Tasmania Saturday 8^th – Sunday 16^th March

Honda CBR929 Ben Warden Magna Wagon Julie Warden

Honda CBR1100X Martin Hastie & Carmen de Bono Kawasaki ZX12R Cliff Peters

Kawasaki ZX9 Rhys Williams Kawasaki ZX7R Tim Walker

Honda CBR929 Ian Payne BMW R1150GS Rob Langer

Yamaha 1 Renzo Cunico Yamaha R1 Dave Moore

Suzuki GSXR1000 Gavin Wearing Kawasaki ZX9 Richard Moore

Day 1, Melbourne to Devonport via “Spirit of Tasmania (2)” Saturday 8^th

Half the excitement of the day was in getting to the boat on time. Nominal loading time was from 7 am till 8.30 am with departure at 9 am. Riding down Spencer Street on the bike heading for City Road I found the road blocked by police managing the Formula One Grand Prix crowds, the detour off to the left. After a right and a right and I found myself skirting around Docklands Stadium and back on track, arriving around about 7.50 am, the suggested meeting time 8 am. Meanwhile Julie was totally flummoxed and headed off down Kingsway, unable to do a right hand turn anywhere due to the road closures around Albert Park. Finally at Luna Park she was able to pick up Beach Road and start heading in the right direction to Station Pier and the boat.

Meanwhile the rest of the group, except Rob, had assembled, cruising past all the banked up cars waiting to load, grouping up on the footpath. At ten past eight I headed all the way back to City Road in search of Julie (not expecting her to come along Beach Road), eventually finding her on the return trip. She would be the 10^th last car to load. The tricky thing was the ticket arrangements: Julie, Carmen, Rob and Cliff were on one ticket, the rest of us on the other. Ideally Carmen would be in the car with Julie and the other two riders in close proximity to Julie.

Still no sign of Rob and no phone message. We could wait no longer and decided to board at 8.22 am. We skooted up to the front of the queue to get our boarding tickets at the pillar box, then a slight delay before being ushered into the boat where the bikes were securely and simply tied down on level G3. We then made our way to levels 7, 8 and 9 variously for breakfast and to watch the loading of the remaining cars. Cliff, resplendent in team Kawasaki green leathers, who inadvertently following the rest of the bikes and not Julie, was left stranded at the ticket box until Julie arrived after waiting half an hour or so in the queue with his ticket.

Rob, having had “101 things to attend to” the night before, worked till 4 am. He set the alarm to 5 am allowing enough time to pack and complete some of the last minute tasks. Not surprisingly, he slept through the alarm, waking at 7.30 am, topping up the bike with oil, and starting to pack! He didn’t leave home till 8.10 am and rode like the wind, blasting straight to the front of the last few boarding cars, ignoring the boarding pass booth until he was finally stopped at the entrance to the boat where his credentials were checked on the computer and he was allowed on.

Once on the boat and loaded up with day packs, Julie and Carmen headed to the level 7 Bursar and paged Ben and Martin. The receptionists query “What if there is more than one Ben and Martin?” “They’ll be the one’s in leather” was the response. “Well, if you get too many, we’ll have the leftovers” replied the Bursar girls.

Now we were all united, the boat underway. Orlando Illufi had pulled out of the trip at the last moment due to work commitments – and he was one of the early supporters of the trip. I was unable to find a replacement person, given the short notice, though he may get a ticket refund. (After a few phone calls I ended up writing. It is difficult to prove that the person didn’t actually travel. We’ll see.) Dave Moore had independently organised tickets for himself, his father Richard and Dave’s long time friend Gavin. They would join the group on the second morning. Renzo would also make his own way, joining us a couple of days later, swelling the group to 13 people, a large enough group to cause a few accommodation hassles. More of that later!

It was choppy through the heads, the tide running hard. Cliff, a sheep farmer from the Western District, had never been on a boat, and was already feeling queasy. It would be a long journey for him after he retired to the toilet early. Carmen fared worse and was ill four times. Martin went out in sympathy and we didn’t see much of them for the whole trip. They tended to head into the kids movies to try and sleep in the comfy, high back chairs, in the darkness. A third of our group was crook – and it wasn’t even rough!

We bided our time sitting outside on the top deck at first, then moving down a deck out of the wind, and finally inside onto a long table and into the warmth. Julie, Tim and I had a few games of Scrabble. Numerous TVs around the decks allowed the Melbourne F1 GP qualifying and support evens to be watched.

The bars opened at 10.30 am and a beat box guitar player and singer duet sung folksy songs out the back of the boat for most of the trip. Very pleasant. Rob spent much of his time enjoying their music or catching up on lost sleep. Similarly Rhys had only had four hours sleep the night before, the excitement or hot weather causing him to wake early. I brought along a Club mag, an AMCN and an F1 GP programme for the group to peruse.

We also filled in our time wandering around the boat, eating at various bars and restaurants and watching the sea, the highlight being a pod of dolphins. On the return trip we saw another pod, a large turtle and school of bait fish foaming the water, schooled up by something menacing …

We arrived at Devonport at the scheduled 7.30 pm and within minutes began disembarking. Regrouping with Julie and Carmen in the car, we headed for Latrobe Hotel, 10 kilometres away along a very pleasant wide windy road along the Tamar River. Latrobe is famous, according to Ian, for having the largest number of restaurants per capita i.e. three! Also it is the axeman’s capital of Australia, home of the “Axeman’s Hall of Fame”.

Having rung ahead, while on the boat, to cancel Orlando’s room, trying to do the right thing and giving the managers’ a chance to resell the room – accommodation is precious and hard to get unless booked well in advance - we arrived to find that they had sold two rooms including one to three middle aged women who proved very boisterous and loud at about 2.30 am the next morning, waking everyone up. Cliff was out of a bed. We ended up taking the extra bed out of Ben and Julie’s room and putting it into Rhys’ small single room, after first moving out some of the furniture to get it to fit! “Candice” made all sorts of promises to all sorts of people, ranging from free drinks and meals to no charge for the room. We managed to hold her to the no-charge for the room.

In the end everyone had a bed, had a cheap meal and the holiday could begin in earnest! Tomorrow we would sort out the accommodation properly.

