Just a quick squirt on the gas…

My motorbike, which has sat neglected at the back of the garage since we got here, is due for registration.  With a company car at my disposal there’s no need to ride to work anymore and given the commute is all of 2km’s, if I didn’t have the car I’d probably be as well to walk to work anyway. To get it ready for the pink slip inspection I decided that we both needed a quick fang to blow out the cobwebs.

First job to was find some riding gear.  I deftly nipped upstairs and rummaged around in the wardrobe until I had it all piled on the floor before me. Discarding all the cold weather clothing which I’d needed the last time I rode in Canberra, I pulled out the Draggin Jeans. If you ever saw the teaser for The Incredibles movie, you’ll know what happened next. Suffice to say that my body no longer fits into a 32” waist of anything. But Draggin Jeans aren’t cheap, so I stuffed myself in like a Christmas turkey and held everything in place with a sturdy belt. I couldn’t move or breath, but when going out on a motorbike, image is everything.

Suitably attired I strolled—like a cowboy—back to the garage, fired up the bike and took off with James Dean like rebelliousness. Except he wouldn’t have stalled it first.

Moree isn’t exactly motorcycle heaven. The highways are long and straight which is great if you want to rebel and break the land speed record. But it’s not exactly technical riding. Many roads quickly turn to gravel and unless you have an enduro or dirt bike that’s not a whole lot of fun. The trap of these long straight roads however, is they soon lure you into a sense of complacency.

Not as much notice as you’d think.

Coming home via the Mosquito Creek Rd from Pallamallawa, I was admiring the view of the tree lined Gwydir river on the left and thousands of hectares of cotton fields on the right when I passed a bend ahead sign.  Luckily, someone has had the sense to put these signs in before every bend, which at first seems like over kill. Until you find yourself not concentrating and in the unenviable position of seeing the tarmac curve away while you’re still going very much in a straight line. After a heart stopping split second you lean into the corner and avoid going through a barbed wire fence like a potato through a chip slicer.

The bike is back in the shed, and I’m still in one piece. I’ve been hunting around lately for things to do with all my new found spare time, so maybe I’ll go riding more often. I’ve no doubt the bike will pass its road worthy (it didn’t miss a beat between zero and much faster than the speed limit) but after my run in with the jeans I might need some work. Could be time for a new year tune up.

The Incredibles teaser:  We have all been here at some point in life.


Ignore at your peril.