tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44125786134991324082024-02-20T20:01:25.956-08:00Contemplative MotorcyclingMatthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.comBlogger229125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-84221673866563192582015-03-07T02:37:00.000-08:002015-03-07T02:37:00.007-08:00RedesdaleOftentimes I let the ride flow past, and into the past, without photos. But here are my two latest.<br />
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Today I rode to Redesdale for lunch on the Royal Enfield. I returned to Melbourne by a motley of routes, some sealed, some dirt.<br />
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It is Autumn, a wonderful season for riding. This is especially so on a Bullet. I meandered down this dirt road at 30kph, trying to absorb the space into myself, so that I might carry it within me like a light during the week.<br />
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Last Sunday I rode to Yea, then Ruffy, then to a friend's farm near Strathbogie. Again this was done on the Bullet. My new Royal Enfield is quite simply the best motorcycle I have ever owned. It is gutless, twice as tiring on day rides, and I worry about it in ways that I never do with a Japanese bike. But nothing else has the character, nothing else soothes the soul, nothing else gives abundant joy, like my Bullet.<br />
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I ate lunch at the Red Plate cafe while surrounded by bikes.<br />
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I made a friend on my way home:<br />
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<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-43001895913191358702015-01-26T15:21:00.003-08:002020-09-04T23:28:14.585-07:00Tasmania on a Royal Enfield Bullet, 2015This is now a yearly pilgrimage; you might remember <a href="http://contemplativemotorcycling.blogspot.com.au/2013/02/tasmania-first-days.html" target="_blank">this </a>and <a href="http://contemplativemotorcycling.blogspot.com.au/2014/03/tasmania-feburary-2014.html" target="_blank">this</a>. The difference on the current trip is that I fulfilled a longing and rode a Royal Enfield, purchased new and just in time for the journey.<br />
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The first day was summer, yet it resembled a temperate winter as the joy of my single cylinder engine rang out across the hills. I wound through bend after bend west of Cradle Mountain. The air was crisp, the light soft, the world lucid and kind. Greener and greener it became, moving from farm hills to mountains which were dense with forest and ferns.<br />
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Later that day the land dried out by degrees as I descended the western mountains, out onto the undulating plains of the midlands. </div>
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On and on, at dusk I arrived in Nicholls Rivullett where I would be staying the fortnight with my father and his wife. The Cygnet Folk Festival was in full swing and the town was transformed during those initial days. Soon it quietened however and I settled into my daily round, of motorcycling and reading and drinking coffee. Every day I would do this, enjoying the local roads many of which skirted the ocean.</div>
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I took along Iris Murdoch's <i>The Sea, The Sea</i>, a long novel which I read slowly over the span of the trip, finishing the day before I returned. It is full of delicious descriptions of food, eaten on lazy days by the ocean, a description almost of my own experience.</div>
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I would sit by the ocean reading this book, my bike beside me, local fruit in my napsack. Some days the sun shone, some days it rained, and on others a moody atmosphere hung - the sea dirty and frustrated, splashing at my feet.</div>
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I had intended to write, and did edit <a href="http://www.existentialtherapy.com.au/blog/a-reflection-on-the-sadness-of-impermanence" target="_blank">this </a>older piece after the sad events just prior to my leaving, but mostly I lived the passive life. </div>
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This is the view from my father's deck, looking across the mountains:</div>
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It changed from day to day as I drank red wine and read or thought or imagined.</div>
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I often sat on the Woodbridge side of the coast and watched the boats go by.<br />
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My God, the roads in this area are a joy to ride on a Royal Enfield. I felt perpetually in a scene from Heartbeat. Many of the roads are single lane and weave past farms. At times I had to dodge sheep, tractors, and encroaching black berries. Everywhere I stopped people came and spoke to me about the bike, many of them non-riders who loved its 1940s looks. </div>
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One afternoon I sat against the church in Cygnet, reading my book in the shade. I took the photo below while sitting there, and it shows the main part of the town, which is more like a village. A fellow walked past and asked what I was reading. It emerged that he knew Murdoch through philosophy, which is also how I first knew her. He, Michael, then told me how he had been involved for many years in federal politics and diplomacy under Hawke and Keating including as diplomat to the international criminal caught in the Hague, and how he had become late in life <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/7.30/stories/s129126.htm" target="_blank">a priest</a>. On the same day that I arrived in Cygnet Michael did too, to commence at his new (and probably last) parish. All this was told to me as we sat on his kitchen chairs, which he had pulled onto the lawn as we spoke, and while drinking the tea which he brewed for me, and which we drank while sitting there in the sun, in an old rose garden.</div>
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I was to meet many different people. The next daywhile returning from Southport I wanted coffee. I pulled up at an olde English tavern only to find it closed. A girl on the verandah directed me in broken English to an adjacent building. It looked closed. I pushed open its heavy door and stepped into a wall of marijuana smoke and loud folk music. I had stepped into a den of French hippies. They were clustered in groups drinking, smoking, some playing pool. There was a bar which looked like a druggie's lounge room, and a barman who suggested he could boil an espresso coffee pot for me. He did, with a <i>ten shot</i> espresso pot, and handed me a pint mug filled to the brim with those ten shots.<br />
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On other days I did not ride but instead adventured onto the water. I canoed through Cygnet bay among moored yachts, and on another day journeyed out onto deeper seas.<br />
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But mostly I rode, read, ate and drank, my feet dangling over the edge of rocks above the waves.<br />
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On my second last day I traveled north through the midlands and finished Murdoch in an 1820s convict cemetery.<br />
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After consuming a wallaby pie for lunch, I headed further north via Bothwell and up through the lakes district. I was alone in this landscape and the Bullet motored along joyfully, never skipping a beat, making me happy in its pulsating beauty.<br />
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The landscape changes so much up here. The sky is pure, the landscape untouched and inviting.<br />
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From high up the valley below spreads like a map.<br />
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I stayed the night at the Poatina Chalet, a left-over 1960s lodge in a left-over worker's village in the mountains. This was the view from my bed.<br />
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A view which changed constantly:</div>
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In the morning it greeted me.</div>
