The weather forecasters had been telling us for days that we’d be dreaming of a wet Christmas. And they were right for once. It arrived a little late, but by Boxing Day the weather map of the east coast had white fairy floss all over it, the second India v. Australia cricket test was going no-where and I was beginning to think I had made an error of judgment in my route selection.

For the last two years the TT350 has been used as transport to the Ovens Valley and to break the monotony I throw in a few detours. (You do that sort of thing when you ride a TT350 on the road).

This year, the 4000k new Yamaha XT600 was ready for serious assessment and I had decided to go totally ape with my route sheet. Like, turn east at Toorak Road and don’t turn north ‘till at least Omeo. Riding on bitumen was punishable by tarring and feathering unless absolutely unavoidable. No allowance had been made for serious rain, but what the hell. The assorted plastic bags for waterproofing needed a thorough testing and the Tiger Angel ‘Element’ jacket had yet to earn its stripes.

Contemplating another night at home in a dry, warn bed, I had to give myself a stern lecture on being a wimp and duly headed down the driveway a little after 2pm on Boxing Day. I got as far as Wellington Road before having to put on the waterproofs. Gembrook was the last bitumen I would see for quite some time as I turned the handlebars to Beenak territory and picked up the Blacksands Road near Powelltown. This gravel road takes you towards Noojee but if you know your geography, you turn right at Muddy Creek Road, a left at Gunn’s Road and suddenly you’ve totally bypassed Noojee and are now in the middle of nowhere heading towards ‘The Triangle’ up Matlock way.

All this means bugger-all to your average sports bike rider but it fills in the afternoon. Especially if its raining and by now I had rain on the inside of the visor and rain on the glasses. And the mist? Don’t even mention the mist.

After the Toorongo turnoff there seemed very little chance of this weather lifting so I threw a right and came around the low side of the Thomson River dam. The track up through Aberfeldy is one of my favorites and even in extreme wet it holds a line well with lots of very fine gravel in the road surface. You have to keep your eyes peeled in the mist so as not to overshoot the turnoff to Mt. Selma. It gets pretty spooky and lonely up here and at 4,500 ft you’re going right over the top. The Licola valley lies on the other side of this ridge and it is normally a rain shadow area. No, not this time. It eventually stopped raining but everywhere was wet. Darkness was setting in as I reached Licola, with a short run up the bitumen to our well-known camping spot on the Wellington River. "Well known" if you were ever around when we used to do Club camps up that way.

Phew, just made it in before pitch black, but I know this area like the back of my hand, so got water and hit the self-inflating mattress.

Monday dawned dark and menacing. The XT petrol tanker was still on its original top-up from just out of Melbourne. I was planning to get fuel at Dargo and I had done this on purpose to avoid having too much fuel weight on board going down Billy Goats Bluff. Billy Goats looks exactly like its name sounds.

As I packed up the tent in the rain I turned over the two options in my mind. Ride right up to the Pinnacles (at over 5000 ft) and then head south on Marathon Road for 2 hours and then north past Blue Lake for another 2 hours and you finish up at Dargo.

The other option is to throw caution to the wind and ride down Billy Goats. Hey presto, you’re in Dargo in 40 minutes. Fortunately I had been down the Bluff before, but it was twenty years ago and I was riding a Honda XR200 at the time. Now it was raining, had been raining for 2 days, I was on a 165kg courier bike and carrying camping gear. I was also twenty years older.

So what! I pointed the Yamaha at the rocky gap in the mist and hoped for the best. Fortunately the three 4WD’s coming up passed me before it got really hairy. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor I must confess to bull-dogging the XT down a couple of snotty rocky sections. Gradually I got the feeling that the big Yamaha wasn’t going to break loose on me. Having a Metzeler Unicross knobby on the front is good insurance. So I rode the big tub of lard down the remaining 4,000 ft. with the erosion humps (30 meters apart) offering landing pads if the plot came unstuck.

Phew! Was I glad to see the Happy Valley road at the bottom. Now, just another 30k’s of mud and slush into Dargo.

The thriving township (one pub, one store) of Dargo had quite a few motorcycles parked in the rain when I arrived. A big BMW R100GS caught my eye. About 10 years old but in immaculate condition and loaded to the gunwales with panniers and tank bag. Peter (about my age) and Irene were riding from Bairnsdale to Cobram and planned a pleasant run over the Dargo-Hotham high plains road to add interest to the ride. After all, it was summer wasn’t it?

I thought Peter was being a tad fastidious running a chamois over the Beemer seeing it was still raining.

As always happens at Dargo, I ran into some people I knew who said that the entire south-east of Australia was rained out so I was probably wasting my time going on to Omeo hoping for dry weather. A pie and drink later, I figured Porepunkah looked like the best option.

Re-fuel, check the oil, and head off up the 15 kilometers of black-top heading north out of Dargo. The bitumen now extends right up to the ‘Grant’ turnoff. Amazing, I thought to myself as I swooped around the next corner. And there it was! Holy sheeet! The biggest red clay skating rink I’ve seen. Whoever laid this 30ks of road is obviously a lunatic. There is not one sceric of gravel in the mixture, just clay and twenty metres wide. In the summer you asphyxiate from dust and in the wet it’s as slippery as a bull’s bum (old trail-riders term.) But this! This was incredible. A quagmire, and practically unrideable on a motorbike.

When I eventually found Peter and Irene they were upside down under the BM after having done a classic pirouette. Fortunately Beemers have a big pot sticking out either side which is terrific for landing on in the mud as the bike only goes three-quarters of the way down.

Peter was in remarkably good spirits considering the conditions and apologized that he had been going so slow, just paddling in first gear. I told him it was a bloody miracle they’d gotten this far.

Peter had had the sense to let the tyres down a little but was reluctant to go too far, as he didn’t have a pump. I did, so I let them way down. "Go as slow as you like" I said "and I’ll stay behind you and pump the tires up again at the Hotham end." Irene seemed to take some re-assurance from this arrangement, and Peter gave any parts of the BM not entirely encrusted in mud another wipe with the chamois.

Off we went, wobbling and sliding our way into the mist. Not bad bike the 100GS. It has a 21inch from wheel and I don’t know of any other model (semi-road bike that is) that would have gotten through. You can forget the BM 1100 GS, the Varadero and the Tiger. There was no-one more relieved than Peter and Irene when we reached the Hotham road. Never had wet bitumen looked so secure.

I gave the tyres a good gasp of air from my push-bike pump, wished the intrepid travelers God’s speed on the remainder of their trip to Cobram, and cruised on down to Porepunkah.

Well that takes care of the ‘How’, but as to the ‘Why’?

I guess we never really understand why, with the exception of answering ‘why not’. But I do know a few things about a Yamaha XT600 now that I didn’t know before. Like that it will go just about anywhere it’s pointed. Not much class, but if your life depended on it…

And if that fails, you could always give it a quick wipe down with a damp chamois.

Guaranteed.