An EXUP trip!

[hotcam]

AN Exup trip...

I left work today about 3pm on the FZ1, loaded for travel. It was about an hour and a half journey to where I am now;

Phillip Island World Superbikes!!! Yaaay!!!

An evening of boozy camping with bike mates, and tomorrow the big races and a great group of support races too. I already bumped into Reuben Xaus in the shopping area!

Tomorrow night after the races it's back into town amongst tens of thousands of bikes, and then first thing mondAy morning, i'm off on a road trip to the beautiful island state of Tasmania, apple isle, land of heritage and some would say, God's gift to motorbikers.

I'll post replies from my phone when I can, like this one, and Spook could you post the odd pic for me if I email it to you please ? (don't worry not too many).

Don't worry my house is still occupied by most of the family plus visiting friends so there's a 24 hour security presence. Else I would have waited till after to post this, but live is more fun, eh?

[spook]

No worries Cam

"Reuben xaus and his BMW for next season if he doesn't stop crashing "

[Mike_SS]

Superbikes and Tassie. What a double! Have fun

[stan]

first supers i've missed in about 10 years, looks like a great weekend of racing, how close was that first race

hope you had a great weekend, and enjoy tassie, you lucky %&#@^

stan

[hotcam]

A great day at the supers, yes what racing that was! Across melbourne
to my house (arrived 11pm), and up before the crack of dawn tomorrow
to go across the city again to get on the ferry to
TASMANIA



Bike is going well, luggage on it means it handles a bit different but
I'm still getting used to it. Phillip Island, what a place! I love it!

[hotcam]

In the dark this morning to the ferry terminal, it was a nice night ride but I needen't have bothered... The ferry was running behind schedule. It's a big crossing, 100miles or so of Bass strait which can be some of the wildest water in the world. 

Fortunately today it was mostly flat as a pancake, so no need to test the ferry's "new improved" bike tiedown system. It's the same system (two loops over the handlebars) that everyone has been using for years, but the ferry has only just caught on. They used to just put one big strap over the seat, but had to change after some rough crossings resulted in big damage bills. Didn't save my dad's BMW though, it bumped against something on the ship and got a *tiny* scratch, so there was hell to pay. LoL!

Tassie I've barely seen so far, but initial impressions are, roads bumpy skinny and winding but with much higher speed limits (sensible instead of nanny state!), everything closes early and town streets are deserted at 7pm... 
And the bigger cities would barely qualify as a town back home. All good, then, as long as we buy take-home booze during the day! 

Looking forward to some good riding tomorrow...

Cam 

[sickle44]

Hope you have a great trip Cam,

Nice looking bags btw, what'd they run you if you don't mind me askin'.

Think I'm actually going to pull the FZ-1 out of the snow-bank and fire it up for a ride maybe this week/end.

Sorry, have to excuse my ignorance, superbike of course I understand, but tassie? Is that an Australian thing or.....

[hotcam]

Chill, the night air is grey as the moonlight, cold as the steel southern seas. I sit, and write, because sleep will not come.

