DID SOMEONE SAY "CANNONBALL"?

By Boris

It's like a school photo, only bikier

Introduction

I first wrote the story of this event in 1996, the year it happened. The story was slated to appear in the launch issue of RALPH magazine, but was pulled at the last minute to appease advertisers who were concerned at the subject matter. Eleven years later, and with the advent of BIKE ME! I felt the time had finally come for the world to know about the most unique motorcycle event ever staged in this country. The story below is pretty much as I first wrote it, though I have taken the opportunity to tweak it so that it suits the website format a little better.

It was a hell of an idea.

The pre-race briefing was pretty lively

An amount of motorcyclists would gather at a given place in the Sydney CBD on a Friday evening. If you were one of them, you would have paid $100 for the privilege. Then at exactly 6pm, you would ride your motorcycle 925 kilometres from Sydney to Jupiter's Casino on the Gold Coast.

Through the night.

If you were, by some bizarre twist of fate, the first to arrive at Jupiter's, you'd collect $2000 for your efforts. Then you would gamble heavily and drink like you were leaving Las Vegas for the very last time. Perhaps you would find yourself drinking beer off the floor and chasing naked sheilas around dank nudey bars as well. Anything could happen on an event such as this. It would be dangerous and it would be lunatic, but it would also be fun.

And there were no rules.

Yes, indeedy.

This was the 1996 Jam to Jupiter's.

And it made the police profoundly and deeply mental.

Poisonous sex princesses with skinny minder... heh, heh, heh

In fact, the police were very upset and deeply mental at the same time.

Which is not how I like them.

That they were in a state of profound discontent was obvious by the way they kept driving up and down in front of Harry's Café de Wheels, all bitter and twisted with cameras.

I had chosen Harry's as the departure point for our Le Man's start because a) it was a Sydney icon; and b) it was packed with peak hour traffic.

So there we were at 5.30 pm. The cops and the 50 entrants, watching each other watch each other.

Only two of these blokes ever spoke to me again

The cops were obviously gathering further "intelligence" -- to go with the "intelligence" they had already acquired. This "intelligence" informed them that exactly 300 to 500 outlaw bikies, aided and abetted by promiscuous sluts, were manifestly up to no good. Further more, the "intelligence" advised that these bikies, all maddened by industrial-strength methamphetamines and riding stolen motorcycles were planning to conduct a Cannonball Run race-type thingy and distribute the aforementioned methamphetamines in the process -- any second now. This was pretty major shit as far as the cops were concerned. Stuff like this engorges their penises with rich blood. There could well be the odd high-speed pursuit in the offing. And maybe even some overtime.

Werner's pillion tested the girls for firmness of arse

Exactly how 50 people, most of whom had never met before that day, were meant to distribute drugs while simultaneously engaged with racing their bikes through the night was never explained, but that was the deal at the time.

And it all looked pretty downright nasty.