|03-25-2010, 02:10 PM||#1|
the hard way
Joined: Jul 2006
Location: by the C !
Seven Countries - Spain to Ukraine
It has been a whole winter since this journey ended but I have the bug to ride and travel again now but feel I should submit a ride report before the next adventure starts. This story may appeal to more road orientated riders, and compared to some of the more recent reports lacks the adventure of dirt riding I feel. However, the snow is melting now and I have overcome the technical glitches and laziness. Mainly just laziness to post this.
This journey was hatched over a year back when my partner took a posting in Eastern Europe and instead of just taking a plane ride to the other side of the world for a visit I pulled out the old atlas stashed in the cupboard and explored the option of a motorbike ride. It didn’t take too long before I found some contacts in different countries and started to formulate a plan and a rough route or course that would take me where I needed to go. I had a small list of things I wanted to see as I am not much into big buildings as into big spaces and landscapes and stuff so it didn’t really matter which way I went so long as my destination stayed the same.
To take my own bike was always the plan I just had to get it to the right part of the world in one piece and then the tricky thing was to find it again. Having only travelled overseas once before for a short time this was going to be a bit a test in itself, just had to stay a bit flexible. Only speaking three languages (English , Australian and Aussie slang) I was definitely going to have to rely on the rest of the world being able to speak English or understand my hand signals!! Working for ten years with a deaf bloke was bound to come in handy.
After many phone calls and conversations I found a freight company called TACS International that works out of Cairns Australia to ship my bike from Brisbane to the starting point of my journey of Barcelona in Spain. I just had to crate it and they would pick it up from Townsville on the way past, too easy. The local Suzuki shop supplied a fresh crate for the DR 650 and in it went, only just. Having the Safari tank on only left 5mm each side to the crate and the front tyre was a real squeeze down the side with the saddle bags racks in place. My boots went in the crate as well as the usually bulky stuff that didn’t need to be on the air plane like chain lube and the MSR fuel bottle and spare filters. Only being thrown over the bars once in the shed was a bonus considering how awkward the 650 is without a front wheel, but once all the bolts were in the crate it could have been tipped on its end and still survived so I was happy with the out come. A heavy cardboard box from a Triumph was zip tied around the crate to remove the visual of a bike with random gear strapped on it and she was ready for the boat. To freight the bike from my home town to Barcelona was to take approximately 35 days and only cost
AU$ 545 so I had it sent about two months ahead of my intended arrival in Spain to allow for any delays or screw ups.
My luggage was fairly bulky as it was to be all I had for a long while and I was heading into the cold lands. Although I tried to keep it to a minimum the mass still reached 30.5 kg on the airport scales, but booking it under sporting equipment avoided the usual excess luggage fee (thanks Mick for the heads up on that). My saddled bags were strapped together to form a very rustic looking suit case and a sports bag with the riding gear, jacket helmet pants and tool bag and my 45l back pack and a small camelback as carry on without any sharp bits of course.
bikerooter screwed with this post 05-18-2010 at 12:40 PM
|03-25-2010, 02:28 PM||#2|
the hard way
Joined: Jul 2006
Location: by the C !
Thirty-six hours of plain flights and waiting in airports landed me in Barcelona fully slept up and loaded with plain food. The carousel spewed bags out left and right, mine were the ones with the dirty marks and a heap of straps and crap hanging in the belts of the conveyor. Anticipating a full empty out of my bags through customs I was both relieved and disappointed to find there was no customs check at all to enter the country and I could have carried a bag of bananas or a few pineapples to chew on and no one would have worried. That must only happen in Australia so I happily scooted out the runway with a high speed airport trolley to find a taxi driver that could read the direction to AGC Neutral the freight company handling my bike as cargo. I know for a fact that sometimes in Brisbane when you get in a taxi the Mexican or Indian driver will hand you the map and ask directions to your destination but when this short Barcelonan dude ran up the footpath to ask someone for directions I was seriously thinking of dragging my bags from the boot of the taxi!!. But after doing a couple of blockies and cruising the streets at 40km/h trying to see the street signs as he was so short he had to sit on the edge of the seat to reach the pedals let alone see over the steering wheel we finally made it to AGC for the measly sum of 20 Euros for 6 km, lucky it wasn’t 30km!!!!
Jorge at AGC had not started the processing of the customs side of the bike which had to pass through a bunch of different hands so I caught another taxi up town and wandered around with all my crap till I found somewhere to sleep. Even used the metro for the first time, try dragging saddle bags through those poxy turn style things, bloody tricky I tell ya.
