Here's a tale of my last 4200km in 7 days ride. Yes, pics will come - in a few days. In the meantime, its a story written for reading ....
PICS HERE
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/billstanhope/Romatrip03
Day 1. Sydney to Coonabarrabran (~ 600km)
We had many plans, but the weather had more. I chose a prudent, if dull, highway route north to Maitland. Temptation took me through Peats Ridge for a pleasant few kilometers of quiet sweepers, but the threatening clouds ruled out the Wollombi Road and I endured the freeway again. Cold – barely nine degrees on a coastal spring morning – so I rugged up, switched on the handlebar heaters, and motored forward.
After 200km of boredom, it was off onto the rolling corners of the Golden Highway. Always a tonic and even the grey skies eased by the time I turned off for the rolling bumps to Gulgong. The new roadster was giving delicious urge out of corners and over rises, a nice bass burble accompanying the wind-hum. This 1200 roadster seems very solid – the Metzeler Z6 tyres give the same reassurance they do on my wee bike, and above them the bike just sits on the road. No wiggles, light moments – that ‘running on rails’ feel from lean to lean that old-fart riders crave.
Wolf arrives on his Adveture within minutes of me and we settle into a café to plan. Maps and maps. Then a quick perambulation for premium (fuel) around old Gulgong town, a friendly mechanic to adjust my new brake lever (toolkit was all torx, no allen keys), and north.
We roll down off the plateau, off the Castlereagh Highway and onto the bumps to Coolah for the Warrumbungle Way to Coonabarrabran. The usual dull browns of winter have been given a burst of green from the rains that ended the longest drought in memory – it’s an odd contrast of beaming green and yet no water in the creek-beds. If we look closely enough we can still see bare earth between the new stalks of green.
With just enough light to ride out, we’re into the setting sun to Warrumbungle National Park to see the last rays light up the rock on the Breadknife. Split Rock and other formations. Then back in, dodging a few kangaroos around tight bends, to find a cabin for the night. Tuesday night certainty wasn’t party night, so a decent rib eye, a surprisingly decent local Cabernet, and we wander off to doze off.
Roaming to Roma ... Queensland - PICS ADDED
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Caroanbill
- Lifer
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Sat Jun 16, 2007 9:29 pm
- Location: Sydney, Australia
Roaming to Roma ... Queensland - PICS ADDED
Last edited by Caroanbill on Mon Sep 24, 2007 6:53 pm, edited 5 times in total.
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
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Caroanbill
- Lifer
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Sat Jun 16, 2007 9:29 pm
- Location: Sydney, Australia
Part 2
Day 2 Lightning Ridge and Roma (~ 800 km)
Wednesday begins early, with a wind around the eastern edge of the Warrumbungles. After a decent espresso, of course: no bike is complete with the means to make real coffee.
It’s a clear, cool sunny morning and we’re riding in shadows, so we meet all the locals – an echidna, some wallabies, snakes and a frill-neck lizard. We hit none, but somewhere in the dodging my mobile phone takes a leap out of my tank bag. We’ve a standing guard of honour from the Pilliga Scrub – callitris conifers instead of the otherwise ubiquitous eucalypt. Then the road unwinds towards Baradine and we ease up to open road speed, looking for early morning kangaroos, wandering stock and local birdlife.
Out west of Baradine it’s flat, flat, flat. Only the floodways give vertical relief as we bounce down into and up out of them. The wind starts to intrude and there are cattle to dodge near the unfenced road, along with cattle grids to shake and rattle across. I give the new bike its head – it’s surprisingly stable despite crosswind and bumps – and fly a little as the green-yellow-brown of the Pilliga scrub gives way to the grey of the western plains saltbush. The persistent nag of memory urges worry about sidewinds, yet the bike simply rolls along, heeled a little (and Wolf heeled further still in my mirrors). The rivers and creeks are dry, but the road verge is verdant from recent runoff – lovely to see even if it brings cattle into close range occasionally. Brakes!