Day2, Latrobe Sunday 9^th

The Moore Clan arrived around 8.15 am, straight off the boat, refreshed after enjoying the motel-like accommodation in the sleeping suites. Hotel rooms were confirmed, and another room was acquired for Cliff. It still took a bit of mucking around that evening but eventually everyone got a room.

The plan was for all of us to head to Cradle Mountain via excellent roads and scenery. Ben and Julie would continue to the summit and do a day walk while the others would head down the west coast making their own way back to Latrobe for the second night’s accommodation.

But first of all we had to loosen Dave’s chain. Luckily I had brought a tool box in the car with a large enough socket to fit the axle nut. Later on Martin would also avail himself of a socket when he also wanted to adjust his chain and the genuine Honda ring spanner snapped!

Ben lead the gang (Ian, Cliff, Rob, Rhys, Tim, Dave, Gavin, Richard) down to Railton, across to Sheffield (home of spectacular historical wall murals), Gowrie Park (rodeo), and Moina (fuel) making good time to Cradle Mountain Lodge from where a National Park Day Pass was required to go the next 16 km to Dove Lake and the start of the walks. When Julie arrived shortly after, the first of many group photo shots was completed. Tim took over leading.

Initially the Moore troupe were intending to only go as far as Zeehan but found themselves swept along by the more ambitious MSTCVers heading all the way down to Tullah, Queenstown and Strahan where they dined in the Strahan Motel overlooking magnificent scenery of the Gordon River. Seaplanes came and went, ferry cruises, etc.

The local petrol/general store owner at Moina, back at the Cradle Mountain turnoff, and motorcycle rider, had pointed out a couple of alterative roads with guaranteed bitumen, which the lads duly investigated. They took the back road to “Reece Power Station” adding an additional 100 km loop to the day. The only incident to report was that at a small town called Tullah, the local shop was playing jazz loudly. Not being all that tourist focused, they wanted to charge Rob extra for opening a new carton of milk for his coffee. Apart from that, a good time was had by all.

The consensus was the best roads were the freeway-like conditions around Cradle Mountain. The logging industry certainly helps pay for, and maintain, some great roads, though the damage produced in the Cradle Mountain NP is irreparable, as Rob noted. The government seems to have given up trying, allowing sheep and cattle to graze where once rain forest grew.

Meanwhile, Ben and Julie set about walking around the left hand side of Dove Lake along the board walks. Then, after seeking directions from other walkers – the map was in the car! – we headed steeply upwards to the base of Cradle Mountain Summit, a further 2 hours return. Not having that much time we returned to the carpark via the Overland Track, completing a tough 5 hour walk in 4 hours. Then the return 16 km drive (at a posted 40 km/h!) back to the lodge from where Ben headed back to Latrobe on his bike whilst Julie drove. Julie noted the weird and wonderful letterboxes – pretend cows, Tasmanian tigers, etc

At Moina, whom should I meet but the rest of the gang refuelling. Tim suggested I lead again, and, after confirming the route with the ever helpful shop owner, we headed back along the morning’s great twisty roads before turning off and climbing steeply towards Mole Creek. Another great road. We then headed for “Paradise” and all the signage possibilities it entailed, none of which the local council seemed astute enough to take advantage of. Home via Sheffield and Railton.

Ian and Rob headed for the Mexican restaurant having Greek dips (Go figure!) The pub offered three course meals: soup, main, desert at the following rates: main $10, soup or desert $4.40, any two courses $12, three courses $13. You can guess what everyone opted for.

After 520 km of hard riding for the majority of people, it was an early night, ready for a full day’s ride to Hobart and Dover the next day. Martin and Carmen had had an easy day and tended to do their own thing on the trip. See Martin’s accompanying article for the description of their daily activities.

Day 3, Latrobe to Dover Monday 10^th

Gavin was just learning the vagaries of his new GSXR1000, one of them being its appetite for Premium unleaded fuel. Not realising the scarcity of this particular flavour of fuel, and having had a chat with Rhys, Gavin went in search of fuel additives. If none available locally, I suggested Gavin head down to Railton and we would pick him up the way through. Finding none at the local Shell service, Gavin followed me out of town. Just before the bridge, the car in front we were about to pass due to its overly slow progress, suddenly braked and blinked right, intending to turn immediately. I braked hard and moved right to avoid running up the back of it. Gavin, blind sided and on the gas, squeezed up between myself and the car, grazing the car with his knee slider. It was a near thing! The car stopped, now aware that there might be other users on the road!

We headed south along interesting secondary roads picking up the highway (freeway) heading for Deloraine. The object was to avoid the dreary main roads and attendant risks. The downside was negotiating skinny, secondary roads with many small intersections. Navigating Deloraine is quite complex with four or five turns and one U-turn before we found ourselves heading for Osmaston, Bracknell, Liffey and Blackwood Creek. After half an hour or so we emerged back on the highway at Poatina, home of the Poatina Power Station, at the foot of the spectacular Western Tiers, a rocky bluff visible from the boat as we came into port.

After riding in a decreasing radius circle we eventually homed in on the one and only milk bar/general store with car park and toilets nearby where we stopped for breakfast/morning tea. The signage was pathetic, the town very run down – dying. Martin and Carmen went ahead to check out the road and set up the video camera, Martin enthusing about the road and the apparent feeling of the cliff walls falling in on you. After catching up with Gavin and his recent close shave, and a leisurely break, it was back on the bikes. The weather forecast was not good, but we had managed to avoid the threatened rain. But I knew now we would be climbing steeply up to the high plains and the cold – very cold – and our luck would be unlikely to hold. But it was still dry, so off we set, spirits high.

Almost immediately the road widened into a magnificent highway (logging trucks) and began climbing steeply. Simultaneously we ran into a large group of cyclists spread over a number of kilometres. We weren’t amused by their arrogant road ownership ways, often riding on the middle centre white line, blocking the cars up indefinitely. Of course, we would have none of that, and picked our way through,

enjoying a few good corners every now and then. Sensational road.

