travellingbennetts

“Beware the Rides of March!”. So said the soothsayer to Julius Caesar in 44BC as he rode past on his BMW R minus 40 flat twin, just before he crashed badly on the floor of the Theatre of Pompey trying to pull a big mono. Well described in Shakespeare’s “What Really Happened” Act III draft, apparently Julius wasn’t the only one who crashed (et tu, Brute?). The soothsayer knew his stuff; March is a month of stinking hot, freezing cold, drenching wet, and cherry-lip-balm-applying dry in Australia, often all on the same day. But circumstances conspired to link a series of events that demanded we tackle the south-east corner of the country in this most uncertain of seasons.
Event No.1 was a brilliantly organised family holiday to Kangaroo Island in late March. We’d booked flights and were comfortable with the concept of sharing a van with sisters and brothers-in-law, with blood oaths taken that no winery was to be left unmolested or shellfish shell to remain filled. Event No.2 was the annual Compass Reunion, as close to an event that cannot be missed as one’s own birth, arranged marriage, or funeral. Event No.2 dates were announced later than No.1, but the timing was perfect; a week between them made a swing out to Kangaroo Island after the Reunion as natural as not remembering to put on pants before opening the front door. Flights were duly cancelled. Bikes were prepared.

Sacrifices to the God of Garmin were made, with red wine splashed liberally over well-done offerings. Some hard-core adventure riding via Google Earth was undertaken, and it all appeared beautiful. A quick thrust south through the NSW hinterland including some dirt, a couple of days with our son and family in Nowra, and a final push onto the chosen Compass Reunion venue of Jindabyne. Surely nothing could go wrong, but it was indeed the Rides of March. Firstly, the bushfires, then the flooding. Talk of moving the Compass Reunion to the Otways in Victoria, no big drama for us, and eventually a slight shortening of the ride-out due to the lack of roads open in the bush. Actually a positive for us, with more time to casually cruise through the countryside afterward on the way to Kangaroo Island.

Two days after arriving back from a Mali work trip, hopefully having avoided malaria, Dengue, Ebola, and any number of the usual west African flesh-eating horrors, we were on the road. Grafton was the first destination via the Lions Road, and we were quickly into some excitement. The five Grady’s Creek crossing alternative was chosen as usual by me while Cindy took the bitumen, but the sight of a drenched rider sitting dazed in the first creek crossing next to his bike chilled some adventure riding fervour. Just getting to him and his bike on foot was a challenge – the warm and shallow river flow over the new concrete causeway had created a surface like ice smeared with grease. The traumatised rider was reassured that his failure was a physics given and alerted that there were another four crossings. We lifted his bike and got turned around, and meekly followed the true path, i.e. the bitumen. Arrival into Grafton signalled the start of the true adventure – commencing with the motel pool.
Day 2 had been allocated enormous planning energy; tracks from the Old Glen Innes Road south to the Armidale Road were followed on Google Earth from 10 metres up; no fake roads for these riders thank you. Reality was a bit different, the Old Glen Innes Road was closed. Okay, unplan B the Glen Creek Road through Nymboida onto the Armidale Road. Sorry, the Armidale Road is closed because the bridges were burned, then washed away. An hour and a half and 60km after leaving Grafton, we arrived in Grafton. Unplan C was the East Dorrigo Road and up Waterfall Way – not a shabby detour and calm had returned by lunchtime in Dorrigo, and we were very relaxed by Tamworth so decided that was far enough. The original plan of Nundle was abandoned, a sad victim of our disinterest in riding an extra 60km.

Day 3 was the Day of Putty. The famous road west of Sydney has been written up in at least 20 motorcycle magazines since 2015, so expectations were a) it would be crawling with sports bikes, b) crawling with police, and/or c) crawling with caravans, but we were obliged to try it. After a break in Scone where we just had to order a scone and send pictures to everyone asking for guesses of where we were (well done to Bruce Macmillan of Tasmania, a prize isn’t on its way), we hit the Putty Road. The northern section had “fake road works”, i.e. no road works are happening as the road is perfectly fine, but for some reason – likely recent fire damage – speed is restricted to 60kmh. It was totally devoid of traffic. After about 80km we reached the Grey Gum International Café, presumably named on the basis of having only foreign customers travelling to or from Queensland; the Phillip Island crowd were on their way north.

