At Glen Innes, Tackler and I pulled off the road to look at the Australian Standing stones. A modern tribute to the Celtic past of the various settlers who were sent or perhaps, latterly, chose to come to Australia. These crudely and obviously machine carved granite obelisks do not appear to have quite the same feel as their counterparts at Stonehenge (the original one, not the one a few km south of Glen Innes), but apparently they are scientifically aligned to do whatever stone circles do during the winter and summer solstices. So that's nice. wrote:

They are pretty special in the mist at dawn with a lone piper wandering among them on the Celtic festival weekend each year.

I know what you mean though, I've visited some of the 'real' stones on the Orkneys, you can't compare.

And the Scots settlers did name everything they could too.  I've been lucky to find a locality called "Strathaird", it's the name of the ship my parents migrated on in '57/'58.  I was born very shortly after.

Whay the bike is known as "Jaffa" - 

Al

taken during the 2017 Northern Tablelands ride after some syphoning of fuel .

I wonder who ran out ….I was at a time there doing the big right hand lean

amazing how far 500 ml will get a k ...eh ?

two mug lairs dancing on stones ...gotta love the Krew

Is that water in Ed's bottle?

I knew I was going to be disappointed not to be able to make this year's Northern Ride.  

Now you cruel buggers are making me jealous and rubbing it in with the great reports and comments.  

Oh well, if I couldn't enjoy it first hand, enjoying it second hand is the next best thing. Glad you had a great time, guys.


Maybe I can get some of the fellowship I missed out on during next year's Snowy/Southern ride. It'll be Fri 15, Sat 16 Sun 17 March 2019. That's the only weekend possible between my daughter and her family visiting from France and the state election on 23 March, where I expect to run a polling place as usual. I'll put a post up soon.

Paul, better book your ticket. 

Bill

indian036 wrote:... next year's Snowy/Southern ride. It'll be Fri 15, Sat 16 Sun 17 March 2019.
Paul, better book your ticket. 

Bill

Don't tempt me Bill....but thanks for the early warning. 

Sadly, I don't think I will be able to make that run (in 2019) - I know that I have a work meeting in the good old US of A currently scheduled for the first week of March and March is always a busy, staff report writing time of the year, which buys up an inordinate amount of time. Never say never though

Glad you could enjoy some of this years Northern Tableland Ride through the various post-ride posts.

Paulo - you noted all those Scottish names in the area. What amused me was that they are all off a Welsh road... Gwydir is a castle in North Wales (just south of Conwy) and I know from experience that standing in front of a roaring blaze in the man-high fireplace is the one place you want to be after a 200-mile snow-filled ride.

Get writing!!!!

Dai wrote:Paulo - you noted all those Scottish names in the area. What amused me was that they are all off a Welsh road... Gwydir is a castle in North Wales (just south of Conwy) and I know from experience that standing in front of a roaring blaze in the man-high fireplace is the one place you want to be after a 200-mile snow-filled ride.

Get writing!!!!

On the old A5 there in 1978 water ran off the walls in icicles like wax on a candle. Amazingly cold place.

Dai wrote:Paulo - you noted all those Scottish names in the area. What amused me was that they are all off a Welsh road... Gwydir is a castle in North Wales (just south of Conwy) and I know from experience that standing in front of a roaring blaze in the man-high fireplace is the one place you want to be after a 200-mile snow-filled ride.

Get writing!!!!

Yes, the irony was not lost on me - Scottish names, off a Welsh road (I hadn't twigged that connection - but with hindsight, it sounds obviously Welsh) in an area called New England...one thing for sure it is 100% Australian now and all the better for it.

Get writing? Haven't you had enough? Part 2 should be coming this weekend...It takes me as long to write about my adventures as it does to live them.  I must never go away for more than a week or must learn to be more economical with my blurb.

Part 2
Sunday 11 November 2016: Guyra to Old Bar via the Thunderbolt Way (Bike 218 miles)


I had already  discussed ride plans with Gaz and Stan the previous evening. Stan was going to go straight back home so that he didn't tempt fate with another episode of a fuel issue. I was going to follow Gaz, Rickmeister and Ed down the Thunderbolt Way (another Aussie classic riding road) as far as Gloucester. Tom and Jacko were also headed that way but were going on ahead of us.  After Gloucester, I would then peel off towards Taree and thence on to Old Bar. It's good to have a plan. I was mindful it was also Remembrance Sunday so was hopeful of finding somewhere to stop at 11:00.

Having tidied up our camp, loaded the bikes and thanked our hosts Smithy & Kay for their amazing hospitality, the assembled masses gradually drifted away in their various directions of home. Klompy, Charlie and Smithy set of in the ute for a fun filled day of fixing (successfully) Klompys bike down at Nana Glen. My little group bade farewell and pulled away.

Ed on Smurfette, with Gertie patiently awaiting Charlies return

Why doesn't my drive at home look as good as this?


Running the Roo gauntlet...they're out there somewhere...watching, waiting, scheming (unless it's milking time?)