I was really enjoying the riding, the tyres near new, the road surface wide, grippy and predictable, and the bike going strong after a week of uncertainty. The battery had gone flat riding home from an evening’s sailing on Western Port Bay a couple of weeks earlier. It was 10.30 at night and Julie and I were stranded on Springvale Road, 30 km from home. As luck would have it, we were only a couple of minutes away from Pete and Liz’s. A quick phone call had them out of bed with a compatible battery in hand and we were soon on our way again. I purchased a new battery, thinking two months out of warranty and 75,000 km seemed like a reasonable innings for a battery. Sure enough it went flat again and serious (expensive) diagnosis indicated a failed stator (alternator, in car parlance). A winding had broken, dropping a phase. It is such a rare event that none were held in stock in Australia – 3 weeks to order a new one. The wreckers were disinclined to pull one out of a motor, and repair would be two weeks – a week too long. I ended up borrowing one from a race bike – 954s have the same stator as 929s thankfully – to get me going. Even then the bike was off the road for the best part of a week, generating a strange, uncomfortable feeling. For instance, peak hour travelling times instantaneously doubled, fuel costs went up, travel times – wake up times all changed. The bike is an entrenched part of our lifestyle, not just a Sunday toy. Up until that point the bike had been 100% reliable.

Now on the top of the Western Tiers plateau and past the push bike “Finish Line” the weather was closing in fast. I stopped to put on my wet weather pants. It had been pleasantly warm and sunny when we left, but now it was very overcast and cold with misty rain. Cliff came through and together we pressed on, encountering thick fog, dropping our speed to around 60 km/h. Nothing like Hotham, but strong concentration required nevertheless. Along this section, Dave Moore, never to trust his own judgement, was regretting his decision to fit a dark visor first thing in the morning, unwittingly (but typically) leaving the clear one in his bag, with Julie in the car, heading for Launceston! Blind as a bat, he followed Ian’s tail light for much of the way.

At the next intersection I waited. There seemed to be an inordinate number of boats and trailers heading south from the Lake District. Then I twigged. It was a Labour Day weekend (holiday) here as well as Victoria and lots of fishermen were returning to Hobart after the long weekend

Tim and Rhys came through and I headed off. For the next 47 km the road slowly descended through open plains to Bothwell where we regrouped for morning tea number two and fuel around 11 am. A heavy downpour passed through as we overwhelmed the local service station cum general store. Typical for Tasmania, Bothwell was full of very well maintained historic buildings built from sandstone. Checking the map, I worked out which road I wanted to take, and promptly took another. We ended up seven kilometres down a narrow road. It felt wrong, the sun in the wrong spot, and when it turned to dirt, I knew it was wrong. Meanwhile Rob had missed seeing us leave altogether and taken off down the Lake Highway. Ian set off in pursuit, but was unable to catch him! Meanwhile the bulk of the ride returned to Bothwell and started heading south down the highway looking for the right hand turn which never appeared. The first thing I saw was Ian coming towards me, and 5 km later Rob! All back together again, we make our way to Melton Mebrow rejoining the Midland Highway. We made good time to Bridgewater where we turned left and skirted around the very picturesque and wide Derwent River.

I was now looking for somewhere other than Hobart for lunch and took the Lindisfarne exit, some 8 km short of Hobart. Though an outer suburb of Hobart, there didn’t seem to be any pubs or shops. I eventually asked a helpful local who noted that the nearest pub was back on the highway, but the nearest bakery was a couple of streets away. Done. We parked on the footpath outside “Banjo’s” – a bakery franchaise similar to Baker’s Delight, but who make sandwiches as well. The light rain stopped and the sun came out. The food was good and the conveniences clean, if somewhat discreet – hiding down a long pathway, unsignposted. All was well with the world – and we were making excellent time.

I had memorised the route through Hobart CBD, with all its one-way streets, and it wasn’t long before we were heading south towards Kingston on the Southern Outlet, at a fair clip. Very hilly, very scenic. Mt Wellington was off to our right, scenic views of the ocean behind and out to the left. At Kingston we took the Huonville exit and the road thinned down to a single lane each way with the occasional passing lane. It is 80 km to Dover from Hobart and the road passes though a series of coastal hamlets and evermore apple orchards. Slow going with restricted speeds through the numerous towns.

At Geeveston we regrouped to purchase $9 tickets to the “Tahune Forest Reserve” and the “Forest Skywalk”. By pure chance Julie, who had been off to Launceston to partake in a spot of controlled hang-gliding on a wire, also met up with us. She had tried to head down to Dover but a power line was down blocking the road. Rather than waiting an indefinite amount of time in a long queue, she headed back towards Hobart, meeting us along the way. Dave recovered his visor. Martin and Carmen continued on to Dover, not looking to pack any more activities into the day. The 30 km road into the reserve got better and better the further you went. It was still damp in places, but very grippy. The road was generally wide, well sealed and smooth; perfect.

Built to withstand 180 km/h winds, the Skywalk is a 597 metre long suspended steel pathway winding its way through the rain forest, at an average of 20 metres above the ground. It is preceded by a 440 metre rain forest walk from the Visitor’s Centre through ferns and extremely tall (large) gum trees, with all the usual National Park flora information signposts. The last 24 metre cantilever span, looking out towards the junction of the mighty Huon and Picton Rivers, is suspended by a catenary cable, 48 metres above the water. It flexes and bends with the weight of the people – particularly if you jump up and down at the end. Photo opportunity extraordinaire. After a leisurely stroll it was back to the Visitors’ Centre and restaurant for an ice cream and time to relax after the 1.6 km walk.

The road back out was even better after the sighting lap, and now 95% dry. Heading south for the final section into Dover, the road became progressively more twisty – with the occasional bump – a not so well maintained logging truck road. Still an interesting road.

We booked into the Dover Hotel overlooking the bay. Our accommodation was 2 motel units (Ben and Julie, Martin and Carmen) and a divided house. Rhys, Rob, Tim and Cliff were in the front of the house with the large bathroom and spa with uninterrupted views of the bay; Richard, Gavin, Ian and Dave were in the back half of the house with the giant kitchen and large living room. Most people had their own sleeping/living area. This would be home for the next three nights. Up the side driveway was a garage that slept about 6 bikes. The house was $280 per night which worked out at $35 per head per night – a bargain considering the location and views. (Accommodation costs for the whole trip were no more than this everywhere we stayed – and cheaper at Latrobe.)

