Well, it was meant to be a simple cheese run to Central Tilba and back - but we got more than we bargained for. We met up at Bungendore - 3 bikes, 4 people. It was chilly and a bit showery. By Braidwood I was freezing, despite all my layers. I figured that was the coldest part of the ride over though, and the sun came out in Braidwood, which made the rest of the ride, with a wee stop in Moruya for morning tea, all very pleasant. Central Tilba was lovely as usual, and we raided the cheese factory before having lunch and turning our faces to the homeward ride. There was a nasty sky ahead, pretty much hugging our homewards route, and squatting ominously over Clyde Mountain. Sure enough, the big electronic sign at the beginning of the Kings Highway flashed a warning: ICE ON ROAD. ICE ON CLYDE MOUNTAIN. REDUCE SPEED. My little chickenshit heart sank. It was all good, albeit rainy, and then up near the top of the Clyde the sides of the road were littered with piles of white stuff. I only found one slippery spot, and breathed easy again, thinking the worst of it was over. Not so... the sky seemed so low and angry - a feverish mass of almost irridescent dark blue-grey cloud, with smudged edges suggesting precipitation all around. It wasn't even 4.30pm, but seemed almost nightfall. And then the rain started falling on us a couple of k's out of Bungendore, and we came over the last little rise before town to see a white expanse ahead in the false twilight. The bloke in front of me was shaking his fist at the sky, and when fat white wet snow began plopping against my screen and slithering down my visor, all I could do was laugh. My first snow ride - wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! The main street of Bungendore was starting to look like a Christmas card apart from the track of brown slush that was the road. Michael's bike started fishtailing at one stage, but he kept it upright. I hardly dared breathe until I'd left Bungendore and its slush a kilometre or so behind, and the snow turned to hail for the ride up to Smiths Gap. Funnily enough, all I could think of, (apart from 'fuck it's cold!') was that the light was perfect for all the roos and wombats to come out. The roads hereabouts are piled with roadkill, and I prayed the beasties would all be too cold to venture anywhere near the road. When I made the Federal Highway the road was dry... but it seemed even colder somehow. My fuel indcator started flashing just as I came level with the Ampol at Watson (nearly home!) - and I was surprised, at the bowser, to discover I was almost frozen solid. It was really hard to get my joints working to get off the bike! Even harder to get back on afterwards. My hovel has rarely seemed so cosy or welcoming. I've decided snow is only nice from a distance. betty
