By 
The Condamine River in southeast Queensland is a magnet for bikers and 4WDs alike. Its 14 river crossings are legendary. Karen Ramsay took the plunge for a fifth time.
My latest traverse of the Condamine River crossings was with a girlfriend, Andrea Brosnan. The plan was to take the bike to her place, then Andrea and I were to go riding for the day.
Down, but not out
I first met Andrea when she came running up to me in the main street of Tenterfield before I’d even got off my bike. Since then, she and her husband, Dave, have had amazing adventures, including Dave riding from London to Magadan and Andrea riding in Mongolia. Their stories would fill a book. Andrea regularly rides the Condamine crossings which are almost in her front yard, and I’d been across four times and only dropped the bike once.
Andrea planned for us to ride the crossings, Barlows Gate, Maryland, Stanthorpe and, of course, stop for coffee and cake. It was a showery morning and striking out on the Condamine River Road saw our tracks the first of the day.
Six crossings in we were really hitting our stride. We could almost taste the cake in our near future when, on the other side of Mill Crossing, we saw Andrea’s sister feeding the horses in the paddock. Andrea rode over no problems, but as I crossed, looking up at the action ahead, I suddenly found myself with a mouthful of creek water.
Nuts
The first job was to get the bike up.
I didn’t think it was very deep, but I plunged my hand into the water to grab the handlebars and all I could reach was the mirrors. Andrea waded in and together we lifted the bike upright before pushing it on to the grass.
Four blokes were swarming over the DR like it was a factory bike at a Dakar pit stop.
I hit the start button and…nothing.
We walked around the bike wondering what to do. The bike still had power, so that was a positive. And I had a tool kit. That was another positive. However, both of us usually rode with our husbands who took over in these situations.
Plus, this was a DR650 – these things just kept going, didn’t they?
For two usually strong, sassy and independent women, it was rather embarrassing. I think it was at that point Andrea told me she normally dropped the bike once each time she does the crossings. And she had a stack of paper air filters at home so she could simply pop in a new one.
We stopped laughing at the situation long enough to get the tools out, only to find there were a couple of 12mm spanners but no 10mm. There were no screwdrivers, either.
spanners but no 10mm. There were no screwdrivers, either.
Thank goodness for always packing the multitool.
KAREN RAMSAY
Tough choice
The first 4WDs of the day turned up and Andrea flagged them down. They had a 10mm spanner but also made disapproving, though well-founded, remarks about the woeful wiring setup under the seat.
But there was still no joy from the DR650, so we decided to push the bike into the paddock.
Just as we were contemplating our options we heard ’bikes in the distance.
Hooray! We headed towards the road to flag them down.
They were coming fast and we stopped walking to listen. We looked at each other.
KTMs? Surely not.
Two of the most unmechanically minded women on the eastern seaboard and a DR650 being rescued by KTM riders would be the ultimate humiliation.
We decided if it was KTMs we’d wave them on or hide.
The Condamine River in southeast Queensland and its 14 crossings are legendary.
Help
We nearly fell over laughing when we caught a glimpse of orange flashing though the trees. We were standing as nonchalantly as we could – a bit like a couple of kids who’d done something naughty and thought they’re doing a good job to cover it up. ‘Nothing to see here,’ said our demeanour.
They skidded to a halt in a flash of orange, dust and water. The humiliation intensified when it was established I’d met Joe before and he and his father, Gary, knew my husband, Dave. Dave wastes no time in making disparaging remarks about KTMs – all in jest of course – but now it was going to come back and bite me on the bum.
Fortunately for us they didn’t hold Dave’s prejudice against us.
The next thing we knew, four blokes were swarming over the DR like it was a factory bike at a Dakar pit stop.
It’s not easy to see why this would be difficult.
Out to pasture
Suddenly the familiar burble of the DR sounded through the gorge. The blokes rode off, as quickly as they’d arrived, in a triumphant blaze of orange.
Meanwhile Andrea and I left the bike running, as instructed, while we repacked and got ready to ride. It was by now a couple of hours after we’d started and we had coffee and cake in our sights.
I jumped on, gently eased open the throttle and…it died.
‘Not to worry,’ I thought and started it again.
The same thing happened. And again. And again.
What’s that saying about people who try the same thing over and over and expect a different result?
Joe had said something about if it started to run like a hairy goat just let it sit for 10 or 15 minutes then it should be right to go. We let it sit, but there was no change.
We took out the air filter and gave it another thorough dry, but then couldn’t work out how to get it back in.
I wasn’t laughing quite as much now so Andrea, bless her little red boots, went to her sister’s and got snacks for us. While an apple may have helped get me laughing again, and got the air filter back in, it didn’t get the bike going.
It was official: I’d managed to kill a DR650. We left it there in the paddock.
Andrea regularly rides the Condamine tracks.
Same again
Andrea got into some dry clothes thanks to her sister, then got a lift home. She insisted I ride her XT250 back. It was the second crossing along when her bike stopped dead and refused to go.
How could I kill two bikes in one day? For the second time Andrea waded out to rescue me. We pushed the XT clear and she said it was common with her bike.
When the cold water hit the header pipe it often stopped.
The rest of the afternoon went reasonably smoothly. We were determined to go out in the car for what was, by then, a very late lunch.
Andrea entertained people at the café as she chased around after a bush turkey while a currawong stole food off my plate. We were both in pain from the all the laughing throughout the day. I think it goes to show you don’t have to go for a big ride to enjoy yourself.
As a footnote, the DR had a few days rest at home and was as good as new.
What I’ve learned
• KTM riders are nice people
• Don’t judge a rider by their bike
• Look at how things fit together before you take them apart
• DRs really are indestructible
• A sense of humour is the best tool you can have in your kit
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