The Risk

This entry is part 2 of 19 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #30

Even great planning can’t cover everything. Dualsport Australia’s Marty Blake had to think on his feet.

It was getting late. With 440km under our tyres and 120km to go, Cain’s 990 was running on vapour and we were out of options. Kyogle – 28km out of our way – was our only hope.

We hadn’t gone far when we spotted the yellow barriers across half the road. They looked ominous and as we rode closer the message was clear: the road was closed.

With not enough fuel to backtrack or go around things looked grim. Damn that closed service station.

Aptly named.
The message was clear.
Cain’s 990 was running on vapour and there were no options.

Signing of

Flooding had been giving us problems all weekend, from closed roads to closed service stations, we’d innovated and over-come. But this time it had us beat. On a road with little traffic, a night or two in the bush without our gear – it was in Lismore, our planned destination – didn’t appeal.

‘It would be better to go around the sign than be rescued,’ I reasoned as we pushed past the metal warnings.

The bridge, when we arrived, looked doable. It was covered in debris, but surely it was structurally sound enough for two bikes? As we picked a clear path and motored across, it seemed too easy.

With the sun getting low, relief settled in and we were on our way.

Finding an open service station was an unexpected challenge.

In too deep…almost

A few kilometres later we rounded a corner and reality hit us in the face like a cold, wet fish.

Shit. The next bridge was completely gone, missing, along with our path to premium unleaded salvation. We gazed longingly at the road on the other side, glowing in the low afternoon sun.

The creek itself was fairly narrow with steep banks covered in loose, erosion-control quarry rocks. The water was flowing fast with rapid-like waves suggesting it was reasonably shallow.

As the saying goes, ‘Still water runs deep’.

The colour drained from Cain’s face as he realised our predicament, and that spurred me on. I steered the mighty DR over the lip and bounced down, sort of in control, over the loose, sharp rocks.

Without thinking too much I eased into the clear, fast-flowing water and every-thing was all good for the first few metres.

Halfway across my heart sank when the DR’s front guard disappeared under water followed by the distinctive burble as the muffler followed. Already more than committed, I kept the throttle on, deflecting from rock to rock as the front wheel threatened to tuck. Much to my relief the front guard clawed its way back out of the torrent as we both gasped and started to breathe again.

A sensible map holder.

Over the top

It was surprising how much steeper the far bank looked once I had to climb it.

With no run up and loose rocks on the first third it started to seem like a bad idea. I pointed the DR up and, feathering the clutch, scampered over the loose rocks without much grace, then fed in the throttle as the 606 started to claw its way up. Finding some surprisingly good traction the front wheel rose alarmingly, but a couple of flicks of the clutch took us over the top.

That was when I noticed a couple standing on the bank surveying the flood damage, jaws agape as the dripping-wet DR idled past. Cain was violently shaking his head on the other side indicating ‘too deep and too steep for the big girl’ (the bike, not Cain) so I headed off to get a tank of fuel to share, hoping that was the worst of it.

Premium adventure riding wasn’t going to find itself.

Sound reasoning

I travelled as fast as I was game through the area aptly named The Risk, into Kyogle, and it gave me time to recap and analyse the ride so far. How did things go so wrong? I’d planned for months: first work, then a cyclone had caused delays.

But my rides usually went like clockwork.

In hindsight it was a risk to go so soon after flooding with limited info on con-ditions and road closures, even though I had a date locked in and route sheets, schedules and GPX files completed. Cain, a local bike enthusiast, had arranged time off and leave passes to join me and he was an excellent travelling companion.

Long, 12-hour days didn’t faze him nor did he complain about some of the more technical, non-990 terrain I routinely subjected him too. Even weather forecasts of showers-rain-showers for the three days didn’t deter him…although it troubled me slightly because I had photos to take. But with 1300-odd kilo-metres planned it couldn’t rain every-where, right? Besides, it was meant to be an adventure, and premium adventure riding wasn’t going to find itself.

It was a risk to go so soon after flooding with limited info on conditions.

Truck me!

Day one started well. We both set off in the pitch black with a starry-sky back-drop and no rain in sight. We were at the meeting point by the time the sun poked its head over the low band of dark clouds out to sea and were carving up the moist, dust-free soil along the coastal ranges heading north.

We exited the bush close to Grafton as black clouds full of rain spread completely across the horizon ahead of us. With no skirting around possible we headed into the gloom straight up the highway, and within 20km the rain and highway were finished and we were greeted by a patchy blue sky and Grafton traffic.

