What's in a name? Everything, apparently. Why I will not call VLAD an ‘anti-bikie law’

When I was a teacher, I always stressed how important it was to understand the ways language can be used, and the power that a skilled user of language can wield. I often started with that passage about Newspeak from George Orwell's 1984. Syme tells Winston that “the whole aim of newspeak is to narrow the range of thought.”

The idea is that if you have no word for ‘rebellion’, it’s a bit hard to talk about it or foment it - or even to imagine it. He who controls language can therefore control thought – and behaviour. Language is powerful.

Politicians evidently understand Orwell only too well. 

Scott Morrison, Australia’s new federal Immigration Minister, clearly understands that by changing the name of something, you can change the way it is perceived. Not for him Shakespeare’s wisdom: 

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.      (Romeo & Juliet Act II sc.ii) 

Mr Morrison’s linguistic practice is more Orwellian. Staff in his department were recently instructed to change the label given to asylum seekers who arrive in Australia by boat. They are no longer ‘asylum seekers’ – they are ‘illegal maritime arrivals’. They have been dehumanised and transmogrified. Now they sound rather nasty and criminal, deserving of contempt, not compassion. Sneaky move, Mr Morrison - but you don't fool me with your wordplay.

Warwick McFadyen, a senior writer with the Age, put it beautifully in this article:  http://www.theage.com.au/comment/the-minister-for-debasing-the-language-20131025-2w794.html ‘Say a phrase often enough and it attains a patina of truth’, he says.

That is why I will not now and not ever call Campbell Newman’s VLAD ‘anti-bikie law’. The media does us no favours by consistently calling VLAD ‘anti-bikie law’. It's dishonest. It's shamelessly misrepresenting something reprehensible as something desirable, and using the general public's antipathy towards 'outlaw' bikies to get support for an oppressive law. 

‘About time somebody stood up to those scumbag bikies’.

‘I’m not a bikie so I’m ok.’

‘If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.’

WRONG!

The dishonest labelling and marketing of VLAD as ‘anti-bikie law’ encourages public support for a law which actually has very little to do with bikies and everything to do with a power-crazy government wielding a sledgehammer, clumsily smoke-screened by the 'anti-bikie' tag – and besides, motorcyclists are a convenient target at the moment. 

VLAD is ultimately oppressive, and a potential weapon against ANY organisation that the government doesn’t particularly like. Today, bikies; tomorrow, soccer clubs/greenies/unionists or whoever happens to be on the Hit List du jour.

 ‘Anti-bikie law’ as a synonym for VLAD is a disgraceful and frightening example of linguistic legerdemain, and I will not have it in my vocabulary.

Queensland – beautiful one day...: a Rant

This is quite a horror story. Except it’s true.

Once upon a time, a little man called Campbell Newman became Premier of Queensland (a state with a colourful history of, erm, characters in its political sphere). The little man, with a zealot’s gleam in his eye, declared that he was going to address the ‘bikie threat’ in his state after a brawl on the Gold Coast one day.

By ‘bikies’, of course, he was referring to approximately one percent of motorcyclists. In the blink of an eye, henchman VLAD hit the front pages. Does Little Campbell have an ad-man giving legislation cool and punchy names that can be turned into cool and punchy acronyms? Vlad the Impaler, another colourful historical character, would be proud. Anyway - the Vicious Lawless Association Disestablishment Bill 2013 (which makes no mention of bikies per se – remember that, coz it could attack an 'Association' near you any time it wants) is a scary bit of legislative kit that attacks basic freedoms that Aussies hold dear.

Little Campbell, in a shameless grab for the approval of the Common Voter (who we know must be a bit dim, given the fact that they voted the fascist in in the first place), declared there would be a special hell for bikies – their own uber-tough gaol and extra-special sentencing rules for bikies for the crimes they commit.

Now, I’m all for criminals being punished for their crimes. What I’m NOT for is ill-conceived legislation pushed onto an ignorant public and supported by an ignorant police force who can’t tell one bloody motorcyclist from the next.

Things have snowballed, as they tend to do.

