![\"IMG_1751\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/IMG_1751.jpg\")
The non-whirring segment of the journey.<\/p><\/div>\n
I had been whirring along on the Moto Guzzi California at what one might term a \u201cheady pace\u201d since leaving Sydney early that morning. It was Friday, traffic was sparse, and I was rolling the dice.<\/p>\n
The Guzzi hummed along with surprising vigour and smoothness. Sure, it was more Milan than California with its two-tone seat, masses of convoluted chrome, vast Perspex screen and swoopy panniers, but it certainly had the goods on the road. It is one of the smoothest V-twins I have ever ridden. I\u2019m not exaggerating when I say it\u2019s up there with the silky Goldwing at speed. It is responsive and lopes along north of 140km\/h with supreme effortlessness. It does tend to run out of steam as you approach the 190-mark, but by this stage it has left all the other cruiser twins (bar the Indian Chieftain) far behind. Stylistically, it\u2019s not everyone\u2019s cup of tea, and I far prefer the un-screened, unlight-fittinged and unbagged version in terms of aesthetics \u2013 but when you\u2019re doing the miles, the screen, lights and panniers sure do come in handy.<\/p>\n
So where was I? Oh yeah \u2013 whirring along at a heady pace.<\/p>\n
I whirred through to Goulburn, chucked a left and whirred along to Tarago, where I encountered a road crew. I stopped before the Lollipop Man, who looked at my bike, hauled out his wallet and showed me an image of his old Moto Guzzi Le Mans.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s a real Guzzi!\u201d he chortled.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd where\u2019s it broken down?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
His face fell.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn my shed,\u201d he muttered.<\/p>\n
![\"IMG_1756\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/IMG_1756.jpg\")
Not broken down. Honest.<\/p><\/div>\n
I rode off, turned right and went through Bungendore and Queanbeyan, before settling myself onto the California\u2019s wonderful seat to enjoy the blessings of the Monaro Highway. And they are many and they are perfectly suited to the Guzzi. They are also perfectly suited to 200bhp sportsbikes ridden by insane speed-fiends; giant stroked, rigid Shovelheads ridden by beer-addled hate-freaks, and just about everything in-between. It\u2019s a very nice bit of road. Seems a damn shame to be bobbling along it at an altogether stupid 100km\/h.<\/p>\n
So I wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
The oncoming Highway Patrol car that I encountered as I crested a hill probably was, but.<\/p>\n
![\"IMG_1761\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/IMG_1761.jpg\")
Not the stuff you wanna see in your mirrors.<\/p><\/div>\n
He lit himself up, and I pulled over in the shade of a solitary tree to wait while he performed a U-turn. I didn\u2019t wait long.<\/p>\n
Good morning,\u201d the policeman said as he came up to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood morning, officer,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am Sergeant So-and-So from So-and-So Highway Patrol and I need to inform you that our conversation is being recorded and videoed. Have you anything to drink today?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I have not.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease count to ten,\u201d he said holding an orange breathalyser under my nose.<\/p>\n
I counted.<\/p>\n
\u201cGot your licence?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
I produced my licence.<\/p>\n
\u201cI recognise that name,\u201d he smiled. \u201cI\u2019ve read your stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remained silent. No questions were being asked, and I was still unsure how this was gonna play out. I knew how fast I had been going when I came over that rise. And I was pretty sure he also had an idea about how fast I was going. We wouldn\u2019t be here otherwise. Him knowing who I was, was either good, bad or irrelevant. Only time would tell.<\/p>\n
![\"IMG_1758\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/IMG_1758.jpg\")
This is what rolling Snake Eyes looks like.<\/p><\/div>\n
\u201cI clocked you at 149km\/h coming over that crest,\u201d he said. \u201cIs there any reason why you were traveling at that speed?\u201d<\/p>\n
He and I both knew that since a ravening Tyrannosaurus had not yet appeared along the road, my answer was going to be very prosaic.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s hot,\u201d I said flatly. I do hate to disappoint when it comes to being prosaic.<\/p>\n
He grinned at me. \u201cYes, it is,\u201d he agreed, then asked me to wait until he performed some checks on his radio and left me kicking stones and staring at the hills for a few minutes.<\/p>\n
He emerged from the police car in short order, traffic infringement in hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been pretty good since 2011,\u201d he said cheerily.<\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t been caught since 2011,\u201d I thought to myself.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019d do a lot of miles in your job. It must be pretty hard to keep a licence.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt sure is,\u201d I agreed, wondering how long I\u2019d be sitting it out for after this little escapade.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have 21 days to either pay this or have it dealt with by a court,\u201d he said, handing me the infringement notice. \u201cAny questions?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said, looking at what he\u2019d written on the ticket.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got a Guzzi, you know,\u201d he said chattily. \u201cAn older one than this. Good thing, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, it\u2019s great,\u201d I replied. \u201cWhere\u2019s yours broken down?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn my garage,\u201d he sighed.<\/p>\n
