EDITORIAL FEB 1981
Well,
it’s that time of the month again! We’ve
got another editorial to write! I think
that might even be a good subject; Editorials!
Who reads em? Well, judging from
the amount of foot stamping, yelling, shouting and waving of arms, some people
did read our last editorial. Very
satisfying, ‘cause it got a reaction.
That’s what editorials are all about (at least in our opinion
anyway). Sometimes they may upset the
committee; sometimes they may upset the General Membership, sometimes
both. Good! We try to maintain impartiality; we look at
rules, regulations, comments and incidents with our view and then, with the
opposite view. Then we write about
it. That, in our opinion, is what an
editorial is all about. It says
something, but gives food for thought.
Hopefully members will re-act, preferably at a General Meeting, so that
we may iron out any idiosyncrasies within the operation of the club. Simple eh?
So, if you dislike something we write, don’t tell us, tell the
meeting. We’re sure all would like to
hear your comments.
Finally
we still have a few run reports outstanding so if you haven’t put pen to paper
yet, how about it eh?
See
you next month
Faye
and Geoff
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FEBRUARY RUNS
Saturday
7 BBQ & night
ride. Kinglake. Details in this mag.
Sunday
8 Reefton Spur. 9.30am KBCP.
Weekend Welshman’s Reef. 8.30am leave
Keilor municipal
14
& 15 Offices, Water
sports weekend.
Sunday
22 Jerusalem Creek. 9am
KBCP.
Saturday
28 Drive-in 7pm KBCP
MARCH
Sunday
1 Nagambie. 9am KBCP
Bring Togs.
Friday
6 General meeting. Club hall.
8.15pm SHARP.
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NIGHT
RIDE 7th February. BBQ at
Kevin Robertson’s place. Starting at
4.30pm B.Y.O. everything. Night ride
starts at 7.30pm.
____________________
CONGRATULATIONS
Congratulations
to Tony Baly and his wife who became the proud parents of a baby boy on the 7th
December 1980.
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CLUBMAN OF THE YEAR
AWARD Points are as follows.
1.
Craig
Dawson 36.
2.
Ian
Taylor 30
3.
Keith
Finlay 28
4.
Tom
Saville & Marc Sulot 26
5.
Marcus
Haesler & Les Leahy 24.
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WRONG NUMBER
Peter
Dwyer's phone number is incorrect in the membership list. Please make note of
correct number 398 – 2322.
____________________
ANNOUNCEMENT
As
of Monday January 19th Mick FAGAN R80GS is on permanent afternoon
shift starting at 4pm. So don’t ring up
work in the daytime or home before 9am.
____________________
FOR
One
evaporative air cooler $50.00 ONO G.C
One
small electric portable oven and stove $10.00
Contact
Mick
____________________
FOR
2
Drive chains (1/2 x 5/16) - $25.00 each
1
set of control cables (clutch, brake, A&B throttle) to suit Yamaha 500
(XT/TT) - $30.00.
1
pair Koni dampers and springs – suit Honda 750 or GL - $50.00.
1
pair throttle cables (A&B) suit Honda 750 - $12.00.
1
set rear brake pads – suit Honda 750 F1 - $20.00
Contact
Lloyd 531-7003
____________________
FOR
1
tan Mars leather jacket, ladies size 34” $50.00
1
pair black Medal boots with Cuban heels, ladies size 7 $45.00
1
pair tan Medal boots, ladies size 7 ½ - 8 $25.00
1
brush and comb attachment hair drier $7.00
1
nearly new iron $12.00
Contact
Joy before 10pm 528-6061.
____________________
QUESTION???
Who
was the bearded club member who, while sitting in the shade beneath a tree on
the banks of the
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LERDERDERG GORGE 21/12/80
How
come I have to get an ordinary, bog standard, run of the mill club run on which
to do a write up?
How
come there was no riding through snow, hail and fire; no massive pile ups; no
scandalous behaviour?
All
right! Leave me here with this most
civilised of runs, this trip so temperate, this meandering of mediocrity. See if I care. That one glorious point will be mine.
