The Snowy Mountains Highway is one of the iconic Australian Motorcycling roads that many riders have travelled often enough to become very familiar with its twists and curves. It carves its way through low valleys and alongside shallow trout streams between Cooma and Talbingo and can lull you into a relaxed trance that hides the risks of travelling the mountain roads.
The Alpine region can be blistering hot or feezing cold, sometimes with a bit of both on any given day. This Sunday gave us a cool start that warmed to a very agreeable temperature by mid-afternoon.
There were two new starters, Alex Leitch on an old BMW Brick K100RS who just wanted to say hello for today and wouldn’t join the ride, and Bill on a still-shiny Triumph Explorer who wanted to test the waters and see what a local Ulysses ride was like. Andrew arrived fashionably just-in-time, the always-clean FJR glistening in the morning sun as he joined the line of bikes parked and waiting.
We had six starters, plus the watchful Alec.
Our little group of pilots waited excitedly for Ride Leader to finish reminding us of the hazards and perils of the high Alpine road. Actually, he said very little. We mostly ignored the scant advice being given and simply wanted to get on with the ride. Miles and miles of twists and turns were waiting for us just beyond Cooma. We departed on time, a steady flow of bikes cutting a path southward to better roads. The loose formation easily slipped past slower vehicles, but we remained ever watchful for Mr Plod and his colourful ‘Gotcha’ car. He ignored us when he went past, obviously looking for more hardened criminals.
The sleepy run to Cooma along the Monaro Highway gave us time to think about the sweeping smooth corners ahead. We knew they would be interspersed with blind crests and sharp bends, all blended to a blur as powerful bikes blasted past the slower caravans, fishing boats and tourists with whom we would share the road. If our well-trodden path could be described in Beauty or Beast terms, then the Snowy would be the Beauty and the Monaro would be the Beast. If ever there was a dull road to ride on a powerful motorcycle, the Monaro was it. If love is the Snowy, then hate is the Monaro.The Alpine region can be blistering hot or feezing cold, sometimes with a bit of both on any given day. This Sunday gave us a cool start that warmed to a very agreeable temperature by mid-afternoon.
There were two new starters, Alex Leitch on an old BMW Brick K100RS who just wanted to say hello for today and wouldn’t join the ride, and Bill on a still-shiny Triumph Explorer who wanted to test the waters and see what a local Ulysses ride was like. Andrew arrived fashionably just-in-time, the always-clean FJR glistening in the morning sun as he joined the line of bikes parked and waiting.
We had six starters, plus the watchful Alec.
Our little group of pilots waited excitedly for Ride Leader to finish reminding us of the hazards and perils of the high Alpine road. Actually, he said very little. We mostly ignored the scant advice being given and simply wanted to get on with the ride. Miles and miles of twists and turns were waiting for us just beyond Cooma. We departed on time, a steady flow of bikes cutting a path southward to better roads. The loose formation easily slipped past slower vehicles, but we remained ever watchful for Mr Plod and his colourful ‘Gotcha’ car. He ignored us when he went past, obviously looking for more hardened criminals.
We peeled into Adaminaby after what seemed like an age in getting past Cooma and on to the Snowy. The handful of fast sweepers leading to Adaminaby gave us a taste for the road to come, and a taste for something good to eat and drink. Ride Leader seemed to be in a contented cruise, so a few of us decided to remove any possibility of cobwebs on our bikes and scouted ahead to see if there were any Police about. Thankfully there were none and we all made it to the Big Trout with the smell of hot engines and burnt rubber assaulting our senses.
Thank the Lord for small towns with good bakeries and good coffee. Unfortunately, we didn’t go to the very busy bakery and tried an alternate eatery for cakes and coffee. The cakes were good but the coffee wasn’t
great. The excited chatter was more about the twisting bitumen curves ahead rather than the twisting path our sustenance would take on its way to our stomachs and other places. We all figured that the Tumut lunch stop would suffice as a fuel stop for the later run to home, but lingered a while at the café while sun warmed the morning chill in our bones. When I quietly expressed my disappointment about my tannin-coloured long black coffee to the maker, he said that he thought it looked a bit pale when he made it and must have used an already used shot. I’ll get a freebie next-time.
I like the Snowy. The road is generally smooth as a baby’s bum and equally free from leaf-litter and corner gravel. Not always, but most times. Sight-lines are good, corners maintain a constant radius, and there are enough overtaking spots in-between the good bits to make light traffic bearable. The small wallabies and large brumbies can be a worry, but you learn to live with such obstacles and use your own judgement as to how fast is too fast for the conditions. There seemed to be little wildlife about and we all had a respectably fast run along the Highway even with the light traffic and occasional caravan or boat being towed at a slower pace.
It didn’t take long for the faster riders to disappear into the distance, clearly revelling in the great riding the road was offering us. Funnily enough, the road can feel quite fast even at posted limits due to the tightness of the bends and ease with which you can power a big bike out of one corner and into the next. Let’s just say that a lot of fun was had without the risk of jail-time or bike confiscation. Sometimes, you must accept that group riding means you tone it down a bit and just enjoy the ride. The straighter bits towards Talbingo allowed a re-group for the always interesting track down the mountain and on to Tumut.
Travelling along the grassy slopes and babbling streams reminded me of the good old days when several of us often travelled along these same roads on our motorcycles. We camped off the road beside a trout stream amongst the tufts of grass, ignorant of the plentiful Tiger Snakes that inhabit the grasslands. Tents were generally big and heavy canvas things without a floor, or too expensive to buy and too big to fit on a motorcycle, so we parked our bikes in pairs alongside each other and strapped a hoochie between them and prayed it wouldn’t rain. We filled the spaces under the engines with our duffle bags to keep the wind out. It was all we had.
