Trafalgar Sunday 25th May, 2003

 

Darryl Chivers              BMWR1100S                          Greg Hales                   Suzuki TL1000S

Rob Langer (leader)                 BMWR1150GS                       Ben Warden                 Honda CBR929R

Rhys Williams                           Kawasaki ZX9             Paul Southwell  Honda CBR929R

Aaron Hunt (2nd ride)                Suzuki GSXR750                     Damian Tsing    (4th)      Yamaha R1

Justin Quinton (2nd ride)            Suzuki GSXR750                     William Tran                 Suzuki GSX600

Mark Easterbrook                    Triumph Daytona 955               11 bikes, 11 people

 

Rob and I had been in contact a few times over the past week as he sorted through electrical problems on his BM. It wasn’t charging and the battery had failed completely a week before when he and Kirsten were out touring the back blocks of Whitfield and Myrtleford, near Edi Upper. At the time they were attempting to navigate a road that was clearly signposted as closed for repair. Not only was it closed, it had barriers and wire to prevent would be scallywags, aka Rob and Kirsten, from crossing.

 

It was night and they were considering lighting a fire and sleeping on the road till day break but were rescued by a lost deer hunter in a 4WD. It still took a couple of days to get home. It is quite a story involving riding at night up dirt tracks by the light of the vehicle behind, multiple breakdowns, an old lady warning them off her property, eventually leaving the bike in the bush, no tools, removing the battery, the Mansfield Caravan Park having no accommodation (for bikie scum), charging the battery up at the servo next morning, hitching a lift back to Edi Upper (where?), breaking down again at Glenburn and finally retrieving the bike in the van.

 

Part of the process involved removing all the light bulbs to conserve battery life. This detail was to prove important when the Sunday Club ride drew to a close, and the sun sank rapidly! By about mid-week Rob had found the root of the problem: the alternator belt had stretched and fallen off. This was after much soul searching, phone calling to unfriendly BMW shops, and resisting the auto electrician – “What, they do bikes?” Well, after-all, it is only half a Volkswagon motor isn’t it? Replacing the belt, the self healing property of batteries providing sufficient charge to start the bike once again, the red alternator warning light disappeared. Job done! Almost.

 

Come Sunday morning and the bike won’t start, the battery soon very flat. Darryl later queried whether he had ever changed the spark plugs. “Spark plugs?” queried Rob. Darryl has a workshop manual which he is sending Rob.

 

So when I arrived at Yarra Glen 25 minutes late due to family commitments and expecting to play catch-up, I was quite surprised to find everyone still there. Rhys got stuck into me for being late, but noted the obvious. A couple of minutes later Rob entered the picture and explained his difficulties. He had asked Liz Oliver to ring me (which explained the seven missed calls on my mobile). Rob looked a tad dishevelled and proceeded to put his wet weathers on, a clear sign of the haste he had left home in, because it was particularly cold, a thick fog starting to come down, the sun no-where to be seen.

 

Ron Johnston grabbed a handful of the new itineraries I was distributing. He had paid the group a visit on his CB400/4, a miniscule bike compared to his usual Bandit, now a long term repair project after his Great Ocean Road crash on the Portland Weekend. There was also another young first timer who was just checking us out to see if we really did do, as we claim on the web, or was it all just fiction. He’ll join us on a ride in the future. So, the thirteen listeners were now 11 riders.

 

Just as we were about to set off, helmets on, engines warming, Rob was seen spanner in hand removing his rear mudguard, hanging precariously by a single bolt, resting on the wheel. This was fast turning into an episode out of the Keystone Cops. Very entertaining. There were four visitors soaking it all up, but they had all been on rides before and seen much worse, if you get my drift.

 

It was freezing as we headed out to Healesville. I had a parka over my leathers over my back protector etc and still felt the cold. But spare a thought for Aaron wearing only jeans. Ouch!

Mark Easterbrook was the surprise sighting of the day, returning to the fold aboard a new, running-in, silver, Daytona 955 Triumph, the sporty one. I expected to never see him again, his Ducati 750 written off after he was T-boned from behind on the freeway, and career taking him to Townsville working as a pharmacist on an outback station. A combination of the work being incredibly boring, continual offers to return to Melbourne to his old job, and I suspect the fact that his long term partner chose not to follow him to Queensland, saw him last only a couple of months, at most. Now, here he was again, pleased as punch, coming to grips with a new toy with lots of power.

 

Greg seemed to be corner marking every corner, either with Rhys or myself. He had come to play.

 

Heading over the Black Spur I set off in pursuit of Rob. A black new R6 jammed in front of me, giving me a wave, as we chocked up behind a car and then took off. It took me a while to figure out it was “only” a 600 given the stick it had, and he seemed to know the road, keeping the power on round the corners. I figured Greg was behind me as I occasionally caught glimpses of fluoro orange. Little did I know I was sandwiched between the Spur Minders, members John Clowes and Eric Makin, with Greg hovering!  It was only when we stopped at the Marysville turnoff and Eric took his helmet off that I recognised him. New jacket, new bike, hanging off even more than usual due to the wet roads, he said. He certainly pulled me out of my comfort zone, the fun factor high.

 

Time for another visor clean as the body pours hot fluids (water) down through my nose, trying to raise the air temperature before it enters my lungs. (Yep, that’s the medical explanation; same for everyone.) The downside is the water forms droplets at the bottom of your nose which then blow up on the inside of your visor, before slowly running down, leaving  lovely, salty, sticky trails. Marvellous.