For
some unaccountable reason people turned up in droves at the KBCP. Let’s say that being the last day trip for the
year was reason enough for 15-20 bikes to brave the early 10am start.
Darren
brought along his mother and aunt in the air conditioned Honda, but the heat of
the day later on the Lerderderg was to prove rather trying for them.
Robyn
Duffy had seen fit to squander the child endowment money on a new second hand
Michael
Fagan arrived with Joy on her R65, confirming that long awaited R80 GS was
still in cold storage. (The beast was to
be unveiled a few days later, after more drama than ‘Gone with the Wind’.)
Quite
a few visitors were present for their first run, a similar background being
noticed by their unanimous choice of overalls, wide handle bars, wind shields
and leather panniers.
With
Keith Harris at the helm we vacated the metropolis in the direction of Melton,
where with the help of many a back road we navigated in the general direction
of Ballan. This route of course takes one over that ‘Big Dirt Hill’. Though after a few gentle slopes on a certain
Christmas ride, I shall forever more refer to it as a ‘Small Dirt Mound’.
Our
average KPH at this stage was not exactly mind shattering, and it took quite a
while for everyone to trickle into Bacchus Marsh. With the necessary picnic goodies purchased
(a total fire ban negating any thought of barbecue) we headed out to the
Lerderderg Gorge. Mick Fagan then
fielded a debate on whose thermos was the biggest and whose water was the
coldest and whose new camera was the best etc, etc. All this was ignored with the usual
enthusiasm, and quite a few went swimming to escape the heat. Craig’s bathers were the tattiest pair of
shorts ever seen on a club outing. (A deduction
of one point for indecent exposure would be appropriate, I think.) By the way,
Craig (our new Club Captain) is doing a good job of the pre-run briefings, and
keeping the outings moving along at a decent pace where possible.
Les
Bennet took a snap with his Polaroid of a few club persons. Something about evidence to show Pauline that
he had actually been where he said he had.
Good one Les.
Tony,
being a resident of Bacchus Marsh, then volunteered his home as a stopover for
refreshment and relaxation. My
involvement ceased at this point, to travel back to
Well,
that’s it. No Pulitzer Prize winner, but
you can’t win them all.
Les R65.
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Hear
that several members recently took on a somewhat difficult ride and in the
process found out a few interesting facts.
For example, BMW’s aren’t too bad on the trail; they also make good
bulldozers, but they won’t swim.
Interesting eh?
____________________
It
is true that two (correction four) of our staunch BMW owners have condescended
to purchasing Japanese (!!!) trail bikes?
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TAWONGA
Commenting
a little on our Christmas Camp. I
thought it was very good, it had all the atmosphere you would wish for to make
it what it was and I think other members would agree, as there was quite a few
attending during the course of the trip, which was good to see, as when you
thought the camp was breaking up more would arrive. There was swimming, touring, walks and
fishing plenty to do and lots of ‘flies’ during the course of the meal I ate
one. On one of our tours Marcus couldn’t
quite make it as he burnt the ‘clutch’ out on his Goldwing trying to follow
Mick.
For
those members who departed by Sunday they should consider themselves lucky, as
on Sunday night around 7.30pm I experienced for the first time a severe
electrical storm. The wind seemed to be
building up and as one member said, I can see it coming. It came with such a force that it reached up
to 100mph and it uprooted trees and damaged tents and caravans. One tree which I saw coming down was a ’40
footer’ and was approx 3ft away from my tent. Luckily it fell the right way
towards the river. There was nothing I
could do but crouch out there in the open, quite wet.
Unknown
to me, my tent was under 3 or 4 inches of water, and consequently I had no bed
for the night. There were many others in the same position. But I seemed to be the only member really
affected by this, other than Peter on a GS1000 who had his tent blown down,
with one broken pole. Campers came to
our aid. I was put up by a nice family for the night who gave me a track suit
to wear and helped to dry out my clothes for which I was very thankful. They
also gave me breakfast in the morning.
A
trip I will never forget for a while and I know that other members will also
remember it.
