MY PINK RIBBON RIDE
22 October 2006
Kogarah to Sublime Point

It had been one of those days with plenty of grey clouds lingering and the weather forecast did not look too inviting to ride. It rained when I left. It was early in the morning and as it turned out, I was the third bike to arrive at the St George Leagues Club’s car park that morning.

“ Hi Taina!”

Trish arrived very shortly after me. It was very nice to have someone call out to me.
It made my day. In the end I met a whole lot of people I had met along the way. Nothing like back in the old country or the old days of thunder, but a taste.
Trish ended up having a bit of a hard time that day, but she coped very well with fate’s interferences. Most swords are doubly-edged.

When I parked my bike I wanted to ensure that I wouldn’t be the last to leave, but that turned out to be unavoidable in the end, no matter where I’d parked. One of the officials walked up to me and moved me on, as I had parked in ‘competition row. ’Hey, I am a first timer. How was I to know…. I just wanted to make sure that I didn’t get parked in.

The enormous carpark filled up fairly quickly. Some amazingly decorated bikes, scooters and trikes made their entrance as time passed.


The registration process took a little while. It was amazing to see tough looking been- there-done-that kind of blokes filling out forms and fastening their bright pink ribbons to their road-wise black leathers.

At first they sent me to the wrong table, but then I met the lady who rang me on Friday night to let me know that I was enlisted, which, since once again I’d let it slide until the day before it was due to arrive, I had to register via express mail. It worked!

When I got my envelope I was glad to feel my badge in it. I think the badge was the most important thing for me, because I used to collect badges until my tailor-made jacket and the rest of my gear was stolen back in the mid 80s in Surfer’s Paradise. I even owned a badge from the Isle of Man TT races. I had visited and had watched Mike-the-bike Hailwood doing his last winning round. Those were the days…and to think that he had to perish in a silly car crash a short time after that…uncanny! Is there a price for glory?

Well, I may have got my badge, but there was no ribbon in my envelope. Everyone else had a ribbon, except for me it seemed. I went to see one of the officials and was promptly presented with one. Yeah! How little it takes…





I went back down to have another look at the ‘best dressed’ row and they were simply magnificent!. There was a trike with a trailer featuring a sculpture and on the trike itself there was a top-box on which the owner brought their pet cockatoo along in a cage. It had been sprayed pink with a little coloured hair spray. Some people truly went out there… I felt greatly underdressed, even though I had made the effort on the blouse, the jacket, the jewellery and I had bought the pink cap, which looks very good when covering up the hat hair I get under the helmet.



Bronny was there too. Her hair was perfect, as usual (I had to ask her wether she’d been driving there) and she looked real cute in the pink purposely bought size 22 T-shirt she wore over the top of her jacket. What was even more amazing was her bringing her parents along into the car-park. They looked as if they were quite happy to check out the spectacular. I wish mine had been there too.

One of the main reasons why we had to ride to Sublime Point was to receive the second set of the Trivia Quiz. The third lot was then posted back at the club, once we got back from the ride. One of our guys won the first prize. Good effort!

But back to the start… which was amazing. Once the announcement was made: “Mount your bikes and start your engines. Ride safely to Sublime Point!
There was this almighty roar and air of expectation. Slowly the car park emptied, whilst Trish’s SV was happy just basking in the sun. It did not start up. We pushed a big, tall guy on the bike to jump-start it, but after a few attempts I was getting exhausted. One of the riders from another club called out “Buy a Harley!” I gave him the finger and we both had a laugh.

So we finally got to start up as Trish jumped on the back of the big fella’s bike. The road was busy and we mingled with Sunday traffic, which was busier than I had expected. Had we stayed with the main group, our experience would have been different. Traffic just stops for a large group like that. Some people were still waving along the side of the road. I thought that was a nice touch. Dotted along the road were some lost pink ribbons. Every now and then we also discovered evidence that a pink boa was shedding its feathers

Once we got to Sublime Point we parked, checked out the view and got the rest of the questions. Strange to think that so many bikies hung out just a spit distance from my house. We used to stand on our front verandah waving a red towel to visually mark the location of our house, as our German visitors looked down from Sublime Point. It was here when Trish told us about her gloves which she’d left behind and as the weather had turned a little cooler than expected, her hands were freezing. So, she thought of the one and only thing to do, shove them under his bum… later in our group post she said that she kept them warm under his T-shirt. It must have been a very long T-shirt and he must have been sitting on it…

However, when it came to introducing the fella, she did not know his name, which was promptly pointed out as a rediculous oversight by all bystanders. Trish, the least you should do before you get that intimate with someone: know the guys name!

