The BMW Clubs Australia “Nationals” is an annual gathering of the BMW faithful, with the cars alternating years with bikes. Fortunately, and completely at odds with pro-rata wheel numbers, we get one every two years. The Gold Coast did it spectacularly well in June 2022 at Kooralbyn, and according with tradition the next rally location was volunteered at the dinner by the BMW Owner’s Club of South Australia (BMWOCSA). In the Barossa Valley. I remember a groan going up – everyone thinking Death Valley in California and Snag Valley in the Yukon which hold the highest and lowest North America temperatures. No-one wants a rally in a valley. The Googlin’ started – hold on, the Barossa Valley isn’t a blasted Mad Max wasteland like most of South Australia – in fact there might be a few of the world’s premium vineyards within walking/stumbling range. That’s different. We’re going. In fact, as Cindy is the President of the BMWMCC Queensland we have to, regardless of whether wines are produced there or not.
The usual planning started with Garmin Basecamp; result was first night Moree, second night a new place for us in Lake Cargelligo, third night Swan Hill, fourth night Berri, and then into the Valley at Nuriootpa. Surely some dirt in that mix, but the ugly weather app showed the good ones were or would soon be closed. Pure highway required. New tyres needed. Nuh, re-think it, so how about flying into Adelaide, Melbourne, or Sydney and hiring? Given that this fabulous idea materialised over Easter less than a week out from the planned leaving date, hopes weren’t high – Melbourne’s bikesroundoz had a big BMW ride to service, Adelaide hasn’t heard of motorcycles let alone hiring, but maybe Sydney? Two Harleys available. Cindy will call you, don’t call Cindy. Then tried EagleRider in Melbourne. We’ve hired from them previously so a discount applied, and yes they had Motorcycle, BMW, Type GS, quantity 2. Miracles happen. As always a fair bit of seat height review occurred for Cindy, but the 1200GS seat height looked within stretched leg tolerances, so we were a go.
Off we went with the usual ridiculous amount of check-in baggage, to learn that everyone else on Jetstar don’t check anything in to avoid the eye-watering baggage fees, but rather carry on their “I swear it weighs less than 7kg but no-one is checking anyway” steamer trunks which take 3 big men to lift into the overhead lockers. Our tiny bags needed to go under our seats, but luckily the kind attendant had reserved a locker for normal people’s carry-on so it wasn’t as bad as Jetstar are reputed to be.
The next morning we headed out to Eaglerider Melbourne to pick up the bikes. The depot is actually in Carrum Downs, which is nowhere near Melbourne, with the staff in the Uber office high-fiving each other when I confirmed the Uber X to go down there. Arriving at the opening time of 9am, we noticed it wasn’t open. Cindy made a call and they said there had been a medical emergency involving the chap who was supposed to open up, and we’d have to wait. The miracle of the day then occurred – a coffee van lady driving past saw us standing there and sensed our needs.
Shortly afterward the replacement chap arrived and let us in, with the steeds lined up and ready to go. A small problem – the seat height on the 1200GS was okay but it was like straddling a La-Z-Boy recliner – Cindy’s legs were fully splayed and could have only touched the ground about 2.5m from the bike.
Uh-oh. There were only two bikes though, so try the F850GSA. Amazingly much better even with the 21” front wheel, the seat on this was about 1” wide so contact with the ground was possible. The swap was made, baggage was packed, and we were off. Fortunately both bikes had Quad Locks so navigation was taken care of, which was important in finding our way the 1000km back to Melbourne and heading west.
The chosen route was down to Geelong and then west through Lismore and Mortlake, with the rain we were supposed to have cleverly avoided starting around Cressy and just getting worse the further west we went. The plan for the night was Penola, but this hotbed of Coonawarra Cab Savs was completely devoid of accommodation, 4 hotels and van parks were called without success. Saint Mary MacKillop may have been in town. Never mind, Naracoorte would do. By Casterton we were seriously questioning this decision. Sena discussion followed this theme: If we see something even half decent in Casterton, we’ll call the place we’ve booked in Naracoorte and pretend we have a breakdown/death/hostage situation to get out of the booking. But Casterton provided no livable hotel options. So lying was completely unnecessary, we knuckled down and pushed on over the border, through the Coonawarra which seemed emptier than expected, and into Naracoorte.
The accommodation in Naracoorte was nowhere near the centre of town, and the rain was relentless. Even better, the fancy motel restaurant wasn’t open on Mondays. Someone had to volunteer to do a supermarket run, and Cindy volunteered me. No worries, inside the Gore-Tex was still completely dry, so off to the Woolies for salad and a bachelor’s handbag (BBQ’d chook). The only undercover area was the deserted “Click and Collect”, no worries it looks closed, I’ll park on the ramp out of the rain. Into the shopping centre, casually stroll about the shops, and back out to pack everything into the top-box. The “Click and Collect” zone was chokkas with waiting cars, and it was immediately obvious that a parked F850GSA – Cindy’s bike in case you’d forgotten – was blocking the “Collect” part of “Click and Collect”. The Woolies lady trying to get the loaded trolley past the bike to an angry client’s car asked that next time I not park on the ramp. I said I’d let Cindy know about the F850GSA parking rules, packed up and rode back to the motel.
