Wollongong rest time

A good night sleep was all we needed to catch up and get over the aches from resting the bike on its side. Well may be.

Not caught up with Kev and Shar for some years. It is always good to chat with them, Bloody sidecars thinks Russ.

Well I enjoyed myself plenty.

We were late to rise and eat and slowly made me way to the shed to repair the damage to the gear lever that was bent by my foot when we laid down, lubed the chain and checked the oil.

This was finished and the day was ours.

We (I) was privileged to watch some sidecar video, I have always been a fan of this type of racing having been on side cars since 18, any idiot can drive a car and lean a bike.

Saw Shar’s mum and dad, it’s been a while.

At night we watched the old ozzi movie The Sidecar Racer with Wendy Hughs flashing her bits. It shows the old speedway at Sydney show ground. The acting was not great but a good movie with the cream of ozi actors.

Monday was again a slow start and get ready for the trip to Sydney. This was a great delivery of mirth to those present after being given an old set of leathers that I used to own and the boots from Nyssa. With a sore knee and leg trying to get them on was quite a tyre fitting exercise, but they still fit.

These could have been useful to have when the temperature was low on the trip. So we suited up and headed for Blacktown and away we went for the short ride.

Day 4 - Swan Hill to Wodonga

A long day.

It is the only way to describe what Friday was. A trip of almost 400 kilometers, Friday was going to be the longest day for me so far, and the coldest.

We woke up in the Swan Hill Hotel to a breakfast delivery, microwaved poached eggs and toast, but could not remembering ordering the side of fog. Outside it was foggy and cold.

The dreaded temperature gauge pushed 8 degrees when we were still, but we were not brave enough to look on the move. It was not so bad on the back as I got to hide behind a large fairing, namely Dad.

People in Victoria take note, people who live in glass houses should pull their blinds before taking off their pants, and people who drive white cars should turn on their lights when in fog.

We stopped at Kerang a little up the road for fuel, and there I made a friend. From the shop came a bounding black Labrador. At my feet he dropped a stick and looked up at me with sad and hopeful eyes. My heart melted, or at least defrosted from the cold, and I threw the stick. Then again, and again, and again.

We left Kerang and got lost. The road to Echuca was closed and detours were not well marked. We found ourselves in Koondrook, after checking against Google maps on my phone, and we turned around and headed back. This ended up being a blessing in disguise as the road to Echuca from Koondrook stayed closer to the Murray and the scenery by the State Forrest was scenic. We stopped for lunch and there was much rejoicing.

Rather than going through Shepparton we took a left and headed toward Yarrawonga. Another detour, this time better signed, took us off down a narrow back street that only had enough asphalt for one car. Not to mention the four or five trucks that went pass us. The locals thought it great to drive on the dirt shoulder next to the road regardless of oncoming traffic or not. The dust reminded me of home.

Dad pulled up at Corowa for a rest and my arse was rejoicing. This time it was Dad’s turn to make a friend with a black Labrador. He threw the stick this time.

Wodonga welcomed us a little before 5pm, and it welcomed us as a loan shark welcomes extensions – our greeting turned out not that welcoming and the day once more turned to the dogs. Looking for a place to stay, we approached a few new round-a-bouts and people were darting in and out. As we came up, someone in a ute flew in the entry to the right, we had to give way, grabbed too much front brake for a trailer, the front wheel slipped away, and we dropped.

We fell to the right, I sling shotted into the back of Dad, and we scraped a long for about half a meter. We were not going that fast, and we were lucky enough not to be pushed into the round-a-bout. The cars behind us just indicated and went around. A man walking his dog, two ladies from a house nearby, and a young bloke helped pick us up and moved us off the road.

Checking the damage between us, Dad came off the worse. There was only a bit of skin missing here and there, and Dad picked up a few bruises. The bike only suffered cosmetic damage to the fairing, exhaust, and engine casing. And it lost a cable tie. Dad was very upset and took a long time to calm down.

We limped into a nearby hotel, The Black Stump Hotel, both of us not keen to stay in a tent, and grabbed a cabin. We piled in, turned the heater on and reported the incident back to base camp. Dinner took place at a pub near us, where I had a very nice marinated duck salad. Dad had schnitzel. We lost a meat raffle.

Showers took place, and we watched an episode of QI on the Internet. There was no rejoicing.

Day 3 - Swans to the Hill

Well we had our wagon facing the sun as it yelled over the trees "you idiots know its half passed winter?" Wipe the due and condensation off the tent and Tetris the trailer, again with different positions for the items.
We decided for me to wear the new boots after I talked with Russ how I should fit them on, this was a major foot in the door for me as at the end of the day my footsies were not hurting.