A shortcut was thwarted by a police roadblock because of a diesel spill.

At that stage there was only 30m and a couple of firemen to dodge, but they were having none of it. We carved up the backstreets of Grafton and 20 minutes later found ourselves early at a breakfast stop at Whiporie.

With the sun shining brightly, the dirt slowly became narrower and gently rose up onto Hogarth’s Range. All was good in the world, and thanks to a timely warning from Cain I didn’t even get run over by a B-double while busy with the camera.

Rides like these that turn into great memories with the passage of time.

Good friends

Casino proved a severe lapse in judgement.

We thought we had lots of fuel so elected not to top up, but then things started to go pear-shaped. Locked gates or extended sections of tar to Nimbin seemed to be the only options, and no matter how good short, dirt offshoots were, this section was a throw-away.

Before long the colourful village of Nimbin turned up, along with evidence of flooding.

We rolled into town and headed for the servo, only to find it closed, never to reopen apparently, due to water damage. The friendly BMW-riding Nimbin Caravan Park owner came to the rescue with some fuel for the thirsty 990.

Dark clouds threatening large, heavy, raindrops chased us out of town, eventually dumping their load as we crested a ridge, and although heavy, the downpour was short-lived and before long we were dry again, stocking up on drinks and munchies for that night, along with a late lunch in the flood-devastated Lismore.

Finding an open service station was a challenge I hadn’t allowed for.

Who would think two metres of water through town would affect fuel purity?

Our digs for the next two nights were at adventure riding’s super couple Dave and Karen Ramsay’s, whose friendliness and hospitality was never-ending.

Long story

We had a quick breakfast in Lismore then rode by braille through incredibly thick fog ’til we climbed out of Nimbin.

Smooth, fast-flowing dirt soon lifted our spirits, and a quick refuel at Kyogle led to brilliant dirt through picturesque farmland which turned out to be the order of the day.

Soon we were rolling through the Dorrigo-like pastures and into Killarney on time. That was great as it was planned as a very big, long day.

Without thinking I pointed out a fantastic ridge-top section from Dualsport Australia’s Volume 3 in the distance, explaining to Cain how good it was. Naturally he wanted to check it out. I tried to explain our tight schedule and how that would result in finishing after dark, but Cain was wasn’t to be denied.

Wet, slippery tracks then a locked gate forced backtracking.

With the ridge section as good as expected I became too clever for my own good, suggesting the rocky water crossings would be better on a half-tank.

Cain agreed, but my main goal was to deprive him of an opportunity for lunch and so claw back some time.

Condamine River Road never disappoints, nor do the very scenic ridges across to Rathdowney. The closed service station, on the other hand, disappointed me greatly, putting the rest of the day in jeopardy. ‘Something would turn up,’ I reasoned as we headed out of town. It didn’t, and that brought us back to the start of the story.

Considering it was getting late, I elected to push across the bridgeless creek, and without my considerable bulk the DR kept its seat dry. It was a shame the same couldn’t be said for my boots. A quick refuel, wet, slippery tracks then a locked gate forced backtracking into Kyogle servo for the third time that day just as the sun set.

Many well-deserved drinks, along with a fine feast cooked up by Cain, were consumed over many laughs that night, with nearly 14 hours riding this day we were looking forward to a short day to follow.

Cain was an excellent travelling companion. Long, 12-hour days didn’t faze him, nor did he complain about some of the more technical, non-990 terrain.

See sure

The return trip proved uneventful – for me anyway. Some of the enduro-styled tracks had Cain working hard on the 990.

The coastal ranges proved reassuring and gave the feeling home was near, even if, after a nice lunch at Tucabia, I was reluctant to get back on the bike.

It’s often rides like these that turn into great memories with the passage of time. Overcoming challenges makes for true adventures, even if born out of poor decisions.

Now that I’m home I think I should revisit the optometrist so I can see these ‘road closed’ signs and keep out of trouble. The excuse may seem a littleweak, but consider this: on the first day in Lismore we were looking for a park near the bottleshop when a lovely, well-endowed young lady hurried across the road wearing a tank top and no bra.

Right in front of us those big puppies made a break for freedom. Cain said she was around 23 and had her hands more than full trying to stuff them back inside her top. And I missed the whole thing. If I can’t see that, what hope has a sign got?

The next bridge was completely gone. Missing, along with the path to premium unleaded salvation.