Hard-pannier Hard men

This entry is part 7 of 19 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #14

The Tiger 800 XRx gets its first hit out and Adventure Rider Magazine’s editor embraces the hard-pannier way of life.

I was really impressed with Triumph’s Tiger 800XRx and was keen to have a crack at riding for relaxation and pleasure. That sounded like a lot of stress-free fun, and I was bit over the amount of wear-and-tear I was putting on other people’s new bikes. The Triumph guys, as usual, caught the mood and said, “Why don’t you hang on to the XRx for while? You can do some of that kind of riding and see if it’s for you.”

I grabbed the key and bolted.

The team

The first thing I had to do was photograph the bike, so I clipped on the panniers and headed off to a scenic picnic spot I knew. As I shimmied between the bollards someone had put there to stop people driving their cars down to the riverside, I had my first hard-pannier experience, snagging one of the bollards and damaging the pannier beyond repair.

D’oh.

They’re wide buggers, aren’t they?

After another one of those embarrassing phone calls to Triumph a brand-new pannier was supplied, a ‘wide-load’ sticker taped to the underside of my visor so I wouldn’t forget, and I set about trying to find some people to ride with.

Chris Laan, the man who kicked off the Adventure Challenge, is a very gentlemanly rider. He and his BMW F800GSA, complete with hard panniers and top box, are experts in the luxurious type of riding I was looking for.

Darren Newbury, electrician and DR650 rider, was also really keen to come for a loop and declared he didn’t mind how much bitumen was involved, he just wanted to go for a ride. Chris mapped out a two-day route and supplied GPX files, and on a sunny Spring morning we headed west from the coast, looking forward to the first scheduled coffee stop just short of an hour away in Dorrigo.

Priorities sorted

Even though the pace was entirely legal and leisurely, the XRx is a thrill on a mountain road. It’s just so damn nimble and easy to ride. I was chuckling as we cruised up Dorrigo mountain because the Tiger may have been purring, but it was obvious it was ready to roar at any twist of the throttle.

As we pulled into Juan’s quirky café it felt as though we hadn’t even started. But here we were, sitting down for a cappuccino and a look at the phone in case someone from work had sent an email or made a call and might find out what I was up to.

As we sipped our way through that first frothy, milky cup of goodness, Chris expounded on the coffee shops before us. He had tales of historical wonder concerning several of the planned stops, and it was with eager anticipation we stowed the phones, slipped back onto the bikes and headed for the next caffeine hit about 40 minutes away at a place called Wongwabinda.

I could hardly fit my grin inside my helmet. I reached effortlessly into the tank-bag, grabbed the new microfibre cloth I had there and dabbed away at my spotless visor.

This was the life!

Mountie

We left the bitumen about 80km later, and straight away the lively feel of the Triumph became more noticeable. The smaller front wheel and shorter wheelbase that make it such a delight on tight asphalt result in the bike being a little twitchy on dirt, and it has a very noticeable tendency to follow ruts.

This turned out to be just a matter of getting used to the feel. The bike was still comfortable and very capable on the dusty, hard-packed surface. It just felt different. Thanks to Chris holding a sensible pace, I was able to settle back and take in the glory of the morning. The sky was a deep, bright blue, the paddocks and forest were as green as could be, and the numerous kangaroos and wallabies bouncing between riders from behind rocks and trees kept everyone wide awake.

It was only a few kilometres down this first stretch of dirt that there was a hint something wasn’t right with the Tiger.

I pulled over to discover one of the panniers – the larger one, holding the camera gear – had jumped off its mount.

In fact, it’d broken a locking tang that should’ve held it in place.

I’d messed around with the mounts when I received the new pannier, and I’d clearly upset some delicate balance. A twist of rope and a strap or two had everything back in place and we set off again, now well and truly ready for a refreshment stop.

The Chris Of Death

The Wongwabinda café was something of an enigma. I’d heard of it, and I’d stopped there a few times, but I’d never found it open. So I wasn’t too upset when we pulled up to find it closed on this occasion.

Okay. Maybe I said a few harsh words, and maybe there’s a photo floating around that looks as though I was having a bit of a sulk, but it was actually shot just as I was sucking on one of those sour lollies the kids like.

Yeah. That was it. A sour lolly.

The strange thing was, as the trip progressed, it seemed every place Chris had recommended was either closed or had gone broke when we got there.

Hmm…

The great outdoors

The ‘no stress’ theme was brilliantly illustrated when Chris pulled the team up about 10km from the Wongwabinda café. The view was spectacular, the temperature moderate, and the setting too good to miss. Chris calmly flipped open his panniers and top box and produced a folding table, two folding chairs, a thermos and some coffee. Darren just as calmly produced a Tupperware container of ANZAC bikkies that would have had Dave ‘Ramdog’ Ramsay drooling with envy, and we sat to enjoy a yarn, a view, and some really excellent baked treats.

“Dear, oh dear,” I thought as the sun warmed me to the core and the biscuit crumbs tumbled down my jacket front. “How long has this type of riding been going on?”

