Who would want to ride a motorbike to Tumut on the coldest, windiest, snowiest weekend of the year? Nobody, surely. Or at least nobody in their right mind. Secure in this notion, I settled down on Saturday evening in front of the telly with a glass of red as the gale and sleet raged against the darkness outside.
But then reality bit, in the form of a text message from Colin promising to ride with me on the morrow no matter what the weather. Bugger, I thought, but I went to bed sure that Sunday morning would be just as foul as Saturday night and nobody would turn up for the ride.
As fate would have it, Sunday morning dawned sunny and calm, so I donned my warmest riding gear and headed for the servo at Nicholls. Not only was Colin there when I arrived, but there were also several other hardy souls in their motorbike fancy dress. In fact, our party swelled to nine by the time everyone had arrived and/or caught up.
However, we were about to be caught in a cunning trap. Of course – how could we have been so stupid! As we headed towards Murrumbateman the clear skies were quickly replaced by low, dark clouds and it started to spit freezing rain. I pulled over to pull on my waterproof overgloves as the spits turned to drizzle and the temperature (according to Goldwing) dropped from seven to six degrees.
We rounded Yass in strong, gusty south-westerly headwinds and more-than-occasional showers and turned onto Burley Griffin Way. As we rode through sopping, windblown Binalong, I smelled wood smoke and pictured a family sitting contentedly in front of their wood fire, eating hot, buttered toast and drinking cups of steaming tea as the cheerful children sat quietly and played with kittens and wrote poems about how wonderful life was in their happy, happy family. Oh, if only I could join them!
But I could not. I was ride leader and had to go on! I silently wiped the tears from my face before they could freeze my eyelashes to the visor. Mercifully, as we approached Cunningar the temperature jumped from six to seven degrees (according to Goldwing) and life on the road was once more glass half-full.
I report these temperatures “according to Goldwing” because in the glass half-empty world of Chris’s GTR1400 it never got warmer than five degrees.
At our coffee and pie stop at the Terracotta in Murrumburrah we had to sit outside because of COVID limits. This final hypothermic indignity sparked murmurings and grumblings about how cold and wet it was and subtle suggestions that perhaps we should revolt against the tyranny of the ride calendar and simply turn around and go back home. However, I was overruled by a show of hands who wanted their attached bodies and bikes to continue to Tumut.
Then the same agitator suggested that perhaps the narrow, winding, sheep-infested backroads from Pettit to Tumut via Brungle were not the best idea on a day such as this. Not only was I overruled on this, but I also distinctly heard the words “you” and “wuss” used in the same sentence.
So, in the spirit of Ulysses courage and manliness, I belatedly pulled on my waterproof pants (or rather wrapped them around me like a long, black nappy) and led the next leg to Jugiong. At least my legs were warmer now. At Jugiong, Vidas and Rex abandoned ship and headed for home.
At Pettit, a sad little locality huddled beside the freeway just past Coolac, three of the team, led by Dieter, turned off to tackle the backroads while the other three followed the wuss to South Gundagai and on to Tumut via the Gocup Road.
And here we got a great surprise – and I mean great in every sense of the word! Pretty much the whole of the Gocup Road has been upgraded and realigned and it is now a smooth, high-speed delight (respecting the 100 km/h limit, of course) all the way from South Gundagai to Tumut.
We pulled in at the Tumut River Brewing Company at 12:35pm and our appointed table was waiting for us. Perhaps half an hour later (or it could have been seven or eight minutes – my memory is a bit hazy on the exact timespan) Dieter’s backroads group joined us.
Burgers and pizzas were the most popular choices, while there was a comprehensive selection of craft beers but, as is the way with craft brewers, they were a bit pricey. But we got to sit inside! And not only inside, but on comfy lounges fronting a long coffee table that soon filled with drinks and food. It was warm and cosy, the world was made rosy by our togetherness. It was almost like that wonderful family in Binalong.
The ride home started well enough but a few minutes later we were into the rain again, and it continued on and off all the way back to Canberra. By Gundagai the temperature had dropped back to six degrees, where it sat most of the way home. At least the strong, cold south-westerlies were now tailwinds helping us on our way. A couple of half-arsed rainbows near Bookham and Yass did little to brighten the scene.
Brave Dave decided to return home via the crappy dirt road over the snow-covered Brindabellas. He had knobby tyres on the XT1200 so it shouldn’t have been too much of a problem. However, he promised to text me when he got safely home, which he did, saving me a call to Search and Rescue.
In summary, it was a nasty sort of day to be on motorbikes. It was the sort of day that if you’re in a car and you see a motorbike you think, “Pity that poor bugger, glad it’s not me!” Except that of course, today it was me. If I wasn’t the ride leader I probably would have stayed in bed.
But we all made the best of it and were at least glad to be out of the house and on the road for a few COVID-free hours. And when I got home at 4pm the bride welcomed me as a returning hero with open arms and a cup of steaming tea. Or perhaps she was just taking pity on a surviving idiot.
Ian
- Ian Paterson Honda GL1800 Goldwing
- Kevin Sherman Indian
- Colin Sweeny BMW K1200LT
- Scott England BMW R1250RT
- Dieter Walter Ducati Multistrada 950
- Rex Clemence BMW GS650
- Vidas Sadauskas HD Street Glide
- Chris Dietzel Kawasaki GTR1400
- Dave Jones Yamaha XT1200