We both enjoyed a companionable silence while he considered his broken Moto Guzzi and I considered my traffic infringement.<\/p>\n
\u201cHave a nice day,\u201d he said, and walked back to his car.<\/p>\n
I looked at my infringement notice again, and said: \u201cYou too, officer.\u201d And I meant it.<\/p>\n
He had booked me for 10km\/h over the limit.<\/p>\n
He had not booked me for 49km\/h over the limit.<\/p>\n
I genuinely hoped he pulled over a car full of coked-up supermodels and had himself a fat old porno-time on the side of the road that afternoon.<\/p>\n
I had a calming and somewhat celebratory beer in Bredbo and made it into Bombala around lunchtime.<\/p>\n
![\"IMG_1762\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/IMG_1762.jpg\")
The pause that refreshes.<\/p><\/div>\n
![\"IMG_1764\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/IMG_1764.jpg\")
Living the dream.<\/p><\/div>\n
Having examined the accommodation that had been reserved for me in the caravan park, and deciding that there was no real need for me to sleep in a musty tent that had been erected for my sleeping pleasure by a polite and toothless custodian named Dale, I went to seek alternate lodgings.<\/p>\n
My brother Whitey lives in Bombala and while I would always find a warm welcome under his roof, my bizarre comings and goings over the course of the bike show weekend might not dovetail with his young family\u2019s needs. I required a motel room, and once again, my bizarre luck provided me with one.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve just had a cancellation,\u201d young Viv in the Maneroo Motel informed me and gave the keys to a small, but very clean room. It had all I needed \u2013 a hot shower, a small fridge, a working power-point and a clean bed. The tent Dale had erected for me had none of those things.<\/p>\n
I dropped off my stuff and went to meet the organisers of the Bombala Bike Show at the town\u2019s showground. I could have walked there, since Bombala is not very big, but I rode because it was very hot, and walking is for tramps.<\/p>\n
At the venue, I was greeted by Sam, who was one of the local organisers of the show and Terry, the lady who does all the marketing stuff for Australian Motorcyclist magazine.<\/p>\n
Sam appeared harried, but in control and very organised, and Terry was concerned with the whereabouts of Thoeming and Woodbury – the Publisher and Editor of Australian Motorcyclist<\/em> magazine, who was one of the show’s main sponsors.<\/p>\n \u201cAre they not with you?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNope.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have texted Peter (Thoeming) several times but there\u2019s been no reply.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey could be in jail,\u201d I told her. \u201cThey don\u2019t let you take your phones into the cells.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m pretty sure she knew I was joking.<\/p>\n Having shared my sense of humour with important people, I went to the pub and found Brother Gromit, Brother False Boris and Brother Partymore (who is a woman).<\/p>\n We bought beers, adjourned to a large wooden table out the back of the Globe Hotel, and proceeded to get drunk.<\/p>\n We seemed to be in good company. There were maybe 20 other motorcycle riders out there all getting drunk too. Partymore accelerated our damnation by winning the meat raffle, and somehow talking the publican into letting her convert the dead beast-flesh into a beer tab. She is good like that.<\/p>\n Thoeming and Partymore.<\/p><\/div>\n Stuart Woodbury pretends to drink beer.<\/p><\/div>\n Monkey Toe and the False Boris<\/p><\/div>\n Brother Whitey, his delightful wife and her equally delightful girlfriend.<\/p><\/div>\n Like the Last Supper, but with less Jesus and more Tooheys Old.<\/p><\/div>\n Partymore finds men with moustaches strangely compelling.<\/p><\/div>\n Woodbury and Thoeming showed up later in the afternoon, along with a barrister named Rob, and made a half-hearted effort to get drunk as well, but they stood little chance of catching up. Whitey and Monkey Toe, on the other hand, also wandered in and set to with a will.<\/p>\n Three police in flak vests made regular appearances in the beer garden, and it was probably to see if anyone made any serious attempts at murdering the band. The band had so far murdered Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, so it was a fair bet someone might perform a revenge killing.<\/p>\n Being armed with top-end legal representation (Brother Gromit is also a lawyer), I felt that we should spearhead the assault upon the band. The devil would take the hindmost and rock\u2019n\u2019roll would be all the richer for it.<\/p>\n Not good.<\/p><\/div>\n It was not to be, sadly. Toohey\u2019s Old \u2013 a noted and eldritch poison \u2013 had done for me. I made a flanking sortie upon the guitarist, intending to go all Keith Moon on his axe, and instead found myself out in the street where some local fellows were trying to climb onto the shop awnings across the road. Their efforts were being enjoyed by the police, but apart from some yelling on both sides, it all looked pretty benign.<\/p>\n I had a few words the next day with the local police sergeant and he told me that in the 23 years the Bombala Bike Show had been running, they had never had any trouble of note.