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I spent my last day riding a loop which took me slowly back to Devonport and the ferry. I overtook tourists in the twisty mountains and the Bullet proved adept, the torquey engine pulling away lustily and sounding like a 1920s machine gun.</div>
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I caught the ferry in the evening. It was, as usual, a wonderful two weeks, which as usual left me wondering why I live in the city. I had put 2,500km on the Bullet, taking it to over 5000km, and it performed flawlessly. Why did I not buy one of these years ago. This is the best bike I have ever ridden.</div>
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Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-1942134782754017332015-01-24T01:05:00.001-08:002015-02-03T22:52:37.510-08:00Nyah, Christmas 2014 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We make pictures in our minds, fantasies of future rides, and then we mount our machine and reality comes to resemble the picture. Of course it is a resemblance only, and only in the barest outline; the lived details differ from the initial image, but nonetheless it is the idea which brings the ride into being. I needed to go north. After a series of bad events at the end of 2014 - trauma and loss - I needed to be washed in silence and heat. The inexplicable and debilitating migraines I experienced just prior to Christmas were diagnosed as the result of heavy grinding of my teeth in my sleep - a new experience for me - such was the stress! So I spent Christmas Eve and Boxing Day on a motorcycle, riding my Kawasaki W650 through the burnt paddocks of the gold fields of central Victoria and then into the Wimmera, and finally the Mallee where I stayed at Nyah by the cool, silent waters of the Murray River.</div>
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I stretched the days out, choosing back roads and small towns. I purchased books in, and explored the buildings of, Dunolly.<br />
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Further along I discovered that the books had fallen out of my torn saddle bags. I retraced my steps but to no avail. Hopefully somebody has rescued a battered copy of Peter Carey's excellent <i>True History of the Kelly Gang</i>, which was purchased for a dear friend.<br />
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I stopped often.<br />
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This view reminded my, somehow, of Andrew Wyeth's painting, <i><a href="https://mydailyartdisplay.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/wyeth.jpg" target="_blank">Christina's World</a>.</i><br />
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On Christmas day I wandered about Nyah paying attention to old shop windows.<br />
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And sat on the river. In the afternoon that day I received news that a close friend had died. And so I spent some time here. There is a healing element in the slow heavy water of the Murray, which has seen so much and which brings life to these arid places.<br />
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On Boxing Day the W650 turned over 80,000km. I purchased it at 20,000km. It has been a wonderfully reliable bike, and I would gladly purchase another. As it stands I intend to keep this one for the long haul, rebuilding the engine when necessary. From all indications that 'necessity' may be in the distant rather than near future.<br />
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I stopped in Quambatook and peered through dusty windows into abandoned shops and garages, with their dust and pigeon shit and tales of other times.<br />
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At Korong Vale I composed this text to a friend:<br />
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<i>There are no sounds in Korong Vale, save the wind blowing dust over rusty roofs, and crows in the distance. There's no milk bar, no general store or petrol station. Aside from a passing farm-ute every half hour, Korong Vale appears to have a population of 3, and they're not particularly talkative. Cricket on a TV is heard from behind a screen-door in the empty main street, which has buildings - mostly empty - on one side only, the other side being a paddock and disused railway. Which all together makes it incongruous that I am sitting in a Thai restaurant - the only customer - waiting for my prawn noodles.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Further south I stopped at the Melville caves,<br />
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and at the site where was found the biggest gold nugget ever, near Moliagul.<br />
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I continued ever southwards through warm weather, arriving toward evening back home in Melbourne. I would have to return to work for two weeks, but with the knowledge that a fortnight of motorcycling awaited me ahead in Tasmania. Motorcycling can be deeply therapeutic, when it is not simply joyful and exciting. My pleasure in it never seems to abate.<br />
<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-52067378331306063082014-12-14T15:29:00.006-08:002014-12-14T15:29:57.140-08:00The Black SpurBook in hand (or satchel) I rode the Bullet up the Black Spur yesterday. In the height of summer, when everything else is bleached, the Spur is still a lush green, forested with pines and giant ferns. I sat for a while and contemplated:<br />
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The Bullet now has 2000km and is going beautifully. I love the gentle riding that it invites.<br />
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Thank you to Olivier for sharing these magazine covers and posters with me last week:<br />
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Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-271426329665913322014-12-12T21:59:00.001-08:002014-12-13T00:04:49.557-08:00Royal Enfield in the Golden TriangleFinally. For years I have wanted to ride a Royal Enfield Bullet through these roads. Yesterday I did so, north of Yea through Highlands, Caveat, Ruffy. All these empty roads, winding through eucalypt and native pines. Surrounded by a dry summer's day. Overlooking ancient granite boulders, and paddocks of cattle and sheep. <br />
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At Ruffy the general store was open. I sat drinking in the shade, beside their new sculptures.<br />
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The Bullet is splendid on these twisting country lanes. I plod along at a happy pace, objectively slow, but with a joyful motion. On my new 1950s motorcycle, the green shadows of the road burst into sun light, and the engine purrs.<br />
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Here and there I made a friend.<br />
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Back at Yea I stopped at the Red Plate Cafe, run by Andy, a member of the SR500 Club of which I was a member. Andy took a photo for his Facebook page, and it sums up how happy this bike made me on this day.</div>
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Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-78388042712781015972014-11-30T14:38:00.003-08:002014-11-30T14:44:01.139-08:00The Bullet out EastI took the Bullet on its first ride out east, on Saturday, along the wonderful Chum Creek and Myers Creek Roads, and through the Yarra Valley.<br />
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I am so pleased with this motorcycle. It has so much character. With its big single beat it is so soul-soothing. Roads, which I have ridden for years, come to new life, as I wend my way through them, gently, revelling in the dappled sunshine.<br />
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At Toolangi I stopped for photos.<br />
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<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-85869318386542251992014-11-23T03:20:00.001-08:002014-11-24T15:21:54.689-08:00Country ride on the new BulletMy new Bullet and I spent four hundred kilometers today on our maiden voyage into the countryside. Tonight, by the ride's end the bike had 1000km on the odometer and has completed its running in schedule. I must say, this Bullet with the UCE engine is everything I wanted. I would not desire less, nor more, power - it is spot on for feeling comfortable at the speed limit yet inclining me to slow down and enjoy the ride safely, taking in the details of the landscape. And the engine has so much character. Japanese bikes utilise horse power and revs, whereas old British motorcycles rely on torque, and this is true of the Bullet - it takes much longer to gain speed, but does not lose its speed easily, thumping away up hills with a slowing pulse but no loss of momentum. Yes, that soul-soothing thump. It is so pleasant opening the throttle up as I gently but briskly exit a corner. Everything about this bike is a delight. A wonderful motorcycle!<br />