Coonamble is a flatland town. Low wire mesh fences and weathered boards, paint losing the long battle with sun, dry heat and wind. We turn north, back onto the Castlereagh Highway, with a high speed limit to acknowledge the absence of people, traffic and corners. The big rivers are still mostly just billabongs, but there’s more water flowing from the north and by the time we cross the Namoi and Barwon rivers at Walgett they’re full and muddy.
We’re out of the scrub country and onto bare earth for a hundred kilometres. The long drought has helped the desert make a comeback – not that it was ever far away – and the sand is right up to the road in places. That’s the beauty of riding – we’re in the dry landscape enough to really feel it, and passing through it fast enough not to be weighed down by it. There are no hills visible anywhere in this big, big sky. It’s the pulse of the twin underneath, the feel of space and the wide horizon.
Flat, flat, flat.
Whoa! Wolf’s arm goes up and the ABS hammers me down to miss a manic emu, silly as a wheel and almost as fast. Three ridiculous birds run across the highway and turn back to race us, much taller than the bikes and well able to bring us all asunder. Finally they bolt for the sides, one tangling itself in a fence before recovering and leaping the wire to race off to nowhere. Should we breathe relief or simply laugh ourselves silly?
We turn off into the opal mullocks of Lighting Ridge. Ridge is a relative term out here. It’s clear, sunny, getting very warm and the architecture is .. well .. absent. It’s function, bugger form, out here and an asthete would die of thirst. Big BMWs mark us outsiders, and much as our touring attire does. A local miner treats us to a friendly diatribe on the evils of government over our burgers before we fuel up and pay with an amused Kamilaroi woman who finds us old whitefellas wanderers warmly risible - as indeed we are.
Back north on the Castlereagh, back into the brigalow scrub. Dry red earth under dry brown scrub. The local tracks simply spear off into red mud, going nowhere slowly. The flat starts to undulate a little, the skies cloud and spit a little, and then we’re spat over the border to Queensland without a river or range for ceremony. Only a roadsign for passage out here where the border is a latitude.
We trundle through grey low bush and southwest Queensland hamlets – Hebel, Diranbandi – and the buildings lift a little off the ground. By St George and the end of the Castlereagh the character of places is all north, no south. We fuel again and take the Carnarvon Highway another thankful north through a spattering of showers. The flat undulates up to low rolling ridgelines – the Darling Downs – and far to east we can see real ranges. The some real rain – and this country subsides to mud so the road verge is impassable to road bikes, as Wolf discovers. Prudence waits on one of the sealed parking bays and soaks in the emptiness of this landscape.
For a whole day’s riding we’ve been so far from cities that almost all the roads that meet our route are dirt. We’re riding the only seal going north within a goodly distance, and the highways reaching west – Gwydir, Mitchell, Warrego – are the only other roads worth the bitumen.
The Carnarvon merges into the Warrego for the last run down into Roma, and we do a few laps of the old town looking for a decent pub before settling for a motel. Dinner is a mistake .. lamb shanks sounded good but these shanks haven’t been lamb in many years. A few XXXX’s and some bike conversation and we retire to hope the rain stops.
Wednesday begins early, with a wind around the eastern edge of the Warrumbungles. After a decent espresso, of course: no bike is complete with the means to make real coffee.
It’s a clear, cool sunny morning and we’re riding in shadows, so we meet all the locals – an echidna, some wallabies, snakes and a frill-neck lizard. We hit none, but somewhere in the dodging my mobile phone takes a leap out of my tank bag. We’ve a standing guard of honour from the Pilliga Scrub – callitris conifers instead of the otherwise ubiquitous eucalypt. Then the road unwinds towards Baradine and we ease up to open road speed, looking for early morning kangaroos, wandering stock and local birdlife.
Out west of Baradine it’s flat, flat, flat. Only the floodways give vertical relief as we bounce down into and up out of them. The wind starts to intrude and there are cattle to dodge near the unfenced road, along with cattle grids to shake and rattle across. I give the new bike its head – it’s surprisingly stable despite crosswind and bumps – and fly a little as the green-yellow-brown of the Pilliga scrub gives way to the grey of the western plains saltbush. The persistent nag of memory urges worry about sidewinds, yet the bike simply rolls along, heeled a little (and Wolf heeled further still in my mirrors). The rivers and creeks are dry, but the road verge is verdant from recent runoff – lovely to see even if it brings cattle into close range occasionally. Brakes!