Barcelona Olympic stadium. 1992 I think. Huge structure.
Monument next to the Trade Centre on the harbour. Handy Landmark.
The Hotel Barbara was sorta in the city near the La Rambla a huge mall type thing, with bunches of shops and heaps of people that seemed to be wandering aimlessly just like myself. Had to keep an eye on the land marks so I could find my way home; no twisted gum or iron bark trees in here to show ya where you’ve been.
La Rambla. Non stop people and music.
The following day brought no joy with the customs process as they had to be sure I was keeping the bike and leaving their country with it so I just had to cool my heels and of course the next day Thursday was the Bank holiday and nothing happened except for the huge parties and concerts all over town, all of it in Spanish so I didn’t understand a word of what hey were singing about. I did a fair amount of foot exploring, past the Olympic stadium chasing all the stray cats in the gardens. Beautiful day and a very pretty part of the city including some old castles and there always seem to be something under construction or repair.
Lolly shop in La Rambla
Impressive scaffolding to repair the church.
Barcelona in the dark.
Friday morning I rolled down to AGC at 10 as I was instructed to do and the paperwork wasn’t quite done so I went for a bit of a walk (6k) back to a fuel station collecting some soft drink bottles on the way as the DR would need a little drink with the tank being dry for transport. As I walked into the fuel station the dude was waving his finger and saying NO NO NO. It was worth a try, just had to by a 5 litre fuel jerry and walk back down the road. After collecting the paperwork I had to wait at the freight depo with 19 truck drivers till the doors opened at 3pm, everyone took a ticket like you would waiting at the deli for some sliced ham. Then finally around to number 8 dock where a 6 meter plus forklift plucked the boxed up Suzuki from the top shelf. And to my amazement the box seemed undamaged, just had to convince the driver to cart it down the ramp and away from the speeding forklifts so I could assemble it with out getting runned under. Awesome bloke sat it right down next to a huge rubbish bin and gestured to leave the wrapping in the bin. 40 minutes later the fuel went in and she fired up straight off, now the adventure could start I had transport.
All in one piece. The large white box behind is the open dunpster for the wrapping.
Just how I left it.
The GPS took a few minutes to work out where on earth I had taken it but it came through with the maize of streets and led me back to the Barbara. The local coppers were checking out the rig as I loaded on the saddlebags, asking all sorts of questions except for the registration and insurance ones. One of the local hookers that had been hassling me for the past couple of days came over to have a look, the GPS must have caught her eye and as she lent over to have a look the hot Staintune header caught hold of a fare bit of nylon fish net stocking and she leapt back screaming at the bike or me, still not sure but it was funny.
bikerooter screwed with this post 04-20-2010 at 01:01 PM
|03-25-2010, 02:49 PM||#3|
Joined: Aug 2006
Location: Monterey, CA
Interesting scenery, looks like some great riding to be had.
There's roads and there's roads and they call, can't you hear it? Roads of the earth and roads of the spirit. The best roads of all are the ones that aren't certain. One of those is where you'll find me till they drop the big curtain. Bruce Cockburn
|03-26-2010, 04:32 AM||#4|
the hard way
Joined: Jul 2006
Location: by the C !
Out of Barcelona
Gear all secured I was out of the city the quickest way possible north up the coast road, when the speed limit turned to 120 I knew I was on a toll road and had to get off. A 990 Adventure rider gave me the thumbs up as I was thumbing the GPS searching for an exit but I was too late and had to pay the 70 cents then take a grassy shortcut to reach the smaller coast road and onto Mataro. I had spotted a National Park on the map so took some smaller roads to the mountains, in the fading light (darkness) the 650 was starting to feel comfortable being able to stretch its legs after being locked in a box for two months. A small track led to a quiet camp spot; I thought until about 15 cars and a small truck came out of this track I had ridden down and first up in the morning the distinct sound of two-stroke motorcrossers filled the forest air until they to came ripping past my hidden campsite.
Great little camp next to what became a dirt higway during the night.
Difficult to see these signs in the dark.
I had organized to meet a mates relations in Torello so took a general route in that direction, all on the tar except for the couple of shortcuts around the road works where the roads weren’t quite finished.
A hot air balloon just clearing the tree line in the clear air.
Being a Saturday there were heaps of roadies in the hills on the twisties, the DR just lumbered along as they screemed past draggin’ their knees through the corners and doing their best to have a fair dinkum crash!!! Every little town I came to I managed to pass the for mentioned roadies all pulled up having a latte or what ever they drink, just had to look at the map to see the hundreds of kilometers of twisty tar loops that could be ridden in the hills.
