Any Excuse for a Ride



The Red Devil.

Our local BMW motorcycle club's annual dinner (BMW Motorcycle Club of Western Australia), at the Mallard Duck, in the Swan Valley, provided the perfect opportunity to take our GS's out for two full days of riding. We left Safety Bay at 8:30am on Friday and rode around the city all day, dropping off this and buying that. We had lunch in Fremantle and then made haste to our favourite ice creamery in Scarborough, only to find the ice creamery closed and the noise, from the jackhammers renovating Observation City, spoiling our view. So we took the bikes a little further north and gazed out to sea on a bright, crisp, winter’s day, with a homemade brew and a Kit Kat; it doesn't get much better than that.

The last errand of the day involved dropping off our four man dome tent, for a minor repair, in Midland. To avoid the heavy city traffic, we made our way east along Gnangara Road. We successfully negotiated the worst oil spill we had ever encountered, found the Mallard Duck for future reference, and then suffered from complete brain failure on the exact location of the Great Northern Highway. This little excursion cost us half an hour, in heavy traffic, and reminded us that it was time to quit while we were still ahead.

By 4:30pm we had checked into the Park View Bed and Breakfast - only 3km from the Mallard Duck restaurant. We would definitely stay there again - There was secure parking for the bikes, nothing was missing from our well appointed room and breakfast was served in a guest dining room. At Park View, nothing was too much trouble; even a complimentary bottle of wine and a bowl of nougat awaited our arrival. They also offer a taxi service for only fifty cents per kilometre. This meant a trip to the restaurant cost only $3.

Our club dinner was great. The neat attire of the other guests made our white sneakers stand out like a pair of navigation beacons, but no one seemed to mind. Unfortunately we had worn ourselves out riding around the streets of Perth and we headed for bed before Lefty found his guitar and played a few tunes - maybe next time.

York.

We were up and away early on Saturday. As soon as we turned north onto West Swan Road, an oncoming car warned us that there was some revenue raising going on up ahead. We eased off the throttle and found a large dog wandering around in the middle of the road. I said to Steve, "that guy must surely have been a biker" to which Steve replied, "or a dog owner - take your pick!"

As we headed through the Chittering Valley, the ambient temperature gauge, on the F650GS, plummeted until it started to flash at me. I mumbled to myself “what the hell is the Red Devil trying to tell me now?” Turns out I was being warned about the possibility of black ice on the road. Despite the cold, my heated grips kept me snug and warm - except for the index finger on my right hand!

We turned right onto Julimar Road and once we were rid of a menacing 1970's Ute, we relaxed and enjoyed a great ride to Toodyay. As we approached town another dog appeared in the road, a Rottweiler this time; nasty! We stretched our legs up and down the main street and then saddled up again for a glorious run to York via the Northam Toodyay Road and Spencers Brook Road. York was quiet for a Saturday lunch time; the Saints Diner motorcycle cafe completely empty. We joined the locals for a lamb kebab, made with real meat; the best we had tasted in a long time. We sat lounging in the winter sunshine like a couple of giant sloths. The bikes were parked on the other side of the road and we kept looking at them, as if we were minding a couple of children.

Don't you hate it when you're riding along, only to be broken from your reverie by a dog snapping at the heels of the bike in front? Rule number one, don't stop. I slowed down but the hound was already slinking away down a local driveway. Three dogs in one day - game over!

With the wind light and the temperature a comfortable 18degrees, we cruised comfortably through Beverley and then onto the Brookton Highway via Westdale Road. For afternoon tea, Steve decided to picnic at Christmas Tree Well. The potholed gravel track tested my patience at the end of a long day but I shouldn’t have worried, as the Red Devil made it in and out without a hitch. Then it was "Home James." The Brookton highway was a delight, as always, but the Freeway cars, relying on cruise control and driving in the outside lane, inspired me to create a new biker acronym - CAFE (Cars Are F****** Exasperating).

 

Time to hit the road again.

We pulled into our driveway at about 4pm on Saturday with 488km on the clock. We had enjoyed two great days on the bikes. Although it's always good to make it home safe and sound, sometimes, while I'm riding along, I think I could stay on the road forever.

