Back in the good old days we never bothered with ride reports. It was a simple time with simple bikes and no need to tell a story to anyone who wasn’t there. Memories were shared with friends and only rarely were those memories put into print. Our steeds were more like donkeys, unlike the throbbing monsters we sit upon these days. Our travels were usually at steady pace and it looked like the same would apply for this week’s Sunday outing given the roads to be travelled. Bodalla was the intended stopover for our luncheon repast of assorted healthy nourishment or heart-stopping junk-food. I scored the job of scribing by self-volunteering and will do my best to keep the length short and sweet. I’m off to a poor start.
We had no Ride Leader for this one, a last-minute absence making us Ride Leaderless. No worries, we were all adults and figured we could sort something out. Only four turned up, a good number for a heavily trafficked and enthusiastically policed assortment of roads. We all had a go up front at various times through the day, the lack of Ride Leadership not hindering our foray down the mountain or along the coast. While waiting for the final two participants, my mate Rob and I assisted the owners of the Bungendore Café adjacent the Caltex Servo in cleaning up the night’s mess made by the Bungendore young folk, otherwise known as a pack of grotty mongrel bastards who have no respect for the people who keep their town alive. Yes, the local kiddies had been busy leaving food scraps all through the outside eatery area. We swept it up, tidied the chairs and tables, and chatted with the proprietors.
At 0930 sharp we rolled out of the Bungendore Servo and headed east. I sometimes wish something interesting would happen to provide the meat that makes the sandwich. Bread and salad are boring. Nothing too interesting. Non-life-threatening and non-bike-damaging, but interesting. Intimate descriptions of the potholes encountered along the way, the number of sheep in the paddocks, the fullness or emptiness of dams, and the variable shades of green or brown grass just don’t do it for me. The leg to Nelligen was predictably pleasant, without excitement, and free from any extraordinary action whatsoever. I did count six large bug splatters on my windscreen and visor, if that helps ease the boredom. It should have been eight, but I ducked twice, and large winged-things zipped over my helmet as they caught the slipstream.
I cruised along with the pack of four, content to enjoy the slower pace and local scenery as it flashed past my visor. Road-kill was prevalent every few kilometres. Most of it had been picked clean so the assault on the nostrils was not off-putting to the point where lunch would be a problem. The dead kangaroos seem to have been particularly acidic this summer. I had already decided that I wouldn’t ask for the kangaroo burger, if there was one on the menu. I did a ride across to Wagga a while back with my daughter riding pillion. It rained lightly for much of the route, and the trip home without her was interesting. She was not impressed when I vividly described the thick slurry of minced kangaroo that I hit as I overtook a car on the highway. It had clearly been a fresh kill, pounded into a wet mash of meat, fur, bones and guts lightly moistened by the drizzle of rain and a jus of diesel and engine oil. I hit it with an audible ‘splash’ and could smell the sweet scent of roasting kangaroo as the slurry cooked on the headers. A heavy rain shower washed most of it off, but it wasn’t pleasant. Apologies if you are having dinner.
We all managed to find a park outside the mid-morning eatery and slowly wandered inside for a brew. The Nelligen Riverside Cafe is a good place to grab a coffee, although it does get busy at times. The queue was short, so it was ok. I hate queuing for stuff. I did it anyway. The coffee was fine. Most country towns cannot afford to pee-off their local and tourist clientele by serving bad food or coffee. We were back on the bikes in quick time, an unusual feat for the assembled pack. Perhaps not so unusual for just four riders. Lunch was beckoning, and we were clearly hungry for proper food and some additional friendly conversation. Bodalla was no longer our destination. Rather than head south and into no-man’s land where the option was a long ride south and home via Cooma or back the same way we had come, we opted to ditch Bodalla and head north to Ulladulla once we hit Bateman’s Bay.
The second leg of our two-wheeled adventure started well and ended weller, or more-wellely for the pedantic. Is that an oxymoron? Can two wheels have a leg? I’ve seen legless two-wheelers before. Stones Green Ginger Wine has that effect. Stones Mac is worse. Bacardi and coke will never pass my lips again, so that’s also out. Now there’s an unhappy thought. Nothing much happened on the coastal run to Ulladulla, so there isn’t much to write about. I did see a couple of small birds trying to scare off a hawk way off in the distance. A few large cows stood out from the crowd, but they were just hovering in a green grass paddock and didn’t care to chase us along the fence-line. Cows don’t usually chase motorcycles, but I had to add something interesting
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| Shirley the Sheep |
As we passed the Shallow-Crossing turnoff I saw Shirley the sheep running to the corner of the paddock alongside the road. I had met her distant cousin Sharon on a previous ride when, as tail-end-Charlie, I had waited for some slow starters to turn up at the Frogmore turnoff. I must say that Shirley was looking pretty hot, and I’m not even a New Zealander! I think that it was because of her woolly jumper and the warm coastal humidity rather than the fishnet leggings made from woven tussock grass that she was wearing. I waved as I shot past, not willing to be delayed with another long chat if I stopped. I tried to hide the small patch of sheepskin I was sitting on but couldn’t suppress my thoughts about the succulent rack of lamb that was programmed for dinner.
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| Lunch stop: Ulladulla Wharf Cafe |
Lunch was great at the Ulladulla wharf cafe. No roo on the menu. The noisy banter highlighted the social aspect of the ride. We enjoyed the break and conversation flowed freely. It was busy, but the service was quick and the food excellent. Nicest fish I’ve had in a while. The obligatory ‘Photo of bikes and participants’ merely confirms the event. We had already opted to head further north to Turpentine Road then on the Nerriga, Tarago and home. It seemed to be the best option and made it a great ride for the day. I think I was just ticking over around 450 kilometres by the time I got home. It was great run through to Bungendore, but traffic was heavy even by usual Sunday standards.
Nobody seemed keen to ride as lone-wolves, to use a very American motorcycling term. It had been a relaxing day on the bikes and very enjoyable. I branched off as we entered the Bungendore environs. Chris and Rob followed and we headed to Rob’s place for a brew, thus ending my ability to scribe anything further about the ride. Dave had pulled in at the Tarago Pub, perhaps for a cold drink or bladder stop. We continued the chatter at Rob’s place with his lovely lady Jane and another coffee. Chris and I eventually headed off to north Canberra and our respective abodes.
In summary, it was a good day out with sensible riding at a respectable (posted limits) pace wherever it was possible amidst the traffic. There was no real deviation from the plan other than not going anywhere near the intended destination, no serious excitement to get us into a sweat, and no bike failures to generate lengthy words of interest. The chosen eateries were on the high side of acceptable and there were no complaints about the food or coffee. That’s a bonus. I guess that makes this another dull ride report. If you’ve gotten this far, then you’ve done very well. Congratulations.
Attendees were:
Ride Leader (Nah, we don’t need one every time)
Joint Ride Leader (Chris on the blue Hyabusa)
Joint Ride Leader (Dave on the blue Super Tenere)
Joint Ride Leader (Rob on the black Bandit)
Joint Ride Leader and Scribe (Mick on the White Gelande Strasse)
Wannabe Ride Pillion (Shirley the Sheep)
