#1 Thread starter
So whose idea was this? (episode deux)
Day 3
Mooseseseses
After all the bollox talked the previous day and all the hanging about (not to mention being cooped up with Andrew Sainsbury in a confined space for far longer than is good for one's health), and after a breakfast of sausages fit for Fyfe McDonald, everyone bar Team Turkey and the AQ splinter factions threw caution to the wind (Andrew Sainsbury again) and set off for a wee tour of the countryside by motorbicycle.
Wet roads and cloud about on the road to Thredbo and a new rear tyre that had only the centre bit scrubbed in (and thoroughly washed) meant a cruisy pace up over the hills. Just as I was beginning to wonder whether this was a good idea after all, the rain stopped and the roads began to dry out, leaving us bathed in sunshine. Lovely jubbly and all that, but wearing full leathers and wet gear on top while riding one of the twistiest roads in the country in 30deg heat does nothing for one's personal freshness. Following Darren and Terry down the hill was fine, for a while at least. The problem with me... one of the problems with me is that I occasionally spend time and valuable attention looking at the stuff that's growing on either side of the road. So, there I am, looking around me while whizzing along, wondering whether it's Eucalyptus pauciflora or E. viminalis or possibly E. delegatensis I'm looking at, and was that Acacia (bus) falciformis back there and
(BUS) trying to remember if (BUS!) Eucalyptus macrorrhyncha occurs (BUSFFS!!!) this far south ... Aaack, WTF is a bus doing there, why didn't someone tell me?
What is this, Clapham High Street? Well that woke me up quick smart, but then I started hallucinating. What other explanation would there be for a young woman in pink (not _in the pink_, at least not when I went past) standing by the side of the road in one of the most deserted bits of the country? Well, I think it was
pink, but memory can play strange tricks especially when it's as erratic as mine. Maybe I'm just trying to find an excuse for singing "Lily the Pink" for the next 30km (I hope no-one else finds out I can remember that song...).
I catch up with the mob at Khancoban, where we drink, scratch and exfoliate. We wait for a bit so that AB and Sharon can catch up, then drink and scratch a bit more, stuff about, clean visors and stuff about some more. We're all just about ready to go when AQ & co turn up. So we have another drink, scratch etc. Oh and a photo shoot. Several in fact...
After this short rest stop (...) we all split up (the group that is, some of us are quite untogether enough as it is). We wave ta-ta to Greg having seen him safely off the premises (again), and farewell Glen and Darren who go with Trev up to Tumbarumba. The rest of us follow our fearless navigator (AB) over the border for a quick sortie into enemy territory. We ride uninterrupted for almost 3km, when he stops at the first junction we come to. We all stop behind him. We
wait. Nothing happens. AB doesn't look at anyone or say anything. Kirbs and me shrug at each other. Perhaps his brain has stopped. Perhaps he's just realised how shallow life is. Perhaps he's simply sick of being followed. I wonder if I should check, but then realise I wouldn't know what to look for.
While I'm debating this he stabs his bike into gear and sets off down a side road. On the basis that I have even less idea of where we're going than he does, I follow - if anything happens it'll probably be a laugh and if it isn't at least I've got someone to blame. Following AB at the front of the pack isn't something I regularly do. In fact I never do it at all as he's usually about 3.61575 light years ahead of me on most runs. I have to say it was actually a lot of fun trying to stay with him on the sweepers as we headed out to wherever the hell it was we were going (west by north I think it was, or am I thinking of a film with Gary Cooper in it?). I cash in a bit over $2.00 at a couple of places and, rounding a set of sweepers, see the biggest column of smoke I'd seen since the last big column of smoke I'd seen. I knew there were bushfiresdown this way, but the pall of smoke this thing was creating was visible from 20km away over several ridges and a mountain and the closer we got, the worse it looked. 40m high flames beneath a tower of black smoke and ash as half a mountainside disappeared. Not surprising given how dry it was out there, but still a gobsmacking and somewhat unhappy sight.
We went past this for a few clicks then stopped, waited for the others to catch up and then turned around - there was no point going too much further as we'd have had to have come back the same way and none of us was too keen on riding through a raging bushfire.
Back over the border into NSW - I could tell we were back there cos the roads turned to shite. Backtrack to Walwa, cos muggins here was going to need fuel before heading off to Tumbarumba, having failed to fuel up at Khancoban like the rest (is it just me or are sensible people irritating?). The place at Walwa was not your regular servo - instead of being full of clean 4WDs, smelly kids and hot dogs, this one was, generally speaking and as far as I could tell, deserted. Just two pumps stuck between two cracked concrete slabs, with a few dead weeds and a few million lethargic flies. The office/shop bit has obviously been shut for at least the morning, judging by the number of spider webs infesting the door. "Hang on, what? Eh?" Half a dozen of our lot are moving their mouths at me from the shade of a tree. I pull an earplug out.
