THE 'KIDS WITH SIDS' RIDE
A ride report
by Scrambles
Pics by Boon
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There weren't many bikes like Scrambles' one at the SIDS Ride |
I don't much care for cruises.
Too slow, too many bikes and too many rules... That's a tick in just about every box on the Scrambles: Things I Don't Like List alongside clowns, Highway Patrol and pre-emptive Christmas decorating.
However, high up on my Why I Don't Stockpile Weapons And Live In The Mountains list lies 'sick tackers and the helping thereof', so it was that I agreed to jump onboard for the Kids with SIDS ride in Newcastle.
"Let's go up the Putty" Tim said, "and we'll stay overnight somewhere, have a few beers in Newcastle and front up to the ride on Sunday." This sounded like a good idea... a great idea. The kind of idea that would take on a life of its own, grow to enormous proportions and flail around destroying buildings and chasing terrified Japanese people down the street.
"Yeah, could be fun." I agreed and organised us somewhere to lay our head.
I was first to arrive at the garish Ettomogah car park and after picking out a park between the bottles and used condoms, I sat and observed the cacophony that preceded a large contingent of Rebels as they swept down over the hill and through the red light. I watched the drivers languishing mid-intersection mouth insults and shake their fists at the horde in futility. It was going to be a good day.
It was not long until Tim joined me and announced his surprise that we were the only two that had turned up. We debated how soft everyone was as well as the benefits of Protein Shakes. Biffa arrived. He needed smokes.
Fuelled and feeling right 'ard, we departed to meet up with the Ballistic Starfish himself -- that would be Darren to those who have not had the pleasure of riding with him -- in Wilberforce and departed as one up the well-travelled Putty.
As a side note, I have to say it was heartening to see a few learners ignoring the police and RTA-spun rhetoric; that the Putty Road is some kind of savage death trail to hell that will swallow you whole and make you piss sideways for the rest of your days should you dare ride it. Good on you, blokes. Now don't fall off.
Our own convoy, however, made the most of the brilliant weather and complete lack of cops in the best way possible, so it wasn't long before we had stopped again for fuel, durries and bacon and egg rolls. Casey Stoner pulled in, probably to ask for riding tips and autographs, but we were too busy admiring a beautiful subtly-pimped R1. The rider was an older gent who had parked in front of our table, jumped off and rushed inside the store -- I can only assume to buy chicken strips, as he seemed to have lost all of his. "Yeah, he knows how to ride it," his mate smiled. I moved between his mate and my rear tyre.
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Boon's dirty, wet and disreputable R6... |
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... was redeemed only by keeping company with a bike with correct frontal decoration |
The Race to Lunch saw us fall back into our familiar pattern of Darren and Tim laying down the boogie up the front whilst Biffa and I jostling for third. I would like to be able to say that it was my skill that kept him at bay, though I reckon he simply felt sorry for me. I advised him that I didn't run wide on that unexpected diminishing radius corner, I was simply getting as close to the armco as possible to take in the fabulous scenery of our remarkable country. I think he is unpatriotic and a terrorist.
Apart from seeing a wombat doing a great dead pig impersonation, the trip to Singleton was quite uneventful. The location of lunch we left for our beloved Road Caption to decide, so Tim directed us to the only pub in town that was hosting a Christian kid's birthday party. Probably because we kept calling him "Road Caption" .
Surrounded by screaming kids and fevered prayers, we were barely out of leathers before a giant plastic sheet was lowered, effectively quarantining us and our heathen hate-rays on one side of the beer garden, with the impressionable kiddies and worried parents on the other. We took this as a sign and ate, drank, and laughed raucously as Darren entertained us with stories of real estate and dead bodies. And I was shit upon by a bird.
After a beer, some of the best chips I've ever tasted, and a quick perv at the serving wench, Darren and Biffa split from the group to further sate their hunger with a blast back down through Wollombi. Tim and I would race the rain to Newcastle. It appears Mother Nature was sporting slicks that afternoon, as we only made it to Raymond Terrace before the heavens opened.
At least it washed the bird shit off. It continued to pour until we reached Jill's flash new digs at Lemon Tree Passage, where we rendezvoused with Boon.
After being laughed out of the adjacent Bowlo for our apparent fruity taste in beer ("Hello there, may I trouble you for a Heineken? No? Becks? Oh. Stella? I see. Coopers?! You're fucking kidding?") we decided that fame and fortune would be better sought within Newcastle herself. We thanked Jill for her hospitality, informed her that she lives in the middle of Bumphuck, Nowhere, and launched ourselves head first into the now driving rain.