Coonamble is a flatland town. Low wire mesh fences and weathered boards, paint losing the long battle with sun, dry heat and wind. We turn north, back onto the Castlereagh Highway, with a high speed limit to acknowledge the absence of people, traffic and corners. The big rivers are still mostly just billabongs, but there’s more water flowing from the north and by the time we cross the Namoi and Barwon rivers at Walgett they’re full and muddy.
We’re out of the scrub country and onto bare earth for a hundred kilometres. The long drought has helped the desert make a comeback – not that it was ever far away – and the sand is right up to the road in places. That’s the beauty of riding – we’re in the dry landscape enough to really feel it, and passing through it fast enough not to be weighed down by it. There are no hills visible anywhere in this big, big sky. It’s the pulse of the twin underneath, the feel of space and the wide horizon.
Flat, flat, flat.
Whoa! Wolf’s arm goes up and the ABS hammers me down to miss a manic emu, silly as a wheel and almost as fast. Three ridiculous birds run across the highway and turn back to race us, much taller than the bikes and well able to bring us all asunder. Finally they bolt for the sides, one tangling itself in a fence before recovering and leaping the wire to race off to nowhere. Should we breathe relief or simply laugh ourselves silly?
We turn off into the opal mullocks of Lighting Ridge. Ridge is a relative term out here. It’s clear, sunny, getting very warm and the architecture is .. well .. absent. It’s function, bugger form, out here and an asthete would die of thirst. Big BMWs mark us outsiders, and much as our touring attire does. A local miner treats us to a friendly diatribe on the evils of government over our burgers before we fuel up and pay with an amused Kamilaroi woman who finds us old whitefellas wanderers warmly risible - as indeed we are.
Back north on the Castlereagh, back into the brigalow scrub. Dry red earth under dry brown scrub. The local tracks simply spear off into red mud, going nowhere slowly. The flat starts to undulate a little, the skies cloud and spit a little, and then we’re spat over the border to Queensland without a river or range for ceremony. Only a roadsign for passage out here where the border is a latitude.
We trundle through grey low bush and southwest Queensland hamlets – Hebel, Diranbandi – and the buildings lift a little off the ground. By St George and the end of the Castlereagh the character of places is all north, no south. We fuel again and take the Carnarvon Highway another thankful north through a spattering of showers. The flat undulates up to low rolling ridgelines – the Darling Downs – and far to east we can see real ranges. The some real rain – and this country subsides to mud so the road verge is impassable to road bikes, as Wolf discovers. Prudence waits on one of the sealed parking bays and soaks in the emptiness of this landscape.
For a whole day’s riding we’ve been so far from cities that almost all the roads that meet our route are dirt. We’re riding the only seal going north within a goodly distance, and the highways reaching west – Gwydir, Mitchell, Warrego – are the only other roads worth the bitumen.
The Carnarvon merges into the Warrego for the last run down into Roma, and we do a few laps of the old town looking for a decent pub before settling for a motel. Dinner is a mistake .. lamb shanks sounded good but these shanks haven’t been lamb in many years. A few XXXX’s and some bike conversation and we retire to hope the rain stops.
Last edited by Caroanbill on Tue Sep 11, 2007 1:20 am, edited 1 time in total.
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
-
Caroanbill
- Lifer
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Sat Jun 16, 2007 9:29 pm
- Location: Sydney, Australia
Part 3
Day 3 Carnarvon to Capricornia (~ 700 km)
Up early Thursday and wet, but the weather seems to be lifting and we walk breakfast off with a stroll to see the old town, where the new pubs are a hundred years old and the bottle trees mark the local fallen from the great war.
