Generation Next

This entry is part 4 of 19 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #33

Dualsport Australia’s Marty HC purchased a new DR650. That meant he had two, and that meant an opportunity to introduce his son Tom and a couple of his mates to adventure riding.

It’s been a dream to go adventure riding with my son.

Although introduced to dirt bikes at an early age, at 26 he’s still in the enduro-bike stage that doesn’t suit long rides. His mates, George, who has to do it all on a DRZ, and Jordan, who somehow talked his father into parting with his beloved 1200GS, joined in.

It was a perfect chance to convert a few more youngsters to the pleasures of adventure riding.

The front wheels disappeared under the surface halfway across.

Easy as

My favorite loop is a three-day jaunt that starts from our base near Coffs Harbour and runs to Walcha, Nundle, the Hunter Valley and back home. The loop runs through a huge variety of terrain from rainforest to tablelands. It also includes a fair bit of family history, and that seemed fitting for our first father-son adventure ride.

Planning was easy because the route is a combination of tracks from the first three Dualsport Australia discs, and my son, as an IT wizard, had been conned into spending a lot of time making those discs work.

GPX files, fuel distances, accommodation and other info where easily sorted, with only a short distance from Armidale to Walcha that wasn’t covered. As I’d ridden the section before, barely any time was spent on planning.

With a big tank and a 15-tooth front sprocket slipped on to George’s DRZ, and the trusty, older DR already set up and ready to go, and the BMW, we were looking good. The new DR came with Suzuki’s adventure kit and had just had its first service, so it was left completely stock with a fuel bladder strapped on just in case.

Milkshake maker

The boys showed up early and were keen to go, and it was refreshingly cool as we headed for the hills behind Bellingen, dropping into the valleys behind Bowraville to our first refuel at the interesting Willawarrin store – very interesting if you knew where to look.

The pink line took us west, following the Macleay River, before a brilliant detour climbed on to a ridgeline and plunged down to Georges Creek. Local knowledge had insisted the level of Georges Creek was low, and its crystal-clear water and sandy bottom looked inviting.

Imagine our surprise when the front wheels disappeared under the surface halfway across.

Clear water can be so deceptive.

Despite a couple of stalls and a few boots full of water, the crossing seemed to go well.

The climb out was a steep blast and it wasn’t a surprise the BMW dropped back. At the next regroup Jordan complained the Beemer was missing a little and closer inspection showed the oil to be one giant caramel milkshake.

From left: George Ellen, Jordan Collon, and author’s son, Tom Blake.

Change of plans

We now had a boxer twin full of water, and while our location was incredibly scenic – in the middle of the bush – wasn’t exactly flush with BMW dealers or even servos with oil. The only option was to split the group.

We were close to Armidale, so Jordan was sent down the main road for an oil change and engine flush while the rest of the group, as planned, meandered on unfenced, fine-gravel roads through New England farms.

Willow lined the streams that gave the area its charm and the short green grass highlighted the large rocks.

In no hurry we gazed at the rugged gorges and nearly dry waterfalls. After refueling we were surprised Jordan was ready to meet us at the lunch stop.

The undulating, flowing granite was virtually free of kangaroos.

Little’n

As we waited in the carpark, a strange buzzing sound indicated a bike’s imminent arrival. The cold water must’ve caused shrinkage, because Jordan turned up on a Grom that seemed more a match for his size than the huge GS. He assured us his bike would be ready shortly, and after plenty of ‘don’t-get-BMWs-wet-because-they-shrink’ ribbing over lunch, we swapped the Grom for a freshly oiled GS and headed off in the general direction of the backroads through Blue Mountain into Walcha.

Scenic tour shortcut

My general sense of direction might need a little more work.

After numerous streets and a trip through a cemetery to a dead end we backtracked, finding the correct way out of town, only to miss another turn and end up detouring through Uralla.

Although we were only 25km from our final destination we headed back on to the dirt. Before long familiar road names turned up as we zigzagged through more farmland, found Blue Mountain Road and successfully navigated 60km of glorious dirt to pop out, much to the amusement of the boys, 28km from our destination.

Hmm. Maybe a bit more time spent planning, or possibly carrying a map, might’ve helped. There’s always next time.

The crystal-clear streams, pink gravel and large hills with the road either clinging to their sides or following the ridgelines made for not only a visual overload, but great riding as well.

Irishtown

Our family is originally from Irish stock.

Two Blake brothers settled in Walcha, so I showed my son their original farms, including a shack from the 1850s that’s still standing. It used to be the home of a great-great-aunt who lived at Irishtown on the outskirts of Walcha. On the way into town we also cruised past the remains of the house where my father grew up.

We fuelled and retired to the pub for a few well-deserved drinks followed by an excellent Chinese dinner and a good night’s sleep.