Chocolate filled crossant and a coffee.
Reaching Torello just after lunch wasn’t really my plan but it turned out well as my new friends had put on a huge lunch and their hospitality was incredible, even moved the car out so I could park the 650 in the shed. The next day was spent just being catered on like royalty and enjoying the tourist life as Jordi and Monsie showed off there part of the world including a drive to a lookout with a 360 degree view of the entire valley.
Claudia,Jorde,Neil and Montse in Torello.
The fine food family including Pepe and Antonia.
I really had to leave Torello before I couldn’t fit into my pants, the food was awesome with traditional Spanish tucker and my favorite was a potato omelet. The 650 wound over a few times the following morning and wouldn’t start, just thought I had a loose battery terminal or a tired battery so a push start from Jordi fired things up, just decided to not stop the engine till the battery had gathered itself together and play its roll in things. All good till I struck some road works not far out of town and the engine decided to stop. Wonderful!!! Pushed it up on the fresh road surface and tried some push start techniques that almost gave me a hernia till I spotted a grader driver sitting in his machine 100 meters away. I quickly rolled the heavy slug down toward the grader and gestured for assistance and the guy was only too pleased to assist and laughed and waved as I roosted up the fresh road on my way.
Rolling past the road crews with fluro vest and into a small town we turned up a smallish street towards Berga and a lot of twisty tar, just past a small village I came across two car rally teams testing their little rockets on the tarmac. I left the bike idling while I waited for the STAGE to open as was I was still suspicious of the battery and wanted to give it a good charging. The copper doing the stop and go to keep the road safe asked if he could take a picture of my set up so I asked if he would use my camera as well, nice bloke.
Rally car exhaust crackling in the background till the pilot brought it up to FULL revs.
The rest of the service team.
I crossed a few mountain passes heading west with the highest at 1700m, I was getting tired of not being able to stop the bike unless there was an incline although now I can roll start it on flat ground in first gear!!.
High mountain lake.
Be sure to park on an incline!!!!
Beautiful valley lined with a very twisty road.
Not that high yet.
I pulled up north of a town called Sorte where they obviously do a bit of white water slalom kayaking in the river but the water looked a bit chilly for my likings. I removed the battery and added some liquid as the level was a bit below the cells and then pushed my arse off to start the prick again. Sweating in my jacket as I rode north I knew I would have to remove the starter motor and inspect the brushes, but there was a nice road laid out in front of me and high mountains either side and the engine was still running so this was not a big problem.
Sorte the first time.
Field service bay.
Push start alley.
I was keen to find a trail I had only seen picture of on Adv, I had written down the name before leaving Australia and new it was near Espot so I headed into the small town off the main road. Huge mountains all around I quietly past a couple on semi road Adv’s from France going up the hills, they stuck behind me curious to establish the origin of my registration plate. We chatted for some but they didn’t know the Panamo trail I was looking for so we shook hands and parted company, they still had a few hours to France and their homes.
Two very nice gentlemen from France.
For me it was up the mountain on well maintained wet gravel roads that were showing on the GPS but had no names. The DR ripped up through the empty ski fields, gotta watch out for the seats hanging from the ski lifts!!! I came across a bunch of guys installing a huge plastic liner in a dam or water catchment device, was gunna take a closer look but the trail up the ridge was waving a little red flag at the throttle hand and the dirt was wet and drivy. (first real stuff in Europe).
Plastic a plenty in the dam.
Empty ski fields with sky hooks.
As we crested the top of the ridge I saw it, the same as the pics on the computer. Treeless mountain tops stretched out with tracks hugging their sides, this was definitely the right place.
Mountains stretched on as far as you could see.
I had been waiting for this view all day.
bikerooter screwed with this post 04-20-2010 at 01:06 PM
|03-26-2010, 04:56 AM||#5|
Joined: May 2009
Just to let you know the sign on the right says: "Private Hunting Area"
eheh...lucky guy no one thought you were a rabbit!!
2000 Transalp 650
|03-26-2010, 06:12 AM||#7|
Dances With Drunks
Joined: Jun 2005
Location: Off route, recalculating
Hooked already, and we're still in Spain!
'You like motorcycles, beer, and ladies. I'm afraid I have the same illness' - Thierry.