Big Daddy
____________________
Want
to lose weight? – then go camping with a couple of our fishermen (?) type
members – you’ll lose weight (or maybe even die of starvation)
____________________
XMAS WEEK OR THE TWO
DAYS I WAS THERE
Peter
Dwyer and I arrived at
Eventually
all arrived back except Marcus. A lot
including Mick on the new (remove the back wheel in 7 seconds) BMW went part of
the ride on some Godforsaken trail and all managed to get through except
Marcus. Darren said apparently you are
silly to take that bike there, but no.
Anyway it was a case of, look mum 14,000 revs and clutch out and bike
not moving instant almost burnt out clutch.
Apart from that 750 and 850 Yams and Goldwings have a very unprotected
oil filter and the latter the bottom water fitting. It was, according to Joy something to see the
Goldwing with big boy Marcus plus top case panniers etc bounding along the
trail.
The
boys found a guy who was willing to go and rescue Marcus. He had a 351 V8 one ton four wheel drive with
winch and automatic transmission. It was
about 23km away. According to Mick his
truck was bloody fantastic and nothing else would have got there and he should
know as he has been to the top of
The
weather was good Saturday, the storms stayed in the mountains. The hamburgers in the shops were good. The pub apparently too dear. Guess where a lot of us went. It was a pleasant evening.
Marc
and Karl left Sunday as did Mick and Joy, and also Darren. The day was similar to Saturday. A few went on rides. At 7pm came the storm and what a beaut. If Darren had been there and on the opposite
side of the 45ft gum tree we would have been minus Darren and caravan. The wind must have been well in excess of
160kph. Peter Dwyer’s tent broke a pole
while Big D’s tent stayed up but was in a hollow and got flooded out. Apart from that our group was lucky. A pity
Mick’s cyclone proof tent was not there for a tryout.
A
dozen trees were blown over in the caravan park not to mention tents and
caravans. The power was off until
11pm. As usual in trouble people helped
each other out. One couple gave Big D a
dry track suit and let him sleep in their annex. Chain saws came out and again the Ford one
ton with winch came to the rescue pulling away branches as they were cut to
free the vans they had fallen on. I
suppose it was fortunate it was 7pm and not after dark.
Sunday
evening saw Sally and Brendon Gleeson arrive. Both had got $30.00 on the spot
fines for exceeding 60 in a built up area.
They only just got the tent up before the storm.
Sunday
saw Paul leave for
Peter
Dwyer had to be seen at work sometime Monday; I had to work Monday night.
It
was a good spot Tawonga. We should go there again. It was very relaxing, for some of us, and
will not be forgotten if only because of the storm.
Lloyd 850 Yam
____________________
Three
write ups, on Tawonga and not one of them was requested. That’s great.
Makes our part of the magazine really easy.
Thanks
fellas!
____________________
TAWONGA – DECEMBER 27.28
Not
being ones to deprive relatives of the pleasure of our company on Christmas and
Boxing days (not all relatives smile at one through clenched teeth, you see),
Lloyd and I left for Tawonga on December 27th. A third traveller was inexplicably missing, later
found to have been enduring all kinds of Christmas excesses.
The
journey along the Hume was uneventful – not that it could be anything else if
one was to avoid the law springing out of trees here and there. Just to confuse the masses, we changed bikes
near Tawonga (verdict – Yamaha 850’s are, well...firm) and entered the caravan
park just in time to meet some members leaving for home. An omen, maybe? The park was certainly popular, so the camp
management (were they?) thought it wise to put us on the fringe of the site,
where about 12 members and friends had placed tents in varying splendour. Most splendid was the room residence – roomy,
even – complete with tiny TV set, which sent some members cross – eyed, or is
it that they always look like that? The
Fagan residence was also a cunning feat of architecture.
During
Saturday, a run to some mountain wilderness had been arranged – by good
fortune, before your correspondent arrived – with evidently precipitous slopes,
resulting in one bike finding it all too much and inconveniently dying in the
middle of nowhere. Marcus will agree
that a Goldwing does not a trail bike make!
