"Oh Bugga." Part 2
The Ride On The Underside, Continues.
Back in Sydney we had arranged to meet up with the local CCC, Cobbers Cruiser Club (Cobber means Friend) on their Saturday ride out. Most of the members are Vietnam veterans, names like Big Brewer, Buddha and Battles should give you some idea of the, er, atmosphere. All their bikes were newer, bigger, blacker and louder than our old hack. However, I did fifteen years in the Royal Navy (Combat Diver, Special Services) so they didn’t frighten me! Well, not that much. Some of them wore their campaign medals, but it turned out that I had more tattoos, so I held my own (as you do). Introductions done, the No1 boy, Battles, took the lead and we headed south, towards Kangaroo Valley (real place). Big Brewer, “OK Pom, you just keep in a staggered line, so the guy in front can see you, be sure you can see the bike behind, ok”. “Sounds familiar” I replied, as we all manoeuvre into formation.
Before long we had several cars in tow, but they all seemed quite happy to follow Battles and his army of about twenty bikes. Nice and easy, the pace gave us the chance to look at some fantastic forests and countryside, Annie makes a little happy squeak whenever she spots flowers or wildlife. Bikers are all the same, the world over, so before very long we had all parked up, in a kind of straight line (as you do) at their favourite breakfast check point, for the compulsory bacon butty.
“The Pack” seemed friendly and interested in us, maybe it was something to do with the way Annie speaks. Glenda “D- ya have brown sauce, in the UK”, Annie “Well, actually yes, often one also has a choice, I do rather enjoy a small serving of relish, myself” (Bit posh is Annie, not a Brummy!) Glenda “Gee, go on say some more, in English”. Annie “Excuse me”. Battles “Ya, I know England, that’s where all the bloody Queens live”. Struggling with my cool, I chip in with “Good to see all you convicts still have a sense of humour”. (Not too loud mind, I’m not that daft!) On a rather more serious note, we did take notice of all their advice and local knowledge. Some had real concern about the fact that we intended to ride so far, for so long. “Look here sport” said Buddha (A very big lad this, whenever he talked, you listened, know what I mean). “Yagorra look out for the bloody Roos, up on them northern roads, a big Grey (adult kangaroo) can weigh in at well over ten stone, they don’t back off man, you ride past, bet the Bugga will bounce”. Crash, his giant fist comes thundering down on the table, several mugs of coffee head off into orbit. Big Brewer “The little Joey’s (baby kangaroos) don’t hurt much, but a bloody big Grey will have you and the Sheila off, for sure!”. Annie was quite, er, moved at being referred to as “The Sheila”. We all had a great day out and when, late in the afternoon, we pulled over to say “Thanks” and wish everyone a “Safe ride home”. Buddha said “Oh Bugga me Pom, you and the Sheila just gorra come to our party tonight, ain’t ya”. So with those few words we had been invited to the CCC Christmas Party, up at the Military Base, overlooking the harbour entrance. Another example of Aussie hospitality, “Pig out on the grub and beer folks” followed by “Get some chilled wine, for the Sheila”. Much later, the CCC El Presidenty, army Staff Sergeant Gord Goolygong, handed out gifts for everyone. Annie was given a bottle of wine, squeak, squeak! My gift was a pair of bright red socks with insulting words, in yellow! “Oh, thank you” I said “Just what I needed”.
I did need some air, we took our drinks outside just in time to watch a guy feeding crab sticks to a fat Kookaburra. “Happy Christmas Pom, we sure do love Australia” groaned
Big Brewer as he undid his belt and fell asleep, on the floor over in a corner.