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s been a few accos (bike accidents), but that always happens,\u201d he shrugged. \u201cAnd a few years ago some bloke from Sydney kicked ten shades of shit out of one of the locals, but a thousand witnesses said the local deserved it.\u201d<\/p>\n All was quiet the next morning when I came to visit.<\/p><\/div>\n Then the Kraken awoke, befouled with Tooheys Old.<\/p><\/div>\n He was most unwell, so I recorded his illness for insurance purposes.<\/p><\/div>\n That\u2019s a pretty good record, I felt. And probably due in no small part to the fact that the show is not run by bikers. It\u2019s run by a committee of enthusiastic locals. Raises lots of money for the town and for charity and the local police hope it gets bigger and better. Which will probably result in the non-local police swooping in and fucking everything up for everyone, but such is the way of the world. Twenty-three years in, and so far it\u2019s all good.<\/p>\n And it is good, as I saw the next morning.<\/p>\n The showground is a natural amphitheater. People camp around the fringes of the oval and on the tiers overlooking it, and the show itself takes place in the middle of it all.<\/p>\n Photo by Sam, because I could not climb that high<\/p><\/div>\n Sweet rigid Shovel.<\/p><\/div>\n Touratech outfitted a zebra with everything.<\/p><\/div>\n Tidiest Elsinores ever.<\/p><\/div>\n Remember when this was the fastest thing ever?<\/p><\/div>\n Wonder why they call it “Mongrel” Racing?<\/p><\/div>\n It comes with instructions.<\/p><\/div>\n They know how to mow lawns in Bombala.<\/p><\/div>\n Something light and Italian.<\/p><\/div>\n A Regnis, which works and did many laps pillioning interested people around the show.<\/p><\/div>\n See? Just the thing for those big two-up miles.<\/p><\/div>\n This sounded very great<\/p><\/div>\n As did this.<\/p><\/div>\n Curse them for not building these anymore.<\/p><\/div>\n This had a lot of work done to it.<\/p><\/div>\n Lots and lots.<\/p><\/div>\n It was a good deal cooler this morning, so Bombala felt familiar again and all the locals looked more at ease now that the air temperature was just above freezing.<\/p>\n The bike show itself proved to be more eclectic than I thought it might be. There was everything from some top-line custom Harleys to concourse vintage stuff, and everything in between. The oval was full of bikes arrayed in seven categories, which Thoeming and I were meant to judge in the fullness of time. To one side, the Flair trials team had set up its trials show and the riders certainly pulled no punches. I felt a bit sorry for the emcee, who was no doubt more used to working a less laconic crowd, who largely ignored his imprecations to \u201cGive it up for the guys! The more noise you make, the wilder they get!\u201d<\/p>\n Island Mick, Jonesy, Pete, Ross and the Assassin turned up during the day, erected a tarpaulin, availed themselves of the free firewood and proceeded to get fried Old School style.<\/p>\n Just because you can…<\/p><\/div>\n …doesn’t mean you should.<\/p><\/div>\n It was ablaze with LED strips. No, I do not know why.<\/p><\/div>\n Woodbury about to enter the slow race and skills course.<\/p><\/div>\n Woodbury in mid-flight.<\/p><\/div>\n Me, someone’s daughters, The Bear and a sex toy.<\/p><\/div>\n My favourite bike of the whole show.<\/p><\/div>\n God approves.<\/p><\/div>\n We awarded this Best Adventure Bike.<\/p><\/div>\n The devil is in the details. And after 23 years of ownership, there’s a lot of detail.<\/p><\/div>\n Which is pretty much how I absorbed the Bombala Bike Show. It\u2019s Old School in every way. Friendly, well-run, with lots to see, hear and do. Kids are catered for with giant slides and inflatable death balls; adults can drink booze, hear the loudest bike in a killer sound-off, and shop for trinkets, baubles and beads from the gypsies who attend these events. There\u2019s tonnes of good coffee, the food is fresh, hot and well-priced, and it was refreshing to pay five bucks for schooner in a town that wasn\u2019t out to empty your wallet as quickly as possible.<\/p>\n Angry Anderson was the headline act that evening, and by all accounts gave a good account of himself, encouraged as he was by bearded mountain men howling at him to \u201cShut-up and sing a fucken song, ya cunt!\u201d from the terraces.<\/p>\n Yeah, it’s as bad as it looks.<\/p><\/div>\n The next morning, I rode out of Bombala in the rain.<\/p>\n But I was smiling with satisfaction.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" This was certainly Bombala. The sign said so and I had been here, or through here, many times before. But it was not the Bombala I knew. The Bombala I knew was invariably cold \u2013 the temperature has always been in the single digits whenever I have stopped there for fuel or food. I was [&hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":10818,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[67,58,9],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10783"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=10783"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10783\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10840,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10783\/revisions\/10840"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/10818"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=10783"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=10783"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bikeme.tv\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=10783"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"IMG_1772\"](\"http:\/\/bikeme.tv\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/IMG_1772.jpg\")
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