The nature of the country required a four wheel drive to rescue the bike
and fortunately, a fellow camper with a Ford F100 equipped with every accessory
known to man, agreed to the rescue. This
was done with some difficulty and the heat, humidity and odd thunderstorms
didn’t help. Mick, being the proud owner
of a very new BMW trail bike...ummm, thing, was in his element as the bike
could leap tall trees at a single bound – well, nearly. No doubt he will be driven mad by people
saying the bike has lost a few vital parts.
It hasn’t though, just unusual design.
The
problems of the ride and rescue seemed to have exhausted most who, after visits
to the handy take away (cheap) or hotel (not so cheap), retired early rather
than sample such delights as the Mt Beauty Mardi Gras.
Sunday
was again humid and the best things to do were to sleep in the shade or swim in
the very pleasant
Sure
enough, about 6pm, the ultimate in storms arrived – gale force winds, dust,
torrential rain, flying trees and branches and most incredible display of
lightning I have ever seen. Frankenstein
would have been out of his mind!
Important things first of course – bikes were shifted out into the open,
tents tied down and lastly any wives/friends tied down, too.
The
storm caused a great deal of damage with fallen trees and branches littering
the park. Those tents which did not
collapse were certainly wet and a few occupants were forced to seek drier
quarters with the caravan owners. By
good luck, no one was injured, but there were a few narrow escapes. By the time order had been restored, there
was nothing to do but retire to the rather damp sleeping bags, etc.
Monday
being a working day meant on early departure for
Peter Dwyer Suzuki GS1000G
____________________
Heard
that several members were threatened with suspension for consumption of alcohol
at the Clubman Rally after camp had been set and riding for the day
completed. Believe only one of the six
committee members present objected.
____________________
OH
(Continued
from December)
American
traffic is well controlled and poor driving is almost never seen. American riders look after and polish their
bikes to a superb finish. My American
hosts were always careful about my safety and would take care to ensure that I
did not take any corners too fast, even if at times I would have liked to go
twice as fast, not so in Canada. Here
the traffic was like I know here and if Canadians still rode on the left, then
it would be quite like life here. Fast and furious describes our Canadian friends. The bikes are dressed like those in the
Canadians
are famous in
As
in
In
While
Canadian conditions of work, length of annual leave, long service leave, and
penalty rates etc are generally better than is found in the
While
Canadian industry competes with
Crowns
and Union Jack flags show
While
Darren GL1000
____________________
Most
Jap bikes can’t stay with the R80/GS when up in the mountains; on or off road.
____________________
Goldwings
are inclined to lean on XJ650’s.
____________________
Honda
550’s tank slap when the rear tyre blows! (Scatters the traffic too!)
____________________
TV
at club camps – ridiculous!
____________________
Heard
that a certain R90S owner is attempting to contrive a way to run said machine
into an R100RS.
____________________
Goldwing
clutches don’t take kindly to trail riding.
____________________
Christmas 1980
There
was movement at the station,
For
the word had got around,
That
Tommy Saville had organised a ride
Up
by Dargo way.
(Banjo
Leahy)
Draw
a triangle joining Licola, Dargo and Bright.
Colour-in the triangle with steep mountains, creek crossings, rocky
trails and you’ll have some idea why the large group showing early interest,
dwindled rapidly to 3 when departure time drew near.
When
word reached me that Tom had bought a seven-pulley hand winching device, I went
a little white around the knuckles, but, swallowing hard, fitted a knobby tyre
to the rear of the BM and cut the camping gear to a bare minimum.
On
a wing and a prayer, two 750/7’s and one R65 all of the Bavarian variety set
out early in the morning on Boxing Day.
Destination; the Tawonga Christmas camp via some of the toughest country
in
Healesville,
Narbethong, Marysville and then...Hell No!
Fresh gravel everywhere, axle deep, well that’s what it felt like. Cumberland Junction was a scene of worried
books and much letting down of tyres by Keith and Tom.
Mile
after mile of twisting, turning, and banking got the feel of it now, power
gently on, don’t touch those brakes.
Matlock and a quick look at the map, there it is, that turn off will
take us through to the Jamieson – Licola road.