• Queensland police have been harassing ordinary recreational motorcyclists on their group rides, and now – unbelievably – there’s talk of setting up a police hotline that ‘law-abiding’ motorcyclists can call to register their rides and thus avoid harassment for riding their perfectly legal modes of transportation, paid for and registered to ride on the roads they’ve paid taxes for.  
• A bloke wearing a Sons of Anarchy t-shirt was questioned by police, who thought the guy was an outlaw bikie, rather than a fan of a television show. (!!!???)
• Police RAIDED a meeting of the Vietnam Veterans Motorcycle Club and a police spin-doctor (probably the cousin of the VLAD acronym guy) said that the raid was part of a strategy to BUILD RAPPORT with decent law-abiding motorcyclists.
• If interstate service stations etc could kindly provide Little Campbell’s stormtroopers with video footage of naughty Qld bikies associating interstate, aforementioned bikies could still be ‘done’ in Queensland for illegal behaviour (presumably, going for a ride together and stopping for petrol.) The long arm of VLAD could stretch forever, really.

 If this isn’t scaring you yet – it’s not a story. It’s real, it’s true, it’s happening right now. What follows, however, is pure imagination:

Little Campbell was well pleased with the effect VLAD was having. Motorcyclists were fleeing Queensland in droves. Small towns all over the place were going broke because the streams of touring motorcyclists – who tend to shun highways for quieter, more scenic, more ENJOYABLE roads and out-of-the-way locations – were no longer visiting and boosting local economies. You know, all those cafes, bakeries, pubs and motels in all those interesting little places that get-there-fast motorists can’t be bothered going to…

But it wasn’t enough. There was still crime in Queensland. Little Campbell wondered why - after all, he’d got rid of the bikies. VLAD would have to work harder. Little Campbell sent him forth, into ethnic communities, which everybody knows are seething hotbeds of terrorism, organised crime and soccer. And VLAD also went into the universities, where dissent is traditionally seeded by the wicked intelligentsia. Schools, as the breeding grounds for universities, were not impervious to the long arm of VLAD (Schoolies Week on the Gold Coast got special attention, and not just because of the hordes of drunken nubile girls who attended it every year). Oh, and workers’ unions - they came in for super-scrutiny, because they’re full of bolshie bastards. Even the churches were not immune (well, some of them, anyway, especially if they wore identifying outfits/headgear).

Meanwhile, the corporate fraudsters, crooked pollies and other real criminals were having a field day. Everybody else in Queensland had a yellow star and was under constant surveillance by VLAD’s stormtroopers (who were not averse to taking a kickback or two themselves, if history has taught us anything). And Little Campbell saw the fruits of his labours and, well, that was that really. Queensland – beautiful one day, police-state the next.

When other premiers in other states saw what fun Little Campbell was having, they decided to join in. ‘Ban the bikies!’ replaced ‘Advance Australia Fair’ and that, my dears, is how the whole beautiful country went to hell in a handbasket. A select few lived happily ever after. 

Shades of Europe, circa 1935? You bet. Be afraid. Don’t let it happen here – PLEASE!

I’ll end this rant with a poem I scribbled, because I need to lower my blood pressure now, and fiddling about with rhyme and metre always calms me down.

A southern biker contemplates the Queensland ‘anti-bikie’ law

There was trouble up in Queensland for the word had passed around

That new laws regarding bikies would be tight

So a simple threesome riding all together could be stopped

By a roadside copper looking for a fight.

‘Outlaw’ bikers started squirming, some were fired from their jobs

Many quit their outlaw gangs in abject fear

Coz a charge that gets a normal bloke banged up for eighteen months

For an outlaw bikie could be fifteen years

So they chucked away their colours and they looked like all of us

Who go riding just for pleasure on weekends

But the cops can’t tell the diff between one biker and the next

And they started hassling me and all my friends.

To those who say that innocence should mean no need to fear

I suggest you take your heads out of the sand

Coz today it’s only bikies, just the thin end of the wedge

But tomorrow YOU might cop the heavy hand

Of the lawman on a power trip, a government regime

Bent on plundering the freedoms that we treasure

And the coppers could be hassling you for being with your mates

Protest NOW before the law curtails your leisure!

