Pilgrimage 09 - Phillip Island MotoGP Part 1

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The odyssey begins...

The Queensland contingent – Leon, Clem and gNat, arrive shivering in Canberra on Wednesday evening, and on Thursday morning the intrepid adventurers leave Chez Betty under gruesome grey skies. The forecast for the next few days is a bit grim. Meh.

At Yass I put on my wet weather gear 'just in case'. At the very least, it'll keep out the chill of the wind.

'Did you bring wet weather gear?' says I.

'No,' says Clem. 'We don't need that sort of thing in Queensland.' Uh-oh, think I, eyeing the evil dark clouds with a sense of impending disaster.
(on the Gocup Road just outside Gundagai - 'What wet weather gear?')

So – by Tumut it's raining properly, and the jeans of Clem & gNat are starting to look a bit soggy.

In Batlow it's raining. Clem keeps lagging behind, and thoughts of hypothermia loom large in my brain.

There's freezing rain in Tumbarumba, but there's a shop in the main street that sells waterproof pants. Poor gNat huddles by the heater, looking totally miserable. 'I want to go hoooooome!' she wails.


More suitably attired (and looking extremely stylish, heh heh) - and with bellies warmed by hot soup, we press on to Jingellic. It's raining there. We cross the Murray River into Victoria, and it's raining there too. There's rain as we head through Granya Gap, and on all the lovely sweeping roads along the Murray Valley Highway to Tallangatta. But it's not raining in Tallangatta!

Unfortunately, the brief spot of sunshine there is very fleeting. Some serious rain starts, and we head to Wodonga. We last saw Leon as he rode past us in Tumbarumba, where, by the way, did I mention it was raining?

Clem's XJ750 has started misbehaving. Uh-oh. Surprise surprise, it's raining in Wodonga. We pull over so Clem can drain the carbies, then head down the Hume Highway – we need to get to Warburton before dark, and with all this rain we seem to be taking a very long time.

Leon appears at the servo outside Wangaratta. This is fortuitous. The sun, incredibly, comes out. This is also fortuitous, because when Clem manages to get the XJ started, he daren't stop, and he roars off into the distance just as my gear shifter falls off at the servo exit. Yes, falls off. Completely.

Leon performs some quick roadside surgery as the next bank of black clouds approaches, and the rain holds off until we are back on the road. Clem & gNat are waiting for me at the Euroa servo, and we bid Leon farewell as he heads to his Thursday destination.

If you think things have been intense thus far, think again – the worst is yet to come!

The rain somehow gets worse, and colder. Clem has the bright idea of taking a shortcut through Marysville, which was almost wiped out in the bushfires last summer, and beyond that, the Reefton Spur.

Holy dooley – the devastation is terrifying. Dead trees and bare rock are all that's left, and the high narrow road that snakes along the Spur is littered with bark and twigs – and at one point, a fallen tree that has to be cleared from the road before we can continue. I'm so cold that I can't feel my hands, and my anti-fog visor insert has failed me completely. I ride with the visor up, frozen rain needling my face, and try to fight the rising tide of panic.

It's just another road, say I, over and over, which, coincidentally, is exactly the thought that Clem is apparently willing me to think. Spooky!

Leo & Di's place in Warburton, with its roaring fire, is a haven for we three Icicles. Clemsicle's clothes are still wet from earlier in the day, and gNatsicle looks like a tiny bedraggled pixie. Betsicle's circulation is finally restored by the warmth of our hosts and the glass of red that Di hands her (you know me so well, Di! (chortle)) and we call it a night, relatively early, and all crawl exhaustedly to our various beds.

Day One has taken us through about 750kms of cold and wet terrain. The Phillip Island Adventure has begun...

Strike Three for the Helmet from Hell.

I tried, I really did. But the Helmet from Hell has to go. My beautiful (and expensive) Arai Vector 'Scream' makes me scream. Bugger.

I love love LOVE the way it looks. I love the special features it has – the eyebrow vents, the wider field of vision, the nifty visor replacement mechanism.

BUT – It has to go.

Strike One
It felt really comfortable in the shop, but on the road it gives me an earache. Don't know why, but my right ear starts to hurt after about 100kms. It's better than it was, so I was thinking it might keep improving. I've had it for 3 or 4 weeks now, though, and have taken it on some long trips, and it still hurts. So – that's Strike One.

Strike Two
It's the noisiest thing I've ever had on my head. And because of the weird earache it gives me, I can't actually wear my earplugs while I'm riding, or I get an even worse earache after about 50kms!

I could've tolerated these shortcomings. Honest. But today, riding back from the Central Coast in disgusting weather, the Helmet from Hell hit Strike Three.

