"Oh Bugga." Part 3
In many places around the world nasty, evil little bugs like scorpions and small snakes often bed down in your gear! OZ has a fair share of wildlife dangers, one of them is the very deadly, Funnel Web Spider. It’s poison sort of, kills people! As with most things in the natural world, if you leave it well alone it stays happy, you stay safe. Waking a sleepy Funnel Web is never a good idea. They can and they do jump several feet up into the air and bite, no antidote, you just pop your clogs, very slowly. They are becoming a real “situation” along the Australian East Coast, Sydney area in particular. All the creepy crawly experts blame global warming, of course. So each morning you need to give your boots a thorough looksee and shake out your clobber. This morning, after the joint “All Clear” we grab a couple of towels and slumock out of the YHA and across the beach road, for an early morning swim, straight in “Plosh” off the white sand at Nelson Bay.
Next, we bung all our kit back in the cowboy bags ready for the off. “Oh Bugga” (Yes, we have a situation) a f-f-flat! The tyre shows no signs of damage so we agree “Must be a slow puncture”. Now then, the back wheels of big 650 Lbs, belt driven Harleys, with no centre stand, are just a little reluctant to come out and even more reluctant to go back in, on the side of any road. So we borrow a foot pump, get as much air into the tube (as fast as Annie’s legs can pump) then ride, like the clappers, for the garage. Again it’s “Just round the corner” only 26 miles (back the way we came yesterday). No workshop “We only sell gas” says the lady. However, she pours the coffee (what nice people) and makes a phone call. “Barry the tow-truck man, will be right over”. Two hours, sixteen minutes later, Barry arrives. “Oh Bugga” I say as he climbs down and gives us a very ugly look. “Quiet” says Annie “He may hear you”. Nice bloke Barry, twenty-five stone of belly with a mouth on top! “Ok yank, it’s cash, a hundred up front, lots of you bloody yanks don’t pay”. Annie turns on the charm “Barry, my dear boy, we are not American, in fact, we are from England”. Barry responds with another ugly look, “In that case lady, it’s a hundred-n-fifty, up front, cash”. Now, seeing as how we had already paid (plastic, up front) for The Full Monty roadside cover, Annie calls our hire man in Sydney on the mobile. After a painfully long time he agrees to reimburse us for this assistance, as per his paperwork (see small print!). We give Barry his money and he tells me to “Get that bloody hack up the truckin ramp, yank” (At least, I think that’s what he said). Then, with the lame Harley leaning well over on it’s bent tentacle, sort of hanging between two oily ropes, we climb into the fag ash flavoured cab and Barry drives us (just another fifty miles back) to Fraser’s of Newcastle, the main Harley agent in New South Wales.
Men in designer overalls peer out from work bays over enormous red box’s of Snap On tools as “Belly Barry” brings the bike back down to earth. Troy, is our man, he grins and shakes my hand, “G’day sport, we got air conditioning, ya know”. More free coffee, so I find the Gents before we settle down in the hot lounge. Seems the conditioning gear only cools the workshop air. Before I can get started on the yellow National Geo mag (June 76 issue, stolen from a dentists) Troy has the bike up on his red lift and the rear wheel out.
“Puncture was due to the tube being pinched, when it was fitted, that’s 25 bucks to pay,sport”. With the new tube inflated Troy fires up the big V twin motor and potato, potato’s off up the road for the test run. However, just 100m away he stops, turns around and very
slowly rolls back to me. “What’s that noise” he asks “Thought all these Harleys sounded like that” I reply. “No, not that sound, that NOISE” says Troy pointing to the engine. OK, all together now “Oh Bugga”, louder, I can’t hear you “Oh Bugga” that’s better. Back up on the lift goes the bike and Troy removes the engine primary side casing. Holding a big handful of thick grey gunge (you know that stuff you get when you grind alloy and steel together in oil) he turns. “Ya, thought we had problems, see that big nut, it’s come off and it’s eating it’s way out, can’t let you ride it like that, whoever hired you this old hack, should be shot”. Me “You got a gun”. Dramatically, he explains that if the nut had gone walkabout, the engine would have exploded, right here between my legs. The emergency services (and us) would have had much more than blobs of grey gunge to contend with! My anger was followed by fear as I thought through the scenario, Annie was already on the mobile to the nice man back in Sydney! I managed to keep quiet and took photos, just in case we ever went to court! “That’s 75 bucks, up front” said Troy, after he had sorted the big nut, new locking washer and side case gasket. The bike vibrations had halved and the NOISE was better, we also got a couple of complementary baseball caps and Harley Davidson plastic key rings! “They’re free”, nice move Troy, real nice! “G’day to ya sport, now ya can enjoy ya ride”. “Thanks Troy, have a stubby on me” and “Squeak”.