At 7 pm we all fronted at the restaurant part of the pub for a good pub meal offering interesting items on the menu. Richard produced an excellent bottle of Nineth Island Pinot which went down easily. The troops were tired after the day’s activities and turned in early.

Day 4, Dover Tuesday 11^th

This was a free day with no organised ride. Ian, Rhys and Richard headed down to South Port to look around, then back up to Huonville and around to Kettering Pub for lunch, overlooking the very picturesque Oyster Cove. The weather was now fine and sunny and would remain so for the reminder of the trip. The trio went exploring around Margate and Sandfly, ending up on a secondary dirt road which went around three sides of a farm house at less than one metre from the house wall. It looked like the occupant had refused to sell and the council built the road around the house anyway. When the road went between the house and garage(!) Ian thought the road was in fact a driveway, but it continued on as a road.

Tim headed right down south to Cockle Creek, permanent population of four, including the 60 km (return) of dirt road. He then walked and ran the 7 km board walk across to South East Cape Beach where he sat and read a book for a couple of hours. Cockle Creek has a public telephone, and … a Telstra van was parked nearby, presumably servicing it. Tim had an enjoyable, restful day.

Ben and Julie took the car and drove to Port Arthur historical penal colony via Hobart, some 180 km each way. They spent a full five hours touring the complex. The $22 entry fee included a half hour cruise around the harbour with a guide explaining the significant sites such as Mariah Island - the cemetery, and the log the cutting pits. Lots of violence and injustice. Back on terra firma they investigated the 30 or so buildings and read most of the static displays. A seaplane taking off on scenic tours provided a stark contrast with the 120 year old ruins in the photos. Similarly, the modern reflection pool commemorating the mass “murder of 35 people and injuring dozens more” by a single gunman, Martin Bryant, in 1996 was a poignant reminder that life is not to be taken for granted.

Rob, Dave, Gavin and Cliff arrived at Port Arthur about 1.30 pm after spending time at Hobart Docks. After buying a watch for Dave in Hobart, they successfully negotiated the radar equipped policeman disguised as a road worker along the 60 km/h road works. Rob reckons he sat on 80 km/h and the cop just put his radar down.

They did the cruise at 3.30 pm, and spent a couple of hours wandering around Port Arthur, enjoying the magnificent sunshine. It was almost hot. Renzo Cunico appeared, having travelled down the east coast from Devonport, arriving the night before. Around 4.45 pm the five of them rode back to Hobart and Dover, engaging in some spirited riding, by all accounts.

Around 5.15 pm, as the cool evening air began to descend, Ben and Julie headed back to Hobart and Constitution Dock (where the Sydney to Hobart sailing boats end up) to dine at one of the floating fish and chip shops, just as the sun was setting over Mt Wellington. Very romantic.

Back in Dover Rob, Ian, Rhys, Cliff, Martin and Carmen headed for town and the local pizza shop. A hearty meal was had by all. Renzo joined the guys in the front of the house, as pre-arranged. Once again early to bed, ready for what would turn out to be a “huge” ride the next day, setting all sorts of MSTCV records. Strathgordon here we come.

Day 5, Dover to Strathgordon to Dover Wednesday 12^th

Nine bikes and riders grouped at the Dover petrol station at 9 am before heading north to Huonville and Hobart. Ian took up rear riding duties, his rear tyre on its last legs. He planned to finish the tyre off during the day and then head back to Hobart and get a replacement fitted. We refuelled at Westerway, about 64 km the other side of Hobart heading west, after following the spectacular Derwent River along highways, and then excellent secondary roads through New Norfolk and Bushy Park, staying south of the river. It was still early, so after a short morning tea break we pressed on to Strathgordon, some 93 kilometres away, and onto the dam wall, a further 11 km, making a total of 115 km before fuel – a very important consideration given there probably was no fuel in between. That was the plan, anyway.

Leading, this road would provide some of the best riding and scenery we would encounter on the trip. Initially the road was hemmed in on both sides by tall trees, creating an illusion of darkness and dampness. The terrain was steeply undulating. Maydena, a small town, came and went and speeds began to imperceptible rise as the road conditions improved, the road widening and the country opening out a little. Dave was on my tail with Gavin, Renzo and Rob swapping around. Tim and Rhys dropped off to admire the scenery, realising it would be a long time before they were back. Cliff and Richard were a little ahead. Ian, determined to get the last out of his tyre, started passing bikes.

Meanwhile I pressed on, the hoon group fading in and out of mirrors depending on the lean angle/speed of the corners. The odd black snake was sunbaking and now large tracts of land were scoured black, brown and orange by the obviously recent bush fires. But no time for the scenery as the road dipped and spiralled left and right, the surface wide, smooth and grippy.

Passing the Strathgordon turnoff, I knew the end was only 11 km away – a welcome rest it would be. This business of having fun is quite tiring. Just out of Strathgordon the rising road peeled right and down through a cutting, a strip of gravel up the middle of the lane, right on the line, causing a momentary hard braking manoeuvre and an expletive as the rear tyre skipped and gripped. I pushed on, passing the Serpentine and Lake Pedder lookouts, on more fantastic road, eventually reaching the dam wall, Gavin hanging in there. And then no-one else came …

I figured they had stopped at the lookouts. Then Ian arrived with news: Renzo had crashed badly just outside Strathgordon – at the gravel strip. The three of us did a cursory tour of the sights before Ian and Gavin went back, the crash site activities well in hand. I visited the lookouts along the way back taking a few screen saver shots of Lake Pedder and Lake Gordon. It wasn’t until we reached Renzo’s crash site that we learned of Richard’s demise.

