Bucket Haul

This entry is part 2 of 18 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #52

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Sometimes you have to keep looking ahead and gathering ideas so when the right moment presents you can grab your bike and go. It worked for Graeme Sedgwick.

Beneath the colourful pastels of an endless, papier-mache sky. Author Graeme captured a spectacular selfie on his bucket-haul tour

I was inspired after listening to ‘must-ride’ suggestions from others and squirrelled together some useful maps: Hema’s New England High Country Motorcycle Touring and Outback NSW maps, plus a Coffs Harbour Forestry map. With a plan to ride South Africa to Namibia stifled by circumstance my idea was to cover some gripping tarmac, stunning forestry and remote landscape, all linked by an assortment of secondary sealed and unsealed ways.

With the plan sorted and shared, and loaded with enthusiasm, I departed southern Victoria in the crisp stillness before dawn.

I was keen to miss potential four-wheeled assassins and to knock over an uninteresting, but unavoidable, few-hundred kilometres to Bellbridge.

From there I’d planned a more engaging ride further north via Talgamo, Bungil, and Jingellic to Tumbarumba, then a steady climb to what must be one of our country’s biggest apple-growing regions, Batlow, and a break in Adelong.

“ The verdict? Fantastic! Unbeatable! Or so I thought. ”

Adelong is a peaceful out-of-the-way place with some magnificent buildings,and from there I planned to swing through Tumut to collect the first of my adventure’s bucket haul: Tumut to Yass via Wee Jasper.

Useful maps: Hema’s New England High Country Motorcycle Touring; Outback NSW; Coffs Harbour Forestry

High standards

All went well to Tumut and it wasn’t long before the narrow, sealed road out of that town morphed into a well-formed, small-grained gravel passage with short blue-metal sections that rose and fell between massive plantation vistas.

The main road narrowed to become more of a washboard sand passage to Fitzpatrick’s campsite in the middle of the Brindabellas.

The verdict?

Fantastic! Unbeatable! Or so I thought.

Having not ridden in those parts before I had no idea the narrow, sealed, wriggly ride from Wee Jasper to Yass was an equally crackerjack run. My F650GS seemed perfectly suited to the wrinkled geography that encouraged pace and a range of throttle settings for zooming entry and exit of turns.

A narrow, sealed road out of Tumut morphed into a well-formed, small-grained gravel passage with short blue-metal sections.

Once Yass was left behind, I rode via Jerrawa and Gunning to Kenmore, beyond which my second bucket-haul section gathered momentum through Myrtleville, Taralga, Porters Retreat, Black Springs and into Oberon.

Surprisingly remote, the passage to Oberon traversed the Great Dividing Range’s plateau, with most of the places mentioned not much more than sign-posts. It was an almost trafficless run and I was convinced motorcycling couldn’t get much better.

Impressive, expansive views lined either side of an equally impressive ribbon of secondary tarmac that screamed, ‘Ride me!’ But if you go there beware. There are many clearly visible private driveways that enter the main run, and there are some doozies over crests that can really get both party’s attention very quickly.

Driveways aside, the tableland run must be one of the best, big, open-landscape rides any rider could enjoy.

A washboard sand passage to Fitzpatrick’s campsite in the middle of the Brindabellas was fantastic.

Memorable

But I’d signed on for more.

Bucket-haul section number three was Bells Line of Road, via Kurrajong, after skirting Lithgow via Hampton, Hartley and Mount Victoria to run ‘The Line’ across to Colo Heights.

This charge along the sandstone plateau hugging the northern edge of the Grose Valley and gullies running down to the Colo River, while short and sharp, was an enjoyable surprise I hadn’t expected between suburbs.

Concealed driveways aside, the run to Oberon traversed the Great Dividing Range’s plateau and must be one of the best, big, open-landscape rides any rider could enjoy.

Next was bucket-haul section four, the Putty Road, and it didn’t disappoint.

Set between Wollemi National Park on the western side and Yengo National Park to the east, The Putty has no shortage of riding engagement. It quickly becomes very additive, particularly when descending through some of the tighter corners and ascending through equally demanding turns at pace. In between are straights that allow a moment to imagine how crazy The Putty could be in heavier traffic. I, fortunately, rode the section during a not-too-busy time, and as a result my Putty Road experience will be forever vividly etched within my short motorcycling career’s memory bank.

