I t was forecast to be a 40°C day. That would have put off lesser riders but an adventurous, some

might say rash, group assembled at the BP service station in Midvale early on the Sunday

morning. I t was only 25°C which after the previous few days felt l ike you should have packed a

jumper. Craig was the Tail End Charl ie for the ride, so he turned up first. We suspect he was

hoping no-one else would show so that he could go home and drink beer.

Club Ride March 1 2th 201 2 Peter Hubach

When Geoff rode up on his metal l ic strawberry coloured

Bandit, there were blinding gleams of sunshine bouncing

around the forecourt. Geoff was sporting his new boots of

patent leather adorned with shiny red and black plastic

panels. They looked like a brace of war machines for Star

Wars Storm Troopers but on only a sl ightly smaller scale.

Convinced that he would never get them to look that

sparkly again, Geoff posed for a photograph, no flash was

required.

Geoff was also sporting his “Aqua Re-cycling” jacket. An

innovative concept in personal water management. A

small , discrete bladder is fi l led with clean water. There is a

tube that cl ips near the collar of the jacket that al lows the

contents to be sipped whilst riding. The clever part is that

the bladder is made from a one-way porous membrane

which allows body sweat to be fi ltered and to pass into the

bladder for consumption, thus completing the cycle. There

is a range of “Aqua Re-cycling” trousers available, but

these have proved less popular for some reason.

Nic was the commissar for this ride and he dictated the riot

act with an accent borrowed from an early James Bond

fi lm. Somewhere in the depths of his GTR 1 400 we

suspect he keeps a white fluffy cat. Seven brave riders

had coalesced for the trip including two visitors, Clive on an Apri l ia V4 and Steve on a 1 993

Triumph Trophy. Ivan on his BMW thing and I was on the Burgman, which is a good choice for

warm weather riding because no engine heat is directed on to the rider.

The first part of the ride was up to Brigadoon via Campersic Road. I t was already warming up

and there was a noticeable dip in temperature as we climbed the scarp to the giddy altitude of a

few hundred metres. The gravel rock and dryandra make this a strange site for luxury, get away

from it al l houses. Strange that is unti l you turn west and look out at the Swan coastal plain. I f

your block doesn’t have a view you wil l definitely not be one of the in crowd at the wife swapping

parties here.

The council must have recognised that the one entry and exit road would trap the locals

between bare rock and any raging fire sweeping up the scarp. So now there is a secret, sealed

road that connects Brigadoon with O’Brien Road. Secret, in that it’s not on any map, probably

because the locals don’t want their wife swapping parties interrupted by the hoi pol loi hooning

around on motorcycles. So that’s what we

did, plummeting into steep gorge-lets and

roaring up the other side l ike on some

manic wild mouse ride. Well , if they’re not

going to invite us to their parties. . .

O’Brien and Berry Roads were dispatched

with the attention to detai l they deserve.

The Commissar had ordered and set the

pace and obedient supplicants that we are,

we fol lowed. Was that the GTR growling

as it powered out of corners or was it the

fluffy white cat?

The first stop was Toodyay. That is we

were stopped by the Police at Toodyay.

There were two Motorcycle Policemen just

past the 50kph sign. They weren’t picking

on us though. They explained that the

Commissioner was very concerned about

the number of motorcycle riders dying in

accidents lately. Something must be done

about it! Apparently the best way to

reduce the number of motorcycle riders

dying in accidents is to check their

l icences.

These were a nice couple of Coppers, very photogenic. One posed whilst writing Ivan a ticket

for riding an ugly BMW, two demerit points and a couple of tickets to the Police ball . We

engaged them in friendly comradery and managed to glean the real reason the number of

Motorcycle Policemen was reduced a few years back. I promised I wouldn’t tel l anyone but Ivan

has given me a couple of tickets to some ball , you can have the other one and if you get me

drunk enough I might spil l the beans.

Later, a thoughtful trooper had

parked his BMW next to Ivan’s bike.

I t was a similar model, though it was

hard to tel l for reasons about to

become clear. I thought it was a

possible colour scheme for Ivan’s

bike. The camouflage effect means

that the machine can be ridden at

speed through wet sclerophyll forest

and remain completely undetectable

to the human eye. Wether it’s

completely undetectable to Police

radar is another matter. We deemed

it the wehrmacht effect.

Breakfast was had at the Cola Café.

The weather was warming up and

only Clive managed to consume a

standard English breakfast. The rest

wimped out with a bowl of chips,

Ivan, Clive and Fluffy at Breakfast

sweet chil l i sauce and sour cream. The

chil l i providing more heat, just what was

needed. Clive declared that he’d had

enough heat for the day and headed

home. So we were six. Unfortunately

that fact had not been communicated to

al l the riders.

