We have moved....

The blog for Arse About Face has moved!

You can find the continuing adventures of Gosling One and myself by visiting www.arseaboutface.com or http://blog.arseaboutface.com.

I'll not be updating this blogspot site any more as I have enough trouble remembering to update the one, let along multiple blogs.

Onwards!

Jingle jangle jungle...

Ah the festive season is upon us once again and what better way of lessening the pain of receiving yet another unfeasibly jolly jumper and pair of reindeer themed socks, than reading an article penned by yours truly about crashing a motorcycle through a very remote and tropical region of Australia?

Adventure Bike Rider issue 14 should be as stuffed as a Christmas turkey with literary delights just waiting to warm your cockles and bring a sparkle to your Xmas sale jaded eyes. More exciting than a visit from Santa himself, more fun than a royal baby and guaranteed to have no batteries included.

Lurking within the pages like the inevitable orange at the foot of many a Christmas stocking, should be the story of my attempts to reach the most remote northern tip of Australia - Cape York. As is fairly standard, nothing comes easily for Gosling One and myself so it's filled with tales of excitement, adventure, 'daring do' and quite nearly some actual 'do'.

More entertaining than a sack of coal and less irritating than a Cliff Richard Christmas song, what's not to like?

Should be released onto the unsuspecting public very soon. Adventure stories from the tropics...take that winter!

Just wandering about...

When you arrive at a place that sums up what you try and spend most of your time doing it's only natural to take a photo really, and then just keep on rolling by.

I spent a weekend wandering around the highways, byways and mostly no-ways of the south-western bits of Western Australia the other week and experienced something quite novel, at least for me.

A flat tyre! Gosling One's first ever flat tyre. In the entire 44,347km travelled of the original Arse About Face expedition I managed to avoid, mainly thanks to dumb luck I would imagine, any flat tyres at all so I was probably due one. In fact I'm probably due more than one to be honest, but don't spread that around lest the idea catches on.

The valve on the inner tube decided it'd had enough of being stuck inside the rear wheel and made a bid for freedom, persuading all the air to escape along with it the silver-tongued, erm, valve.

My natural tendency to plan for when I meet the many screw-ups that tend to lurk in Australia waiting for me, meant that I had along a spare tube. So with a fallen tree serving as the centre-stand Gosling One doesn't possess, I managed to switch out the ruined tube in a surprisingly efficient manner and with a minimum of swearing or fatal injuries.

As always the flies were enthusiastically persistent in their attempts to lend a hand, wing or whatever, in my wheel changing exercise. Thousands of the airborne menaces made my first ever tyre change a more irritating experience than it probably could have been, but they certainly helped lend a sense of urgency to proceedings.

End point of the riding was Nalyerin Lake in Western Australia:

Click this for a bigger version [fair warning, it's pretty big]

I was thinking about camping in the middle of it, but (and here's a tip for fellow travellers out there), just because it looks pretty dry on a satellite photo doesn't mean it actually is. Still, plenty of room elsewhere in Australia to throw up a tent.

If you build it, it will break...

So Gosling One is sporting her rather fetching new spotlights for this upcoming season in motorcycle fashion, as mentioned in a previous post. I've also added a waterproof GPS thing [waterproof as she tends to be under water quite a lot, not because it ever rains in Australia] to enable me to reliably say "I know exactly where I should be, but I'm not there".

The most important must-have accessory for the socialite motorcycle about town this season however, is the often of neglected shovel.

Not only does it add an 'adventurous' flavour to an otherwise drab wardrobe, but it will also enable me to dig us out of whatever hole I managed to ride into. It's happened before, I'm sure it will happen again. Also of course, because I'm British dammit, it serves as a very handy tea-cup holder. Hooray for multi-purpose! Also tea.

I spent the weekend just recently seeing if I could rattle off any of the things I'd added to Gosling One by exploring a bit of the South West of Australia. Nice place, pretty big, lots of kangaroos and everything stayed attached surprisingly. That's a testament to a metric-crap load of duct-tape for you.