Richard crashed around a downhill gentle right hander. Brain fade he put it down to. The bike launched off a rock and into the undergrowth. In the fall Richard broke his tibia just above the ankle, whereas the bike sustained a minor cracked fairing and was completely rideable, once it was hauled back up onto the road by a passing vehicle. Ian was in fact pursuing Richard and passed the crash site not realising what had happened. After passing Cliff, Tim and Rhys, Ian thought Richard was really on the pace – until he got to Renzo and there was no Richard. Meanwhile, Cliff sensed something was amiss, stopped and then went back. Ditto Tim. By this stage Richard had crawled back up onto the road and flagged down a passing campervan which ferried him back to Maydena. From Maydena Richard travelled via ambulance to the Royal Hobart Hospital and was transferred to Calvery Private Hospital, a very salubrious establishment which Richard could not praise highly enough. He was operated on a day later, pins and screws inserted. He flew back to Melbourne on Saturday to get a connecting flight to Brisbane and home. The bike was covered by insurance and would be fixed in Hobart and freighted back to Melbourne and on to Brisbane later in the month.

Renzo hit good and hard. Rob witnessed the incident as Renzo locked up, lost the front and high-sided. When I arrived back at the accident scene, Renzo had already been transported back to Strathgordon by a Dutch couple driving an X-Trail Nissan and was awaiting the air ambulance. He later described the flight in the helicopter as very bumpy and extremely uncomfortable – definitely not recommended. He ended up in the Royal Hobart Hospital in emergency some time before Richard. Renzo sustained a similar tibia break, just above the ankle, three broken ribs high up in his back, as well as the odd graze to his knee and fingers where his leather knee padding was worn through and his motocross gloves were torn off respectively. He was also operated on, ending up in a plastic cast and back in Melbourne on Sunday in good spirits. I rang him on Sunday – the day we all arrived home, and he said he was already doing sit ups and press ups, with no pain. And he was off the pain killers. He’ll be back soon – if he is allowed J

Renzo’s bike was destroyed, hitting the rock face head on. I took a photo of his front brake master cylinder embedded in the rock face. The bike was transported back to Strathgordon by hydro construction workers on the back of a tray back truck and is awaiting the assessors report. The cheque is in the mail.

The ride broke up here – bad choice of words I know. Dave, Gavin and Rhys headed back to assist Richard. I took a few photos of Renzo and his bike and then headed back to Richard’s crash scene and listened to Tim’s credible theory of what happened. Tim, Cliff and Rob wanted to go back and visit the dam wall and did so. They spent some time in Lake Pedder Inn talking to the local copper, John “Clint” Eastwood who drove another Nissan X-Trail, lights flashing, heading in the opposite direction, earlier in the day, scaring us.

I think the group all ended up back in Maydena General Store where they were fed and watered at no charge. It wasn’t everyday that tourists returned with 2 broken legs, 3 broken ribs, 2 crashed bikes, an air ambulance helicopter, two ordinary ambulances and two police cars. Probably made the local paper!

Afterwards Ian and Rhys headed back to Hobart to “Derwent Motorcycle Tyres” where a new rear Pilot Sport was fitted for $293. I am not sure how that compares to mainland prices but sounds right. Ian’s original fitment rear tyre, a Bridgestone 010, had lasted 4,785 km – and was well worn. Somehow they joined back up with Tim and Cliff and the group then investigated the Sandy Bay loop down to Kingston and back to Dover.

Ben headed back to the Russell Falls turnoff and Mt Field National Park to meet Julie as pre-arranged at 2 pm. She had taken a number of wrong turns in driving to Mt Field National Park, driving around the back blocks of Moonah and Glenorchy. Something about trying to drive and read a map upside down in a foreign state.

I arrived at 2.20 pm to find Julie had headed off on the short walk to Russell Falls, less spectacular this year due to the drought conditions. The weather was now hot. Julie returned shortly afterwards and we drove the 16 km of very narrow, windy dirt road to Lake Dobson carpark, signing into the day visitors’ book at 3.15 pm.

We did a glorious (nominally) 5 hour walk along the Tarn Shelf – a series of small lakes, then around to Lake Webster, Lake Seal and back to Lake Dobson, arriving back at 7.30 pm, almost nightfall. It was a fairly steep walk in the early stages, with a large brown snake slithering off the track within a few hundred metres of the start. The scenery, in Julie’s view, was even better than Cradle Mountain. The type and variation of vegetation was certainly unusual and not seen on the mainland. Alpine plain wetlands with lots of unusual mosses and bonsaid trees. Of course the views of Mt Field West were imposing. Lots of walkers – to start with – then none as the day closed in. Interestingly, there were no flies or mozzies – the bane of bush walkers. I think the cold nights kill them. This was true of the whole of Tasmania. There were no flies apart from the occasional March (a giant fly) fly. I saw two on this hike.

When we finally made it back to the car I noticed the tail lights were on, dimly … Luckily I was able to flag down the very last vehicle – a 4WD – and get a jump start. By the time we reached the bottom carpark the battery had charged up again. I changed back into my bike gear and we began the 150 km return trip to Dover, Julie following close so as not to get lost. The bugs were plentiful, big and juicy. I had to stop every 30 km or so and desludge my visor, one of those being a fuel stop at New Norfolk after 30 km on reserve. We arrived back around 10.30 pm after stopping in Hobart, for a nap for Julie, and for Ben to visit Renzo in hospital, after negotiating all the security precautions, since it was well past visiting hours.

After catching up with Ian and all the hospital talk and crash victim conditions, it was off to bed. Some of the others had visited Renzo in hospital as well. It had been a 500 plus kilometer day. Throw in a tough 4 hour walk and sleep came quickly.

Day 6, Dover to Hobart to Swansea Thursday 13^th

After we settled the accommodation bills, packed the car to the roof with everyone’s bags, including Enzo and Richard’s gear, we set off around 9 am from the local service station. Dave and Gavin headed off to the hospital to visit Richard in hospital. Renzo, after talking to the social worker assigned to his case, decided he now needed the wad of money he had given Rob the night before, to pay for his airfare back home, amongst other things. As Dave had persuaded Julie to collect his father’s leathers (rather than Dave tying them on the back of his bike), and Julie was already taking Renzo his red bag of clothes etc, she took the money as well, doing the hospital run, getting lost again. Richard also needed a pair of shorts as his jeans wouldn’t go over the plaster!

