Pillion Point of View
Born To Be Mild
What is it about the desire to be hauled along the roads and byways on the back of a motor bike? It’s not as though it’s the most comfortable mode of travel.
The seat never seems to “quite” fit the derriere, the view is limited to say the least. The noise of the wind buffets your eardrums mile after mile, and the bugs play suicidal games with your visor (or face if you prefer the open variety of helmet). Not to mention the stones and other debris which seem to have an affinity with those parts of your anatomy not protected by Kevlar or padding!
We entrust our very lives to the helmet in front which obscures our view to a vast extent. And oh, the fresh air! Being in tune with nature. You can really smell those trees and blossoms as you hurtle along, mixed into a pot pourri of road kill and petrol fumes!
You’ve been clinging like a limpet for the last hour and a half, and that café stop has finally caught up with you. No matter how much you wriggle and squirm to find that comfort zone, it’s simply no good. Each minor deficiency in the road surface, only seeks to remind you that you shouldn’t drink and ride! Try as you might to gain the attention of that figure hunched in front of you, he’s far too engrossed in the euphoria of “being out there” , assuming that you too are with him in this other dimension. As you prod and scream and wave your arms in desperation, it simply encourages him to smile inanely in collusion with your supposed “joi de vive”!
The miles go by as if in a blur, and every truck stop and fuel station taunts you with it’s inaccessibility.
I love the way the truckies nearly knock you like a ten pin as they cruise along past, smugly, in their air conditioned stereo equipped capsules.
Of course there’s also the fellow travellers in their streamlined, climatically controlled, “quiet” luxury cars, who delight in seeing just how close they can get to your rear light before you skid on an oil patch. They may then go freely over the top of you instead of going the long way around!
So far I’ve only covered the positive aspects of pillion riding. Beware. There are down sides as well!
It’s as though you are lost in a desert and that “flushing” oasis is never quite near enough.At last you sense the slowing down of the metal monster that has held you captive. Your life passes in front of you as you behold a sign ‘LADIES’.
As you stagger off in search of relief, shedding layers as you go, (it takes about half an hour to find yourself, contrary to the story most spiritualists would spin you), you hear him crooning to the motor bike, “I thought you could do with a bit of a break!”
Fair Weather Fiend
The weather seemed quite fine, there was the possibility of storms later in the day. Since when did the mere thought of precipitation deter the intrepid biker?
Leaving at the crack of dawn (10am) we set off to explore a route only previously travelled (by us) with four wheels. Of course the road workers insisted on stopping us at every opportunity so that they could admire the Guzzi – well at least that’s what Windbreaker reckoned! The first stop (apart from the archaeological digs set up by the main roads department), was for a well earned cup of coffee.
You see one of the most necessary inclusions of any trip, to this pillion at least, are shops, toilets cafes, shops, toilets…and cafes! Not necessarily in that order.
After an enjoyable latté and conversation – you see unless you have microphones in your helmets it’s the only chance to converse normally – we set off once more.
I must just mention here, the certain rituals which must be performed before getting on a bike. It would put most religions to shame (some would say that it is a religion)! There is a very particular order to how you must adorn your person with the necessary paraphernalia. A cautionary note here about earings. Be careful what style you wear as some have been known to rip your ears off when the helmet is removed.
Finally the gloves. These are worn specifically so that you cannot (as a pillion) dig your nails into the driver in front of you! I’m certain that most of the padding in bike apparel was designed not in case of the event of a fall, but to protect the driver from a syndrome known as “Pillion Paralysis”.
So, after a ten minute coffee and half an hour to adorn ourselves once more, we were off. The scenery around the New England Tablelands varies so much from season to season, with Autumn being one of the best times to view the magnificent colours of the many deciduous trees. Now however being Spring, we were able to enjoy the warm air and fresh green of the pastures… along with the ominous black storm clouds! As the wind began to buffet and generally make it’s presence known and a few fat heavy drops of rain began to taunt us with their potential, we decided to turn towards home. I’ve already proclaimed my woosey status and not possessing (yet) any wet weather gear, I was not looking forward to a darned good soaking!
looks like rain
- First the jacket, making certain that all pockets and zippers or velcro are securely fastened.