It was quite cool that day down south. I even had to put my jacket lining back in. Once in the shire the sun was out and the weather was simply beautiful.

The return route was a little unsynchronised. Some went back via Bulli and the coast, others were happy to take on the Nasho. I decided I’d only do the first half of it and made a quick dash back to the Club. I was hungry and since it had started to sprinkle, the Park was a little too slippery for my liking.


Back at the St George Leagues Club I reserved a table, which happened to be right next to Karleen, a fellow HSC marker, who arrived at the Itinerant pilot meeting on a Triumph last year. At that time we got talking and kept in contact for some time. She brought her husband and her 6 year old along, who rides a 96 ZX6R. I’d noticed them earlier, but never thought it was relevant. Karleen will be marking the Drama-paper as well, so we’ll have lots to talk about and rides to organise. I can’t wait.


When I got home I gave the chain lube a workout and since it was a new bottle I wasn’t quite sure of the pressure and when I pressed to check it sprayed all over my bike’s black vinyl seat. What to do? I got some Methol out and started rubbing it, which, as it dried off, revealed that I had made a bigger mess of the seat. It had actually bleached it slightly. Then I found the degreaser and wiping it over with that worked beautifully. It even worked on the rim, which had also been speckled with some of the grease. I am greatful that I didn’t make it worse. After I packed up the bike and covered it up, I put away the degreaser and read the label. Spray and rinse off. Rinse off?! Oops!

The pictures I took are fabulous. Check them out!



























I can't wait until next year!

http://www.speedfreakinc.com/content/articles/riding/roadrashqueen.html

follow this link to see and read about gravel rash

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PARRAMATTA RETURN

Guess what!? I finally got myself some maps and ever since then I have been drooooooling over those black and red lines. NRMA has a good map of ‘Sydney and suburbs’ and using it I was able to find the road I had discovered on a ‘I guess THAT way is east’-trip trying to find my way home (avoiding tollways).

So, why Parramatta you ask, well, this trip to Parramatta had to be done because (when passing through in early September) I had purchased a visor that just did not fit my helmet. I was sooo looking forward to try my new tinted visor, but unfortunately I had to go all the way back to the shop to make it happen. And by the way, after all, I was in the market for a new pair of boots as well, so I worked out the ‘fun-nest’ way to get from the Gong to Parramatta. First along the coast, the beaches, the bends, the Sea Cliff Bridge, up Bald Hill and through the Nasho.

At Stanwell Tops this guy on a BMW pulled out in front and after a slow-ish start he was going along at a pace to match mine. A few groups zoomed south at speed and one of their pillions gave the sign: slow down. Well, that’s how both of us interpreted it. It could have also been some kind of peculiar bird impersonation. After a while of cruising along the curvy bits we saw a totally smashed up blue bike leaning against the embankment on the other side of the road. I expected to see commotion and an ambulance on the way out of that corner, but there was nothing. There weren’t even skid marks on the road. It was surreal. If this was supposed to scare people into going slower, it worked for me. Momentarily.

So, no sign of anything else and the next straight looked like a perfect opportunity to take off. I overtook the BMW and just around the very next corner sat the disco gang, lights ablaze, scribbling out a ticket. Speeding, I expect. All the way down to the end of the park I gave riders the finger lights and I felt terrible for it. There is no nastier way to spoil their early morning enjoyment, than to plant those hunters and collectors right in the back of their heads. Especially when the speed limit changes quite frequently: 60/70/80. Ahh well, it’s too bad. At the end of the road the BMW rider pulled up next to me. It never dawned on me that he may have been an off duty motorcycle cop, but as I think of it now, I remember his tights and the boots were just like the real thing and when I mentioned how typical it was that I took off and there they were… he said something like: ”There’ll be more.”

Off we went our different ways. I rode across the Woronora bridge and turned right at Alfords Point Road/Illawarra Road to turn off after crossing that dramatically sweeping Georges River bridge. On most occasions I’ve seen the early morning sun glinting, fog rising from its reflective glassy surface, undisturbed, peaceful, an ideal landing strip for any old duck, but today there was an army of pleasure crafts, beached, bobbing anchored, or slowly cutting through the serenity with razor-sharp bows. Kids swimming their parents unloading gear, declaring this bit of sandy beach their own. The river appeared busier than Parramatta Road in peak hour. I am amazed how many people own boats these days.

