A few weeks ago I dusted off the VFR and did The Lap. It didn’t go well. Almost as soon as I started riding I was in a fair degree of pain and, by the time I had done about 80 kms I was in considerable pain but condemned to doing about the same distance to get home regardless of which route I took. So I gritted my teeth and soldiered on and finally staggered home heavy with disappointment. My club’s annual Snowy Ride was on, I had committed to go and here I was struggling to ride for 160 kms. So, again I had to cry off. Gutted doesn’t even begin to cover it. Oddly, a fair degree of the pain was coming from my left hip, the side of my body undamaged by the accident.
I popped pills for a few days and that sorta helped but the pain was still high. My wife and I have been doing a lot of work around the house, cleaning out sheds, collecting rubbish for a council cleanup and lifting/dragging some fairly heavy objects in the process and I think I overdid it. So I booked an appointment with the massage clinic and hoped that they would be able to do some good. It worked out well. The pain in my left hip ceased straight away and the pain around the metal bits in my right leg reduced considerably. Nevertheless I knew that 4 days of riding around 500-600 kms per day simply wasn’t going to happen.
Over the next few days the situation improved somewhat and so, when my brother floated the idea of an overnighter to Newcastle and back, I tentatively accepted. I should explain that we have been riding together since we both got our bike licences over 40 years ago and we understand each other and our riding philosophies pretty well. The understanding was that we would ride as far as I could manage, stay overnight wherever that happened to be and come back the next day. If I found that I wasn’t even able to manage that, the ride could and would be abandoned. The weather forecast looked promising with fine and warm weather both days. There was the prediction of a few showers late on Sunday but we figured we’d be well home by then. So, no need to pack the “wets”, small top box would do fine, let’s ride.
The forecast was certainly correct. Up to Wilberforce via the back roads, Picton, The Oaks, Mulgoa, Penrith and Windsor. 160 kms and still feeling comfortable. Confidence was starting to rise.
Now I must explain that, in the couple of years since I have been riding after the accident, I have been constantly in a state of anxiety about right hand corners. Understandable in the circumstances. But I was feeling pretty good and I decided that I would use this ride to try and conquer that fear, sort out what I have been doing wrong and try to correct it. So, on the first set of twisties heading towards Colo, I put it into practice. It soon became very clear what the problem was. I was watching for the apex of the corner, anticipating that a truck was going to be on my side of the road just around the corner. Totally irrational, I know, but it had become a fixation. So, as usual, I talked to myself about the basics. “Don’t look at the apex, you’re already there, look UP and THROUGH the corner.” As I said, basics; every learner rider gets taught it. Every experienced rider does it by default and I used to too. But I had stopped doing it and once I realised what I had been doing wrong, the fear went away, like completely. Through the first lots of corners until it flattens out after the Colo River, I kept Paul in sight and upped my corner speed in the process. No stop-start stuff, just power on in and through the corner, higher gear and higher entry and exit speeds than since before the accident. I was so disappointed when the straights came up and the boring transport stage to the Grey Gum Cafe commenced.
Morning tea at the Grey Gum. Minimal pain and maximum satisfaction. Paul asked how I was going and did I want to push on; hell, yes.
I have been riding what we came to know as the Ten Mile, for 40 years or so (and driving it longer) and I knew that, if anything was going to prove that my sums were right, it would. I had ridden it once, back in 2012 and it was a nightmare; I made a total hash of it. So, take some deep breaths and dive in. For the first two thirds of the run, it just flowed. It all came back to me and even the many, blind right-handers were not daunting. We caught and were unable to pass a car at the 2/3 mark but he was travelling reasonably well so still plenty of opportunity to practice. Once out the other side he buggered off (so typical of car drivers on the highway; slow through the corners and Ayrton Senna on the straights).
We got the hammer down through the open corners stage up to Milbrodale and, by the time we stopped at the Truckie’s Memorial for a break, (see picture at the top of the article) I was right into it. Not long after we pulled up, a burble announced the arrival of another bike and I first thought it was another VFR, but it was a 1999 Triumph Sprint. The exhaust note is very similar. And, speaking of exhaust notes, it was the first real opportunity that I have had to compare Paul’s Staintune with my Tingate. The stainless pipe on Paul’s bike is more mellow and higher-pitched. The Tingate is deeper and has a much more “gruff” sound (most likely a consequence of its carbon fibre construction). Paul remarked that, while travelling behind me, he could hear the very “pulsy” note quite clearly even over his own sound and even though wearing ear plugs. I love it.
Some more fun on the twisties into Cessnock (the appalling section of road through Pokolbin has been resealed finally, hooray,) and stop to see our old school buddy, Lenny Nicholson at Maindrag Performance Parts. If you’re in the area, you probably already know Len; he’s a local legend, still running an “old skool” auto parts store where service is more important that selecting your parts from the bubble wrap ones on offer and taking them to the counter. It is little wonder that the shop regularly wins the major award for retail in the Cessnock Chamber of Commerce awards.
Toronto was the final stop and nice, quiet motel was found. Amazingly, although perhaps not so since Lake Macquarie people rarely move away from the Lake (who WOULD?), the proprietor was the younger brother of a guy who was one of our classmates at Booragul High School in 1962!