Some photos from the short trip down south:

2 wheels good, 4 wheels erm...no wheels then

Everything looks artistic in black and white. Wonder if that applies to zebras....

Someone in the highways department has a sense of humour

Not a bad spot for a bit of camping...

...so I did.

Attempts to coerce a book agent into looking at the manuscript for Arse About Face have continue with renewed vigour, so with any luck there might be some news on that front soon!

The eyes have it...

Gosling One has been augmented during her stay in the motorcycle hospital. Much like the Million Dollar Man she has been improved, although the budget was more along the lines of a few dollars and whatever I could find lying around. But that's not quite as catchy for a TV series.

First up and most importantly she now sports some rather snazzy eye wear:

A rather shiny [when they're switched on at least] pair of LED spot lights. The original headlight is about as useful as an asthmatic firefly in a coal mine, so the addition of something that could perform laser eye surgery on a kangaroo at 300 metres was a bit of a no-brainer really. If anyone wants to know what they were or how the hell I fitted them without electrocuting myself, feel free to drop me an email.

50 Shades of Murky Orange...

For those that have been keeping anxious vigil at Gosling One's bedside, the prognosis is good! Behold:

She's feeling a lot better after her extended stay in the motorcycle hospital, under the care of Dr Hammers, a.k.a me.

The parts arrived [eventually], I managed to fit them without setting fire to anything or causing localised plague outbreaks and she now runs like she always did. In other words, straight off the highway and into mischief.

I also took the opportunity of her not being able to escape my clutches, to make a few modifications based on my experiences of rattling around Australia and the various pickles we found ourselves in. Details will follow in another update. I can tell you're all excited about that by the hushed silence.

Gosling One health report...

Following my ill-fated attempts to "clean" Gosling One's carburettor, a process which rapidly descended into damage limitation territory and a frantic attempt not to break anything else, she remains laid up in bed awaiting parts.

Nil by carburettor

Doesn't she look sad? She looks sad to me, show some sympathy.

The reason she's STILL awaiting parts is because it takes a while to get things shipped from America to Australia, even though both countries appear close together in alphabetical terms. I'm a big fan of supporting local businesses, but here's why I'm dead set against it in this case.

Those two bits above, or at least something like them are important in a carburettor so I'm told. They do something regarding the flux-capacitor-black magic interface or something like that, either way she won't go without them.

Local Yamaha dealer in Western Australia, the total quote came to...wait for it and you best take a seat... AU$ 163.90 and a lead time of four weeks. After stifling my urge to tell them to ram said nozzle where it might logically be expected to go, I resorted to the ever handy internet. Including the shipping from the USA and a delivery time of about two weeks, AU$34.

Western Australian business are forever bemoaning the fact that nobody shops locally, there's a reason right there. Support local business, unless they're trying to steal your soul!

i = mischief maker...

So I happened to be in Perth the other weekend where there just happens to be a forward command post for the Apple world domination force, more usually referred to as an Apple Store. You may be sensing I'm not a fan of Apple which isn't strictly true at all, I love their pies.

Beware the pickers in blue!

Anyway, because the launch issue of Forever 2 Wheels is now available on iTunes and I just happened to be around quite a lot of iPads and other Apple branded shiny things, it only seemed right to set as many of them to the F2W app on iTunes as possible. Easier said than done mind you, those eagle eyed orchard workers in blue were dogging my every step, anxious to "help". Clearly just poorly masked code for "stop me plugging my writing in their store".

How long my domination of the Perth branch [ahahah] of the Apple tree lasted I don't know, but there were at least five minutes over the weekend when my face graced the majority of the devices in store.

You're welcome Perth!

iPad, iMag, iRide, iCrash...

The launch issue of Forever 2 Wheels digital magazine for the iPad is now available on iTunes. Two reasons why you should be looking at it right now rather than reading this post:

One: It's free. Free!

Two: This is the more important of the two obviously, it features my article on riding [crashing] around Tasmania and a whole host of other images from the expedition.

