queensland and was at a function in the summer months when daylight saving was under way south of the border. It was being opened by a former Prime Minister of Australia who, by then, was into his eighties. He was introduced by the former Premier of Queensland—the man who succeeded in pushing out the corrupt cabal in 1989—who relayed that in the car on the way in from the airport, the former PM had said, ‘It’s so much easier coming to Queensland now. I only have to put my watch back an hour not a whole generation.’
I’ve written before of the dilemma of crossing the border from Rathdowney. There is the difficult choice of the Lions Road or the Mt Lindsay Highway. Bits of the Lions Road are treacherous: narrow with blind corners, nothing resembling a centre marking and some crappy surface, but, on a nice day it’s a very pretty ride. The Mt Lindsay Highway takes you between a couple of spectacular mountains and, on the New South Wales side at least, is a great ride. On the northern side of the border, it should be a great ride, but the road surface is so appalling in places that great care is needed.
It was a lovely day, and I took the Lions Road arriving in Kyogle, as I said, at around 0830.
The chronicler’s dilemma: tell again and again of roads of which you’ve already told or skip over them with references to earlier reports? Given two factors: first there’s a fair bit of repetition in my route to Sydney this time; and, secondly, my innate laziness, I’m opting for an indication that there’s another description somewhere unless there’s something special to report. The Lions Road is the first of these rides. If you missed it—or, more likely, went to sleep—there’s a sort of description of its history in this post. There are other tales of adventures on the Lions Road which I’m happy to share. A search of the forum should reveal them, or ask and I’ll post links.
Some views of the Lions Road. The final picture shows the collection box on the border where users are asked to contribute to the upkeep.
The road from Kyogle south to Casino and then Grafton is mostly straight and, on the bike, relatively uninteresting. It’s pretty, pleasant, but ultimately a bit boring. This day it was uneventful too.
A view of the Summerland way between Casino and Grafton. Pretty, easy riding, but ultimately uninspiring
Grafton is famous for its wonderful display of purple jacarandas, but I was a bit early in the season for them to be in great display. Children in Queensland (and probably northern New South Wales) hate the advent of the jacaranda blooms as it signals time for their major exams.
A jacaranda entering Grafton. They were not at their spectacular best
I took a break in Grafton and enjoyed a brief wander along the banks of the Clarence River and a bite to eat. The CB was rewarded for its good work with the second tank of fuel for the day.
Then it was time for the best part of the day’s ride: the Grafton-Armidale Road that winds its way uphill from Grafton, through Nymboida and Dundurrabin to Ebor at the top of the Waterfall Way and thence across the top of the Great Dividing Range to Armidale. It’s all good really. It’s an easy ride out of Grafton to Coutts Crossing and then to Nymboida. The road then starts to climb and finds its way through lovely Australian bush and some magnificent twists and turns. Shortly before Ebor and the turn off to Dorrigo the road flattens out and it’s a quick run through farming country until you reach Ebor. It is one of the better roads between Brisbane and Sydney and worth the investment of the couple of hours it takes to ride it.
At Nymboida
The road south of Nymboida
How can you not enjoy a road like this?
At the top of the range the road flattens and straightens
I had a welcome cup of tea at the biker friendly Fusspots Café in Ebor and added the thermal lining to my jacket. It was considerably colder up here and I had a way to go to Armidale where I planned to spend the night.
It’s a pretty good ride to Armidale too. There are some excellent twists and turns and some very fast sweepers during the 80 kilometres or so until Armidale. It’s always further than I think it will be; and a better ride too.
I met some other bikers on the way — maybe they passed me as I am generally careful about speed limits and I find others are not — and I followed one into the poplar-lined streets of Armidale.
As I arrived in Armidale it was about 5 pm (or 4 pm where I’d come from) and I’d ridden about 530 kms. I intended to stop and filled up with petrol in preparation for the morning.
I rode south looking for a motel or a hotel where I could stop and get a meal and remembered that Uralla—one of my favourite towns for no reason I’ve ever understood—was not terribly far away. I’d spent a comfortable night in the Top Pub there on the way home from the MotoGP in 2014. Why not repeat the experience?
Twenty minutes later I was in Uralla where I again checked into the Top Pub and came face to face with one of those fundamental philosophical questions that confront us all from time to time: why, when you’re on a motorcycle and have heaps of gear, do they always put you in an upstairs room? At least three trips later, my gear was safe so I had a shower and headed for the bar.
I forget what I had for dinner; but it was better than ordinary and I slept reasonably well.
