Narooma - a very Betty adventure (Part 2)

Day 2 – In which I make it home in one piece.

The Inlet Views motel is a lovely lovely place, driveway from hell notwithstanding. Bill and Margaret, the owners, bought it nine years ago. It was run down and in need of lots of TLC, which it evidently got. The little one-bedroom flatettes are bright, airy and comfortable, with gorgeous views of Wagonga Inlet.


I had a lovely Saturday afternoon admiring the gardens and talking to Margaret about her handiwork, before locking myself in and firing up the laptop. I wish I lived on the NSW south coast... There's something about water views that really helps me to organise my thoughts.


By sunset I'd written a blog post and started writing a new novel.


Superb weather this morning, and I swallowed the fear of falling over in driveways, and headed off at around 8.30. The bent gear selector is a pain in the bum, especially going from first to second gear. Must go and see Bruce about it this week. I think perhaps I should take him a bottle of wine as well, to head off any smart-arsed comments – oops, I mean, to buy his silence *chortle*.

Back to the trip though. I had planned on doing a Twin Peaks run this weekend, so a Twin Peaks run was what I would do, no matter what.

My new front tyre loved the twists and turns on Brown Mountain, (wheeeeeeeee!) and before I knew it I was cruising through Nimmitabel and wondering where the warmth went. A thick swathe of low cloud nibbled its way through my winter jacket and chilled me to the bone. It wasn't quite fog, but I was really glad to stop at Cooma to refuel and, um, have a rest stop. The cold weather makes me wee.

On the road from Cooma to Canberra I encountered every kind of stupid driving behaviour that there is, and was relieved to pull into my driveway a bit before 1.30pm.

In 29 hours I have ridden 560kms, had a disaster, been rescued by tattooed knights, written a chapter of a new novel, read several chapters of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, watched a movie, talked to a bunch of total strangers, done a couple of blog posts, and come to the conclusion that, for the most part, riding alone is the best way to go. It's not that I'm antisocial – well, only a little bit – but I always seem to have better adventures when I'm on my own. I'm forced outside my comfort zone, and that's a good place to be.

Narooma - a very Betty adventure (Part 1)

Day 1 - In which there are disasters and knights in shining armour.

Holy dooley, it's May already – a third of the year has gone somewhere(?!)

I've felt down lately – really down. My creative juices have dried up, along with my sense of humour, and I've been in danger of becoming a Grumpy Old Woman. Well, more of one than I already am - my brief moments of charisma and sparkling wit have been on the endangered list. I have become Betty Misery Guts.

I had to do something, and quickly, before I was mired in a morass of misery, drowned in a slough of despair or perturbed by a perpetual pity-party, with me as the guest of honour. Slouched at my desk at work early last week, not even vaguely cheered by the best view in Canberra, it hit me like a bolt from the blue – I haven't done one of my sanity-saving solo rides all year. No wonder I feel like crap!

These trips have a beautiful simplicity, with only 3 rules:
1.I go alone.
2.I take the laptop (or, at the very least, a notebook and pen).
3.I stay overnight somewhere for at least one night.

The thought of an adventure pepped me up better than a shot of Vitamin B12 or an icy cold cider on a hot day. I googled for accommodation on the NSW South Coast and booked myself a self-contained flatette at the Inlet Views Motel in Narooma – and I just cannot begin to tell you what a difference it made to my mood! Anticipation is a wonderful thing.


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A beautiful ride in perfect weather, and at the other end of it, a cosy getaway and some quality time alone with my own thoughts, gorgeous water views and a fired-up laptop. This is Betty-heaven.

It was all going according to plan until I got to the Inlet Views motel.

See – Narooma is quite hilly, and the motel is on a blind corner on a steep road. It has a steep driveway from hell leading onto a sharp left turn on the aforementioned blind corner, and – yep, you guessed it – the Bomber decided to lay down on the way out of the driveway after I checked in. The damage – yet another indicator; a snapped clutch lever, bent bar-end – and OH NO – I've bent Clem the Hose-Clamp Wizard's beautiful handiwork... The fix he did on my broken gear-shifter last October is now as bent as Julian Clary. Sigh. And I'm 230kms from home. Did I mention the motel is on a steep blind corner?

The carload of young blokes that screeched to a halt to avoid squashing me flatter than Britney Spears before her boob-job was a godsend.

“You all right mate?” said the first young knight to leap out of the car.

“Yeah, nothing hurt except my pride”, I squeaked, drawing myself up to my full 160cm and trying to look as tough as a 160cm biker can, who has just fallen off coming down a driveway. Shit. The other blokes got out of the car, realising the fallen biker was female.

So there I stood. Stupid unco Betty and her fallen Bomber, surrounded by three wiry, tattooed young guns in dark glasses.

I confess, I said some bad words. The lad called Jeremy wheeled the bike to a safe place off the road, while the one called Dave stood in the road to stop anybody coming along and flattening us all. And THEN – the one whose car it was, whose name I never did find out, drove his mates to a shop in town that sells bike parts. About ten minutes later these tattooed total strangers were back with a shiny new clutch lever for the Bomber, which they even fitted for me.

The kindness and humanity of total strangers is staggering at times. It's very touching – all the more so when it comes from unexpected quarters. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm serious.

Thank you Jeremy. Thank you Dave. Thank you, nameless tattooed young man with the mullet and the car. You guys were great – true knights in shining armour.

So – a very Betty adventure so far, complete with disasters. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Right now I'm sitting in my lovely flatette at the Inlet Views, soaking up the inlet views and the afternoon sun, feasting on rice crackers, dolmades and camembert (with a glass of red). Ana Moura (one of my favourite fadistas) is warbling away in the background - does it get any better?