For more perspective and news on this scary development, go to:

http://quolltracks.blogspot.com.au/ 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptyyd32qxLw

http://mobile.abc.net.au/news/2013-10-31/recreational-motorcyclists-voice-concern/5062016

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-10-30/queensland-police-raid-veterans-club-under-anti-bikie-laws/5059250

http://motorbikewriter.com/2013/10/28/popular-anti-bikie-laws-lead-to-harassment
and a new one:
http://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/queensland/human-rights-lawyers-slam-queensland-bikie-laws-20131027-2w9c6.html

Explanatory notes attached to VLAD:
http://www.austlii.edu.au/au/legis/qld/bill_en/vladb2013483/vladb2013483.html This is extremely interesting. I especially like this paragraph (my italics) for what it says about justification of the "jackboot-method" with which VLAD was inflicted upon Queensland.
"Consultation
Consultation has occurred within Government. Wider consultation has not been
possible because of the need to respond urgently to the significant public threat these
associations pose in Queensland."


 

In which Betty has house guests in paradise

What better way to end the school hols than a ride with friends to my favourite place? Originally we were going to ride to Bright in Victoria, but the accommodation there was all booked out, so we decided Chez Betty in Mallacoota would be a lovely alternative.

The ride down, via Cann River, was lovely, although it was rather warm. I chucked a Mr Bean by the roadside, removing my thermal undershirt without removing my (over)t-shirt. (Deb, pls forward photographic evidence of this marvellous feat!)

It was baking hot in Mallacoota and the March flies were biting. This was the only blot on an otherwise fabulous trip. We visited the community markets and my bikie buddies bought me a housewarming lizard for the back porch (ta heaps guys!) Going to Betka Beach on our bikes was, er, do-able but not comfortable – the beach itself was magnificent, but donning bike gear afterwards, over sandy bods and feet, ensured I looked like the proverbial beetroot by the time we got back to the house. This is because I dare not ride without all my protective gear – call me silly, but with my history of falling off my bike…  Note to self: a car is a useful thing for such activities. When I live there full-time I will have my car on hand for chauffeuring duties.

Cruising the bottom lake, which is enormous, on the 100 year-old ferry, the Loch-Ard was brilliant – a running commentary by George (the Captain) and chat with Pam (the Admiral) complemented the stunning views – and I don’t have enough superlatives to describe the majesty of the sea eagles. We learned that they are quite fussy, and saw for ourselves that they prefer mullets (the fish, not the haircut) to mackerels.

At home again, the roos in the back paddock were entertaining, the night sky was unimaginably starry, the wine was abundant and I befriended a rather large visitor (see pic) who liked the carrot I dangled over the back fence.

 As the hostess, I felt I should stay behind to wash the sheets & towels etc, so bade farewell to my fab travelling companions on Sunday. It was roasting weather, so I imagine their ride home wasn’t very comfortable – but it only took an hour for the washing to dry, which was nice!

Peter and Margaret from Adobe Mudbrick Holiday Flats, treated me to a lovely dinner at The Tide on Sunday night – many thanks, my friends!

The high winds of Sunday arv continued overnight and when I woke on Monday morning, all ready to pack and head for home, there was already 13mm of wet stuff in the rain gauge, and more falling from the sky. Naturally, my wet weather gear was in Canberra, where I had discovered that a certain cat (I’m not certain which cat, mind you!) had peed on it and rendered it stinkily unwearable.

What to do? Stay another day? (but it’s back to school on Wednesday!) Ride home in the wet and get my lovely leather jacket all soggy and disgusting? (yuk, and clammy…) Go into town and look for something waterproof? Brilliant idea! I waited for the rain to lessen a bit, loaded the bike, locked up and headed to the hardware shop. I bought myself a bright orange waterproof, which would probably get me barred from the Harley-riding fraternity, and which pretty much guaranteed an immediate stop to the rain, and a sauna all the way to Bombala. Well, most of the way – I was glad to have its sauna-inducing properties on the high parts of the Imlay Road, when I rode through some very cold, very low cloud.

Speaking of the Imlay Road – now the roadworks have been finished, it’s a brilliant run again. 60kms of sweeping turns, and in that whole time I only saw 6 logging trucks, one campervan and one Forestry ute.

In Bombala I removed said waterproof, pretty much guaranteeing I would be rained upon, and continued home. A few random raindrops hit me when I was about a kilometre from home.