I am amazed how many people own bikes, big bikes, new bikes and what never ceases to amaze me is that there are so many riders that are my age and beyond.
There was hardly any traffic along those sweeping bends following the river. At first I went on Henry Lawson Drive through the Georges River National Park with its lagoons and parkland picnic spots, Sandy Point, then Milperra, past Bankstown Aerodrome to Lansdowne, then onto Woodville Road and from there all the way up to Church Street, Parramatta. It is just such a great alternative to the myriad of red lights and trucks travelling on Davies, Stacy and Rockwood. Admittedly there is a 60 km/h speed limit and a camera along the way around the first 5 km of Henry Lawson Drive, but that just keeps you on your toes.

I bought myself a pair of brand spanking new, waterproof black leather boots and exchanged my visor. It was a bit hassle-some. I recognised the guy, but he obviously did not go there. When I told him that I needed to exchange it because it did not fit, he was most surprised. I guess I must have told him the wrong size when I walked in there originally. This time I had the helmet with me. He gave me a hard time for not producing my receipt, which I had thrown in the rubbish by mid September, thinking ‘surely they don’t need a receipt to exchange a wrong visor’. There was a moment, were it all seemed to hang in the balance, holding my breath whilst they made the crucial decision… to exchange or not to exchange THAT was the question.

OK! Breathe out, relax. He fitted the tinted visor for me and it looked great. It was just like wearing sunnies without the pressure on the bridge. Great!

My new boots are stunning too and I even got myself a 5% discount for mentioning ANON and GRO. Or was it because I asked for it? Aargh, too generous, mate!

AND on my way out I remembered that ‘Motorcycling Atlas, 100 rides in Australia’. I’ve certainly made my maps a priority these holidays…

I went home the same way, but took it perhaps a little too easy. If the disco gang had spotted me, they would have surely insisted to breath test me, for going slow through the Nasho.

That’s all folks!

SOFALA

This ride was advertised on the GRO internet site. Sofala:

Leaving Penrith Maccas and heading out Castlereagh Road to Richmond
Up Bells Line to Lithgow
Break at Maccas Lithgow
Take the Mudgee turnoff after Lithgow ( Castlereagh Highway )
Turn left at Ilford and follow to Sofala

Return will be via Bathurst

On a double demerit point weekend? Well, it should not matter, should it?! No, it didn’t. There seemed to be no police out there. I guess they must have all been at the Footy Final.



We met at Penrith Panther’s Maccas and16 bikes turned up for the long ride to Sofala. Amongst us was someone on their P’s and a Learner, who must have had a most terrifying time on a fairly bumpy road to Lithgow. Apparently her skinny tyres made it very difficult for her and she and her dad went home from there.

We had a quick stopover at Lithgow. Just enough to get a tank full of petrol and for those that smoke… well, let’s not go there.

Taking off towards Mudgee and along the bumpy country road to Sofala. Some cars made way, some others made an effort to keep us on our toes. I noticed Tegan, who I had met on the Wiseman’s run. Our photo was up on the group’s site for a while and this time she was a pillion on her boyfriend’s bike. He was very skilled, but I couldn’t help asking her if it was much the same for her.
” I would have had a hard time trying to keep up on my 250 today…”, she answered politely.

Ben, in his second year riding, joined us for the first time on his Yamaha 1000. He kept up very well. Came across a little strong at first, but he was warming up quickly, once he met Sandy, our Ride Captain.

Poor Trish met with yet another snake on the bitumen. “This one,” she said, “ did not pop”. Wondering what that meant, we listened to Trudy’s description: “It was hilarious. I looked back in the mirror and there was Trish, legs right up in the air, looking worried.” Trish was sure that we had all quite aggravated that snake as we were all riding past, but by the time it was her turn, the slithery snake was quite done with hissing and decided to go for it…” From now on we will call SV-Mama the ‘Snake Charmer’.



