Lavers Hill via The
Suzuki GSXR1000 Cliff Peters Suzuki GSX750F Roy Outen 1st ride
Honda CBR929 Ben Warden (leader) Yamaha K3 R1 Paul Russell 1st ride
Kawasaki ZX9 Mick Bosworth Suzuki K2GSXR1 Peter Barkowski 1st ride
Aprilia RSV1000 Ken Wright (rear) Yamaha 02 R1 Rick Haga 2nd ride
Honda CB400 Ron Johnston Kawasaki ZX12R Paul Grosser 2nd ride
Honda VTR1000 Dean von Schill
Yamaha TRX850 Tony Raditsis 3rd ride Honda CBR954 Cliff Dobbie 1st ride
BMW K100RS Peter Rykenberg 4th ride
& Sarah Blackwell 15 bikes, 16 people
It was already
25.6 degrees at
Despite the pathetic forecast: blistering hot northerly wind, incredible humidity (threatening rain any moment) to be followed by electrical storms and tropical downpours early afternoon, a bunch of die-hards were waiting at the West Gate Shell servo, itching to go. So much for Julie telling me to come home if there is no one there!
After standing on the white rock and delivering the day’s route and a warning about the new speed cameras on the West Gate Bridge, enough to send a couple of fringe riders scurrying home (or it may have been the large rain drops), we set off. Riding across the Bridge, I sheltered out of the wind beside a large minibus. I immediately became the object of a bunch of scouts’ attention for a minute or so before I could withstand the scrutiny no longer and scooted around them. The traffic was very heavy, sensibly heading for the beach, no doubt.
Droning down the Freeway, no one behind me, I recognised Dean von Schill and his mate Andrew at the Hoppers Crossing exit, waiting patiently for the group. I gave him a wave and ploughed on. It was hot and I was already regretting wearing my over-jacket, despite the threat of rain. Dean and Andrew caught up and eventually corner marked the Little River exit.
Soon after I was passed by Rick, Peter and Paul, out on one of Ron Balls (Engineering) shop rides. Having missed Ron’s early start time (8 am) they managed to recognise me/the Club. Of course, corner marking was unexplained and a complete foreign concept at this stage. We now had six member and nine non-member bikes, a sure recipe for excitement. Ron’s boys proceeded to weave in and out of the group, slow down, go fast, pull monos, etc at least as far as Lara at which point I passed them again.
Just north of Lara we met all the Geelong Road traffic funnelling through Lara as a result of the fatality on Geelong Road, reported in the paper the next day. Lara is not designed for this sort of traffic flow so we spent most of the next few kilometres idling up the outside of the cars, and upsetting the old drivers in the oncoming vehicles who gesticulated their displeasure, in vain I might add. The bike’s temperature gauge was hovering around 90 deg (normally 80, 78 on a cold day). It was going to be a long day, at this rate.
Figuring I would head wherever the traffic wasn’t heading, I took a different route leaving Lara. One of the Balls’ Boys blasted past, missing the next right hand turnoff as we all wheeled round. After that, they stayed behind! And eventually got the hang of the Corner Marking as I started waiting for a regular member to turn up, ignoring them.
At last some more open roads heading south from Batesford. Lightening was dancing on the horizon, starting bushfires in the Anglesea area, eventually causing the closure of the Great Ocean Road early afternoon, pumping all the traffic up from Lorne and along the Deans Marsh Road. It was now very pleasant riding at speed and very quiet due to the raging tail wind. At last Moriac, only 100 km from the start, but a required fuel stop for some of the thirstier bikes.
Dean did ask me how far Lorne was – 60 km – but not when the next scheduled fuel stop was – a subtle difference. Of course, he had missed the morning spiel, and I probably should have given him a personalised ride plan. But I was distracted, relieving Tony Rykenberg of his membership fee and completing the obligatory paperwork, this being his fourth ride. Similarly, collecting names for this article and to send Prospective Member information packs to was a protracted affair as my biro took exception to the humidity and general abuse and called it a day. But every cloud has a silver lining, as I stepped in the shop to ask to borrow a pen for a moment or two, only to be greeted by a goddess: tall, blonde, tight white tee shirt, devastating smile. I mentally noted we had to stop here on the way back. She gave me the pen.
Paul Grosser was back for his second Club ride on his 1200 Kawasaki after holing his radiator a couple of weeks ago. Of course the Balls’ lads had to be attended to, as did the two new riders Cliff (954) and Roy (GSX750F) who had agreed to meet us at Moriac at 10.45am (we made it exactly), having travelled up from their holiday caravan at Torquay.
Bikes fuelled, visors cleaned, beverages quaffed, eyes sated, over-jacket stuffed in seat bag, we made tracks. The road was dry and fast and only two corners required marking: Winchelsea and the GOR. A fair contingent of riders slotted in behind me, the Bambra mid-corner bumps (as always) jolting a few from their slumber. It was fun, as we wound our way down from Deans Marsh to Lorne. At the GOR I turned right and continued on to Apollo Bay, suffering long stretches of gravelly road works, and 5 or 6 buses. Absolute concentration, not even risking a glimpse of the magnificent blue water, white sand, and wind swept coast. That was Sarah’s province. Bike and tyres good; go, go, go.