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Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-31003685512490817712014-11-08T07:34:00.003-08:002020-09-04T23:36:28.723-07:00Spring night, sweepers....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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All night</div>
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my motion arouses the dust and leaves<o:p></o:p></div>
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and my headlight dazzles the kangaroos<o:p></o:p></div>
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emerging from the sleep of farm-town edges<o:p></o:p></div>
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illuminated by that same moon<o:p></o:p></div>
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under which stand bronze Anzacs<o:p></o:p></div>
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at ease between the wars.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That moonlight’s a dreamscape<o:p></o:p></div>
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where paddocks, restless with mice<o:p></o:p></div>
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frame silos standing in stillness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thundering across the country like a dare-devil<o:p></o:p></div>
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a bike boy of the '50s<o:p></o:p></div>
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tyre marks of scattered dust<o:p></o:p></div>
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in low gear shifting skyward up a hill.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now the tail-light glows. Only just.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Strung out on the hills like those many others<o:p></o:p></div>
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alive after dusk<o:p></o:p></div>
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and spanning a continent,<o:p></o:p></div>
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it’s many parts nameless, but placed,<o:p></o:p></div>
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the night I rode for Ouyen on little petrol. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This is red earth country.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It looks empty and open<o:p></o:p></div>
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but is crowded with ghosts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Those figures are hidden away in the folds of it<o:p></o:p></div>
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invisible here, and there<o:p></o:p></div>
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but letting me know I am watched.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tracked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At day I stop and look into the blaze of sunlight<o:p></o:p></div>
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and know I am not the only one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They go on like I do<o:p></o:p></div>
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and my having been here makes a ghost of me too<o:p></o:p></div>
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a moment in time that will always have been<o:p></o:p></div>
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a moment toward which I have always been making.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Spring night<o:p></o:p></div>
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sweepers<o:p></o:p></div>
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on the road to Ouyen.</div>
Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-1085852422122277552014-11-08T06:57:00.002-08:002014-11-08T19:37:56.221-08:00The Beginning I have a new motorcycle.<br />
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New from the showroom floor. <br />
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I have never done such a thing, spent such money, and have never conceived of doing so for a bike whose reliability is a gamble. But there you have it. Motorcycling is emotional.<br />
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I need a bike that evokes the wonderful things that give reason and life to riding.<br />
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I had thought to get a late BSA twin, but I love British big singles. However I need it to be highway capable. And I need parts to be readily available. Hence outside my door is now a new, 2013 model, Royal Enfield Bullet. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5nHpD-WuE-rLnOXV89CTAvbweeuOge6J6DEGKMGUFQ2t_grITWfLiYlAc18Ocw9V-nSgBHn45nmuJYpGj6lu0Bz5EebVju96Dd1WHKU1yI4vsV14Tyj1aOLMeT5o4kuhXVmM09B8ajhc/s1600/B5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5nHpD-WuE-rLnOXV89CTAvbweeuOge6J6DEGKMGUFQ2t_grITWfLiYlAc18Ocw9V-nSgBHn45nmuJYpGj6lu0Bz5EebVju96Dd1WHKU1yI4vsV14Tyj1aOLMeT5o4kuhXVmM09B8ajhc/s1600/B5.jpg" height="198" width="320" /></a></div>
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Readers of this blog will know that I own a 1995 Enfield Bullet 500 (currently for sale) -<br />
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That is a marvellous bike, but is too slow for my needs. I need something that is highway-capable, while feeling good at slow speeds on back roads. The old Bullet only does the latter well. My new Bullet has a unit construction engine,in production since 2009, which retains the same long stroke and heavy flywheel of the original motor but produces more power, enabling all-day highway riding. It is also more robust. I will continue to use my Kawasaki W650 for commuting and highway touring, but my Bullet will take me up the freeway quickly and then into the countryside where I can slow to 90kph.<br />
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We are about to enter 2015 and the bike is a 2013 model, so it was on sale. I was uncertain about spending so much on less than stellar reliability - my W650 cost me the exact same amount (used) but it is engineered to perfection - however when I consider all the riding that lives deepest in me it is on bikes with sketchy reliability and much character.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jc4kma2T1sg07ret5F2Ft_yVMw7_mnVLnDWQM0GMBjf8yw14jMAtljUAtLAvYsuiJ1502pe2jvf88Szsezcj6vZsWTHQiW7MvIXeH-CPJY0TmXbocrZY9t6ShHjnyH28lTsonEqTNZs/s400/DSC01690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jc4kma2T1sg07ret5F2Ft_yVMw7_mnVLnDWQM0GMBjf8yw14jMAtljUAtLAvYsuiJ1502pe2jvf88Szsezcj6vZsWTHQiW7MvIXeH-CPJY0TmXbocrZY9t6ShHjnyH28lTsonEqTNZs/s400/DSC01690.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I view this new acquisition as akin to buying a <i>new </i>British motorcycle in the 1970s. One cannot expect Japanese perfection, but the memories it produces will glow brighter in years to come, while in the present it warms the heart so much more than bikes of superior engineering and build but less character.<br />
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I love the W650 and I hate debt, but this decision was motivated by the fact that the W is too sporting for my tastes. That might seem an odd thing to say in 2014 about an air-cooled, 40hp twin, but the W is essentially a replica of a '60s Bonneville and it rides accordingly: it begs to be opened up, to be pushed through the hills testing the speed limits. My riding is always influenced very much by the character of the bike. On the W I get impatient when stuck behind cars. I constantly have to tell myself to slow down. I anticipate that the Bullet will be pleasurable at slower speeds, inviting me to do 90kph all day, which is perfect.<br />
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This blog will serve as a diary of doing bigger miles on a Bullet. I look forward to it, beginning with a trip around Tasmania in two month's time. <br />