The southern half of the Putty Road was more open and therefore faster, and pretty quickly we were air-kissing the western suburbs of Sydney; nothing really satisfying but no exposure to traffic sores. The best part was a cruise through Rooty Hill – the suburb with the highest rating on the immature giggles per mention index in Australia. Then south into Wollongong via the M1 OMG I’m going to die if that truck/car changes lanes descent, and in mounting moisture we arrived into our son Tim’s place in Nowra. Never in day-off-the-bikes history have we got it so right; Day 4 was relentless rain. Nothing to do but cruise the supermarket and marvel at the COVID-19 (The ‘Rona) panic buying frenzy which had stripped the dunny paper shelves bare, and cruise the motorcycle shop where I was looking for a new pair of motorcycling gloves to replace my be-holed set. Cindy somehow ended up with new gloves while I got nothing – retail shopping is a mysterious and dark world.

Day 5 started with some off-road family adventures west of Nowra, our son Tim had planned some routes through the bush along the Braidwood Road, confidently leading in the horribly wet and greasy conditions as only someone on a Yamaha WR450 with knobby tyres can do when chased by huge fully-loaded adventure bikes with 50/50 tyres. A fire trial was the first and last straw – the rain had turned the yellow clay into a slippery mess – Tim’s recon up it nearly ended in disaster so play was abandoned, goodbyes said and we continued along the Braidwood Road. By the Nerriga Hotel all terrors had been pushed deep down into the repressed trauma bank – only 87% full now, and a steadying coffee had the lid back on tightly.

By Braidwood the GPS insisted we take the Cooma Road, but the lid on the repressed memories bank was discovered to be a bit loose, so we took the bitumen via Queanbeyan to a lunch at a popular Scottish family restaurant chain that shall remain nameless. The final blast to Cooma, coffee in our traditional Under the Elms café, and we punched down to Jindabyne to ride wildly around trying to find 95 unleaded and backtrack via roundabouts to the Rydges Resort, scene of the 2020 Compass Expeditions Reunion. After an unpack, it was off to the bar to greet old mates and meet other Compass ride veterans. This event attracts people from far and wide so there are about as many boring moments as toilet paper rolls in the local Woollies. A wander up the road for excellent pizza and the usual endless accompanying hilarity, and it was time for bed.

Day 6 had been a source of anticipation and worry for a few months. We’d been asked by Craig Jackson of Compass to give a presentation on our riding travels at the reunion dinner. Having first ascertained that Craig hadn’t been spotted on a Harley and rightfully sacked by Compass and was seeking some extreme vengeance, or was emailing from his new asylum cell, we’d dangerously said yes. Fortunately for the crowd, we weren’t the headline act as this is rightfully reserved for someone who’s done something way out of the ordinary. So after a very good reunion lunch and reunioning with more old friends and meeting lots of people, the normal options of a dirt ride or road ride were chosen by the gathered mob. The headline act did the dirt ride – on a Triumph Thruxton café racer mind you – demonstrating her capabilities as a rider. Heather Ellis is the embodiment of a freak adventure rider, she rode up Africa by herself in the 1990’s before the invention of instant communications and rode through countries like the DRC at a time when people could still just disappear out there. She’s written a couple of great books about the Africa ride and her return to Australia via the endless part of Asia including Russia. It was a real honour for us to be the supporting act to Heather, and it earned us a free glass of red from Compass founder Mick McDonald, probably because we knew secrets about him but had only broadly hinted at them.

Day 7 to Day 10 followed the Compass Reunion routine, riding out either with the Dirt People who took pleasure in adventure motorcycling, or with the Café Latté Parté who had motorcycles but for whom the primary pleasure was finding ridiculously expensive coffee. To spread the benefits to burned out and now saturated towns we were taken to Batemans Bay for one night, then Mallacoota in Victoria for another night before returning to wrap things up in Jindabyne.