As I close the door on Mallacoota - for a few weeks, at least - and face the inevitable, imminent return to school for a new academic year, I feel rested and revitalised, ready for the challenges of 2012 – one of which will be to lose the blubber that I found over the holidays!

Fully Sic - gone, just like that.

A friend posted this pic on Facebook. I'm not sure where it came from, but I'm hoping it's in the public domain.

I can’t stop crying. A couple of hours ago it was announced that Marco Simoncelli – he of the crazy hair and the wild, give-it-everything-you’ve-got riding style, had ‘succumbed to his injuries’ after a dreadful, dreadful crash at the Sepang circuit in Malaysia. The image of his helmet bouncing across the track will stay with me for a long, long time.

I feel as if I’ve lost a friend, even though I’ve never met him. Marco, aka Hair Bear, Fully Sic, Super Sic and probably a host of other names, was a regular visitor to my lounge room throughout the motoGP season, via the magic of television. Last weekend my friend Tali was his grid girl at Phillip Island. I felt a vicarious connection with him because of that. Tali’s feeling pretty gutted right now – as are all my motorcycling friends - as am I.

We all know that motorcycling is dangerous, but we love it anyway. And even knowing how dangerous it is, we are still shattered – and, I think, kind of surprised - when we lose someone. Especially someone like Marco, who was one of the young gods of motorcycling. When they are on the track, they seem protected somehow. High speed 'offs' that would kill lesser mortals seem to have little effect on them. These young blokes achieve the impossible, race after race. They crash at horrendous speeds. They slide, they get up and more often than not, they walk away.

But not today.

Marco Simoncelli, you crazy charismatic gutsy young man - you will be fondly remembered by more people than you could imagine, and you will be sadly missed.

My heartfelt thoughts go out to Marco’s family – and to Colin Edwards and Valentino Rossi, who were drawn into this awful, awful accident of Fate through no fault of their own, and who will be burdened with the memory of it forever. Hugs all round.

If you haven't yet, but would like to leave a condolence message, or read the tributes of other fans, here's a link (thanks Andrew).

A New Mallacoota Adventure

White-out in Mallacoota - the inlet has disappeared into the rain!

To everyone who was wondering whether I was dead or alive - I'm alive, although another killer term has taken its toll. I couldn't even contemplate blogging last term (and I'm sure everyone's sick of my moaning anyway!) So - the term is O-V-E-R. I'm older, crankier, more stressed... The wrinkles are deepening with every new parent-teacher night and every after-school meeting - but it's holiday time now and I've brought my battle-fatigue (and my Year 12 references) to beautiful Mallacoota to destress - and to embark on what might be a massively Huge adventure with a capital HUGE!

  

New aftermarket screen

 This was Piglet’s first ride to Mallacoota, and we came via Bombala and Cann River, dodging echidnas and foxes on the road. It was cold and wet, but Piglet was a real trouper. I loaded him up with a couple of Andy Strapz AA bags that Pisshead Pete let me borrow. They didn't hold as much as I'd hoped, so I had to leave some stuff behind (note to self: buy an Andy Strapz A Bag.)

The aftermarket screen I fitted has made a world of difference - no buffeting! - although I found my shoulders and thighs sore by the time I got here. I really need to build up some ride-fitness. Well, fitness of any sort, really - I did my walk into town, wandered around some of the residential areas having a stickybeak, and back to Adobe yesterday. My first proper walk since my accident in March, and 12kms may have been a little excessive - pelvis and knees were fine, but Oh My Aching Feet! They just wanted to drop off and limp away, except they didn't have the energy...

At the moment, outside the flat, there’s total white-out. The lake has disappeared into the rain. It’s been like that, on and off, since Saturday, so I haven't been bushwalking or bird-watching. I have, however, been looking at other things. Houses.

I’ve been coming here once or twice a year for the last five years now. Every time I arrive it takes my breath away, and every time I leave it breaks my heart. So this time I’m on a mission - I'm looking for a house to buy.