At Huonville we turned right and headed around the scenic route to Cygnet. There was no nominated rear rider (these things normally sort themselves out on weekends away) and Martin and Carmen found themselves waiting for Dave and Gavin, who never came. Meanwhile, I speared off down a sidetrack with the group before running out of road and back tracking to the correct turnoff to Kettering. What an absolutely fantastic road: flat, wide, running around the coastline, with barely a car. After a while I noticed a bike in front – which turned out to be Martin and Carmen who had given up waiting and set off in pursuit of the Club, thinking they were miles behind. Seeing a headlight gaining in his rear mirror, Martin upped the ante in true MSTCV fashion. I wasn’t particularly bothered as I knew I had a fairly substantial weight advantage and would catch him sooner or later. Of course the lads behind me had also got in to the swing of things and it was just as well Kettering was the designated morning tea stop.

Ian was running low on fuel and stopped at an earlier servo, as they were few and far between along here. After refuelling on the main drag we headed down to the harbour area littered with hundreds of moored yachts. Magnificent, if you are that way inclined. We parked up a steep driveway outside the local milkbar/general store and absorbed the view while chatting the chat.

Heading north again I should have turned left at Margate and gone across to Sandfly, but hearing Rhys’s story about the road running into the house, and subsequent dirt road, I figured we could do without the dirt. It turned out there was no dirt if I had stuck to the main route. Instead we headed up to Kingston and struggled with signposts, trying to join the Southern Outlet leading in the direction of Huonville, which felt so wrong, Rob questioned if I knew that we were heading the “wrong” way. Of course, having done the road before I knew we had to do a little backwards highway to pick up the back road to Mt Wellington, a real goat track, narrow with corners divided by traffic islands!

Now onto the proper Mt Wellington summit road the pace upped a little, but the road was very poorly maintained, bumpy with poor bitumen. Tim was in his element, tons of revs on board, skooting by. Shortly afterwards a council road worker came skipping backwards on to the road, trying to stop us, obviously warmed up by somebody. At the summit the view was only fair, a hazy inversion limiting the view. Nevertheless it was dry and relatively warm, a fairly unusual occurrence for this place.

Before long Dave and Gavin appeared, their hospital duties complete, noting Julie was now on her way north, well ahead of us. The cameras were clicking and a number of bike/group shots were taken, still in my camera I realise now.

It was a leisurely cruise down and into Hobart proper, regrouping at Constitution Dock for lunch at Mure’s fish and chip fast seafood restaurant, run much like a MacDonalds with queues and price boards. They also sold fresh fish. I settled on Vietnamese curried fish on a bed of rice with a side salad. Rhys lashed out on a huge rum and raisin double chocolate icecream. A few seconds later Tim produced a mighty triple Belgium Choc, Cappuccino café, English toffee icecream. It must have had half a litre of icecream, including stuffed right down inside the cone.

We had parked our bikes up on the curb, all lined up, in the main tourist area. The Japanese tourists were taking pictures of our bikes. We are a tourist attraction in Tasmania! Earlier I had inadvertently left my key in the rear boot latch when locking my helmet onto the bike, which practical joker Dave then collected, and only returned after I had emptied every pocket about six times, worried that the spare key was with Julie, probably at Swansea by now. Thanks Dave. Mind you Martin left his expensive new jacket draped over the bike while we had lunch, well out of visual range, and Dave didn’t collect that.

It is a bit tricky getting out of Hobart with a number of freeway “Y” junctions having to be negotiated with no really safe spot to stop and corner mark. Throw in a few sets of lights, some traffic, and the potential for getting lost was high. Nevertheless, like a well oiled machine we carved our way out of the city and out onto the open highway, heading for Sorell, 113 km away. It was fairly boring other than the two long causeways a few metres above the water, and being ever vigilant for Mr Plod, a notorious section.

After refuelling at the multiple service stations – Premium the problem again – we pushed on up the highway, Swansea a further 110 km hop away. The road improved both in quality and twistiness, the road works behind us, and the traffic lessening after the Port Arthur turnoff. It was a pleasant touring road with the occasional low mountain pass to keep the adrenalin pumping. We stopped at Spiky Beach lookout, 5 km before Swansea, for another photo shoot. The water was so blue.

We arrived at Swansea mid afternoon, Julie already there. In fact she had toured up the east coast as far as Bicheno, calling into a few wineries on the way back, having a lovely day.

The difference between the Swansea Inn and the Swansea Motor Inn now became apparent: they were right next to each other, but separate entities. Realising that there appeared to be only one room booked at the Swansea Motor Inn (the Moore Clan) Julie, trying to be helpful and with the best intentions, proceeded to book the rest of the group in, not realising we were all booked in at the Swansea Inn next door. This took a bit of untangling! Julie and I ended up at the Motor Inn, since she had already “soiled” one of the rooms. The rest of the gang stayed as per the original booking at the Swansea Inn. Again, all rooms had views of the sea and faced directly onto the beach. Everyone had their own private room, most with two beds. We would spend two nights here.

As this was Dave and Gavin’s last day with the group, they were itching for a bit more riding. I knew a good road, and, as the day was still young, we headed up to Campbell Town via 62 km of uninterrupted motorcycle-heaven roads: fast, smooth, sweeper after sweeper. Severe tyre wear ensued. We collected our thoughts, then headed back the same way, meeting Cliff coming the other way. He meant to join us earlier but was slow leaving. He tagged onto the back of the freight train and noted at the end that it was a “good road” – high praise indeed from a western district sheep farmer of few words. A round trip of 176 km.

At 7 pm we all gathered together in the Swansea Inn in the main dining room offering 180 degree views of the ocean. But food rather than the view was uppermost in most people’s minds, Sri Lankin Lamb Curry the popular choice off the menu. Or, as Rhys would have me put it, “we sank some piss, ate some food”. A special thanks to Renzo for providing drinks all round that night. He had survived less than 2 days riding. We drank to his and Richard’s future good health, quite a few times.

Day 7, Swansea Friday 14^th

There was no formal ride for the day, so Rhys and Ian had a rest day, with a walking tour of Swansea. At Maggies they stopped for a café latte served by a waitress resembling the woman in the Cougar ad “I’ll have five Cougars, thanks.” According to her, she “sold the best coffee in town!” Tim and Rhys also observed some American tourists who had become infatuated with spiders. “That’s a drink, you know!”