The friendly Police had re-positioned to

Jul imar Road whilst we were feeding.

This is a known motorcycle race track,

sorry, motorcycle route. They were

probably already saving l ives by checking

l icences as we departed Toodyay for

Goomall ing. Mic, l icence checked and life

saved, decided to stick to the l imit on the

road to Goomall ing. I t was just that his

l imit was a little higher than the threshold

above which the Police cease being

friendly. I thought our cracking pace hadleft the Apri l l ia wallowing in the Burgman’s wake but anyway, Craig was the Tail End Charl ie, he

would look after Clive.

There was some car festival happening at Goomall ing and the main street was closed off. Car

drivers always complain about the heat when they get out of their air-conditioned cages and very

few appeared to have ventured to Goomall ing. Maybe they were all sitting in their air-

conditioned cars watching the other cars. Car drivers do strange things. I t was now in the high

30’s and the streets were devoid of pedestrians, situation normal for Goomall ing.

Nic stroked the fluffy white cat and pointed it north towards Wongan Hil ls. He took off l ike, well ,

l ike a scalded fluffy white cat real ly, closely fol lowed by Ivan and Geoff (looking very refreshed

after sucking on his bladder). I decided to slow down and admire the scenery. I admired it at

such a slow pace that Steve over-took me on the trusty Trophy. There was then only one pair of

headlights in my mirrors. “I must be frustrating Craig.”, I thought, but not for very long. Then

there were no headlights visible behind me. I stopped and waited. Maybe the Apri l l ia had

broken down? I waited, then I waited some more. Did I mention that it was rather warm sitting

out in the sun? I turned around and went looking for a dead Apri l l ia.

I found a small figure standing in the shade of a tree beside his bike at the side of the road. So

the Apri l l ia had disappeared and now the Yamaha had failed to proceed. I t was Craig. “Where’s

Clive?”, I asked. “Oh he went home after Toodyay.”, was the reply. Craig was waiting for a while

so that he could exercise the Yamaha by catching up. So I had foiled his plan. I turned around

again and headed north quite quickly to give Craig some distance to enjoy the Yamaha. Then I

saw Steve heading south. I gave him the thumbs up but he rode past. I stopped and waited.

Did I mention that it was rather warm sitting out in the sun? It was now in the low 40’s.

Eventual ly Steve came back and we ran away from a frustrated Craig. Not for very long, he

soon caught up. At Wongan there is no fuel despite the signs. Well , there may be fuel but the

performance required to obtain it involves going somewhere and handing over your first born to

get a special card. Then you take the card to a robot that may or may not accept it before

dispensing some golden fluid. So it’s a good thing to fuel up before getting to Wongan Hil ls on

the Lord’s Day. Pity.

We re-grouped in the sparse shade of a

she-oak copse and admired our bikes

strewn across the road. Nic observed that

the Burgman has a longer wheel base than

the GTR. Was there a glimmer of respect

fl ickering in those enigmatic eyes? No. I t is

a common belief of flat-landers that it wil l get

cooler the closer you get to the coast. Like

the legendary fuel at Wongan Hil ls, it’s an

il lusion. I t was decreed that we would re-

consider our route at leisure at New Norcia,

where we were lunching.

We turned west, towards the coast and promised coolth. To the north of the road before Calingiri

is Lake Ningan. This was once the domain of water birds and water skiers. Not now. Clearing

the surrounding country for farming has led to increased salination and the “lake” is now a dry

salt pan. This place was once a paradise, on a 40 degree day, it is now more like a hell , so we

stopped to have look. Surprisingly, there was nobody else there.

Craig, now in a wilderness of his own, having given up the presidency, wandered out on to the

salt. Geoff was unwil l ing to sul ly his boots with salt, so he remained in the shelter attempting to

convince Nic of the supremacy of the Bandit over the GTR. “But where would you put cat?”, Nic

asked.The friendl iness of the locals could be gauged

by the number of bul let holes in the

conservation information sign in the shelter. Not

wishing to become targets for provincial pel lets

we departed westwards to Calingiri and the

promised coolth. The Burgman was tel l ing me

that the fuel level was low. I told the others that

I would be admiring the scenery on this next bit

to conserve fuel.

So Craig was forced to ride below the limit,

behind the Burgman unti l Calingiri , where there

was no fuel available either. The other riders

were all awaiting our arrival and took off up the

road before we could join them. Except Steve

on the Trophy who remained in the shade and

Craig rode over for a chat. I fol lowed the leaders,

al l be it more slowly because the Burgman was

saying that it had already told me the fuel level was

low now it was really low and I had better do

something about it. The left turn to New Norcia is

just up the road, in sight of the town centre, where

Craig and Steve were chatting. As I turned I looked

back at them and thought about waiting at the

corner. I rational ised that I didn’t real ly have

enough fuel to wait around, they had seen the

others turn, it was sign posted and Craig was the Tail End Charl ie who did the pre-run. What

could possibly go wrong?

