THE FIGURE 8

by Sonny

Summer holidays are great. Time with the family, kids laughing, presents, a new year begins, food, beer and parties. Although with four weeks off from work, one who rides also hopes to get a really great ride in. A big ride, an exploration of new places, roads, pubs, food -- with some mates for company it quickly becomes a magical adventure.

My plan after the festive season was to ride the very twisty, smooth Snowy Mountains roads: the best roads southern NSW has to offer. No backtracking and with as much excitement and as many corners as possible. So with the help of Google Maps and knowledge of some truly worthy roads, I put together a ride route that I thought would prove to be mega fun. My good mate Mark was available to ride along with me, as was his 21 year old son, who had recently purchased his first road bike. We each had a budget of $500, knowing that it would be a minimum of $200 on fuel alone.

Ready to leave come the morning.

Loaded up with the necessities for three days on the road and some camping gear should we happen to spend too much money on liquid refreshments, we had a plan to depart my place at 0600 Monday morning.

We downed some beers Sunday night and got to bed before midnight. At 5am I awoke to my alarm and found Mark in the lounge room watching telly. He was just so excited about the ride that he couldn't sleep, and had been up since 2:00am.

Shower, a quick breakfast and we rode out of the garage at 0550. It was a perfect new morning for a ride, and we had big plans to get as far through the route on the first day as time would allow. Well sometimes stuff just happens. As we pulled up at the intersection of the main road just 2km from home, I could smell fuel and lots of it. There was fuel pouring out of my bike and it wasn't going to stop flowing whilst the engine was running. I was fuming! So back home we raced to see what we could do, the entire time with my fingers crossed and eyeing off garden hoses in peoples front yards just in cast the bike should actually catch alight. A leaking fuel injection hose wasn't something that we could fix in my garage, so a pickup was arranged to deliver the bike to the workshop for repairs.

It was just prior to 2pm on this very hot and sticky Monday afternoon when we reloaded the luggage onto the bike outside the workshop. With sweat pouring from us, running down our legs inside our burning hot, black leather pants, we made our way via Galston Gorge and Moruya to Windsor for fuel and liquids.

It was here that I realised just how beneficial it was that I had worn my hydration pack, the two other boys were suffering badly with the heat and dehydration and this proved to be the norm during the entire trip. The fella's tongues were coated white at every stop in the following days, showing the lack of H₂O in their systems. It was hot, real bloody hot.

Vented jackets, the lack of big fairings and the extra water bottle I carried were totally appreciated by all. From the weather forecast, it was to going be a hot few days.

Leaving the east coast behind, we darted up the Bells Line of road, across to Mt Victoria and down onto the Oberon road before reaching the O'Connell pub for a well deserved coldie. The Oberon road is one of my favourites, and that afternoon nobody was disappointed with the ride. It was a great start to our little tour. Onward we rode: Bathurst, another refuel, a quick stop at the Mountain. You see, the young lad had never been to Bathurst, let alone ridden the legendary mountain circuit. So the father and son bonded on top of that religious piece of bitumen as I consulted the map at Murrays Corner. As they made there way over the top, I listened as the Aprilia awakened the gods from their long sleep on top of that mountain. It was a very beautiful sound to hear on that very still and quiet afternoon.

The young fellow's first ride at the Mountain.

I don't remember the time that we left Bathurst, but I knew we had enough daylight to make Tuena. So with full tanks we headed south for beer, food and a bed. This is a beaut road to get to Goulburn, with many bends, some dirt, more bends, some more dirt and some more bends as well. About a third of the way along this road is the town of Tuena with a population of 28 real country people. The pub is the oldest mud and dorm pub in Australia, being built in 1860 from sticks and mud. I was here not that long ago with Al and LH for a beer over lunch. This time I just had to show it to my two touring mates as it is a really eccentric place to visit.

So the first night on the road was spent drinking with the locals of this little gem of a town. A place where there is almost zero traffic, resulting in a silence and stillness rarely experienced in our busy lives. It turned out to be a great night, with good old fashioned country folk, a nice dinner, tapped beer that sported no bubbles, and bloody comfortable old spring beds. Yes it was great fun, but I don't think my mates will return for a flat, tapped beer too soon.