I had mapped out a route for Dave and Gavin which they availed themselves of, leaving quite late in the morning, ultimately heading back to Devonport via Campbell Town, St Helens and Scottsdale, some 450 km, and then catching the overnight boat back home. The boat ended up not leaving until Devonport until something like 9.30 pm due to delays on the previous trip when the boat had to return to Melbourne with a seriously ill passenger, eventually departing at 11 pm. The schedules are so tight that any delays on one trip have a knock on effect for all of the following trips for about a week as they try and catch up the lost time. Apparently there is only about 20 minutes margin to play with per trip.

Tim was looking to go exploring and I suggested he check out a couple of roads west of Campbell Town. He ended up doing all this (the roads were duds), and then heading much further west to Liffy Falls on the way to Deloraine including 20 km of dirt road. He visited the falls, a half hour return walk, before heading back east picking up the Avoca, Rossarden, St Mary’s, Elephant Pass loop back to Swansea. A full day’s, 500 km ride.

Meanwhile Cliff, Rob and I headed back up the Campbell Town road (you can’t get too much of a good thing!), fuelled up where Rob got talking to a couple of long term tourists driving a caravan with a truck turntable fitting. They had been travelling around for 10 years and thought our 8 days was a little abrupt.

We continued on our way to Avoca where, for something completely different, I missed the turnoff to Rossarden. It’s as if they don’t want you to go anywhere other than the well-worn tourist route – and possibly for good reason! Rossarden is a classic case of decay. Once a thriving mining town, we noted the general store had been burnt down, the public loos were vandalised to the point of being demolished and the Rossarden Hotel was boarded up, renamed “Club” with a sign saying “open at 3 pm”. We weren’t even game to stop, what with the banjos and the whittling ... Similarly at Mangana, a 2 year old was rescued from playing on the road as we trundled by. They don’t see many vehicles out this way – or they don’t care.

Rejoining the Esk Main Road at Fingal, Cliff and Rob disappeared into the shop leaving me to cope with a “local”. I knew it was going to be interesting as soon as he saw the bikes: “ Ooh, that’s a nice bike. Its got a huge cylinder …must have a truck piston … Ooh, both sides!” BMs will do that to you. Of course, this was said in a frenzied, over excited, rapid fire way. I think Rob actually ran!

At St Mary’s we turned left down Elephant’s Pass, a poor man’s Reefton Spur, both shorter and of poorer quality, with the occasional rock or large twig on the road to keep you on your guard. Then on to Bicheno and down to Freycinet National Park and Coles Bay via a gloriously wide, well maintained twisty road with massive sweepers. Rob and Cliff explored Coles Bay, talking to a bloke that turned out to be Darryl “Dicky” Otzen’s (a Club member) father!

At the National Park Visitors’ Centre, Ben met Julie at 1 pm for a three hour walk including a very steep climb up to the lookout of Wine Glass Bay, then down to the beach for a sit in the sand before hiking across the isthmus, and walking back along Hazard’s Beach and the long beach tracks back to the carpark. We felt the scenery was exceptionally beautiful. Earlier in the day Julie had headed up to Bicheno to the Douglas Apsley National Park and done the 30 minute walk to the lookout. Then on the Coles Bay road she had followed the sign posts to the “Friendly Beaches” offering a long stretch of some of the whitest sands and pristine beaches she’d ever seen. The 18 km of badly corrugated dirt road each way only detracted from the experience a little.

That evening Julie and I, Martin and Carmen and Cliff walked across the road to “John Dorey”, the local seafood takeaway. After collecting our orders, we indeed did take them away, preferring to sit on a table overlooking the beach, eating our tasty hot flake and chips, with a tub of homemade salad.

Ian, Rhys, Rob and Tim feasted in the pub followed by an early night. We would be back on the road again for the last time and the ride would be reasonably arduous.

Day 8, Swansea to Devonport Saturday 15^th

Another fine day beckoned brightly as I packed Julie’s car with everyone’s gear in the front seat, back seat and boot. She was heading for Launceston via the direct inland route through Campbell Town. Over the course of the day she would visit Cataract Gorge in Launceston and do the chair lift and walk, visit the Ashgrove Cheese Factory and try the latest fashion flavour cheese, musabi (Japanese horse radish- goes well with a drink), visit D’Anvers Chocolate Factory to try samples and buy presents and checkout Devonport lighthouse. She would arrive before us at the Devonport accommodation at the Elimatta Motor Inn, opposite the Tamar River, within walking distance of the city centre, a little downstream of where the boat docks.

We nearly left without Rob who would have slept till lunchtime if not awoken by the hustle and bustle of people packing. Rob and time just don’t mix. But he made it.

First stop Bicheno at the blowhole for a photo shoot and walk around over the orange and red algae stained rocks. Very scenic. Then a tour around the foreshore to pick up the main east coast highway heading north towards St Marys. At the foot of Elephant’s Pass I stopped to allow Martin to get set up for some video camera footage. I suggested he go ahead and then he could get some footage as the bikes came by. Knowing the road was somewhat like the Reefton Spur, particularly in this upward direction, and this being the last day and all, I figured that if we didn’t regroup here, then Marty wouldn’t see anyone. So he took off – like a bloody cut cat! Again. I hadn’t figured on him being bitten by the need for speed, especially two up, but there it was! I set off in pursuit, thinking we would probably run out of road before anyone caught him. It must have dawned on him too, because he suddenly slowed down.

At the top we pulled into the Pancake Barn for all manner of gourmet pancakes. Another group of elderly bikies down from Queensland, riding three motor Guzzis, a BMW and a Triumph Thunderbird were also doing the Tassy trip. Inside, a pair of large wooden seats whittled into the shape of elephants caught Rob’s eye, as did all the old photos of the past wood cutting glory years adorning the walls. And I am sure the large well-lit gold fish tank reminded him of home.

