Motorcycles
As I grew up in the small town of Rand during the ’60s and ’70s, in the southern New South Wales Riverina region, I watched the local guys dressing up in leathers, trying to look ‘tough’ as they rode around on beautiful old ex-war bikes like the Harley Davidson, or post-war 1950’s British bikes like the Ariel Square-four, Triumphs like the Tiger and Bonneville, and various BSA’s.
Figure 1 Velocette 500cc single cylinder
I was captivated by the sound of the Velocette with its fish-tail exhaust, as they caterwauled down the road. It’s a sound you really have to hear to understand the captivation it causes. Then there was the famous Brough Superior, made more famous by one of its illustrious owners, Laurence of Arabia, who loved this bike such that he owned seven of them.
I like the description Jay Leno gives of a real bike, that if you crouch down next to one, you can see lots of light showing through the frame. They appear to be nothing more than engine, gearbox and two wheels. These were long-range touring bikes, and my favourites.
Figure 2 1928 1000cc Brough superior V-twin SS 100
When the top speed of the average car in 1928 was around 45 m.ph., and the top speed of the average motorcycle was around 55 m.p.h., the Brough Superior SS-100 was guaranteed to do 100 m.p.h., and tested at this speed before it was delivered, tailor-made to the owner. It would cost the average Britain a whole year's wages in 1928, although your average Britain was rarely the owner of one of these prestigious machines. Not only did it go fast, but it was a stylish head-turner. And for me, style was a necessary prerequisite for any car or motorcycle. A good bike must not only go like the clappers, it must look the part while doing it.
Once, in the main street of Albury, I watched a smallish guy climb onto a newly released Norton Commando which he attempted to kick over, only to be launched into the air as it backfired on him. He was standing next to his mate’s Kawasaki Mack 3, a fast 500cc two-stroke triple.
Figure 3 1970's Norton Commando Fastback (When I learned the girl didn't come with the bike, it nearly finished the deal for me!)
It was a Sunday afternoon and the street was deserted. Eventually he got the big 750cc twin cranked into action and I will never forget the sound of these two as they raced each other down the deserted main street. The Kwaka took off with its characteristic Zing, Zing, Zing down the street, making rapid, twitching progress, sounding like a wind-up toy. The big Norton was just behind, and just as fast, but looked majestic and sounded effortless, thump, thumping at what seemed like a stroke a second, into the distance. I was hooked.
My First Bike
I bought my first bike from a friend who lived out of town on a farm. It was a dusty old BSA 500cc side-valve, single, probably from around 1950. It had spent its latter years languishing in a farm shed and looked and sounded pretty rough. At that point of the game I had very few tools and just as few mechanical skills. I was not old enough to have a rider’s license, so I rode it out deserted country roads and pondered whether to spend the time and money on getting it into shape or whether to buy something more reliable. This turned out to be the theme of my motoring career and persists to this day.
I eventually decided to buy a brand-new Honda 250cc road bike, when I was about 18, in 1971, not long after I got my driver’s license at 16 and 9 months. I remember going around to the local Police Station and asking the Constable, Les Kiln if I could apply for a license. He said, “Sure, come in.” After we entered, Les started filling out the form, and when he was done, I said, “Aren’t you going to test me?” Les just looked at me and said, “I’ve seen you driving around, so I think that’s enough testing.”
I had often passed him on the country roads around Rand, from the age of 14 when I started driving an FE Holden Ute my father had bought me, I waved to him and hoped he wouldn’t pursue me and book me for being unlicensed, but he never did. He understood that farm boys started driving at a very young age and were very competent. When I went in a little later to apply for my bike license it was a similar story. Les sent me for a test ride around the block, but before I had started riding, I saw in the rear-view mirror that he had disappeared into the Station to fill the form out, and when I got back five minutes later, he handed me the Rider’s license.