 
 West, we rode, to the great southern oceans, through the bright green of Dismal Swamp, to the welcoming black green of the Tarkine Wilderness, one of the last real untouched forests of the world.
 There stand trees that lived through the birth of Christ, the Romans, Vikings, Armadas and convict fleets. The Tasmanian Devils fight and eat there, with rending teeth, ever watchful should the Tasmanian Tiger return to hunt, the forest floor littered with an impassable mélange of leaves and logs so that every step is either a battle or a subtle dancing around in the arms of nature.
 This Is a place that remains unexplored; today was not the day for starting deep expeditions that could swallow up the rest of a lifetime, so on westward into the teeth of a howling gale. 
 The clouds came, the mist, and the smell of the sea borne on the Roaring Forties trade winds, winds that carried lonely men in wooden ships halfway around the world to live, or maybe die. As we rode along the road, narrow single lane like a rollercoaster, fighting the crosswinds and the cold, peering throught the salt encrusting our visors, we arrived at the ocean.
 Here at The Edge of The World, the air and water smite man in the face continually. Ocean and rocks have been here forever, and will be here long after humanity is gone. Wind in your face straight from Madagascar has lost its bright floral scent and animal liveliness on the ten thousand mile journey from the other side of the world. Logs bigger than telegraph poles lay scattered in piles on the rocky beach, piles of driftwood on an epic scale. At any moment I expected a square-rigged sailing ship to lurch out of the mist, lost for hundreds of years swirling in a whirlpool of southern oceans, found only to be dashed against the teeth of the rocks, delivering finally its cargo of souls to Davy Jones. 
 The sheer intensity of this place both lifts and grounds a man's heart, to be a part of this world and to know every day can be an adventure. 
 We turned away along the same road, retracing our steps, the dead end road proving that no-one can pass The Edge of The World, only retreat from it. Fast miles pass, returning to the warmth of the sun and the stillness of the forest, and finally the coastal fishing town where we have our supplies and a warm bed. Only to find I cannot sleep in the bed, some of the adventure and destiny of ten thousand miles of  ocean has crystallised in my memory and my chest, restless as the forever beating waves, solid as the rocks on the beach. May it remain constant as the gale-force winds of the west, because every human needs a small portion of epic inside.

Around 400km today. Ulverstone-Stanley-Dismal Swamp-Tarkine-Arthurs River, and return.            

[hotcam]

Tasmania aka tassie is the Island state at the southern tip of Australia, home to big forests, unique wildlife, and great riding. Next stop south is Antarctica.

The genuine bags cost a fortune through Yamaha, like AU2000! I got mine from eBay used for a few hundred, off an FJR1300 (identical bags to the fz bags and fit straight on the genuine fz1 mounting racks).

[sickle44]

Ahhhh, Cool,

Yeah, the factory bags for the 01-05 are pure sheite, at least the Canadian spec ones are anyways. I've seen some hard look, soft bags for my year that look pretty decent for $200 US. Have to see what evil bay can stir up for me too I guess.

[hotcam.]

Looking south along the coast from The Edge Of The World



Looking west towards Cape Horn, Africa, from The Edge.

[Overkill]

Amazing country and quite impressive prose, Hotcam!

[FZRDude]

Wow

[hotcam]

A short ride to Launceston, biggest city in the north and second to the capital. A trip to the gorge, on the edge of town 1-8minutes from anywhere in town, reveals a canyon swimming hole that in southern Europe would cost $1000per day I am sure. Here it is free and pretty well taken for granted. A visit to the state emergency services for those of us involved. Beer, good food and a good nights rest round out the day.

Launceston to Bicheno today. That's from the mid north, to the east coast. It's supposed to be a main highway, and there aren't alternatives to speak of, but in this motorcyclist's paradise a major highway doesn't mean super-slab. Two lanes(one each way), down to 1 lane for bridges, 25kmh hairpins, curves everywhere. I counted two stretches of 500m without a bend in about 100km! The main part, 150km, took us around 3 hours non stop, that's what I call tight twisty roads! Now at Bicheno, a tiny resort and fishing hamlet on the coast. Dad has been planning for twenty years to come back here for the world's best crayfish supper.
A rest day here tomorrow, despite only travelling 250km today. But it was the most perfect 250km you could ask to ride. I might retrace some tomorrow.

[hotcam.]

The main Hwy across the north of the state:

[spook]

Enjoy your day of rest Cam... your making me extremely jealous

There is no doubt about Tassie. It's gods own motorcycling country, and the whole boat trip over etc make for a great adventure. Are you dropping in for a ride day at Symmons plains or Baskerville raceway?

http://www.motorsportstas.com.au/index. ... &Itemid=68

Enjoy the trip and be safe!

[sickle44]

Had lots of those roads down in Oregon last year, So Beautiful, although, damned hard to see through the trees when the sun comes out, light, dark, light, dark, light, dark, light, dark...................... YUCK!