Yep, ol’ Betty’s looking for a sea-change, or a tree-change (you can have both in Mallacoota) – and you know what? I’m really kind of scared! Scared of the mega financial commitment; scared of change; scared of leaping into what could be an abyss. I’m a single woman of 52 with a mortgage, a motorcycle and a job that’s killing me. I want Something Else, and that something is, I think, here in Mallacoota – a daggy little fishing town that has barely changed in 40 years, teeming with birdlife and wildlife, with stunning beach and inlet views, fertile, grow-anything soil, and  not a traffic light for about 70kms. (No McDonalds, no movies, no shopping malls… wow).  I’m a little nervous about the whole thing. 

But I’m going to do it. What’s the worst that can happen?

Piglet's Big Day Out

In which Betty and Piglet go for a Real Ride

Piglet, all excited at the prospect of a real ride

‘Oh bother,’ said Betty. ‘It’s been such ghastly weather since I picked up Piglet from the Harley shop, I fear we haven’t really bonded yet.’

That was an understatement. Piglet’s very first ride from the showroom in Fyshwick was in horrid rain. Poor Piglet (so named because he/she/it is a baby Hog) sat in Betty’s shed through nearly a week of shitty weather, and Harley ventured out at all until the beginning of school.

‘A commute is to riding as Mcdonalds is to fine dining’, said Betty grumpily. She felt a certain disturbing ambivalence towards Piglet, although riding to school in temperatures of minus 5 and minus 6 was rather bracing. By about Tuesday Betty was feeling quite fond of Piglet, and was also delighted, the following Saturday, to note that she still had all her fingers, despite the freezing weather and the lack of heated grips.

It was important, because Saturday was to be a Very Special Day. 

After Stupidball, Betty and Piglet sallied forth on their first proper ride. It was a little ride by anybody’s standards – only about a hundred kilometres all up – but it covered urban roads, highway and some sort of countryish roads.

What a fabulous ride it was, too. Piglet had plenty of grunt (or should that be ‘squeal’?) Very torquey down low, and Betty was very excited to actually get into top gear for the first time! On the run to school, poor Piglet is lucky to make it into third gear!

Piglet waits patiently in Bungendore while Betty has a hot chocolate

Piglet looks so tiny - but packs a punch!

Piglet waits patiently outside friend Trace's place, back in Canberra after a fab first ride

For the first time, Betty felt truly comfortable on Piglet – the week of commuting had given her a bit of practice with the ride position and the controls, so that today she was far more confident, and actually rode Piglet like a motorcycle should be ridden. It was lovely.

On the on-ramp to Parkes Way from Northbourne Avenue, on the way home, Betty laughed maniacally inside her beautiful new Arai helmet as she twisted Piglet's throttle. Piglet responded beautifully, making Betty shriek her head off with delight, and they went home the very best of friends. 

You can't see the grin inside my fab new helmet, but it goes from ear to ear!

A Bike Weekend - with a twist...

I love going away for weekends on the bike, except I don’t actually have a bike at the moment. That is a bit of a spanner in the works!

Before my accident, plans were in the pipeline for a bike weekend to Bright, in Victoria. I decided that I would still go, even though I’d be on 4 wheels rather than two.  Turns out Bright was a bit far for a cripple in a car, just for an overnight stay, so my lovely bike friends made some last minute changes and bookings, and we ventured to Wyndham, NSW, instead.

View Larger Map

Wyndham is a tiny little town a bit in from Pambula on the far south coast of NSW. It’s in a communications Black Hole. The TV ads there are for businesses in Alice Springs, (?!? Hello? That's in Central Australia!) and Darwin, which makes you feel as if you’ve somehow arrived in an alternate universe.  There’s no mobile phone reception there, and no internet, and there was a Monty Pythonesque feel to dinner at the Robbie Burns Pub (established 1848), which was one of the most memorable dinners I’ve had in a long time.

There were six of us. Mark the Miffy Friend and I went in my little car, which was designated the Support Vehicle for the trip. My biker mates Pen, Pris, Peaches and Deb put panniers and petrol in the boot of my car, and off we went. The petrol was a sort of security blanket for Peaches, who wasn’t sure how far his Ducati Monster could get on a tank of fuel. 

The weekend went something like this:

Nimmitabel Bakery (the one with the anatomically correct bull-elephant in the back yard) was the scene of an animated conversation about Pippa Middleton’s underwear (or lack thereof) over coffee and pepper steak pies.