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As an aside, I saw one of my favourite bands last week, Augie March. I was at TAFE with these guys, studying music, and they went on to become quite popular. Their sound is quite different in the albums from their best years, but I was reminded of <a href="http://youtu.be/xeUGWr7ywj4" target="_blank">their first EP</a> and found it on Youtube. Have a listen. Their <a href="http://youtu.be/_BJTRSWXMRA" target="_blank">later music</a> has <a href="http://youtu.be/7sUDcF8nJhQ" target="_blank">accompanied me</a> through all my riding adventures.<br />
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<a href="http://www.lanewaymagazine.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/AugieMarch71911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.lanewaymagazine.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/AugieMarch71911.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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I am also halfway through Richard Flanagan's Booker Prize-winning novel, and it is wonderful. It is easy to make comparison's with David Malouf's <i>The Great World</i>, a novel which was moved me like few others, and there are moments when a close reader of Malouf's poetry will recognise what may be a borrowed image. Ultimately however the writing and story is Flanagan's own. Its setting - at times a 1940s dusty Australia - is good imaginative fodder for an owner of a new Royal Enfield.<br />
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<a href="http://www.themanbookerprize.com/sites/default/files/images/books/132.Richard%20Flanagan-The%20Narrow%20Road%20To%20The%20Deep%20North%20cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.themanbookerprize.com/sites/default/files/images/books/132.Richard%20Flanagan-The%20Narrow%20Road%20To%20The%20Deep%20North%20cover.jpg" height="320" width="206" /></a></div>
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On a final note, here is an advertisement for my model of motorcycle, the Bullet, for sale on the same street where I purchased my motorcycle last Thursday. However this advertisement was placed 63 years ago.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJKpoz7pwwpvR6lmbeQmDmDU9zlwjM6uiig3qFnuEPppwW0lQtPU6pbwPzYHZdRl4KgywvCjBV8Vd93FN_PL8EskzW6T-_pvPYwgkGiYoaeK0iHD_FDv64UceeLE4_lwyT8JOdgURVL0/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJKpoz7pwwpvR6lmbeQmDmDU9zlwjM6uiig3qFnuEPppwW0lQtPU6pbwPzYHZdRl4KgywvCjBV8Vd93FN_PL8EskzW6T-_pvPYwgkGiYoaeK0iHD_FDv64UceeLE4_lwyT8JOdgURVL0/s1600/3.jpg" height="320" width="137" /></a></div>
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<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-42926954231760200972014-11-08T06:12:00.004-08:002014-11-08T06:12:54.376-08:00Various ridesWith the weather warming I have spent the day on the motorcycle at regular intervals, every one to two weeks. These rides have been spent alone or with others. Then during the week I carry within flashes of memory - the light, the speed - which nourishes me as another life lived inside the usual one, sustaining it. <div>
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These rides frequent the golden triangle of course:</div>
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And Maldon, with Em. There was a vintage hill climb event on and we wandered about the old motorcycles, such as this one:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3A3iCwOenKQ9AOYEKWolqp2O5AjN91fmNHApKbD0viIRIFwMO37Jj4xQerXimXxWmv03meu5ACGpNKjHi3HoMQguM2xcsUGi4vTyjFTP2o2eS4pCZgKflz7XPH9wH1a0-5CcviOW4eU/s1600/3a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3A3iCwOenKQ9AOYEKWolqp2O5AjN91fmNHApKbD0viIRIFwMO37Jj4xQerXimXxWmv03meu5ACGpNKjHi3HoMQguM2xcsUGi4vTyjFTP2o2eS4pCZgKflz7XPH9wH1a0-5CcviOW4eU/s1600/3a.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Speaking of Em, after much hard work and scrimping and saving, her bike was finally sorted, road worthied, and I rode it to Vicroads and it was registered. That night she finally, after five months owning a non-running bike, and having her learner's license, Em took her first ride on her Suzuki GN250.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQBbhbJXTLiRMnBlMjvhyhkebTzdsfPEeNBVCaI6xDNTS8dMD0bQDCTXBjWYuZgrG8ZeZ9nhtBrKjNGTpbiJuInK5Piv0KpbllZp9BmkpxuefqrZgwccqyz8bFe1mYRdXOeEXm1DF_pc/s1600/5a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQBbhbJXTLiRMnBlMjvhyhkebTzdsfPEeNBVCaI6xDNTS8dMD0bQDCTXBjWYuZgrG8ZeZ9nhtBrKjNGTpbiJuInK5Piv0KpbllZp9BmkpxuefqrZgwccqyz8bFe1mYRdXOeEXm1DF_pc/s1600/5a.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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We rode around empty back streets, up and down, while Em gained experience at slow speeds. We then extended the loop to another street running up hill. It had a high camber. Em did a u-turn and...dropped the bike.</div>
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Most rider's know that this is a classic learner's accident, a slow speed drop from which riders walk away with little more than a bent mirror. Unless they are unlucky. Em was unlucky. After all these months of waiting, and only half an hour of riding, the bike fell at the perfect angle and fractured her talus (ankle) in three places. She is in a cast, housebound, and will take three months to recover, with potential long-term pain.</div>
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Regardless she intends to get back on the bike as soon as reasonable. A number of the medical professionals she has dealt with have been riders themselves, and have challenged her to not be discouraged about bikes. As they say, many people suffer such fractures while walking through the house.</div>
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Speaking of people who have gone down, broken their ankle, and recovered, in the last year, last Tuesday I went riding with Norm, fellow member of the Royal Enfield Club of Australia. We had a great time, trundling along at a gentle 80kph which pleased us both, and talking bikes over coffees. Norm is a wonderful riding companion.</div>
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Norm would not have a photo taken of him, but here I am, fighting off a bee.<br />
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My bike was not running well, and would not start the next morning. At 80,000km, this is the first time that the W650 has ever had a problem. It push started straight away, but prior to bumping it I checked the spark plugs, and saw this.<br />
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Obviously I am worried about the problem, especially with summer coming. I suspect there is a vacuum leak, and will ride on Prime sometime in the next day or two to see if they return to their usual tan. Thank goodness that the bike did not start, otherwise I might not have discovered this.</div>
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My next post documents the beginning of a new adventure.</div>
Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-8841023108090927392014-10-07T22:55:00.002-07:002014-10-07T22:55:21.991-07:00Maldon in October A six hour jaunt took me to Maldon last Sunday. Again the sun was shining, and the afternoon was glorious. I stopped for lunch on the Burke and Wills Track, where I sat in peaceful silence on the grass, before taking these photos and then riding off into the sweet scent of Spring.<br />
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Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-80009893107507013122014-10-04T01:52:00.002-07:002014-10-04T01:52:21.075-07:00StieglitzEm and I rode to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steiglitz,_Victoria" target="_blank">Stieglitz </a>two weeks ago. It is an old, largely abandoned gold town. To get there we rode through the Brisbane Ranges, entering at the northern tip via back roads. The landscape shifted multiple times. It reminded me of the Mallee in places, with stunted cacti lining the roads. Further on, as we travelled a high dirt road, it had an alpine feel, with low-lying scrub. Then we emerged on to long, sweeping, fast sealed roads hedged by great pines and looking over glittering reservoirs of water. <br />
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Arriving at Steiglitz, we happened upon a meeting of classic motorcycles. There were many old Bonnevilles, a Norton Atlas, BSA Spitfire, and a range of other bikes.<br />