"Pressed Jared's bottom you Dough's been hit" they seem to be saying. Even for AB this is a bit cryptic. I shrug, mystified. They point at the wall behind me, on which is a large sign saying "Press the red button for service" and an arrow pointing downwards to, of all things, a large red button. With the alacrity of a bike shop spares counter salesperson on Ritalin, the meaning of AB's message dawns - "Press the red button, you dozy $h!t". Well really, I mean, why didn't you say? I
stand in front of the red button for a second or three, wondering if I should press it. Perhaps it's my updragging, perhaps I'm just anal, but the thought of pressing a big red button that doesn't belong to me in public in the hours of daylight makes me nervous. Finally, the sight of AQ waiting for me to do something and the abuse from across the street overpowers me and I press the Big Red Button, all the while ready to leg it in case I've Done the Wrong Thing. Nothing happens.
This is both a relief (I've apparently got away with it) and a worry (if nothing continues to happen I may have to press it again). Oh dear. To while away the time during this impasse, I read another notice, which informs anyone reading it that prospective purchasers of petroleum should advance with all speed to the general store, whereupon one will receive a key to unlock the padlocks on the pumps and, having successfully done so, may thereupon proceed to deliver
fuel to one's vehicle. Derr...
After lunch, it was off to Tumbarumba via roads I'd never been on before. A great blast up the hill, followed by more blasting at the top on some wonderfully open roads. At one point, I even (now, prepare yourselves here, I'm all for an entertaining read, but I see no reason why that has to mean giving people a fright... ready now? Sitting comfortably? Nurse on hand with damp towel and nice hot cup of tea?)...got the front wheel off the floor. Yes, lofted. While in motion.
Ooerr.
Coming out of an 80 zone (think I may have been doing a little more than that, but as I wasn't watching the speedo with the keenness that I might have I can't say for sure) the road headed down a gentle hill, but with lots of dips and rises. In an (admittedly futile) effort to catch up with AB, Terry and Dan, I wound on the throttle and, cresting a rise (what else do you do with a rise but crest it I ask) the steering went all funny and up she came for all of almost 2 seconds.
Like the first time you have sex, it's all over before you can make sense of what happened, but the stupid, fixed grin stays glued to one's face while everyone else who's done it a squillion times before simply looks at you, rolling their eyes.
After Tumbarumba, it's off over to Elliott's Way (I'm sure there's a telly series in that). I try to follow Terry and Dan for a bit, but they're chasing AB and I can't find much of a rhythm on the downhill stretch, although the flat bit at the bottom isn't too bad.
Going uphill I get spooked by a couple of gravel-strewn blind bends, and slow down a bit (how, you might be asking yourselves at this point). I catch up
with AB and company at the top of the hill and, while we yarn for a minute or so, a rather familiar VTEC comes at us from Cabramurra, ignores us, scoots off up the hill towards Kiandra, then comes back a minute later, by which time Hayden and Irena have turned up. Reunited at last, everyone sets off for Kiandra and the Alpine Way. I'd been looking forward to this stretch of road for days, weeks even. It has to rate as one of may all-time favourite bits of road ever. It's like
Cat & Fiddle Pass and Snake Pass (UK bike roads) rolled into one, ten times over. As good in places as the Mountain on the Isle of Man. By the time I get into my stride, Terry and AB are up my arse and after completely stuffing up a 3rd/4th gearchange, I wave them past. AB passes Terry, and I follow SuperTez all through the slalom section at what you might call "a pretty fair pace". Barking. Absolutely barking, and I come out the other end with the usual big fat stupid grin on my
face, if a bit worried that I was getting on SuperTez's wits a bit being up his tailpipe occasioanlly. We roll into Adaminababy, baby, for the obligatory gasbagging session. Terry, it seems, wasn't in the least bothered by me being up close and personal, but *was* a bit concerned about popping up over a rise with little change out of two bucks and having a radar gun pointed at him, hence the sedate pace (in other words, about the ton in the old money). His concern evaporated a
bit when it was suggested that it would make little difference if he got pinged at the old ton or at two dollars...
The final leg back to Mooses was conducted at a less hectic pace, which is not to say it was slow. AQ managed to miss the turn-off to Berridale, but I waited till he'd turned round. Not far along the road, some clouds loomed and it began to spit with rain, but I decided to tempt fate and keep going to see if I could outrun it (any excuse huh...) and after a couple of miles, the roads were dry and the sun came out, so it was back to Jindy at a cruisy pace.
After a well-earned beer or six, for some reason I must have had a memory lapse... becoming a habit that.
Up next - Bonang blasting and all the usual bollox,, with added beer.