I thought it was supposed to upside down down here - everything seems to be at an angle instead...


Our first stop was at the servo about 20km away on the New England Highway. The servo seem to be running quite low on fuel - perhaps the weekend's influx of the Krew had taken them by surprise?
Re-fueled, we blasted on down the New England Highway, through Armidale and, turning right in Uralla started on down the fabled Thunderbolt Way. 
Let the legs do the walking...

We had actually caught up with Tom and Jacko at Uralla and rode with them for a short while.
The other Salisbury Plain...just south of Uralla on the Thunderbolt Way. A few less tanks on this one - the UK version in Wiltshire is an Army live firing range.

 A konspiracy: He's still following us..." said Rickmeister about you know who. "I'll go left, Gaz - you go straight on and Ed - you go right. He can't follow us all and if he follows me (hee hee) I'll soon out run him"


In actual fact, in Walcha, Rickmeister did veer off, but only for fuel while Gaz, Ed and I made a short detour to pay a visit to the "Makers in Metal" emporium - a fascinating place filled with all kinds of weird and wonderful creations built by the self proclaimed "Antipodean Tynker". See Eds post for pics of some of those creations - a V16 motorcycle makes for a very long wheelbase and a lot of spark plugs to change!

As it happened, we were still stopped in Walcha at 11:00, so on that 11th hour, of the 11th day of the 11th month (and 11 hours ahead of UK time) I silently remembered those lost in conflicts around the world, especially thinking of those that served in iron coffins (submarines) and of one of my nephews, killed in action in Afghanistan 6 years ago (24 Oct 12) when serving with 40 Commando, Royal Marines. RIP David. Incidentally, the blue poppy was in remembrance of the crew of the Argentinian submarine ARA San Juan lost at sea with all 44 hands on 15 Nov 17. Its crushed wreckage was subsequently found a year later, on 17 Nov 18, lying on the sea bed at a depth of 2600 feet. 

While we were stopped, Warren C was seen to ride past and continue on his way (if it wasn't here, it was Gloucester - so many people, so many places and a few less functioning brain cells each day - I blame the whiskey!). Just goes to show that whilst it is a job and and a half to try and herd us cats when you want to, without trying, we somehow seem to be naturally drawn together! 

After our short, but interesting,stop over in Walcha, we once again on the Thunderbolt Way and turning gasoline into noise and motion as we made swift progress across the plateau (at an altitude of 3500-4000 feet) towards the Nowendoc National Park. This stretch of the Thunderbolt Way was typified by long, open straights and fast gentle bends, surrounded on all sides by lush green pasture as far as the eye could see. As a bonus, we enjoyed clear, blue skies overhead and the antipodean sun beating down upon us. Traffic was almost non existent save a few sporadic vehicles and the occasional small group of bikers, living the dream, headed north east.

We eventually came upon a view point to the right of the road, Carsons Pioneer Lookout, and pulled over for the benefit of this tourist. In the middle of nowhere, several cars and trailers were clustered at this place, with a few dodgy deals going down and a moped and other goods changing hands. 
Rickmeister and Gaz at Carsons Pioneer Lookout

Ed at Carsons Pioneer Lookout

The view was nice enough though, but we didn't stay long enough to find out anything about Carson himself - too busy taking in the view to read the blurb on the nearby info boards! As we were there, Tom and Jacko rode past without evens much as a nod of recognition! They had been in front of us at Uralla, we hadn't knowingly overtaken them, so how they had ended up someway behind us is something of a mystery, but it supported the earlier theory that we are all drawn together somehow.

The downside of a place like this though, is it gathers traffic and at least half of that traffic, dodgy deals complete is going to be headed down the hill in our direction. We set off, with Rickmeister in the lead, followed by me and then Ed and Gaz. I could see from my GPS that we were going to descend a series of twisting turns so wanted to be close behind the pace man for change. I set myself the mental and physical challenge of trying to keep up with the speed-meister and capture the event as a historical record on my trusty Garmin action camera! Unfortunately, as I discovered later, while we had stopped I changed the camera battery and in trying to wiped a bug off the lens with my finger, had inadvertently smeared it across the lens. The consequential slightly blurred camera footage on the run down to Gloucester could be interpreted as a bugs eye view (well bugs eyes, body and backside!). We soon caught up with a black ute, which Rickmeister dispatched with ease on a short straight. It took me a few more bends to find another safe passing section and I once again set off in hot pursuit of the pace man. With nothing in my mirrors and a clear road ahead, I rode hard in an effort to catch up. The frequent tight bends and at times potholed, patched and re-patched road surface made for a thrilling ride and I was amazed, as we approached Bretti, to finally see Rickmeister up ahead of me.  In truth, I suspected that he had eased off the gas but as soon as I was in his mirrors, he was off again like a scalded cat! 

