Dargo Weekend Ride Saturday 2^nd - Sunday 3^rd April 2011

Tim Emons (leader)	Honda CBR1000	Cliff Peters	Kawasaki ZX10
Paul Southwell	Honda CBR1000	Mark Copeland	Kawasaki ZX10
Misho Zrakic	Honda CBR1000	Rob Langer (1/2 rear)	Kawasaki Z1000
Tony Stegmar	Honda CBR1000	John Willis	Kawasaki Z1000
John Rousseaux	Honda CBR1000	Danny Hawker	Suzuki GSXR1000
Ben Warden (1/2 rear)	Honda CBR954	Bill Simpson	Suzuki GSXR1000
Pina Garasi	Honda CBR600	Pierre Ong	Ducati 1098
Kurn Bridgeman	Honda CBR600		15 bikes, 15 people

The Club members will concur that this is a very popular trip: a weekend away, stationed at Dargo, to enjoy the roads to and from and around Dargo. Consider this: The Omeo Highway out of Bruthen, the Dargo-Bairnsdale road and the infamous Licola road. These roads are simply fantastic, in fairly good condition and cater to our Club’s needs to actually “ride” a bike.

Take a look at the machinery which attended this ride. All good stuff. The only defining differences between them were their respective pilots. We all know on paper which one should be the fastest, but out in the real world, we know the true story. The most notable inclusions were a couple of Z1000’s piloted by John Willis and Rob Langer. I think, secretly, we all wished we were riding them at various points because the riders just looked so comfortable, and seemed to enjoy the tasks set before them. I hear the gentlemen owners got themselves a bargain. The bikes were both brand new for the trip. John was definitely running his unit in well, particularly the tyres. Wind buffeting was the only point of discussion. But I say these guys are just spoilt.

Kurn was riding very well. He has changed his position on the bike from painful to somewhat orthodox, suggesting that his bionics are taking hold, and becoming one with his biological systems. I take my hat off to your enthusiasm mate; it takes a lot of substance to be where you are. I particularly enjoyed being teamed up with you, Pierre, Tony and Paul, all doing our thing in concert up the Omeo Highway, mile after mile of quintet brilliance and respect. Back down the same road set us up for a run into Dargo that afternoon. This had Kurn, Ben and I link up through a glorious section along the Dargo-Bairnsdale road. I can only say it was fantastic to watch Ben’s effortless style, an event rare on my calendar, but nice to see a master at work. “Love” is motorcycling in such circumstances, riding with my mates.

Here we are in Dargo. Ben had organised three self-contained houses for us to stay at for $50.00 a head, which included a continental breakfast at the house followed by a bacon and egg roll and a coffee, at the Dargo Store.

Dinner the previous evening was at the Dargo Pub. Serving sizes were scoffed at due to the fact they were massive. “How am I going to eat all of that?” kind-of-a-scoff. Not that that stopped anyone swooping in on my meal when it landed on the table. My peripheral vision saw about six arms coming in from all directions for my chips.

Across from me at the table was Cliff, tucking into a huge steak. He had employed the services of Pina to hand feed him, as he was finding it difficult to use a knife and fork due to an injury he acquired during the day. A car flicked a large rock off the road into his left pointer finger, which broke in half and landed in his lap; the rock that is. The pain was enough to have him come to a stop on the side of the road, no doubt muttering expletives. X-rays when he gets home.

I was going to play a game of pool with Tony, but a day of riding, a full belly, and three beers had me become a little delirious. So I made my way back to the house and made a fire out the front in a camp fire pit that was there, and drank copious amounts of coffee. A number of people gathered to enjoy the setting, where we spun yarns to the wee hours of 10.00pm that night. I had a final cuppa and went to bed.

Next morning Tony and I checked on Cliff. He said he was just fine, but his finger was still an issue. He looked regal upon his throne.

