Despite just recently completing a north coast tour, I have again found myself traversing some familiar roads. The circumstances are a bit bizzare, so please bear with me.
In “Raining on our Parade”, I noted that my proposed Snowy tour was looking pretty unlikely given the SES’s published warnings of bad weather in the area. Well, no surprise, Chris called me on the Thursday before and told me the ride had been canned and re-scheduled for a few weekends hence.
But my S-I-L had already arranged to have today off so he could ride the long weekend and I knew he was going to be disapppointed if he didn’t get to do his first-ever tour on his new (to him) ZX-6R (how come I often end up in a group with a mini-Ninja?) so I decided that we’d do a two person tour this weekend to make up for it.
And, I kid you not, the only area of NSW that looked to be without the possibility of rain, hail, cyclonic storms or a possible tidal wave, was the mid-north coast.
Day 1.
So we set out on Friday morning with the intention of making Port Macquarie that evening. It took an unbelieveable 2 hours to filter through the Sydney mayhem and reach Hornsby. And it was punishingly hot into the bargain. A pie and refreshment at PiTS certainly helped then it was on up the Old Road and out onto the freeway at Gosford. Now there is nothing quite so mind-numbingly boring as the F3, but we suffered it till Raymond Terrace where we cut out onto Bucketts. Stroud, Gloucester, Tinonee and back out onto the F3 at Taree, at least we had some sort of break from the monotony. And while we were having a drink at Tinonee a southerly came through so the last part of the trip was much more pleasant. I wasn’t looking forward to crawling through the 40kms of road works from Coopernook to Herrons Creek if the temperature was still going to be in the high 30’s. Fortunately it wasn’t and we arrived, still a bit hot and certainly weary, at Port around 1800.
Drinks stop at Tinonee.
I packed a lot lighter this time and I think it’s better. I had room in my RJays bag for Leith’s wet weather gear and space to spare. I used my trusty Oxford tank bag and Leith crammed all of his stuff into my Aldi tank bag and put it on the Ninja.
Leith did a super job for his first-ever long ride. 544kms in a day on a sportsbike is pretty impressive anyway, but to do it having never attempted anything like that before deserves some praise I think.
Day 2.
West towards the mountains; early morning, clear skies and the prospect of a great day in the saddle. Added to it was the thrill of showing Leith some territory he’d never seen before and introducing him to some riding roads he’d never ridden (in fact pretty much the whole trip was for that purpose).
Obligatory Timbertown shot.
We paused at the bottom of the mountain for the obligatory shot of the 45kms winding road sign and then it was up the hill. Unfortunataly, our progress was stopped pretty quickly by a stop light for some roadworks. There we found a big group of bikes and a few cars. Filter to the front past the cars and a kind invitation to go to the front of the queue of the bikes as well. Leith declined and shuffled to the back. I took up the offer but was ready to be passed.
Is there a more photographed sign in NSW?
So I became the first rider to take off at the head of the big group after the light at the roadworks turned green. All the other riders in the group were on sportsbikes, wearing leathers and obviously very serious about enjoying their day on the renowned Oxley twisties.
So it was no surprise to me when I heard the boom of the Aprilia Mille heading up the hill behind me. I immediately buttoned off and waved the rider through and he took off into the next, tight right hander. I recall thinking, “Man, he’s going a bit quick for that corner.” but allowing him the benefit of the doubt that probably he could handle it. In any event he was certainly howling and going way quicker than what I would have done.
Unfortunately, even though it was open and the exit of the corner could be seen, the rider didn’t take into account the fact that the corner closed radius and, once committed, the fact was, he wasn’t in good shape to make the corner.
To his great credit he didn’t brake, instead leaning the bike even further to try and keep his line. But, as luck would have it, just as he did so, the front tyre clipped a patch of tiny gravel in the middle of the corner, the front end tucked under and the bike hit the deck with that awful crunching sound that we all know and hate.