Continuing down the hill, our clear road was soon impeded by a car stuck behind a ute pulling a caravan and a long stretch of double whites down the centre of the road. However, my impatience was short lived as the ute politely pulled over as soon as there was space to do so and let us pass. I gave him a grateful wave and a thumbs up as I accelerated past. Isn't it pleasant when you encounter good mannered and courteous drivers like that? 

It took a few more bends to also leave the car receding in our mirrors as we careered down the hill. I say hill, but in reality, from Carsons Pioneer Lookout to Barrington we dropped about 2700 feet in altitude, so more of a mountain really. We now had a clear run almost as far a Barrington, but from here on in to Gloucester we would have to suffer a slug of slower moving traffic. Ah well, can't really complain, it was a mostly clear run all the way from Smithy's. I felt good about being able to keep up with Rickmeister - until he spoilt it by saying he was feeling off his game that morning (possibly something to do with being kept up late 2 nights in a row)! Well, if the only way I can compete is by exhausting the opposition, then I reckon any tactic is a fair tactic.
Hang on...is that a bike slowing up the traffic...yes! We had caught Tom and Jacko again!

Actually, Tom and Jacko were not the cause of the delay, but were just caught up in the middle of the same little bit of traffic as us. Despite the increased traffic, it wasn't long before we rolled into a carpark in the centre of Gloucester and parked up for a much needed spot of lunch. We made our way around to a biker friendly little joint on Church Street, Roadies Cafe, where we took advantage of a shaded table outside on the pavement along with Gaz, Ed, Rickmeister, Tom and Jacko. I was soon tucking into a hearty, spicy, mexican burger and fries, washed down with a creamy mango and banana smoothie as we sat, chatted and watched the world go by. Perfect! It turned out that Postman Pat was also dining at the same place (he had opted for the air conditioned indoors - maybe there were less flies inside?)

After an unhurried lunch, I bid farewell to the krew as they continued on their return leg back to the Hunter Valley. A quick stop for fuel later and I was soon riding along the Bucketts Way towards Taree. When I first arrived, I had driven this section of road, but due to being a little tight for time had cut short my planned route and hit the Pacific Highway at Nabiac instead. This time, I stuck to the route and turned left at Krambach and continued on the Bucketts Way all the way into Taree. What a great bike road and so much nicer to be riding than being confined inside a tin box. I swept smoothly around the countless twists and turns thoroughly enjoying my final 1.5 hour ride at the end of a truly memorable weekend on the Northern Tableland ride. For some reason or other, my Garmin did not record that section of my ride, I don't recall why not now, but probably was down to lack of battery power. Odd though, as I would have changed the battery before leaving Gloucester - maybe I stupidly put a flat battery in instead of a fully charged one or maybe, I just didn't press "record"? Who knows, whatever the cause, I didn't record that leg, which is a shame. After an enjoyable ride, at about 17:30, throughly satisfied and with Jaffa gruffly purring like a contented tiger as she carried me over the patchwork, bumpy, side roads I rolled up onto the long driveway to be greeted by a smiling Stan at the far end. I was glad to see that he had made it back safely and without any further issue. When I heard his accounts of his roadwork induced delays on the Oxley Highway, I was glad that I had chosen the longer way home.

It was good to peel off my boots and wash away the dirt and sweat of the weekend in a hot, steaming shower. Jayne prepared another sumptuous feast and patiently listened while Stan and I bored her with the tales of our recent adventure. Stan had very kindly bought a selection of Aussie ales for me to try during my visit, so it was only polite that I tried another couple of them. Amazingly "Fosters" and "Castlemaine XXXX" did not appear within that tasty selection. We discussed plans for the next day. Stan was keen to order some new fuel hose from his local supplier and suggested a ute tour of the locality and maybe a fish and chip lunch on the beach at Forster or he was happy for me to take Jaffa out for another day by myself, maybe to explore the Lakes Way just to the south of Old Bar. He wouldn't be riding as he was keen to get his fuel issue sorted first. It was a tough call, so I decided to sleep on it.

Monday 12 November 2018: A solo day out from Old Bar - The Lakes Way to Hawkes Nest (Bike 198 miles)

I was awake reasonably early after another excellent nights sleep. I had decided that, having come all that way to ride, I would regret it if I didn't maximise my opportunity to get out there and feel the breeze in my thinning hair again. I pawed over the electronic maps and created myself a slightly disjointed, but basically circular route, down to Hawkes Nest and uploaded it to my GPS. I felt a little selfish and ungrateful when I broke the news to Stan over breakfast, but gentleman that he is, he understood my rationale. I did say that I would be back by tea time and we agreed that he, Jayne and I would go out for supper where I would be picking up the tab as a very small thank you.