I don't have an iPad, but then I've already read the article so it's no great shakes for me. If you're like me though and have yet to succumb to the all alternative destroying corporate mega-fruit that is Apple, then there's a handy preview of the mag here: http://f2w.appclarity.co.uk/usa-by-ural/usabyural.html

The preview article isn't by me obviously as I'm neither Louis Pryce or Austin Vince, at least not last time I checked, but it's a bloody good read!

Forever 2 Wheels..

Forever 2 Wheels, memorise the name and clear some space on your iPad people. F2W is a digital interactive magazine, coming soon to an iPad near you. Not only that, but they're the latest to fall under the influence of my arguably evil plan for world publishing domination.

Showing remarkable taste and foresight, they've decided to use my 'Devil of a Tale' article about rattling up down and every which way including loose around Tasmania, as the headline act for the fledgling publication.

There's a swanky preview video of the interactive mag here:




Shame about the pictures of me ruining the whole thing, but Gosling One was looking suitably motorbike-like. Unlike how she looks at the moment, which is like a giant pile of parts.

The experiment in hammer based percussion, also known as putting her back together, continues with renewed ferocity as I've got my replacements parts. Stay tuned for more news!

If it's not broken, stay the hell away from it...

It's been a while since the last update, which would be shocking if that wasn't the norm really. The main reason being, there's not a lot to report. Despite being back in Australia and raring to race toward the horizon in a lustful quest for adventure and hi jinks, I've not really been anywhere yet. Unless you count the local Yamaha dealer, which is as exactly as exciting as it sounds.

Gosling One is currently basking in her natural state of 'broken'. I only have myself to blame really, mainly because nobody else stayed around long enough to carry the can. It all started out as some relatively innocent tinkering with the carburettor in and attempt to solve a fuel supply hiccup and, well, one thing led to another. Things got stuck, stuff didn't un-screw like they should, hammers became involved at some point, sense of humours were damaged, some bigger hammers were found and swear words utilised to full effect.

The end result of this 'harmless tinkering'? A busted carburettor, which is now being employed as a paperweight and a long stint of being stationary.

The technical term is 'buggered'

A plus point to all this tinkering with the inner workings of Gosling One, is that I now have something resembling a clue about how the carburettor works [or doesn't], and exactly how much impact trauma one can withstand before becoming so many shards of shattered metal. [Not a great deal]

I've also developed a universal, fix anything on any bike tool kit. See below, and feel free to tweak your own adventure motorcycle tool kit appropriately.

This lot will fix anything. Cable ties are an excellent addition to this tool kit

So I'm now waiting for some replacement bits to appease Gosling One and the mechanical gods.

All this time twiddling my thumbs has unforunately given me ample chance to forget how to put all this back together:

Think I'll just hit it with something and hope for the best

Whilst Gosling One can't escape and frolic across the outback, I'll be making a few additions to her arsenal. I'll add a few images and news about those if all goes well and I don't break anything else.

Merry xmas to me...

As is traditional, instead of waiting for someone else to buy me an entirely inexplicably festive pair of socks, I got myself something much, much better for xmas. It's also entirely non-sock based:

Gosling One. She's back, and her goose has not been cooked for xmas

After a good few years of being stashed away in a friend's shed gathering dust and spiders, Gosling One has finally been released into the warm, welcoming air of Western Australia. I like to think she was happy to see me, despite my abandoning her here to return to the UK on the completion of my original, round Oz epic. She might be plotting her revenge, but it'll have to wait until she's officially back on the road.

The only obstacle between more motorcycle shenanigans remains getting her a new "rego" from the W.A highways people. What could possibly go wrong, it's the festive season after all. With the battery charged and a bit of fresh fuel in the tank, Gosling One did not even remotely give a damn about her period of inactivity; firing up and thumping away without so much as a "where the bloody hell have you been?"

Next week for the "pit" inspection, so until then, goodwill to Goslings and all that.

Happy festive season y'all!