Steve
Maianbar
Day 3
Mooseseseses
After all the bollox talked the previous day and all the hanging about (not to mention being cooped up with Andrew Sainsbury in a confined space for far longer than is good for one's health), and after a breakfast of sausages fit for Fyfe McDonald, everyone bar Team Turkey and the AQ splinter factions threw caution to the wind (Andrew Sainsbury again) and set off for a wee tour of the countryside by motorbicycle.
Wet roads and cloud about on the road to Thredbo and a new rear tyre that had only the centre bit scrubbed in (and thoroughly washed) meant a cruisy pace up over the hills. Just as I was beginning to wonder whether this was a good idea after all, the rain stopped and the roads began to dry out, leaving us bathed in sunshine. Lovely jubbly and all that, but wearing full leathers and wet gear on top while riding one of the twistiest roads in the country in 30deg heat does nothing for one's personal freshness. Following Darren and Terry down the hill was fine, for a while at least. The problem with me... one of the problems with me is that I occasionally spend time and valuable attention looking at the stuff that's growing on either side of the road. So, there I am, looking around me while whizzing along, wondering whether it's Eucalyptus pauciflora or E. viminalis or possibly E. delegatensis I'm looking at, and was that Acacia (bus) falciformis back there and
(BUS) trying to remember if (BUS!) Eucalyptus macrorrhyncha occurs (BUSFFS!!!) this far south ... Aaack, WTF is a bus doing there, why didn't someone tell me?
What is this, Clapham High Street? Well that woke me up quick smart, but then I started hallucinating. What other explanation would there be for a young woman in pink (not _in the pink_, at least not when I went past) standing by the side of the road in one of the most deserted bits of the country? Well, I think it was
pink, but memory can play strange tricks especially when it's as erratic as mine. Maybe I'm just trying to find an excuse for singing "Lily the Pink" for the next 30km (I hope no-one else finds out I can remember that song...).
I catch up with the mob at Khancoban, where we drink, scratch and exfoliate. We wait for a bit so that AB and Sharon can catch up, then drink and scratch a bit more, stuff about, clean visors and stuff about some more. We're all just about ready to go when AQ & co turn up. So we have another drink, scratch etc. Oh and a photo shoot. Several in fact...
After this short rest stop (...) we all split up (the group that is, some of us are quite untogether enough as it is). We wave ta-ta to Greg having seen him safely off the premises (again), and farewell Glen and Darren who go with Trev up to Tumbarumba. The rest of us follow our fearless navigator (AB) over the border for a quick sortie into enemy territory. We ride uninterrupted for almost 3km, when he stops at the first junction we come to. We all stop behind him. We
wait. Nothing happens. AB doesn't look at anyone or say anything. Kirbs and me shrug at each other. Perhaps his brain has stopped. Perhaps he's just realised how shallow life is. Perhaps he's simply sick of being followed. I wonder if I should check, but then realise I wouldn't know what to look for.
While I'm debating this he stabs his bike into gear and sets off down a side road. On the basis that I have even less idea of where we're going than he does, I follow - if anything happens it'll probably be a laugh and if it isn't at least I've got someone to blame. Following AB at the front of the pack isn't something I regularly do. In fact I never do it at all as he's usually about 3.61575 light years ahead of me on most runs. I have to say it was actually a lot of fun trying to stay with him on the sweepers as we headed out to wherever the hell it was we were going (west by north I think it was, or am I thinking of a film with Gary Cooper in it?). I cash in a bit over $2.00 at a couple of places and, rounding a set of sweepers, see the biggest column of smoke I'd seen since the last big column of smoke I'd seen. I knew there were bushfiresdown this way, but the pall of smoke this thing was creating was visible from 20km away over several ridges and a mountain and the closer we got, the worse it looked. 40m high flames beneath a tower of black smoke and ash as half a mountainside disappeared. Not surprising given how dry it was out there, but still a gobsmacking and somewhat unhappy sight.
We went past this for a few clicks then stopped, waited for the others to catch up and then turned around - there was no point going too much further as we'd have had to have come back the same way and none of us was too keen on riding through a raging bushfire.
Back over the border into NSW - I could tell we were back there cos the roads turned to shite. Backtrack to Walwa, cos muggins here was going to need fuel before heading off to Tumbarumba, having failed to fuel up at Khancoban like the rest (is it just me or are sensible people irritating?). The place at Walwa was not your regular servo - instead of being full of clean 4WDs, smelly kids and hot dogs, this one was, generally speaking and as far as I could tell, deserted. Just two pumps stuck between two cracked concrete slabs, with a few dead weeds and a few million lethargic flies. The office/shop bit has obviously been shut for at least the morning, judging by the number of spider webs infesting the door. "Hang on, what? Eh?" Half a dozen of our lot are moving their mouths at me from the shade of a tree. I pull an earplug out.
