May 5th, 2007

Ride Report by Steve Smithett (KTM520)
Larbetouche to Noojee Saturday 5th May, 2007

This a quick report on a long ride. Craig (DRZ400) who lives near me and has come out on a couple of AMTRA rides, thought it would be a good idea to go for a cruisy ride from Larbetouche to Noojee for a famous Toolshed Billy Burger. After a nice sleep in Saturday morning, we headed out to Larby North around 9.00am. Saw a group of DBW riders heading up Jacksons Track with bikes in tow. Parked the van under the powerlines, unloaded the bikes, checked the maps and headed off for the much anticipated Billy Burgers.

We had done this trip with Clampy from DBW a while a go so we had a fair idea of where to go. The tracks on this side of the range had had enough rain to make them dust free without too much slippery stuff so made we good progress early on. A few tracks have been closed by DSE so had to pick our way a bit. Think we went up Gentle Annie which was nice and slippery as were the tracks around the Sisters. The washouts up Ti-tree were fun and a great chance to grab some serious air.
Then into the black morass where we met the DBW ride coming the other way. Said g'day to Gowide Dave and Mrfraggle, they were having a ball and so was I until Craig made an unexpected stop in front of me. Collided with the back of his bike, smashed his tailight, bent his number plate and sent me crashing sideways into the black ooze. lol. Extracted myself and continued on with a badly corked thigh (must have been a big rock hiding in the mud).
It was about this time that Craig was getting the uneasy feeling that the trials tyre was not working as good as what the exponents had been spruiking. It was also about this time that the mist started to turn into rain and we started to get a drenching. Knew I should have worn the Dri-rider.

On the edge of a pine forest we came to an intersection with one track heading down in the direction we wanted to go, so down we went. This track will be referred to as The Slippery Slit No.1 in all future correspondence as it was wet, slippery, full of holes, roots and virginal (is that a contradiction in terms). I think in logging terms it's called a snigging track (that is, no one actually goes up and down them, they're just a track made by hauling logs up them with a cable). Anyhow we made it to the bottom eventually with the aid of gravity. We put that one in the memory bank for good hill to climb in the summer.

About this time we ran into a couple of other riders who were heading in our general direction and they tagged along.
Somewhere around here we found a really neat single track that started as a 4x4 track. The entry was a single slab of timber over a creek bounded by two logs, just enough to walk or ride over. This led to a tunnel like track which was good fun till I came across a recently fallen tree on a weird angle across the track. Thinking it wasn’t too bad, I lofted the front wheel over and the back duly followed. Only problem was that the angle of the log threw self and bike headlong into the scrub on the other side where the track fell away. There I was with head and shoulders stuck in the bush with the bike on top and pushing me further in. Like a fly in a Venus fly trap, the more I wiggled, the more that scrub was gobbling me up. After much swearing, lashing out and frantic leg thrashing I managed to get free. Craig came along followed by the other two riders and did the prudent by lifting their bikes over the log. This track continued for about another 5k and ended with a small rickety bridge with most of its cross members missing and just the old spike heads sticking out. It was a case of  keep the bike straight, aim for one of the bearers and shut your eyes. We all got to the other side without falling into the abyss and after saying goodbye to the others, Craig and I continued on to Noojee.

After a few wrong turns we finally made the Toolshed around 1.30pm. Two lifesaving cold pots went down while we dried our soaked tops in front of the open fire and waited for the Billy Burgers to arrive. Ahhh, soooo good – Taxi! -  well almost. Back to reality. After a quick study of the map, we decided that, as time was tight and so were our bellies, we’d opt for a quick run home even if it meant a few extra K’s on the gravel.
So off we went!

This plan was going swimmingly well until we ran into a group of riders who looked suspiciously like The Beagle Boys. They were heading back to Jindivik and gave us a few directional pointers.
Following their directions, Craig and self were motoring down a nice gravel road when we noticed a well formed plantation track to the left, which we both agreed looked like the perfect shortcut to the top of the mountain that we had to cross to get home.
This track will be known as Slippery Slit No.2 in all future correspondence.
Onward and upward we rode, then upward and then more upward, and then even more upward, as the view of the Tooronga valley spread out below us. It was about this point up the mountainside that the Craigboy’s gay trials tyre decided it didn’t want to play anymore and not long after, my worn knobby decided to go out in sympathy.
There we were, stuck. Do we go back down and go the long way or do we keep burning clutches, shredding tyres and boiling the radiators?  But wait – above, is that a bird, is it a plane – no, it’s The Beagle Boys that had just given us our travelling instructions.
Now these boys might have looked a bit shady, but man could they ride. Their illustrious leader on a KTM300 casually floated down the track to us followed by his mate on a KTM525. Don’t worry boys the leader says, he’ll ride ya bikes up, referring to the crazy eyed looking cove on the 525. Now I never like to let a hill beat me, but age, billy burger and curiosity had the better of me. "Have a go" I says to the Wild Colonial Boy. "No wuckers" he says. Now I’ve seen people roost bikes but I ain’t never seen nuttin’ like this. This guy opened the 520 up and blasted it at full throttle over every available piece of tractable dirt that mean bitch of a hill had to offer, and to top it of, stood her on her back wheel as he disappeared over the last 15ft of vertical wall at the brink. By the time I’d scraped the clods of roost of my face, he was walking back down the track. “Who’s next” he says.
Now methinks to myself that the Craigsters bike is gunna be a different story, cause we all know by now that his trials tyre has gone on strike.  "No wuckers!" says the Wild Colonial Boy. Down the hill he goes on the DRZ.  Then, blast, blap, rip, tear, roar, the DRZ goes past in a red shower of mountain side excavation. Now all that’s left is for the Craigboy and the Captain to take the walk of shame to our bikes at the top.
As we were now all together, the Beagle Boys said tag along and they’d get us back to Forest Road and then an easy trip back to the cars. Sounds simple, right! Wrong. The rain that had fallen on our way over had turned some of the tracks on the way home into rivers of black ice, where one deflection of the front wheel sent bike and rider spinning curiously around and around down the tracks like a Mortien riddled blowie.
To give you an idea, three 4x4’s were inching there way down these hills in fear of slipping over the edge.
“What mud?” says the Wild Colonial Boy as he blasts the 525 past me on the back wheel with a durrie hanging out the corner of his mouth. I swear, I ain’t seen nobody ride a bike like this guy. He’d just give the bike stick up and down the biggest, greasiest hills and leaving me to seriously ponder my ability as a rider and to which croquet club I should join.
Anyhow, I said this was going to be a short story so eventually we found our way back to some tracks we recognised as being close to home. After thanking the Beagle Boys for their help and their interesting route home, we bid farewell and made it back to the van with the last glimmer of light.
In summary, were the Billy Burgers and cold beers worth it, definitely. Was the company worth it, most definitely. Was the corky and the hole in my shin worth it, yeah 'spose. Was Craig’s trials tyre worth it, NOOO. Was the mud worth it, mmmm. Was seeing the Wild Colonial boy ride worth it, ABSOLUTELY.