On the far side of Apollo Bay I regrouped at the usual spot for a visor clean and to catch the latest gossip. Ron Johnston’s poor 400 had shat itself (well, the muffler innards had blown away) and Ron had stopped to make running repairs in Apollo Bay, never to be seen again except at 4pm at the new BP near Lara on Geelong Road. The Balls’ lads had reached the limit of their concentration and piled into the pub, Pete and Sarah had opted for the sight-seeing route and departed the ride, and the rest were still coming. With this not unexpected or bad news, the 5 or so front runners (Mick, Cliff, Paul, Dean) set sail on the last 47 km to Lavers Hill rather than standing around broiling in the hot, sticky sun.
It was a very pleasant jaunt to Lavers Hill, with few cars to disturb the reverie. But the road was in very poor condition mid corner on early bends due to logging truck damage. The surface tended to be dry along the straights and wet mid-corner, keeping speeds down. We arrived just before 1 pm, remarkably still on schedule.
A fifty dollar note on the counter finally got the pumps working, including the diesel which I very nearly filled up on, only saved by Mick’s quick comment. How far would I have got? About a metre. I had hit reserve at 255 km (very good economy, thanks to the tail wind) a kilometre or so before Lavers Hill.
Rear rider Ken was making noises about giving up the rear riding duties and heading back via the coast and catching the Sorrento ferry from Queenscliff to minimise the distance home. His rear tyre was looking very well loved, noting it was still the one from the Melbourne Cup weekend. But a look around the group convinced him that there was no-one else! Thanks Ken. And we still weren’t sure about Ron.
A relaxing time was enjoyed by the ten remaining riders. The food was good and the service surprisingly swift. A bus load of tourists piled in shortly after, so I guess they get plenty of practice!
The plan was to head back to Apollo Bay and up the Skenes Creek road through Forest and back to Deans Marsh and Moriac (to return the pen!). The first part went well but after Apollo Bay the skies opened. The further we climbed up into the primordial rain forest, the wetter and mistier it got. Those in jeans really felt the cold, but I was quite comfortable until the rain started running down the inside of my jacket and into my gloves. We copped a couple of torrential downpours, limiting visibility and dropping speeds dramatically. I started thinking about the minimal number of cuts in my race compound Dunlop 208 front tyre. And the plague of 4WDs only too willing to race against you. They are the modern day scourge of our twisty roads. I think Dean would agree wholeheartedly as we battled our way past a couple of maroon P-plated ones. God help the rest of the riders!
And then the skies were blue, the sun beating down, the road steaming. It was hot, again! After the hard work through the twisties, the rain, the heat, and the number of new and inexperienced (Club) riders on this ride, I figured a break at Dean’s Marsh would be well received. Dean, Andrew and I waited. After a drink, an ice-cream, a visor clean and chain lube, our suspicions were put into words. Mick came through and informed us that Tony had crashed his immaculate TRX and that Ken was assisting to re-affix the handlebar and make the bike rideable. I suggested that Mick, Andrew and Dean keep going (home) and I would go back. Paul and others had already departed, bypassing Deans Marsh. New rider, Cliff on the 954, made a significant contribution to the secret policeman’s ball at one of the smaller towns, frightening the living daylights out of those riders following behind him as the crazed copper flashed past in pursuit, lights and siren wailing. Apparently he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, preferring to get back to his hidey-hole, ready to capture the next poor innocent.
The ride had imploded.
Half a kay out of Dean’s Marsh I met rear rider Ken and was brought up to speed on all the gory crash details. Apparently a 4WD had slewed off on the same long, steep, wet, right-hander (oil on the road?) but recovered. Tony didn’t, but was now limping home.
Ken and I headed for Moriac where we caught Mick, Dean, and Andrew. Roy and Cliff were also there, heading back to Torquay and then Melbourne. Time was marching inexorably on, evening commitments pressing. The Club ride was officially disbanded. Nevertheless, Dean, Mick and Andrew were keen to avoid suburbia and wanted to follow me. Ken was in for the long haul …
The storm front that had gone through now provided us with a pleasant tail wind and we made swift progress to Geelong where we rejoined the Highway with only a couple of sets of lights to endure. Dean had dropped off the pack, as it turned out, retrieving Mick’s pillion seat that had headed skywards not long after we set off from Moriac. He also recovered other bits and pieces that went flying; hopefully nothing of too much value was lost.
As we continued northwards up the Highway, the wind had swung around to the north and was now a hot, stiff headwind. The traffic was heavy as we worked our way past the throngs of returning beach travellers. The guys dropped off one by one till I waved to Ken and swung onto the Bolte Bridge for the final 14 km to home, arriving not long after 5 pm.
A typical GOR ride: exciting, hard work, exhilarating roads, leaving long lasting memories and a sore bum. A round trip of 530 km, home to home. I trust most had a memorable day. Thanks Ken for persevering as rear rider and I hope you got home okay.
Ben Warden (Honda CBR929)