Barrington Tops in New South Wales, Australia. The freshest of air, green rolling hills as far as the eye can see, birds at the campsite singing, cows lowing over in the next valley, paradise. Pity I can’t remember any of it…

Ok, lets take a step backwards in the story. The idea of camping overnight up at Barrington Tops (about three hours ride north of Sydney) had been thrown on the table for comment shortly after the AusDay02 ride. ISRA Australia members from Melbourne, Wagga Wagga, Canberra & Sydney usually try to take their own respective day trips on the first Sunday of the month but with AusDay02 still fresh in our minds a day trip just wasn’t enough and an overnighter was called for in the first weekend of March for Sydney riders.

Your faithful author was the only rider from Canberra and I crashed, slept I mean, at Gonzo’s place in Sydney Friday night so as not to try and ride for three hours Saturday morning from Canberra to meet the Sydney riders for a 8:30am start. That and I had some tweaking of my Roadie’s carb to do, and as it is never fun working on your ride on your own, I enlisted Gonzo’s help and patience on the Friday night to get the carb running shaweeeet. But that is for another write-up.

Saturday morning had us awoken to the strains of Barry’s (“Bazza”) Harley pulling up outside Gonzo’s house at 7:00am. Mark (“Frosty”) showed up shortly after on his trusty 650, and after a last once over of the gear strapped to the bikes we hit the road to meet at a local Macca’s to wait for the others who were coming. We were first into the Macca’s and bellied up to the counter and ordered the obligatory bacon and egg McMuffin, breakfast of champions I tell ya! David (“King”) along with his lovely wife, Mirella (“Princess”) arrived shortly after on their Royal Star, that seemed to be sagging under some extra weight. Had Princess attempted to pack the kitchen sink for the trip? Well no actually, the culprit was King with his new mirrors, his new BAK kit, his new exhaust system and numerous other extras that had been bolted on only the day before. Top effort! :-)

After a little more waiting around (well 45 minutes actually) Geoff (“5-Stars”), along with Dave (“Sparkie”) and pillion Norma (“Norma-Jean”) finally arrived and we got reared up to go. But then 5-Stars promptly did a U-turn in the car park and disappeared again as he had forgotten the golden rule on ride day, you leave with a full tank. While 5-Stars was off doing his thing, we were all admiring Sparkie’s new purple Roadie, less than two weeks old and it was so stock that it still had the, “Thou Shalt Read Thine Owners Manual Before Firing Up Said Iron Steed” on the fuel tank.

Straight away I pegged Norma-Jean for one tough broad, as the Sydney riders had a round trip of about 700kms this weekend and EVERY Roadie owner knows the stock pillion seat isn’t good for anything over 200kms in a week. Later I found out Norma-Jean wasn’t as tough as I thought: Sparkie still has the bruises to show for every form of bump, rut or pothole in the road they hit after the magic 200kms, with Norma-Jean expressing her displeasure upon his ribs. “Mustang” in your future, Dave? :-)

Hark, we heard the strains of 5-Stars’ 1100 returning from his fuel up and finally we were on the road for real! Heading north out of Sydney we were to venture along a road known as “Old Putty Road”. It used to just be “Putty Road” but then someone must have figured it was a little long in the tooth and the “Old” was added to make it feel bad. Age aside it was a fantastic bit of traveling as we followed a series of winding bends along the very crest of a ridge occasionally dipping down one side and then the other. It was one of those roads where the constant view threatens to put you into the nearest tree as you miss a bend through lack of concentration.

On a particular section of the “Old Putty” there is a 15Km long stretch affectionately known as “The Windy Bit” and we were guilty of more than a few times just having to overtake “slow cars” on double lines. We came, we saw, we fair tore that road a new one and we said it was good. Naturally the floorboards got their usual hammering, but that is what they are there for. [Are they still there? There can’t be much of them left after the absolute hammering we did through The Windy Bit! And I don’t mean American-style twisties (read: gentle sweepers) either. I mean the sort that are posted all the way down to 25Kms/h while we ripped through them doing… Well, who has time to look, right? - Ed]

At one of the last few corners of The Windy Bit, Gonzo disappeared from my mirrors and I had to back track to find him, fearing he had maybe come off his ride. Thankfully that had not happened as I saw his bike parked on the side of the road. Taking a picture perhaps? Not likely, as a short way into the scrub I could see him contemplating life, while he watered the fauna. You’re all class, Gonzo. [Just doin’ my bit for the environment, mate. - Ed]

Later in the day we came to Singleton, a mining town, and I just had to stop and take a picture of just about the biggest “back hoe” you will ever see. They are affectionately called “The House”, so I understand, as they literally have a home built into them. If you look real carefully you can see where the “driver” sits.

