Motorbiking and Touring through Victoria and South Australia

Like the grinding of cogs that have long forgotten the joys of oil, my
life continues forward. Last week, my much beloved Honda CBR 1000 was
walked out to the back paddock, fed, watered, given soothing comforting
words, and put to rest. Yes, I cried. The only replacement available
was a tired old Beemer, age unknown.

My journey took me and this new steed south, into Victoria. As I came
up to Dead Horse Gap, the highest road in Oz, I was waylaid by bush
fires. Seems the entire north of Vic is engulfed in flames. As I tried
to backtrack and find an alternate route, I was pointed in the direction
of the Barry Way by a seemingly friendly

As it looked on the map, it was ideal. A nice twisty line through the
dark green of a National Park, and running parallel to the Snowy
River . In truth, it was anything but. 100K's in, and the pavement ends,
spitting me onto a single lane dirt track. The mountains were high and the
valleys deep. The view was breathtaking- when I could take two seconds
to look. As I reached the bottom of the valley, I decided I needed
respite from the oppressive heat of the day.

The Snowy River was cool, clear
and refreshing. My last taste of comfort for the day.
After an hour of nude swimming, it was time to move on. As I continue
to head south, I could see the dark black clouds gathering. I am now
piloting an unfamiliar, fully loaded road-bike down a remote dirt track,
in a torrential downpour. This lasts for 3 hours before the road
changes back to bitumen.

As I surf from one side of the road to the other, I can't help but
think of my dear departed CBR. Like a trusty steed, she would have seen
me through. Instead, I'm on the back of a moody German who doesn't like
to run. Or turn. Or stop when I want it to.

As the sun dips below the horizon, I finally find civilization. I
don't remember the name of the town, but apparently every single
firefighter in the territory is there ahead of me, and the only bed I can find
is in a tavern. The next day, I put my still wet leathers back on, and
continue to Melbourne in the rain.

I've seen some funny sights on my journeys through life, but before
today, I've never seen a Brit traveling the globe on a Penny Farthing.
As I pull into Melbourne , my ill mannered German steed shits itself and
quits. As the days wear on I've come to the conclusion that I am over
this. As much as I want to see more of this country than I did last
year, the way in which I do so is equally important. And on the back of an
old, broken down Beemer is not the answer.

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