Awash with satisfaction I chose a less hectic run from The Putty’s northern end and headed west via Mount Thorley and Jerrys Plains to find a peaceful place to set up camp not far from Gundy.I was totally and utterly exhausted.

One large sucker of a tree had fallen. Traction wasn’t improved by drizzling rain.

Concentrate

The next morning, in contrast to the preceding two days’ cloudless blue skies, wasn’t as promising. As I prepared to cross through Barrington Tops National Park it was overcast and threatening rain, and definitely not how my imagination had pictured the scene.

I made a couple of phone calls to check road conditions and was reassured all was open to traffic. “Just be aware you’re likely to encounter any number of free-roaming animals, ranging from feral brumbies to cattle, and the usual bouncing and walking furry targets,” I was told.With final checks completed bucket-haul five’s adventure kicked off.

“ Just be aware you’re likely to encounter any number of free-roaming animals, ranging from feral brumbies to cattle, and the usual bouncing and walking furry targets. ”

I was keen to conquer the section which, compared to the previous day’s riding, meant a fair degree of isolation.

It was important not to be distracted by second guessing and to stay focussed on what lay in front of me.

Paying close attention to the the New England High Country/BMW Safari map I’d luckily scored from Glen Innes Tourism two years earlier, and encouraged by the peaceful landscape, I toured along a clearly visible, yellowish-gravel road which twisted its way around sloping, country pastures.

I was like a kid who didn’t want to climb down from a treehouse.

The gusting wind buffeted my helmet visor and heightened my senses for what felt like threatening weather as I passed into the thickness of Barrington Tops National Park, and the next 90 or so kilometres to Barrington, northwest of Gloucester, felt a monumental challenge. Each crossroad, signpost and unmarked intersection required my best navigational judgement, and I remained constantly alert for a less-attentive driver rounding any of the curves of the loose-gravel road or barrelling through the single-lane timber bridges and water crossings.

I was in a heady frame of mind, buzzing at every curve ball thrown my way, but sometimes, in an instant, things change.

Gusting wind heightened the senses for what felt like threatening weather approaching Barrington Tops National Park.

Under performing

In light drizzle I rounded the next downhill turn to find before me one large sucker of a tree that had fallen completely and totally across the line I was on. To make things interesting the once blue-metal road had become clay.

Traction wasn’t improved by the drizzling rain.

I pondered the situation.

I was about 50km from my target, Thunderbolts Way. Should I see if I could find a way around? Should I retrace my route? Surely I could get through? What if there’s another fallen tree? Or trees? What if the drizzle becomes heavy rain – how might one explain themselves to an SES extraction team? Motivated by the prospect of a remaining 50km versus the best part of retracing 70km and then having to remap my plan, I dismounted and embarked upon what became a lengthy forward survey which resulted in a decision to press on.

I removed the panniers and lined the narrow passage under the fallen trunk with as much forest litter as possible, and when all was set I sat astride ‘Shultz’ (my trusty Beemer) and imagined myself conquering the obstacle.

With the throttle open and cautiously working the clutch, I paddled in gear towards the underpass point where loose gravel gave way and slippery clay took over.

A moment’s intense concentration surged over my ugly face and suddenly I was enlivened and euphoric. Shultz and I slalomed under, still upright, oscillating madly past limbs and trunks before oozing to a stop!

Wringing wet in my adrenalin-soaked top-to-toe protective kit I felt my pulse spike. I’d made it.

With the luggage back on the bike the remaining 50km traverse of Barrington Tops couldn’t pass quickly enough, and as I roosted clear I wondered what Frederick Wordsworth Ward – Captain Thunderbolt – might have thought of my escape.

The Boyd River boasted a spectacular backdrop.

Half-a-doz

The ride north on Thunderbolts Way, my sixth bucket-haul section, was thank-fully an exhilarating giant roller coaster up the range, with many sweeping corners that quickly ensured the mass between the ears was engaged. Thank goodness it was, because I’d burnt an enormous amount of physical and mental energy in the decisions and events leading up to the run through to Walcha, where I opted for a more civilised form of accommodation which included a shower – under which I probably spent far too much time.

