I’ve been conned into doing another ride report by Ian. Well, not really conned. I volunteered for this one. I think it’s fair enough given his role as Leader of Ride Leaders, Regular Ride Leader, Experienced Wing Rider and Remarkable True Story Teller. He deserves the break and we’ve had some good runs in recent times. Perhaps too many rely on the Ride Leader to do these chores. That’s another discussion for another time.
I tend to say very little about the ride itself unless something relatively exciting happens that deserves reporting. Given the rarity of that, it seems superfluous to report on a ride that is little more than a transition from point A to Point C via Point B and returning to Point A from Point C via Point D. If you are confused, then do the math. It’s simple geometry and geometry never lies. Exchange some of the straight lines with squiggly ones and you will quickly see how it all works.
Sometimes, it is a worthwhile digression to talk a little bit about the people on the ride rather than the fact that a bunch of acquainted people went on a ride to somewhere unimportant on a nice day in order to socialise, eat lunch, consume precious oil reserves on an unnecessary trip, and had a thoroughly good time doing all of that. This isn’t one of those times, so stop worrying. I’ll not talk about the people other than in generalist terms. Your secrets are safe.
This was a winter ride with a winter start time, winter temperatures, and a cool chill in the air and warm winter gear being worn by most of us. Caitlin was under-dressed, and had to borrow some extra gear to avoid freezing to death. Winter can be harsh in Canberra and can extend its tentacles well into the surrounding countryside where we ride. Sometimes, the cold and fog will be slowly eaten away by the rising sun and the day will transform into a crystal clear blue sky and implied warmth as a weak ball of light lifts itself high above the surrounding hills. On other days, the sun struggles to burn away the gloom and the nice day of winter extends from 3:55 pm to 4:05 pm, after which time the temperature plummets and the skies darken as the mist starts to rise again. This wasn’t one of those days but it was a bit on the nippy side as we gathered at Nicholls for the ride briefing.
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| Triumph Trophy 1200 'Oh Dear I’m Broken' |
There were seven bikes and the young Miss Caitlin riding pillion with Dad. Unfortunately, only six bikes would do the ride as Les’ Triumph decided to do the very British Rolls Royce impression and failed to proceed. The dangling gear lever and sheared attachment bolt made forward motion impossible. Clearly, British steel is not to the standard it used to be. Better here than half way to Cowra. Hello NRMA and a warranty claim.
Ride leader Ian had done his bit and we were all suitably full of directions, dos, don’ts, damnation and diarrhoea. A wise ride leader once said that we were all adults and the need for stating the bleeding obvious shouldn’t be a need at all. I concur with that premise, but given the predilection for Ulysses riders to ride off along unintended roads, I can tolerate being told about marking corners for the umpteenth time and the need to ensure the tank is filled at the lunch spot for the trip home and so on and so forth ad nauseam. We didn’t do any of that. Ian decided that we were all adults. One small concession was that I would ride tail to keep an eye on newbie (to the area) Andrew and his Vespa (Yes – I said Vespa) to make sure he didn’t end up in Culcairn or Coonamble instead of Cowra.
We left Nicholls and travelled tirelessly towards the tasty treat-laden township of Boorowa. It’s a pity it didn’t start with a ‘T’. Spacing was good and the Vespa maintained the pace, so there was no need to wait on the side of the road with a campfire coffee. We all made it comfortably to the mid-morning sustenance break. Given the cold weather, most opted for a warming drink or warming food, sometimes both. The break was long enough to allow Caitlin to scrounge some anti-freeze gear and we were only running a few minutes late by the time we had geared up again for the ride to Cowra and the Japanese Gardens.
We went via Frogmore, but David and Caitlin were a little slow in dressing for the occasion, so it was agreed they would catch up. Perhaps not all had heard that arrangement. I pulled up at the Frogmore turnoff on the Crookwell road and waited a while to make sure they didn’t miss the turn. A rather fleecy solitary sheep came wandering over to ask what I was doing parked in the cold on the side of the road. I was shocked that the sheep would ask such a thing. “Waiting for David and Caitlin” I said. “Oh” said Sharon the sheep as she introduced herself. “Would you like a game of checkers while you wait?” she said. “Sure” I said. We played three long games but I fleeced Sharon every game. Sheep are terrible board game players and I had been there a long time, so I made some polite excuse about having to put the roast lamb in the oven and left Sharon to wander back to her friends.
