Walhalla/Thompson Dam Mk II
I had a feeling this could be a big ride
turnout, the weather perfect for riding and the first Yarra Glen pickup for
quite a while. Sure enough, bikes kept rolling in right up till 10 mins past
the nominated leave time of 10am. I was
working hard gathering ICE numbers and checking the new riders were worded up on the Corner Marking System. Not for a ling time have we seen Bronwyn and
Dave out on a ride on separate bikes. As Dave notes, he only brings the Ducati
1098 out, not only if it is fine, but fine as far as
First stop was 70 km away for coffee and a regroup at Noojee via Healesville and Powelltown. Ride leader and Club Captain Trevor Harris gave the pre-ride spiel and noted he had completed the ride on Saturday, checking the route and stops as part of his thorough and responsible planning. (As a result, it went very smoothly, apart from events beyond his control!)
I was happy to bumble along at the back of the ride until Healesville where my attention was grabbed by Marty’s interaction with a car driver. The car driver seemed to take exception to riders filtering up the left hand side at the Chum Creek intersection, Marty forced to take evasive action. The driver later passed extremely close to Marty as he prepared to turn right resulting in more aggressive posturing from all parties. No harm done.
Trevor’s late declaration of no fuel at Noojee had a few riders scurrying for petrol at Healesville. At this point we lost first time rider Mark on a Kawasaki ZX14.
On to Yarra Junction and the start of the good roads for the next 300 km! Not far out of Powelltown, in the uphill tight twisties near the top, I rounded a left hand corner to find a bike recently down. First time rider, Murat, on the GSXR600, had run wide into the ditch, crunching the top fairing. He had a sore leg but was walking. The bike started easily, and with some judicious bending of the front brake master cylinder bracket, removal of cracked and broken top screen and mirrors via quick spanner work and brutality, and copious amounts of silver electrical tape (thanks Pete Weyermayr) applied to the remaining top fairing and master cylinder to stem the leak, Murat was soon heading from whence he had just come, albeit at a restricted pace. No reception on his mobile when trying to call his wife, so early arrival home would be a surprise in more ways than one.
Bronwyn had continued on, sweeping up the troops for the regroup at Noojee. By the time I arrived the group was almost ready to leave. As it was warming fast, some serious repacking and de-robing was required. I had volunteered to carry Murat’s undamaged and expensive integrated blinker mirrors (as he had no carrying capacity, of course) to be collected the following week. (Paul Stravrakas, who had encouraged Murat to come on the ride and now probably feeling guilty, picked them up from me the next day at work.) Trying to pack water proof pants and two fat mirrors in addition to the usual camera (yes, I got a couple of crash happy-snaps), wallet, water bottle, chain lube, Mr Sheen, ICE book, etc was somewhat challenging. Throw in heckling from a few of the 30 or so Melbourne Branch Ulysses riders, in particular, three long term ex-MSR members, Ray Thomas, Garry Clifton and Vince Green (former MSR President). They are the future for MSR members. MSR riders don’t stop riding when they get “too old and slow”, they just join the Ulysses! When I suggested they were off to see the Trestle Bridge (No! 100 metre of dirt track would pre-clude that), they retorted they were off to Walhalla! Just like us! I figured I had better leave before them, not wanting to pass them in the twisties.
Bronwyn had not long left and soon I rejoined the group. It was quite pleasant riding alone, for a change, passing the odd unknown rider, knowing the others were out there somewhere ahead. I contemplated the concept of a ride within a ride, how we all are on our own individual ride with its distinct experiences, yet are part of the greater whole. Each person has complete set of differing experiences, fashioned by the same roads and weather, yet common enough to share, understand and enjoy with each other. Dave Twentyman’s write-up above discusses his ride, his set of experiences, his view of the same ride.
The route took us through Icy Creek and on to Hill End through the tree lined twisty section which works better this way as the road climbs gradually and the bank is on the right, providing greater visibility around the corners in this direction. It is a great road in either direction, just a little more “faith” is required coming the other way. On to Moe for fuel in the centre of town and then for lunch around midday in the main street with options of the bakery or Subway. We spread ourselves along the street, consuming all the available outside chairs and tables, another group sitting inside the bakery.
After a leisurely lunch we made our way
back up the
The bike wasn’t quite right, indirectly the result of replacing the right side weeping fork seal the previous Monday. It had started weeping on the Melbourne Cup Weekend ride. (Misho was somewhat amazed that I continued to ride at the same pace, regardless. I did. A little oil never hurt anyone. Ride with your head, Misho. Forget the bike!) I replaced the fork oil in the left leg as well. As it turned out, I hadn’t reset the rebound damping on the left side after changing the oil and winding everything out to the softest setting to ease reassembly. (Note to self: do not work on bikes Monday nights after a hard Sunday’s ride. You will forget something.) The right leg was set at 2 turns out and the left at 5ish turns out. The bike was slushy on rapid change of direction, particularly noticeable on the road in to Walhalla, at which point I decided I had to do something! Dazza had an easily accessible blade screwdriver and I backed off the compression (an earlier fiddle had only made the ride harsh) and wound in the rebound a quarter of a turn on each leg (still not realising they were out of synch). The bike was immediately better. Of course, you kick yourself for not doing it earlier.
Back on my own ride, I checked out the servo in Rawson and noted it does sell fuel on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and weekends but only via the milk bar people unlocking the pumps. Coincidentally, a car driver had just completed this process, so I took on a splash as well, again chasing the tail of the ride, now heading for Thompson Dam.
The roads, after the heavy rains, were exceptionally clean and confidence inspiring (except the Walhalla 14 km of treacherous twisties), now with the bike turning properly, all of a suddenly the tyres gripping like demons. I realised I was having almost too much fun when, while braking hard for the traffic island/lookout hard left at the bottom of a steep downhill section, the tail started to wag as the rear went very light.
Down to the Thompson Dam to catch up with the group split into two camps, one seeking respite in the shade from the blistering sun, the other also in the shade under a tree, Marty holding forth. The obligatory group photo – 16 motorcyclists in one place at one time takes some coercing.
Back to Moe riding with the group, now forming into smaller groups. The car traffic was surprisingly heavy, in both directions, making passing more hazardous than usual. I was content to sit behind a small group pushing along nicely, eventually slipping past under brakes, road familiarity an unfair advantage.
At Moe we refuelled at the central petrol-only
station before setting off on the final fling along the
We regrouped for the last time at Longwarry
North, shared the odd tale, and then hit the highway for the last 90 km back to
Earlier in the day, looking to fish out a map to show Trevor the Jindivick route and finding nothing, I realised I had left my maps at Pete and Liz Weyermayr’s. As I was passing that way, I figured it was as good a time as any to swing by, say “Hello” to baby Josh (6 months), score a cold drink and head on home. Danielle (2½) read me a book, when she had finished jumping everywhere, and then burst into tears as I left. I think she thought Dad was leaving too.
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Ben Warden