Out and fast towards Injune, temptation seeping into my right wrist on the smooth new sections. Two hundred, twice, but the weather and the terrain don’t make for a sustained pace anywhere near that. After Injune we crawl through roadworks, afraid we’ll have to slosh through deep mud but the engineers have planned around that problem.
Still, the roadtrains come at us and shower mud liberally – they’re so big they can share the narrow seal with even a motorbike. Out here, the trains are three huge trailers and two layers of animals, so the shower of runoff from them is something to stay well away from.
Then the road lifts up and twists around and through the Carnarvon Range, so even in the wet we’re heeling the bikes over for some respite from upright. I’m still surprised by how much confidence the roadster imparts – I’m faster and smoother than I can remember, and yet more relaxed. We stop to enjoy the clifflines, then motor out into the rolling ranges to Rolleston, fast enough to wipe the “1†from the speedo once more before ceding to sanity. Fuel and early lunch in a hamlet that has a tinshed for a café, a tinshed that used to be the one pub 40 years ago when my family had land around here, a tinshed for whatever else. Only the rain softens this look – dry, it would out-ugly Lightning Ridge.
We notice a funny thing. Where there are low hills, the road runs dead straight over them. Yet on the flat, the road winds a little now and then. From Rolleston it’s a 40 kilometre straight along the Dawson Highway, the twin pulsing me up over low ridges, until we get relief in the Expedition Range to Bauhinia Downs and onto to the open-cut ugliness of the Moura Coal mine.
Now the Dawson sweeps a little through Banana and Biloela, then swoops down the range to the coast at Gladstone. We fuel at the highway called Bruce – where the apparently accurate pump (hmmm) manages to fit 19 litres into my still-not-empty 18 litre tank. Bugger the argument, so we head south along Bruce to run out to the coast at Agnes Water. A stroll around the beach for the last surf going north before the Barrier Reef flattens the sea, a quick pub dinner and we crash.
Up early Thursday and wet, but the weather seems to be lifting and we walk breakfast off with a stroll to see the old town, where the new pubs are a hundred years old and the bottle trees mark the local fallen from the great war.
Out and fast towards Injune, temptation seeping into my right wrist on the smooth new sections. Two hundred, twice, but the weather and the terrain don’t make for a sustained pace anywhere near that. After Injune we crawl through roadworks, afraid we’ll have to slosh through deep mud but the engineers have planned around that problem.
Still, the roadtrains come at us and shower mud liberally – they’re so big they can share the narrow seal with even a motorbike. Out here, the trains are three huge trailers and two layers of animals, so the shower of runoff from them is something to stay well away from.
Then the road lifts up and twists around and through the Carnarvon Range, so even in the wet we’re heeling the bikes over for some respite from upright. I’m still surprised by how much confidence the roadster imparts – I’m faster and smoother than I can remember, and yet more relaxed. We stop to enjoy the clifflines, then motor out into the rolling ranges to Rolleston, fast enough to wipe the “1†from the speedo once more before ceding to sanity. Fuel and early lunch in a hamlet that has a tinshed for a café, a tinshed that used to be the one pub 40 years ago when my family had land around here, a tinshed for whatever else. Only the rain softens this look – dry, it would out-ugly Lightning Ridge.
We notice a funny thing. Where there are low hills, the road runs dead straight over them. Yet on the flat, the road winds a little now and then. From Rolleston it’s a 40 kilometre straight along the Dawson Highway, the twin pulsing me up over low ridges, until we get relief in the Expedition Range to Bauhinia Downs and onto to the open-cut ugliness of the Moura Coal mine.
Now the Dawson sweeps a little through Banana and Biloela, then swoops down the range to the coast at Gladstone. We fuel at the highway called Bruce – where the apparently accurate pump (hmmm) manages to fit 19 litres into my still-not-empty 18 litre tank. Bugger the argument, so we head south along Bruce to run out to the coast at Agnes Water. A stroll around the beach for the last surf going north before the Barrier Reef flattens the sea, a quick pub dinner and we crash.
