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The Punisher tries Death in the Afternoon. Note his coldness. |
Straight away, the news regarding Quoll's bike was not good. He started it and it made appalling noises. The Monster also made appalling noises when I started it, but that's normal for Ducatis. "The gearbox is fucked," Quoll declared. We all concurred and wandered around the place for about an hour wondering if we were to drink coffee in Walcha, saddle up and make for Gloucester, or just stand around aimlessly and get stoned.
The Punisher and I sparked up a bunger while we considered our options. Quoll had sorted himself out by ringing an old flame and asking her to come and fetch him and his bike. Klavdy, Woodsie and Ramjet planned on heading back down the Oxley to Ginger's Creek when it got a touch warmer. That left me, JAF and the Punisher to make for Sydney. We said our goodbyes and aimed south. The weather was cold and grim and as we belted back the way we came, it was clear it was gonna get worse before it got better. And it did. In short order we hit some beaut fog and our speed dropped from silly to sane in about 200m. We even stopped and invoked Ganesh to deal with it.
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Some say The Punisher can heal a broken R80 by the laying on of hands. Others say his hands are too damn' cold. |
"It's fucken really cold," the Punisher stated as I made him touch Ganesh. Klavdy had very generously gifted me with a long-sleeved silk undergarment which improved my core temperature considerably. And please note that all I had on was this silk garment, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a thin jumper and my jacket. All hail the good gear we get today. We paused briefly at the lookout again, then wended our way down the massif, bouncing and leaping about on the wet, broken bitumen as the day began to brighten and temperatures began to rise commensurate with our descent. Gloucester provided us with bacon and egg sandwiches and some eagle-eyed locals who wanted to speak to JAF about his very tidy Ducati. And specifically about his broken Termi pipe, that was barely holding together. The top pipe had cracked almost all the way around near where it was held on near the rear peg.
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Note the Monster. Note the massif. Scenic, no? |
From where I stood, JAF had two options that the Punisher explained to him. "Your first option is to say 'Fuck it' and carry on riding. Your second option is to get some exhaust tape, tape it up and carry on." "There is a third option," said one of the locals. "You can take it to the welder. He's down on the left past the stockyards on the way out of town." JAF assured us that he was probably gonna take option three and then head back home, rather than continue on to Sydney to visit Bly.
We said farewell and hit the road. Just outside of town I let the Punisher ride the Monster – while I got a go on one of the best-sorted Speed Triples I have ever ridden. We swapped back at the Pacific Highway, tooled sedately into Hexham, crossed the bridge, crossed ourselves and in the name of the Road Gods absolutely raped the freeway. Hey, sometimes you just know it's gonna be alright. And it was. Hail motorcycles and mid-winter, mid-week runs.
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The Ducati Monster. The Power of Ganesh compels it. |