Bali 2012

Rid, stingose, hat, sunscreen, bathers; yep, got all of those - lets go to Bali! 

Kuta Beach.

Taking my first steps at Ngurah Rai airport reminded me very much of touching down in a remote African township, except we didn't have to endure the moist, tropical heat on the stifling tarmac. Our suitcase was soon whizzing around on the carousel but Steve wasn't quick enough and a porter grabbed our case and moved quickly, jumping the queue, towards the declaration zone and the money changers who live just outside. I offered a small tip for his trouble but he said "no, no" and just in case I didn't understand, he presented me with a Rp100,000 ($11) note and said "like this!" I must confess, I gave in and handed over 100K. By this time, his mate had arrived and he said, with some conviction, "me too." But I had toughened up by then and said "no, no, you share." As we walked away, a little voice inside my head said "welcome to Bali."

Just one of many freshly squeezed fruit juices.

We dumped our suitcases in our tidy hotel room and hit the streets, excited to learn more about the place we would call home for the next three weeks. By the time we had walked 100 paces we had been accosted by half a dozen hawkers offering anything from a Balinese massage to motorcycle rental, even hotel promotion scammers tried their luck on the two new kids in town. We soon found a small warung (cafe) and filled out bellies on nasi goreng and gado-gado. That first Bintang (beer) tasted like liquid gold but Steve said I wasn't allowed a Bintang sticker, for my motorcycle panniers, until I have ridden my bike in Bali!

The following day we walked into Kuta and we can honestly say there seemed to be nothing left of the Bali we had visited 30 years before. The amount of tourism development is beyond anything we could have imagined. I kept asking "how old is this hotel?" and the answer was always less than 20 years. The saving grace is that apart from the Grand Bali Beach hotel, which was built in Sanur in the 1960s, no building is higher that a coconut palm.

Jimny (actually a Suzuki Katana).

On the third day we hired Jimny, a little Suzuki, who likes to masquerade as a four wheel drive. Jimny was an overworked little buggy, but he had a heart of gold and as soon as the hire agreement was a done deal, we set out from the hotel car park - windows down and an offering placed strategically on the dash board. Driving in Bali felt like flying in a flock of birds - everyone jostling for position, overtaking on the left and right but all the while looking out for each other; the only sound being a gentle toot to indicate your next intention. During our sixteen day self drive and 1200 km on the road, we never saw a single accident or heard an angry word spoken. Unfortunately, Jimny was quickly replaced by his cousin, Jimny II. Jimny II was a similar age but his windscreen wipers and brake lights worked which was essential.

Pura Ulun Danu Bratan.

We ate and drank our way around southern Bali for six days and then we checked out of the hotel and headed north, away from the big smoke. It took us all day to drive 100km, over the mountains, to Lovina and we stopped at every opportunity to admire the beautiful countryside. They grow strawberries in the cool mountain air and a strawberry pancake and fresh strawberry juice made the perfect lunch. Festivals are big business at Pura Ulun Danu Bratan, the temple which graces the shores of Danau Bratar (lake). We joined in, admiring the mystic qualities of the lake and the majesty of one of Bali's great mountains - Gunung Catur. We enjoyed the gracefulness of the traditional dress and the deep tones of the percussion drums. Jimny loved the mountain roads and you could hear him laughing at the apex of every hairpin bend. When we arrived at our hotel, we relaxed our weary bodies in the beach side pool, the volcanoes, on Java, just visible in the distance. We dined out in Kalibukbuk, just a short drive away. Kalibukbuk is a quaint little village with an abundance of eating houses serving great food and cheap beer; Steve and I gave up having a sundowner in our room - it was cheaper out on the street.

Luwak Coffee.

The next day we drove west to the small town of Seririt. We made a nuisance of ourselves in the local fish market, and then headed into the mountains again, looking for Munduk and Danau Buyan. We found a beautiful restaurant on the mountain side and managed to make it into the dining room before the weather set in. The proprietor talked us into being the first customer to sample his Luwak coffee, a new item on their menu. Luwak coffee is made from coffee beans that have passed through a Luwak - a cat like creature. At only Rp50000 ($5.50) a cup it sounded like a great idea, especially when the chef offered a serving of fried bananas, topped with cane sugar and coconut, on the house. A contraption, not unlike a scaled down version of the Mouse Trap game, was used to brew the Luwak coffee. The device was placed on our table and we sat it wonder as the water heated, siphoned, cooled and filtered. The grand applause came when the mentholated spirit flame was extinguished as the last drop of coffee dripped into the cup. Brilliant!