- Second the helmet, manoeuvring it around to that “just right” position which suits your head only.
- Next sunglasses, once again slotting them carefully around your ears so that they don’t dig in unnecessarily.
Now I’m not admitting to any excessive speed on our return trip, but suffice it to say that the bike went REALLY well, and some of the cars we passed weren’t going all that fast!
We pulled into the shed at home three minutes before the deluge hit and sat inside, smugly, with that feeling you get when you’ve timed the trip to perfection!
Sidestand Psyche!
Ah, the beautiful New England! Spring at last. Pack away the jumpers and enjoy the warmth of the blossom scented air!
As we set off for the day there was a certain nip in the air passing us by on the “Guzzi”. Living at an altitude of 1000 metres, one of the worst mistakes you can make is to not take a jumper, always. Even when the sun shines and all appears to be fine and dandy …always take a jumper! Of course I hadn’t bothered today – besides it’s simply mind over matter. Well, I soon realised that I did mind being cold and it did matter!
Being huddled behind the driver (thus the name Windbreak) I was able to escape much of the icy blast, but by the time we reached Guyra (alt. 1320 mts) there was a certain rigidity to my position reminiscent of a cryogenic state. By the time we left Guyra heading towards Inverell, and began to lose altitude, the temperature rose accordingly and the scenery took over where the cold left off. It is a most pleasant run, especially with blue skies and sunshine as constant companions. We especially enjoyed viewing the “grass” tennis courts at Tingha – there would be some very interesting bounces from the ball on this particular turf!
There’s nothing quite like a Chinese meal washed down with lashings of green tea and the anticipation of the homeward journey. The weather was definitely warmer here, and as we weren’t returning home via Guyra – the coldest place on earth – it should be a good ride.
The Guzzi was still standing, so my prior instincts were obviously wrong. Before heading home we decided to check out the bike shops in town. It’s amazing to think that a town the size of Inverell -population 10,000 – can support three bike shops!
Curiosity satisfied, we began the journey home. Apart from a bit of a cross wind and some kangaroos who decided to “come out and play” in the middle of the road – have you ever noticed that when you are showing city people or oversees visitors around the countryside, you never ever see a kangaroo?- we had an enjoyable and uneventful trip back to Uralla where we stopped to re fuel. As Windbreaker filled the tank I stood beside the bowser in quiet meditation – as one does – until there filtered into my consciousness a certain screaming urgency …”Help…the…f…bike!!”
M a t e, don’t you think the Guzzi is leaning over a long way……..Get what?
As we cruised into Inverell, it was difficult to tell whether the grumbling I could hear was a malfunction of the bike or simply my empty stomach making its presence known. As the Guzzi didn’t seem to be in any difficulty it was deduced that it must be time for a sustenance stop. When we parked the bike and wandered off in search of a likely meal, I vaguely noticed – as is my want – that the Guzzi had a certain “extra” lean to it as it rested on its side stand. As no one else appeared to be worried by this phenomenon, I assumed that it was normal and so concentrated my mind on more important matters ie. lunch.
You see, my intuition wasn’t totally wrong after all. The side stand had given up the ghost and decided to relinquish all sense of responsibility towards the bike! Between the two of us, Windbreaker and I managed to avoid the embarrassment of the Guzzi lying prone in the garage driveway, and set it on the centre stand. It just goes to show how important it is to listen to those inner feelings of your Moto Psyche!!
All of Armidale has 50km/h???
Ed. As an incentive we used offer our sales reps a first prize – 1 week in Tingha, second prize – 2 weeks… etc.
Loose Ends
Living here in the mountains, it’s always a refreshing change to visit the coast. To feel the heat and humidity, the sandflies and mosquitos. We do get spoiled here I admit. To us 30 degrees is almost unbearably hot! So, off we set, ostensibly to visit the rellies – or “outlaws” as Windbreaker would put it – but really for the shear enjoyment of a great bike ride. Couple-a-days, beautiful!