(Manti are dumplings not all too different from gyoza or pelmini) - Tourist.
|04-01-2010, 10:01 AM||#9|
Joined: Mar 2010
Location: Barcelona - Spain
JuanAMB screwed with this post 04-01-2010 at 10:07 AM
|04-01-2010, 02:11 PM||#11|
the hard way
Joined: Jul 2006
Location: by the C !
This small mountain refuge hut had mainly been used by animals and was really on the nose.
Every corner a new adventure.
The hill tops were nice and green but consideralby rougher than they look and litered with stones.
The air was clear and I felt excited and free in someone else’s country, wish I had my usual riding mates there to share the excitement. Camp was set on a bare knob at 2300 meters, the view was quite impressive as the wind carrying the sound of herd bells from deep in the valley below. Once the tent was up the engine was cool enough to attack.
The exhaust has to come off to get at the starter but as I was about to remove the starter I noticed I would need a 7mm spanner to disassemble the starter. This was the only spanner I didn’t have so I chanced using some metal putty on the heads of the bolts and an 8mm socket and spanner and leave it till morning to test.
Detailed walking tracks criss cross the mountains.
That night the wind really picked up and rocked the tent and a bunch of horses wearing herd bells must have been smelling my manky riding gear and came real close before galloping off across the ridge with the bells making more noise than an old Holden with the exhaust draggin’ on the ground.
Chilly, but spectactular all the same.
The morning was freezing and clear but the spectacular view made up for the cold. As I chewed on a toasted banana sanga (my favorite breaky on this trip) I tested the metal putty and not surprisingly it was not good enough to loosen the factory installed bolts. The reassembly was easy although I did have to use my gloves as the bits were so cold. The roll start down the mountain took ages with the cold engine and the slippery grass proving a real challenge.
All the animals seem to wear these big old bells. keep the bears away I guess!
The sometimes rocky trail led me past shepherds tending sheep and through small villages , there were some small tracks leading up the valleys but all seemed to dead on the GPS so I followed the main trail back to the previous days town of Sorte.
Great trail with awesome views.
After much hand waving and shrugging of shoulders from the Spaniards I found the hardware shop (Ferriota I think) and bought a 7mm spanner for 5 euro. Found a nice spot to do the work, right on the footpath outside the shop accompanied by plenty of spectators keen to see if I knew what I was doing.
Streetscape workshop. Hard to find a park on market day.
Secured for a quick test. Works fine now!!!!
After about 40 minutes I had the starter working and had eaten some sweet peaches and a crunchy apple. As suspected three out of the four brushes were seized in their little housings, same thing happened on my DRZ as well. The seal on one end of the starter was not installed correctly from the factory allowing the water to come straight in. Coming from north Queensland this bike has seen its share of deep water crossings.
As I had to pass through Espot again I stopped and asked the ranger what trails I could use and he confirmed that the trail I traveled was in fact the Pananamo trail and it was the only trail in the area I could legally ride on, lucky guess.
Plenty of tar heading to France but the senery was ok.
France was just up the road, and good road at that with not many cars. The boarder was not that well defined but was exactly where I headed east into a bear forest, that is bear with teeth and fur and shit in the woods!!
Think I'll turn......um..right.
There were a lot of people out in the forest collecting mushrooms, don’t think they are the same ones they use in the dance parties in Germany. Not far in I came across an Englishman and a Dutch lady sitting on chairs near their camper enjoying the late afternoon sun. Accepting a cup of tea we sat and talked about countries and travel and stared at maps spread out on the ground.
Mushroom city apparently.
Anne and Vincent enjoying their tea up the road from the bears.
To the right is Spain and to the left is France.
They also warned me about the bears and with that I was gone and for about 20k followed twin tracks and some single track short cuts. The fun eventually ran out as I started ending up in back yards doing u-turns on the soft grass. Oops.
Slippery green grass and hidden trails.
The signs are just a guide, just turn left or right.
The main road was not that far away though and I soon found somewhere to duck off near a small creek, quiet and hidden. A small dear pranced off as I rolled down the bank, can stop anywhere now the starter is working again. I took the opportunity to have a swim in the freezing water; down at 700 meters the air is considerably warmer but crystal clear all the same.
Superb camp spot beside a gently flowing stream.
The dew fell super heavy in the morning so it was a slow wet pack up not getting going till after 9, gentlemens hours for sure.
Almost too many signs, spin the map around a coupla times.
The hole in the bottom is where the road was. One lane was caved in and closed for repair.