We waited and waited for the rain to clear but it didn't happen. When the rain eased to a steady drizzle we took our chances and headed further up the mountain in search of the great lake. The rain came down again, torrential at times. Jimny's slow wiper blades were barely able to keep pace with the down pour. Steve was smiling all the while and the old car loved every minute of it. We never saw the lake; she was lost in the clouds somewhere on the right as we drove along the ridge road. So down the mountain we went, one bend after another. In places the water was a foot deep. But Jimny had big wheels and a big heart and he just chugged away, taking it all in his stride, as if he had made the journey a thousand times before. By the time we reached Gitgit falls the sky had cleared and the temperature was back to 30deg. It hadn't rained on the coast all day.

Can't get any further from Denpasar on Bali.

No matter how hard we tried, we couldn't resist driving all the way to Gilimanuk. Gilimanuk is the western most point of Bali, where the ferries depart for Java every ten minutes, 24 hours a day. Gilimanuk is 85km from Lovina and when the highest speed we reached was 50km hour, it ment a lot of hours on the road. Along the way, Pemuteran is worth a stop. We found a wonderful warung, where we ate like kings for only Rp120000 ($13). In Pemuteran you can get a good clean room for $25 (double). If you want air conditioning and hot water it will cost you $35.

We left Lovina for Ubud on 19th May 2012. In The Rough Guide to Bali and Lombok, Steve found an old Hindu temple, Pura Medewe Karang, which seemed to be worth a visit. We rented our sarongs and disclosed our temple donation in the guest book; we were the first tourists for three days. Our guide was 30 years old. He said he had been coming here every day, with his father, since he was a small boy. He learnt English from tourists as he didn't go to school. The only money he got was from people like us, who may leave a donation if they enjoy his guided tour. He was not trying to get sympathy, he was just telling it like it is. We thoroughly enjoyed the tour and made an appropriate donation. As we were leaving, the temple's Hindu priest turned up wearing a humble robe and bare feet. He greeted us and pointed out some of the important statues that guard the temple. Then, with a calmness that I hadn’t witnessed in a very long time, he proceeded to clear the road way of weeds with an old hoe.

Kids coming home from school on a Saturday.

The road to Kintamani twisted and turned and the view was breathtaking in every direction. We stopped for lunch at the first restaurant with views to Gunung Batur. In the car park, a couple of children, well under the age of ten, were selling packs of postcards. When I said "how much" the price was ridiculous; praying on our compassion for children must work in some cases. I just said "no thank you;" the price was so far off the mark that I didn't even bother to put in a counter bid. Inside the restaurant we stuffed our faces with an "all you can eat" Asian buffet for only Rp50000. Apart from the south of Bali, there are very few people around and it is hard to believe that 3.5 million people live on the tiny island.

On the road down the mountain we had a close encounter. We had been told to place Rp50000 inside our international driver’s license. When Steve saw the very large and official looking roadblock he said "take the money out of the license" but it was too late, we were stopped, and a copper was leaning inside the driver’s window. "Where you from?" said the copper, with a smile." "Australia." "I'm sorry but I'd like to see your license." When he saw the money he flicked it back to Steve and wasn't quite so friendly after that. We never placed the money inside the license again.

Our accommodation in Ubud was right in the centre of the main drag. Our room was large and the veranda could easily belong to the most chic two bedroom apartment back home. We did the Bali thing in Ubud; drank cocktails at 4pm, joined in the friendly banter at the market stalls, ate well and slept like babies. We were told that $20 per day is good pay for a hotel employee; some hotels pay only half that amount. Skilled stone carvers may earn as little as $11 per day. What amazed me is 1kg of rice costs an astonishing $1.50. This seems ridiculously high and I must be mistaken.

Compulsory monkey forest.