Lizzy’s Settlers Cottage in Wyndham was our ultimate destination. We took the Darragh Mountain Road from Bombala. It was lovely, but showed signs of recent flood damage (like much of eastern Australia at the moment!) – lots of land slips and plenty of gravel on the road. 

 Lizzy's Settler's Cottage, Wyndham NSW

We enjoyed fish & chips on the wharf at Eden (and sausages and chips for me, coz I don’t like seafood). Yummo. 

Almost every night last week I dreamed – quite literally – of riding a bike, so I’d expected driving the car to be a right royal pain in the bum. It wasn’t.  Yes, I would’ve preferred to be on a bike, but going in the car was a whole lot better than not going at all!

After fish and chips in Eden, we returned to our cabin, and the Big Fun began there. We all sat out on the back deck, enjoying the rural views, the enormously fat horses (who liked salt & vinegar chips!) a couple of bottles of red and the company of good mates, before we headed up the street about a hundred metres to the pub, for dinner.

Hello Monty Python! We had the most fabulous night there! Due to things like libel laws, and good old-fashioned decency, I can only give you a brief pencil sketch of the high points of the night – but believe me, it was magnificent!

*The local characters were straight out of – of – actually, I’m not sure, but it seemed a combination of Little Britain, Monty Python’s Life of Brian and the film version of The Name of the Rose. I say this with great affection, because they were lovely and friendly – but there was a slightly surreal quality to the whole evening.

*There was a child chasing a dog around in the pub. Nobody thought this was odd. The dog ended up wearing a green t-shirt. Nobody thought this was odd either. 

*There was a Potato Crisis and the meals were severely delayed until potatoes were sourced (from Tasmania, apparently, given how long it took our meals to arrive) Eventually, said potatoes appeared on plates next to a series of identical heart-shaped (in honour of the Royal Wedding?) chicken schnitzels.

*Pen played the stringless guitar in the pub. This sterling performance was later topped by her performance, back at the cabin, of ‘listening to whale music’ with a lampshade on her head. Virtuoso stuff! She's a very talented performer.

*Pris entertained us with high-decibel snoring for much of the night. No wonder we needed to drink so much wine!

Miraculously, we all awoke to the beautiful country morning on Sunday with clear heads, and had a spirited ride to Candelo, along winding rainforesty roads that glittered with sunshine and dew. We spent a couple of hours sampling the delights of Candelo Markets, where Peaches broke a tooth on a killer quesadilla(!) 

 At Bemboka Bakery

At Bemboka Bakery we ate MORE stuff, including this little fellow – in celebration of Pen’s birthday last week, before heading up Brown Mountain.

 Brown Mountain is probably my favourite road to ride on a bike, but my poor little car didn’t like it one bit. It struggled to get up the steep, winding road that still showed evidence of severe weather about a month ago.  Fallen rocks (about the size of a small car!), fallen trees, land slips… It was a relief to get to the Piper's Lookout, near the top, without having my engine explode.

Mark, Deb, Pen at the lookout.

I fully expected to find poor Peaches of the Broken Tooth by the side of the road somewhere, on a de-fuelled Ducati  – but it didn’t happen. He actually made it to Polo Flat servo at Cooma, and refilled his weeny tank there.

Our final stop – the place at which we had a parting of the ways – was Williamsdale, back in the ACT (Google Maps lists it as being in NSW for some reason...) We hung around there, talking and laughing the way you do when you want to prolong the time you’ve spent together. The car boot was emptied and the bikes were re-loaded. Pen & Pris ate ice creams. We finished the salt and vinegar chips. We talked about organising another ride. It was sad, and nobody was in a hurry to head home.

Weekends spent with good friends are priceless. I hope we do another one soon – and I hope I won’t be driving the Support Vehicle!

End of Term Madness

Remember my ‘off’ three weeks ago on Macquarie Pass? Well… the doctor in Accident & Emergency back in Canberra – the one who sent me home with Nurofen, a pat on the head, 3 days off work and a diagnosis of a ‘pulled muscle’ was WRONG. What I actually have is a stable, undisplaced fracture (yes, fracture) of the superior & inferior pubic rami. A minor pelvic fracture, certainly, but something a little more serious than a pulled muscle. Still gobsmacked that a person can show up in A&E after a motorcycle accident FFS, complaining of severe groin pain, and the bloody doc doesn’t bother to have the pelvis x-rayed! Am I wrong to be a bit worried about the standard of A&E doctors? Thank goodness for a switched-on GP!