Back at camp the billy was put on and coffee made. I dragged still warm embers from last night’s fire together for it to re-combust, adding more wood. There I sat with coffee in hand, enjoying a beautiful morning, debating what time it actually was, taking into account Daylight Savings end.

The plan was to be in town for our breakfast by 8.30am. We arrived at the Dargo Store to find Ben, pad in hand and pen behind the ear. Garcon! A roll and a cuppa. And make it snappy. “Why yes, sir,” he replied in an almost kappa-like fashion. I was content with the response and continued my conversation with the rest of my esteemed brethren. There was a commotion over at the alfresco table; the bumbling waiter had spilt coffee all over the place to the shock of many. The scene dragged the entire morning down. Where do they hire their help? It belittles the establishment.

Putting the breakfast debacle behind us, we waited for the not-so-organised to wrap up their swags and present for our departure. Group photo, metal warmed and gassed, compass was set for Licola.

I’m a pantheist, a person with a scientific perception of what God is. The universe is what God is; everything that was, is, and is to be. Having said that, I feel that perhaps “God” can align our realities to conform to our perceptions of perfection. The weather was perfect, the road selection was perfect, but at times, my suspension wasn’t perfect, thus having me question all that God is. It is the Licola Road, a conglomeration of tarmac spat directly out of the bowels of the Devil. Isn’t that right, Dennis? Or is it that my perception doesn’t conform to what is yet another perfect motorcycling road?

After the sublime surfaces of the Dargo road, I found myself skittling across the road at various bends, 75km/h bends to the right, backed by a 30km/h bends to the left, with a mix of corrugations and blind corners, with a sprinkling of gravel just to keep you on your toes. If roads had difficulty factors applied to them, then this one was a grade or two above that gorgeous Dargo road, and at least a grade above the Omeo road. But the likes of “Misho the Great”, and “John Z1000 Willis” seemed to just sail on by, not interpreting like I. John did say at the end of this road that his suspension was more compliant. Ben had been winding all John and Rob’s buttons around, in and out, in the art of suspension tuning. John’s rear tyre was showing results to confirm the work.

Some of us did the run up to the Wellington River, dodging road kill and four–wheel drives. We watched a 4WD owner pump up enormous bags called tyres on one of these monstrosities whilst we regrouped at the end of tarmac. It takes a mighty long time to pump up four tyres with a little compressor.

Back at Licola, we rested for lunch. I was buggered by this point, and laid my weary body under a coolabah tree watching the world fade away. Wake-up John, we’re going!

Doing the Licola Road at the back of the pack was far more pleasing. Perhaps the rest helped. John Z1000 Willis and the Kurnmeister caught up and passed me near the end, allowing me to tack-on the end of their freight train for a while. At our next stop, I overheard some say that the Licola road was harder in this direction. Based on this one comment, how could God create perfection to so many different perceptions at any given time?

Ben had a flat tyre at Briagolong service station, and Pierre’s Ducati was very thirsty, and was left down the track for Ben to provide resuscitation. Later Ben came into town riding the Ducati saying that it was payment for services rendered, and that it was a beautiful bike. I also know this bike runs race shift. How did you go with that Ben? [Up and down …Ed.]

Tyers – Noojee, via a plethora of roads too numerous to mention, except that other devil incarnate, the Icy Creek Road, which was wet and slippery. As we got closer to Melbourne the roads moistened; typical. Though this unpleasantness was inconsequential to the fantastic weekend of motorcycling we had just enjoyed together.

Coffee at Noojee and ride end. Lots of handshakes, kisses and cuddles, acknowledgments and all the cordialities one could muster upon departing. Thanks especially to Tim “Road Atlas” Emons: seamless, brilliant, well planned, considerate, fantastic. Ben Warden: stole my rear-rider point Day 1 and spilt coffee everywhere; organising genius. Robby Langer: stole my other rear-rider point and looked really comfortable on a Z1000 – bugger. Thanks to one and all. Long live the MSR.

John Rousseaux