Last edited by Caroanbill on Tue Sep 11, 2007 1:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
-
Caroanbill
- Lifer
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Sat Jun 16, 2007 9:29 pm
- Location: Sydney, Australia
Part 4
Day 4 Hills and rain to Mooloolaba (~ 500 km)
First thing on a clear Friday is a run up to the inlet at Seventeen Seventy. The town may be just a number but the inlet and the view north over the bay is sublime.
Winding along secondary roads south toward Bundaberg, we look for a breakfast hamlet but find nothing palatable. Then off on a risky backroad that proves fun but threatens to turn to dirt at each bend, before depositing us near Bruce again. Breakfast in Gin Gin and off onto the Isis Highway to get a range between us and the coastal clouds. The strategy fails to miss rain but gives us a lovely open run, urging up small ranges on the beat of the twins. By Goomeri it’s bucketing down and we turn towards the coast, enduring rain to Kilkivan before the weather clears for us to take the twists and turns down to Gympie.
Gympie is red-neck central, so we stop only long enough for a late burger lunch, then on south along Bruce again in slow, heavy, aggressive traffic. We turn off for fuel before I run out, and then the weather really lets go. We tremble through heavy traffic, marveling that car drivers are more aggressive in rain than dry. Why? Musing, we ease into Moolooloba and slip our sodden bikes and gear into our hosts’ garage, drying over a beer or two before some decent seafood.
Day 5 Over the hills and south aways (~ 400 km)
Saturday is fine. We linger over breakfast, a bay stroll, coffee and then start west for south. A lovely tight-corner wind over the hills from Beerwah past the Glasshouse mountains, followed by a swing around the bends above Somerset Dam. We take a salad sandwich lunch, a delight after way too much fat, and then find a run of sweepers over to Esk, then more down to Gatton.
By now, I’m beginning to forget what a timid rider I’d been. Wolf has been telling me I’m more confident on this bike than even my wee 650, and I’m beginning to suspect it’s true. After a false start with the rennsport, perhaps I’ve finally found a big bike that suits me again.
We get a little lost on unsigned roads south from Gatton, but manage to find Ma-Ma creek and the back road we want up the range. It is a small piece of motorcycle heaven – steep rocky gullies edging linked swinging bends and no less than 6 crossings over Heifer Creek. A steep twisting climb out to the top pf the New England range and we stop to exchange wah-whoo!s before rolling on along the bleak tableland.
Rain again and we dodge the main highway on a backroad route to the west into Warwick. Now it’s cold, and drying out, and we settle for the New England Highway south for a hundred-odd kilometres to Tenterfield. Finding accommodation proves difficult and we settle for a cheap cabin in a strange little caravan park. The pubs look deserted, even on Saturday, so we find some pizzas and a nice local Cabernet Merlot and retreat for early sleep.
First thing on a clear Friday is a run up to the inlet at Seventeen Seventy. The town may be just a number but the inlet and the view north over the bay is sublime.
Winding along secondary roads south toward Bundaberg, we look for a breakfast hamlet but find nothing palatable. Then off on a risky backroad that proves fun but threatens to turn to dirt at each bend, before depositing us near Bruce again. Breakfast in Gin Gin and off onto the Isis Highway to get a range between us and the coastal clouds. The strategy fails to miss rain but gives us a lovely open run, urging up small ranges on the beat of the twins. By Goomeri it’s bucketing down and we turn towards the coast, enduring rain to Kilkivan before the weather clears for us to take the twists and turns down to Gympie.
Gympie is red-neck central, so we stop only long enough for a late burger lunch, then on south along Bruce again in slow, heavy, aggressive traffic. We turn off for fuel before I run out, and then the weather really lets go. We tremble through heavy traffic, marveling that car drivers are more aggressive in rain than dry. Why? Musing, we ease into Moolooloba and slip our sodden bikes and gear into our hosts’ garage, drying over a beer or two before some decent seafood.
Day 5 Over the hills and south aways (~ 400 km)
Saturday is fine. We linger over breakfast, a bay stroll, coffee and then start west for south. A lovely tight-corner wind over the hills from Beerwah past the Glasshouse mountains, followed by a swing around the bends above Somerset Dam. We take a salad sandwich lunch, a delight after way too much fat, and then find a run of sweepers over to Esk, then more down to Gatton.