Yeah, I know, quit my bitchin'

[hotcam]

A couple of sunny days in old Hobart town burn like a bright beacon in my memory as I sit in the dark dank chill... Ain't it funny how my best most convenient writing time is late in the night when I can't sleep. Hobart was warm, sunny, and fun in a twisty-road historical-building kind of way. Oh, and a laughing-at-mates-who-get-lost-with-GPS kind of way too.

The cross-state trip afterward is unique. Two hours of wide rural landscape and countryside traversed by sweeping bends is enough to break the city mode of thought, and the threatened rain came lightly and often to damp down our rain clothes. The grey sky clung low over the land as our wet rain jackets clung to us. We stayed dry on the inside though and figured we were pretty smart. That's hubris for you.

See, the road then heads upwards into the Fraser Gordon Wild Rivers national park, and becomes as finely coiles and intricately textures as one of the fronds of the rainforest ferns. Into the clouds, on uncertain footing, surrounded by lush greenery, we found that is was slow but fascinating going.

Tarraleah is a Brigadoon town, the mist and forest surround a rider until suddenly a turnoff appears on the fog. Time for food and warmth. Follow the giant pipeline looming out of the cloud until a shiny sparkling small town appears, all 1920's and 1930's yet brightly painted as though it were built yesterday, looking strangely pristine. Only a half dozen houses, a lodge, a pub and cafe here, we ate and rode on along the pipeline. As we went and the bulk of the town disappeared into the mist behind, I looked in the window of the last house... a perfectly new, clean, shiny 1930's interior, empty. As I write this, I realized there was not one car parked in those houses' drives, nor anywhere else in town, apart from our bikes and the caravan of the other couple eating at the cafe. I wonder where all the people come from?

Our gear was very wet on the outside, but this is where the wonders of modern technology failed us. Up and down the mountainside, following the basic roads biltong on the maintenance trails of the hydroelectric scheme, the rains came thickly. No drizzle, showers, here. Within minutes of eAch other, our rain gear became useless, water down the neck, up the sleeves, through previously-impermeable double waterproof zips, everywhere. I knew I was truly wet through, when I felt the rivulets cascading down the back of my thighs into my boots.

The sleepy wombat cafe and fuel stop, just at the end of that mountain pass, was awash in a sea of half-drowned bikers. Alone in the ride until then, the fuel for bike and body was too much to resist and every few minutes a lonely bike or two would pull in, glistening with a fish-like wetness. The hot-air handdryers in the mens room were as busy as the bustling coffee-service ladies.

What a contrast on the west side of the ranges! Sun and a stiff breeze dried us thoroughly, and the rainforest ended for a low salty highland scrub. The driven winter snow had scoured these elevated lakesides, making for an inspiring view of the surrounding mountains and the wisps of fog curling off. Wide, smooth, openly curved roads invited more pace and the slow forest crawl was soon behind us. It felt like the roof of the world, almost inacessible and pristine...

... Until Queenstown. At first, my mind wanted to deny the horrible livid-coloured scar burnt across the mountainside. But winding around the back of that hilltop, the landscape changed abruptly to a foreign, hateful, blasted abyss of bare rock and dust. Heat from the sun baked back at us from the bare stones, and all the view was a sickly saffron yellow and rust red, like an infected wound on the landscape. Arsenic fumes from the mining did this. At the bottom of the valley, Queenstown was nearly deserted, and we didn't stop.

[Mike_SS]

Nice writing once again.

Until Queenstown

You summed that up well. A mate and I did a trip years back and picked Queenstown from the map as being a reasonably sized place to stop for the night. Such a wasted and desolate looking place.

Keep it coming

[spook]

Queenstown, testament to what humanity in isolation from scrutiny will and cam do when driven by greed.

It really is an interesting historic area in a horrifying sort of a way. One of the highlights of that area is the ARB railway that runs from Queentown to Stawn. (if your into steam engines and incredible feats of engineering) It's a great day out.

If you take the time to stop and listin Cam.... ya can here banjos playin in them hills