sort-of ride report - Wintersun

Yes, late (sorry) - but it's taken me a week to sort my thoughts after the
experience <grin>


In Which Old Friends are Met, New Friends are Made and I Win a Trophy!

Day 1 - Canberra - Deniliquin

There are warning signs, oh yes - the toilet is backed up, a silly old
geezer steps out in front of the bike at Charnie servo, the clouds ahead are
black and threatening and I have a bit of a tank slapper coming out of the
servo at Yass - but I ignore them all - adventure beckons, and I'm off to
the Wintersun rally in Mildura, and seeing how many friends I can catch up
with along the way!

The black clouds are evidently heading north. My road, out west, is clear,
apart from a god-awful wind that has me countersteering to the left, just to
stay in a straight line. A couple of times I'm blown into the next lane
(which is conveniently empty - phew!)

The ride to Deni is long and straight. And long. And straight. Brunch at
Macca's in Wagga and I press on, playing those little mental games with
myself to stave off boredom. Do you know that at 130kmh (um, 110kmh,
honest!) you can go 1.2kms in the time it takes to sing one verse of "Guide
Me Oh Thou Great Jehovah"? (heh heh heh, don't ask!) The Dambusters March
will get you one kilometre.

An emu is legging it across a paddock, about 30 metres behind a fence and
running parallel to the Urana Road. He must've heard the bike coming up the
road, coz he turns his head, eyeballs me and redoubles his efforts. How can
I resist the challenge? There's a moment of absolute communion as I draw
level with him and he turns to eyeball me again. We're side by side, just
briefly, before I pull away...

On these 500km days, I'm generally fine for the first 400 or so kms, and
then my shoulders start to tire and my hands hurt. I spend the final 50kms
sounding like Bart and Lisa Simpson - "Are we there yet, are we there yet,
are we there yet?" But I'm in Deni by 2pm, and spend a lovely afternoon and
evening with my friend David and his twins. We watch 'Mary Poppins', and a
week later I'm still singing Chim Chiminy bloody Cheree - aaaargh!

Day 2 - Deniliquin - Mildura.

On the advice of Moike from aus.moto, I decide to go south to Echuca, and
follow the Murray Valley Highway to Mildura, rather than doing the Hay
Plain. It's "the long way" but that's fine.

Gus feels a bit "tired" - he's almost due for his 24,000km service, and is
sounding like he needs it.

After a wee stop in Echuca I ride to Mildura through places called Wood Wood
and Gol Gol (bloody bloody hell hell! I thought Wagga Wagga and Gumly Gumly
were bad enough..) I like Nyah as well - there's something very Monty
Pythonesque about it.... "we are the Knights who say Nyah!"

The highway is closed between Kerang and Swan Hill, after the terrible level
crossing crash of a few days earlier, and the detour is a long one, but I
finally get to Mildura, and promptly get lost. I find another lost soul - an
old email friend from Melbourne - and we call BTH to get on the right track.

I'm so excited to actually get there! It's been 983kms since I left home,
and I'm tired but elated. There's a bit of an aus.moto campsite established
in the middle of a stinging nettle patch, and I meet G-S and Nev, and say hi
again to BTH & Peter. When I get my tent pitched (thanks for the help, BTH!)
and my gear stowed, it's off to the gymkhana, where G-S uses brute strength
(and a little ballast) to win the bungy pull competition, and BTH's
postie-bike is a big hit with the punters. I meet Mrs Madeyes as well - she
recognises me by my stylish "2007 Unagural" polo-shirt (thanks BTH!)

Our favourite pyromaniac gets the campfire going and the evening's official
fun starts - the boozing-and-bullshitting-by-the-campfire stuff. Snark
appears as well, and happy campers Marls and Ron share our fire (seeing as
we pinched their wood).

Now, what do you suppose the average person thinks bikers talk about around
a campfire? Rooting, looting and drugs? Sprockets, valve clearances and fuel
consumption? The latest in protective gear? Not this lot.... The erudition
is awesome - Peter strums his ukelele while Star Wars vs Star Trek gets an
airing, as well as a discussion of event horizons and naked singularities.
It's all sounding scarily learned until G-S lowers the tone with the
juiciest fart ever, and I almost fall into the campfire laughing.

I learn from Marls that I've won the "Furtherest Female" award - yippeeeeee!
and we go en masse to collect my trophy, only to find the tent shut. Still,
it's as good an opportunity as any to go to the loo (which is MILES from the
nettle-patch we call home).