It was another absolutely beautiful day and a perfect day for a ride and definitely the right decision. As I was very much staying in the coastal belt, I expected things to be a few degrees warmer than I had experienced up on the high ground of the Northern Tablelands. However, the forecast was only predicting a very pleasant 26 Deg C, so I wasn't expecting to melt during my day excursion. Nevertheless, I filled my camelback with ice cold water from the fridge to ensure that I wouldn't get dehydrated. I was definitely glad that I had invested in a mesh jacket. As Stan departed in the ute to get his fuel spares, I set off on my own adventure down that bumpy, patchwork of tarmac towards the main road. As I juddered down that road, I marvelled at the sheer skill of the road menders and how they had skilfully managed to join up so many repaired potholes without losing the individual identity of a single one.

I rode a few km southbound on the Pacific Highway and then exited left onto Route 6, the Lakes Way. Initially, this road was through the low lying urban seaside sprawl to Tuncurry. It was very much stop start riding in the busy Monday morning traffic and quite slow going. This was more like riding through towns back home in the UK (on a nice day) and I was already missing the wide open, clear, fast roads of the tablelands! A sharp left turn took me up onto the bridge over the Coolongolook River and into the larger town of Forster. As bridges go, the bridge was nothing special but, oh boy, the gorgeous turquoise waters of the river set against the blinding white of the sandy beaches on either side. Absolutely stunning. Sadly, the camera mounted under Jaffa's headlight was too low to be able to "see" the spectacular view that I could see from my slightly higher height of eye. Pity, sometimes a helmet mounted camera is a better option. Still, if you want to see it - there is one really obvious way to do so - go there!

Forster was a bustling little seaside town and I was soon bogged down in traffic and jostling its way slowly along the urban streets. My heart started to sink as I thought that I would be stuck with this traffic (especially the caravans) all the way south down the Lakes Way. Blooming tourists! However, imagine my surprise when, on reaching the southern edge of the town, I realised that all the traffic had miraculously disappeared elsewhere and I was faced with an empty road ahead. Usually, that means I've take a wrong turn and it is only a matter of time until I catch up with the traffic again, but it was no so in this case. As I entered the Booti Booti National Park, the road was mine! On my route, I had added a few small doglegs off the Lakes Way and the first of these was just south of Forster. I have found, that when visiting new places, there are often the little gems off the beaten track which are so easily bypassed without a thought. I turned right towards Green Point, a small residential area sitting on the shore of Wallis Lake and followed the road to the end. I was rewarded by a picture of serenity and calm with small boats moored in the shallows, pelicans cruising on the smooth lake surface and views across the water to the west, to Coomba Bay and beyond. Undisturbed, I took in the view, basked in the tranquility and, in that hot morning sunshine, felt at peace with the world. Bah! enough of that - time to go and tear up some more tarmac!!


After a precautionary visit to the convenient rest rooms (they don't call them conveniences for nothing) and a long, cool drink of water from my camelback (another good pre-adventure buy), I was back on the road and rejoined the Lakes Way. The road remained clear and I headed south and on down that narrow strip of land between the Pacific Ocean and Wallis Lake- but denied a view of either by the trees, dense bushes and vegetation on either side of the road.
 
On reaching another residential area, again, instead of sticking to the Lakes Way, I veered off to the left to follow the coast road as it looped the long way around via Elizabeth Beach, Boomerang Beach and Bluey's Beach. How can you not be tempted? I stopped briefly at Elizabeths beach, but the small car park was very full and the beach busy so after carefully turning the bike road on the soft, silky sand amidst the parked cars, I grabbed a quick photo and was on my way again.
This is what "busy" looks like on a Monday morning in November!



I rejoined the Lakes Way stuck behind a caravan and other traffic that had been held at some road works, but my delay was short lived as within 1km or so, I was turning right to ride the west bank of Wallis Lake up to Coomba Bay and Coomba Park. I had no particular reason to go there, but the road had looked inviting as it snaked along the bank of the lake though places like "Whoota". Besides, who wouldn't want to go to a place called Whoota? You never know your luck! It was a pleasant detour and offered some nice views across the lake to where I had recently been, but I had no interest in stopping for anything more than a photo or two and was soon retracing my path back to the main road until a small dirt track off to the left beckoned...



Despite the peace and quiet of the lake-side scene, I knew there was something I was missing - a boat! A lake without a boat of some sort confines you to the shore as an impotent spectator unable to enjoy it to its max. I thought about a swim, but then I thought about what creatures may be lurking in those forbidding waters and thought better of it.
I was soon back on the Lake Way as the road hugged the contours of first Smiths Lake and then Myall Lake, twisting and turning, rising and falling as the geography of the land demanded but at K bike speeds. I missed my turn to Seal Rocks, I had failed to recharge my bluetooth headset after the NTL and, the battery having gone flat, it was no longer feeding riding instructions to me. That wasn't a great problem (the silence was quite nice) and a quick glance down at the GPS screen would soon tell me where to go. Unless I didn't look down at the right time! I was having too much fun and didn't realise until sometime after the missed turning and was reluctant to turn back. With hindsight, I should have, I think I missed an important stop off at Seal Rocks, but I'll just have to come back another time to go there. Traffic remained light to non-exisitant and on a particularly twist section, the car I was tailing (without being menacing!) politely pulled over and let me and Jaffa stretch our legs a little more. We were munching up the kms, rolling left and right, accelerating and (occasionally) braking and having an absolute blast. Eventually, the Lakes Way came to an end as we emerged back onto the Pacific Highway. Highways were not the order of the day though, so after a short section I exited at Bulahdela and once more headed down the roads less travelled. I wasn't, however, expecting the tarmac to turn into a dirt road, but it was dry and relatively smooth, so I cracked on at a moderate speed (no prizes for skidding off on the loose surface), avoiding the odd, deep, pot hole and holding my breath as I passed through a dust cloud thrown up by an oncoming ute. 