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The day was gloriously sunny and we explored the roads behind the town, across old bridges and past old huts.<br />
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Em took photos of me but would not allow them of her. After this we rode back to Melbourne, which was not very far, arriving in daylight and much refreshed by these pleasures just west of the city.<br />
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<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-13220247553594274682014-08-15T04:08:00.002-07:002014-10-02T00:01:33.377-07:00Winter in the Golden TriangleHaving ridden a lot, a motorcyclist will develop a connection with certain places. He or she will <i>set down</i>, to coin an oxymoron, <i>transient roots</i>. The nature of such a place gets its reality from the rider's imagination as much as from the geographical location. It is <i>an experience</i>: the flash of light, of bursts of green in winter, explosions of colours in spring, golden grasses in summer. In every season there is light. Glorious light. As riders we become elemental as we pass through those shafts of light illuminating both the seasons and that particular moment on the road. We are air, gravity, electricity, and pure reflection.<br />
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My reflection today turned to the goodness of living, as I sped along those single-lane roads and dirt tracks. Cynicism, bitterness, despair - these are enemies awaiting us in daily life, trying slowly and surreptitiously to seep into the soul. Motorcycling can purify the soul by reconnecting it with places where it has its transient roots, its places of nourishment. At least, it does that for me.<br />
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And so today I rode through that which I call - often on this blog - <i>The Golden Triangle</i>. Now is the last fortnight of winter, and it was sunny. <i> </i>Sunlit, winter days are magical out here. </div>
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I took my proper camera but the battery was flat, which is disappointing because my phone did not capture the striking vibrancy of the green. Nonetheless....<br />
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A good six hours spent in quiet joy. I took this book (below) with me, though in the end I did not stop to read. I wanted to savour the day by spending every moment in motion. There is plenty of time for reading at home, indoors. It was good to carry this book with me though. It seemed at home in this place with each - the place, and the things in the book - enlivening my sense of the other. It is good to be alive. <br />
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Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-15211427892075059362014-07-22T09:44:00.003-07:002014-10-01T23:56:32.360-07:00The trick to motorcycling in winter weather......is, well, to be young. I hope to be still riding in winter as an old man but let's face it: as one gets older it does get harder. I used to ride heroically, 52 Sundays of the year for hours upon hours. In winter I could barely think or speak as I bought petrol in Bendigo then rode through an icy night to Melbourne. I still carry this spirit within but alas, when Em and I set off for a mere 350km round trip to Maldon the very low temperature got the better of us. While lunching on homemade sausage rolls at Mia Mia we decided to pursue comfort instead of distance. This meant cruising along at 80kph (less chilling) through local, wonderful scenes of paddocks studded with cold granite boulders. Riding on a whim.<br />
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Eventually we arrived at an old church in the middle of nowhere.<br />
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Notice in the background an old school house:<br />
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I would love to know its history. The area is called Emu Flat, and is relatively west of Tooborac. <br />
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We decided to waste time until dinner would be served at a pub we have wanted to visit. And so in Lancefield we visited an antique market, wandering through a 19th century hotel, room after room filled with the left-overs of past lives. This prepared us for the past lives we expected at our next destination.<br />
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And so we rode to Clarkefield and Australia's most haunted pub, the Coach and Horses Inn.<br />
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This is what you want on a cold evening when you alight from your motorcycle:<br />
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Along with cheery chaps and happy schnapps:<br />
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I didn't take a photo from outside, but here is a sketch of the place:<br />
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And here is an interior room. What a place to eat!<br />
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I encountered nothing paranormal alas, and the cold chill down my spine when I first entered was melted away by the warmth and atmosphere of the pub itself. <br />
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The trick to motorcycling in winter is to love - in all seasons - the unexpected detours. Year after year one of the greatest gifts in my life is the simple act of mounting my beautiful bike and disappearing down the road into a land of whim, discovery and the joyful unforeseen. Afterwards when I drone through the night shivering under a bright moon, I feel like time has stopped, that my motion has something of the eternal under that ageless light: a sense of the world as intimate, spread out, and <a href="http://www.melbourne-counselling-psychotherapy.com.au/blog/freedoms-just-another-word-for-nothing-left-to-lose" target="_blank">woven from endless possibility</a>. Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-86988059495987684922014-07-07T06:57:00.004-07:002014-07-07T07:20:23.661-07:00Now that's a cool BonnevilleDo you remember that Marlon bought this,<br />
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and made this?<br />
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And do you remember me mentioning it was so uncomfortable to ride that he sold it, at the very moment it reached perfection?<br />
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And how he went and bought this, because he wanted something comfortable on which to tour,<br />
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a 2012 Triumph Bonneville?<br />
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But Marlon was sad. Because the Bonnie is in some ways ubiquitous, and he is <strike>a hipster</strike> given to customising.<br />
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So out we went for Vietnamese to contemplate the situation (contemplative dining).<br />
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And afterwards I rode his newly customised, 2012 Triumph Bonneville.<br />
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This time he got it right. A cool bike without the arthritis and headaches.Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-53194923696735802532014-06-15T08:16:00.003-07:002014-06-15T08:22:18.297-07:00Through green fields to MaldonI rode today with fellow members of the Royal Enfield Club of Australia (RECOA). Greg and Kelly on Greg's 1975 Norton Commando. Francis on his 1954 AJS twin, and...Francis' wife Norma at the rear in a 1950s MG.<br />
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It was a lot of fun. We took the Burke and Wills Track north of Lancefield and wound our way through Golden Point to lunch in Maldon. It was overcast and rained at moments, but the wintry weather suited our machines and relaxed pace of about 80kph. There is something magical about travelling in a train of mostly old British vehicles. It being June and there being moments of sun, the paddocks absolutely glowed with the gentle greens that are so special to me and particular to this time of year.<br />
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We had intended to stop for a photo shoot at the aviation memorial at Mia Mia however, a few hundred meters before the memorial, Greg's Norton died. The culprit appeared to be the charging system, and so a drained battery. It didn't take too long to get the bike going again but we decided to ride without stops to Maldon. At Maldon we sat in the sunshine at a cafe and fielded constant questions from passers-by about the bikes. One of the people mentioned that he has a Royal Enfield and it turned out that he is a fellow club member. <br />
