World Superbikes, Round 1 - Phillip Island. The Odyssey Begins.

It seemed strange to be going to Phillip Island in February, and even stranger to be going there without Clem, who was languishing in hospital after some pretty major surgery. Stranger still to have a trip to Phillip Island that didn't involve any bike breakdowns, fall-overs, fall-offs or lever-snappage. We live in strange times.

It was just me and Leon this time. Our destination – the 2010 World Superbikes, Round 1 at Phillip Island. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Leon - brief roadside rest near Khancoban

The ride down was fabulous – on the twisty bit between Jindabyne and Khancoban (which I've hated on both occasions I've ridden it) I practised the cornering and braking tips that my friend Terry had given me after my previous pathetic attempt. Leon was miles ahead and there was no-one behind me, so I attacked the corners at my own pace, no pressure – and loved it! One minor UCM (that's an Undie-Changing Moment, in case you were wondering) near the Tom Groggin rest stop, on a newly resurfaced 15kmh hairpin with lots of loose stuff that made my rear wheel slide a little bit - I hate that feeling – but apart from that it was great.

Me after the Jindabyne-Khancoban twisties - only one UCM - wheeeeee!

Before I started riding I always assumed it would be pretty much like driving a car – once you can do it, you can just do it - but it's not like that at all. Every ride is different. Every corner is different, even if you've done it twenty times – I think that's one of the things I love: you constantly feel as though you're learning and developing your skills, and you're constantly vigilant because so many factors can make a vast difference to your ride.

Anyway... after the twisties came the lovely fast sweepers of the Cann Valley Highway, and at Wodonga we turned onto the long boring freeway towards Melbourne. It was starting to get horribly warm.

On the road between Euroa and Merton – a lovely little road with some nice twisty bits – I passed a scene that made me feel a little bit queasy. A big bike had come to grief on a corner, and lay on its side, just off the road. The rider was on his back under a makeshift canopy, being tended by his riding buddy and a couple of motorists, and they waved me on. Nothing you can do here, mate – we'll be ok. It's a sobering thing when you see a rider down. The ambulance came screaming past me a few minutes later, and was still at the scene when Leon went past shortly after that. A sudden and painful end to the Phillip Island pilgrimage for at least one rider... yuk.

Leon and I regrouped at Alexandra (I waved as we passed Alexandra Motorcycles, where mechanic Chris has patched my bike more than once!) and rode the rest of the way to Healesville together, down the wonderful Black Spur with its tall trees and long shadows, finally pulling into Katt's driveway in late afternoon. Leon pressed on towards Melbourne for the night, while I stayed at Katt's and fell asleep very early after a long day's ride of over 700kms. The 2010 WSBK adventure was ON!

On the Road Again - Healesville and Back

View Larger Map

2 x 725km ride days, with a rest day in between.

Friday morning dawned gloomy and cool, and I had a sneaky feeling I might be underdressed for the trip through the Snowies to Healesville, for a weekend at Katt’s place. The forecast was for cloud, clearing – so I donned the leathers and hit the road at 6am.

I’d forgotten how boring the road from Canberra to Cooma is. And how dangerous. Two morons who tried to kill me got my heart rate up - actually, one of them made me cry, the bastard, he was so close! He suddenly popped out from between two enormous trucks, gunned his engine to overtake, then realised he was heading right for me and ducked back between the trucks just before I had to run myself off the road to try and avoid certain head-on death.

That’s the sort of thing that does wonders for my froot-loopness. Under-dressed and over-anxious, I very nearly turned around and went home at that point.

The lady who was energetically mopping the floor at Maccas in Cooma reckoned the cloud would lift, and looked at me as if I came from another planet when I said I was feeling the cold. (What she said, in fact, was “Suck it up, Princess!” and then looked a bit worried to see how the big tough bikie chick would respond. The big tough bikie chick laughed and felt herself strangely renewed by this comment.)

By Adaminaby there was a glimmer of sunshine, and flying through the high country around Kiandra I realised I felt so much better. The twisties through to Cabramurra and down to Tumut Ponds Dam were fantastic. The ‘new’ lowered seat on the SV is just brilliant. Hard to believe that with so much of the foam scalloped out it’s actually more comfortable than it was (not to mention the fact that I ‘fit’ into the bike better and can get more foot on the ground when I stop).

Morning tea in Corryong, Victoria, then it was across country on the fab sweepers of the Murray Valley Highway to Tallangatta. By that time my leathers had started sticking to me.

It didn’t get better as the day wore on. On the twisty bit of the Euroa-Merton Road I was held up by a 4WD pulling a horse float, followed by another 4WD – all of them doing 15kmh, while I sweltered inside my leathers. I felt a bit like one of those boil-in-the-bag dinners.

