Aimless Ramblings of an Aimless Rambler: CLIMBING OUT OF THE HOLE

Late April 2010, I think.
That sounds about right. The crash was in early May and I haven't ridden since.
Not that I haven't wanted to, it's just that the shoulder hasn't been up to it and I don't have a bike on the road now.

It's been a bitch of a slog to tell the truth. A long clean ride through the hills has always been my way to clear the head of the stresses we all suffer. I'm sure you, dear reader, will understand.

With the extra stress of being stuck on work cover and sans bike my usual grumpy self became even more grumpy.
I was becoming a hermit and starting to relish it. Enough whinging already!

The Island Classic was fast approaching and, for the first time since 2005, it looked like i might miss it.
It's the best meeting at Phillip Island for the year.

Smaller crowds than the big Internationals like the WSBK or MotoGP mean that it's a far more relaxed atmosphere.
For the spectators anyway.

There is nothing quite like standing at the fence of Turn 1 and watching the old warhorses thunder through at full cry.
British twins stamping out their tattoo of anger, fighting defiantly against the onslaught of the Japanese.
The banshee wail of widow-maker two strokes mixed in with the war drums of the four stroke twins is an experience not to be missed.

I was debating whether I wanted to drive to yet another bike race when Ross rang me to discuss plans.
He told me "The 750 is sitting here for you, I'll be taking the Kat and you need to get off your arse."
The man carries a convincing argument.
That and he threatened to call me a poofter if I didn't front up. Harsh words, indeed.
There was nothing for it, I had to get off my cave-dwelling bum and rejoin the living.

The plan was to head down Friday afternoon after work, so I suggested picking up the bike on Thursday and ride to work loaded and ready to go.
Thursday evening found me face to face with an '06 GSX-R 750 crouched in Ross' driveway. The level of trepidation was making my head spin.
The sensible part of the brain was trying to calm down the gibbering, primitive part.
It's just a bike. You've ridden it before. You've punted it around the track. Stop being a big girl's blouse.

The chattering monkeys in my head settled down enough for me to set off. It would have been all of 400 metres down the road by the time I felt settled and comfortable. The bike is that good.

Roll on Friday and Plan A fell apart. I got caught at work later than I had planned. Ross decided to take off without me and I'd catch him at the Island.
Walking out of the elevator into the car park I was met by this and started to grin again.

It Waits...

The timing meant I was launched right into peak hour on the Monash Freeway, lately that meant an extra half hour on my trip home.

Not today though. I had somewhere to be and the sheep were not going to hold me up.

I followed the freeway/highway down to Tooradin with Jamie's words in my head; "I hope you aren't coming straight down the highway".

Who am I to disappoint him? I turned off at a sign that pointed to Cardinia and went a-wandering.

As usual, I have no idea what roads I was on but I popped back out on the highway just after Grantville.

About 36km according to Google. I took a lot longer than that.

A dull transport section down to the Island and I landed at Mick's at about 7pm to be greeted by Mick, Ross and a beer.

I thanked Ross for the bike again and he said "The look on your face is more than thanks enough".

I couldn't scrub that grin off for hours.

A few others started to turn up for the weekend and it settled into a relatively quiet night with a barbecue and friends.

Grand Dad and The Kid

4 Zooks & A Yammie

Friday night ended that way. Feet up around the fire, a bellyful of good food, surrounded by like-minded friends.

I'd promised myself that if the shoulder felt ok, I would bugger off into the hills on Saturday.

Breakfast in town was deemed necessary to discuss plans for the day.

The Committee meets..

I announced I would be heading out for a few hours to clear the cobwebs. The others had other plans for the day. that sounded fine by me.

I peeled out and headed off the Island.
The thing with this area of South Gippsland is that it's a series of good roads connected to more good roads.
It doesn't matter which way you turn, you're on a winner.

These roads lead.. somewhere

Sometimes, the surface is a little second-hand, as you can see by the patchwork in the photo.

Sometimes, there is moss, clay from tractor tyres or cow shit on the roads. And milk tankers.
It pays to be awake up there.

It's not always about the twisty bits.

I took a couple of photos on the phone and it beeped at me. Great! It's gone flat.

You'll have to settle for a Google map of where I went.

"Private Test Course", anyone?

I stopped in Wonthaggi to buy a phone charger because I'd left mine at home.

As I stood there having a smoke, I looked at the phone. Full battery.

You bastard! It did this on purpose, you know.

Wonthaggi. Home of the.. Nothing, really.

The run from Wonthaggi back to Kilcunda can be fraught with dangers such as caravans, wobbly headed tourists and the occasional police radar.
Today was Tourist & Caravan Parade Day.
I concluded that, to overtake safely, velocity should be applied. I applied my theory with great vigour.

Now, kiddies, here comes the moral lesson for today..
Alcohol is your friend.
I decided to pull into the Ocean View pub at Kilcunda for a beer. The pub sits on top of a sharp rise and overlooks Bass Strait.
I swung off and pulled up onto the footpath out the front. Now that I could see passed the line of cars and over the rise, I was surprised to see the Highway Patrol working both sides and pulling everything in.
Beer saved me from having to explain my velocity theory to the nice officers.
I sat on the decking with a cleansing ale and one eye up the road. the last thing I needed was to get a borrowed bike noticed..
After a bit, I decided to give it a shot and toddled out as quietly as a hopped up Gixxer with a stubby Akrapovic can toddle. I got waved through.. More wins for me.
From there it was a quick sprint back to Mick's for an evening of laughter, bench racing and quiet thanks to that beer.

Yes, yes, all very nice I'm sure, but where's the racing stuff?

Righto, Sunday was the day for it. Dry, warm and clear. You couldn't ask for a better day for it.
We got in early and claimed Turn 1 as ours.