City lights, city bikes..

This will be the penultimate entry with regard to this Sydney to Melbourne jaunt, as we've arrived in Melbourne and delivered the bikes as promised. Not a great deal to report other than cleaning up Broomhilda wasn't as much fun as I had thought it would be, there's a lot of places on a bike that size that dirt can hide.

We motored in to Melbourne from our overnight spot in Anglesea early this morning, held up briefly by a log jam of traffic crossing the bridge into the centre of the city. Doesn't seem to matter how bloody big the motorbike you're riding is, car drivers (for the most part) just choose not to see you. Mark had decided to opt for the factory fitted BMW satellite navigation system on his bike, so getting lost in the urban tangle was luckily only a minor possibility.

That's official BMW tape that is

We made it to our R.V point with little more than a few clenched fists to show for the ride through the thronging streets, so I thought it would be nice to treat Broomhilda to a little shopping:

She's a 1200 double C

Ludicrously early start tomorrow morning, so I'm off to bed. I'll post up some more images when I get back to W.A and have a chance to sift through the memory card at leisure, there might even be some interesting ones in there somewhere.

Stay tuned!

Wales...no wait, Victoria in Australia...

As it turns out, and here's a tip for all you would be campers out there, a yellow tent and neglecting to zip up said domicile whilst camping on the Victorian coast; means the fly-sheet, becomes exactly that.

After clearing out those flies I could from the tent, and murdering with extreme prejudice those that failed to evacuate my bedroom within the allotted time, I finally managed to get some sleep. Which is exactly what was needed after the 560km from the previous day.

Today was a relatively short hop from the coastal town of Port Campbell at the western end of the Great Ocean Road, to Anglesea in Wales, erm I mean at the eastern end of the Great Ocean Road. Short in terms of distance, but long in terms of time thanks to the ludicrous number of natural attractions along the way. The list of things to see could fill a book, and indeed a few have been written on driving the G.O.R, but I reckon it's best to just get out there and have a look yourself. Or if you can't do that, just read this blog instead!

Consumate professionals these Bike Round Oz chaps

I'd actually ridden the G.O.R (we're on acronymic terms already) before, going in the opposite direction whilst on my round trip (the whole of Oz) expedition, but it was a nice experience to ride it with other people. Also this time it wasn't day two of being on a bike that I'd never ridden before, so I could take time to enjoy the scenery and the ride, rather than worry about bending the handlebars with my vice-like grip of terror.

Pretty dull this coast, nothing to see here move along...

The route threads its way along a majestic, convoluted, intricate and often beautiful section of the Victorian coastline and is popular with motorcyclists, drivers in general, tourists of all shapes, sizes and nationalities and Australians alike. Some stretches of the route cling tenaciously to rock walls, with nought but a metal barrier on the other side between you and the pristine waters of the Southern Ocean. It would have been terrifying if I'd not been having so much fun.

12 Apostles, no 7, no hang on. Bugger it, Australians can't count.

After having had four days of getting used to the BMW GS I was amply prepared to enjoy what motorcycling delights the route offered up, and there were plenty.

Let's just put it this way lest I resort to ever more motorbike clichés, if you ride a motorcycle and you're in Victoria, you will visit the Great Ocean Road. It's just one of those things that is the 'done' thing.

We broke for coffee in a little roadhouse along the way and well, let's just say that when you walk into a place and you're outnumbered by mullet haircuts ten to three, you take your coffee and get the hell out of dodge. We didn't linger long that's for sure, the coffee was actually pretty good mind you. Must have be generations of handed down experience, cousin to cousin to cousin...

No this isn't the one I mentioned above. What am I, crazy?

Overcast but not vindictive skies graced most of the route, only giving way to a brief but powerful thunderstorm as we reached Apollo Bay. Luckily for me, I'd voted myself as cameraman / director for the afternoon and told the Bike Round Oz fellows to bugger off back round a section of the G.O.R so I could get some video and photos. That was the point when the heavens decided to open, and I might have felt a brief pang of guilt as I watched the two BMW bikes motor off into the falling rain, droplets highlighted as slashes of yellow in their headlights. Not much mind you, just a little; plus I got over it very quickly.

