TASMANIA PART III

THURSDAY

Another perfect morning, well except for the black skies and drizzling rain. Pete had taken the day off so we could get out for a ride. First things first. The sprocket needed changing. Simple enough job, really. Drop the chain, pull the cover off the front, remove old sprocket, fit new one. It all went to plan until the cover went back on. Then the wheel wouldn't turn. This is where we found out that 14 to 18 tooth sprockets don't all fit. One of the bolt posts for the cover was snagging the teeth on the sprocket. No problem there. A quick rub with the angle grinder fixed that little issue. Now I just need to get the speedo recalibrated.

Max & Mel turned up for the ride with an eye on the darkening weather. Not that it mattered, we had a ride planned and it was going to happen. These people aren't the sort to fuss much about a bit, or a lot, of rain. So we went. From Dodges Ferry back out to the Arthur Highway (this is the one that runs down to Port Arthur) through the towns of Forcett and Copping to Dunalley.

That one tooth on the front has changed the characteristics of the bike a lot. I didn't notice a lot of difference in top gear roll on. If I need to get up it, I drop a gear as usual. At "normal" speeds 4th is getting more work than it used to. The bike feels much better for it. The aim of dropping the top end revs and improving economy has probably been buggered by using the lower gears higher into the range than before. Ah well.

An hour later and we arrived at Dunalley, a little fishing village with an opening bridge and a pub. That'll do. Standing in the "beer garden" with a couple of cans and some quite exceptional pizza we watched as the weather completely failed to improve.

Dunalley. Lovely.

After what was probably too many cans to gain approval from a local constable, if there was one, we picked a gap in the clouds and bolted. Plans of heading further south were put aside after weather reports from a couple coming back from Port Arthur.

Arthur Highway has no straight sections on it to speak of. Being wet and slimy just added to it. Max had got an early lead and the rest of us were slowly making ground. Pete, then Sandy and me trailing along at the back. I heard Pete's Softtail start to bark from up the front and he got a bit of a lead out. I had half formed the thought, "I wonder how long before?" and I heard the Hayabusa wind up through the Yoshi. Here we go again.

Max, Pete & I turned off for Dodges Ferry and Sandy, who was by this time well in front of Pete, kept on towards Sorell for a poke about. We pulled into the pub there for a few more because that's what the day called for. Sandy turned up sometime later, I'm not sure how long later, time ceases to be on days like these.

Time for home and an evening of feet up in the shed with a few drinks while the girls watched chick flicks inside. Perfect end really.

FRIDAY

Same day as before, weatherwise. Grey and miserable. We had planned to take in the East Coast all the way up to Bridport and then cut back to Longford. Elephant Pass and St Mary's Pass need to be done in fine weather. Never to mind, there is still Lake Leake Road instead. A quick stop at Orford for photos of Maria Island and we on the go again.

Maria Island

The one prerequisite for this leg was Kate's Berry Farm, a café shop just South of Swansea that do sensational Devonshire Teas. The view from here would be wonderful on a better day.

The shop is full of home made goods including Blackberry & Bourbon Jam. Sandy & I had a laugh about it as we ate our scones. The laughter sort of died off into a serious consideration. Sandy went back in to get a jar but by then two busloads of the Blue Rinse Brigade were squeezed inside. She bailed. I don't blame her at all. I'll just put the B&B jam on the "Reasons To Return" list right under Tasmanian Whisky.

Just past Swansea is the turnoff to Lake Leake. Every rider who visits Tasmania has to make this road a priority. I know that I am putting my self at risk of jihad from my kinfolk for revealing this. If that's the case, then make your run a memorial ride in my name. There are no photos of this part. I'll leave it for someone else to take them, we were riding. The rain had stopped for a while. That's one good point whilst riding a wet, winding road up into the clouds. The one downfall is that, at about 60-70km's, it is far too short.

We pulled into Campbell Town for a break and I checked the mobile while Sandy went for a squiz in the shops. Three missed calls from Mum, that can't be good. I gave her a call only to find out that there had been severe storm warnings all over the radio. According to the time of the reports, the posted speed limit and the distance we were from home, we should run smack into it head on. I told Sandy of the news and she just grinned and said that we might have to go a bit faster then. That sounded perfectly reasonable to me.

We set off and turned onto our Apostasy Road. Today was the day to make amends. I took the lead and bolted out of town at a pace that would get us home before the storm. You can imagine my delight at hooking through one of the bends to find a pack of cyclists spread across the road like cattle on pethidine coming at me. I kept the pace on regardless only barely noticing the cop car that was running escort at the back of the group. Oops, ah well, I was too committed to stop and discuss such matters now.

All in all about 250m's for the day through some glorious roads and some truly shitful weather.

There is nothing about this place that disappoints. The roads are perfect, the landscape is awe inspiring. Even the weather is just another facet of the place. There is just as much enjoyment to be had in sunshine or rain.

We made it home for dinner and the final night with Mum and Dad with no sign of the storms anywhere nearby. Hail lonely roads and sticky tyres.

SATURDAY

Nothing much to do today, just spend some time with Mum & Dad and make sure everything is packed and ready to go. The time to leave came around far too quickly but at the same time I was ready to go home. We took the easy way this time. Just a quick scoot along the Bass Highway to Devonport. Perfectly timed for Sandy to get her coffee at Macca's across the river. It seems we might have got it right as the skies went black in the time it took Sandy to finish her cuppa.

Spirit Of Tasmania. Ironic, no?

We queued to get on the boat amongst so many caravans it was scary.

10.30pm and the boat was already dead. Most of the passengers should be anyway. So many grey nomads making a last desperate clutch at life. The 4WD and van justified by a sudden urge to live. Sixty years wasted, most of it slaving to the dollar, buying the symbols of success that ensure their superiority over the neighbour with the smaller pool, TV, van or whatever it is they use to benchmark their banal existence. They sat and giggled at the formula gags spewing at them from the TV. The terrifying majesty of the island is lost on them. They are more impressed by the range of kitsch souvenirs available at the caravan park giftshop. The basalt peaks hoisted skywards when the island was in it's violent infancy are nothing but postcard images to be mailed home.

I headed to the bar to escape it... "Oh, look, Dave. There's one of your kind. A Suzuki man" I regretted my choice of shirt, instantly, and gave Dave a glance that I hoped would imply that I wasn't one of Dave's kind and wouldn't be as long as either of us drew breath. I grabbed a couple of drinks and headed up top for a smoke. I hadn't realised how much blue hair rinse smelt like death.

Standing on the stern deck and looking into the dark to where we had come from and what we had seen was quite relaxing. A week of respite from the smell of blue rinsed death.