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Here are the bikes in Maldon. Note the requisite oil leak.<br />
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Here is the MG.<br />
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And here is Francis heading off.<br />
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Greg, Kelly and I decided to head home via a southern route as they live in Melton. Riding through Hepburn Springs, they suddenly disappeared, and when I circled back I found Greg pushing the tall, heavy thing up a steep narrow part of the road, to get it onto a clearing. <br />
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The bike had died again, and this time it would not start. When this became clear it was decided best to leave the bike in front of a cafe, with Kelly ensconced inside, and I took Greg on the back of my W to Melton, about 60km away, so he could return with his trailer. <br />
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It would not be a RECOA ride without a breakdown. This is my second such ride in a month, both of which I have organised, and I will continue to arrange such rides. Not only are the people I meet very pleasant to ride and eat with, but the bikes and the pace through wintry grey, or soft gold and green, is absolutely soul-refreshing.Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-60673366474237308062014-06-03T21:39:00.001-07:002014-06-03T21:39:43.648-07:00Coming in to landHere's Peter, whom you've met <a href="http://contemplativemotorcycling.blogspot.com.au/2011/11/peters-new-w650.html" target="_blank">here</a>, coming in to land.<br />
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<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-9152740579786666512014-06-02T06:11:00.002-07:002015-05-20T09:38:11.319-07:00Redesdale for kicksEm likes to ride my bikes:<br />
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A fortnight ago she legitimated this new hobby by gaining her motorcycle learner's license. See her <a href="http://anothergirlmeetsbike.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">blog</a>. And here she is taking her first ride on the road:<br />
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We went for a semi-sunny ride on Saturday, out to Redesdale via the Burke and Wills Track. Such a wonderful road. It was mostly empty. We stopped at the usual monument near Mia Mia.<br />
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And then rode on to Redesdale. Beyond the junction where I always turn north (only once in all these years have I gone straight through Redesdale) is a service station. Because I never venture the distance I do not know how long it has been there, but it sells food and coffee. It's so much fun when riding to come across such little places. We were able to sit in the window drinking coffee and looking out over the fields. On the buildings there were murals.<br />
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On the return journey we travelled for twenty kilometers down a beautiful farm road - a personal favourite - which is not on the map. The sky ahead was a polyphony of soft hues - pink, blue - and the fields were scattered with ancient boulders and details that insisted on themselves: mossy creeks, weeping willows. Great gums tortured the sky and masses of white cockatoos arched ahead. We rode at 30kph and chatted. Back on the sealed road, after dodging some large kangaroos, we rode slowly through the dusk and on to dinner at a Lancefield pub. Motorcycling is truly soul-refreshing.<br />
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<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-5960982978897182082014-05-25T04:44:00.001-07:002014-05-25T04:44:09.069-07:00Ruffy with Royal Enfield and AJSAs I rode out to Kangaroo Ground this morning I was well-rugged and so warm in the dry winter air. It had rained earlier in the morning, and the sun's reflection on the road was a dull silver which blurred my vision. Glorious. Later three of us would sit under elms as they shed leaves the colours of stained glass windows. Autumn. The air has that substance, that light which mist and sunshine create. <br />
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Today I rode with two members of the Royal Enfield Club of Australia. Kev, with whom I have ridden before, was on his Royal Enfield Bullet. Francis, whom I met for the first time today, on his 1954 AJS twin. Although I led, I followed the pace that Francis made behind me. At Yea we felt good already. We stopped at a new motorcycle themed eatery, The Red Plate Cafe. <br />
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The food is good, as are the prices and the service. The cafe is part-owned by a member of the SR500 Club. I recommend it.<br />
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From Yea the best part of the ride commenced. Into the golden triangle, that untrafficked land north of Yea which is now blooming in its seasonal green.<br />
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Along those roads, through Highlands, Caveat, and on to Ruffy, we cruised along at 80kph. Often we did 60 as there were extended road works. These limits on a Sunday were completely unnecessary, but it was wonderful. I have struggled of late with a recent habit of pushing my speed. I remain at the speed limit because the consequences in Victoria are harsh, but I get frustrated if I am slowed down. There is the feeling of rushing on my rides. Which spoils things. It is odd, but even though I try to, I find it hard to overcome this new tendency. And so I have felt a lack. Riding does something important to my soul, provides a certain connection, experience, which is incompatible with such impatience. Today, cruising along at a slow pace with those wonderful motorcycles, I felt refreshed in precisely the way I long for. It was that experience which draws me to motorcycling. I felt in touch with the natural beauty of the world, in the form of a powerful sense of being present in the flash and colour and light of this rural landscape where I feel so at home. <br />
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After coffee at Ruffy we rode back the way we had come, through undulating green. For ten kilometers Kev and I swapped bikes. His Bullet is marvellous to ride. It pulls along fine with adequate - albeit low - power. Most importantly, it has such character. The thump of this unusually relaxed, torquey big single is very present.<br />
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We stopped for photos. <br />
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As we rode along after taking these pictures, Kev and I saw something go spinning from Francis' bike. Francis did not see this and rode on, but we pulled over and searched the roadside. When Francis returned, it emerged that he had lost his oil large cap. Fortunately it was not raining, as we could not find the thing. Henceforth AJS spewed as much oil from the gaping hole in the oil tank as it did from other parts of the bike - prior to this event we had laughed at the constant flow of dripping oil the thing produced!<br />
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At Yea we decided to take separate routes back home, as Francis had to beat the dusk. His generator was not working which meant he had no lights. He and Kev would head home one way, and I another. Just before we left, I noticed this:<br />
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The hose in my air system had cracked. So we encouraged Francis to head off, and Kev stayed to help me.<br />
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Fracnis leaving - what a beautiful bike! And the outfit to match! It sounds great too.<br />
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We ended up taping the hose and inlet nipple with electrical tape, the only thing on hand. As I was lifting my tank, freshly filled with 15 litres of petrol...I pulled a muscle in my back. The sort of pull that can go from bad to worse in an hour or two, and leave me bed-ridden for days. Through the pain I could barely lift myself onto the bike. <br />
