Awaking at 6:30 for a 7am breakfast (who arranged that?), looking out the window and not seeing the blue skies I’d been hoping for but rather grey, wet looking clouds. Most of us make it for breakfast enjoying the homelike choice of cereals, fruit, toast etc. Peter F. and Robbie decided they had eaten enough the night before and took the extra sleep option.
We agreed to meet at the Shell Servo (famous from the movie Jindabyne) at 9 am which gave me an hour to pack including the left over stubbies from last night which I think added extra balance to my king size gear sack. There was a light mist so I opted for the water proof glove covers which had served me well the day before. Don’t tell anyone but I think they were of the veterinary kind. Oh well, at least no one noticed.
First stop was just past Thredbo at Dead Horse Gap; snow everywhere, icy roads and a couple on a Harley to take a club photo that includes Ben for a change. The next leg is the downwards spiral with tight hairpin bends. I ended up following Jean on the 250 Bandit, amazed at how well he threw the bike round the bends. We regrouped at the bottom, stripped off some of the now redundant wetties and took off for the best the mountain has to offer. We passed a group on BMW’s who kept waving at me (and the rest of our group) to slow down. I couldn’t help wondering, if they were so worried, maybe two hands on the bars would have been a better option. That thought cost me my first run-wide for the trip, as Misho passed me and followed the road left up a hill; I kept on a straight line on to a dirt track. Maybe that was the main road once, but very obviously no longer.
After a quick break we headed up to
Eventually I lost sight of Peter as I slowed for the road works signs and he kept the pace up. Never did see any roadwork though! I really enjoyed the high altitude because I got to rev the 750 through the full range in every gear due to the lack of performance the thin air causes. But man, it was so cold, I had my heated grips on the charcoal setting.
I rounded a bend near the top and saw a car
stopped, blocking half my lane. In front,
bikes parked and all the other classic signs of an
accident. Sure enough Shane had put his
600 in the gutter. Everything seemed to
be taken care of so I rode on to let the others know. I caught the rest of the group stopped for
lunch at Cabramurra, let them know about the “off”, and then got stuck into
some HOT food and coffee. Did I mention
how cold it was? Eventually the rest of
the group arrived, followed by the damaged bike on a
trailer a couple of helpful guys were pulling.
We then left Shane knowing the tow truck wasn’t far away. The trip down the mountain (
I had ridden most of these roads a few years back but, as usual, the Club took a few discrete turns and suddenly it’s all new again until we came out on the Murray River Road (at Jingellic via Tumbarumba …Ed.) which separated the ride into smaller groups until we stopped at Granya for a snack and quick rest.
I heard about Misho’s overtaking manoeuvre, accelerating (really quickly) over a small rise, past the leaders who all were slowing into the banking corner he hadn’t yet seen. Asking for all the brakes the GSXR750 had to offer and a lot of lean, he just managed to pull the bike around the corner. There were other stories about dodging turtles crossing the road but nothing compared to Misho’s pants darkening experience.
We took off over the Granya Gap only to hit
loose gravel a third of the way up the hill.
Where are the bloody signs? I bet this caught everyone off guard as it
was damn hard to see. It cleaned up
before the peak but more was found on the downwards side. We followed the
The last section of the highway bypass into
Mt Beauty is now paved and has a few great corners with no visibility, so makes
for an interesting change after the straights.
We met up with Marty at Mt Beauty who’d left
The final leg of the day was over Tawonga Gap and on to Harrietville, a much better ride than when we first did it on Day One, although I still managed to find something to complain about; this time the sun glare. We sorted out the rooms; Ian sharing with me once we both confirmed neither snored. Hit the pub for dinner, then talked bikes, tyre wear and trips until late. The last thing Ian said to me was ‘James, I’ve got my ear plugs in, suggest you do the same.’ Guess one more night of snoring won’t kill me!
James
Melford