Rhys and I met at the Hallam pickup, a little earlier than the 9.30 am scheduled start. It was still unclear who was coming — Dave and Bron had said, "If we’re there, we’re there". Di had pulled out at the last minute, but could still turn up. Rhys said Enzo was a possibility. Geoff Barton was obligated to hand feed the cows due to the drought conditions we are experiencing, and so wouldn't be coming. Ultimately I had only booked for Rhys and I at the last minute, accommodation not that easy to obtain on a holiday weekend, even at Omeo.

Rhys was on his new ZX9, the same colour scheme as the 1200 — lots of gold fleck through the paint. A very impressive looking beast. No-one came so off we set on the normal well worn Club roads through Packenham, Drouin, Lardner, Yarragon and Moe for morning tea. With only 600 km expected for the day, and the hotelier not expecting us before 7 pm, time was not an issue. After a leisurely morning tea break where we feasted at the bakery, Rhys a pie and Ben a buttered coffee scroll, we headed for Heyfield and uncharted roads through Briagolong to the Dargo road. I had to check the map a couple of times, as we blundered our way east.

The Dargo road was in excellent condition, as usual. Out of morbid curiosity we stopped at Ken Wright’s corner, marvelled at the drop, and beat a hasty retreat. Nasty. I noticed a café on the left hand side as we entered Dargo, and for a change, we lunched there rather than the milkbar at the pump opposite the pub. About three generations of the same family were stationed around the shop/general store/café, either serving, playing cards on the balcony, or holding erstwhile conversations with the customers. Kids had been thrown out of the local school and that branch of the family had to move on. I daren’t ask what they had done to deserve this fate.

Back down the Dargo road, after the sighting lap, to Bairnesdale, where I noticed a contingent of BM riders parked in the main street including Jon Riddett and Geoff Barton (ZX7). I pulled up and spoke to Geoff — he had been leading the BMW Club through Gippsland to this point, and was going home to the cows. The BM Club was heading for a two night stay at a chalet on Mt Hotham, owned by one of their members. Handy.

Fuelling up, Rhys took 1.5 litres less for the same distance. This pattern would repeat itself every time we filled up. I think he averaged about 18.9 km/l over the weekend — sensational given the consistently high speeds we toured at. The Honda’s economy was in the 16’s. Rhys put another 20 pounds in his rear tyre — it was a bit dodgy at times he noticed.

Heading for Bruthen we travelled very carefully. Once on the Omeo Road, some 130 km of un-interupted twisties, low and high speed, our minds moved to a higher plane, completely focused on the task at hand — the next corner. The road condition was sensational — dry, clean, smooth, well painted, particularly the bottom twisties which had been resealed. Sensational. Apparently we passed Dave and Bron driving the Mercedes van, Dave giving it the berries. I only remember catching the last few BMs, treating them with the utmost respect. The bulk of them had regrouped at Endsay.

We pushed on to Omeo and the Golden Age pub, arriving at 5 pm in very high spirits. That had to be the easiest 130 km we ever did. My rear tyre was dripping rubber, looking very second hand. Hopefully it would last another day! Driving hard out of the marked 65 km/h corners, especially the last uphill section, probably had something to do with it. The price we pay for a huge grin.

By the time I had showered, and Rhys had downed a couple of quenching ales, Dave and Bron had arrived, followed some time later by the BMW crew. They seemed to be leaderless and somewhat is disarray. Regrouping outside our pub, I was able to hold a conversation with their rear rider, co-incidentally the host of their ride. I was standing and talking from the upstairs balcony. The town is so quiet, with so little traffic, hearing clearly was not an issue. Mick (not his real name) was a total bike fanatic, having done what sounded like a few thousand kilometres in the days preceding this 1500 km ride. He had only got back into bikes in the last couple of years, though had raced two strokes at some stage in his career. His wife was on the back.

Soon enough Mick had them sorted — about 15 or so bikes — and they thundered out of town, like an outlaw gang.

We set about ordering tea. Eating was the only thing to do in this town, even if it was Saturday night. We reckon no more than 2 cars went through after we arrived. A pleasant evening was had by all, reminiscing over past weekends away, and some of the dramas we had encountered. Later we took sweets up on the balcony, eating by the light of our room . This proved a mistake as the light attracted mosquitos, which were most annoying when later Rhys and I tried to sleep. I was driven to get out of bed and murder as many as I could on three occasions. Every one I squashed left a red smear on the wall. My blood. And the room was freshly painted. Oops.

The rooms were quite up-market — ensuite, fully renovated, tv, etc. The pub is now a privately owned. Gone are the $15 bed and breakfast days of the old pub. Rhys survived the night unscathed, only woken the once by a nude crazed mad-man wielding a towel. His middle of the night bleary eyed questioning look was silenced with one word — mosquitoes.

Next morning Rhys and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before attempting to buy fuel at 9 am. Checking the bikes Rhys noticed his rear tyre was completely flat. I spotted the nail straight way. Luckily, across the road was a mechanic with a tyre machine, who could plug the puncture for us. We set about removing the back wheel for the tyre to be removed. Less than half an hour, and much relief, for a miserly $10. Handy to remember when we pass this way next time.

It was foggy, the roads wet, rain threatening. We had no choice but to head onwards and upwards to Mt Hotham. Conditions were trying but we made good progress. It was surprisingly warm at the top of Mt Hotham — 17 deg C according to the display. Heading downwards the 40 km into Harrietville the fog cleared, the roads wet and dry, progress swift but guarded. And there were enough oncoming cars on the wrong side of the road to make life a tad too interesting.

Topping up with petrol and food at the Harrietville the BM Club arrived, only stopping to regroup. Rhys and I had decided to head for home and surprise our families — well I had to work the next day — and Rhys was left without a riding buddy. So again, we were in no hurry, having time to look for the good roads.

At the top of the Tawonga Gap we stopped for a breather. The BM Club were just leaving. The Gap was dry and fast, our spirits were back up again. Great road. Next stop Myrtleford via Dederang and the Happy Valley Road — another mountain pass. Excellent. We detoured north up a little road someone had told me about. Interesting, but no white lines, with a few too many blind corners with driveways. It was now hot and an ice cream went down well. The next section would be hard — plenty of straight roads. The weekend was effectively over.

We made good time down the King Valley Highway to Moyu and Swan Pool, breaking up at Yarck. Rhys headed back home over the Black Spur, and I went home down through Flowerdale and Whittlesea. I had to keep backing off; familiar roads are so easy to ride fast after a weekend away. Easy, but dangerous. Never-the-less there were a few bikes out to play with, and time passed quickly. I know Rhys has a good time. He loves that power!

Home by 5.05 pm, some 1150 km added to the electronic odometer making a total of 9,400 km. Top weekend. Shame more people weren’t there to enjoy it. Bring on Adelaide Hills!

Ben Warden (Honda CBR900)