While heading north in the bitter cold of a Naracoorte April morning, Cindy mentioned that she still couldn’t find how to turn on the heated grips on her F850GSA Triple Black. I said that I was sure modern BMW heated grips were activated via the wonder wheel. As my bike was a 2016 1200GS, it had the button in the usual place. Can’t find anything on the controls says Cindy. Well it is a Triple Black BMW for heaven’s sake, and I am sure every BMW motorcycle since the R75 on the cold nights on the eastern front in 1943 have had heated grips, it must be there somewhere. Turns out it wasn’t, Googlin’ said so and a blank filler was in the place where the finger-saving toggle should have been. On a Triple Black no less. I was OK though.
Onto the Dukes Highway at Bordertown, a mini pastie snack at Keith near the Andy Caldecott memorial, and into Murray Bridge for lunch. Swarms of BMWs were noted revolving around the town centre, so we parked next to a couple and went into a café because the riders in there recognised us as common. I assumed common to the BMW creed rather than just common. A very pleasant lunch was had with BMW Motorcycle Club of Victoria members Mel and Sheryl, and then off we all went to the rally destination of Nuriootpa. We chose to go via the WW1 names route of Cambrai and Sedan, with its creek name signs proclaiming changes such as Marne River (formerly Rhine River South), and then very confusingly North Rhine River (formerly Somme River). A very nice bit of road from Sedan into Angaston and we arrived at Rally HQ – the Nuriootpa Big 4 Caravan Park.
First thing was to register and say hello to faces both new and familiar, with a very warm welcome from BMWOCSA President Bailey Gifford and the hard-working organisers. A bottle of wine for each delegate set the scene; we were in one of the world’s great wine producing places, and no-one was going to be able to forget it. The afternoon was a wander about Nuriootpa to get the lay of the land and try to sort out which The Vines businesses were likely to be The Vines we wanted or not. There are a lot of Vines, those that sell Wines were the target, The Vines retirement home not. That evening it was off to the Vine Inn, mission accomplished on the wine, and meeting up with a few more BMWish souls.
Up at the crack of dawn + 2 hours on Rally Day 1, we dressed and prepped for the first event – the Valley orientation ride. A fair crowd followed Gerald riding his gorgeous R1100S around through endless vineyards as we took in the local landscapes and nearby towns. A stop at a very nice view near Vine Vale, show a bit more naming imagination people, no wonder everyone gets lost, and we ended up at Seppeltsfield. Gerald lost control of the group at that point as it was close enough to lunchtime to get away with it, and he returned to Nuriootpa with his followers reduced from about 25 to none.
Back to the Nuri (we’d been in town long enough now to use the familiar shortening) it was a trip to a servo to fix Cindy’s flattening tyre issues – 26 PSI in the front and 32 in the back made cornering interesting. We broke the auto inflator at servo No.1 and managed to reduce the front to 13 PSI, which is the opposite of what we were trying to achieve. An exciting trip for Cindy to servo No.2 with me continually suggesting that any tiny deviation from slow and straight would tear the tyre off the rim exactly as happened on the Space Shuttle Challenger’s final flight in 1986, I was riding so was totally relying on my faultless memory for that conclusion. Tyres back to normal pressures, we returned to the Nuri Big 4 and prepared for a winery tasting. Penfolds is only just out of the centre of town so was the obvious choice, and naturally filled with like-minded BMW riders, these our fellow members from the BMWOC Gold Coast (yes like many we are cross-pollinated), who fielded a large contingent.
That evening was a pizza gathering, with the Rally entering full swing and heaps of delegates trying to talk to heaps of other delegates all at the same time. I entered into a conversation with BMWOCSA’s Simon Turvey who was leading the dirt ride on Rally Day 2. Simon seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him, not that it stopped me droning on to him with dirt riding experiences, which would come back to haunt me the next night.
Up in the morning we scarfed down an egg and bacon burger cooked by the tireless President Bailey and hardworking BMWOCSA members, then collectively collected all the bikes together for a group photo.
Somehow disentangling the mess, we gathered for our respective dirt or tar rides, but the meeting points became a bit of a Venn Diagram resulting in several accidentally joining the wrong team. Off east we went, getting into some stuff that was rocky and rough, before leader Simon’s bike decided to have problems and we stopped for a bit to let him check it out and swap it with someone else’s so the ride could continue. Some of the people in the wrong team, including the BMWMCQ’s Tony Malone who had calmly followed the leader up the ugly bits on his “perfect for the smooth tar” R1250RT, decided that they may be in the wrong team so took the opportunity to head back and find the right team.