It was in Ubud where I found Uluwatu, a monkey, expertly carved from sandstone. And Lovina and Gianyar, two Balinese gnomes, hand carved by Made Maka using rocks found in the river. These garden ornaments live on my patio and every time I see them they make me smile. The Balinese have wonderful life philosophies, a couple of my favourites are, "Never let a small dispute spoil a great friendship." The other one I like is "The road to happiness is to keep hate from your heart and worry from your mind. Live simply and within your means."

We checked out one of the silver shops in Celuk but four shopkeepers, standing only 2 feet away, were not conducive to falling in love with a piece of jewelry. So we left the silver smiths behind and went to the monkey forest instead. Ubud's clan of monkeys are well fed and well behaved. We spent a long time admiring the baby monkeys; some were only a few days old. The forest was cool which made a refreshing change.

On one particular day, as we drove out of the hotel car park, the hotel security guard called out "stop, flat tire." Sure enough the left rear tire was a little flat. Within seconds, about five locals swarmed around Jimny chanting "we change, we change." "How much?" asked Steve. "Up to you" said one of the locals while Steve tried to find the wheel brace. Luck comes in many shapes and sizes and Jimny's wheel brace didn't fit. Neither did five other wheel braces, which seemed to materialise out of thin air. We had to abandon the wheel change idea and pump the tire up instead. The tire never went down again!

Who needs fancy panniers on their bike?

After Ubud we based ourselves in the southeast, at Candidasa. Quite simply, there weren’t enough tourists to go around in Candidasa and the beautiful restaurants barely had enough patrons to create the atmosphere they deserved. We spoke to one waiter who said last year, in May, Candidasa was much busier and they had increased the size of their restaurant. This year, the numbers were down and everyone was struggling. An artist, at Sanur, contradicted this and said "May is always quiet, the busy season is just around the corner."

Candidasa provided a wonderful base to explore the Amed coast. Unfortunately we had to negotiate the one way street system of Amlapura to find the mountain road and this little excursion placed us right in the lap of another copper. "Good morning, where you from?" said the copper, hanging on Jimny's window. "Australia" said Steve. He smiled and said "Where you going?" "Ujung" said Steve. "Ujung very nice place." Then the coppers phone rang. He took the call and chatted away, keeping us waiting and leaning on the window all the while. When the phone call was over he said "You got present from Australia?" Steve and I were just out on a day trip and we had nothing, just a bottle of water. We explained that we didn't have anything from Australia but we had a few rupiah. "No, no money. Just present from Australia; for me and my friend." We reiterated that we didn't have anything from Australia to which he asked "You have Bintang?" and we said "No, we have no Bintang." After he checked Steve's license he let us go. He was such a nice guy we felt really disappointed that we didn't have anything to give to him.

Amed and Gunung Agung.

The road to Amed twisted and turned through the little villages of Ujung, Seraya, Kusambi and Aas. We stopped for our constitutional papaya juice in a peaceful warung. It was a clear day, and the colour of the ocean was so inviting we wished we’d come prepared to snorkel, too. In the distance, Gunung Agung looked majestic and peaceful and it was hard to believe that she sits at over 3000m.

On the 27th May we flew with the flock one more time and returned Jimny to his rightful owner. It was sad to say goodbye, we had a lot of luck along the way and we will be forever grateful that we survived our drive around Bali.

Sundowner on Seminyak Beach.

On our last night we sat down on the best bean bags in the house, to drink cocktails and watch the sunset. The tide had retreated and local family groups were practicing their football skills on the great stretch of sand. Hawkers drifted in and out of our space. One weary seller walked past with a heavy load of handmade cards. I was so tuned to saying "no thank you" he was soon on his way. By the time I realised I'd like to take a closer look, he was gone. Half an hour later he was back, casing the beach one more time before going home. The cards were so beautiful that, after some friendly bartering, I bought two packets. We shook hands and I said "when ever I write in one of your cards I will think of you," to which he replied "thank you my friend." When he was gone I looked at these humble pictures and I cried. In just three short weeks the Balinese people had taught us so much. We will forever miss the beautiful way they care for each other, and the gentleness with which they go about each day. But most of all I cried because with so many roads to ride and places to visit I wasn't sure we would ever pass this way again.