Bike and rider slid across the road; then the peg must have dug in or something because the bike then did about 3 (I think) rolls sideways along with the rider who started rolling as well.
Both came to rest scarily close to the armco on the outside of the corner. The rider was up quickly and, but the time I had found a safe place to stop the VFR, he had picked the bike up and was moving it off the road.
He was wearing full leathers and replied that he was OK, both times I asked him (so I guess he was!). The bike was a mess with every corner smashed in, tank grazed and scratched and bulk expensive damage to most of what was visible.
It was around about this time that I started replaying the incident in my mind and I realised just how close I had come to becoming part of his accident. Despite slowing down for him to pass me, I was still probably doing 80 k’s and, once he dropped his bike, the closing distance between the two of us accelerated dramatically.
I recall braking hard and mentally judging the closing distance and looking for my “out” if it was necessary. It always amazes me how much information the brain can process when it really has to. Looking back, I think I did pretty much everything right, but I have to say that the incident completely detuned me for the rest of the day. It really played on my mind and I found that it affected the confidence with which I approached the mountain that day.
I guess that’s not a bad thing, but a close shave like this can certainly make you think. I hope the rider is OK and I hope his repair bill isn’t too high (though I suspect that it may be).
The rest of the group soon howled by only to stop at the waterfall further up and then at Gingers. We kept up our own safe pace and I was first of the two of us to pull in at Gingers for coffee. I’d told Leith to take his time and to enjoy the ride. Over-riding leads to frustation, mistakes and you get to the top and feel you haven’t enjoyed it. I pulled off the helmet and waited for him to arrive and noted that he missed the bottom entrance to the car park (concentrating on the road – good boy). I waited for him to go up the road and turn around and I knew that would be hard as he was on a sportsbike and that part of the road is very narrow with no run-off.
But after well over 5 minutes he hadn’t appeared. “Strange” I thought, but then I realised that he might have missed Gingers altogether. And so I took off in hot pursuit. It’s amazing how much ground someone can make on you when they’re riding and you’re standing still. Despite giving it a fair old handful through the top part of the mountain, no sign of the little green Ninja in the distance. How could he have missed it? I said it was about a third of the way up the mountain. At the end of the twisties I stopped. What to do? By this stage I’d assumed (correctly as it turned out) that he’d pressed on, still looking for Gingers Creek. I SMS’d him and told him I’d missed him and that, if he arrived at Walcha first, to wait for me.
That plan would have worked perfectly if there was any phone reception at Walcha (not even Telstra 3G works there). Anyway, I pressed on to Walcha, filled up and no sign of him still. Horrible thoughts about him down a ravine back on the mountain somewhere inevitably surfaced in my mind and, just as I was preparing to head back east, I looked diagonally across the road and there as the Ninja outside the cafe. Leith was just putting his helmet on in preparation for coming back to look for ME!! He’d already eaten breakfast so I had mine and we headed off down Thunderbolts. Somehow he had missed Gingers (as I suspected) and couldn’t understand why the countryside had suddenly changed to open pastures and no sign of the cafe! He did exactly what you should do when touring and you get separated, however. Go to the next town, stop and wait. It’s just that the next town was nearly 100kms from the top of the mountain. Whew.
So, it was down Thunderbolts, Gloucester, Dungog, Gresford and Singleton and the Imperial Hotel for our second night on the road. 493 kms.
Oh, wildlife. After seeing none (and no roadkill either) last trip, this time it was all over the place. A massive dead wombat right on line (plenty of time to see it, fortunately), a roo jumped straight out in front of Leith and, most weird of all, a huge goanna that nearly brought us both unglued. Just outside of Gloucester I came around a corner and there was this massive creature standing in the middle of our lane, almost straddling it completely, double yellow line to road’s edge. Damn, surely he’s going to move. Getting closer, he’s still not moving. Finally I had to swerve to avoid him, going over onto the other side of the road (Commodore coming the other way closing fast, driver summed up situation and slowed to give me room). Leith had no room to do likewise as the Commodore was abreast of us by the time he arrived, so he swerved left and threaded the 30cm gap between the beast’s nose and the drop-off the bitumen on the edge. Sheesh. I looked in my mirror and the stupid thing STILL hadn’t moved. Just stood there poking his long, yellow tongue out at us.