It’s amazing how road conditions can change quickly. One moment we are teaching a strip of tarmac the lesson of it’s life, but then the next we are encountering potholes, ruts and bumps enough to make your teeth rattle in your head. A particularly bad part had the Roadie's handlebars whipping back and forth and I thought for sure I was going to put the beast down. I was not alone as I later found out that Frosty admitting to a bit of tank slapping himself (I said TANK!). Snorts of derision from Gonzo, the lead rider, regarding our comments about the lousy road were shortly stopped when it was pointed out to him that when you are in the lead you have more of a chance to pick a clean line so it’s no wonder he thought the road was fine! :-) [*shrug* Who had time to look at the road when there was the scenery to look at. Seriously breathtaking! - Ed]

It was getting past lunch time and we were running late to meet Mick Friend from Taree (up north a bit) in a small town called “Dungog”. Some twit said we would all meet at the pub and the question was asked, which pub? To which a certain twit said, “There’s only one pub in Dungog so we’ll find him.” Now the only way you get just one pub in any town in Australian is to have a local population of less than 50. More than 50 and there is at least two pubs. Dungog weighing in at 2000 people had three pubs, [Crap! I only counted TWO! - Ed] but luckily we were able to find Mick without any dramas as a red/cream 1100 parked out front is a sure giveaway. [Like I said, we’d find him. - Ed] Mick had already been in town for 45 minutes and was starting to think that maybe we had come and gone and forgotten him. But he was never lonely as you can always make friends in an Aussie Pub.

Lunch was a lazy affair as we had to wait a while; It seems a dozen people showing up wanting food at 2pm isn’t quite the done thing in Dungog. It gave us a chance to have a good catch-up chat, especially with Mick who we don’t get to see that often. With lunch completed we soon found there wasn’t a spare patch of bike to strap any food or drink to because most of us were camping. So we decided we would shoot up the road to the campground at Barrington Tops - some 30kms away - unload the bikes and make our way back to Dungog for some supplies. We almost didn’t make it to Barrington Tops, read on, if you dare. [Hang on… Let me get a drink first, to calm my nerves! - Ed]

It was getting on 3pm and it had been a long day and with lunch still weighing heavily in our stomachs, we were taking the last leg quite sedately and enjoying the ride. I was quite a ways back in the pack with only Frosty and 5-Stars behind me, when up ahead around a blind corner came a small white car at high speed already well over the centre line. Gonzo was still leading and it wasn’t obvious if he would get clear, but it was going to be a different story for Mick and Bazza following behind. As the car came around the bend the driver saw Gonzo and wrenched the car back to the left, but as he was going so fast he immediately went into a slide with the tail end coming out and the car sliding sideways on the road. It missed Gonzo by a whisker, only due to his rather calm, almost sedated, drift out of the line of the out-of-control vehicle. [Seriously, it was a zen-like experience. As far as I was concerned, I had all the time in the world to get out of the way! Bizarre! - Ed]

But Mick and Barry were next in line and from where I was, they were gone for all money. Unbelievably the car turned back into the slide and Mick and Barry were clear, but the moron behind the wheel was in a fish-tail by then and twice over corrected and the back end came whipping out again into our lane, right in front of King and Princess with Sparkie and Norma-Jean only a couple of bike lengths back. Again I saw someone else’s life flash before my eyes but amazingly again the car fished back out of the slide and everyone was still upright. Last thing I saw of the car it was flying past me, still not completely under control with the back end still shaking about. The last thing the driver would have seen was my index finger in his windshield and the wind whipping away my shout, “FAAAAAAARKIN CAAAAAAAAHNNNT… !!!!!”

It has been the only time in my life when have I felt the red haze of road-rage wash across my eyes and I was incredibly close to hitting the brakes, reversing my tracks and riding that bastard down to dance a merry jig on his face and car. As it was, after almost taking out what would have looked like a “bunch of bikies” I’m sure his foot would have been flat to the floor all the way to the Queensland border (some 1000kms away) and I wasn’t about to go racing along winding country roads without any local knowledge only to come off myself.