Rain. It does happen in Australia from time to time, really.

The rest of the G.O.R was over in record time, too quickly in fact as it would have been quite easy to spend a whole day gawping at the scenery and sweeping round the bends, but alas we had places to be.

Some more rain, but I liked the picture so I put it in.

That place to be was Anglesea, which is where we are now. Tomorrow is essentially the end of the road trip, riding in to Melbourne to deliver the bikes to where they're needed. Right now we're debating the best method for cleaning off the accumulated road grime. I'm all for riding straight through a car wash suited and booted, but I would imagine that unless mother nature lends a hand tonight, tomorrow morning will be spent scrubbing down Broomhilda and her two yellow sisters.

Budgie smugglers and a foamy sponge on standby!

560km from the previous post..

So after being awoken at some ungodly hour by the lyrical styling of the Kookaburra Dawn Chorus (available on CD or Itunes I should think), we fortified ourselves for the epic 560km ride to Port Campbell with cold pizza leftover from the night before. A hearty breakfast of champions to be sure.

Camping at bright. Pine fresh scented air comes as standard.

It may seem strange, but there isn't a great deal to report on from such a long day in the saddle other than the state of my posterior, which is probably best left between myself and my personal physician. (I'm sure she'll be thrilled) This wasn't all a jolly old jape you see, the bikes we're riding actually have to be in Melbourne at a specific time, as a Bike Round Oz group of riders is taking them (and a number of others) over to Tasmania. So today was the day we had to get some serious distance ridden.

The route we took varied from that normally taken by tour groups, this time including some delightful three lane motorway and high speed dual carriageways into the bargain, a must for every avid motorcycle fan. It wasn't all as bad as that to be honest, and we were on a mission after all.

3km left in the tank. That'll get you pretty much anywhere in Australia, possibly not back though.

The weather smiled on us for the great majority of the day, temperatures having crept up into the mid thirties (Celsius), and the occasional decrease as we rode along tree lined avenues proved to be a welcome relief. Rolling golden hills and more of the gracefully meandering roads from yesterday, provided the backdrop to our kilometre killing mission, and very scenic it was too. Even if most of it was flashing past in a blur.

We approached Port Campbell at the western end of the Great Central Road early this evening, after being briefly threatened by a tag team band of rain clouds moving across the plains, heralded by a brilliant arc of lightning on the horizon. We kept the throttles open and managed to thread our way between the storm pockets, only very occasionally picking the contents and getting a light dappling of rain for our trouble.

That's the 'work' section of the road trip over with, tomorrow we travel along the Great Ocean Road, west to east, heading towards our rendezvous in Melbourne on Saturday. Port Campbell holds a few fond memories for me, I visited on my epic round Australia trip on something like day 3 of being on the bike, so I remember the place well. We're even camping in the same spot I did all those kilometres ago. The blackbirds singing in the trees to welcome us in were a nice touch, not heard a blackbird for a good long while.

Tomorrow, unless I fall off the Great Ocean Road and get eaten by a shark, there should be more to report and some better photos.

For now, off to bed. Even the bare ground looks comfortable after 560 odd km in that saddle. On a side note though, odd expression that 'something something odd km'. I can damn well recall riding the even km too, I've got the bruises to prove it!

Bright-en up the sky...

Mother nature, ours and every other motorcyclist constant companion, nemesis and sometimes ally, had her metaphorical tail between her legs today and was obviously apologising for the less than ideal weather we'd experienced yesterday. Day three began in blazing sunshine, and continued much the same for the entirety of the fun had today. If you thought I was done with motorcycling clichés yesterday, then prepare to be disappointed. (There is no escape)

We climbed up through the Snowy Mountains along twisting roads which kinked up and down as often as they jinked left and right, with minimal traffic to hinder our progress as it's the “off” season in the Snowies. Famed for its skiing, there wasn't much of that to be had thanks to there being no snow, and an awful lot of sunshine. All the small towns and chalet complexes we passed were eerily deserted, their sad looking chairlifts glinting in the sun as if being shiny would somehow be enough to attract the long gone skiers back.