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Hence I rode home slowly for the sake of the dodgy repair to the hoses, and because of my pain. Every twenty kilometers I would pull over and go for a long walk. It took forever to get home, but this method seems to have worked. So there were misadventures, but what a day! This is what motorcycling is about. Riding with these two fellows and their beautiful bikes, I regained something that I search for in motorcycling.<br />
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<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-84000379952081008332014-04-21T06:11:00.001-07:002014-04-22T02:18:29.826-07:00Wimmera and Mallee, Easter Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I retraced a favourite trip which I have made several times through the Wimmera and Mallee, but this time with Em. From the colours of the deserts and salt lakes, to the dusty remains of mid-century town life, there is magic to be found out there.</div>
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As usual the rain was torrential on the Western Highway between Melbourne and Ballarat. Arriving in Ballarat we hugged mugs of coffee between our hands and thawed. </div>
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Proceeding through dense Easter traffic all the way to Ararat, the sun then emerged in its splendid warmth. We laid wet clothes out to dry while eating at the local bakery. This is the town recently appeared on that TV show, <i>The Biggest Loser</i>. I wonder what the bakery owners thought.<br />
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Pushing past many a dawdler we made on to Halls Gap, and then into the hills enroute to Horsham. Rather than fight the traffic we rode slowly through the tight mountain road, stopping regularly for scenic views, photographs, and easter eggs.<br />
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Here I am discovering that the rain we encountered before Ballarat - where we had been like Egyptians crossing the Red Sea - had killed my phone.<br />
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The summer fires have devastated the landscape. And yet it was beautiful. Especially with the new green shoots in the cool of late Autumn.<br />
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Through Horsham, Natimuk, and into the Little Desert National Park. Always a pleasure at dusk: such wonderful colours. Such wonderful flora.<br />
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Our destination, Nhill, was just up the road. We camped in the caravan park and ate at a restaurant inside the local pub. The restaurant had that air of, "renovated in the 1940s, last used in the 1970s". It was marvelous. Through big glass doors with the words, <i>Ladies Lounge</i>, we entered an almost silent room in which the few grey-haired patrons openly stared. We sat down and looked about at dusty plastic flowers, prints of Canadian landscapes, and peeling paint on the ceiling. The meals came with salad which was on a separate plate and which consisted of a slice of beetroot, some thinly sliced pale lettuce, coleslaw from a jar, and a mound of canned pineapple. <br />
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The next morning we awoke at dawn and had a fried breakfast in the 24hour truck stop. From there it was on to those fresh roads north of Nhill: an ochre landscape and a road threading through tiny towns. First stop was Yanac, with its old general store.<br />
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We cruised along on empty tar, alone with the sun peering between broken clouds. <br />
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Netherby.<br />
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And, here and there, great silos calling out to be explored.<br />
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Lake Hindmarsh was half empty and surrounded by campers. On the bed of the lake motorcyclists broke personal land-speed records or wheelied their way over rough terrain at the edge.<br />
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In Rainbow we explored old shop windows and even older buildings. The windows in the town are stunning in places, early twentieth century. Some of the buildings are very nineteenth century. And all of them are covered in a layer of dust from the nearby desert.<br />
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At Yapeet, this old shop with its painted windows. <br />
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From Yapeet we explored the edge of the national park - Wyperfield - mounting a massive sand dune to eat lunch while overlooking natural parklands.<br />
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From there to Hopetoun and then a two hour race against the dying light, leaving trails of tyre-marked dust. Running on a single lane of tar across the land from Hopetoun, Lascelles, Sea Lake, Chinkapook, and into Nyah.<br />
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At Chinkapook we stopped at the abandoned tennis courts.<br />
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And near Nyah, the salt flats in darkness.<br />
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Pushing on in the night, ignoring danger, we made it to Nyah an hour after dark and spent the night at my mum's.<br />
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The next morning we aimed for Melbourne. We started with a glance at the river which is just a minute away.<br />
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I took Em around Nyah West, where I lived as a child. This piece of irrigation is one of the earliest objects in my memory.<br />
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From there we rode south - Swan Hill, Murrabit, Barham...<br />
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...and then Cohuna, for a ride along its rather special river.<br />
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We made to Pyramid Hill, to look over the landscape.<br />
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From here it was down to Bendigo, where the Easter festival was happening. After dinner in Bendigo we raced down the Calder in the dark. It had been a wonderful three days.<br />
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Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-78859297872020048052014-04-07T22:33:00.003-07:002014-04-07T22:37:04.831-07:00W650 Clutch ProblemsA mate and I dived into the clutch of my Kawasaki W650. It slips sometimes when cold, mainly when I drop it from standing at a green light. This is probably the bike's greatest fault, which is impressive. $30 of clutch springs and at most an hour's worth of work. As Marlon said, clutch spring replacement amounts to the least output for the most manliness kudos. <br />
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Marlon:<br />
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A very simple system:<br />
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I went for an exciting ride the other night, up the freeway on a new(ish) Royal Enfield Bullet. In military trim. <br />
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The new engine is quite amazing. I had not ridden one at 100kph before. It feels more capable at that speed that a stock SR500, which feels over-worked. The old Bullet too feels over-worked - at anything over 75kph! The new Bullet feels content at highway speeds. Which I find remarkable. At the same time my God does this new engine vibrate. I do not mean buzz, I mean beating, thumping, all-absorbing violent pulsation! My hands started to go numb. For that reason I would not want it as my main <em>touring</em> bike, but it is possibly the best motorcycle out there for charismatic back roads. It was intense fun to ride. Which is what motorcycling is all about. <br />
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Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-50978447755932890412014-03-30T21:14:00.001-07:002014-03-30T21:15:47.981-07:00Marvellous Maldon in March. On a Motorcycle. Mine eyes have seen the glory. Of sunshine through bleached, post-summer grass. Of blue skies on an endless Sunday. Sweeping hundreds of kilometeres on a vintage-style motorcycle. Weaving, wandering, meandering. <br />
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After hours of this I sat in Maldon drinking coffee and eating a pastry. I watched 1920s cars struggle past. There was a glorious vibrancy in the air, and it felt so good to be alive.<br />
