Highlights

This entry is part 13 of 21 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #13

The third disc in the DualSport Australia series has just hit our desks, and it’s another screamer. As we were making plans to carve off a day or two of ‘product research’ we started wondering if DualSport Australia’s Marty Blake had any favourite roads or landmarks in the thousands and thousands of kilometres he’d ridden finding these incredible places. So we asked him. He reckoned it was more about special memories than specific places or trails.Here’s what he told us.

I always think riding is great, no matter where or when. Often it’s special events or happenings that make individual rides or locations stick in my mind. Sometimes they’re good things. Sometimes not. Here’s a few that spring to mind as I write this.

Racecourse Trail: Volume 1 – The Great Divide

I’m a believer in signs, not only road signs, but the subtle signs the bush throws up, like cow shit indicating stock on the road. Never was this truer than on a loop with mates Phil and Wolfy.

An early start from Gingers Creek saw us on Cobcroft Road. It’s ’roo central, and after 14 near misses in the first 10km I’d slowed our pace to a crawl. Wolfy pulled up, complained about the lack of forward momentum, questioned my ability and manhood, dismissed my claims of dangerous wildlife, and, as he hadn’t seen any, zoomed ahead. He’d made it almost 100m when he was jumped by a ’roo. It brushed his front wheel, almost taking him down. He retreated in behind with little to say.

Phil was also sick of my woossing, so he stopped briefly to get clear track and then cut loose, unfortunately overcooking a tight, loose corner and coming down hard.

At the next regroup, as Phil surveyed all the gouges in his new bike and helmet, Wolfy, being the elder statesman, pointed out it was the last day in a long ride. We’d been relatively lucky considering all the drama, he said, and it was time to take note of the signs. We should slow down and get home safely.

We all agreed and pushed on slowly for around 10km until we saw another sign: Racecourse Trail. It was obeyed. All previous worries were forgotten. Racecourse Trail’s superb, tight, undulating, leafy trail had us all in a happy place, throttles held on, jostling for position and laughing like loons up and down hills, across small creeks and railing the many beautiful corners which set the tone for the rest of the day.

Some trails never seem as good when you go back, but Racecourse Trail just gets better and better with every visit.

Cells River Road: Volume 1 – The Great Divide

Cells River Road is so spectacular it can be distracting.

On a recent trip with a fair-sized crew we were moving along smoothly, looking forward to a break and a swim. There are several gates to open and close, and I was dropping riders at each one. They were to open the gate, then close it when the sweep caught them up and waved them on. The first gate went to Cain, our resident doctor, then Tom our resident editor, followed by Phil and then Mean Dean.

The views opened out and the narrow, grassy road, clinging to the hillside, twisted and turned its way down into the valley. It was all too much fun.

In the valley a particularly sunny spot called out for a regroup, so we stopped and waited.

I had a little trouble with my chain, and while I was contemplating the repair, Dave and Karen Ramsay turned up with a new joining link, so everything was looking good. The only trouble was, Dave was sweep. We were missing everyone who should’ve been in front of him and behind me.

Phil had already wised up something was wrong and backtracked. The whereabouts of Tom and Cain were a mystery. The road was fenced, and there was no alternative route, but those two professionals were nowhere to be found.

I was in disbelief. How could they be missing? I backtracked, trying to make time on the tight corners. I found Dean either half-in or half-out of his onesie, but he hadn’t moved from where I’d left him. I opened and closed gates and backtracked 60km, all the way to Gingers Creek.

There was no sign of the missing pair.

Time was getting away. I gave up looking for Tom and Cain and started collecting riders as we raced down the valley. The spectacular views were ignored as we picked the best lines through the endless corners, regrouped and headed out of the valley. When we finally popped out of the communications black hole we found a text message waiting.

Tom and Cain were safe after deciding to open and close gates themselves to get off the course, then map a new route into Gloucester after a particularly nasty downhill removed retreat as an option. At least Tom got a couple of swims in the creek (with his bike).