Ski resort, no skiers but lots of bikes

The road, I know I said this before but there are lot of roads like this in these parts, was made for motorcycling. Nobody would string together that many hairpins, sweeping curves, tight bends, crests and troughs unless they had a penchant for all things two wheeled. Or they got hammered one day down at the local highways agency, either way it all worked out nicely for us.

The big BMW, who I'm on the cusp of christening something Germanic like Helga or Broomhilda, had apparently gone on a crash diet. She seemed to weigh half the amount she had yesterday, far more nimble and much more manoeuvrable. Somehow energised by the sight of the fantastic roads, the BMW flicked through the bends and curves, stitching together the alternating left and right varieties with ease and apparent relish; despite what the muppet in the saddle thought he was trying to make the bike do. It's surprisingly 'me' friendly that R1200GS, must have some sort of idiot autopilot button that I hit by accident.

As we descended from the physical and metaphorical high point, the scent of Eucalyptus which had filled the air as we rode through the forest, was replaced with the altogether less appetising aroma of hot asphalt and melting tar. Temperatures were rapidly rising as we descended towards the plains on yet another great road, and with the sun high in the sky, sunglasses on and a tank full of fuel, it was all in danger of becoming another cliché.

High up in the not-so-Snowy Mountains

We sped along through velvet textured grassland, liberally interspersed with vegetation covered hills and mountains which, from a distance, gave the impression that someone had draped a huge felt blanket of trees over the naked bumps on the earth. The first few hours of the day had been spent in frantic pursuit of the perfect cornering line around the bends, transitioning from one to the other with little gap between. But now, now it was if someone had turned up the wavelength on the corners and dialled in the calm.

The road stretched far ahead towards the southern horizon, the languorous bends clearly visible for an age before encountering them and everything about the place said 'relax'. Instead of the rapid succession of tight corners, it was now as if the bends had decided to chill out a bit. They had a lot of ground to cover, so why bunch up? Time to just sit back and enjoy the smooth ride and lazily meandering road. So we did. Although sitting back and enjoying the ride is easier said than done on that motorcycle seat. After a few days in the saddle, you start to appreciate the benefits of a sofa, or possibly a concrete bench.

Somewhere along the way on that route a pie leapt out from nowhere and landed in my mouth, then I think it either died, or it was dying beforehand. The less said about that the better to be entirely honest with you, sometimes eating on a budget just doesn't cut it.

This man wants lunch, pray it's not a pie

Tiny communities, isolated in every way dotted the landscape. We passed a few one horse, no horse and 'someone stole the horse and ate it' towns, each one just as inexplicably friendly and welcoming as the next, before we finally turned west at the settlement of Mount Beauty. From there we were treated to a repeat performance of the sort of roads encountered in the first part of the day, only these were possibly better. I just let Helga / Broomhilda get on with it and enjoy herself, I was just along for the ride after all.

I'll tell you this though, for a big girl with a lot of plastic on board, she can be quite graceful when the occasion calls for it.

The town of Bright, marvellously fragrant with the scent of pine trees, is where we've ended up for the night. I'm hooked on the place already, but then pine trees do it for me. Sleeping on a bed of needles tonight, couldn't ask for a better end to a pretty damn good day.

Possibly 500km or more to cover tomorrow, so it'll be a long day. If it's still Thursday when we finish, I'll try and post a few of the better photos we've got so far. For now though, a fragrant bed of pine needles is calling. 

Day three, Jindabyne to Bright

Despite the best attempts of some temperatures well inside the 'quite chilly' range, we all survived the night without becoming icicles or being forced to congregate in the same tent, which is possibly worse.