By now, I’m beginning to forget what a timid rider I’d been. Wolf has been telling me I’m more confident on this bike than even my wee 650, and I’m beginning to suspect it’s true. After a false start with the rennsport, perhaps I’ve finally found a big bike that suits me again.
We get a little lost on unsigned roads south from Gatton, but manage to find Ma-Ma creek and the back road we want up the range. It is a small piece of motorcycle heaven – steep rocky gullies edging linked swinging bends and no less than 6 crossings over Heifer Creek. A steep twisting climb out to the top pf the New England range and we stop to exchange wah-whoo!s before rolling on along the bleak tableland.
Rain again and we dodge the main highway on a backroad route to the west into Warwick. Now it’s cold, and drying out, and we settle for the New England Highway south for a hundred-odd kilometres to Tenterfield. Finding accommodation proves difficult and we settle for a cheap cabin in a strange little caravan park. The pubs look deserted, even on Saturday, so we find some pizzas and a nice local Cabernet Merlot and retreat for early sleep.
Last edited by Caroanbill on Tue Sep 11, 2007 1:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
-
Caroanbill
- Lifer
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Sat Jun 16, 2007 9:29 pm
- Location: Sydney, Australia
Part 5
Day 6 Winding through chills (~ 850 km)
Sunday is as clear and crisp as a mountain morning should be. Early breakfast and we’re fuelled and heading west along the Bruxner Highway, swooping down off the range and down along the Dumaresq River. It’s a gorgeous tablelands road, sweeping around small ranges with views of rolling bigger ranges south and north. A few cattle on the unfenced sections remind us we’re not near a city.
Then we’re south through Ashford to Inverell, a fast open road we’ve enjoyed before. We let the twins beat up to the ton at times, and then take the sweepers south from Ashford at a slightly more life-affirming pace. Dodging cattle over the Tingha Common (they have right o’ way, not we), and the constabulary out ob the range, we climb up to the chill town of Guyra. At nine degrees at 11am, Guyra holds its claim to the coldest bleakest spot north of the Snowies.
We’re here – a 150kilometre detour – because I want to notch up the Guyra-Ebor road. It’s a great road, but I’m chilled and not in good form. Despite eleven-seventy cubic centimeters of competence beneath, ABS and traction control, I jitter around the bends counting down the kilometers and watch the temperature hover around 10 degrees until the junction with the Waterfall Way. Much as I rail at myself, I can’t snap out of this funk. Bah. Onto the Waterfall Way, the temperature drops more but perversely my confidence climbs. By Armidale the roadster has worked its charm and I’m shivery but sane. A boring few kilometers to Uralla and decent coffee with lunch.
Our afternoon target is Merriwa, via two-hundred-plus kilometers of the New England. The road itself is nicely curved, and a decent ride when not infested with traffic. I discover a worrying dearth of fuel south of Tamworth, and a reassuring tank range on the roadster. We get 98RON fuel again at Scone (at last! says the roadster) and turn straight into the sun toward Merriwa. This is a great road – or would be if we could but see. My dark sunglasses beat the glare but make me blind in shadow and after the sun finally drops … but my glasses are deep in the topcase and I choose not to stop for fear the large trucks we passed will re-pass us. A blind crawl into Merriwa and there’s one motel with one room. I guess It’ll have to do.
Day 7 Creeping home (~ 450km)
Monday is deep in fog. We change our plans to breakfast in Mudgee eat in Merriwa, shuddering as the behemoths rumble along the Golden Highway we’re about to ride. We both want to get home early in the afternoon, and we want to share a decent half-day’s ride, so we decide to brave it.
Wills steeled and loins girded, we inch on to the highway and roll out. It’s six degrees and the fog is too wet to close our visors. So I ride with visor up, wiping my spectacles constantly and venturing to 80 kilometres per hour when visibility allows. Below 60 I resort to my hazard flashers, now I’ve stumbled on how they work. It’s cold, miserable and slow, counting down the sixty kilometers to the turn-off. We stop outside Casillis and admire the fog from a rest stop. Back into the fog, behemoths rumbling up behind, until we can turn off.