Autumn Ride - Perth to Porongurup

How long can it possibly take to pack four motorcycle panniers? Two hours, and a lot of fussing, from me, about the uneven weight distribution in the panniers belonging to the Red Devil. What I hadn't realised is, once I was on the bike, I wouldn't notice the small discrepancy at all!

Morning Tea.

It was time to smile, after all it was a big day out for Steve's R1200GS, the new bike in the stable. Although it was "taking kids to school time," we quickly negotiated the traffic at the roundabout at the end of our street and we were on the road again, bound for Porongurup over 500km away. We were on and off the freeway in no time, heading east along Mundijong Road. We caught up with a sheep carrier and after a couple of kilometres I decided to overtake. I pulled out and at the same time the truckie, driving the big double D, set his right indicator flashing. At first I thought he was trying to tell me that the road was clear. I quickly realised he was about to turn right and pulled out of the manoeuvre. Then I counted, "one life down, eight to go;" lucky me. That's motorcycle riding for you, "be alert but not alarmed."

The run through Jarrahdale was wonderful; not a car in site - the locals were snug inside their little cottages while their chimneys puffed smoke into the cold morning air. We stopped for tea amongst some tall trees in a lay by on Albany Highway. We snapped some pictures of the bikes. In the morning light they looked so beautiful it was hard to take our eyes off them. Then we rode on, turning left at North Bannister on our way to Narrogin for lunch.

There are so many great riding roads, close to home, I had to pinch myself to make sure I was really there. The onboard computer said it was only 17.5 deg and I immediately felt the chill in the air. Then I remembered the heated grips, and as I flicked the switch I'm sure I heard a witches cackle inside my helmet. At one point I thought my handle bars weren't quite straight and I foolishly tried to straighten them while riding along at 100km hour. This quickly turned into a "don't try this at home" moment and left me apologising and praising the Red Devil, for showing such excellent table manners; 2 down, 7 to go!

Porongurup National Park.

Narrogin proved an excellent place to stop for lunch; the chocolate éclair, from the town's French bakery, was one of the best we had ever tasted. By the time we were ready to leave the Easter shoppers were out in force and a traffic jam had developed while an unconfident driver couldn't find the courage to turn right onto the main road. The impatience was contagious and I pulled out of our parking space and prepared to merge with the queue of cars. A guy in a four wheel drive thought I was pushing in and we entered into a tug of war. I stood my ground and he eventually let me in. I had forgotten that even the laid back country spirit is lost on the day before a long weekend.

Soon we were cruising at highway speed again. The heated grips were on and the wheat belt towns of Wagin and Katanning were quickly under our belts. We stopped for tea at the small town of Broomehill. Broomehill is a great place for a stop, with clean toilets, and if you feel inclined, a pub next door. While we sheltered from the biting wind, Steve gave me a drilling on what I stood to lose arguing with a 4WD like that - point taken!

Always trust your instincts. We checked the map and we were expecting to veer right, to take the short road to the Stirling Range. We saw the sign but lead hand Larry was enjoying the bends and we were going a little too quickly to take all the information in. Feeling the error in our ways, we stopped. Steve went back, to check the sign, and still we went the wrong way! We were riding east again and we both felt uneasy at the thought of riding away from where we wanted to go. Once we were out on Chester Pass Road the sky darkened and the gale force SW wind made us cautious as we lent our bikes with the wind. A light shower of rain smudged the road kill on my visor but that was quickly wiped away with a gloved hand. I had forgotten what it was like to ride in the rain and I slowed down a little, remembering that the tread on the Red Devil's tires was wearing a little thin.



Bikes in bed at the end of the day.

The rainbow, over the Stirling Range, looked menacing as Steve came along side and pointed at his fuel tank - the big GS's computer said "low on fuel." Oops - perhaps the big bike uses more fuel than we originally thought. I just shrugged and wondered where he was planning to fill up. We stopped at a one pump station but we didn't take on fuel - we were worried that they might be selling the stuff that chokes motorcycles to death. We rode on, a few kilometres later Steve's onboard said "out of fuel, mate." Fortunately the big GS ignored the technology and kept purring along. We arrived at Porongurup just before the Kangaroos thought of making a nuisance of themselves on the road verges. If we'd brought the laptop I would have placed a post on Facebook which read "arrived Porongorup - having a great time."

