THOMMO'S PILGRIMAGE

by Thommo

The brilliant dirt road to Gundy

The bridge at Gundy

After the dirt ended and we were approaching Gundy, I wanted to send a text to Quoll, who I thought would still be on the road somewhere heading back to Scone. I wanted to send him, 'have drunk all your booze, pillaged your neighbours, now what do we do?' But alas there was no signal... and it turned out he had gotten home early anyhow.

After a few drinks and pizza at the pub, Whale and I had a good laugh watching Quolly working his marsupial mojo at the pub, and boy oh boy, she sure did have one excellent dental care plan! Luckily, he dropped the ball and she left. Truth be known, she was uglier than a hatful and spent the evening butting in on our conversation and arguing with us pretty much over nothing. And everything. It took a while but she finally went forth to multiply, leaving us to our own devices.

We headed back to Quolly's, drank some more and played bike racing on the PS/2. Whale got out his tin of tobacco and we had a smoke or one. Quolly is a healthy marsupial and doesn't smoke. I think in that smoky haze somewhere we finally crashed around 2 am. A longish day for me.

After a nice breakfast at a nicely staffed shop in Scone, we made tracks for Denman where we were to meet up with Siggy, Runt and Robyn. A nice ride through some good roads. After leaving Denman, the Quollmeister took us through the Bylong Valley Way to Rylstone, Kandos and Ilford.

There was dirt. It was a bit loose for the Road Train. On one corner going over the top of the range -- a nicely banked right hand corner, with rather big corrugations and washouts going down it and some loose gravel spread across it -- I'd taken the wide line, which looked like it had less loose stuff on it, at around 35kph. All was good until nearing the halfway point when I found a loose bit and the bike just slipped sideways. No sweat, stick the left foot out and use it to keep the bike upright, and keep sliding sideways. I sure as hell wasn't backing off on the throttle, so kept it held and the left boot out as I kept sliding into the drain, where I stopped sliding and started forward again. 'Twas close, but as usual, keeping one's head is the key. The pucker factor was there though, hell, so it should be, a 300kg plus bike going sideways sure does get the adrenaline pumping!

By the time I got off the last of the dirt, the others were waiting patiently (or not) for me. If impatiently, then they could have kept going on ahead, it wouldn't have bothered me in the slightest if they kept on moving. I knew I'd get to Sofala eventually and in one piece. There sure are some nice corners going that way, including some 25kph hook corners going uphill, bloody beauties they are! The roads right through to Sofala are just lovely and begging to be ridden hard.

We arrived there a little later than 1200 local time, and as we were getting ready to enter town, I thought that if anyone was going to have a go at us for being late, my reply would be that we were there by noon. As far as I was concerned I was there before noon Qld time, so they could all go get fooked! The throng of bikes assembled in the main street in front of the pub was a sight to behold, fooking awesome in fact!

I greeted, met new people, re-met old friends, and drank. I found that the Pilgrimage to Bathurst had been deferred to Sunday, which frustrated me a little as I had to head home early Sunday: I was going to need a few hours sleep before heading to work Monday.

Such is life though; I'll make another trip to the mountain another day and build a cairn of my own: 1 brick, 1 dunny roll and 1 beer.

Some of the sparks from the campfire were spectacular

The afternoon went fast and soon it was night, so back to the camp for the bonfire, which was kicking along nicely. The local pryro guy left a bit to be desired, his fireworks were a hit and miss affair. I dunno where he got his licence from, probably from a Kellogg's 'Fruit Loops' pack?

A bushfire started across the road, and Sofala was lucky that the congregation of BIKE ME! was in the area. The team quickly rallied to put the fire out. It appears that a meteorite shower was the cause of the conflagration -- the evidence being the big round holes in one of the tents.

I had the privilege of meeting a guy named Guy, who talked wine making, bike mags, and touring stories amongst many other things. After reading his articles and meeting the man finally, I reckon he is a top bloke. Just like the rest of us, he is genuinely passionate about riding, a bit of a lout who enjoys stretching his legs and life in general. One of us! As Chairman of the MCC, I reckon we are in good hands with people like him representing us, unlike what I have seen and read from Maggs and Co. (whom I haven't met), who look like rank idiots when you compare them to Guy.

Among many others that I got to drink and yack with was Frog from Bikers Gear Australia, who, like Guy and the rest of us, enjoys a drink, a yarn, a good ride and a good time. Mate, I'll be getting a set of touring leather tracky dacks off you, they looked the goods when I was in your shop at Supers. Hopefully they'll be a lot better than what I have when it comes to the end of a long day.

Eventually I started to fade. One must sleep. Luckily I'd packed the warm gear in the swag -- it may have been a tad fresh at Sofala, but inside that swag it was toasty.

The next thing I recall is the alarm going off. Being the wise yobbo that I sometimes can be, I decided to test the air before attempting to climb out. It was still rather cool, but on investigating the outside of the swag, there was no ice. Even better: makes life easy not having to scrap ice off the seat.

It took a few minutes to get moving, but once moving I discovered that the fire was still going and still warming some sleeping drunks. As I finished strapping crap to the bike, Sandy and Leigh climbed out of their beds to see me off. Thank you both -- a very nice way to kick off the day.

A kilometre after leaving the camp, one of the biggest 'roos I have seen this year crossed the road in a single bound. He was tall: was looking down at me on the bike. If I'd hit him I would have come off second best.

From Sofala through to Mudgee there were patches of fog, some of it very thick The sun finally broke the horizon just before Mudgee. The lass at the servo in Mudgee was a little lost -- she didn't quite know what to make of someone putting 43 litres of fuel into a bike. She asked me twice, "is that right?"

It's another Sofala sunrise