The sealed road snaked down the mountain and through farmland with cereal crops of corn and sunflowers and then vineyards everywhere disappearing over the ridge lines. A man made canal lined with huge trees winds its way through the farmland with the D119 and N112 shadowing it most of the time.
Crops and power poles, just like home.
Smoko and some course selection.
More farmland with the lower sections covered with irrigation.
Man made canal. must be fairly deep.
Skirting Carcasonne I headed for the coast past Beziers and onto the shoreline of the Mediterranean sea where it was camper van city, parked bumper to bumper for 10km up the coast. The beach of course was littered with semi naked women all of an older generation so you will see NO pics from there. I refueled near Sete, very economical run indeed using 26.5 litres to cover 645 km. 33 euro for the full tank, lucky she was economical for the entire trip.
10 kilometers of campervans.
Mediterranean Sea ofcourse.
The fuel is about the same price as in some of the most remote parts of Australia.
Through heavy slow traffic I followed the coast north amongst small towns linked together by streets lined with fish markets and scrambling people. I noticed a flock of super sized seagulls above the street just in time to spot the culprit that shat on my leg, a quick squirt from the camelbak and the mess was gone!! The city running was making me a bit toey so I cut a line past Montpellier and found somewhere to camp off a gravel road amongst some prickle bushes.
Heading north following the manholes in the road.
I love the huge exclamation mark sign. Bound to be trouble.
Smaller roads headed north the following day to Ales and a small market and some fresh fruit again. There was dude walking round the bike checking it out like it has just fallen from outer space. But when he spoke in English with the highest pitched voice I have ever hear I had to go, he was hurting my ears. The small roads in the hills have manhole covers in the center of them every couple of hundred yards so I guess this is where the run the pipes in the rocky hill sides.. The country flattens out some past Orange (same as town in NSW Australia), heading southeast I past Carpentras and followed a spectacular gorge for 20km before dropping down a gravel track weaving through vineyards to arrive in Forcalquier.
This road cut into the side of the gorge.
And sometimes through it.
The tracks cut through the rocky valley.
Off the mountains and smack into the grapes.
Grapes sure are tough, growing in amongst the rocks.
Huge sucker taking care of all sorts of crap.
Small cosy town with everything.
bikerooter screwed with this post 04-01-2010 at 03:02 PM
|04-01-2010, 02:58 PM||#12|
Joined: Dec 2006
Location: was Kununurra, now Carnarvon, Australia
Great stuff so far Rooter !
I'm looking forward to the rest of the story....
Some men like the fish'n,
Some men like the foul'n,
Some men like to hear........
to hear the cannonball a roar'n!
|04-03-2010, 02:32 PM||#14|
the hard way
Joined: Jul 2006
Location: by the C !
Freshly worked farms ran the length of the dry valley.
The map numbers were a bit different to the road signs but the GPS seamed to have it right so I made a loop over the mountain through a national park and back to the 907 to pop out just short of Reiz. The twisties down the 952 helped me catch a couple from Germany riding BM’s that were out to catch some pics of the lower Verdon valley rock escarpments, stunning in the afternoon sun.
A good mate back in Australia grows a few pumpkins but some of these were monsters.
Stands of olive trees glow a deep green in harsh rocky country.
A few steep rocky hill climbs led off this track but the DR wasn't having anything to do with them!!
Heavily wooded climb to the top with plenty of corners.
These guys must be farming rocks as there are plenty of them layin' about.
Across the valley and totally different farmland with dark clouds lurking up ahead.
A nice looking trail stepped back down the mountain to the left but I was headed to the right and Reiz.
I am sure there is a road down in the gorge but the views from the high road are almost enough to have you veer off the skinny arse road. Camping options are limited but I managed to find one with a full view of the rising moon to enjoy my freshly reheated quiche and sip on hot tea as the air cooled considerably.
The exposed rock faces at the southern entrance to the Verdon Valley changed colour as the sun lowered it beams.
Mediterranean Sea again.
Difficult to get close to the gorge but there were a few places to sneak a look.
I don't usually plan dinner this well but this reheated quiche was a treat as the sun set over the mountains.
The morning had the gorge filled with cloud and fog so I was glad to have had the opportunity to see it the previous day. Every corner brought a stunning vista, incredibly beautiful landscape with puffy white clouds shrouding the blue green mountains.
Crisp morning air and the dull glow of a rising sun.
Beautiful clear skys. Lucky I had a look in the gorge the previous day. Could hear the water crashing along way down below.
These little fellas were pretty quiet, resting in the warm sunshine.