As anyone with even the most rudimentary knowledge of geology will tell you, the Palaeozoic Era sediments with Ordovician Flysch sequences and interspersed Berridale and Bega Batholith granitoid intrusion events create an ideal environment on the Monaro Plains for adventure riding. We’re not geologists but the wide-open treeless plains with relatively straight roads and long lines of sight to spot any ADHD cows, coupled with the granite sand road surfaces allow for some great fast and fun rides. The propensity – meaning an inclination or natural tendency to attempt drifties – out there is insatiable.

Down in the very south-east of NSW and into Victoria the hilly logging country running down to the coast provides a few more challenges, but only the main roads had been re-opened after the bushfires and it was often a “ride in and see” experience. Our longest failed “ride in and see” occurred on the Cooma – Braidwood road on the way to Batemans Bay when we managed to get 35km up the dirt past Numeralla before not only was there an oft-ignored road closed sign, but actual road workers who said no for good reason. Full retreat was required, and a series of farm roads were travelled at variable pace, including getting stuck for a while behind an uncaring grader driver who already had several destroyed adventure bike carcasses tangled in his blade, to eventually reach Braidwood way behind Café Latté Parté. Most of the riding wasn’t terribly technical, and the burned-out undergrowth allowed for some great vision from the hills which made it very enjoyable.

One section on the last day inspired calls to health insurance providers, last minute updates to wills, and reciting of Scripture. Timbillica Road and following logging tracks through valley and hill country near the border was designed to cut the corner off between the Princes Highway and the fabulous Imlay Road. Craig was later to say; “I don’t remember it being that tricky while seated in the 4WD with the independent suspension, wide off-road tyres, windows up, perfect air-conditioned temperature, and awesome tunes lined up on the Playlist”. The road surface itself wasn’t that bad, a bit rutted in the low sections, but the creeks were more like very deep table drains and to prevent wash-out and possible inconvenience to stable vehicles with 4 large patches of contact with the earth, large basalt clinker the size of 6-egg cartons had been used as rough sheeting. The first one was only about 300m off the highway, I was following Craig closely, and I saw him slow then briefly disappear before popping up on the other side. As I was close, I had to stop, and this was a bit like a brief delay being called as you lie under the guillotine; relaxed is a hard state to achieve. The difficulty appeared to be that the sheeting had not been packed into smooth single rut lines but was cut with nasty ridges at all angles. Sheeting myself, is what I should do on these roads in future I thought as I rode into the maw. As always on these types of crossings, momentum is a friend as the physics of a fast moving yet quivering mass is overwhelming, and even though the totally wrong line was taken over the worst bits I popped up on the other side with physiology and reputation undamaged.

A few more of the same nature were crossed before an extremely welcome coffee stop on the intersection with Imlay Road provided an opportunity to sponge up the excess terror sweat and offer up empty muesli bar wrappers to the gods of practice and luck. Hitting the bitumen, the Imlay Road confirmed its reputation as one of the best engineered roads in Australia – the speed can be set at around 100±5kmh (plus preferably) and the relentless sweeping bends just soaked up while keeping a weather eye on the horizon for log trucks. A Nimmitabel lunch rounded off the reunion on-road luncheons, before what was some of the best dirt roads I’ve ever experienced at the top of the Monaro Plains past the Boco Rock Wind Farm and into Dalgety. One final ride past a dead wombat with a spray-painted red cross on it – presumably the work experience kid on the Council gang is told where to pick them up after they’ve had a chance to “mature” – on the Jindabyne Dam wall and we were back to Rydges Resort.

On the final reunion evening, it was off for another screamingly raucous restaurant-clearing dinner up at the Banjo Paterson Inn, with mourning that it was all over for another year. Yet again it was a great event with excellent rides and accommodation regardless of the increasingly traumatic The ‘Rona restrictions on “were recovering” local businesses out in the bush and on Compass’ business. Unless we are doing some other epic ride with Compass somewhere else it shall remain one of the most anticipated weeks in our calendar. As long as we don’t have to get up and speak again.

End of Part 1.