Troy had probably just saved our lives but we had lost the day, so we decided to get back on schedule by riding through the night, to our next YHA stop. Main risk at night is not Kangaroos, it’s Road Trains! They ain’t grey and they sure don’t sit on the track and stare at you. Try to imagine, if you will, three or four Eddie Stobart size Tonka Toys, all in a line, hooked up, weighing around 100 tons, travelling at anything up to 90 mph, on a dirt road, in the dark. Words like brakes, stopping and distance are not found in any of the Road Train Driver handbooks! Kenworth USA, make the “Cannonball” cabs. Blobs of guts and fur on the front Roo Bars confirm that whatever they hit, just bounced off. First you see a distant glow of lights, next the road starts to shudder, the wind almost wrenches your arms out, you grit your teeth (tooth and gum in my case) hold your breath and hang on. With 60 odd individual chunky tyres all digging grooves in the road the spray (when it’s wet) lasts for miles, the dust (when it’s dry) lasts even longer. It’s a bit much in the daytime, at night it’s hell on Earth. To be honest, I’m about as religious as a sprout bag (no offence intended). However, I will admit to having the odd quick prayer “Oh God, please, let all those daft kangaroos be well off the track”. Thoughts of a road train hitting a big Roo (or anything) just as we pass, followed by more blobs of gunge, was just too much of a nightmare or “Oh Bugga” situation even for Rainbow Annie to contemplate, never mind resolve!
On the other hand, a nice thing about riding at night down under is the sky. When you pull over, to splash fuel (or whatever) on your boots, it’s worth taking time out to look up and check the fantastic display of stars overhead.
Southern hemisphere night skies are so much brighter than those we get up here, you soon learn to pick out the Southern Cross of the Australian flag. Pushing on, we made progress, as fast as the daft little headlight would allow, along the dark gum tree lined tracks, we made good time. Rolling into town just as the Great Bear ended his giant astronomical gambol across the sky with a head down, bum up dive into the horizon, and the dawn became the day. Another superb golden sunrise, “Squeak” that’ll be Annie then.
Now that the bike had been sorted at Fraser’s, it was much better to ride and I was, kind of, beginning to develop a strange affection for the poor old thing. It never failed to start, even in the wet, and although I had to really “Give it some welly” on steep hills, it always took us where we wanted to go. I have never been happy with the “Ride em hard, treat em rough” idea, but Harleys seem to love it? Can’t say I was keen on the riding position though. Blasting along in the rain with my feet stuck out in front, legs wide apart and arms held high I felt, just a bit, like a water skier on a mission, looking for a wake. After about a week or so, my Didgery Doo thingy was quite convinced that my knees would never get back together again, ever. From the pillion point of view, Annie, although quite small, always does a brilliant job of holding the rear end of a bike down. She squeaks a lot, never complains (when we’re rolling) and throughout this very long ride, she also carried a full heavy backpack on her shoulders, tough cookie, a real hard Pom Sheila!
The mixture of the Aboriginal and European languages means that reading Australian road maps is a delight. Our ride took us through Way Way, Kuri Kuri, Toowoomba and Yamba, with a double “Squeak” at Gin Gin. Just North of Coolangatta, the blue Pacific Ocean thunders onto miles of white gold sands and palm trees sway in the breeze. From the shade we watch a pair of Sea Eagles entertain us with their amazingly beautiful game “Hang on the wind”. Time to just sit and quietly reflect on life. So till the next time then, you hang loose too, OK. Stay Safe.
Trev.
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