travellingbennetts

The 2018 Compass Expeditions reunion had been in our “must do” list since mid-2017, even though this time Compass decided to host the annual event at a location absolutely nowhere near anything – Merimbula in southern NSW. Key features of Merimbula are; cheap oysters, oysters that don’t cost very much, and intertidal salt water bivalve molluscs of low pecuniary value.
Merimbula is about 1,500km from Brisbane as the crow rides, so we decided that a highway only option was most suitable to get us there in the least time. For the first time ever on a major trip no Garmin Basecamp route planning was attempted, the Pelican Motor Inn was put into Google Maps and with the “avoid Gold Coast during the Commonwealth Games at any cost” box ticked, the fastest option was out to Goondiwindi and onto the Newell Highway.
On Wednesday 11th April 2018 at 0926hrs we headed off via Warwick where luncheon was taken at the Coffee Club, through Goondiwindi, and onto the unplanned overnight stop at Moree. Facebook had revealed that two Gomad (Grey Nomad) friends had passed through Goondiwindi two hours before us and had set up camp in Narrabri. So we bravely pushed on into the late afternoon, clenching and unclenching the glutes in descending order of maximus, medius, and minimus to restore seating comfort for the last 100km.

Some rare skilled navigation saw us at the camp ground for a cup of tea and a happy catch-up with John and Denise, before heading back into town to find suitable lodgings. Narrabri has numerous motels and as it was a Wednesday night, we were somewhat surprised that all displayed the dreaded No Vacancy sign. As always the fall-back is pubs, and there were two on offer. Choosing the wrong one because it is called the Tourist Hotel and we were travellers, our error was rammed home by the room being tiny, very hot, having no ensuite facilities, and a window that refused to stay open and let in the cooling breezes from the Namoi River. Deciding that they who live by the pub accommodation will probably die by the pub accommodation, but not motivated enough to try to extract ourselves, we headed off to an Indian buffet restaurant for dinner. Butter chickened, we took a final fortifying ale followed by another final fortifying ale because it was offered as a freebie promotion, we headed reluctantly to bed.
The window propped open with a drawer seemed to solve the ventilation issues, but also allowed swarms of mozzies from the Narrabri Creek to join the idling warm jet stream from the Namoi River. Until midnight, a Circle of Hell circuit of hiding under the covers then deciding that heat exhaustion was worse than a few mozzie bites, then throwing off the covers until deciding that heat exhaustion was better after many mozzie bites was undertaken. Memories of sleeping in a freezing gale in Sudan on a mangy dog’s blanket because the air mattress wouldn’t stay up rolled through the mind, mainly because it had been way better than the Tourist Hotel in Narrabri. Exhaustion and liberal doses of Aerogard solved most of the problems, and eventually the long-awaited sun appeared.
Day 2 was a push onto somewhere with quality lodgings, it didn’t really matter where, but the distance constraints put it at somewhere after Dubbo. Canberra was too far, especially as the route now included some sight-seeing through the spectacular Warrumbungle National Park. How this place had escaped our notice in previous tour planning is down to simple gross ignorance, it seemed more like a landscape in southern Utah than NSW. Pleased that the trip now wasn’t just a commute, we celebrated in Dubbo with lunch before charging south to Yeoval. The day’s destination became a topic of conversation on the intercom, with Orange winning out even though it is a dead end when heading to Canberra. Quality accommodation was located in central Orange, no need to open windows with the air conditioning, and large floor space was available to strew soiled riding wear with gay abandon. A boutique brewery dinner, and the post-traumatic Narrabri pub disorder was forgotten.

The Day 3 or Friday – as it was known to the rest of the world – destination was Canberra, with the morning tea stop at Cowra. The break-out of Japanese prisoners of war on 5 August 1944 is a well-known event, however we had never really got across the details of the lead-up or what had occurred. The site has been well preserved and has a lot of information on sign boards and a narrative booming from a speaker on a replica guard tower.

The summary, without committing anyone to not delve into Google, was that the camp had been set up as fairly low security for Italian POW’s who were unlikely to cause much grief. The design of the camp was like a ‘quattro gusto’ pizza, with a big wide central straight no-man’s land separating the two main halves and a smaller track across the centre dividing the circle into quarters. By 1944, the camp was way beyond chokkas, and the Japanese were dishonoured by being captured so were very problematic. The break-out occurred after the Japanese were told they would be transferred out to Hay in western NSW, which admittedly is enough to make anyone go nuts. So, 1,100 Japanese prisoners broke out bearing makeshift weapons, with hundreds dead by machine gun fire, their own people, or suicide. Four guards were killed. Obviously, a Japanese person wandering about in central NSW in 1944 was about as un-noticeable as a school of piranha in your briefs, so within 10 days all had been rounded up.