Hitting the road at 0615, we continued this great piece of bitumen and dirt, sliding through the gravel, carving up the many, many bends and dodging the morning 'roos. It was great to be alive and on the road at this hour of the day -- a day the temperature of which was going to rise later to over 40 degrees in some places we were to visit.

After a quick stop at the massive wind farm on this road, the next stop was the town of Crookwell for some fuel as the other two needed to top up between 150 and 200km, whilst they did this I would clean my visor, suck down a ciggie, refill my water bladder and take some pics. Yep, I was having a very relaxed time on this trip. I had liquids onboard, a super comfy seat, a very effective vented jacket, and only required fuel possibly anywhere up to 300km. I never saw my reserve light, I never had a bloody chance. The other two I know were doing it tough on their hard seats with no mobile hydration in such hot and humid conditions. I could see it in their faces, but never once did they whine or complain. They were both having a ball just riding their beloved bikes on some fantastic roads.

Onwards to Goulburn we continued for a McDonald's breakfast before continuing south via Braidwood to Batemans Bay for a quick rest stop. This is where we observed a high concentration of Highway Patrol. Only the many headlight flashes from oncoming vehicles saved us from an extra financial expense. We passed two radars prior to Braidwood before throwing caution to the winds on the many flowing, and winding bends down the mountain into Batemans Bay. I have always wanted to ride this road since towing the family trailer up the mountain returning from a previous family holiday in the south. It proved even more than I had hoped for.

It was a pure, soul cleansing experience with no interruptions or disappointment. I was a beautiful bird spanning my wings, as I glided down from the heavens, I was a god, I had created this glorious, lovely and clear day. It was mine and I owned it. I was on a massive high, a riding high I have not had for some time. I was me.

The boys soon arrived at the foreshore, and yes they enjoyed it immensely too, but I don't think they had had their souls actually leave their bodies quite the way mine had.

Refreshments at glorious Batemans Bay

Between Batemans Bay and Cobargo we experienced another Highway Patrol operation, this time on a much larger scale. Thanks to a very friendly public both on the road and at the service station we avoided any unwanted attention all the way to lunch at the Cobargo Hotel. I had hoped to have lunch at the 59 Café amongst all of the motorcycle paraphernalia, but it just wasn't there. Maybe Vern had gone bust as it now sported a name something like the Gumtree Café.

From here we observed the highway operation through the pub window. I reckon the enforcement would have liked to have checked out the three bike riders when they left the pub. Instead we vanished eastward to Bermagui for a swim and some time out. That cool, crisp, clean ocean water down south is the absolute best. It was about 1pm. We had travelled some distance in hot weather, somehow avoided any unwanted attention, eaten a beaut lunch with some beers and were now spoiling ourselves with a view of bikini clad women and dip in the clean, cool ocean. A fitting end to a perfect mornings ride.

Next job was to check out Tathra. I had never been there, but had heard good things from a BIKE ME! me regular and the Lord of Bombala. The ride there was unforgettable: corners galore, light traffic, no police and an awesome road. How do those southerners keep this stuff to themselves? This road was absolutely amazing. I can find no other words to describe it. It is simply stuff dreams are made of.

After we had unofficially crowned Miss Tathra, we had a wee break and drink before we continued tracking our way to Pambula and onto the road to Bombala. This easy, twisting, flowing, never going to end climb on the way to Bombala is probably the highlight of the trip. I cannot choose the best, it is too hard. My riding buddies are certain that this piece of road leading to this beaut town of 2000 people is the best road we did. A tough call to make, but I have nothing of value to argue this point.

We arrived at the Globe Hotel at something like 5pm. Whitey was proving hard to contact, at least until he wandered into the bar after work and I ambushed him. We discussed accommodation, soon settling on the ripper little Manneroo Motel lying just walking distance from anywhere important in town. Tubbed up and with clean clothes on we headed to the RSL for beers and grub.