Strike Three
The visor doesn't seal tightly against the helmet. There's a gap. In heavy rain, water gets INSIDE the visor! I couldn't see where the f*ck I was going at times because of the raindrops before my eyes! That's actually a safety issue, not a fitment issue. Bye bye Arai. You are doomed to be a very expensive spare helmet for occasional use in good weather only.

Thank goodness I haven't actually turned my old Nolan into a pot-plant holder yet. Must get a tinted visor for it.

An Adventure I Could've Done Without - an Evening in Accident & Emergency

I'm 50 years old. I'm a robust and reasonably active 50, and I misbehave as often as I can, so I haven't turned into an old chook yet, despite the nose hair, old-chook eyebrows, a few grey hairs and hot flushes.

I am, however, aware that 50 means I'm no longer a spring chicken. I'm sort of on the downhill run, I suppose, which is a horrible thought. So when, on Friday, I started having chest pains at work, I took them seriously. Seriously enough to clock off early and call into Calvary Hospital on my way home.

They were great. Within about 10 minutes I was in a bed in Emergency, covered in those sticky ECG dots and hooked up to a machine that goes beep.

They kept me there till almost midnight, gave me three ECGs, two lots of blood tests, several different drugs and a hot dinner!

The verdict? The pressure in my chest, and pain through to my back, shortness of breath and light-headedness may be all about menopause. Bloody hell! Martin, the doctor who looked after me, said that as they had discounted the 'worst case scenario' – a heart attack – it was more than likely an anxiety attack (anxiety is sometimes a feature of menopause, and as I already suffer from anxiety disorder (froot loop that I am) I suppose it was to be expected.

I felt like a right twit – clogging up a bed for hours – but the staff were terrific. 'You did the right thing to come in', they said. 'You can't muck about with chest pain. Better to be sure than sorry – or dead'. True.

I discovered, when I had a second 'episode' in Emergency, that I am allergic to morphine. That was interesting! Useful to know for future reference!

I also discovered that Accident and Emergency on a Friday night is a rather interesting place. The patient in the bed next to me was an OD. There was also someone who sounded like an elephant trumpeting, except he was actually screeching obscenities. Then there was the drunk who kept abusing the staff in the foulest language imaginable, until the police took him away. I can see why staff might get a bit cynical now and then...

Boomerang Boy was terrific. I'd phoned him to let him know where I was and why, and that I was ok, and to ask him to bring me a clear visor for when I was allowed to go home (can't ride in the dark with a tinted one). He appeared at my bedside at around 6, and didn't leave till I did, at almost midnight. I taught him how to do cryptic crosswords – and, strangely enough, we had a 'nice' time, considering where I was and why!

The Fabulousness of Friends and the Kindness of Strangers – Part 2.

The last time I rode the Black Spur was with Clem and Leon from Brisbane, on the way to Phillip Island last year. The light was failing after my spill near Khancoban had delayed us by a couple of hours, and it was a bit like peak hour. We shared the magnificent twisty road with a bunch of commuters in cars who were all in a hurry, overtaking on corners etc and scaring me half to death. I didn’t get to enjoy it as much as I could have, although I could appreciate the beauty of the road and the tall trees through which it winds.

Yesterday, though, was different. The Black Spur at first light, after a rainy night, came close to my idea of heaven. Everything smelled fresh and earthy and just-washed. Patches of mist wafted through the trees, and the best bit was that I pretty much had the place all to myself!
The sky became bluer, the sun warmer, and when I got close to Alexandra I just had to pull over to get a pic of the unbelieveable view. The Acheron Valley was filled with a creamy soup of fog, and treetops appeared to be bobbing about in it like a sort of ghostly broccoli. From my vantage point in brilliant sunshine above the fog, it would make a stunning photo.

And then my bike rolled off its side stand (or had a near miss with a kangaroo – pick whichever scenario is least embarrassing and believe it to be true.)

I said one or two bad words - hard to believe, I know – and started to unload the bike so I could try to pick it up. No luck, until a Guardian Angel in the form of a country girl called Megan appeared. Between us we picked up the fallen bike to survey the damage.

More bad words. Another clutch lever snapped.

Enter Guardian Angel #2 – a tradie called Dean, from the nearby town of Alexandra. An absolute mine of information, he called the local motorbike shop, and a short time later, Guardian Angel #3 – Chris, the mechanic from Alexandra motorcycle shop, appeared with a new clutch lever. When it turned out not to be compatible with my fussy Suzuki, he headed back into Alex. We said goodbye to Dean, who headed off to work, and Megan waited with me for the return of Chris – who brought the boss, Trevor (Guardian Angel #4) with him - and a van to ferry the bike into town.

Chris, Megan and Dean - Guardian Angels. You guys rock!

The lovely Megan (by this stage rather late for work) followed the van and dropped me in Alex.

