This riding
year
GUIDO mulls over the adventure
that was 2005…
It’s been
a big year for motorcycle travel and one for which I’d much rather not
count the financial cost. Because, let’s face it, in these days of discount
airline tickets, riding is not the cheapest way to get about. But it remains
the most enjoyable.
There have been three big journeys this year – more than enough to qualify
as pigging out. And all have been wonderful for different reasons.
Number first was a modest trip from Melbourne up to NSW for the annual bike
journo drink-fest, aka CHUMPs (Confederation of Hacks United for Motorcycling’s
Perpetuation is one of the interpretations of the acronym), then on to Brisbane
via the Pacific Highway, and home via the Newell. I was on the mighty Mac the
Valk and Ms M senior came along on her near-indestructible CBX550. We parted
ways in mid-NSW and I met up with her again in Moree.
The Brizzo run has become an annual gig. What I love about trips like these
is the extended peace you experience on a long road ride. From my saddle, it’s
a long, long, think with the occasional traffic moment dropped in to keep you
on your toes.
Even with a riding companion along, you’re forced (over 4500km in this
case) to keep yourself company as best you can. It might involve listening to
the English service of Deutsche Welle on the radio (a bizarre experience when
on the tarmac in the middle of nowhere), singing to yourself, or (my favourite)
finding interest in the flat and usually brown, endless, landscape that most
of us huddle away from in our cities.
Mid-year it was off the Isle of Man and the UK for a few weeks – which
had taken three all-too-short years of planning and saving. This was a Lemmings
MC (motto: death before courtesy) approved gig, with no shortage of company.
I probably covered only a few thousand kays on the borrowed Triumph Daytona
(to Scotland, Weston super Mare and elsewhere) on this one, and it said something
interesting about group dynamics. We had ample opportunity to get grumpy with
each other, but there were lots of circuit-breakers. While we theoretically
traveled as a group, we all caught different planes (the airline industry should
be ashamed of itself for the sardine-tin ergonomics it provides for long trips
– it makes a long ride on an RGV250 look like luxury) and, at the island,
we settled into a weirdly family-like dynamic where we’d all head off in
smaller groups, or alone, then meet up at the end of the day for a big dinner
and share the experiences. The IoM is only forty-ish miles long, but it has
enough room for sevenish fat bastards (and Mary, who is neither) to find solitude
when they wanted it.
Roll on to November and it was time for the Motorcycle Trader Top to Bottom
Caper – about 4200km on adventure tourers, from Melb to Kosciusko, Lake
Eyre south, and home again, sponsored by the mag. The riding conditions were
far more challenging, and meant you often found out more about people than you
wanted to know. Worse, the pressure was on to find a winner in what, on the
local market, is becoming an increasingly important bike class.
Now this is a recipe for tears, mostly because choosing a winner has an inevitably
competitive dynamic, and the people involved are deeply passionate about their
motorcycles. That there are no fresh unmarked graves somewhere out near the
Oodnadatta track (but we’ve yet to do a final head-count) is a testament
to the the nutters who signed up.
There was tension aplenty -- like after the one-legged bloke at Ivanhoe in NSW
said he lost his missing limb on a bike, and by the way the road ahead was pretty
dodgy. Of the three big rides of the year, it was by far the most rewarding
and the most draining. You’ll have to wait till next issue to read the
whole story.
All the best for the festive season, folks. Pump up your tyres, check the oil,
and remember to trust the bike if you get in a little deep.
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