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Yes, I felt so fortunate to be alive. To be an Australian in the 21st century, with freedoms and pleasures which few have tasted and which the world has barely afforded. Riding my motorcycle through an endless summer in central Victoria.<br />
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On and on, riding, drinking coffee, musing. Awash in the changing colours. <br />
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That was the last Sunday in March, 2014.Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-16143920444589408262014-03-22T22:52:00.000-07:002014-06-24T09:47:47.066-07:00Autumn Motorcycle in the Yarra ValleyEm and I went for a brief ride through the Yarra Valley yesterday. It was the sort of day that includes rain and sunshine, a day emerging from summer into winter. 'Emerging' sounds like an odd word, as though only appropriate when going in the other direction - winter emerging into summer - however that logic hides a value, a claim that summer is positive and winter negative. This is not the case. Winter on a motorcycle is wonderful. <br />
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It was cold-ish, but when one is rugged up properly and hence warm, then there is nothing so nice as making an easy pace past giant ferns, through an increasingly green landscape. I look forward to winter out here. To cold rainy days when there is nobody on the road and a pub lunch awaits, beside an open fire.<br />
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The pictures below may seem a little repetitive in their number but I will include them all because I like them so much. They are a photographic view that I can never achieve on my own (it took Em, sitting behind me, with her iPhone).<br />
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Chum Creek Road:<br />
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Friends were to be found along the way.<br />
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King Lake National Park road. Fantastic!<br />
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Em dropped her phone just after the photo below. But we retrieved it and no harm was done.<br />
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Chum Creek Road was so good that we did it twice.<br />
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My enthusiasm grows for more regular motorcycle adventures. I have been quiet here for the last year, but I plan to get in a big ride at least once a fortnight from now on, and to update this blog more often. In the meantime, keep an eye out <a href="http://www.melbourne-counselling-psychotherapy.com.au/blog" target="_blank">here </a>for my other writing.Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-79156561455668912182014-03-11T05:14:00.000-07:002014-03-13T23:09:28.196-07:00A ride to RuffyMy new riding partner Em is still waiting to get her first bike, and so contented herself with taking her first ride into the countryside on the back of mine. We rode to the Ruffy Store on a glowing Autumn day.<br />
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She took quite a number of photos of me. Because I usually do not have photos of myself, I will add them here.<br />
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I am thoroughly looking forward to more riding, even as the season changes for the colder. I feel such a hunger for it. I was so physically tired, and yet so emotionally refreshed, after a full day spent out on the motorcycle.Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4412578613499132408.post-85563429215963485152014-03-04T23:28:00.000-08:002014-03-11T04:50:53.572-07:00Tasmania, Feburary 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I spent two weeks in Tasmania last month, motorcycling. There were no epic rides. Rather I spent my days doing laps of roads strung out along the ocean, then drinking coffee and reading books, then doing more laps, while staying at my father's home. It was marvelous. </div>
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I did day sailing, and spent my time looking over Bass Straight's expansiveness:</div>
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And spent the first evening camping at Devonport. The next morning I awoke early and decided to travel to my father's (in Nicholl's Rivulett) via Queenstown.<br />
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That was a wet and cold ride, but the scenes were fantastic....<br />
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Tasmania is a small place for a motorcycle, and I arrived at my father's late in the afternoon. From then on I spent my days in the above-described activity:<br />
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The view from my father's verandah:<br />
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Often I would sit right at the water's edge and read....<br />
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Or at a general store, where I appeared to be a novelty (they gave me free coffees, and laughed at the fact that somebody would want to sit there and just drink one coffee after another, over a few hours. All their customers entered, purchased, and left.)<br />
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My God, it is so beautiful down there. I passed this spot once or twice a day:<br />
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I would sit at cafes on house boats:<br />
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Before leaving the towns again for the rough shores,<br />
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or to dart along a coast road at confident speed as the day began to die.<br />
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One day I rode to Southport for a picnic on the beach:<br />
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The next I would leave the exotica and spend more time reading and doing laps....<br />
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I was invited to give a talk on existential therapy at a counselling college, and so I did one morning, in this wonderful old Hobart building -- what a place to study!<br />
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I went for walks in rain forests near Geeveston, where the sun was magical on the bracken and ferns:<br />
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And rode up Mount Nelson, to look out over Hobart:<br />
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One afternoon my father and I went out in a dingy for a few hours. The water was so clear.<br />
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And the next day I rode to Gordon Damn. I stopped along the way at what can only be described as a village, to purchase honey from somebody's front yard, made by bees in their backyard. It smelt of flowers.<br />
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In the national park there were also bee hives. As I sped along, smelling the ferns or eucalyptus, suddenly I would be assaulted by the overpowering scent of honey, exploding like the brilliant sunshine that lighted my way.<br />
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This is alpine country. I felt like I was riding across the top of the world.</div>
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And then I entered into a district of lakes and islands. An inland sea in the alpines. Complete, in fact, with prehistoric fish.<br />
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At last I reached Gordon Damn. A gargantuan place. Phenomenal. <br />
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After this adventure I spent more days riding the roads about Cygnet. It is a very different place to what I knew in my teenage years, when the only place to eat served fried food and Big Ms. This is where I went to get my coffee, and it competed with anything in Melbourne:</div>
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Alas, all good things come to an end. And so I found myself aboard a boat, staring for hours across Bass Straight. This time in a storm. I felt like I was floating through some great unconsciousness<br />
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from which, eventually, civilisation - with all its discontents - emerged.</div>
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<br />Matthew Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731443150545543312noreply@blogger.com2