The right place

As the day progressed and the coffee and viewing stops continued, we looped back and forth, on and off the bitumen, through the stunning scenery, and I realised some-thing else about this type of riding: I didn’t know where we were going, and it didn’t seem to matter.

We had the GPS route to follow, but Chris was continually throwing up alternatives in case we wanted them. We could do more dirt, he offered, or we could stay on the tar. There were nice lookouts in one direction and great coffee and bakeries in another, he offered from the depths of what looked to be a very comfortable chair indeed.

Somehow we arrived at the end of the day and found ourselves in Barraba – not Manilla, as Chris had originally intended, or Bingara, as I thought we’d decided. And when we pulled up outside a pub, Chris asked, “Where do you guys want to stay?”

He didn’t even know!

On any other ride, that might’ve been a drama, but on this one Chris was asking whether we wanted a pub or a motel, and did we want to be in town or out of town?

We had a little powwow that involved everyone trying to not make a decision, until we smoothed off to a motel Chris had seen.

As we pulled up at the Barraba Motel we were met by Brian Doran, the owner. I knew us staying there was meant to be, because Brian was wearing a Triumph belt buckle, and when I asked how much for a room, it was one price for me, but a higher price for Chris because he was on a BMW.

Ha!

Classic.

Brian and his wife, Jo, couldn’t do enough for us, including loading us into the family car and driving us to the RSL club for dinner.

Mate! This hard-pannier riding rocks!

Hard cell

After a very pleasant stay at the Barraba Motel – hot showers, hot meals, coffees galore and a sleep in – we struggled out at the crack of 9.00am the next morning to discover a ‘super storm cell’ was scheduled to hit the area that afternoon.

There’d been a little rumbling thunder overnight and a few spots of rain, but nothing to get excited about. This storm front looked serious though, and had to be taken into consideration.

As we wolfed into a bacon-and-egg breakfast at the motel that would’ve supplied my normal nutritional needs for week, Chris gave the matter some thought. I had road tyres on the Triumph, but I didn’t want to be seen as the wuss who wouldn’t tackle the dirt, so I kept munching and slurping to see what the others decided.

“I don’t come out here to ride through shit,” said Chris quietly, sipping his flat white.

“I ride to enjoy it. Let’s head down to Glen Innes and have a look at things there.

That meant a run down the bitumen, and while I’m normally pretty comfortable with that, on the XRx that meant a glorious, lazy, vibration-free session of watching the fabulous New England countryside slip by.

I couldn’t wait to set the cruise control and take it all in.

I felt a little sorry for Darren because the DR was obviously the most dirt-ready bike of the three, but he seemed as happy about the way the ride was going as any of us. It can be easy to forget just how capable and versatile that Suzuki is sometimes.

Off we went, the sun blazing and the temperature pleasant, but with us looking nervously at the skies and awaiting the predicted cataclysm.

Force 10

As we drained the last dregs from our coffee cups and wiped our weary brows to finish a truly glorious lunch on a footpath café in Glen Innes, Chris offered, almost on a whim, “Let’s go through Wards Mistake.”

“Yeah! Let’s!” We belched and farted our agreement before wobbling across to the bikes and once again settling in for another sector of incredible sightseeing and beautiful unhurried enjoyment of the bikes.

As we rode away from town the storm front was a visible line of cloud drawn across the sky and heading for us, and I wondered how the Triumph would cope with the challenge of a wet clay road.

As it turned out, it didn’t rain. But, in one of those twists that makes you wonder about things, a water truck was drenching the dirt road for a good distance. I had a couple of concerns with the bike that will have to addressed.

The first is the odd rock thrown up by the other two. The XRx doesn’t have a headlight protector, so that’s now on the shopping list (Triumph has a good one), as is a bashplate. I was also a little concerned at the reduced ground clearance compared to what I was used to on the XC, but the bike roosted through the wet clay and sludge without any hesitation at all.

This wasn’t challenging trail, but I was mindful of the bike’s intended purpose. I’m guessing it’s something I’ll just have to allow for.

The final concern I had was whether or not the front wheel would pack up with clay and jam under that very low front guard.

Once again it didn’t happen, but it’s something to consider on future rides as well.

Happy ending

The storm never did eventuate.

There were a few minutes of insane winds that made just keeping the bike on the road difficult, and we scurried along the dirt as fast as we dared to try and get back on the bitumen before the rain and hail started. But after just a few minutes the sunshine returned, the hurricane became a gentle breeze and the world was a wonderful place again.

How about that?

To complete Chris’ curse on the coffee shops, we rolled back into Dorrigo in the late afternoon to find Juan’s had closed early. In the style we’d now learned suited this type of riding, we found another coffee shop just up the street and went in there instead.

As we rolled down the mountain I was able to reflect on two really enjoyable days.

No doubt being with the right people was a huge part of it, but so was the bike and the approach to just taking things as they come.

I reckon it’s pretty much spot on the type of riding the XRx was designed for, and that just put the icing on the cake.

As I parked the bike that evening I had a short list of changes to make on the Triumph, but none of them was a necessity…except for repairing that pannier.

After all, I didn’t want to be without somewhere to put my thermos and folding chair on the next ride.

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