After a very leisurely morning tea was partaken of (or was that breakfast for some?) we mounted up and headed into St Mary’s turning right back towards the coast along the steeply downhill St Mary’s Pass. A local in a blue Laser tried hard but was no match for seasoned MSTCVers. An oncoming ambulance with flashing lights looked ominous and a few of us wondered if the Guzzi brigade had come to grief further down the Elephant’s Pass. Now on the coast, but the sea hidden behind sandhills, we made steady progress through Scamander, Beaumaris and onto St Helen’s. Rounding a corner, dawdling along in the sixty zone, watching the now beautiful yacht filled bay out to my right, I was momentarily confused by the flashing lights up on the hill to my left. Confusion was the incorrect response, and the mistake cost me $80 and 1 point. Mt Plod knocked the speed back a couple of kays, not wanting to “ruin my holiday”. He claimed that a local had rung him up on his mobile and warned him of our impending arrival. Me thinks the ambulance driver would probably fit the “local” description and would have access to the police radio band. Ho-hum. Once again Rob tried to throw himself upon his sword and pulled up with me, unlike Tim who bolted! The nice policeman was only after the leader, thankyou all the same.

We continued on, a little wiser, a little poorer, a little closer to double jeopardy.

The next 75 km is classic motorcycle road offering everything from extreme first gear tight and twisty to medium and high-speed sweepers. I was going at a fair clip. Eventually Tim came through at full noise. I slotted in behind, a pleasure to follow someone for a while and we pulled away from the group. I asked Tim what sort of revs he was pulling – 10,500. Not bad for a 75,000 km old Kawasaki. My maximum revs were 7,000 – and that was plenty fast enough. And now my rear tyre was nearly dead, canvas showing by the end of the day.

At a mini-intersection Tim waved me through and we continued enjoying the conditions, finally reaching Derby for lunch. As usual we were making excellent time. Martin arrived, Carmen somewhat seedy after all the twisty roads. They would have an extended break before following the main highway to Launceston and Devonport. The rest of the crew were debating whether this was the best road of the trip, or just one of the best. Seventy five kilometres of twisty roads certainly takes it out of you, particularly when the conditions are good, and the company better. We actually managed to drop Rob off. He thought it was a fantastic road, but just couldn’t sustain the intensity. It’s not often you put some space on Rob in the twisties.

I decided to head across country and explore a few roads rather than the highway, and the attendant risks. So, leaving Martin and Carmen, we headed firstly to Scottsdale for fuel and directions, but still managed to miss the turnoff twice – the sign was impossible to read from the direction we were coming – resulting in two U turns. Finally heading for Lilydale along excellent secondary roads, now in more open dairy country, the soil chocolate brown. At Lilydale we turned right on lesser roads and made our way towards Mount Direction, missing a double right turn and heading north on a really bad, bumpy road. After about 5 km we did a U-turn and headed back to pick up the East Tamar Highway and cross the very wide Tamar River over the magnificent Tamar Bridge. I was now looking for another food and fuel stop and thought the road along the waterfront to Deviot would provide an opportunity. Alas it didn’t, but it did inspire thoughts of purchasing real estate: the houses were grand, the views expansive, the lifestyle easy paced.

Back on the highway we stopped at Exeter. Coming up was our last 76 km to Devonport. Pure beef country with some irrigated pastures, grass a foot high, contrasting starkly with the otherwise brown and yellow drought parched land.

At Devonport we crossed the bridge and met our first traffic light for a few days, finding our way easily to the Elimatta Motor Inn. Once we rustled up the booking lady we were soon settled into our motel rooms. After checking out the gaming room, bars and dining hall of this large establishment we planned to head into town for tea. But first I bumped into Ross King, former long time member of the Club, now heavily involved with the Melbourne Tourers. There were about 18 of them, also riding around Tassie, about to board the boat. Of course we were leaving the next morning and had a few hours to kill.

Rhys discovered an all-you-can-eat for $11 Happy Sun Chinese restaurant. Rhys and Ian were already there! I said we would catch him there and bring his door key, which he had left in the wide open door. By the time we got there, Cliff and Tim had also found it. Rob had found his own upmarket Chinese restaurant. Later he went to see the movie “The Recruit” while Julie and I went and saw “Maid in Manhattan” on the excellent C-Max curved, giant screen, a variation of our I-Max theatres.

It was probably the worst sleep of the trip, with some people rising at 5 am to get to the front of the boat queue, including a noisy couple on a Harley. There was plenty of car door banging.

Day 9, Devonport to Melbourne Sunday 16^th

Being old hands at this game, we didn’t bother leaving until twenty past eight for a 9.30 am leave. The boats were still running behind schedule and hadn’t even started loading when we arrived 5 or 6 minutes later. Quickly sorting the boarding passes, we worked our way to the middle of the pack before we were completely stymied. When the cars eventually started to move we were signalled to the spare lane and joined our 5 am Harley couple, right at the front of the queue. Soon enough we were on board and the boat left at 9.52 am.

It was a very pleasant trip back home, allowing everyone to have a day to unwind after the intensity of the week. I spent a few hours throughout the day compiling 10 pages of rough notes, picking everyone’s brains on what we did each day. There were few general observations that don’t seem to fit anywhere else, so here will do: (1) Tasmania is in the grip of the drought still, most agricultural areas parched and brown. Swansea had run out of drinking water and was at Stage 3 water restrictions. What little there was from the tap was unsafe to drink, stained rusty brown, discoloured by the farm runoff, apparently. Lots of other areas were at Stage 2 restrictions. (2) There were lots of old cars everywhere. This is probably a reflection of the economy more than anything else, or because the place is so small, cars don’t wear out! (3) When Rob got bored riding, he would go around the corners riding one handed, caressing the pavement with the other. Always at the front, I never observed this phenomenon, but I am assured it was very entertaining.

Not surprisingly Cliff accumulated the most kilometres at 3,040. He was on every ride, every day. Tim accumulated 2,900 km, doing a couple of big rides by himself. Next came Rhys with 2549, Ian 2450, Ben 2412 and Martin and Carmen 1850 km. Dave and Gavin probably did over 2,000 km as well. I imagine Rob was in the mid 2000s but I don’t a have an accurate figure.

Docked at the scheduled 7.30 pm and home a little after 8 pm after getting slightly lost in Spotswood.

Overall the trip was very successful, apart from the crashes. We wish Renzo and Richard a speedy recovery and thank them for their short time with us. On a positive note, the experience has enthused a couple of participants to return in the near future with their partners.

I think we should do it all again in a couple of years time.

Ben (and Julie) Warden