Ulysses Odyssey 2011 - Wagin

The catering officer looked after us on our ride to the 2011 Odyssey in Wagin. Steve found the Pinjarra bakery for morning tea, and served a homemade sandwich, a crisp apple and a strong brew of coffee for lunch in Williams. By 1pm we were riding into the little outback town; early enough to select the best camp site at the Wagin Show grounds. Luckily there were no birds roosting in our tree and the tent remained clean all weekend!

Our little three man tent was pitched in one fluid motion, and when I went inside, to release the self inflating mattresses and pillows, the rustic smell took me straight back to my childhood, where I liked nothing more than to play inside a small tent during the school holidays. As soon as the tent was up, the billy was on and Steve and I kicked back, in our large camp chairs, entertained by each and every new arrival.

The focal point of the campsite was two wonderful camp fires, which were kept smouldering or blazing depending on the time of day. As soon as the sun was past the yard arm, we wandered down to the meeting place, with a beer and some biltong, and listened to a few yarns about the morning’s ride. At sunset we strolled into town for a steak and a pint. The dining room was full so we snuggled into the front bar, which was noisy, but the locals were friendly, and we had a great time. Our little tent was warm and dry and we slept like babies, for we had nothing to worry about and everything we needed; food, shelter and the bikes parked right outside!

On Friday morning Steve and I hung out at the town cafe. We sat on the pavement in the most comfortable chairs ever afforded to us at a street cafe. The food was good and cheap. Just goes to show, there is many a country town to be found on the road less travelled.

The Friday afternoon ride was fun and it is always enjoyable to watch a train of bikes meandering along a lonely country road. We were home in time for another camp fire happy hour, followed by the first communal dinner – the local swimming club did the town proud feeding us a roast dinner nearly as good as mum makes.

On Saturday we rode to Narrogin with the promise of morning tea laid on by the CWA. It made me smile when I noticed several riders checking their iPhones before stepping back in time for some good old country women’s hospitality. Then we browsed the wares at the local spring fair before riding home again.

The Saturday night dinner was accompanied by some entertaining conversation about aliens and nudist camps, most of us not believing in either! A predominately male Karaoke bar showcased some good singing and a lot of courage. I just couldn’t think of a cover song to sing!

The last night in our little tent was as sweet as the first. As I sipped my coffee and licked my wind burnt lips in the early morning light, I had a vision of me and Steve riding into the rising sun. We were on our way to Mildura for the 2012 AGM. Now that would be a good ride!

Indian Ocean Drive

At 4:30am Bob, our home phone, woke us up with a wrong number. “We will never get back to sleep now” said Steve all bleary eyed. So I made two cups of strong coffee and we sat in silence while the passing of time readied our minds for motorcycle riding. It wasn’t actually Bob’s fault, but it felt better to blame him anyway!

By 6:30am we were on the road, heading north towards Dongara about 450km away. “Navigating the 100km of freeway shouldn’t be an issue at this time of day,” said Steve as we pulled out of our driveway. Wrong! Only 20km from home there was a flurry of heavy breaking. I ducked into the outside lane to avoid the merging traffic; wrong again! Steve stayed in the inside lane and I watched his little black helmet disappear into the distance while I was left cursing and crawling along in 1^st gear. Although we stayed in our respective lanes, it was over 30 minutes before we found each other. Not a word was spoken, we just waved in the sure knowledge that we were riding in company again. You don’t know how good a McDonald’s breakfast muffin can taste until you have been stuck in traffic for 90 minutes!

We soon forgot all about the city and the traffic as we rode along The Indian Ocean Drive. At one point, as we came over the crest of a hill, with the view stretching for miles all around, I felt like we were on the open road with many miles to go before we would be home again.

We stopped for lunch at The Pinnacles and the GS’s looked incredibly handsome against the desert sand. The 4km Pinnacles circuit seemed like going for a ride at The Royal Show, however it could turn out expensive if one of your panniers has an altercation with a Pinnacle or you tank-slap your beloved while not paying enough attention to the pockets of extra deep sand. For the record, neither of these events happened to us!