Day 3.
It was hot and sticky in Singleton. Neither of us had slept well so it was a relief to retrieve the bikes from the lock-up garage behind the hotel and hit the road. Cool air circulating certainly revives the tired brain. We did 2 laps of the Ten Mile, revelling in a completely clear road in both directions. The hesitancy of yesterday was gone and I really let it hang out. Wow, that is an exhilarating stretch. Rather than head down the Putty, however, we kept heading north to Milbrodale and then across to Broke.
The open-cut coal mines have sure despoiled the scenery.
Another oft-photographed sign!
Fuel at Broke and then down the Wollombi stretch. We were just crusing when, just after Wollombi, I rounded a tight left-hand corner and noted gravel on the inside line. “I hope Leith misses that,” I thought and looked in the mirror to be sure. Instead I saw the Ninja and its rider on their sides in the grass. Damn, just what he needed on his first tour. I hustled back to find Leith up on his feet perfectly OK. We raised the bike and parked it in safe place and surveyed the damage. L/H indicator ripped off, fairing cracked in a number of places, but nothing broken. Pretty minor for a low-speed tumble. Leith HAD seen the gravel and ran wider to miss it, but then looked up and realised he wasn’t going to make the corner. The bike ran right out into the grass on the exit and then he panicked and grabbed the front brake. End of section.
Damage.
More damage
We effected repairs on the road side and were on our way again, disappointed but grateful that the accident had caused less damage than it might have. The road between Laguna and Kulnurra was littered with tree branches and wash-aways from driveways after the heavy rain so it was “softly-softly” till we reached Jerry’s and a very welcome cup of coffee. All day long it had looked like rain and sections of the road were wet but we hadn’t had to break out the “wets’ yet.
There’s always some great sights to be seen at Jerry’s
Central Mangrove and down to Wiseman’s Ferry. This road was also damp and covered with crap from all the rain so we took it real easy. When he arrived at the ferry, Leith was complaining that he couldn’t change gear properly. That seemed odd as the gear lever hadn’t even been bent in the accident. But a closer look revealed that the bottom hanger had fractured right through. Bummer, that was a lot more serious. I tried taping it together and bracing it with duct tape and that worked for a while, but the heat from the engine started to melt the adhesive and, but the time we reached Cattai it had pretty much stopped working altogether. From the ferry onwards I had been looking for a garage, a farm, somewhere where we could get some wire, as I knew that we could wire it up and it would get us home.
At Wiseman’s you wait. (and don’t put your helmet on the grass like I did here. A green headed ant crawled in and, when I put the helmet back on, it bit me of the back of the head!)
And admire the beautiful scenery.
Then, cresting a hill, I saw a big shed and some people unloading a racing car from a trailer. Whoohoo, racing people; they’d be sure to be able to help. And help they did. Thanks to Cattai Engineering, the gearlever hanger was securely wired on and got Leith home with no more gear shifting dramas.
The break in the hanger is just where the wire is secured.
By the time we got to Penrith it had started spitting, and, at Wallacia we were still undecided about putting on the “wets”. It just didn’t seem wet enough, so we pressed on. Picton and the Picton Road, the fog set in and down Mt Keira it was pea soup. Out onto the freeway and it did start to rain a little heavier but we were in sight of home, so chin down and gas it. We arrived home around 1600, 423kms for the day, and an eventful one at that.
1467kms altogether, and my riding partner can now say that he’s well and truly been inducted into the ranks of motorcycle tourers. Despite the “off” he had a blast; it was hard to keep the smile off his face. If asked I know he’d do it again.
Plan B? Plan A would have had to have been a ripper to beat it.