By 11.30 I've just about had it, and crawl into my little tent. It's
surprisingly comfortable (I think the alcohol has helped soften the ground a
bit) and I get several hours of decent sleep.

It's still pitch black when I wake to something that sounds like a
chainsaw - it's the bloke in the tent next door, snoring. That's not bad, I
think to myself - all these blokes around here and only one of them snores.
And then my neighbour stops. Suddenly, through the darkness, I hear more
distant snores, and some a little closer - it seems everybody is snoring -
all at a slightly different pitch and tempo, and the chorus is so
unbelieveably tuneful and peaceful and bloody hilarious that I can't control
myself. I'm off, giggling and trying so hard to do it quietly that I end up
waking half the campsite (sorry guys!)

Day 3 - Mildura - Jerilderie

The highway between Swan Hill and Kerang has reopened, and crossing the
level crossing where the accident took place, I am struck by the thought
that in a couple of days there will be no sign that such a tragic event has
taken place on this very spot. How quickly tragedy can be erased from the
landscape...

I make Jerilderie by about 4pm, and stagger into the bar of the Jerilderie
Hotel to ask for a room. "Yes, that'll be $15, shared bathroom - there
aren't any locks on the unisex bathroom door, but you can put a chair
against the handle, love, and besides, there's no-one else up there right
now."

All I want to do is have a hot shower - and it's fantastic! I briefly
explore Jerilderie, then seat myself at the bar, where I meet Pat, who moved
there from Melbourne after her husband died, and a couple of young blokes
who are rather the worse for wear and who want to know if I'm a 'f*ckin'
politician eh' coz I come from Canberra.

Saved by the publican's niece, who tells me my dinner's ready - the most
delicious plate of savoury mince ever - hearty, filling, real comfort food,
and I realise just how tired I am, and how much I just want to curl up in
bed and sleep. And it's only 6.30pm.

Problem - the room's like a bloody fridge! The public bar is heated, but
upstairs isn't - and there's only one blanket on my bed! Being the hardened
motorcycle tourer that I am <snigger> I drag my sleeping bag under the
blanket and crawl inside. I'm fast asleep by 7.30pm...

Day 4 - Jerilderie - Ardlethan

Expecting an easy day of it - it's not far from Jerilderie to Ardlethan -
I'm up and away by 8am, my course plotted. I'm to be in Leeton by
mid-morning, for lunch with my old Patrick White Appreciation Society buddy,
Sarah the Poet.

It would've been great if there hadn't been pea-soup fog from 20kms before
Coleambally. It's wet and white and bloody COLD, and I don't get to see any
scenery (although I manage to wave at 2 emus before the fog swallows me up,
and the weather is still clear when I pass Turn Back Jimmy Creek - surely
there's a great story to go with that name...)

I know there's a turn-off to Darlington Point somewhere, but the fog's so
thick by the time I get to a T-junction at Waddi that I can't see anything
at all! I pull into the roadhouse and chat to a truckie from Narrandera,
whose truck's facing the wrong way. He missed the turn into the servo
because of the fog... We talk to the girl inside the servo, where it's
blissfully warm.

"No, you don't want to take the road to Darlington Point", she says. "It's
shit-house - full of potholes." She and the truckie give me alternate
directions to Leeton, and off I go, into the mists. I keep reminding myself
that the narrow, pot-holed road I find myself on is the GOOD road... The fog
has slowed me down so much that I get TWO verses of "Guide me Oh thou Great
Jehovah" (a great Welsh rugby anthem) to a kilometre - but eventually I
arrive in Leeton, and it's wonderful to catch up with Sarah - I wish I had
more time.

Gus's chain is making an interesting noise...

We go to Sarah's parents' farm for a lovely roast dinner and at some stage
the sun comes out. That doesn't stop me getting lost while trying to follow
her dad's mud-map - the one that will get me to the Barellan Road. My
problem is that I can't tell the difference between an irrigation ditch and
a canal (dumbarse city-girl).

Still, after a few attempts and much back-tracking, I find the right road,
and slow down to memorise the spelling of Moombooldool (pronounced
"Mumble-Dool" by the locals) before I arrive late in Ardlethan, only to find
Mick's house deserted.

It turns out he's seen the ambulance and the cops heading out of town, and
as he's had no sign of me so far.... But he arrives home just a couple of
minutes after I get there.

Mick's in fine form. We knock off a bottle of Glayva, have pea and ham soup
for dinner (yum, more comfort food!) laugh heaps and listen to Aussie rock
and roll till I start to nod off.