Day three dawned good and early thanks to the local tribe of Galahs, who insisted on announcing to the campsite that they were all awake, therefore so should everyone else be. Still, the view from the tent could have been a darn sight more mundane:

I've woken up to worse

The Bike Round Oz chaps are doing a bit of work this morning, so I thought it best I post an update to show willing, at least for appearances sake. Today it's inland some more towards the alpine town of Thredbo, along the Alpine Way and then down to the next staging post of Bright. It's about 325km or so, but a lot of up, down, left and right so it'll be a leisurely days ride.

Lake Jindabyne. Behind the fat BMW, if you squint you might spot it

She huffed and she puffed...

...but mother nature couldn't blow my house down.

Day two started much as day one had ended, in other words in the dark. It was dark, very dark when I awoke to the suffocating yellow claustrophobia, that is sleeping in my one man tent surround by motorcycle clothing. After managing to convince myself that even in the strange lands of the east coast of Australia, the custom isn't to get out of bed when it's dark, I went back to sleep until the sun deigned to grace the scene.

Batemans Bay rhymes with 'grey' and indeed it was

After a hearty breakfast consisting of the pie food group, we hit the road and mother nature let us have it with whatever she hadn't let us have the day before. More of the same insipid drizzle and gusting wind kept us awake and on our toes as we threaded our way south, interspersed with the occasional blush of sunshine to remind us what we were missing.

Despite the less than enthusiastic weather though, the highway was proving to be quite interesting to ride with plenty of scenic views along the way, provided you could squint between the water droplets on the visor. We swung west towards the Great Dividing Range (it divides things and is pretty good at it too) just outside the small town of Bega, apparently famous for cheese. Not sure if that's all cheese or just a specific type, but if it's cheese you're after then Bega is the place!

This BMW is cheese coloured, hence its inclusion here

As we progressed into the Dividing Range, threading our way along the narrow roads climbing higher every minute, the temperature did the exact opposite and legged it downwards. A brief stop to don an extra layer or two gave us a chance to look around the forests we were riding through. A mass of chlorophyll, abundantly green thanks to the rain that had been on the scene earlier. This wasn't just green, this was green with a point to prove.

The route twisted its way upwards, tight hairpins, sweeping bends, dips, rises, any number of motorcycle riding clichés were encountered along the way; the road was obviously built for bikes... and the truck carrying a lot of aloof looking horses I got stuck behind, but that's beside the point.

Once I was done examining the relative merits of the equine bottom, we emerged over the top of the mountains and threaded our way down through some vast, rolling grasslands. I was half expecting to have to slam on the brakes to avoid a herd of buffalo / bison / cowboys. The road stretched ahead for as far as the eye could see, gently curving to accommodate the hills on either side and even the sun came out to shine on our little three bike parade. Good times.

The addition of waterproof liners / over trousers or any form of waterproof garment to a bike rider, is a guarantee of good weather.

The last quarter of our days ride to Jindabyne was essentially perfect motorcycling, even rated on my somewhat dubious quality standard whereby 'perfect' basically means not falling off. Good weather, better roads and some pretty damn impressive scenery (and not falling off of course).

Despite all threats, Jindabyne the Great Dividing Range and the Snowy Mountains have so far elected to remain above freezing, although the metal chair I'm currently sitting on in a camp kitchen by the lake is probably approaching zero degrees C as I write.

There are plenty of pictures and even a whole load of video, but I'll have to deal with the majority of that when I get home, that's assuming survival of course. So for now you'll have to be content with the few scattered photos herein.

Tomorrow we're delving deeper into the Snowy Mountains, threading our way towards Thredbo (see what I did there?) and the delights to be encountered along the way. For now though, my yellow wedge of a tent and the interior of a sleeping bag is calling. Actually it's getting pretty damned cold now, wonder if the BMW has a tent heater on it somewhere.

Nope, they can't find the tent heater either

The one after the first...

...the second day begins! Or rather it began earlier, much earlier, than I deigned to emerge from my tent. It's a bloody nice feeling to be back in a tent next to a motorcycle, even if it is like sleeping in a bright yellow plastic bag.