God’s country at its most elusive and irrepressible best.

Exhilarating

Refreshed, the seventh bucket-haul section was a-bring-it-on-fast tarmac icon named the Oxley Highway.

Having been told so much about this incredible ‘black’ run I was keen for an early start. Across and down the New England plateau the Oxley’s huge, wide, open, sweeping corners beckoned. The curves needed a very different rhythm among the more thickly forested parts where cornering momentum became almost endlessly demanding. In places it was tight and unforgiving for any rider not totally in the zone.

But that wasn’t the end of the show by any stretch. The remaining eastern leg following the Hastings River was grouse, and just before Long Flat I slipped away to Beechwood.

The Old Glen Innes Grafton Road is a popular destination.

After Beechwood my eighth bucket-haul awaited: another route highlighted on the New England High Country map that squiggled its way via Bellangry, Mount Banda Banda and eventually to a Y intersection north of Mount Werrikimbe. I sailed along between contorted hills and through forest into a rougher setting which had me second guessing myself and the reference map.

Thankfully, a courteous 4WDer stopped to provide the navigational reassurance I needed near Willi Willi, and 40km or so of less-rutted gravel delivered me to my target just northwest of Willawarrin along the Kempsey-to-Wollomombi road which runs up to Waterfall Way’s western end.

At that point I pulled over and dismounted to stretch and remove the helmet to get some much-needed fresh air around my bald head before enjoying the less-demanding run to Wollomombi.

From there I skirted Armidale to the east, through New England and Cathedral Rock, to join the New England Highway at Guyra and ride on to an overnighter at Glen Innes, my most northern target.

Glen Innes was important because I was keen to run the Old Glen Innes Road, having driven it with my wife in a camper years earlier. Until the Gwydir Highway was surveyed over the Gibraltar range the ‘oldie-but-goodie’ route was the only connection between countryside and coast.

Hand-cut by workers through solid rock and only just big enough to squeeze a bullock wagon through.

Bygones

Easily accessed from the west after 28km of fuss-free tarmac from Glen Innes, ‘The Oldie’ became the ninth dimension of my bucket-haul adventure. As I descended the Gibraltar Range to ride beside the Boyd River, backdropped by spectacular rugged mountain views, I thought this had to be God’s country at its most elusive and irrepressible best.

There’s lots to snare a rider’s curiosity, like Tommy’s Lookout Fire Trail, a detour worth a look. A rider needs to be wary of 4WDers being less attentive and forgiving than they should be, but the sweeping views across the Mann River Gorge are stunning.

Heading for Nymboida through the forestry country to the northwest of Dorrigo.

Between the 1850s and ’60s Dalmorton was a thriving, rowdy, gold-mining community of 5000 people and several pubs, and is one of those unique out-of-time places. It’s a region where descendants of Australia’s wartime cavalry horses – now a breed called Walers – roam. There are so many pointers to history, like the tunnel, hand-cut by workers through solid rock and only just big enough to squeeze a bullock wagon through. It’s become an attraction, as I discovered when chatting first to some riders who’d come from Brisbane just to see the tunnel, and then another group of what appeared to be very accomplished KTM riders.

In short, I suspect The Oldie has become a perfect adventurers’ destination.Then of course there’s the locality’s name, remembering the man who unsuccessfully guarded a stockpile of explosives beneath Britain’s House of Lords in the failed Gunpowder Plot.

Major Edward Parke, 240 years later, named the Guy Fawkes River after camping nearby on the night of the 1845 Guy Fawkes Day celebration.

The Oldie behind, Nymboida beckoned.

I rode into the denser forestry country that enveloped Clouds Creek and Billys Creek to the northwest of Dorrigo. There were many choices detailed in the Coffs Harbour Forestry map which allowed me to keep track of the main route, ultimately meeting Waterfall Way a dozen kilometres before Ebor where the Guy Fawkes River plunged over two lofty rock faces at Ebor Falls.