Away we went again after fueling up the bike. With the weight and the winds, with an 18 litre tank we get 220 K's per tank, I am very happy with this and it allows us to rest a bit every 2 1/2 hours.
The day was sunny and breezy but we were travelling well and wanted to get to Swan Hill about lunch time.
At one of our little stops we were talking about the bike and I made the comment that I was getting a lot of vibration through the handle bars, we checked it out before we mounted up and found the right side of the tyre was scrubbed down to passed the tread, we put this down to some of the surfaces and the constant wind from the right. The tread was good before we left.
We arrived in Swan Hill and found the local Honda shop had a tyre to fit, so after some currency was exchanged we had a new tyre fitted and balanced.
Next stop was The Pioneer Village.
Russ said that we will see the rest of the village before we annoy the blacksmiths.
We had a look at all the old engines and tractors. Russ found an old Harley in the shed with an old single Triumph, these need some work done on them.
Russ got a wanted poster done for me, but its all lies I tell you and I've been framed.
We called in and had our photos done in some old clothes (they came from my cupboard?)

We left the village just before closing time and sought us a bed for the night that didn't come with flies. The room we got was just up from the village and across from a Laundromat, so we washed some clothes, had tea and went to our room that was not bellow 20 degs.

Day 2 – Kensington-on-Murray to Robinvale

 Another pleasant sub zero Wednesday greeted us in the morn of the Kensington-On-Murray departure. Pack up was quicker than Tuesday, but we were still slow in getting our arses into gear, or at least the gear into the trailer. I felt remarkably better after removing myself from the nauseating mercy of the day before; little did I know what was in store for me.

Dad fuelled up at the caravan post office (there is little choice in Kensington-On-Murray) (and why is it Kensington-On Murray? Did they think that people would be confused with the suburb? We don’t say Newcastle-In-NSW or Maitland-On-Boot-Shaped-Peninsula) where the bungy pasty made its return, and I starred guiltily at my record breaking attempt. The dog behind the fence was barking at me. I could not tell if was a territorial dispute or that it thought I was about to cut its lunch. You know what puppy dog, you can have my seconds.

We jumped the border in Victoria, to no who ha, and started the long slog that is the Mildura Sturt Highway. Sigh.

It was after lunch when we arrived and adjusted to the Victorian time, and my arse was caning so an extended rest was in order. I directed dad to the Mildura Microbrewery for I had fond memories of the place. It took a long time for our food to come out, and I had to go and remind them about our drinks. Sigh.

We went hunting for a heater, with no such luck, but not if such luck was bad, then we had such luck. Stuff it, let’s keep going. We headed south through Red Cliffs (no cliffs) towards Ouyen (70% vowels – way more than necessary), but took a left at Hattah (not a sound from a karate movie) so that we could join up again to the Murray.  This road saw the return of the bumps and my bum got a hammering once again. We had to stop. Just outside of Wemen we pulled over into a rest area and it was magical. A look at the watch told us that we would be pushing to make it as far as we hoped, but neither Dad nor I could care. After a couple of nights under canvas it was time to relax under a roof.

The next biggish town without banjo playing freaky kids on the porch was Robinvale. Even then it was pushing it. Some dude in a V8 was just doing laps of the main street that would put beachies to shame – he needs a hobby.

We bought a heater from a store about to close, got directions from an army surplus store that had only recently erased “rifles” from its list of specialities, and headed to the first caravan park they suggested. The caravan park was right down by the river, if a kid up stream sneezed it could make the wheels of your van wet, and had beautifully manicured lawns but all of their cabins were booked out (suspiciously unattended at the time mind you). A “No Vacancy” sign was up at the Motel, and the last caravan park could only offer us a powered sight. We had no choice, it was already getting dark and I was buggered.

Then another bout of sickness struck, but this time I would not be breaking the helmet off record, I would be pushing for the getting the key in the toilet door record. Dad thought it might be just my body going into shock after doing labour type activities putting the tent up, but my bottom would disagree.

And can I say caravan parks, having a timer on your toilet block lights may save you power, but it does not help if I have to check my wiping technique with the torch app on my phone. Sigh.

The heater in the tent was pretty awesome though. Very happy with that result.

Introduction

Welcome to this slice of the blogosphere. On Wednesday the 14th of July Andy turned 50. On Thursday the 15th of July Andy turned 50.0027. When it became Monday the 18th of July, and Andy was 50.011, and took off on a “feeling the breeze” motorcycle tour. Dad and I left Whyalla on a 1991 750cc Zepher (Kawasaki for those playing at home) and hope to finish with something that resembles the same.

The point on the trip to spend dads 50th birthday with the people he knows and loves in his home town and then go for a ride to see the people who could not make it. Me being the type who loves to jump onto coat tails thought it would be a fun to hand out with my Dad for three weeks.

Nine months ago when we (i.e. Dad) started planning this trip, I did not have a motorcycle licence that I could call my own, and after a little research, we found out that if I booked the next weekends availale to do the Rider Training, I would still be on my L’s during the trip. I was either going to have to putt alone beside him, struggling through the Snowy's, or I could hope on the bike with him.

Riding Bitch sounded like less work to me.

We have no plans or itinerary set in concrete for this trip, but we are going to follow the Murray River for some time and see where it takes us. Will bring you updates when they come to hand...