21 July 2024
It has been the coldest week I can remember, and Sunday isn’t looking much better. Just as I decide that I’ll give the ever popular modern bike ride a miss I find a message from Pipes Diaz on the club page seeking out riders for the day’s outing and I pause. Will I go and brave the elements or stay home and watch romantic comedies on Netflix like the worst sort of Laverda rider.
I trundle down town and find a fine collection of hard men, Pipes Diaz, Deposed Former Dictator Colin, Dad Joke Richard, Trumpy Dave and Shortarse Steve are standing casually around enjoying the weak winter sunshine. Ten o’clock rolls around and we are off.
Pipes Diaz leads us off and is in fine form, he is keen to show the off road prowess of his machine by riding through rough patches of road and even rides over the top of a roundabout. Pipes hands the lead over to me as we approach the top of the mountain pass into Kangaroo Valley, the road is empty and I let the Tiger out to play, I’m swinging through the bends with Trumpy Dave on his supercharged VStrom nipping at our heels, we leave the rest behind as the road warms and dries into the valley itself, pausing just before the village to regroup.
We roll into town past the Lebanese Drug Dealer’s Car Club parked near the bridge, we can hear their cries of “Fully sic maaate” as they regard each other’s Nissan Skylines and AMG Mercedes and compare the length of their gold chains. They stop comparing subwoofers and look at the hard men of the Highlands Classic and Enthusiasts Motorcycle Club as we pass, they know that here is something out of the ordinary.
Wattamola Road is it’s usual bucolic paradise until we come across a barrier warning of fallen power lines across the road. We creep around the barrier and find two sinister black wires snaking across the road. I can almost hear an evil buzzing and blue ozone arcs of electricity coming from their ends as they nearly writhe around like a living evil entity. But what to do? Surely we cannot turn around, for the hard men will never retreat, never surrender. A detailed discussion ensues and we resolve that the oldest should go first, for they will have the least time to lose if the whole episode goes pear shaped. Since Rod isn’t here a quick survey is conducted and Shortarse Steve is nominated. He politely declines, bringing us to an impasse. Finally, since I am the most unimaginative and hence least likely to consider possible consequences I saddle up and with the immortal cry of “What could possibly go wrong?” the Tigerr and I set forth. As we approach the wires a hush falls over the hard men: will they see one of their number fried and blackened by the high voltage? Will the Tigerrr explode showering them with flaming fuel and molten metal? Will this act of foolhardiness be the end of the club’s beloved Vice President? With my mouth dry and my heart pounding I roll uneventfully across the wires, and with that terrible anticlimax the rest of the ride follows suit.
We arrive in Berry in short order, much of my time is taken up pondering a sign saying “Slow Wombats Crossing On Corners”. I wonder why the slow ones cross on corners and do the fast ones cross on the straights? We pull up at our morning stop at the Berry Do-nut van to find the line stretching approximately ninety three million kilometers and decide to give it a miss and in a wonderful display of aimlessness and indecision we end up on the freeway. A random motorcyclist on a touring Honda passes and we blindly let him lead the ride into Nowra.
Through Nowra and a gentle ride through the floodplains brings us to Greenwell Point and our lunch destination, that has gone out of business. Showing the resourcefulness an resilience of the hard men we go to the shop across the road that boasts Australia’s Best Fish and Chips. Were they? Pretty close especially given the scenery and company.
After lunch we head towards Nerriga and home, I blast up Nowra Hill but can’t shake Trumpy Dave on his turbocharged VStrom, we slow to let the others catch up and turn onto the long straight Braidwood road. The Tigerrrr and I are just tooling along when Pipes blasts past, closely pursued by Dave on his nitrous injected VStrom. I’m caught flat footed fooling around with my multi adjustable screen and let them go. From there into Nerriga I am in the middle of the pack, but the pack is spread over several kilometers so it is a solitary ride, just the thrum of the three cylinder heart of the Tigerrrrr beating at the road like the predator she is.
I have a clean run down the hill into Nerriga and pull up at the hotel, Pipes is marvelling at the speed displayed by Dave’s ported and polished works Vstrom as we have a drink and listen to Dad Joke Richard’s puns and cringe inducing jokes.
There is more distance to cover, the ride home will be filled with adventure and fear induced by DFD Colin’s kamikaze overtakes and awe inspired by the juggernaut BMW tourers of Richard and Steve, and fond farewells from Pipe’s 1200 Triumph and Dave’s hemi powered VStrom as they disappear into the distance and I thank the universe that I can keep company with men such as these.
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