By the time I’d reached the comforts of the Bushranger Motor Inn at Uralla I was all but cooked, and thank goodness for the recommendation of Bridge Street’s top pub for dinner. A serve of pasta with a bowl of chips and a few XXXX Golds couldn’t happen quick enough to top off another bucket-haul day.

A tail waiting to be told?

Meet’n’greet

The next morning there was some good news. A mate, Trevor, had successfully cleared fallen trees on his property south of Newcastle and agreed to rendezvous in Scone.

Although a more experienced and travelled rider than myself, we’d ridden Royal Enfield Bullets through the land of the Maharajas and dualsport bikes through and around the Flinders Ranges.

But, for no other reason than the bizarre events of recent years, we’d been unable to enjoy a relaxed ride since. Rather than navigating a raft of unfamiliar country the next day I straight-lined down the New England Highway in anticipation of a debrief, a pub meal and a few beers at the Royal Hotel in Kelly Street, Scone.

Notable history.

Epic

The following day a less-adventurous ride west of Scone through the Bylong Valley to Rylstone took us into the second-largest enclosed valley in the world, my plan’s tenth bucket-haul section. It was all very compelling because, as a southerner, I’d not had the chance to get a sense of the Capertee Valley’s enormity. The area’s recent boast a number of places had been used as locations for the filming of the SAS Australia television series also captured my curiosity. Locations such as the Zig Zag railway line in Clarence, the Power Station – or what remains since its demolition at Wallerang – most of the buildings at Glen Davis Shale Oil Refinery ruins on private property, and the water catchments of Marrangaroo Creek and Dam fired up my interest. But what struck us most on our northern descent into, then riding across, the valley’s expansive floor was the realisation of the valley’s grand scale, dominated by sandstone cliffs and escarpments drawing into a deep chasm carved over millions of years. At once the stunning, wild beauty eclipsed the peaceful rural pastures and towering forests which encompass the valley’s pretty much trafficless passages. For the record, it was a great mix of good riding.

There was so much to absorb. Glen Davis’s history is notable because it was the first attempt in New South Wales to create a completely new community based on town-planning principles – that was after the establishment of the Oil Shale works which operated to provide fuel for essential transport needs at the outbreak of World War 2 through to 1952. It was all incredibly enlightening for a southern adventurer, who, prior, frankly had no idea of the valley’s existence nor its monumental scale.

A selfish re-familiarisation of Mount Panorama.

Panorama

We’d exhausted each other’s available time and parted as we left the valley, Trevor toward Newcastle and I to the old prospecting site mapped as ‘Sofala Historic Town’, on the banks of the Turon River. It’s a curious place. The Royal Hotel offers accommodation, the general store is worth a visit for its interesting lacework and weatherboard construction, and Oddfellows Hall is a beautiful restoration.

Bathurst beckoned from the north for a selfish re-familiarisation of Mount Panorama before overnighting in Grenfell and continuing my bucket-haul charge.

Enjoying The Outback.

Endless

Away from Grenfell my passage tracked southward in a sort of zigzag fashion via Black Spring Mountain, Bimbi, Morangarell, Barmedman, Bellarwi and Tallimba, before crossing that invisible Fruit Fly Quarantine Zone line at a point immediately south of Erigolla. Onward from the east through Cocoparra Reserve I rode. I exited via Tabbita from the north before tracking south along more hard-packed, unsealed, outback gravel westward on the northern side of the Murrumbidgee River passing south of Carrathoul.

The main drag further westward turned south at Maude and I pulled over to lend a grazier a helping hand. Like many of his type, he was having to deal with the impact of COVID and the resulting shearer shortages. Yarding sheep might not sound as energising as riding, but for me at that point in my bucket-haul ride, it was a positive change of pace and social engagement.

Any time spent with rural people has to be beneficial – for me at least – if only because of their ability to very quickly simplify things and bring a variety of matters into uncomplicated, sharp focus. At the same time they can open our eyes and minds to a host of broader topics that don’t get urban oxygen – like how wind- and solar-energy projects in far-flung places are actually being planned.

In all, the setting couldn’t have delivered a more relaxed space to reflect, with a cold beer at hand, listening to the adventures of others who ride daily in no less adventurous ways beneath the colourful pastels of an endless, papier-mache sky.

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