We found our destination was only a few more minutes up the road and after turning off at an entrance and riding down a rutted dirt track for a kilometre or two we came to a stop at our place for the night. Naturally talk went straight to the lunatic that had almost killed half of us and after checking our shorts found that we had all come out unscathed. Gonzo said he felt almost Zen-like about the whole thing, [Sorry, I’ve already told them that. - Ed] the car coming around the corner out of control, yet he knew it was going to miss him, but he was sure that Mick was going to be a statistic. [I saw Mick’s life flash before my eyes! Maybe that’s why I was in a trance-like (bored?) state? :-) - Ed] Mick was certain his number was up and couldn’t believe he was missed. Bazza was just waiting to see which way Mick got creamed before deciding to go left or right. King and Sparkie were both pretty concerned but mainly couldn’t believe Mick was still alive. You know how I felt. Frosty and 5-Stars down the back just sat back in amazement at it all.

With the excitement over we decided to get all the gear off the bikes and choose where we were going to pitch tents. We quickly discovered that there were cows at this camping ground and we were going to be hard pressed to find a patch of ground that didn’t have a big pile of cow manure on it but I think we just got by. After a group of bikes went back to, and returned from Dungog, loaded down with food, beer and other essential items, we decided it was time to get down to some serious business, Drinking. Gonzo couldn’t think of a better idea than to go and have a drink in the stream nearby. So with his air mattress he had packed, (that we had dubbed “Blow-up Sally”) he made his way to the stream with a bottle of Crown Lager in hand, and you can see him here, the picture of serenity itself. On return from the stream he found that one of the cows liked the look of our iron steeds and was about to put the hard word on Frosty’s ride. Gonzo promptly had quiet words with said cow and “Mick Dundee’d” her so she didn’t bother us again, although Frosty did gaze upon her departing form with a misty look in his eyes…

Unfortunately for me I decided I would share a bottle of Jack Daniels with King. [We are thinking about renaming King to "The Fish"!!! - Ed] I say unfortunately because I had been riding all day, hadn’t eaten that much, drank next to nothing and the JD was going down like lolly water. Naturally I was doing fine one moment and then the next, well, lets just say I had a LOT of personal time that night in a quite part of the campground. [You were in a baaaaad place, Muggabbi! - Ed] Mick and 5-Stars looked after me though, such great mates they are and everyone else checked on me here and there, except for Frosty who was last seen wandering into the darkness calling out, “Daisy, Daaaaaaaaisy…”

[What Toasty is missing is that after some convincing, we managed to light a fire and proceeded to cook a very hearty dinner of steaks and sausages on a BBQ and in the morning we rustled up some exquisite bacon and eggs off the BBQ. Strangely, Toasty did not show any interest in any for the finely prepared food. Must not have been up to his usual high standards, the snobb! :-) - Ed]

The next morning had me waking up not in Gonzo’s tent like we had planned to share, but on the veranda of an unused caravan, with my camping mattress under me and my sleeping bag over me. The guys in their well-founded wisdom decided it probably wasn’t the best idea to put in a tent when a quick exit might be called for. To say I was fragile was an understatement, but a big thanks has to go to everyone for continuously checking on my well-being and for not saying the typical, “You only have yourself to blame.” Everyone except Frosty that is, who definitely had a self-satisfied look on his face, and I swear Daisy had an extra swish in her tail. [That was only due to Frosty proving to the rest of the gang that he could, if he really tried, expel more methane into the atmosphere that your average cow! He was self-satisfied with this discovery; Daisy was merely trying to fan his noxious fumes away from her! - Ed]

The rest of the day for me, I am afraid to say, was a haze. We broke camp at 10am and made for Dungog to have coffee, real coffee. [Ummm... You don't remember the quick stop at Chichester Dam? - Ed] I declined the coffee and bid everyone a half-hearted farewell as I had a long day ahead of me back to Canberra (some 600kms away) and a very bad hangover to try and overcome. Once I traveled out through Mittagong onto the highway it was a straight run back to Canberra where I arrived at 5pm. A quick call to Gonzo to tell him I got home alive and I promptly fell into bed and slept for three hours.

When’s the next trip?

[At Dungog, Mick headed off back to Taree, while the rest of us took a very easy trip home via the Wollombi Pub for lunch. Other than the beads of sweat that were forming on my temples around Maitland, due to me being on reserve for 30 Kms and STILL no sign of a petrol station, not much can be said about the return home except it to was a very lazy ride home. Just the way a weekend should be spent! - Ed]