If you have do a road three times in a frantic search for missing riders, Cells River Road is the one to do. The ride’s so good you won’t care.

Tomalia Road: Volume 1 – The Great Divide

Barrington Tops has always felt like riding in a movie to me. The scenery and roads all seem too perfect. The crisp, cool, air highlights the senses, the alpine forests and dark pine complement the cool air, and maybe because I had to go in mid-winter one time, I couldn’t find any volunteers and had to ride alone. I didn’t care.

Tomalia Road had me beaming, the temperature had risen and the bright winter sun seemed to throw a whole new light on things.

Not having to keep a group moving meant I didn’t have to hurry, and I had time to sit and drink it all in.

Usually I had time for a quick glance, a photo or two, then I had to keep pushing on. But not this time.

One babbling brook proved irresistible. These settings often tug at your heart as you pass, but, on my own, I stopped and relaxed in the sun, shedding a few layers and enjoying real freedom.

The road changes its name a few times, but the experiences stay the same and by the time I finally dragged myself out of the valley I was a firm fan of riding solo, especially if the scenery is perfect and the riding is as good as it gets…like it is on Tomalia Road.

The PillIga – Volume 2 – Central NSW

I’d heard whispers of incredible riding in the Pilliga forest after rain, but I’d never experienced it.

Pilliga is way more fun than the straight lines on the map imply. The sand tugs at the bike’s front wheel and demands a throttle-on approach. I loved the Pilliga just as it was.

On one recce ride I’d tolerated icy-cold rain between Hill End and Coonabarabran and it set up an experience I’ll never forget.

The challenging black-soil roads of the day before were gone and Pilliga had turned into one incredible, loamy playpen, and I had it all to myself. The DR seemed to gain extra suspension and plushness as it roosted the corners, leaving chocolate-brown lines drawn in graceful arcs.

The smoothness, the way the bike steered and turned so easily, railing the usually soft berms built up on the corners, and the feeling of being able to get away with anything was unbelievable.

The Pilliga in the dry is great riding, but in the wet, on that day, it was heaven.

Finding Barraba: Volume 2 – Central NSW and Volume 3 – North West NSW

When thinking of special happenings on fantastic roads, Barraba is always in the mix. I’ve done a lot of riding through the area these days, but there was one ride, right back at the beginning of the DualSport Australia journey, that sticks in my mind.

Editor Tom had scored a tricked-out DR650 from Jay Foreman, owner and manager of the Suzuki-Motul motocross team. It was built with all the resources of the Suzuki race team and was really special.

Tom, Phil and I headed west, with a soak in the Burren Junction bore as our goal.

Unfortunately, 20km past Guyra a kangaroo jumped Tom and sent bike and rider down in a sickeningly high-speed tumble. Phil saw the whole thing. One bounce from a high bank, then wham! Tom didn’t even see it coming.

With an unconscious Tom in the middle of the road, and me riding off into the distance, Phil did well. A ute turned up, so we threw the patient – now pleading he was alright – and bike into the ute and headed for Guyra Hospital. The medicos took one look at him, strapped him to a backboard and neck brace and rushed him to Armidale Hospital. Then they got up us for bringing him in (we should have hit SOS on the SPOT, apparently). The doctors explained we should never trust someone who doesn’t know where he is.

The trouble with that was, Tom never knows where he is. He works from home because he can’t be trusted to find his way to an office.

Common sense would’ve seen Phil and I head for home. We’d lost a rider and half a day. But we decided to ride on and made it to the bore just before dark.

In order to check on our fallen comrade, the next morning we drew a straight line on the map and headed for Armidale. This unexpected route took us straight through Barraba, and the undulating granite roads turned out to be sensational. That ride through Barraba stayed with me, and since then I’ve been back many times, and that route featured on Disc Two.

I was peeved I didn’t get to ride that amazing DR650 before it was destroyed, but that was offset with a whole new riding area found. Barraba never disappoints, and finding the route that way makes sure I’ll never forget it.

Series Navigation<< Laos: The Hidden GemAprilia Caponord >>