Figure 4 Outside our family home in Rand on the Honda 250
I enjoyed that Honda 250, and rode it all over the place, dressed in Bikie-boots, jeans, a denim jacket with the sleeves ripped out, worn over the top of a leather jacket, with an Iron Cross hanging around my neck. I don’t know why in the hell I wore that Iron Cross because it was originally a German military medal of honour and Nazi medal, but later worn by Bikie gangs as a symbol of anarchy and lawlessness. I really didn’t get that whole picture back then, to me it was just a way of looking ‘tough’, which seemed to us to be mandatory to attract girls and impress other guys. Though how I could look ‘tough’ riding a Honda 250, I don’t know!
As I started my farming career, I rode a range of Ag-bikes, starting with several Honda 90’s, which were just like the ones you still see Post-ies[1] riding today in Australia.
They have a centrifugal clutch which makes them a one-handed ride, perfect for posting mail with your left hand, grabbing a lamb in the paddock, hoeing Bathurst burrs or opening a gate, while operating the throttle and handlebars with your right hand. But the ‘90cc left a lot to be desired, so I graduated first to a fat-wheeled (balloon tired) Yamaha 200cc, which was great for boggy conditions, or just mucking around in gravel pits and mud holes, but which lacked a centrifugal clutch.
Figure 5 Honda 90 Ag & Yamaha 200
So, I bought a Honda 200cc Ag-bike which had a centrifugal clutch, and it turned out to be the best Ag-bike I ever owned.
As for my next road bike, I thought long and hard about ordering a Norton Commando 750cc Fastback. They were one of the most revolutionary bikes of the time, with a new rubber-mounted engine system to take the vibration out of ever bigger and more powerful twin-cylinder engines, and they handled like a dream and went like the powers.
But I worried (justifiably) about their reliability, and eventually ordered a BMW R75, 750cc opposed twin, but then just as quickly changed my mind (much to the chagrin of my car-dealer cousin), and ordered an Italian Moto Guzzi 850GT instead (pronounced Gutsy), which became my dream bike. When I discovered the girl lying on the seat of the Norton Commando didn't come with it, that pretty well finished the deal anyway!
Figure 6 Moto Guzzi 850GT in tropical north Queensland
With a long wheelbase, shaft drive and low-slung weight, it handled and rode marvellously, and had effortless power right up to 200 kph (125 mph). It was a magnificent touring bike, and I traversed thousands of kilometres up and down the east coast of Australia on it.
My father was worried sick his eldest son would meet with some cataclysmic disaster on one of these powerful brutes (where would he get such a foreign idea?), so he offered to buy me a brand-new Toyota Corolla, no strings attached. I could have a brand-new little Japanese car for free, or I could spend months scrimping and saving for a machine that you rode unprotected in frost, rain and stinking summer heat. It was a tempting offer, but only for about 5 minutes, because I had my heart set on a thumping four-stroke macho bike, and no one could dissuade me.
I applied for a job in the Mt. Isa copper mines, after returning from an around Australia road trip with a friend, and in 1974 I rode north from Rand, through western New South Wales and Queensland, passing through Cobar, Bourke, Cunnamulla, Longreach, Winton and Boulia to Mt. Isa, a distance of 2,650 kilometres.
Here's the map of the trips I did on the Guzzi,
https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=1qVkwvyK_ICOmXJHarkZhumpQRc-IHoY&usp=sharing
Figure 7 In western Queensland, around Boulia, 1974
I was feeling pretty exhilarated as I saw the huge smokestack of Mt. Isa mines rising out of the flat terrain in the distance, and failed to see a poorly signed, slanted “T” intersection just ahead of me. I cranked the heavily laden bike over as far as I dared, but seeing I was edging closer and closer to the end of the tarmac, I decided to straighten it up and head for the dirt. I braked hard once I left the road but finally lost control in the table drain and dropped it in the dirt.
My first thought was about the car-sized battery onboard which would leak acid all over the paint-work, so I forgot about my injuries and scrambled off to try and right the bike. After all, paintwork is far more important than skin. With my shoulder under the seat, I tried to push this 250 kg. monster upright. When I finally got it up, I discovered that the front forks were twisted a little and the tank had a small dent in it, but otherwise it seemed in reasonable shape. I was relieved.