Not long after, Whitey arrived, to our surprise. I had observed earlier at the Globe Hotel that he waves and says hello to anyone and everyone. He continued this course of action at the RSL as well. Seems like a friendly guy. I then started to think he might actually know people, and he told me he was born in the town. After dinner whilst having more beer we were then introduced to the lovely lady serving us beer: Whitey's wife. I now believe Whitey owns Bombala.

Thanks to Whitey for his great company and local knowledge. It was an enjoyable evening, laughs were had, stories told, tips given for the following days ride in the mountains, more beers consumed, and more drinks purchased for back at the motel to toast to Mark's son's 22nd birthday. The next morning we did a quick run 40km south to the border and back again as the birthday boy hadn't seen Victoria. This photo below shows what Victoria looks like.

The viewing of Mexico

Off to Cooma and the M & M Café for a second breakfast. Whitey said they'd have visor cleaner there. They did, and chain lube too. You can service your gear while you wait for some yummy food. Go there and be treated like you are really important and stuff. Also check out the bike paraphernalia on the walls. There's a toilet there too.

So away we went, the final leg of bends lay just ahead of us. This is the reason we came here: to ride the Snowies. We had received a tip that there was a severe storm warning out, but the sky was blue and the weather was hot. No time to waste, we were away.

Soon enough, the long straights became the twisting corners of the Snowy Mountains Highway. The dark clouds were closing in and the wind was blowing. Our bikes were leaning through the bends as well as whilst travelling straight ahead. We had to choose corner entry speeds carefully, as a gust of wind would move the bikes some inches around on either side. The road seemed cold and slippery, I could not tell. Those yellow line markings are to be avoided, I tried to see at one stage if I could touch one a little, not a smart idea. Still with caution we had fun, but the best was yet to come.

We turned left and onto the Elliot Way, then stopped for fuel at Cabramurra. This town is where I stayed when I last went to the snow, so I knew there was fuel available there. This town lies just a short 4km off the Elliot way, but on the way in through the many bends I felt that I had scored myself a flat rear tyre. The rear end felt as though it was actually rolling off of the rim. I stopped to look, when I heard Mark yell out, "it's not the tyre Sonny, it's the road, it is melting". Looking down at Mark's front tyre as he rolled it rearwards, the tar was actually pulling away in stringy bits, making a web to his tyre as he left his tread pattern in the road. Amazing stuff to see, and it continued for a little after we left Cabramurra and continued along the Elliot Way.

The wind was bellowing, there were large sticks and leaf litter all over the road and falling upon us. There was no stopping here as we feared something big may strike us. The road was still amazing, tight and twisting and was a real blast of a bike road. We were soon enough sheltered from the gusting winds and really enjoying the road. Then we arrived at Tumbarumba and back into a very hot day with no such sign of a storm to be encountered.

Some lives were sacrificed

It was almost 37 degrees at Tumbarumba, and we rested for near on an hour. We then decided that we would either make Tumut or Gundagai for dinner and spend the night or just take a rest before taking the Hume Hwy home in the cool of the night.

Coming into Tumut the skies threatened, a small amount of water fell and the wind was gusting strongly again. We stopped at a pub in Tumut for a rider's meeting and learned that it doesn't rain in this town, it was only a dust storm. I later wandered back outside for a smoke, and yes it was bloody hot, that really dry hot with a strong gusting wind. I could now taste the dust on my beer moistened tongue. The hills that surrounded the town were disappearing under a fine red mist and we decided to avoid the ride home, drink beer instead, and stay at a motor inn just walking distance from the bar.

The next morning was clear and beautiful. The sun was shining and we were on the road while that morning coolness still hung in the air. We were in heaven again, our final day of riding. The long, boring Hume Highway still lay ahead of us. All 380 (odd) kilometres of it. After a nice ride to Gundagai and a bite for breakfast, we were travelling the Hume. I put my Mp3 in my ears for the first 200km making the most of my most hated road in the country. The weather was fine for a fair while, til the grey clouds appeared just prior to Goulburn where we refuelled, fitted jacket liners for the first time over the trip, and got the wet weathers ready. If there was another way, we would've taken it. But it was a small price to pay for the ride that we had just had. Give me another $500 and I'd do it all again tomorrow.