By now it was stinking hot and I realised after we got inside that I still had the inner liner of my summer jacket in place!! The things you forget when you don’t ride regularly. So we had a quick shower and cool-off in the aircon and then headed out to visit an old school friend of ours from BHS. Back to the room via Coles and a couple of Lite ‘n Easy meals in the bag and we had tea and relaxed. I do remember seeing 1910 on the phone but I don’t remember anything after that till I awoke, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed wondering why it was still dark outside and what time it was. The phone told the story; 0310!!! Yep, I had crashed out and, having had my usual 9 hours sleep, my body was ready to rock and roll. My phone was running low on charge by now so no computer games. I turned on the telly and woke Paul in the process. So we watched a NASCAR race from Richmond and a very entertaining and informative documentary on the early Gemini space programme.
At around 0500 I fell asleep again and didn’t wake till after 7. Then it was back on the bike and on the road, heading for the lovely Vittorio’s Restaurant at Pokolbin Village. Breakfast and a coffee and we were off. At the fuel stop at Cessnock I had noticed that one of Ventura rails had fractured so it was bungee-corded up and we hoped it would get us home)
Just before we hit the Putty Road at Milbrodale, Paul tooted at me and pulled up beside me, “Did you pay for your breakfast?” “Um, no.” “Neither did I!” Too far to turn around and go back, we resolved to contact the restaurant when we got home and fess up. So it was hammer down along the Putty hoping they hadn’t sent the sheriff after us! A perfect run through the Ten Mile and out the other side and into Grey Gum for a cold drink. The place was strangely deserted for a good weather Sunday and, when we asked Kim she said that the road south of the cafe was closed because a rider had hit a wild boar and police had closed the road. Oh well, if you have to hole up somewhere, Grey Gum is probably the best place and we weren’t in a hurry anyway.
We used the time to socialise, admire the bikes and ring the restaurant and settle our breakfast bill.
About half an hour afterwards gluts of bikes and cars started coming from the south and many pulled in at the cafe. Not long after an ambulance and an SES vehicle pulled in as well. It all seemed a bit puzzling but my guess was the they had transported the rider to the cafe and were waiting on a helicopter to air-evac him to hospital. Sure enough the ambulance paramedic came in and asked Kim their address and, not long after, the Westpac chopper set down in the paddock behind the cafe. The lady had already said that the rider was pretty OK, whatever that means.
Having ensured that all had been done properly (!) we suited up and headed off. Through Windsor and Penrith the temperature was hard to endure but we got through OK and headed for Peppercorn at Mulgoa for a break and a cold drink.
Upon leaving we fist noticed the sky in the south was very dark and gloomy. Had the predicted late showers decided to arrive early? The answer didn’t take long to manifest itself. Heading up the long straight into The Oaks, I ran into a waterfall. Visibility reduced to a matter of metres and riding clothes became almost instantly saturated. I was leading at this stage and pretty unnerved by the sudden turn of events. How I managed to get across the Stop sign at the bottom of the hill I have no idea because I could hardly see a thing. As we crept through the shopping centre I saw Paul take a dive into the BP service station in search of some shelter. There was no way that I could have turned around safely and returned; rivers of mud 20 cm deep and about 2 metres across were streaming across the freshly made roadworks on the run out of town and it was much more a case of “hang on and hope” than it was skilful planning and riding. I resolved to press on, heeding my father’s old adage that said, “When if doubt, keep moving. If you stop, you just become a target.”
So I pressed on, through rain of Biblical proportions. I had long since cared that I was soaked to the skin; just SEEING enough to stay on the road was more than enough to keep my mind occupied. “And then the dam burst, and flooded the town!” as it says in the old Daffy Duck cartoon. The unrelenting downpour turned into a raging thunderstorm that followed me all the way to Picton. It was right on top of me with the flash of lightning and the clap of thunder being simultaneous. Somehow I waded to Picton, got out onto the main road at the pub by guesswork and hope and pulled into the destination for which I had been aiming ever since leaving The Oaks, the old, deserted store just around the corner from the bank. I knew that it had a wide awning that came out right to the street and I was sure that I could hole up there, gather my wits and wait for Paul to arrive.
No sooner had I pulled in but the storm redoubled in its fury and turned into a hailstorm as well as a rain one. As we watched, the gutters filled up and overflowed the footpaths and visibility reduced even further. About half an hour later, I finally saw Paul’s VFR go straight past the end of the street and I figured he was heading for the BP. It was too wet for me to go and see so I waited another 15 minutes or so then awning-hopped around the corner and saw him still at the servo. He had been concerned about whether he would have enough fuel to get home, but, just as he pulled in, a lightning strike took out all the circuits and stopped the pumps from working. I told him he’d have more than enough to get home so I put my wet helmet and gloves back on and we tippy-toed out of town. It was, by far and away, the worst rain I had ever experienced while on the road and I include in that some bingfoozler storms in SE Queensland that I experienced. Understandably, there are no pictures, the safety of my phone being paramount, but, trust me, it happened, and it was far worse than my words can convey.
Halfway along the Picton Road, the weather cleared, it warmed up and we started to dry out a bit; hooray. But, just to drive home the point, about 10 kms away from Mount Ousley, it closed in again and the storm caught up with us. It howled down until we got home and sought the relief of my garage, a hot shower and some dry clothes. Harrowing doesn’t even begin to cover it.
However, despite all that, it was a great ride. For me, the rain didn’t spoil it at all. I Was far too chuffed at having ridden 805 kms in two days and having had some of the best fun doing so.
This morning? A bit weary but surprisingly good, My eyes are a bit “puffy” but my leg feels OK and I can’t wait to do another trip. Did I mention the bike? No, I didn’t. But that is because VFRs eat rides like this for lunch and don’t even get indigestion. And people ask me why I don’t think about getting a different bike…pffft.
And here is my clothes line this morning…And, yes, I didn’t take “wets” but no “wets” would have been of any benefit yesterday, let me assure you.
When’s the next ride?