My oiled bike suit and I were covered in grey dust as I limped into a brightly lit Mt. Isa and located the Adventist Church. It was a Wednesday evening and a prayer meeting was in progress, and when I walked in looking like I had been dragged through a sewer, the Pastor was a little apprehensive about what to expect from such a rough-looking Bikie with long red hair and beard, and as dirty as.
Figure 8 Mt. Isa, Queensland, out in the middle of nowhere, lit up like a Christmas tree. The mines worked 24x7.
When the Pastor and I discovered we both originated around Albury in southern New South Wales, he softened and allowed me to pitch my tent in the church grounds for a day or so until I got settled, which I appreciated.
Figure 9 Some church friends and I in Cloncurry. I was not a very good horse!
I worked there for several months as a gardener for Mt. Isa Mines and enjoyed great times with church friends I met there. A couple of the girls there were from stockman backgrounds and were outstanding cowgirls. They could stick to a horse with the best of them, and we all had a great time riding near Cloncurry, east of Mt. Isa, and water-skying on Lake Moondara, on the Leichhardt River on days off.
Figure 10 One of the best Cow-girls I have seen, in Cloncurry
Several months later, after saving a pocketful of money to pay future University fees, I left Mt. Isa, riding across to the coast and further north to Port Douglas, north Queensland. I explored around Cairns and loved the Atherton tablelands, with their deep red soil and abundant rainfall, something that was a big contrast to the farming land and climate down south where I came from.
Then I turned south, down the coast road, camping on the side of the road, in caravan parks or in farmer’s paddocks, and ending up in Sydney.
Figure 11 The Moto Guzzi kitted out in Nth Queensland
There is nothing like the feeling of a powerful bike under you, riding through Australia’s beautiful countryside with the wind in your hair and not a care in the world. Queensland is breathtaking country, and I loved every minute of it. I had become Vegan by this stage of my life and possessed nothing more than a hunting knife, which I wore in a scabbard on my belt, and ate nothing but Muesli and topical fruit I could buy at roadside farmer’s stalls along the route.
I left Brisbane, heading south, just as it started to rain heavily, and rather than camp somewhere in the rain, I decided to press on. Riding a bike in the pouring rain is not much fun, but it’s even less fun sitting somewhere waiting for it to stop when you are on your way home. It was close to 1,000 kilometres from Brisbane to Sydney, but it felt like 2,000 kilometres in the pouring rain, and I did it all in one day, about a 12-hour ride. I was exhausted.
I stopped in to visit Avondale College on my way towards Sydney, where I planned to do a one year Bible study course the following year (which turned into a 5 year B.A. degree in Theology). Avondale is set in a picturesque setting in Cooranbong, just north of Sydney. It has now attained the elevated and deserved status of university. I wanted to check the place out and see what sort of inmates it held, and I was pleasantly surprised on that score. My study at Avondale started a life-long passion for theology, that is, trying to understand clearly the message of God to humanity, and how to communicate that message effectively.
The next day in Sydney I happened to bump into a friend from Albury who had just bought a Honda CB 750cc four. I had been intending to ride straight home from Sydney (which was about 600 kilometres), but my friend Gary convinced me to detour down the east coast of New South Wales and Victoria to his sister’s home in Healesville, northeast of Melbourne. No free-and-easy bike rider ever takes much convincing, and we headed south into more beautiful coastal country.
By the time I arrived home in Rand, I had ridden over 7,850 kilometres and loved every minute of it.
Tripping around NSW & Victoria
But my long-awaited rest and relaxation were interrupted a couple of days later when I had a visit from a friend from Walla Walla, just up the road. Phil was a fellow Moto Guzzi devotee, and he wanted me to join him on a new trip through the state of Victoria, from which I had just returned. Who could say no to a fellow Moto Guzzi owner, after all, so all plans of rest and relaxation went out the window. Hey, you’re only young once, as they say, so we hit that ribbon of tar again.