"Pressed Jared's bottom you Dough's been hit" they seem to be saying. Even for AB this is a bit cryptic. I shrug, mystified. They point at the wall behind me, on which is a large sign saying "Press the red button for service" and an arrow pointing downwards to, of all things, a large red button. With the alacrity of a bike shop spares counter salesperson on Ritalin, the meaning of AB's message dawns - "Press the red button, you dozy $h!t". Well really, I mean, why didn't you say? I
stand in front of the red button for a second or three, wondering if I should press it. Perhaps it's my updragging, perhaps I'm just anal, but the thought of pressing a big red button that doesn't belong to me in public in the hours of daylight makes me nervous. Finally, the sight of AQ waiting for me to do something and the abuse from across the street overpowers me and I press the Big Red Button, all the while ready to leg it in case I've Done the Wrong Thing. Nothing happens.
This is both a relief (I've apparently got away with it) and a worry (if nothing continues to happen I may have to press it again). Oh dear. To while away the time during this impasse, I read another notice, which informs anyone reading it that prospective purchasers of petroleum should advance with all speed to the general store, whereupon one will receive a key to unlock the padlocks on the pumps and, having successfully done so, may thereupon proceed to deliver
fuel to one's vehicle. Derr...
After lunch, it was off to Tumbarumba via roads I'd never been on before. A great blast up the hill, followed by more blasting at the top on some wonderfully open roads. At one point, I even (now, prepare yourselves here, I'm all for an entertaining read, but I see no reason why that has to mean giving people a fright... ready now? Sitting comfortably? Nurse on hand with damp towel and nice hot cup of tea?)...got the front wheel off the floor. Yes, lofted. While in motion.
Ooerr.
Coming out of an 80 zone (think I may have been doing a little more than that, but as I wasn't watching the speedo with the keenness that I might have I can't say for sure) the road headed down a gentle hill, but with lots of dips and rises. In an (admittedly futile) effort to catch up with AB, Terry and Dan, I wound on the throttle and, cresting a rise (what else do you do with a rise but crest it I ask) the steering went all funny and up she came for all of almost 2 seconds.
Like the first time you have sex, it's all over before you can make sense of what happened, but the stupid, fixed grin stays glued to one's face while everyone else who's done it a squillion times before simply looks at you, rolling their eyes.
After Tumbarumba, it's off over to Elliott's Way (I'm sure there's a telly series in that). I try to follow Terry and Dan for a bit, but they're chasing AB and I can't find much of a rhythm on the downhill stretch, although the flat bit at the bottom isn't too bad.
Going uphill I get spooked by a couple of gravel-strewn blind bends, and slow down a bit (how, you might be asking yourselves at this point). I catch up
with AB and company at the top of the hill and, while we yarn for a minute or so, a rather familiar VTEC comes at us from Cabramurra, ignores us, scoots off up the hill towards Kiandra, then comes back a minute later, by which time Hayden and Irena have turned up. Reunited at last, everyone sets off for Kiandra and the Alpine Way. I'd been looking forward to this stretch of road for days, weeks even. It has to rate as one of may all-time favourite bits of road ever. It's like
Cat & Fiddle Pass and Snake Pass (UK bike roads) rolled into one, ten times over. As good in places as the Mountain on the Isle of Man. By the time I get into my stride, Terry and AB are up my arse and after completely stuffing up a 3rd/4th gearchange, I wave them past. AB passes Terry, and I follow SuperTez all through the slalom section at what you might call "a pretty fair pace". Barking. Absolutely barking, and I come out the other end with the usual big fat stupid grin on my
face, if a bit worried that I was getting on SuperTez's wits a bit being up his tailpipe occasioanlly. We roll into Adaminababy, baby, for the obligatory gasbagging session. Terry, it seems, wasn't in the least bothered by me being up close and personal, but *was* a bit concerned about popping up over a rise with little change out of two bucks and having a radar gun pointed at him, hence the sedate pace (in other words, about the ton in the old money). His concern evaporated a
bit when it was suggested that it would make little difference if he got pinged at the old ton or at two dollars...
The final leg back to Mooses was conducted at a less hectic pace, which is not to say it was slow. AQ managed to miss the turn-off to Berridale, but I waited till he'd turned round. Not far along the road, some clouds loomed and it began to spit with rain, but I decided to tempt fate and keep going to see if I could outrun it (any excuse huh...) and after a couple of miles, the roads were dry and the sun came out, so it was back to Jindy at a cruisy pace.
After a well-earned beer or six, for some reason I must have had a memory lapse... becoming a habit that.
Up next - Bonang blasting and all the usual bollox,, with added beer.
Steve
Maianbar