By now we had got the feel of the old Harley, it was time to pack the throw-over cowboy bags and head North. From now on in, it would be just the two of us. Annie had booked beds at stopover points between 250 and 350 miles apart, we intended to enjoy a steady ride, taking time to stop and look. We rolled out of Sydney on Monday morning with that “Potato-Potato” exhaust echoing off the sheer rock sides of the main Pacific Highway. Some road this, must have taken a lot of convicts a lot of “Oh Bugga’s” to cut away the granite mountains and make this major highway from what once must have been a rough path used by the mule trains of early pioneers. With over 2.500 miles up into Queensland and “The Bush” ahead of us, the last thing we needed were any little “situations”. Sods Law is international, don’t ya know. First, came the monsoon, “See that tree, stop under it”. Unpack a cowboy bag (Port side only) get well wet, long before we have any of the so called waterproof gear on. Hang on there, this is Australia, right, the land of sunshine, right, wrong! “Oh Bugga”, we were about to ride straight into the wettest, windiest and most muddy Aussie summer in history! Don’t boots take a long time to dry out!
As you know, Australia is the Worlds largest island, it’s like, BIG and it takes time to adjust to the map scale, the locals have no idea of distance, none! When it comes to miles or kilometers, all Australians understand just two things, Time and Beer! So Annie’s eloquent question “Please, can you tell us, how far is the next fuel stop” gets her a slow reply like “Oh Bugga me lady, reckon on about two hours, maybe two and a half ”. Or she might get something like, “Say, about five Stubbies”. You see a Stubby is a small bottled beer and in this case, they would drink about five on that drive. Easy, once you get to where they are coming from! So, off we roar, Potato-Potato, over the horizon in a cloud of muddy spray with no idea of how far the next (clean) water, beer, oil or bike fuel might be. Kind of gives a whole new meaning to “Pushing your Limits”, don’t you think?
“Ya need to go to The Road Warriors Café” says a very enthusiastic guy on a BMW, “It’s the most famous Bikers Café in all Australia, just round the corner”. We agree, it sounds good and with two extra large bottles of Semi synthetic oil in a carrier bag we head off. His “Just round the corner” turns out to be just over 37 miles away and just round several corners, up a dirt track. The Road Warriors Café is set back, well off any road, but we found it, just. Annie lifts her visor and hops off as we slide to a halt in the gravel and I lever out the side stand. Well, I call it a side stand, but to be honest, it was more like the tenth tentacle of a giant squid, long, bent and ugly, with a flat sort of lump, on the end. Whenever the bike was allowed to fall over (at an amazingly crazy angle) onto this appendage, the little (tear drop) fuel tank overflowed and “Oh Bugga” petrol sloshed onto the very hot motor. The solution, send “The Sheila” to fetch the flat rock, or the small log, just pop it under the bent tentacle to hold the bike more upright, each time you stop. “Situation Resolved”, easy. (Later on we carried a special lump of side stand wood)
Wombats, (like Badgers only no Go Faster Stripes) Koalas and of course Kangaroos, all seem to be a bit daft to me. “Down under” to them means down flat and under a vehicle, very dead! It’s sad but true, they sit staring at you, smack bang in the middle of the road,
almost daring you to pass. Just when you think you’re on a safe line they go “B-B-Boing” straight into you!
This can become a very real “situation” around dusk and dawn when apparently, the must all cross the road! We did have a few “little moments” but we had been warned and so amazingly, I managed to miss all the live wildlife. Mind you, dead wildlife is just as dangerous, you need to really keep good “forward vision” to spot any large fluffy lumps up ahead. Makes a welcome change from diesel spills and drains, eh.
About day three or four (who’s counting) we had found the coast again, cooler, more fuel stops and loads of Stubbies. Staying in YHA Hostels (She lies about her age) we got a warm, biker friendly, welcome everywhere. Non YHA members are given a card and allowed to book in, the next six Hostels stamp the card, full card means full membership. Many places listed as YHA Hostels are in fact, quite up-market Motels with really nice rooms, often set around swimming pools. Costs varied from between £10 & £20 (UK) for a double room, always with a shower and a loo roll. We even got a sink plug, the once! Bike security was never a worry, parking was off road at most places. I put the Halfords pad lock through the forks and frame rings, every time we stopped. The bike stayed safe the whole trip, looking back though, maybe you just don’t mess, not with a Harley! Eh?
That’s it for this one then, till next time, so you stay safe too, OK. Trev.
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