 

We continued on through Marysville and up the hill to Cumberland Junction. The fog had miraculously lifted and we were now bathed in glorious sunshine, not a cloud in the sky. I kept going down the Reefton as Rob took off, Rhys and Greg corner marking. I was happy to let Rob pull away in the wet/dry conditions, and even happier to catch him up in the dry, but not before Greg had come whistling past the pair of us. Strangely, not a car or bike on the Spur, no doubt it was too cold for normal people.  Near the bottom the conditions deteriorated badly as a large amount of dirt and leaf litter had been washed onto the road, care of recent heavy rains, and severe erosion due to recent fires removing all the undergrowth, and now the rain removing the soil. Greg and I duly corner marked, soaking up the glorious sun, a few bikes starting to come our way now.

 

The new guys seemed to get going a bit down the Reefton, a great road wet or dry, familiarity playing a role as well, no doubt. On to Warburton for morning tea or early lunch as it was now 12.13 pm according to my Visa Card fuel docket, care of  “Shell Snowview” service station. While filling up, Damian received a call from Will on his mobile asking where the ride had got to. Will had overshot Warburton, not seeing Rob disappear into the servo.  Back soon enough.

 

John and Eric had stopped at Marysville and now Greg and Darryl left for home, Darryl unwell and Greg wishing to cut the grass. (Is that true, Amalia?) Greg also seemed to be suffering from a virus, his joints hurting, particularly his lower back. I had had similar symptoms last Friday – aching muscles, sore joints and headache, and a high temperature, but had recovered within 24 hours.

 

Time was pressing. The first hop of 105 km across the Spurs is always slow, consuming nearly 90 minutes, despite no hold-ups. Our next stop was Trafalgar, a further 125 km away. Now down to 9 bikes, we pressed on along the Powelltown Road, mainly dry, with the occasional wet patch mid-corner on the high speed section. Of course I encountered one of these patches while doing the big passing manoeuvre round the outside of the group with an on-coming large white van keeping both wheels on my side of the white line, just to spice it up a bit. Love those soft compound tyres!

 

At Noojee we kept going towards Hill End. The roads were mainly wet, the sun low, the light dim, and the road bumpy and twisty. The conditions were difficult – definitely would “not suit inexperienced riders” as per the itinerary card. At Hill End we turned right and headed south down straight open roads (at last) to Trafalgar where we parked on the Mirboo Road, just down from the police station. After lunch we headed across to the servo for fuel. Rhys, Will and Damian took the highway option and headed for home, Rhys going home time to work on a mate’s second storey balcony construction.

 

Next we headed for Thorpdale and Mirboo North. Where the sun could hit the road, it was dry, but on any south facing road, the surface would be wet, or worse, green, either with algae, or in one place, moss! Aaron thought the road (Thorpdale twisties) would have been fantastic in the dry.

 

Turning right 4 km after Mirboo North we headed down to Allambee South. A fresh load of screenings had been added to new tar, adding to the excitement of travelling steeply downhill, but everyone made it. Then we swung around through Hallston on the some good, dry roads allowing more aggressive throttle use and some greater lean angles. 

 

I warned a couple of the new guys to expect 5 km of dirt road as we approached Arawata. Usually this section is pretty good, particularly as we were heading up hill. This time it was so bad it was funny. Clearly the area had had a lot of rain turning the road into mud. The council then seems to have dumped about 3 inches of sandy gravel on top which moved about as you rode on it. The road is heavily cambered, dropping off at the sides quite steeply. I soon figured out that riding up the apparently thick gravel was actually easier than any of the tyre tracks on the side, or worse still, the mud at the edge where Paul found himself trapped, unable to ride back up the camber. I sailed by, at a rapid 20 km/h, visor up, yelling laughter and abuse at him, good naturedly. Buggered if I know how the other guys got through.

 

Homeward stretch now as we picked up the Korumburra to Warragul Road, dry and fast. It is a tricky road, even in ideal conditions, Rob using plenty of brakes a couple of times, his brake light obviously blown – I thought – not realising it was part of the previous “save the battery strategy” by removing ALL the globes! Now down to six riders, the corner marking breaks were much more frequent. Aaron and Justin continued to overshoot the corners by the usual 100-150 metres. I told Justin to “use the brakes” at one stage.

 

We zig-zagged our way across to the Drouin to Lang Lang Road for the final fling into Drouin. The green un-marked Commodore was just nabbing Mr Farmer for a muddy numberplate when he was startled awake from his mind numbing routine by the sound of a howling 954 closely followed by the stealth bumblebee. Too late she cried!

 

Drouin was our final regroup at 4.30 pm. When I noted to Rob the estimated sunset at 5.10 pm, and we were 100 km from home, his oversight in not reinstating the globes in their rightful sockets, became abundantly clear. He bolted! I think Mark and Paul followed immediately.  After fuelling up, a discussion about the merits of $35 wet weather pants as compared to jeans in keeping the cold at bay, and the fact that the GSXR lads, Aaron and Justin, had survived another difficult ride without being asked to leave – their words. Everyone was pretty knackered but happy, and ready to head home via the Freeway. It would be dark before we got home.

 

The three of us travelled back along the Freeway together, occasionally losing one or the other in heavy traffic or at the Narrewarren lights, finally losing each other around the Hallam by-pass chaos. I was home at 5.45 pm in complete darkness, the cold descending rapidly, after nearly 500 km for the day, home to home.

 

Thanks Rob for leading a well planned ride, in trying riding conditions (cold, wet, bump roads, minimal daylight). No-one fell off, got booked, or broke down. By definition, an excellent ride. Thanks Mark for the onerous job of rear riding, and welcome back. It was good not to call on your expertise for once.

 

 

Ben Warden (CBR929RR)