But more on that later. When I arrived at the Gold Creek servo at 9:20am (yes, I was late for my own ride briefing), there was nobody there. Sure, the weather forecast had been a bit dodgy but the morning was bright and sunny, not that cold, with only a light breeze. My first thought was: did the ride actually start at 9:00am and had everyone already left without me? But I had checked the details on the blog the night before so that was unlikely.
But then a tall, lanky stranger ambled over and introduced himself as André and said he had come along to see what Ulysses was like. As André ambled back to get his bike, Vidas pulled in and gave his Harley a drink. And there was a text message from Gary Mac promising to catch up with us in Boorowa or Woodstock. So I wouldn’t be Robinson Crusoe after all.
First, we assigned roles – I would be ride leader and corner marker, Vidas tail-end Charlie and André would go in the middle. Then we hit the road, just a few minutes after the advertised departure time.
The first leg, to Boorowa, was a joy, with little traffic and sunshine that slowly gathered in strength. But it was a the Superb Café that we had our first encounter with modern technology and industrial design.
André ordered a sausage roll and sauce with his coffee. He’s an IT guru with a Significant Government Department and probably has a university degree but he seemed a little baffled when it came to getting the sauce out of the little plastic container (the one with two compartments that you squeeze together as you point it downwards onto your food). Tentatively he examined it, turning it in his fingers till finally he was holding it upside-down. Then he squeezed it and surprise! sauce sprayed up in the air and all over the table. A couple of drops even made it to my jumper, but not enough that it was worth wringing it out over my pie.
We left Boorowa right on the dot of 11:something-or-other and headed out on the Crookwell road till we turned north on the Frogmore road. The countryside was already starting to green up after some rain in the previous week. The creeks and dams all had water in them, crops and pastures were sprouting and there were newborn lambs in the paddocks. The first part of the road didn’t have the best surface but by Frogmore it was wide and relatively smooth as it followed the valley of Hovells Creek down to the Cowra–Wyangala road.
We regrouped at this T-junction, turning right and riding through a short, winding section through steep hillsides peppered with granite outcrops and boulders till we crossed the Lachlan River downstream from Wyangala Dam and passed through the little village of Wyangala. Then we were on Reg Hailstone Way, which is a happy wonderland of steep climbs and descents, tight winding corners and wide, fast sweepers with spectacular views as the road twists along the top of a high ridgeline. By the time we got to Woodstock and pulled up outside the Royal Hotel at about 12:30pm we were very happy chappies indeed.
We populated a table right in front of the fire in the dining room and ordered steak sangers, burgers and chips. As I paid for mine, I came face-to-face with a technological wonder that I had never experienced before. I paid with a credit card, tapping on a device that looked like an iPad. The young lady at the cash register asked if I would like a receipt. “Yes please,” I replied, for I am always polite.
“Would you like it emailed or texted?” she asked. Taken aback and a bit baffled, I opted for a text message and waited for her to ask for my mobile number. “I already have it,” she said. “It’s right here on the screen.”
“You’re in the big smoke now!” Vidas laughed, as I expressed amazement. Truly, I never knew this was possible. No doubt that little machine knew my email address too and possibly even the Goldwing’s odometer reading.
As we scoffed our tucker, Gary Mac walked in, boosting our merry numbers by 33.3%. I think he paid cash for his lunch so he didn’t get to witness Woodstock’s technological wizardry. (On the other hand, those of us who are with Telstra had no mobile phone service.)
 |
| At the Royal Hotel, Woodstock. That’s André with the fire between his thighs. |
Ian Paterson GL1800
André Swenson Ninja 650R
Vidas Sadauskas Street Glide
Gary McDonald BMW R100S
Ian Paterson
 |
| The Royal Hotel even has its own bus. No need to ride to Woodstock! |
 |
| Fleet at rest |