Day 5 - Ardlethan - Canberra

I wait for Mick to get back from his stint driving the local school bus,
then I hit the road. It's freezing - bleak, grey, a bit of fog between
Temora and Harden - but not the complete white-out of yesterday.

There's a place called Gundybindyal Creek at Springdale. Just thought I'd
mention that - I love some of the names we give creeks in this country!

I'm like an ice-cube by the time I stop at Harden for breakfast, and the
coffee I order is more to warm my hands on than to drink!

Gus's chain is clanking like a ghost in a medieval castle, and he's
definitely sounding tired. I know how he feels!

When I get home and count my kilometres, I've done 2066kms since Friday. My
tent is still wet from when I packed it up in Mildura 2 days ago, so into
the washing machine with it.

I've caught up with 8 old friends, met 7 new ones and have my "Furtherest
Female" trophy to remember the weekend by. Gawd, what a life! What on earth
did I ever do with long weekends before I had a motorcycle???

betty

 

Gawd, what a life! What on earth did I ever do with long weekends before I had a motorcycle???

got laid?

 

nobody is to stone anybody until I blow this whistle...

 

http://blamesociety.net/web/chadvader.htm

 

not intentionally, fuckwit.

 

Silly me, I thought only males had tank slappers............ I mean a real
good tank slapper brings tears to the eyes

 

one wintersun and she is now sounding like one of the boys

 

Sorry - you're wrong, will. I stood up to fuckwits long ago. No need to
stand up to anybody at Wintersun - they were all lovely!

betty, never one of 'the boys'
but always anti-fuckwit

 

Ummm...

---
Bob Milutinovic
Cognicom - "Australia's Web Presence Specialists"
http://www.cognicom.net.au/
telephone (0417) 45-77-66
facsimile (02) 9824-2240

 

Crap, paul.... are you saying the only thing 'normal' people think about
before they get a bike is getting laid? Gimme a break! Nobody is THAT
one-dimensional, surely!!!!!

betty

 

Point taken, big. Thank you. I'll try to be more understanding in future. My
issues with 'gus (funny you should call him that, it's my bike's name
<grin>) go way back to my beginnings on this newsgroup, where it was one of
his comments that got me so riled in the first place.

On the other hand, I don't see why it's my place to be 'understanding' and
'accommodating' - and more importantly, SILENT - when ppl like 'gus make
comments that I find so patently bloody offensive (I will accept that
perhaps I have a more personal perspective on such issues....). Nowadays I
will always always always feel the need to comment/argue about comments
which offend me -can't help it, it's almost a duty to point out an alternate
perspective on such things. I simply can't let them pass - because letting
them pass implies that they're ok - and I don't think they are...

betty

 

What a bugger!!! and you won't get many chances like that again..... you
should have maintained your position until it hit the fence or gate that it
was coming up to... then watch the feathers fly... Ah!!
Rockit

 

LOL - I reckon this was an Experienced Emu - he knew how to stay parallel
ha ha ha.... it was just so brilliant!

Coming through Talbingo in January I chatted to the bloke at the servo, and
he reckoned emus weren't always very clever (hello Theo, you can probably
concur????) He said that occasionally you'd come to a point on the road
where it looked as if someone had busted a doona.... feathers
everywhere......

What a sad thought.... I've loved all the big robust emus I've found so far
(of course, none of them has tried to get in my way so far <grin>)

betty

 

obviously too ugly to get laid then ?

 

Personally I enjoy combing both ... sex and motorcycles can work ....

Step 1: Take pillion out on an uncomfortable motorcycle
Step 2: Oh, I'll massage that sore spot for you.

And she thought it was romance ... bah!

 

'Course not. Most of us think about it *after* getting a bike too...

 

if you chose to be crass and overtly

It is the net and bikerbettys response wasn't exactly a good example of
what she expects.

There seems to be a lot of sexual references at some point and a lot worse
than what was just posted, I don't know about the other thread mentioned
but that would be a good place to finalise it and move on.

I have seen too many newsgroups go to dust because people take things too
personally. If you don't like what someone has to say and find it so
offensive add them to your kill file but I recommend doing this as a last
resort.

 

photos...wot about the photos??

mh
(I cant read)

 

Soon... I have to do some futzing around to retrieve the FTP password
for my website from another computer...

Can't use apostrophes either!


BTH

 

Hmm. I was following that same strategy with Mr Wickham[1]'s chain,
but now the front sprocket is worn down to nubs, the rear sprocket is
shark-toothed and the chain is buggered after a mere 4,000 miles!


BTH
[1] 1967 Honda CT90