The roads were generally a joy to ride, some sections a bit rough but others allowing speeds that would be naughty on tar. The only iffy bit was a connection road just out across Goyder’s Line which marks the end of cropping as we know it and heads into that familiar SA saltbush country. Simon stopped for a quick briefing – watch out for wombat holes. Wombat holes? Do wombats live out here or is it a euphemism for freshly dug graves? We are in the South Australian Murder Belt after all. Turned out wombats do live there, and in fact one had dug a nasty 2 ft diameter deep pit in the middle of the sandy track, fortunately not in the line of sensible riding so avoided by all.
A stop for an excellent description of South Australia’s German settler history at Steinfeld (previously known as Stonefield, and before that Steinfeld, Stonefield, and Steinfeld) and we headed back to the Nuzza. Getting a bit too familiar now.
Cindy had visited the local high school where they make wine as part of the curriculum, they used to train racehorses but having kids in both alcohol and gambling training programs was a bit much for the SA authorities, the horses had to go.
Having not had any wine yet and it was nearing lunchtime, we were under pressure to turn the day around. Gerald had strenuously recommended a winery in the very nearby town of Greenock; Kalleske. Cindy was up for heavy tasting, so a touch of pillioning was required. Into the very pretty winery with autumn leaves adding to the scene, we soon had a ploughman’s platter on the go plus a couple of tasting paddles. We couldn’t commit to carrying any wines so decided to get a case of their superb product posted – it almost beat us back to Brisbane.
As per tradition (I’ve done two Rallys now so anything that was done at both must surely be tradition) the Rally proper concluded with a dinner. And the BMWOCSA did this in style with two excellent guest speakers, and the Vine Inn – what else would it be called – full menu available. We will always treasure Bob Leggatt, the President of the BMW Motorcycle Club – Victoria, not just because his club branch provided the most members at the Rally, but because he ordered his dinner on the way through the bar and encouraged us to do likewise. Huge queues avoided, excellent dinner was eaten and the guest speakers came on. No.1 was Simon Turvey, BMWOCSA committee member. At that moment I suddenly remembered how I knew Simon Turvey – I’d read the amazing story of his BMW Trophy experience in Mongolia in 2018. Simon joined Shane Guttridge and Michael Haley on Australia’s first team foray into the event and came a very creditable 10th against some highly experienced competition. At that moment I also started wondering what utter drivel I’d spoken to him the previous night. Never mind, Simon is an incredibly humble and nice bloke, a true champion of technical riding, and hopefully hard of hearing.
No.2 speaker was Drew Radford, ex-Director of the ABC in South Australia. Sounds boring, surely a Glenelg latte sipper of the first water. Nuh, he is totally insane and a motorcycling travel hero, starting from when he was in London as a youngster, deciding to buy a bike with as little due diligence as is possible to do, and riding home. To Adelaide. He started doing radio programs from the road to combine his love of motorcycle travel with broadcasting, resulting in carrying about 3 tonnes of electrical equipment. A fascinating bloke and we need to get a copy of his book; Not all ringers and cowboys.
And finally the President’s photo, all BMW motorcycle club Presidents were there except for Western Australia’s. This is the time when a representative of another club, hopefully having informed the committee back home first and not gone completely Colonel Kurtz, volunteers to host the next Nationals. Steven Treloar, President of the BMW Touring Club of NSW boldly stood up and announced that 2026 would be held somewhere picturesque in our next-door state neighbour’s yard. Bring it on. The night was capped off by winning a door prize, I can’t win the raffle at events where there are like 10 people but can at an event with 140 people. I hate probability.
Up early on Barossa bailout day to stuff various red beverage containers into the already straining luggage, we decided to break the back of the ride to Melbourne by putting in a big one. But not at the expense of another bacon and egg breakfast burger. Sensational.
Farewells randomly distributed to those present but especially to Bailey and the BMWOCSA committee and volunteers for leading us through 3 days of fantastic fun, it was navigationally the shortest/fastest route back to Murray Bridge. A word on South Australian navigation here – they aren’t terribly fussed about helping people get to their destination, and those expecting a “Metropolisville 47km” sign when exiting a small town will be disappointed when visiting the state.
Onto Dukes Highway again until it became the Western Highway over the border, we inevitably got tangled up with returning Victorian delegates, with the local knowledge helpful for coffee and luncheon venues. The highway was getting tedious by Kaniva, so we speared off south toward Goroke, named by the frog who I think was 2IC in Major Mitchell’s 1836 exploration expedition, and into the Victorian’s Simpson Desert training ground of the Little Desert. One glimpse up a road heading into that s#!t-show and sand riding becomes far less attractive than the rose-tinted imagination allows.
Past the incredible Jane Duff memorial, how 3 little kids survived without food and water for 9 days out there is just amazing, into Horsham, and back into the highway slog to Ararat to call it a day. The final experiences were a breakfast in Beaufort, a coffee in Daylesford, and a nice fried chicken luncheon with some digit licking at an unnamed restaurant just around the corner from Eaglerider. Un-packed, re-packed, and Uber Technology Inc’s share price was ratcheted up a bit when the results from our journey to Tullamarine were posted.
A great event and great fun getting there, hanging about various wineries, and getting back, especially for those with heated grips.
travellingbennetts 