I also hadn't expected to come to a ferry crossing! When hastily planning a route on the computer, as I did first thing that morning, and without any local knowledge whatsoever, there are often surprises encountered along the way and things don't always appear as they seemed on the map. It's all part of the rich experience of getting out there and exploring. In the middle of nowhere, several km up this meandering dirt track, not only did I come to a ferry crossing, but Bombah Point was full of kids on some outward bound course - staying, I presumed at the Myall Shores Holiday Park. I envied those preparing to go off in canoes across the calm depths of the Two Mile Lake and I felt a little sympathy for the others loaded up with large rucksacks and heading into the humidity and heat of the bush.

Conveniently rather than though planning, it just happened to be lunchtime (13:00) when I arrived at Bombah Point and even more conveniently, there was a cafe/restaurant right there. I parked Jaffa, peeled off my jacket and went to inspect the menu. The Myall Shores Cafe was pretty much deserted, but it was open, so that was a good start. I hadn't been hungry, at least I hadn't noticed if I was, before I arrived, but the friendliness of the waitress and the choice on the, reasonably priced, menu soon changed that. I ordered a fried sea food platter with chunky fries and a bottle of nice, cold, ginger beer. Stan's earlier suggestion of Fish & Chips on the beach must have lodged deep in my psyche. Chatting to the waitress, I discovered that the ferry ran every half hour and with the help of a paper map of the area she provided, I was able to learn a little more about the area while I waited for my food to come. The food was every bit as good as the service (mental note - this would be a great lunch stop for a Krew ride out) and I was soon tucking into a large plate of crisp, piping hot fishy morsels as I sat outside on the verandah overlooking the deserted swimming pool and ferry crossing. I could have quite happily stopped there for the rest of the day!


The ferry crossed the short stretch of water between Two Mile Lake and White Tree Bay and provided access into the wilderness of the Mungo Brush, part of the Myall Lake National Park. Hiking trails led to the north up towards Seal Rocks, but I was going to follow the Mungo Brush road to the south and down towards Hawkes Nest. To access these areas, you can avoid the cost of the ferry altogether, but I like circular routes where ever possible and I find that you just can't beat a ferry crossing to make a ride just that little bit more special (seafaring is, after all, in my blood). Lunch was done just in time to throw my gear on and get down to the ferry, however, I had miss-timed it badly and had hit rush hour. A solitary car was in front of me and a van came on behind and parked beside me. It would have been nice to have the ferry all to myself, but supposed it was better than sharing with the refuse lorry that had gone over on the previous crossing!

No need to strap the bike down for this ferry crossing...

Who is this snappy dresser?

It only took a few minutes and $5.50AUS of my hard earned money for the ferry to haul itself over that narrow channel of water on it's wires and I was back on dry land again. Once off the ferry, with car in front and van behind, I pulled over to the side and let them both get on well ahead of me. I wasn't in a rush and wanted time and space to cruise along. Typically for this area, the thin strip of remarkably good tarmac, was bordered on both sides by dense brush and trees, hiding the views on either side. The view would have been of open ocean or expanse of lake, so I was content with the solitude of that warm strip of tarmac under the radiant hot sun, riding without a care in the world. 

There were several car parks set off to the side of the road which provided access to the beach, but I was headed for a particular place called "Dark Point" to do a little cultural education. Much of this coastal region was a historical aboriginal area so I wanted to see what it was all about. Dark Point had been an important aboriginal meeting area but it came as no surprise for me to learn that it was also the site of an aborigine massacre by the early settlers in 1830. The colonialists (not just British ones) were good at that sort of thing, the world over, although I suspect they considered it essential to their own survival at the time (which it probably was).


I parked up Jaffa in the shade and set off up the sandy path towards the beach. If I had read the information sign carefully enough, I would have realised that it was actually quite a long walk to the beach and Little Gibber Headland. But who reads everything? At the top of the path, instead of seeing the ocean, I saw an expanse of white sand dunes stretching out before me. Onward into the dunes I went, following a few windblown and partially erased footprints in the soft, silky, white sand. Dense brush behind me and interminable sand dues ahead, with just the of glimpse of off-shore islands and the Pacific Ocean beyond. In long, thick, armoured trousers, bike boots and a t-shirt, I was not particularly well dressed for a desert crossing and, stupidly, had left my camelback behind on Jaffa.


