Was the theme song of the children’s cartoon, Mighty Mouse. And I felt a bit like MM yesterday.
About lunch time I got a call from my brother (the owner of the blue VFR pictured above) saying that he was stranded up on the Putty Road. Quite why he had decided to do a Putty Run on a day when the temperature was predicted to be in the high 30’s I don’t know, but, anyway, that is beside the point. It seems that the bike had spat out the drive chain while he was hotting through the Ten Mile just south of Singleton. Knowing the road very well, my first thought was that I wouldn’t like to be braking for one of those sharp corners and suddenly find that I had no engine braking but he assured me that it had happened on a short straight and that he’d been able to bring the bike to a stop safely.
He’d gotten a lift with another motorcyclist who had dropped him at Bulga (about 10kms north) from where he had rung for assistance. Standing on the side of the road in leathers waiting for help to arrive didn’t seem like much fun so he’d hitch-hiked back down the Putty to the Grey Gum Cafe (about 90kms south of Bulga where, incidentally, this photo was taken on a previous ride) and, from there he had organised a motorcycle courier from Kurrajong who was happy to come up and pick up the bike and take it back to his depot.
It seemed obvious to me that it would have been simpler to have the bike taken to Windsor or thereabouts and for me to bring up my trailer and pick the bike up, saving another trip to retrieve it from Kurrajong later in the week.
So, I took off over to his place, picked up some clothes for him to wear so that he didn’t have to swelter for too much longer in leathers, the fold-out ramp so that we could load the bike and his car which has two advantages mine doesn’t have. One is a tow bar and the other is air conditioning. Then I waited for a call to let me know that the bike had been picked up. By the time all that happened, it was late in the afternoon and my journey to Wilberforce was a nightmare. I swear that the traffic was as bad as I have ever experienced up Mount Ousley, across to Appin, Campbelltown and up the Northern Road. It took well over two hours of grinding boredom before I reached the Shell servo at Wilberforce and we were able to load up and start the return journey.
Between the two of us we have had more than enough experience loading and transporting bikes so that part of the exercise was the easiest part. Paul got changed into shorts and a t shirt (despite sheltering in the shade for a couple of hours he still looked like a lobster in leathers) and we hit the road home.
Wonder of wonders, that appalling traffic that had bedevilled my forward journey had completely disappeared and the homeward leg was a doddle. Good thing too, because we were both pretty much over it by that stage. We got to his place around 2130 and I got in my car and headed home. I fell into bed pretty soon after and slept the sleep of an honest labourer.
On reflection, Paul had definitely had his guardian angel looking out for him. Had the chain snagged up in the countershaft sprocket it could easily have smashed the engine case on the left hand side of the motor (I’ve seen that happen). Worse still, had it not been flung straight off, it could have wound around the rear sprocket and jammed the back wheel with consequences that are too horrible to even contemplate.
Not quite the way I had contemplated spending my lazy Sunday afternoon, but, all part of the rich tapestry of motorcycling.