Stieglitz

Em and I rode to Stieglitz 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.

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.

The day was gloriously sunny and we explored the roads behind the town, across old bridges and past old huts.

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.

Winter in the Golden Triangle

Having ridden a lot, a motorcyclist will develop a connection with certain places.  He or she will set down, to coin an oxymoron, transient roots.  The nature of such a place gets its reality from the rider's imagination as much as from the geographical location.  It is an experience: 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.

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.

And so today I rode through that which I call - often on this blog - The Golden Triangle.  Now is the last fortnight of winter, and it was sunny.  Sunlit, winter days are magical out here.   

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....

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.

The 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.

Eventually we arrived at an old church in the middle of nowhere.

Notice in the background an old school house:

I would love to know its history.  The area is called Emu Flat, and is relatively west of Tooborac.

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.

And so we rode to Clarkefield and Australia's most haunted pub, the Coach and Horses Inn.

This is what you want on a cold evening when you alight from your motorcycle:

Along with cheery chaps and happy schnapps:

I didn't take a photo from outside, but here is a sketch of the place:

And here is an interior room. What a place to eat!

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.


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 woven from endless possibility.

Now that's a cool Bonneville

Do you remember that Marlon bought this,

and made this?

And do you remember me mentioning it was so uncomfortable to ride that he sold it, at the very moment it reached perfection?

And how he went and bought this, because he wanted something comfortable on which to tour,

a 2012 Triumph Bonneville?

But Marlon was sad.  Because the Bonnie is in some ways ubiquitous, and he is a hipster given to customising.

So out we went for Vietnamese to contemplate the situation (contemplative dining).

And afterwards I rode his newly customised, 2012 Triumph Bonneville.

This time he got it right.  A cool bike without the arthritis and headaches.

Through green fields to Maldon

I 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.

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.

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.

Here are the bikes in Maldon.  Note the requisite oil leak.

Here is the MG.

And here is Francis heading off.

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.

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.

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.

Coming in to land

Here's Peter, whom you've met here, coming in to land.

Redesdale for kicks

Em likes to ride my bikes:

A fortnight ago she legitimated this new hobby by gaining her motorcycle learner's license.  See her blog.  And here she is taking her first ride on the road:

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.

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.

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.