Alexandra Motorcycles

What a fantastic group of total strangers, willing to put themselves out for a stranded ninny!

Chris worked some electrickery, some unbendage of bent bits and did some judicious taping of a broken indicator, and pretty soon I was ready to bid farewell to my new friends and head, rather late, for home.

The helmet from hell has a tinted visor, and I wasn’t carrying a spare clear one, so it was important to get back to Canberra before nightfall (country driving at night with a tinted visor – not a great idea!) I contemplated riding all the way home on the Hume Highway. That foolish notion lasted about 30 seconds. The road between Merton and Euroa is a beauty, and the brief stretch on the M31 from Euroa to Wangaratta made me realise that taking the freeway all the way home would bore me to death, so I came back home the way I went, through all those places with amazing names.

No time to stop for anything but fuel, and by Tumut I was starting to feel a bit queasy with hunger. At the fuel pump I shovelled in a handful of fruit and nuts, and had a swig of water before continuing into rainy weather.

The Canberra sky was a bit Armageddon-ish by the time I got home at 6.30. A hot bath and a glass of wine finished my day in style, before the rain started in for real. Bewdiful!

So – yet another road has broken bits of my bloody bike on it, and yet another country town has played host to the disaster area that is Betty. Once again I have been extremely fortunate to meet some of the kindest people ever. The bug population of south-eastern Australia has been reduced by 4 million (they were all on my visor!) and unfortunately, the crimson rosella population was reduced by one when a suicidal specimen flew into the side of my boot just outside Yackandandah. Erk (not to mention ouch!) Along the way I noticed that the recent dust storms have turned local sheep an interesting shade of red, and what a lovely contrast that is against the brilliant fuzzy-felt green that this part of the world has turned just recently. As a motorcyclist, I'm not a huge fan of rain - but what a difference it's made to the landscape!

It’s a bit of an anticlimax to have to go back to work today… And I’m absolutely knackered!

The Fabulousness of Friends and the Kindness of Strangers – Part 1.

My run from Canberra to Healesville was uneventful, although the weather was pretty iffy. Forecasts were spouting doom and gloom and snow in the high country, so I avoided doing that lovely ride through Kiandra & Khancoban, choosing instead to go via Batlow, Tumbarumba and Jingellic.

After a wee stop in Walwa, I backtracked a little bit and headed to Granya Gap – the road is magnificent (unless you happen to get caught behind a couple of caravans – grrrrr). And Granya Gap itself – what a lovely road!

I love Victoria rural roads and the way they’re all numbered. It makes finding your way around so much easier. I stopped for fuel and a leg-stretch at Tallangatta, before heading through places with such fabulous names as Tangambalanga, Yackandandah and Wangaratta!

My buddy Katt was waiting in Healesville, where I finally arrived after about 10-11 hours on the road. Oh my bum! Oh my shoulders! Despite having looked closely at the map, I didn't realise just how close to Melbourne Healesville is! Not a bad day's riding on some interesting roads...

On Saturday we took the bikes out for some nice twisty rides to Kinglake and St Andrews.
I love eavesdropping on the conversations of strangers, and had a ball on Saturday. In Kinglake, which was devastated in last summer’s awful bushfires, the conversations went something like:

“So, you rebuilding?”

“Yep, trying to.”

A terrifyingly twisty bit of road later (but geographically not far away), at the St Andrews Market, the conversations were more like this:

‘So yeah, like, it’s something I acknowledged in a past life as an issue, you know. So now I’m thinking about a tantra workshop’.

‘Yeah, tantra workshop’d be great.’ Serious hippie territory – it was fantastic! I’ve never seen so many dreadlocks in one place.

After riding around a lot and being pulled over by a friendly motorbike cop for a licence/rego check, we went down Myers Creek Road (the roads around Healesville are brilliant and the scenery, while a little blackened, it still gorgeous!) and headed to the Beechworth Bakery, which is a popular stopping place for a multitude of leather-clad bikers on their return from a fang on the Black Spur.

Yes, those are hot jam donuts in the bag. No wonder Katt’s grinning!

All the gluten and the massive sugar hit had Katt and I out of control by the time we got back to her place, so we played silly buggers on MSN and knocked off a couple of bottles of plonk.

The plonk explains the seediness of Sunday, and the rain didn’t help, so we went in the car to catch up with Maggles – the third member of the ‘Terrible Trio’. What a lovely girly afternoon – lunch at the Craigieburn Club, and then we played a kick-arse game of Scrabble.

Spent a quiet evening back at Katt’s, packing my bag (boo hiss) for the ride home and watching Casey Stoner kick some Rossi butt in his first ride back after a spell. The trip to Phillip Island’s getting close, and it was great to see Casey back on form!