Onto the Ulan Road we’ve been dreading – less linemarking, lower visibility – and the fog lifts. Within a few minutes we have open sunny skies and a sweeping road south. We skip a Mudgee stop in favour of making time and wind south on the Castlereagh around Windemere dam. If you have to ride highways, this is one to ride!
Up onto the range again and the road becomes a goat track, we stop for roadworks often. South to Ilford and we can turn off onto one of our favourite rides: Ilford – Sofala – Bathurst. The road doesn’t disappoint, and we rollercoaster over the hills to a short stop at the old gold town of Sofala before another whoosh (legal, this time) into Bathurst.
The wind has picked up and we’re both a bit anxious to get on before the weather turns worse. I’ve 200 kilometres to ride, including city traffic, Wolf has 300 kilometres of open and exposed ranges to Canberra. But I’ve underestimated the roadster again – the wind doesn’t bother it and the weather stays clear for a great run over the Bell’s Line to Sydney’s northwest sprawl. A small test of patience among the workaday press, and I slip onto the motorway, through the tunnel and slide off for a last twist around the harbour bends to home.
I manage to clean the dead critters from the bike, take it to its lockup, replace the mobile phone that lept to its demise near Coonabarrabran, and make it back in time to be splashed by miss not-quite-one at bathtime.
Sunday is as clear and crisp as a mountain morning should be. Early breakfast and we’re fuelled and heading west along the Bruxner Highway, swooping down off the range and down along the Dumaresq River. It’s a gorgeous tablelands road, sweeping around small ranges with views of rolling bigger ranges south and north. A few cattle on the unfenced sections remind us we’re not near a city.
Then we’re south through Ashford to Inverell, a fast open road we’ve enjoyed before. We let the twins beat up to the ton at times, and then take the sweepers south from Ashford at a slightly more life-affirming pace. Dodging cattle over the Tingha Common (they have right o’ way, not we), and the constabulary out ob the range, we climb up to the chill town of Guyra. At nine degrees at 11am, Guyra holds its claim to the coldest bleakest spot north of the Snowies.
We’re here – a 150kilometre detour – because I want to notch up the Guyra-Ebor road. It’s a great road, but I’m chilled and not in good form. Despite eleven-seventy cubic centimeters of competence beneath, ABS and traction control, I jitter around the bends counting down the kilometers and watch the temperature hover around 10 degrees until the junction with the Waterfall Way. Much as I rail at myself, I can’t snap out of this funk. Bah. Onto the Waterfall Way, the temperature drops more but perversely my confidence climbs. By Armidale the roadster has worked its charm and I’m shivery but sane. A boring few kilometers to Uralla and decent coffee with lunch.
Our afternoon target is Merriwa, via two-hundred-plus kilometers of the New England. The road itself is nicely curved, and a decent ride when not infested with traffic. I discover a worrying dearth of fuel south of Tamworth, and a reassuring tank range on the roadster. We get 98RON fuel again at Scone (at last! says the roadster) and turn straight into the sun toward Merriwa. This is a great road – or would be if we could but see. My dark sunglasses beat the glare but make me blind in shadow and after the sun finally drops … but my glasses are deep in the topcase and I choose not to stop for fear the large trucks we passed will re-pass us. A blind crawl into Merriwa and there’s one motel with one room. I guess It’ll have to do.
Day 7 Creeping home (~ 450km)
Monday is deep in fog. We change our plans to breakfast in Mudgee eat in Merriwa, shuddering as the behemoths rumble along the Golden Highway we’re about to ride. We both want to get home early in the afternoon, and we want to share a decent half-day’s ride, so we decide to brave it.