So – I had a whole week off school. And what a shitty week it was. During that time I had my poor old cat euthanased. I cried buckets, tried to get as much rest as I could, borrowed an automatic car from Mrs Boomerang Boy, to get myself to x-ray & CT appointments, and felt pretty sorry for myself. My bike was officially written off by the insurance company. I went back to school for the very busy final 2 weeks of term, on crutches, unable to do stairs, and set up camp in my downstairs classroom.

The school, the staff and the kids were brilliant. A small and evil, but essentially, rational part of me says “well so they should be – it wouldn’t have been unreasonable for me to spend the remainder of term on sick leave!”, BUT – I'm also incredibly grateful for the way people were able to shuffle things around and step up to help me out. While bits of my body may have been a little bit broken, my brain wasn’t, and typing up lesson plans to send to school for someone else to teach, when I felt mentally capable of teaching the lessons myself, was driving me batty. I wanted to be at school with my students, dammit! Things like playground duty, however, were out of the question - and my busy colleagues covered my duties and swapped classrooms with me, and were absolutely wonderful.

It’s true what they say about adversity often bringing out the best in people - and I learned a LOT in the last fortnight!

Apart from having it reinforced that I work with a wonderful bunch of people, I also learned that:

• Year 10 boys get a big kick out of taking a turn around the room on the teacher’s crutches – and will queue up for the privilege!
• It makes students feel important if you ask them for help – whether it’s carrying stuff or scribing on the board for you – and they actually worry about their spelling when they’re writing it up in public!
• Ex-students and students you don’t even know very well are keen to touch base and make sure you’re ok after something like a bike crash. I seriously felt so ‘cared-about’, there were times when I struggled not to get all teary!
• Photocopying makes us lazy, and you don’t realise it until you can’t get to the photocopier and have to resort to low-tech or no-tech!

Having said all that – the last two weeks have been difficult, and the last week, with Basketball Presentation night, a Parent-Teacher evening and three full days of marking Yr11-12 Oral presentations was actually a sort of hell. There were times that I didn’t think I’d manage to hobble to the end of term – but I did! And now - thank goodness for school holidays! And thank goodness for Mallacoota – my equilibrium is in severe need of equilibrating (is that even a word???)

Jamberoo Hoodoo

 A few years ago I went to Jamberoo with some bike friends. We were caught in a severe thunderstorm along the way. It was terrifying.  The next morning, the ride on slippery, skinny Jamberoo Mountain Rd was shrouded in thick fog – and terrifying. We also got word that our friend Deb had had a nasty off on her big BMW 1150GS on dirt, and was in a bad way.

This weekend, Deb and I, and some other friends, decided to give Jamberoo another go. It’s a beaut little town, after all; very picturesque, and with a great pub.

 Photo source: http://www.coast-accommodation.com.au/images/property_images/4702_1.jpg

I should’ve taken notice of the ‘signs’ though. I reckon there’s a bit of a Jamberoo ‘hoodoo’ going on.

• The previous weekend, the weather was bad enough for the treacherous Jamberoo Mtn Rd to be closed by a fallen tree and a road washaway

• 3 other riders pulled out during the week.

• On Saturday my basketball game started nearly 15 minutes late – that’s a first!!! – and I’d forgotten to pack my reading glasses and toiletries - so much for leaving on time.

How many more ways could the universe have said “maybe you shouldn’t go on this ride”?

We’d agreed beforehand, because of the road closure,  that we would go via Kangaroo Valley – a beaut road. HOWEVER, Brian phoned our destination pub and was told the Jamberoo Mtn Rd was actually open – so hey, we rejoiced and decided to go that way after all.

Except it wasn’t open, and we only discovered that when it was well and truly too late to go any other way. We were stuck with the Macquarie Pass – the road I had said “I would prefer to avoid”.

