Doing the
time warp
Guido discovers old machinery and young players make for good times
It was after
the second time we got that long and hard look that only a true petrol-head
can do (both were driving hotted-up Commodes) that I finally twigged. We were
a travelling time capsule.
Behind wife Ms M senior's tidy 1979 Kingswood - with the mighty Aussie-built
253-cube V8 - was a trailer loaded with a 1980-ish Yamaha DT100, 1980 XT250
and 1982 Suzuki TS185. Of the 12 wheels (including trailer), only two had disc
brakes, and they were on the front of the car.
Two decades ago you would have felt like king of the kids to have that lot at
your command. In 2004, oddly enough, we still felt pretty king-like.
We're a road-bike oriented family, and we regretted leaving behind our most
up-to-date dirt bike, the 1984 TT600. But this was a kids weekend over the school
hols and I'll cheerfully blame Bazz Ashenhurst - the Editor of the lively Dirt
Bike Trader mag, a couple of hundred pages along in this ish - for our latest
adventure. And the gals.
Dunno if you've met Bazz, but his enthusiasm is infectious. "Mate,"
he says, "You can ride a road bike, so why aren't you taking the dirt bikes
out?" Or something along those lines. I never have a good answer. Meanwhile
the gals have been on my case. Althea owns two of the bikes and wants to explore
them, Morag wants to move forward from the pillion to the rider seat, and Ms
M senior wants to play with her XT.
So we finally found 48 hours, and an old quarry two hours from home. The plan
was to go riding for a couple of hours, cruise down the Great Ocean Road to
Lorne for dinner and bed, then wander back home via another couple of hours
in the sandpit.
Every one will have their own take on this. Ms M jnr, the elder sister, hadn't
ridden for years but is determined to get her ticket and get on top of the whole
riding gig. She has beautiful clutch and brake control but crashed a couple
of times because she didn't trust the motorcycle. That will change. I admire
her cat-like ability to land on top of the bike and not get her feet wet.
Ms A jnr trusts the bike and steers like an angel, but has doubtful clutch control.
Despite her inexperience, she insisted on learning how to jump her TS185 and,
on the fourth try, got the thing seriously airborne with that sickening "clack,
clack" as suspension tops out on take-off and landed heavily on the front
wheel but survived.
Her flying mate, Ms H jnr (they're both training as pilots), scooted about after
a few tries. She was an absolute beginner and ended up loving the experience.
For me, the real discovery was watching Ms M snr teaching Ms H - a raw beginner
- how to ride a motorcycle. Though the Missus celebrates a decade of teaching
learners this year, I'd never before seen the process in action.
We had a wonderful couple of days. Our younger gals gained some skills, and
a complete newcomer was shown how fantastic this riding gig is.
Funny thing is that while we spent a bit of money on the trip - motel, fuel
and meals - the basic machinery involved was trustworthy, and collectively cost
very little. Car, trailer, and bikes, these days, could be had for about 10
to 15 large. It might be a time warp, but it worked...
Guy "Guido" Allen
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