Fifteen
kilometres, sixteen kilometres, that has to be it, no other side tracks for
miles.
We
had now changed from narrow gravel roads to bush tracks and within a few
minutes, there it was.
Our
first obstacle. A very steep descent
heading in the direction of downward with great rapidity.
N.B.
to judge a steep gradient, park the BM on the rocker cover. If the bike now assumes the same angle of
lean as when normally using the side stand, you have yourself a steep one.
Tom
and I parked the bikes in the aforementioned manner and walked to the very
bottom, over the next rise and to the bottom again.
Tom
to Les, “F------- steep!”
“Yes,”
Les replied.
“Think
we’ll get down?” asked Tom.
Tom
ventured to query, “Think we’ll be able to ride back up if we can’t get
through?”
“No,”
Les replied.
With
much slithering, sliding, graunching and cursing we finally reached the bottom
and had a breather much to Keith’s relief.
After half a mile more track, Tom rounded a corner and saw the dense
bush of a gully close in all around him.
Anyone with an IQ of forty-two could deduct in a flash what this meant.
Yep;
back the way we’d just come.
Back
at the bottom of the towering hillside strewn with loose dirt and rubble, I
sucked in the cool mountain air with a gasp, rolled my eyes, dropped the clutch
and was away to the top.
“Piece
o’ piss!” yelled Tom from the bottom and gunned the big 750. Half way up, the rear wheel lost traction in
the rubble and the motor went dead. From
here on in we began fine tuning the technique of pushing, dragging, kicking and
cursing the big road bikes out of trouble, which was to continue for many more
days.
Anxious
not to make the same error, Keithy dialled a zillion revs and catapulted up to
join us at the top.
Sure
we’d gone the wrong way, but now we had a good idea of what we could ride down
and still more important, what we could ride up.
The
bush and dirt roads whizzed by and at lunch time we were refuelling at Licola.
The
inevitable ‘local’ told us that the roads to Lake Tarli Karng had been closed
off and we were going to ‘Where?’
“Dargo!”
“You’ll
need a bloody chain saw to get through there!”
Undeterred
we headed up along the
Tom
drew out the trusty map and without hesitating announced that here was a hut
not far away.
“What
a load of nonsense,” thought I. But,
sure enough, after a few miles of bush track, through a summer grazing gate,
there it was. Home for the night.
The
old hand carved wooden plaque read “STOCKMANS HUT 1946”. Our rustic residence was your actual log
cabin, galvanized iron plus tar paper roof, dirt floor and best of all – a fire
place.
With
gear unpacked and a log fire burning, we set about living off the land. Equipped with fishing rod and rifle we
scoured the terrain, but it was dead-eye Tom who brought down a rabbit and then
master chef Keithy Harris relieved it of its innards and outwards.
That
night, sitting around the fire, retelling the day’s ordeals, it was all just
something else.
Night
came and then turned to early dawn. The
sky cleared and sunshine was warm on our backs as we set out on day two.
An
easy ride saw us arrive at East Pinnacle, renamed by us the rooftop of the
world, or so it seemed that morning with nothing but a sea of cloud far below
us. Unreal!
A
fire watcher and his family live up there during the summer and he was good
enough to take us up into the tower and explain where the trails were situated.
To
the north was Billy Goats Track.
Classified as crash and destroy territory. To the south east was Castle Hill and the
‘Jump Up’ or as it turned out in Keithy’s case, the “Fall Down”.
The
area was still wet from rain the night before and with the reassuring words
“You’ll probably fall on your arses a few times,” still ringing in our ears we
set off to descend from 5,000ft to 600ft in 10 kilometres.
Looking
over the “Jump Up” is like looking over the edge of a giant basketball. With the front and back brakes on, first gear
engaged on a dead motor and by popping the clutch we inched our way over the
edge of that large wet ball.
With
little tread on his rear tyre, Keithy was having a torrid time; and for my
part, the knobby was the only thing between me and a fate probably worse than
death.
Down,
down, into the clouds and finally to the valley floor below. Beautiful bushland, tiny creeks lined with
ferns. For each hardship, a reward.