Pretty incredible, around every corner was another stunning picture.
Had to be there!
The riding boots had there work cut out getting up the hill for this pic. There is a walking track which follows the gorge for some kilometers along the river. There are also signs warning of flash flooding. I met some Israeli dudes here that knew a fair bit about bikes and enjoyed kicking the tyres.
Spotting a line on the GPS I took the opportunity to sneak off the 908 and run over the mountain through the pines. The rocky trail closed in near the ridge top but popped out at small farm house and a bunch of goats guarded by 5 Anatolian shepherd dogs, of course they wanted to chew the 606 off the back. An elderly couple were standing just past the house were I pulled up and showed them were I came from. They just laughed to each other and laughed even louder when they spotted the Oz flag sticker on the front with the old fella checking out the rig and comparing it to his almost trials bike leaning in the front yard. Good people and waved me on my way out through their front gate <:). The mountains are stunning in the mornings which ever way you cross them.
Great trail, blue skys. Awesome.
The pines closed in a bit nearer to the top of the mountain.
Snow covered peaks in the distance, just before the dog strike.
What goes up has to come down eventually.
A mountain pass on the way to Barcellonette was partially blocked by a truck with a blown clutch holding up bunches of cars but the DR snuck through and scooted off down the mountain on an empty road. The shop in the tiny ski village of Vars had a sign on the door that it would be open at 4pm so I waited patiently for about half an hour till a local kindly pointed out that the shop didn’t open till the next month. Should have paid more attention in those French classes back in school!!!
Pretty tough grass on top of these wind sweep hills.
This pass is the La Casse Deserte.Need some translation but it was dry and cold for sure.
The fine grey sand was shifting with the wind. Must be a desert.
Two BM riders were taking a rest on a cold windy peak when I pulled up to say g’day and take some pics. Getting out the maps one of them suggested a route through the Swiss Alps, the wind was that cold his eyes were watering like he was crying poor bugger. These rode ridin’ freaks chased me down the mountain to Briancon until I lost them by taking a one street the wrong way and dodged a few cars to get out of town and find somewhere to lay down. I crossed a few shallow creeks off the main road before finding somewhere flat to pull up before dark but didn’t see the snow on the mountain tops till morning. At 1570 meters is was pretty cold and the wash in the snow fed stream was real sharp first up. Mental note: try to camp under 1000 meters in the cold country!!
BM salute from a nice German bloke on top of a cold windy pass.
The snow was sitting on the tops of mountains near by this camp, no wonder it was cold.
This stuff eats knobs faster than anything I have ever riden on.
Being a Saturday the mountains were filled with hikers and the boys were out on the roadies, hundreds of them. It was simply amazing the amount of bikes haulin’ up and down the twisties. I had a feed of pastries at Flume and wandered up over another mountain pass on the 212 with lots of snowless ski fields covered in walking trails. Had to wait for a bunch of milking cows to wander through the main street of Cluses, must be a regular thing as the locals didn’t seem to mind them shittin’ all over the footpaths and holding up the traffic. There was a festival in full swing in Morzine and a couples of locals shuffling across the road got a bit of a bump from the saddle bags, didn’t think the load was that wide or maybe I was on the footpath. Couldn’t really tell!! The girl in the library gave me directions to the local internet café where I organized my digs in Austria and updated my position on the earth with those I thought maybe interested. Happy to be leaving town again crawling over yet another smallish mountain when a guy on a 700Efi quad came rippin’ past sideways. He was haulin’ but five kays later I waved him down in the next village. We had a yarn about his “toy”, pretty awesome and he was a nice bloke as well. Declining the offer of a few drinks I headed for the woods and a camp high up in a valley full of inquisitive little squirrels and things that made sounds like bears!!
There seems to be one of these wooden sculptures in all the little towns, this one in Flume had a bit of character.
Zebra crossings to help you get around the corners.
Bunch of old milking cows holding up the traffic.
Strolling through town playing a tune with their bells.
This machine really honked and the German guy twisting the thottle was a real nice bloke.
Road registered and a top speed just over 160km/h...... Nice
Heading upstream to camp.
Bit of a climb but the crazy little squirrels didn't seem to mind sharing their trees for the night.
bikerooter screwed with this post 01-07-2011 at 11:16 AM
|04-03-2010, 04:02 PM||#15|
Joined: Jul 2007
Location: Port Kennedy, Western Australia
Ripper of a trip. Looking forward to more.
'13 Triumph Sprint GT; '04 Triumph Tiger 955i
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