From the camp here in Batemans Bay, we're hopefully going to wiggle our way inland and up, towards the second night stop at Jindabyne in the Snow Mountains. It's threatening snow up there, I suppose the clue is in the name really, but it still seems a little over the top if you ask me.

Good job I brought extra socks with me I reckon.

Update this evening if we don't get mauled by yeti.

Sydney to somewhere not Sydney...

Well we're off and running, or riding rather. After a night spent in the welcoming confines of Sydney we travelled out to the bike depot, 10 mins or three separate conversations with the taxi driver away, to collect the three R1200GS bikes we'd been assigned for the trip from Sydney to Melbourne.

They're a hell of a lot bigger up close and in person than they are in a 640x480 image on a website, that's for certain. Two vibrant yellow machines for the chaps from Bike Round Oz, and a black job for me. It's as if Gosling One has been down the gym and on a course of illicit steroids.

Camping at Batemans Bay, miserable weather included free of charge

Being the first time I'd been on a bike since leaving the Yamaha XT600E (Gosling One) in Australia a couple of years back, to say the learning curve was steep would be like comparing Everest to a small pile of icing sugar. Still, I like to think I started to get the hang of it again reasonably quickly, even managing to recover from the requisite stall before even setting off, without anyone noticing (or at least mentioning it).

We exited Sydney as fast as we could, which turned out not to be that fast at all thanks for the quantity of Monday morning traffic and some extremely vindictive traffic lights. Each stop at which, was another opportunity for me to try and drop said huge lump of German metal and plastic. Sydney traffic can't last forever mind you, and we eventually popped free of the suburban chaos and into the relatively tranquil national parks to the south west.

Thundering (it felt like thundering, quiet at the back) along the tree fringed two lane road towards the coast was a welcome contrast to the stop start, in and out hair raising navigation required to leave Sydney. As far as I had been concerned up til then, the 1200GS only had two gears, turns out it really has six. Live and learn.

Curving ocean side roads near the Seacliff Bridge

Stopping in the coastal town of Thirroul for a coffee and some cake, gave mother nature an opportunity to muster her forces, leap over the tree blanketed mountains inland of the town and assault us when we ventured back to the bikes. Mercifully she didn't send a great deal of rain, only an expeditionary force of wind in all strengths and directions seemingly at once. The solid Germanic bulk of the 1200GS wasn't too bothered about all this, but my neck certainly has a few extra kinks in it now, thanks to a few overly enthusiastic gusts as we travelled south along the Princes Highway.

That asphalt snake thing, that's the Seacliff Bridge that is.

Apparently the normal advice from Bike Round Oz is for clients to find an alternative to the Princes Highway as it's not rated to be terribly interesting, but we had to get to Batemans Bay before sundown and were already running a bit behind. As far as I'm concerned it might not be up there with the 'worlds greatest roads', but it certainly wasn't as dull as I'd been expecting. Some nice little towns clustered around sheltered bays, a few twists, a few rises and only a little traffic; although it might have all been stuck behind my dawdling bike I suppose.

When your motorcycle takes up more room than your tent, you know it's time to readdress your priorities.

We're now camped just inland from the still apparently very annoyed ocean, in a caravan park / campsite chosen by yours truly because I was running out of petrol. Nothing like necessity to make decision making a more rapid process.

The preliminary plan for the morning of Tuesday is to head inland in a 'wiggly' sort of fashion, towards the mountain town of Jindabyne, located in the 'BloodySoddingFreezing' mountain range...sorry, the Snowy Mountains. Reports had the temperatures up there a day or two ago at a most balmy -2 degrees C in the daytime. I know it's December, but we're in Australia for crying out loud.

Camping is still on the agenda (I think this was my idea, but I don't normally have an agenda), but if it really is minus 2 there could well be a mutiny, followed by a swift exodus to a log cabin. Still, I think there's a button on this Beemer for some heated hand grips, would be a shame not to try them at least once.