I rode well, but had a scary moment at a bumpy section of the road, which made me hold on hell for leather, affected my breathing and got me quite fatigued by the time I made it into Sofala. After all, I rode for another hour and at least a half longer than most of the others by the time I got to the meeting point. That should account for my level of exhaustion. Let’s see how they will do when it is time to get down to the Kangaroo Valley. But hey, it’s not a competition. For a while around Bathurst way, I rode with Alison. She owns a 600cc bike as well and I enjoyed her style. She too has simular aged children at home. Apparently she has done a Stay Upright course at Oran Park and enjoyed the content. “It was very helpful and makes you more aware of certain habbits.”

I think I’ll have a go at that course fairly soon. There is also another one at Wakehurst Park Way, a Superbike course, that apparently does wonders for bike control.
Well, I’ll keep you posted.

Later on we exchanged e-mail addresses and I hope that we will meet some sunny Sunday. Unfortunately she lives all the way west in Parramatta. Perhaps she’ll fancy a ride down the coast one day?!



At Sofala I marked the corner, so the next person would not miss it. It took quite some time for that next person to get there and I was wondering whether they all thought that it took me That long to catch up. Naaah…



The pub, The Royal, was our first port of call. I had a small shandy, which was very refreshing and loosened the tongue a little. Mark I had briefly met at the Berrima run, sat outside with a couple of other riders and I took the opportunity to introduce myself. Little did I know that he was suffering from deafness. So I ended up asking him questions he could not quite hear. We were talking about the fatigue factor and he was saying that by sitting quite upright as he does, you get very little pressure on the arms and back. With my bike the seating position is leant forward and I automatically put the weight on the handlebar. I guess that’s a habbit to get out of, but then, I’ll have to strengthen my stomach and back muscles…and that won’t happen in a hurry…



Located right next door is a great little take away shop and most of us got what we needed. A group of riders (horsy ones) arrived on a pub-crawl. There were at least 6 horses in that group and it seemed as if they all had had a good run. They were a little spooked by the bikes parked by the paddock entrance, but all went well and their riders had a little rest with a cold beer in the shade of the hotel’s balcony.




Most of the buildings are quite derelict and there must not be a great deal of money coming in, as the township struggles to keep viable. Some of the buildings look as if they are about to collapse, especially those opposite the pub. Some have been beautifully restored, including the post office, which is now the lolly shop. How could I pass up some freshly made Rockyroad???


I’d stayed at that pub once before. The brass bed is also original and so was its mattress, which forced me to almost sit up when sleeping on it. The walls are quite strangely angled, the floorboards warped and it made me wonder how long the place is going to be held up by its coat of paint? Out the back of the pub I met Bird,




the eldest inhabitant of the town. A cockatoo, which is so old, that he is missing most of his feathers. A true survivor!




Heading back we stopped over at Hartley. Tegan’s uncle runs a Teahouse there and we truly enjoyed that stopover with our scones and cappuccinos. As we were riding there, I noticed one of the girls ahead of me was wearing a T-shirt under her leather jacket, which fluttered in the wind, exposing her lower back area to the elements. The sun was getting to it and whilst she would not have noticed it that much in the wind, it was slowly getting red. She could have done with some sunscreen! I don’t quite remember her name, but she rode very well. She was a Postie in a previous life…plenty of practise!


The highway did not seem too busy whilst sitting on that veranda, enjoying the view and the mild spring afternoon. I guess a lot of the punters were getting ready to watch the big game on telly. Grand Final Day.

Four of us took off and we ended up with just the three of us. No idea what happened to the fourth lady, but she did not overtake as frequently as we did, so she must have been stuck in traffic. Down the hill things got a little congested with a milk truck taking it VERY slowly around the bends. I guess it’s so there would be no need crying over spilt milk!

The good thing was that we were able to do some creative lane splitting, mostly on the left side, which was a nice break. Trudy on her Harley led Trish and I all the way. Trish and I separated at the Great Northern Road’s Bringelly turn off. After that I was on my own again all the way via Campbelltown, Appin Road, petrol time (even the servo attendant, who barked at me via the PA system about a month ago for not taking the helmet off, was chatty and friendly!), Bulli Pass, back home.
In Trish's words: 470km, feeling a little saddlesore, but a smile on my face...

And what did the rest of the family get up to? They enjoyed a day at Avoca Beach. Ahhh well. Can’t have it all. Can we?

When I left for my ride, Mark suggested insistently to pack the rain gear, which meant taking it off the hanger, folding it and squeezing it into the tiny bum bag and then make space in my tank bag too. There was not a cloud in the sky all day. It was just the comfort of knowing it was there and of cause: to lean on…