I had called ahead to organise new quarters with my long-time friend Saco, and I thought it best to herald our triumphant arrival by getting my boot hooked on my tailpack, then going arse-up in his driveway. I explained it's how a real man parks a bike, and picked it up before anyone took photos.
Saco is a great man. Before he surrendered to the burden of marriage, kids and home-ownership, Saco used to burn up his youth tear-arseing around the Hunter region on a selection of increasingly ratty bikes. This is a good thing, as he knows the proper way to welcome cold, wet riders into one's home is with great jugs of homebrew. His 'Mexicali Coopers' was just the thin end of the wedge of a long night of drinking and mayhem, which will get its own much deserved account soon, so I will jump ahead to the following morning.
-SCENE MISSING-
Bleary eyes and a trying new perception of balance is not a nice thing to wake up to, but Saco's liberal application of bacon, eggs and baked beans did a good job of getting us into a suitably charitable mood. We gouged our food, bid our farewells and tore across town to the cruise meet point.
After a taking the scenic route to the foreshore, we finally spied a long trail of black and chrome taking up residence in a car park, and it was good to see that the almost constant drizzle did not seem to have any effect on numbers. Just over 50 bikes were registered for the brief (but soon to be arduous) ride to Rathmines. We paid our $20, received our goody bags and wandered off down the line to check out the various rides.
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More than 50 bikes started... |
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Tracy. Showing us her legends. |
About halfway along we met up with Sticky, his lovely wife, Tracy (who I feel is the kindest woman I've met that you don't have to pay) and Nash who had joined us for the previous night's festivities and was trying hard to not look as bad as we felt. I was informed via SMS that Quolly had destroyed a rear tyre and, sadly, would not be joining us. We discussed planting a tree in his honour.
Our small group was part of only a handful of sports bikes on the ride, as apparently you are given either a Harley or a Valkyrie with your Ulysses membership, the club which made the (considerable) bulk of the group. Tony, the great man behind the organisation of the ride, was a member and, given the club's history of involvement with charitable organisations, I guess it should have come as little shock to see so many leather vests and heated hand grips. I nominated one bloke in particular as the unofficial Ulysses flagship and dubbed him Mr Awesome. How awesome was Mr Awesome? Spiked fingerless gloves awesome. Chrome flame-and-dragon decals on a Boulevard awesome. Yellow sunglasses awesome. THAT's how awesome.
However not all morning could be spent checking out Harley-Davidson 'Live to Ride' case covers on Honda engines, or trying to mentally add the total length of all the wallet chains present, as we were due to meet up on the shores of Lake Macquarie within the hour. So off we toddled.
Now to be fair, I don't have much experience with cruises quite simply for the reasons I stated at the beginning of the article, but I'm reliably told that cruises are called 'cruises' and not 'flat bikie warp factor nine death races' for a reason. Nevertheless, after all but perfecting my feet up go-slow and fighting off Boon's attempts at my kill switch through the outer limits of Newcastle, it all became a little tedious for this little black duck. Perhaps I just don't have the correct bike? regardless, Boon and I rounded up most of the pack around a few bends and joined Nash and Sticky up the front for the remainder of the sodden journey.
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The awesome Mr Awesome |
One thing about the Hunter Region SIDS people; they put on a pretty good do. We were welcomed with a band (watch out Beatles, here comes Cat Fish Soup!), a jumping castle, a slippery slide, various raffles and giveaways, and all the deep-fried food a hungover belly could manage. I would have organised the parking a little differently; in that they had organised the cars to park on the cement, and the bikes to park on the grass... which at the time was doing its best to look like a Vietnamese rice paddy. I put this down to the organisers wanting the bikes near the crowd, and I also think GoldWings have some sort of gyroscopic self-righting device (I now know for sure that Kawasakis definitely don't), so as far as dramas go it's pretty tame.
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Poffertjes. Num, num, num. |
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The trip home down the F3 was fast but uneventful and we were overjoyed to finally see a blue sky and feel a warm sun at our backs. We were also a little surprised to discover that the halfway Maccas had fallen into an alternate dimension wherein only disgracefully beautiful woman eat fast food. It was a rather fitting end to an already superb couple of days. Then my foot peg fell off for no reason.
All in all, I would like to offer my congratulations to the Hunter Valley SIDS charity for making such a great day of it, and I wish you only the best of weather for your next event. Thanks to Tony for managing to successfully herd the cats that are motorcyclists, and big thanks to Sticky for letting everyone know it was on.
As charities, go I feel this is one of the really valuable ones and anyone with the time and/or money should be urged to lend their support to it. I eagerly await the next SIDS event...
...just don't ask me to go on any more cruises.