Kilometres
later, we rode out across a paddock and onto the
That
afternoon we rode north and turned onto the track to the old ghost towns of
Grant and Talbotville. Nothing new
remains save a few gravestones and the occasional fruit trees once proudly
standing outside some kitchen window.
The
creek was reasonably high, well up on my previous experience of this area. All crossings were negotiated successfully
with water up around the barrels in some cases.
The
last crossing of the day was some 35 yards across and 18 inches deep. Tom motored in on the 750, a great bow wave
marking his progress to the opposite bank.
Looking back over his shoulder, “Piece o’ piss,” he yelled.
In
went the R65 powering against the current and force of the water. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a great boulder
leapt up, grabbed the front wheel and threw bike and rider into the briny. Only a handle bar end was visible.
Harris
thought it a great joke, but he was to live to regret his mirth a day later.
After
much draining of the mechanical bowels, we made camp for the night at yet
another hut a hundred yards away. This
shack lacked the finesse of the previous night’s accommodation, but after we
disposed of the resident rats and other creepy crawlies, a fire was lit for
much drying of one wet arse and one fish which Tom (living off the land)
Saville had caught.
And
so to sleep.
Access
to the Wonnangatta Track is guarded by
By
now the day was very hot, and rivers of sweat dripped from our tired
bodies. We cursed every extra kilo of
weight that was strapped to our bikes.
Up,
always up, we rode until there it was. A
freshly painted sign that directed Wonnangatta Track to the left, Eaglevale
Track straight ahead.
This
was where my part of the ride was to end.
Having to be back at work on Monday I bid Tom and Keith good luck,
descended the thousands of feet so painstakingly earned, crossed
Tough
as the ride had seemed, instinct told me that my part had been easy compared
with what was to come.
Les
Part
2 of this epic sage will hopefully be published next month.
____________________
Seems
the proud owner of the R80/GS is somewhat perturbed at the number of people
asking what is wrong with his bike. Most
seem to think it is broken or BMW forgot to fit the other half of the swinging
arm. Ignorance is bliss!
____________________
Goldwings
are capable of coming home from
____________________
Recently
observed one potential member position his machine on the edge of the river
bank, aim his spot light down to the river and then somersault backwards down
the bank to get a cup of water, - !!!????
____________________
A
certain lady member seems to be developing a habit of fainting at the
conclusion of long rides. Didn’t think
that hubby’s riding was that bad!
____________________
Hear
a couple of members have been down Gippsland way to research club run up into
the mountains north of the
____________________
Notice
that Honda/BMW owner (or is it BMW/Honda) is still using his Honda for camping
weekends.
____________________
This
mag seems to be missing a few run reports.
Should the club start supplying pen and paper?
____________________
CLUBMAN RALLY 1981 –
EDITORIAL COMMENT
It
appears that what started out as a great weekend steadily developed into
somewhat of a shambles. As most will, by
now, know Keith Finlay had the misfortune to run out of road, to the detriment
of both himself and his machine.
Unfortunately he was not realised as missing until the group arrived
back at camp. Several riders then
back-tracked and Keith was located approx 1 ½ hours after leaving the
road. Now this sounds rather a long time
but if you think about it, it is not really exorbitant. Half an hour ride to camp and 10-15 minutes
to realize he is not coming in leaves 45 minutes back-tracking and checking the
sides of the road. Reasonable, but could
have been fatal in some circumstances.
Could also happen on most ORGANISED club rides. I have often ridden for considerable time out
of sight, front or rear, of any rider.
Had I left the road it may have been up to a couple of hours before I
was located. Fact of life, but the
Clubman Rally incident seems to have caused some hysteria. The inferences,
comments and statements made have rather surprised and disgusted me. I shan’t repeat them as I have only hear-say
to go on, but it sure makes me ponder the maturity and responsibility of the
involved members. I feel rather sure
that we, the club, can do without petty arguing amongst ourselves, particularly
over something that has turned out reasonable enough, through under different
circumstances, may have had a very different outcome.