Figure 12: Shane (get a load of the red hair and beard!) & Phil ready to ride, in Walla Walla
We headed east toward the mountains in my home state of New South Wales – first stop, Tumbarumba, a sleepy country town. These towns are always interesting for me because I was born and raised in the sleepy country town of Rand. Rand was, way back when I was raised there (let’s not dwell on how long ago that was), the home to 100 people, and amazingly it is still home to 100 people today, although the demographics of the town have changed substantially.
Back then it was populated by fine upstanding people like us! I hear tell that now it has deteriorated dramatically (surely that must be because some of the finest and most upstanding citizens have moved away?). Apparently, much riffraff has moved into our fine little town from far-flung dens of iniquity like Sydney, and drug abuse and other unsuitable practices have replaced the clean-living habits of former generations (let’s not dwell on the alcohol abuse of those former generations).
From Tumbarumba we travelled along the mountain route that is now known as Elliot Way, through Sue City, Kiandra and Cooma to Bombala, where we camped in a caravan park. This is mountainous country and part of the road was dirt, with hairpin bends and loads of corrugations to test a Biker’s skills. Actually, one of those Bikers, while trying to turn around, almost at a standstill, rode his bike over the edge of the road, with the bike coming to a halt a couple of metres down a steep embankment. It was terribly embarrassing, and so we won’t mention which of those bikers this was, to protect the unfortunate party. Some Council workers happened along at the right time and four of us managed to haul the heavy Guzzi back onto the road, and all was well.
Figure 13 Camping at the Bombala Municipal Caravan Park
The second day we went down through the mountains to Delegate and Bonang and on to Orbost which is almost on the Victorian Bass Strait coast. Along the way, close to the New South Wales-Victorian border, we were able to rescue a fellow Biker whose Honda 750cc 4 had conked out.
The passage of years has dulled my memory, such that the rest of the trip is a bit of a blur, but it appears from the few photos that are extant from the trip that we passed through picturesque Lakes Entrance, on our travels through Melbourne and north-west to Ballarat, where a fascinating village museum is located, dedicated to the time of the Australian gold-rush.
Figure 14: Sovereign Hill Museum village at Ballarat, Victoria
Gold was discovered at Ballarat in 1851 and sparked Victoria's famous gold rush. An estimated 6000 diggers (miners) arrived each week seeking their fortune, which must have stretched the infrastructure of the town to the limit. Ballarat was considered the world's richest alluvial goldfield during its peak between 1852 and 1853, and brought migrants from all over the world to Victoria. Especially prevalent were the Chinese and so there is a rich heritage devoted to these settlers at the Sovereign Hill Museum.
Over the space of one year, 40,000 people descended on nearby Bendigo, transforming it from a sheep station into a rag-tag town in short order. The gold rush shaped the very future of Victoria and brought great wealth to Melbourne. Throughout its history, Victoria has produced over 2,400 tonnes of gold, which is 32 per cent of all the gold mined in Australia, and Australia is the second largest gold miner in the world today. I wouldn’t mind just one of those tonnes of gold! Think of all the stylish motorbikes it could buy.
Since we were young men at that time it seemed mandatory that we head west from there, and so we made our way down to Warnambool, and from thence across to Mt. Gambia, in South Australia. We are not sure of our route on this part of the journey, but by this time we must have been anxious to get home as Phil was due to be back to continue working in his family’s motor garage as a mechanic.
After a break at home in Rand, I packed my kit again and hit the road north to Cooranbong, a beautiful part of central and coastal New South Wales, just north of Sydney, where I had enrolled at Avondale College to start a course in Theology.
My bike riding days were soon coming to a close with this move, as I married at Avondale College. After hitting a cow that had wandered onto the road in front of me, at 100 kilometres an hour, with my fiancé as pillion, I had come to the conclusion that a bike was not the safest transport for a young man about to start a family. We both survived this ordeal, much shaken up and moving very gingerly for a couple of weeks after, nursing torn and stiff muscles but no broken bones.
Thus ends my bike riding days, but there were many wonderful cars to come, and my story with these is yet to be accounted for.
[1] Postal employees
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