| Hi achternaam, It's a tough job and I'm just the person to do it. I've been testing, well more like beating as much of the crap out of new gear as I can. The new Avduro LE panniers, new Held gloves, Quad lock phone mounts, a Scott wet weather top and couple of other bits and pieces. My trip to the Southern Adventure Rider mag's Congregation convinced me it's time to get a hold of a Personal Locator Beacon, one of them EBURB (typo meant) thingos. I found myself easing DR Z down a damp hill, on a stopped engine using clutch and brakes, talking myself into taking my time. "If it takes a couple of hours to get this done, then that's what it takes" I told myself bouying my waning confidence. There was no one else to talk it over with. This dipstick had gone into steep country south of the infamous "Billy Goats"... Alone. Luckily the climbs weren't as steep as the descents but there was no way I was gonna get stuck so I hit them with momentum to spare, plenty of throttle and gritty determintion. It did take close to two hours to get out to a cold beer. An easy ride never makes a good yarn they say! |
Freestone Creek Road, a highway in the direction of home. |
As Scrawn turned up Sunday morning on his Postie, we needed to head back as far away from main roads as possible. Wow what a day out. By using Hema Maps on the phone mounted in the Quad Lock and Zumo, the God of Getting Lost as a check system, we snuck through some really interesting country. Our route took us on roads that were challenging but not hard. We would never have found them without the aid of the Mother of Invention. During our day out we had little choice other than negotiating a few klicks of "transport sections". Flicking Dr Z tighly in front of the Postie, concentrating on my mirror and smooth throttle I was able to drag a tightly tucked in Scrawn in my slipstream from his cable stretching 75 kph to a dizzying 88. Lotsa giggles! |
There's one in every crowd. |
To back that up the following Thursday, Dr Z and I got a wet, cold early start on the way to the Sinney Motorbicycle Expo. Twelve hours and 750 km later over the Bonang, Bombala, Candelo and Batemans Bay, I lobbed on Geoff of Architect fame. It had rain most of the way in that annoying drizzly, greasy way. On the Friday and for the first time ever I used Google Maps on the phone, on the bike to guide me. Low an behold it took me straight where I needed to go. To make it back to Braidwood for an early assault at the return leg, I snuck out of the Expo mid arvo on Sunday determined to get there via the Nerriga Rd before the wildlife were looking for a two wheeled playmate. So much for a plan. I took out a Kookaburra with my left knee and a Finch with the right Barkbuster on the main highway. Preceeding cautiously down a wet Nerriga road as the day was sitting down to an evening beer, my eyes were glued to the visor and the bike positioned as close to the middle as was smart. You guessed it, a hopping bush terrorist decided on its suicide mission. The old adadge "it's not the roos you see that cause the damage" ran true. Out of the corner of my right eye he shot out of the bush, saw me a bit late, turned to run a little more parrallel with me as I braced and grabbed a big handful of throttle (as big as yer can on a DRZ400). Skip hit my knee then headbutted my pannier, the one with the tyre changing kit in the bottom. He won't do that again! AAArrrk, I hope I don't either! Monday saw clean undies, wet weather gear and an early start. Thirteen hours later Dr Z rolled into home, another 750km+ under our wheels. Over the Badja to Cooma, Buckets Way, Corryong, Benambra to Orbost then home the back way. The little DRZ400 proved more than up for the job. Top gear roll on was just enough to whizz past tin top chicanes and it astounded me when I got rare patches of dry twisties to give it's little neck a wringing. My work re-covering the seat, and having the rear shock massaged combined with tall road gearing makes it a viable 0.75 IronButt bike. I'm not sure I need a bike with three times the capacity and weight anymore. | 