 Authorities have branded Macquarie Pass a motorcycle black spot after 144 accidents and six deaths in the past five years. (Illawarra Mercury, 28 Aug, 2008)

Motorcyclist survives Macquarie Pass plunge (Illawarra Mercury, 16 March 2009)

Four survive after car rolls off cliff (ABC news, 10 May, 2009)

I’ve heard horror-stories about buses/trucks having to do three-point turns to get around a couple of the corners. I’ve heard of people simply going over the edge.  I’m not that much of a ‘corners’ fan, to be honest…

So.

WTF happened? I don’t know. Mark doesn’t know either, and he was riding right behind me. 

On the second hairpin from the top – a steep, decreasing radius turn, I was probably doing 15kmh. A small group of Harleys rumbled and spat uphill in the opposite direction. 

Here are some pics to show you how heavily trafficked this deadly bloody turn is.

  

 Next thing I knew, my bike was almost on its side , heading downhill and for the opposite side of the road, the concrete lip barrier and the million-foot drop. I hung on for dear life, but when the bike hit the barrier I was dumped, hit the back of my head on the ground and came to rest a couple of feet away, past the beginning of the Armco barrier beyond the tree. The bike must’ve bounced up, headed over the concrete barrier, caught the tree (see pic) with the front left side of the screen, and bounced off. It flipped back onto the concrete barrier and lay there suspended, trickling radiator coolant onto the concrete barrier. The front wheel dangled over the drop, while the rear wheel dangled above the road.

 

  Here’s why I’m the luckiest motorcyclist in the universe:

• Neither my bike nor myself went over the edge.

• Total strangers Russell and Jamie – a young pair of trail-bikers – appeared a moment later with a trailer.

• At the same time, the tail-end Charlie of the Harley riders – an OMCG on a club ride, by the way – pulled over and rendered assistance. Four strong blokes recovered my poor dead bike from the brink, bent forks, bent frame, smashed fairing – but miraculously, NO BROKEN LEVERS – and securely strapped it between Russell & Jamie’s bikes on their trailer. Our OMCG friends continued on their way, and Russell and Jamie delivered me and my bike to a service station at Albion Park, about 10kms downhill (thanks heaps, guys).  It would spend the night there.

• Maureen in the ‘support vehicle’ collected bruised and battered Betty from the servo and we limped to our accommodation, while

• Mark rode back up the bloody Pass and back to Canberra to pick up his van, which he then rode back down the bloody Pass to Jamberoo for the night.

• My Ventura Bag, which was ripped off the rack by the impact of the crash, contained, amongst other things, 56 Year 10 essays, which I had optimistically taken away with me. They could so easily have ended up hundreds of feet below, at the bottom of Macquarie pass, never to be seen again (come to think of it, so could’ve I).

By Sunday morning every part of my body had seized up, and every step hurt. I wasn’t much help collecting the bike from the servo. In fact, I was no help at all. Apart from that, I was starting to feel the need to pee, and it was a long, slow, painful 100m or so hobble to the toilet.

The TOILETS OUT OF ORDER sign brought me undone in a way that a near-death altercation with a tree, a concrete barrier and several hundred feet of long drop hadn’t. The cleaning lady, seeing my distress – I was howling in a dreadfully pathetic and desperate way: “But I can’t walk any more and I need to peeeeeeeee” retracted her “There’s a Macca's about 5 minutes down the road, you’ll have to go there” and instead handed me a wad of loo paper and pointed me in the direction of the men's urinal.

‘Maybe you can squat over the trough, love – it’s flushing ok.’

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my injuries were such that I couldn’t have squatted for a million dollars. How the hell does one pee standing up when one can barely stand anyway?

I did it. I managed not to pee all over myself or make my injuries worse, and found myself very close to the hysterical giggles that inevitably follow hysterical sobbing in such a bizarre situation. What an adventure.

Fast-forward to Goulburn police station, where I reported the accident, and then Calvary Hospital, where I was given some painkillers and a pat on the head. My middle-aged bones remain sound, my kneecap is attached and unbroken,  and apparently the pain in my groin is nothing more serious than a strained muscle. I will be very colourful in a couple of days.

Crutches hired, I was home sweet home by about 5.30. 

In one sense it was one of the crappiest weekends ever. Weirdly enough, though, it was also very life-affirming. I’m a lucky, lucky woman.

But I think I’ll give any future rides to Jamberoo a miss.