Wills steeled and loins girded, we inch on to the highway and roll out. It’s six degrees and the fog is too wet to close our visors. So I ride with visor up, wiping my spectacles constantly and venturing to 80 kilometres per hour when visibility allows. Below 60 I resort to my hazard flashers, now I’ve stumbled on how they work. It’s cold, miserable and slow, counting down the sixty kilometers to the turn-off. We stop outside Casillis and admire the fog from a rest stop. Back into the fog, behemoths rumbling up behind, until we can turn off.
Onto the Ulan Road we’ve been dreading – less linemarking, lower visibility – and the fog lifts. Within a few minutes we have open sunny skies and a sweeping road south. We skip a Mudgee stop in favour of making time and wind south on the Castlereagh around Windemere dam. If you have to ride highways, this is one to ride!
Up onto the range again and the road becomes a goat track, we stop for roadworks often. South to Ilford and we can turn off onto one of our favourite rides: Ilford – Sofala – Bathurst. The road doesn’t disappoint, and we rollercoaster over the hills to a short stop at the old gold town of Sofala before another whoosh (legal, this time) into Bathurst.
The wind has picked up and we’re both a bit anxious to get on before the weather turns worse. I’ve 200 kilometres to ride, including city traffic, Wolf has 300 kilometres of open and exposed ranges to Canberra. But I’ve underestimated the roadster again – the wind doesn’t bother it and the weather stays clear for a great run over the Bell’s Line to Sydney’s northwest sprawl. A small test of patience among the workaday press, and I slip onto the motorway, through the tunnel and slide off for a last twist around the harbour bends to home.
I manage to clean the dead critters from the bike, take it to its lockup, replace the mobile phone that lept to its demise near Coonabarrabran, and make it back in time to be splashed by miss not-quite-one at bathtime.
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
When in Roma
Just want to say that was one hell of a write up. Really captured the essence of the ride and the places.
Thanks a lot
Gunga Din
Thanks a lot
Gunga Din
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mcooperstein
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Caroanbill
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yes, yes, I'll get to pics - I took some good ones to show you guys what our range and outback rides are like ... but my internet has crashed utterely at home, so I'll find a work around.
... and thanks for the compliments on the writing
... and thanks for the compliments on the writing
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
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Caroanbill
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Warrumbungle NP http://picasaweb.google.com.au/billstan ... 0864000674
Out in the Queensland outback
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/billstan ... 0036874930
looking over Bustard Bay from Seventeen Seventy
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/billstan ... 0231188162
Out in the Queensland outback
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/billstan ... 0036874930
looking over Bustard Bay from Seventeen Seventy
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/billstan ... 0231188162
Last edited by Caroanbill on Wed Sep 19, 2007 10:45 pm, edited 2 times in total.
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
What a ride - and the time you took to write it up is appreciated very much. It was a great read.
About those pictures - any of the countryside and not just the bikes? Nice looking R1200R though. Very pretty.
About those pictures - any of the countryside and not just the bikes? Nice looking R1200R though. Very pretty.
Kristi
05 Granite Grey
05 Granite Grey
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Caroanbill
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'Roos are a constant of Aussie riding, especially around dusk or sunrise. Much like deer, I suppose.OU812 wrote:"dodging a few kangaroos"
Glad you avoided those buggers!
They tend to look at you and then it's 50/50 whether they hop away or right into your path - I've been hit twice in a car by a 'roo that hopped into me, not me driving into it. So on a bike you hit the ABS hard and let 'em go first ...
.. sometimes tricky on tight corners!
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
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Caroanbill
- Lifer
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Sat Jun 16, 2007 9:29 pm
- Location: Sydney, Australia
Now postedGypsyRR wrote:What a ride - and the time you took to write it up is appreciated very much. It was a great read.
About those pictures - any of the countryside and not just the bikes? Nice looking R1200R though. Very pretty.
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/billstanhope/Romatrip03
I usually take only landscape shots - other riders ask me to put the bike into my shots, so I have this time. Hopefully these shots will show both .. I've tried to capture something of the sense of space out there ...
#584 Crystal Grey tour-farkelled Vespa GTS250 PX150
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT
xF650CS R1150RS R80 K1100LT R65LS K100RT