For the next 30 kilometres I once again enjoyed the scenery. I did notice that Steve hadn’t over-

taken me and that there were no headlights visible behind. I thought about going back to look

for them but the increasingly urgent nagging about the lack of fuel took precedence. At New

Norcia I fi l led the tank and discovered that the pessimistic petrol gauge had reserved a litre and

Nic giving his ideas on the Trophy

a half of fuel, so I would have had

enough to double back.

Nic was not happy. He was sure

something had gone bad. “Why do

people ride old bike?”, he mused. “They

should be destroyed at 50,000 km. We

should go back and burn it, teach

lesson.” Ivan volunteered to wiz back,

probably because he was concerned

what Nic might do to a dead Trophy and

“old bike” rider. “I f Steve’s lucky,” I

thought, “he’s fal len off. ”.

Within a twinkle of a BMW roundel, Ivan

was back with Steve and Craig. There

was no bad. Apparently, Steve had shot

off on his “old bike” and missed the turn

off. Craig suspiciously stated that it took

a surprisingly long time to catch him.

We celebrated the re-unification of the group with beer and food at the hotel which is the old

guest house for the monastery. This fine, georgian revival meets corrugated iron building faces

east, so the front veranda is always in shade for a late lunch. What with the black and white

marble floor, colonnade with pot plants and dying rose garden view, we could have been in

Spain. The car-travell ing famil ies with complaining kids were huddled inside to escape the

increasing heat or the bad-arsed bikies who had taken over the hacienda.

The warm conditions must have affected the fluid in Geoff’s jacket bladder. I t had probably

started to ferment. Sipping his increasingly alcoholic body fluids as he rode had a calming

influence. Geoff got so relaxed that, at the lunch table, he initiated the de-coupling procedure for

the collection of panels that made up his boots. They un-latched, separated and peeled apart

l ike a robotic dance of the seven veils revealing no naughty nubile nymph, merely Geoff’s socks.

Maybe that is why there was nobody else on the veranda?

The Commissar decreed that Lancelin was off. I t was too far north and as everyone knows, it

gets hotter further north. We would ride west to Mogumber and beyond in search of coastal

coolth. All those real estate adverts could not be wrong! As we rose to leave Geoff hunched

over a pot plant and emptied his bladder. I t was his jacket bladder but the horrified looks from

the famil ies peering through the window showed that they couldn’t see that. The plant wil l

probably die from alcoholic poisoning.

The gently undulating road from New Norcia to Mogumber passes from light Jarrah woodland to

Banksia sand plain. I t also passed from the high 30’s to the low 40’s Centigrade. The obvious

strategy to deal with increasing air temperature for motorcyclists is to increase speed, (officer).

Mindful of a close encounter a few weeks before on this road, we kept a look out for any licence

checks from the boys in blue. Strangely, we managed to have no accidents without a single

check.

Somewhere, near the latitude of Gingin, we stopped for a group chat, standing out in the ful l sun

l ike a pack of mad dogs or Englishmen. We debated the current air temperature. The BMW said

42°, the Burgman said 43.5° and the Kawasaki said 39°. Nic declared it to be 39°, end of

conversation. Obviously it must have been cooler than the last time we discussed air

temperature because we were now nearer to the coast.

Whilst we were chatting, the bike seats had warmed up nicely in the sun. We were stewing in

our own juices for the run to Old Yanchep Road. Geoff was probably glad that he hadn’t also

invested in the Aqua Re-cycling trousers at this stage. Our last stop was near Pinjar Road to fi l l

out the score sheet and ensure that everyone knew how to get home. The benefits of mesh

jackets compared to leather in the harsh Austral ian cl imate now became obvious. Those attired

with mesh remained nonchalant to the sun’s fury. Nic, in leather looked as if had been watching

too much Bear Gryl ls and had hollowed out a cow and climbed inside to avoid the heat.

My thanks go to everyone involved with this ride. To Nic and Craig for scoping it out and to

committing to the ride on a day forecast for 40°C plus. Lesser mortals would have cancelled. I

hope to see Clive and Steve at more rides and club meetings. (We probably won’t burn the

Trophy if it breaks down.) I thank Geoff for turning up in his new boots and lasting the distance.

Ivan, you always take the photographs and therefore rarely appear in them. There was no

escape this time! Your labours with the magazine and the web site are appreciated, unless you

don’t print this article that is. I f participant’s memories of events differ from mine, please

remember that the day was hot, which may have affected our recollections. Those riders are

welcome to contribute their own versions of reality by writing pieces for the magazine

themselves.