But, I'm nothing if not determined, so on I went. Finally, after trudging steadily across the shifting dunes, I was rewarded with the view of a magnificent, deserted beach with the sparkling, turquoise Pacific waves foaming a brilliant white as they exhausted themselves on that sandy shore.


I walked up the beach to Little Gibbers Headland and noted a couple of people fishing from the rocks. On the far side of the headland, a few more people were fishing having driven there along the wide, desolate, expanse of beach in their 4x4s. Vehicles are allowed on these beaches, via various access points, but the tracks they leave behind does kind of spoil the sense of isolation and timelessness of the place. I turned and walked back in the other direction. The thought of a swim entered my head again and those gentle waves and warm water looked so inviting. I rounded the next point, empty beach stretched out as far a I could see. I was hot...well maybe just a quick swim...But what about bull sharks - I could see various dark patches in the water, where they sharks just waiting for the foolhardy or just patches of rock or weed? I thought about the deadly box jelly fish, noting little jelly globules about the size of a pea stranded on the sand - did you get box jelly fish down here? I thought about undertow and rip tides, waiting to drag me helpless far off shore to a certain and miserable death. Then I thought - I want a swim! Needless to say, I had not prepared for going swimming and had neither swimming trunks nor towel. Well, what the hey, I was in paradise, alone on a deserted beach... and the water was perfect, fresh and cool on my hot skin...and I soon dried in the blazing sun! I wasn't eaten, stung or swept away and enjoyed my close embrace with nature.
Once dry and decent again, I trudged back along the beach. I spotted a large bird perched in the bushes, I assumed it to be a sea eagle - either than it was one big mother of a sea gull (later confirmed as a white bellied sea eagle), so that was good to see.

 Further back along the beach, I had carefully marked a big arrow in the sand to indicated where I had reached the bay. I turned inland and back across the dunes and towards where Jaffa was parked. Only trouble was, the old foot prints I was following petered out and I soon found myself walking across pristine sand. No worries, I knew where I was headed - didn't I? Only trouble was, when I reached the brush at the far side of the dunes, there was no path back to the road. I didn't fancy sliding down the steep sand embankment and fighting my way through the few hundred yards of bush - who knows what critters would be waiting for me in there? I looked back towards the shore and assessed that I must have drifted too far to the left. Easy - just walk north and follow the line where bush meets dunes and I'd find the path no problems, right? Wrong, after 10 minutes there was no sign of the path or (more worryingly) any trace of other footprints. I reassessed, perhaps I had actually drifted too far right, not left? I back tracked and headed south for about 20 minutes. Still no sign of the path. The sun was beating down mercilessly on my bare head, I cursed not bringing my camelback with me as my thirst started to rage. This was stupid! How could I be lost? Through a gap in the dunes, I caught a glimpse of Little Gibbers headland in the distance - that confirmed that I was definitely too far south and had to walk north again. If I hadn't seen that, I would have walked back to the shore and started again, but I really did not have the energy for that. I walked north, past the point where I had given up hope before and there, with a hundred metres or so, was the path! To say I was relieved would be an understatement. Back at Jaffa, I dug out my camelback and took a long, long drink of rubbery tasting, luke warm, water. I had had enough off piste exploring for one day.

Back on the road, I was soon passing through the town of Hawkes Nest and I rode as far as the road would allow me before stopping for a few more photos.
Jaffa at the end of the road at Winda Woopa

I headed back towards Hawkes Nest, stopping very briefly at to have a look a Kookaburra and Jimmy's Beach 


At Hawkes Nest, I stopped off at the Post Office (I had seen it as I rode past previously), bought wrote and sent postcards to my daughters back home. 
Having inadvertently wasted so much time trying to escape from Dark Point, it was now about 15:30 and I was supposed to be taking Jayne and Stan out for a thank you tea - and here I was about 125km south of Old Bar! Time to get my skates on.
 I stopped briefly for fuel at Tea Gardens and a photo opportunity under a vibrant Jacaranda tree.

...and then it was off towards the Pacific Highway. However, I had one final detour to make before hitting the fast roads and turned right onto Viney Creek Road. This road, on the map, looked like a more interesting option than the main route and actually cut the corner off to the highway. Once again, the maps deceived me - after a short while, Viney Creek Road became a dirt track and I had to cut my speed to avoid any unwelcome offs. It was quite scenic though, riding between the eucalyptus trees, expecting to see hoards of Koalas clinging to every branch. I didn't see any and the only clinging was me clinging to Jaffa's handlebars. Nevertheless, the road less travelled triumphed over the main route and it was good to ride it. I finally joined the Pacific Highway and merged with the fast moving north bound traffic.
A little montage of some of parts of my Lake Way ride

I got back to Old Bar, just after 17:30. Stan had been starting to get worried about me - either that or he was hungry and wanted his bike back. It had been another fabulous day out, riding a very different section of roads in New South Wales and the stuff that memories are made of. Showered, changed and fairly respectable, Stan, Jayne and I headed off to the Irish Pub at Harrington for our dinner. As ever, this actually turned into a little sight seeing opportunity and we drove up past Harrington to Crowdy Bay. We stopped off on the windy headland next to the Crowdy Head lighthouse and gazed out to sea. It was a beautiful, clear, cool evening, with the sun dipping low in the sky and casting long shadows across the ground and we strained our eyes for sight of any whales or dolphins offshore in that vast Pacific Ocean. You could almost see New Zealand over that clear, crisp horizon!