Pushing on, we wanted to get to McDonalds at Yass for lunch, for the noble purpose of getting a MYass photo, but missed the exit so had to back track and settle for a nice café lunch instead. By early afternoon, we had reached the destination city of Canberra. The GPS sort of got confused coming in and it seemed as though I’d changed the ‘Detour to Quirky Towns with Antique Shops’ setting to “Mandatory”, but we eventually reached the accommodation. A stroll up City Hill in a city that could not be less space efficient, and it was time for a trip to the BentSpoke Brewing Company. We’d assumed they sold motorcycle spokes which was the reason for the visit, unfortunately it was just a spectacular craft beer bar. We accidentally got mixed up in a queue, so before we knew it several excellent IPA’s and wines had been purchased.

Day 4 aka Saturday commenced with a meeting at the front of the Australian War Memorial. Our good mate Bruce from the 2015 Tasmanian Off-Road Skills and ride-out, the 2016 Compass Reunion, and a 2017 dinner turned up with his wife Barb, who he had spoken about so often and so lovingly that she had long ago crossed into the realm of imaginary wife. We were pleasantly surprised and relieved to find that Barb not only existed in actual human form but matched the hopeful perceptions of being a fabulous person developed from listening to Bruce’s stories. Layering up, we headed south into the cold southern regions, with Cooma the planned coffee stop and a convenient location to stock up on more clothing to prevent early onset hypothermia.

Planning matched achievement at Cooma with coffee and a long sleeve tee-shirt procurement so we comfortably rolled onto the 2018 Reunion in Pambula in the slightly warmer coastal region. It was a relief to finally park our mid-capacity adventure motorcycles amongst lots of other mid and large capacity adventure motorcycles, a bit like a Labrador being dropped off at the kennels and seeing a Golden Retriever and a Spaniel in the pens on either side. Old and new people/friends were the theme of the Reunion luncheon, before a proper connection on some dirt roads west of Pambula and a final blast up the highway to our home for the next week; Merimbula’s Pelican Motor Inn.
Dinner that night at the Merimbula Lakeview Hotel included the photo competition entries and a presentation by legend BMW GS Trophy rider Amy Harburg. Having collected my fabulous prizes for being the monthly Compass best photo winner for March against the very stiff competition of myself, we listened to Amy’s frankly disturbing talk on the GS Trophy and carting 250kg 1200GS’ about like they were carry-on luggage before getting into the reunion proper, i.e drinking. A trend was set for the week on this first night, with a new restaurant every night and the conversations starting off loud and smoothly progressing to shouting and bellowing interspersed with hysterical guffawing as the drinks flowed and truthy stories were told. The trend included every other patron beside the profoundly deaf scoffing their seafood platters and leaving hurriedly by 7:30pm.

Days 5 to 10 followed a standard routine; up at 6:30-ish, to breakfast at 7:15 assuming that the advertised 7:30 start was a loose guideline, dirt people geared up and ready to go for Compass Ride Leader Craig Jackson by precisely 08:45:00. The road riders (Team Latte) were seemingly too hipsterised to commit to precise and therefore uncool schedules set by Compass co-founder and Ride Leader Jerry Cook, but usually got away at about 9. Merimbula is on the wrong side of the highway so there was always a bit of a bitumen commute to kick off, but the compensation was lots of dirt roads and morning teas in scenic country. Weather was close to perfect most days for Queensland riders, no profuse sweating and the hand-warmers even got a good run to confirm that they still worked.

The dirt riding was probably most challenging on the afternoon of Day 6 or Monday as it is known to adherents to the Gregorian calendar, after a pleasant lunch in the remote Victorian seaside town of Mallacoota. The first part of the route was very smooth and hard but with a fine layer of granite dust, consistent but probably one of the easiest surfaces to do power slides and least easy to brake on imaginable. Once out of that it was some rough riding up a single vehicle track to just over the border back into NSW, where Amy Harburg acting as Ride Leader decided to re-group. We waited, and waited, and loitered, and waited, but no more riders joined us. Eventually we got word that a rider had come off on the smooth part and managed to bust herself up enough to require a trip to the outpatients in Eden, so Amy rode back to collect corner markers while we democratically forced some experienced riders to take on Ride Leader and Tail End Charlie roles and lead us out of the wilderness.

Day 7 highlight was the Big Mountain Jack Road through Burragate and the oddly named villages of New Buildings (obviously gazetted in the 1940’s if the actual age of the buildings was an indicator) and Rocky Hall which follows the Towamba River before winding tortuously up the side of the range to Cathcart. The scenery was spectacular, although as I was following Leader Craig as next in line for corner marking, only glimpses could be taken of the rocky river valley and steep terrain to avoid a full body and head tactile experience. Cindy and I repeated the journey in reverse the next day it was so good.

Lunches were usually taken in a convenient town, with Nimmitabel, Cooma, Mallacoota (twice), and Delegate all sampled. Cindy and I had taken a half day off for administrative duties (i.e. coffee) due to over a week’s riding by Day 8, so decided to meet the dirt riders for lunch in Delegate, the closest town to the Black – Allan Line which is the straight part of the NSW and Victorian border that runs from Cape Howe to the nearest source of the Murray River. The lunch time was approximately 1pm, so we arrived at 12:30pm just in case the group was early. Which they weren’t, a slight navigational snafu had led the group up roads described as marbles mixed with bull-dust, according to one rider traumatised by the thought of having to wash his riding suit both inside and out.