I unloaded the better part of a gallon of water inside my jacket at Alexandra and pressed on for the final 60-70kms to Healesville. The Black Spur, as usual, was fantastic, but I was sooo relieved to arrive at Katt’s and get those wretched leathers off! 10 hours on the road, and on the new seat I didn’t even have a numb bum!

Katt and I are planning a road-trip (more about that another time!) and on Saturday went into Melbourne (in the car!) to try on some BMW G 650 GS’s for size. Noice. Comfy ride position, but felt about as tall as the SV was before I got the seat hacked down. Hmmm, will have to think about that one.

I am so unaccustomed to sitting in a car for any length of time – my back and legs were soooo sore by the time we got back, and I had to get out for a walk and a much-needed stretch with Tash, Katt’s daughter, while Katt had a nanna nap.

Sunday 15 November was the 43rd anniversary of our arrival in Australia – and what a lovely way to spend it! I headed off at 7 o’clock into cool, moist, early-morning air. Lovely! I had the Black Spur all to myself. Tootling along through the tall trees and twisty corners I realised I absolutely don’t want to hoon through twisties at all – I’m far happier going at a sensible speed and enjoying the scenery. That was a bit of a revelation, coz I don’t mind a bit of speed, usually!

Had a nervous moment as I neared Alexandra, seeing as the last two times I’ve been heading home through there I’ve had an enforced extended stay because of bike mishaps! This time, though, I managed to ride through town without any disasters, and I just waved as I rode past.

I came home a different way – (see the map) but it ended up being pretty much the same distance, although it was an hour less. Just as well, because by 9.30am the air was unequivocally hot– and it just got hotter and hotter as the day went on. Snake season is well underway – I spotted a squashed brown snake, a black, and what I think was a dead copperhead on the road as well.

The bitumen had that hot dusty smell, and by Tumut it was starting to feel a bit unbearable. The hot air was so dry that it made my contact lenses stick to my eyeballs – very uncomfortable, and disconcerting as well. The gallons of water I’d poured inside my jacket had evaporated long ago, so I resoaked myself at the servo and put the AirHawk seat on, coz by that stage my bum had had enough as well. I plodded on to home sweet home, where all I wanted was an icy cold cider and a cool shower, and arrived around 4pm.

And look what I came home to!

My clematis - doing so much better than it did last year!

Pilgrimage 09 - Phillip Island MotoGP Part 5

Day 5 – Homeward Bound, and the Luck of the Irish

My ancestry is fairly mongrellated – a Heinz 57 Variety of English, Scottish, Irish, French and German, but on the Phillip Island weekend I think I had the luck of the Irish. Or perhaps Irish luck.

Let me explain. It was Irish when my gear shifter fell off at Wangaratta. It was the luck of the Irish that it fell off as I was leaving the servo, not on the open road – and that Leon was behind me, instead of me being on my own.

When I got to the Phillip Island House, it was Irish to drop the bike in the driveway, but the luck of the Irish that I didn't snap too much off my clutch lever this time, and that I only bent the recalcitrant gear shifter, for a change, instead of breaking it. The bike was rideable.

So anyway – Monday dawned cloudy and a bit drizzly at the Island, and the lovely Smack got up early to get the bike out of the driveway for me, so as to avoid the possibility of more mishaps. Bless you Smack!

Getting off the Island at 7am was easy – hardly any traffic! I'd studied the map carefully and written directions for myself. All was well. Once I found my way to Healesville I would simply go the way I went a couple of weeks ago – too easy!

And then there was the Irish thing again. Or maybe it was the luck of the Irish...

Remember when the lovely people from Alexandra Motorcycles patched my bike a couple of weeks ago? Well, a few kms from Alexandra I thought it'd be nice to drop by and say hello as I passed through town.

About 500 metres from the shop – clunk – that bloody gear shifter fell off again as I changed down a gear. That it happened at all was Irish. That it happened where it did was the luck of the Irish.

And don't ask me how it happened – I think the lack of a gear shifter got me all confused and bamboozled by the time I nursed the bike the rest of the way to the shop, trying not to let it stall. As I pulled up out the front – Irish – the bike spat me off.

The luck of the Irish – the car behind me didn't run me over – and I didn't tear any ligaments as I leapt (not quite with the grace of a gazelle) off the falling bike, AND – Chris, the mechanic, was out the front. He dashed over and picked up my bike – (violin music please) – what a joyful reunion!

So I had an extended catch-up with my new friends in Alex (thanks heaps guys – love your fab custom work, Chris!) and left the shop sporting a new set of cats-eye blinkers and a reattached gear shifter. Time was getting away from me, and I only stopped for fuel. I really wanted to take the nice roads home, but by the time I reached the Tallangatta turn-off I realised it was going to have to be a Hume Highway ride... and it was such gorgeous riding weather, too. Boo hiss.

I pulled into my driveway at 6.13pm, stiff and sore and tired. Pilgrimage 09 is now officially done and dusted. Phew!

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!