If my pannier bags have an aerodynamic limit it wasn’t noticeable on the run through Frogmore to the Cowra turnoff where the rest of the crew were waiting. I surmised that David and Caitlin must have gone direct. The rest of us continued via the planned route to Cowra and it wasn’t long before the outskirts of the lunch destination came into view. Just to clarify, ‘outskirts’ is a technical term for the region within viewing distance of the destination point normally defined by the sudden appearance of a town speed limit sign that signals the forward rotation of the throttle hand to retard the motorcycle to a Police-acceptable speed. The term ‘outskirts’ is very different to ‘upskirts’, which is a whole different activity, is highly illegal if performed without consent, and is a potential incarceration offence if you get caught doing it in public. I’ve never seen a sign denoting an ‘upskirts’ area ahead, and it is probably a moot point for this ride report given the preference for bikers of both genders to wear trousered attire rather than skirts, leather or otherwise. Sorry – Off track again.
Andrew’s Vespa had decided it didn’t want a RHS mirror anymore while on the rough Frogmore Road and had tried to shed it, but it was rescued in time for a quick tighten when we got to Cowra.
David and Caitlin had indeed gone direct and were there when we arrived. Lunch at the Gardens was awesome. That’s A Wickedly Enticing Serve Of Midday Edibles. A.W.E.S.O.M.E. My abuse of Lizzie’s Language knows no bounds. The bounding has nothing to do with bondage by the way. That would be an entirely different type of ride report. We all chose different offerings and there were no complaints that I heard. For a very tourist-oriented venue, the food was quite good and reasonably priced. It wasn’t long before we had completed our meals, thus satisfying the rumbling tummies and dehydrated oesophagus that we had arrived with.
All chose to do a quick tour of the Gardens after lunch while I chose another coffee and a stroll around outside as I’ve done the tour a few times over the years. It meant a late departure from Cowra and the still-short days and early on-set of cold and dark made sure that the band of hardy souls was on the road fairly quickly. A few were on their bikes very smartly with their engines ticking over to warm the now cold oil. Hot oil is good. Cold oil is bad. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a motorcycle engine or fried fingers of potato chips. Both are better with hot oil, assuming of course, that you have the right oil for the right product. I guess a bike would run for a while on peanut oil, but a hot chip would taste terrible cooked in engine oil. I digress.
We fuelled up on the way out of Cowra and played follow-the-leader all the way to Yass. As usual, the imperative to stay in formation wasn’t there for the return ride and we were soon scattered over several kilometres along the byways and highways. I’ll assume that all made it safely home. I know I did, or you wouldn’t be reading this ride report. It was a good day out. Dammed cold in places, but the steady pace reduced the wind-chill factor considerably and the longer stops gave our frozen blood time to heat, expand and flow once more through finger tips, knee caps and toes.
Gary Mac once espoused the virtues of good winter riding gear in one of his blurbs as I recall. It’s true. Good gear adds considerably to the comfort of the ride. Most riders seemed to cope ok, but I still cannot understand why denim (Kevlar lined or not) is still in vogue for winter riding. Denim jeans are called ‘death pants’ in Duke of Edinburgh circles. Denim absorbs moisture (sweat, rain, mist, river crossings) far too easily and then wicks it to all areas, thus drawing huge amounts of body-heat away from the body as the wind whistles through it. It’s a seriously bad choice for hiking and bushwalking in cold or wet weather. All of which has little to do with motorcycles.
Ride Leader was Ian Paterson (GL1800).
Tagging along were:
Robert McNeilly (VFR800)
Andrew Hukin (Vespa IHC434)
Les Robinson (Triumph Trophy 1200 Oh Dear I’m Broken)
Kris Jirasek (GSX1300R)
David & Caitlin Dawson (BMW R1200GS)
Mick Beltrame (R1200GSLC).
