It was all Flying Fish’s fault. “I’m going on an Old Bulls ride next weekend, why don’t you come? They are a great bunch of blokes and it will be good for you”.
About the former she was certainly right, the jury is still out on the latter….
As a fairly recent convert to off road riding my dirt experience (or lack of it) mainly consisted of reasonable gravel roads and fire trails. About the most technical thing I had done was getting in to Thrashers for the TTT rally in the wet. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself until a dude rode in just behind me on a Kawasaki Vulcan.
Anyway, I was keen to hear all about her recent APC exploits. I thought I would get some decent rubber on my brand spanking new Triumph Tiger and give it a burl. What could possibly go wrong?
So I rolled in to St Albans on Friday arvo to be greeted by the chief Old Bull himself, TB, who thrust a cold one in to my hand and soon had his Onkaparingas all over my GPS, downloading the route.
It soon became apparent, as the other riders started arriving and the beers started flowing, that I was amongst a hard core group of men and machines. As the old war stories started to to be recounted I felt a bit like a fourth grader running on with the Wallabies at Eden Park to face the All Blacks in a Bledisloe cup decider. Surely some mistake! Is this a dream or a nightmare! TB’s sage advice “take it easy and you”ll probably be OK”Gulp!
After several beers, a steak and a rum or three I started to feel a bit more confident. I camped next to Lefty who was to do a more than passable impression of Gaston Rahier out on the trails and with his flying mounts and dismounts.
So the next day passed in something a blur. It started off reasonably easily but the pace was something I was struggling with, and trying not to hold Flying Fish up too much I was often riding at my limit (though It might not have seemed like it to other observers!)
It was the tricky rutted and rocky steep decent in to the Gardens of Stone that had me really worried. I had never done anything remotely like it, and for the first time I thought a Kawaski Sherpa might have been a better buy than the Trumpy. Anyway I managed to get down without binning it, more by luck than judgement. The bike looked after to me really well there. Steers nicely on a line and seemed pretty stable for a biggish bike, good feel on the brakes when you need it. First gear perhaps too tall for that type of terrain (oh, suddenly I’m an expert).
As the day wore on I got a little more confident, though not any faster. I had one really arse puckering moment when MT and Jeffro came thundering past just before a long patch of sandy bulldusty stuff, thowing up a cloud so thick I coudn’t see much more than an arms length. Just then I hit the sand and all sorts of weird things started to happen to the front end. I gassed it hard and the front lifted and straightened, and off I went in to cloud. I suddenly emerged amazed to find not a large cow or a sturdy fence post to hit but clear open road. Oh the relief!
Amy was great and while clearly champing at the bit to mix it with the bruisers at the front of the pack she always waited for me at intersections. I did get my feet wet and helped her walk her bike back out of the swamp she found herself in. Up periscope! It was easy to see why she did well in the APC. She took one look at that disgusting swamp and charged straight at it while I watched from the safety of the bank, encouraging her with the words “I am NOT taking my bike through there”.
So after the most challenging and best day of riding in my life thus far, a great night was enjoyed with a trillion beers and more rums. I slept the sleep of the just and woke feeling like I used to feel fifteen years ago on a sunday morning after a game of footy the previous day, but strangely without the hangover.
Day two started with a trip around Mount Panorama. Why don’t they race bikes there anymore?
The Bridle trail was really enjoyable, despite my extra wide Andy Strapz panniers wedging me in the gate and having to be bounced free by a couple of the boys. As an ex rock climber steep drop offs don’t worry me so much so it was fun to punch through the narrow gap where the trail had washed away.
A bacon and egg roll and coffee and Rylstone had me fueled up for the day. Turon Gates was fantastic but the trail started to get very rocky and dusty. Tiring riding for me after the previous day. My centre stand, which I had meant to zip tie in place, was clanking up and down, sounding like an AK47 on short burst on some sections. Could I be bothered to stop and do something about it? No, I could not.
A longish tar section followed and then a more dirt. I think it was Apple Tree Flat, the Commission Rd leading to Howes Track (I don’t have the ride notes in front of me).
By now I was sarting to get quite tired, it was hot and the riding was still rocky with many quite steep hills, and my worst nightmare SAND.
There were quite a few patches of deep loose stuff and my concentration was started to wane. I stopped for a drink, though my water in the bottle holders in the back of my panniers had been heated to just under boiling point so hardly provided any relief.
I kept going, thinking I would be able to tell TB that I got round without falling off when on a sandy narrow bit of trail I got caught in the wrong gear going to slowly. Even the Triumphs triple torque couldn’t get me out of this one, and despite twisting the right hand hard, very little happened other than the front wheel went one way and I went head first over the right mirror mount.
I landed in the sand was was perfectly OK, just pissed off that I had crashed. The problem was the Tiger was wedged between the two banks, so I couldn’t turn the front wheel for a better angle to get a lift on the bike. It just wasn’t going to happen until after a massive hernia inducing heave I finally got her right way up, claws in the sand. Now I was very hot and the Howes Track seemed to go on forever. There was more sand and I came close to binning it several more times but was careful not to get in too high a gear so stayed upright until I caught up with the group on the tar intersection near Laguna.
I shot back to Sydney on the tar, only stopping to have two butterscotch milkshakes and a litre of water at the bikers cafe.
All in all a brilliant week end. A massive thanks to TB for organising it and having me along. Great to meet all the guys. Talk about a steep learning curve!
Cheers
Wigster
but it was mixed with the realisation that my stand up riding technique needs work :blush: . I will have to get Wolfie to bring Ned back for some lessons :blush: or now you have been trained by him you can teach me :whistle:
be passing sooooooo slow every minute seeming like a hour and every hour seeming like a day and well you get the idea slowly :laugh: 