The Thunderbolt’s Way, between Walcha and Gloucester is a truly scenic run and a very direct route from the mountains of New England to the coast. It varies between rolling grazing land to temperate rain forest, and if you’re lucky you will spot a koala or two. If you’re unlucky, you will run into a wombat -one of those is enough! Kangaroos and wallabies also abound, so you need to keep your wits about you.
Carson’s lookout half way between Nowendoc and Barrington, gives a fantastic bird’s eye view towards the coast and the valleys in between, so it’s definitely worth a pit stop (there is a toilet).
As the altitude lessens the heat increases, it’s hard to believe just what a difference there is in the temperatures. By the time we reached Barrington for a bite to eat, we were almost welded to the bike!
A caffeine fix and a bit of a feed, and we were ready to tackle the next stage of our journey to the coast.
Our first port of call was Forster to visit the “outlaws” on WB’s side, and as we glided into Tuncurry and Forster the temperature dropped at least 5 degrees so that breathing once more became possible without a respirator!
Sister and brother outlaw were staying in Forster for a week of fun filled frivolity and golf, accommodated in a lovely house perched on the hill, an easy walk from the golf club and overlooking the ocean. The wind, however, had been howling for days on end and had put a definite damper on the golf, not to mention the beach excursions, so that even our arrival seemed a welcome diversion to them! We enjoyed a very pleasant hour or so in their company before heading off for Taree and WB’s turn at his outlaws.
Once more the temperature climbed as we neared Taree – luckily the rellies had a fire extinguisher on hand as we peeled ourselves from the Guzzi. What a delight to enter the air conditioned comfort of the house and exchange riding apparel for shorts and t-shirts.
I won’t bore you with the details of a typical family gathering – where instead of being a real “grown up” you revert to the roll you “enjoyed” as a child. However suffice it to say that we had a really enjoyable couple of days – despite the company (sorry Bro)!
On the morning of our departure, the weather decided to threaten rain, in fact, the mountains were definitely shrouded in mist. To the true biker, this would pose no problem.
However, we are talking about moi, the eternal woose. Possessing a waterproof jacket is one thing, but I did not possess any wet weather pants. So we proceeded to visit every bike shop in town to purchase a miniature sized pair. They did not exist. WB found a pair to fit him, so I resigned myself to getting wet and off we set.
The Guzzi decided to present us with a few intermittent coughs and hiccups as we travelled along, so we stopped at a true biker’s haven with Jim Morris at Camden Haven MCs at Kew. After going over the bike with his stethoscope and checking it’s reflexes, Jim declared that the Guzzi’s heart and lungs seemed fine and that maybe a blood test would show muck in the carbie. Being an owner of 70′s vintage Ducati he was well acquainted with the idiosyncrasies of Dell’Ortos.
Off we went once again. It was a far from relaxing ride as the bike still complained from time to time and the weather began to close in more and more.
This was the first time we’d ridden up the Oxley Highway from the coast and we had been looking forward to enjoying what is renowned as a fantastic bike road. However the prospect of doing it in the rain on a temperamental bike wasn’t quite the same.
There was one more bike shop at Wauchope, so on the off chance we called in and checked through every pair of wet weather pants they possessed. There seemed to be hundreds of them, and of course the very last pair were sort of small enough. So, doing my impression of Michelin Woman I waddled off back to the bike. At least I would be dry!
By the time we reached Long Flat at the bottom of the mountains it was obvious that the bike was really trying to tell us something important, so WB pulled up under the picnic shelter in the park – it was raining now – and proceeded to drain the carbie.
Apart from the rain and the problem with the bike, it was very pleasant sitting in the park enjoying fantastic fish and chips from the local shop, as well as some helpful advice from the proprietor (a Bemer owner himself who confessed to once having owned a Guzzi).
It was only as we prepared to leave and WB was replacing the seat, that he discovered that the battery leads were loose. Aha!
The rain held off for the rest of the journey and the Guzzi never missed a beat from then on.
The reputation of the Oxley Highway is not exaggerated, it is a fantastic road on a bike. I have been up and down the same road on numerous occasions over the years in various different cars and have been sick every time! On the bike however, it was a different story. Maybe the fact that I was wearing a full face helmet helped. The last thing I wanted to experience was fish and chips again!