From The Pinnacles we surrendered ourselves to the landscape and the seascape. The empty road ahead seemed like heaven to me. Gliding along on my F650GS is the closest I have ever come to flying; awesome.

Our host, Mary, was dutifully waiting for us when we arrived at Sea Vista House Bed and Breakfast. We had made a good decision with our accommodation. The bikes were parked, on carpet, inside a locked garage. Our generous room had four beds, a lounge and views to die for. Breakfast was served in the al fresco dining area overlooking the stunning Indian Ocean. There was fruit and bottled water, and if you timed it right, homemade sausage rolls – ever likely we felt like we were on holiday!

The next day I slouched into the pillion seat on the R1150GSA and Steve took me to Geraldton. By the time we had seen some of the sights around town, I could barely get out of the saddle let alone walk. Pillion passengers – respect!

I think I could have stayed a week in that house on the hill in Dongara. All too quickly our time was up and we were back on the road, heading south again. We retraced our steps and enjoyed a different view of the shifting dunes and Wedge Island. How the residents of that squatters community must have wept into their home brew when they opened The Indian Ocean Drive and included an access road directly to their doorstep. We never saw anyone but I felt there were 100 eyes watching. There is a sign which says you are welcome to wander around the settlement. Steve was interested, but I couldn’t help think that somewhere there was a pack of savage dogs ready to be set free at a moment’s notice; no thanks!

Fuel management can become a challenge when the mother ship carries thirty litres and the little sister only sixteen. Add to that, reluctance to top up at “one pump” service stations and you probably get what you deserve. My fuel light had been blinding me for at least 50 kilometres. When I couldn’t bear to watch anymore, I switched off the display that was counting down the number of kilometres before I would run out of fuel. I preferred to ride on, with cautious optimism, paying particular attention to the kindness of the road verge! I needn’t have worried. Turns out the parallel twin will do at least 350km on her 16 litre tank. Nice work BMW!

The heavy afternoon traffic was waiting to carry us home once more. There is always a tinge of sadness when a ride is coming to an end; may the next one not be too far away!

Home Again, Home Again, Jigerty-Jig

We celebrated Molly’s birthday on Saturday 12^th March with pizza and homemade chocolate cake and beer and coca-cola. We played cards and laughed a lot. We talked of the Christchurch family visiting us in Western Australia, maybe in April one year when the summer has cooled but it is still warm enough to swim. Molly’s birthday bash at the ice skating rink will have to wait for a time somewhere in the future; now is a time for consolidation and saving money.

On Monday 14^th March I packed my tiny suitcase and headed for home. Despite some 40 aftershocks during my two week visit, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything in the world. We said our good-byes after breakfast and while I waited for my taxi driver to take me to the airport, I picked up Joe’s wonderful Vicente Carrillo guitar and started to write the chorus to a new song.

A Hug 4 Christchurch

I had the privilege of waiting inside the school grounds at the end of the first day back at school. I was spell bound by this little school of only 100 pupils. It took me back to a time, long ago, when I was going to River Cross Primary School in Luanshya, Zambia.  Molly rescued me from my reverie when she gave me a big hug and handed me a little card which read: “This hug comes from Room 5, Ouruhia School, Christchurch. Please let us know where it gets to and when.” I looked at the card and said “Molly, it will break my heart to give this card away.” “You have to, Aunty Janie. Please take it to Australia and find someone to take the card to London!”  With a tear in my eye, I placed the card in my wallet, in the sure knowledge that somewhere in Sydney Airport, I would find an international traveler to take the card on the next part of its journey.

Sam has settled in very well as a temporary student at Ouruhia Primary. Yesterday he came home and said “Mum, if I like Molly’s school, can I stay there?” Joe has only just paid Sam’s private school fees for the whole year! I have offered Annie the use of my favorite T-Shirt which reads “I am a Psych Patient, give me a refund - NOW!”

The aftershocks have become more frequent, and the rumblings have been louder and lasted longer. There is a sense of unease in the community incase there is another “big one.” I only wish Paul the Octopus was still alive to give us his prediction! I said to Annie, only last night, “even if I don’t make it home, I will still be glad I came to help out here in Christchurch.”