The longest day

Having a little extra time is always a good thing, and a 440km route, most of it tight going, meant an early start the second day.

Despite being early, the undulating, flowing, New England granite was virtually free of kangaroos, which was a relief. Nundle Forest Way had some deep, loose, gravel sections that made for a few sketchy moments exploring the gutters before wobbling back to the road, and after checking out the amazing lookouts we headed to Nundle to refuel.

“Nundle Forest Way had some deep, loose, gravel sections that made for a few sketchy moments.”

A Ducati rally had the town resonating to the deep sound of big V-twins.

Hundreds more camped at Hanging Rock added plenty of colour as we headed out of town, and the drop over the escarpment with its tight switchbacks offered amazing views as we scattered a few deer off the road. Although it was green, the area’s abundant creek crossings had been reduced to a few puddles and farmers were still feeding stock. When prime areas like this are affected by drought it shows how bad things have been.

Ellerston was a green oasis, the abundant staff pouring water on the golf course and the go-cart track simmering in the fast-rising temperature. The large stables and green polo fields had the boys amazed at what a billionaire’s family farm looked like. The security on the entrances didn’t look very inviting so we continued on.

A 440km route, most of it tight going, meant an early start the second day.

Joe Blake

Thankfully we started climbing again and grasstrees dominated our view before lush pasture took over. The altitude gave respite from the heat, even when we started down the long valley.

We met a couple of groups of riders through this section, some more closely than others. The DR almost ended up with a stripe of orange paint as a 640 Adventure struggled to get back to the left side of the loose, freshly graded track.

Other than two groups of riders, a few cows and the biggest brown snake I’ve ever seen – it was huge and didn’t seem happy about being disturbed – we had the 120km valley to ourselves.

The crystal-clear streams, pink gravel and large hills, with the road either clinging to their sides or following the ridgelines, made for not only a visual overload but great riding as well.

The undulating road slowly opened out towards Gloucester and the temperature started to rise alarmingly. By the time we hit the tar it was like a hot furnace blow-ing in our faces and the Roadies Café was an air-conditioned, bike-friendly retreat with great food and cold drinks. Getting the boys out of the memorabilia-lined walls was a challenge, but with 140km of tight corners left and three hours of light we had to keep moving.

The undulating road slowly opened out.

Rider down

The heat and long day started to get to my son. He glowed red but was reluctant to take another break for a swim. We continued on before a tight corner over a rise caught him out.

The fact a DR doesn’t stop like a motocrosser annoyed him, but it was a learning experience, especially on loose, dirt roads where he found you could still lock the front wheel metres from a fence. Thankfully he’d scrubbed off most of the speed and the grass was relatively soft, so he only suffered a graze with a decent bruise and was a bit shaken up. Crashing two metres from a barbed-wire fence does that.

We used the next river crossing for a break and a swim, cooling us off and refreshing our energy levels. It was getting late though, so after 30 minutes I got them back on their bikes.

Tight, almost night

With the track getting tighter and rougher it was slightly disconcerting to be barely able to see the beam of the headlight on the ground in front. At least the tightness kept the speeds down and made animal encounters relatively harmless. I was thankful I’d phoned Gingers Creek Roadhouse from our late lunch at Gloucester to reassure them we were still coming. Just on dark we escaped the bush and after a short burst down the Oxley rolled in to our overnighter and were soon enjoying ice-cold beers and bourbons, a delicious tea, then more cold drinks. Gary from the roadhouse always makes sure every-thing is right in a very friendly manner.

With a relaxed start in the morning we bench raced ’til late and slept in.

Author Marty (right) with the Slow-down Man near Bundook.

Homeward bound

To avoid any more drama I bypassed my number-one, near-miss kangaroo road.

It was ironic the safer option was called Kangaroo Flat Road, and while it’s 15km longer, I didn’t see a single ’roo, so it was a worthwhile detour.

“The temperature started to rise alarmingly. By the time we hit the tar it was like a hot furnace blowing in our faces.”

The bush was superb: tight, undulating and fun. The road deteriorated slightly and became rocky and rough before opening out through rolling farmland.

After lunch and a refuel back at Willawarrin we followed the coastal ranges through bush back to Macksville.

The huge erosion mounds kept us on our toes, and all too soon we were back on the road and home, after almost 1200km of diverse terrain and incredible scenery.

The boys enjoyed it thoroughly. In fact George was pricing Sargent seats at an after-ride barbeque and planning where he could go next. Jordan was going home to be nice to his dad – at least the BMW hadn’t been dropped and was running fresh oil – and as for Tom?

I might have to keep the old DR a little longer. More riding calls.

Series Navigation<< Charley BoormanTomTom Rider 550 >>