The Irish Pub at Harrington was about a Irish as I am and was very busy. On one side was large coach party of wrinkly people, on the other side a too-clever-for-their-own-good bunch of pub quizzers. Us youngsters sat in the middle until we decided it would be more peaceful to sit out the conservatory area. The food was OK (I had rather a large portion of pork ribs served on a large wooden plinth) and the Guinness, well, it was typical of Guinness anywhere in the world other than Dublin, but slipped down very easily indeed after my exciting day out, followed by pint of the local hooch that came with my meal.

Tuesday 13 November 2018: Old Bar to Sydney Airport (Hire car: 213 miles)

After a very pleasant evening and another sound nights sleep, all too quickly my time was up and it was time for me to pack up and get myself back to the airport for the long haul home. My flight wasn't until 16:30, so I had plenty of time to get there. A leisurely breakfast and more good conversation was followed by a final walk around a small part of Stan and Jaynes sprawling estate (the snake proof part). Just perfect as a base for a krew gathering!!

I hadn't realise that Stan was so tall or that I was was so small...probably because he's standing on a concrete block!

GPS and camera brackets were carefully removed from Jaffa and packed away my bags and, all too soon, it was time to go. I thanked Stan and Jayne for their incredible generosity and hospitality. They said that I would be more than welcome to come back any time. I warned them not to say that unless they really meant it, as I probably would (maybe even with my girls in tow) take them up on their kind offer. You have to be brutally blunt with me - if you want shot of me, you have to tell me (several times)! What a truly wonderful couple that I am proud to call my friends.

Back in my little Kia rental car, I waved goodbye and, with heavy heart left a little corner of paradise and slogged back down the Pacific Highway towards Sydney. I had seen and enjoyed 1300 miles of beautiful NSW countryside by bike and car in 5 days and didn't need to be detouring off the main route now, although I programmed my GPS to route me across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, for old times sake. Like most bridges, though, it's most impressive when viewed from a strategic vantage point, not the highway. I made good time to the airport and returned the hire car, undamaged - my $4250AUS damage excess was safe and i was glad that I hadn't been coerced into paying the extra $50AUS per day.

After that, there is not much more to say. The British Airways flight to Singapore was on time and I was delighted to have the irritating fidgety family with an unruly toddler immediately in front of me in my cattle-class seat for maximum disturbance during the 8 hour flight. We were duly decanted from the aircraft at Singapore along with all our hand luggage only to immediately go back through security and wait to board the same aircraft we had just got off. I was even more delighted that the same fidgety family were not staying in Singapore and would be in front of me for the next 14 hours of my life too.  However, I didn't let them bother me and relaxed, thought about the fantastic week I had just had and, in between the numerous meals, tried to get as much sleep as I could, whilst catching another couple of movies, scoring the top score on the in-flight entertainment trivia game and winning £1,000,000 on who wants to be a millionaire first go. If only it was real money, I would have been back to Oz on the next flight out! It was nice that one of the trolly dollies on the London flight recognised me - it was the same crew that had flown me out to Singapore in the first place.
Wednesday 14 November 2018 / Thursday 15 November 2018: London Heathrow to Derby to Home (Car 268 miles)


I arrived into a dry and not too unpleasant London Heathrow just before 5am on 14 Nov 18 and made my way quickly though immigration and then waited patiently for the baggage carousel to lurch into life. Suitcase finally retrieved after all the important people's priority baggage had been round the carousel several times. As I had a work meeting in Derby at 9am, I took the opportunity to wash, shave and brush my teeth in the rest room before clearing customs. The shuttle bus soon had me back with my car in the long stay carpark. I changed quickly into work clothes in the carpark and then joined the merry throng of early rush hour traffic fighting its was north up the M25 and M1 motorways. The meetings were uneventful, but I was certainly ready for my hotel bed that night. Business concluded on 15 Nov 18 and I was back in my car, drove the final 138 miles South West and home.

Epilogue

The adventure was over. In my week away, I had driven 536 miles in the UK, had been flown 21,346 miles, had driven 517 miles in Oz and, most importantly ridden 995 miles (1592km) on some of Australias incredible roads. A total journey of 23,394 miles (37,430km) in a week! Am I mad? - probably. Was it worth it? - definitely!! Would I do it again, if I had the chance? - Absolutely!!!! Next time, I will try and plan on making it a longer visit - I said that last time too, so who knows...but I do know, I will be coming back at some point for more - much more.