Day 9 was more riding around on some great dirt roads, this time further north with the plan to end up at Mimosa Rocks National Park at Bunga Head, which looks like a geologist’s nightmare of highly faulted and folded sedimentary rocks with lots of extrusions and intrusions. That meant only those wearing motorcycle adventure boots could pass, while a hardened black soil known as “coffee rock” lured hipsters and café racer riders to their deaths, or just onto sharp rocks in their trendy shoes, but either way it was something unpleasant for them.

The final Compass ride-out day was Day 10, which had been built up from early on as the most technically challenging of the event. We headed south and went off into the bush somewhere before Imlay Road, a glorious high-speed sweeper servicing the logging areas. The ride went flawlessly along the fast logging area dirt roads, apart from the total scattering of ride members randomly across southern NSW. Those up the front who had committed to being blasted by Craig’s dust ended up hanging about the morning tea stop, wondering where on earth everyone else was, because they were holding up the support vehicle with the biscuits and that was simply not on. Eventually the support vehicle arrived, but it was very late, so we showed our displeasure by only eating four biscuits each and having a cup of tea. Those lost had pushed onto Mallacoota via the main roads, while we took a shortcut over some rough dirt roads and arrived well before them with a self-satisfied air.
A lunch of abalone with noodles at the Mallacoota restaurant, a refuel, and we were off up the challenging track which was out past the airport. I followed Peter with partner Michele on the back as pillion on their F800GS, on a road that was a seriously disturbing and twisting blend of rim destroying pot-holes and loose sand, witnessing a master class in riding skill as they challenged me to keep up. A few moments of judicious throttle application kept The Precious out of the sand, so I made it through to the end and blasted up the highway back to Merimbula. We arrived back just in time for the post-Reunion drinks and final BBQ dinner at the Pelican, where there were no other patrons to scare off with our shouting.

The Reunion finished off with a presentation by a very modest Compass paramedic Sarah Taylor who had the most amazing story to tell about single-handedly conquering the Simpson Desert, with rain and mud more of a common theme during the training runs in Victoria’s Big Desert and in the lead-up to the crossing than blistering heat and bottomless sand. Having accepted that we were unlikely to ever break out of the “moments of adequacy but generally sub-par” riding capability category, we finished up our remnant reds and snuck off to bed to dream of crashing on every one of 1,136 sand dunes.

Up early as usual the next morning for Day 11, we said our good-byes to new friends and old, and plugged Sydney into the GPS. Luckily the fastest route was via Canberra, the thoughts of riding the nightmare of the Cronulla route through the ‘burbs were cauterised by the hot iron of Garmin. A McLunch in Goulburn, it was as though we could have been riding Harleys the route was so unchallenging. At least until we hit the M5, when not losing Cindy and trying to figure out exactly which lane the fat magenta line sitting over the spaghetti of thin blue roads represented became the challenge of the moment. After one slight deviation, we were on the bridge and waving wildly to my sister Liz and brother-in-law Mathew in their apartment in Milson’s Point.

With work beckoning, there was no opportunity to sponge for weeks from family even though we could tell they wanted us to but were too shy to mention it. So, Day 12 was yet another early start, with Mathew providing a fabulous option via Bobbin Head in the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park. The narrow, winding, and steep road complete with hilariously suicidal Mamils was fabulous on a crisp Sunday morning, before the long haul up the Pacific Highway and the turn off onto The Bucketts Way and into Gloucester for lunch. After a sandwich, the famous Thunderbolt’s Way was tackled, which has signs before each corner telling motorcyclists it is a miracle they have got this far, and they are almost certain to die on this next one. From the Manning River the road gets very rough, with the budget to fix it apparently more wisely spent on motorcyclist terrorising signage.

At Nowendoc, the GPS decided that we couldn’t ride on bitumen all the way home, so it put us on the Brackendale Road, a glorious 50km gravel road which allowed speeds over 100kmh, until two wallabies signalled that I shouldn’t exceed about 60kmh. Into Walcha, then the “how far can we get?” challenge. Armidale had been the plan, but Glen Innes looked a possibility until a storm passed over, making it impossible to stop until Tenterfield, welcomed into the warm bosom of the Peter Allen Motel and the Commercial Boutique Pub for dinner. Day 13 was mainly a wardrobe challenge; Tenterfield was cold, Warwick was warm, Cunninghams Gap was cold, and the eastern side of the main range was definitely warm. So, one last stop to disrobe, and official completion of the 5,025km journey at 12:19pm.
Thanks to Mick, Jerry, Craig, and the rest of the crew and whoever did the actual organising and had the idea for having the event on the Sapphire Coast. Once again, a fabulous adventure for us with bikes performing well and riders staying on. It was a continuation of very pleasurable experiences with Compass Expeditions with lots of great people, everything was easy except for some of the riding, and even the hard bits were a lot of fun. We look forward to next year’s event which surely must be behind the Gold Coast or Sunshine Coast just to keep the successful theme running.