I like the Snowy. The road is generally smooth as a baby’s bum and equally free from leaf-litter and corner gravel. Not always, but most times. Sight-lines are good, corners maintain a constant radius, and there are enough overtaking spots in-between the good bits to make light traffic bearable. The small wallabies and large brumbies can be a worry, but you learn to live with such obstacles and use your own judgement as to how fast is too fast for the conditions. There seemed to be little wildlife about and we all had a respectably fast run along the Highway even with the light traffic and occasional caravan or boat being towed at a slower pace.
It didn’t take long for the faster riders to disappear into the distance, clearly revelling in the great riding the road was offering us. Funnily enough, the road can feel quite fast even at posted limits due to the tightness of the bends and ease with which you can power a big bike out of one corner and into the next. Let’s just say that a lot of fun was had without the risk of jail-time or bike confiscation. Sometimes, you must accept that group riding means you tone it down a bit and just enjoy the ride. The straighter bits towards Talbingo allowed a re-group for the always interesting track down the mountain and on to Tumut.
Travelling along the grassy slopes and babbling streams reminded me of the good old days when several of us often travelled along these same roads on our motorcycles. We camped off the road beside a trout stream amongst the tufts of grass, ignorant of the plentiful Tiger Snakes that inhabit the grasslands. Tents were generally big and heavy canvas things without a floor, or too expensive to buy and too big to fit on a motorcycle, so we parked our bikes in pairs alongside each other and strapped a hoochie between them and prayed it wouldn’t rain. We filled the spaces under the engines with our duffle bags to keep the wind out. It was all we had.
Most times, we shared a second hoochie spread on the ground and grabbed whatever sleep we could in our cold cotton-filled sleeping bags. We had baked beans for dinner or baked beans with canned sausages if we felt like eating top-shelf tucker and shared a bottle or two of Stones Green Ginger Wine. The night was spent sharing bad snores and worse farts, but we thought we were living the high life off the back of a motorcycle. They were simple times shared with good mates. Most of us survived those years of fun, speed, travel and cold nights. Most, but not all. The memories come flooding back each time I pass this way. Talbingo Mountain was the same then as it is now, but I have more respect for it these days.
Talbingo Mountain has been resealed in recent times. It’s now a slightly smoother rough as guts hard-braking, twisty and slippery track from top to bottom. My GS is good at soaking up the bumps. I always feel sorry for
Talbingo Mountain has been resealed in recent times. It’s now a slightly smoother rough as guts hard-braking, twisty and slippery track from top to bottom. My GS is good at soaking up the bumps. I always feel sorry for
those on sports bikes. We all made it down as far as the Talbingo turnoff and kept a watchful eye for kangaroos and emus while observing the many water-skiers using Blowering Dam as we rode past. What a busy place on a weekend. Ride Leader tried to confuse us by pulling up to photograph the Dam, so the rest continued to Tumut for fuel. Tumut loomed and lunch beckoned, so our thoughts turned to less strenuous things like eating and drinking.
The chosen eatery was good to the point of being very good. Thankfully, so was the coffee. We opted to take some of the less-travelled folk home from Tumut via the back-roads through Brungle and alongside the rivers and streams to Coolac. I led the way on this stretch as no-one else was sure of the path. This is an interesting diversion that bypasses Gundagai and a good slab of the Hume Highway, so it was welcomed by most. A few appeared to be a little uncomfortable with the skinny little road that skirted the surprisingly green farmland, but we all made it to the Highway and the ever-so-dreary run to home. We had agreed on a brief stop at Jugiong for final farewells, but most followed in loose formation from there to Murrumbateman where we split paths for home.
It was a big day out on the bike, but excellent practice for some even longer days that might appear on the ride calendar in the near future. One can only hope. It would be hard to complain about the day. The bikes behaved themselves, the riders behaved themselves, the Plod stayed away, the food was good, the coffee was undrinkable for me at Adaminaby, and the wildlife stayed out in the wild. Yeah, it was a good day. Thanks to Ride Leader Al and to those who turned up for the longer ride.
The chosen eatery was good to the point of being very good. Thankfully, so was the coffee. We opted to take some of the less-travelled folk home from Tumut via the back-roads through Brungle and alongside the rivers and streams to Coolac. I led the way on this stretch as no-one else was sure of the path. This is an interesting diversion that bypasses Gundagai and a good slab of the Hume Highway, so it was welcomed by most. A few appeared to be a little uncomfortable with the skinny little road that skirted the surprisingly green farmland, but we all made it to the Highway and the ever-so-dreary run to home. We had agreed on a brief stop at Jugiong for final farewells, but most followed in loose formation from there to Murrumbateman where we split paths for home.
It was a big day out on the bike, but excellent practice for some even longer days that might appear on the ride calendar in the near future. One can only hope. It would be hard to complain about the day. The bikes behaved themselves, the riders behaved themselves, the Plod stayed away, the food was good, the coffee was undrinkable for me at Adaminaby, and the wildlife stayed out in the wild. Yeah, it was a good day. Thanks to Ride Leader Al and to those who turned up for the longer ride.
The attendees were:
Ride Leader Al Sunday (but only on a Sunday and never on a Munday)(FJR1300)
Chris Dietzel (GTR1400)
Andrew Campbell (FJR1300)
Neil McRitchie (GTR1400)
Bill Henshaw (Explorer 1200), and
Scribe Mick Beltrame (R1200GSLC).
Photos supplied by Ride Leader Al.