So, to the Australian Krew - a hearty thank you for the friendship, the warm welcomes, the great conversation and camaraderie. Thank you for sharing some of your well guarded secrets (which I have now exposed), for allowing me to ride with so many of you on your fabulous roads and for many yarns and beers around the camp fire. It was a truly memorable week and great to be reunited with some of those whom I met previously, with some newer members of the krew and legends like Charlie and Seanii, who I had not had the pleasure of meeting face to face before. Thank you to Seanii and others that offered me bikes and a place to rest my weary head.

To Garry (Gaz) and Ruth it was so nice to see you in you beautiful new home. I hope that you will both be very happy there and that the landscaping work doesn't interfere with your riding plans.

To Craig (Smithy) and Kay - a huge thank you for hosting and organising the Northern Tablelands Ride event, for giving me the excuse I needed to get back to Oz for another visit and for allowing the invasion of Knuts into your home and garden (again). You looked after us all so very well.

And finally, a massive thank you to Stan and Jayne, for really putting the icing on the cake. For the problem-free loan of Jaffa, for the friendship, for the many meals and for allowing me to stay in, enjoy (and envy) your wonderful new home and gardens at Old Bar. Nothing was too much trouble for you and I sincerely hope I wasn't too much trouble!

Sitting back home in Bristol on a dark, cold November evening (and the heating is still busted - new boiler to be fitted in 2 weeks time!!), I realise, it has taken me 4 long days (over two weekends) to document, capture and illustrate my account of a most amazing adventure (parts 1 and 2). The data captured by both my trusty Garmin Zumo 590LM and Garmin Virb elite action camera has been instrumental in allowing me to sift and sort my memories and pictures of the various events, in the comfort (cold comfort) of my home. Without the Garmin devices, many of the memories and places would be lost in a muddle of times and names and would have remained something of a mystery. By compiling this lengthy ride report, I have enjoyed and re-lived the rides all over again.

I hope you had the patience and the time to enjoy the read and perhaps get a flavour of what it is all about. It's what its a;; about to me, at any rate.

Good onya guys!

wow  great write up again Paul   

Another excellent write-up!
Have been enjoying the videos on YouTube as well. As familiar as the roads might be for me, it's always interesting to watch a K bike....going anywhere really.
Sean

Paul thank you for taking the time to write this all up.  I can't imagine a better way to spend a week.  It was great to read of your visit to Myall Shores.  I spent a few days there with my bride on our honeymoon (a couple of decades ago now).  A K would have been the best way to get there but with a lot of walking and some hitch hiking we made it!

Cheers, Andrew

It was a pleasure to have Paul with us for his time. Didn't think that both bikes could go on a journey together, but they did.
Thank you for your write up and kind words. I did think that the skinny dipping episode was designed to be made public after you returned to the UK. Maybe you think that the Australian police will seek for you to be brought back here to face charges.......another way of getting back!

A brief aside: As a child, about 300 years ago  in the late 1960s, when Australia ( quite seriously) had about half the population it has now, people used to keep old tin huts along the beach at Mungo Brush and other places and use them as fishing and holiday huts. Made of corrugated iron and with rudimentary furnishings of old bunks or camp stretchers and other second hand items, a week's stay was only achieved after a time-consuming drive along sandy and sometimes flooded bush tracks where unnecessary automobile accessories such as exhaust mufflers etc were often left behind along the way. Cooking was done on BBQs made from old house bricks and pieces of reinforcement sheet for concrete slabs outside in the scrub. We had friends who " owned" one of these cabins and would go there once a year. The fishing was brilliant of course. 

parked my bike , in the surf , at Elizabeth beach ...oh the unforeseen skills of youth and donuts on the beach , a glorious place to be 40 years ago

Hi Paul, like everyone else I looked forward to your visit to renew our face to face friendship, thoroughly enjoyed yours and everyone else's company over the weekend and the weather and riding this year may have been the best yet.

Thanks for the time you have put into the ride reports, maps and photos - makes great reading. For our non-Ozzie members it gives a good indication of the what we have to put up with as far as scenery and riding conditions in our great south land.

To illustrate the range of contrasts that can be found in Oz here's a couple of photos from a little 1,600km jaunt (well I hadn't had a long ride for two weeks) I took with 4 friends over this last weekend. Also picks up on one of Dai's comments in post 157 of this thread.

Can you believe this is late November in Australia?? Admittedly it is just near Cabramurra which is the highest town in Oz.




Cheers

Charlie, Sean, Woodie, Gaz , Stan, Caveman...thanks for the feed back - I know I ramble on in my ride reports, but I just try to honestly share a small slice of my experiences in an effort to encourage others to go and experience the things that I have and discover the friendships and wonderful places, perhaps beyond our immediate horizons. Words and pictures just can never really do justice to "being there and living the dream".  We are brought together by the K100 forum, but the experience is so much bigger than that in real life and, for that, I am personally and eternally grateful. Cheers.