And so it goes: Life on the motorcycle: Round much of Tasmania, Sept 2020

 

In the beginning, there was the Derwent Entertainment Centre. But it failed to entertain. Or as they say in darkie boogie jive lingo "she no entertain no more". 

So the lads procured motorcycles, and headed out from the city

During the course of this exploration, it rained from time to time. But even on the wet days it was dry. Even the black pudding had white bits.

Here we are on Day 4 Monday 21 Sept 2020) outside our breakfast joint, where we were 'Derwent Entertainment' entertained by the proprietor Felipe. Coffee was good.

Inside his cafe was an electric bunch of memorabilia, suitably arranged to make the totallity more interesting than any single item. Lucky.

As mentioned, Nicholas is demonstrating the use of the fist. Not called into action during this long weekend of self created entertainment.

To set accurate colour to the journey some facts need to be added. Nicholas, Tony and our Phillip (sometimes Felipe) departed Hobart on Bonneville and two BMW R1250 RS on a bright, cool spring Friday morning at 0930hrs.

The first leg was 205 km Hobart to Bothwell, Miena, Deloraine (for lunch). Then a further 186km: on to Sheffield, Forth, and then the last leg - to Stanley to arrive about 16.30hrs.

This tow truck was called into action later in the journey - best to get the story onto paper before it gets embellished and becomes unbelievable. Our friend holding the fort in the North West towns of Stanley and Smithton, one Jonathan Smith joined us from his home town and toured on his early new millennium BMW K1200 RS - a large motorbike, and black as the ace of spades. J Smith noted that some parts had rust and others sunshine tint, from a hard life by the seaside at Stanley.

Anway, after the hill climb to St Marys, Tone (behind J Smith and on his R1250) smelt fuel - petrol. They clambered on to St Marys and stopped, to see petrol "Pissing out" of J Smith's beast. The pipe had burst under enthusiastic flogging, and sprayed fuel all over the engine. It ignited, and burnt his beast to the ground.

End of J Smith's journey. 

Day 4 also brought in a furious rain storm; seen here from Kimber's bedroom at the Queens B Arms Hotel - splash splash against the window pane.

This snippet is of singular interest to the Paltoglou line of Australian Greeks

There is a saying "what happens on tour stays on tour". Well, what about all the things that don't happen on tour? Here is a glimpse of lockdown in Canada, where the locals in BC celebrate the birthday of relatives with distancing and Groucho Marx gear over their spray jackets. Novel.

Meanwhile, on day 2, the lads were holed up in the Branxholm Hotel, fighting for access to the music stream controller - but in the interim playing their money away on the pool table. Some great shots. 

Back in Stanley dinner was served at 7pm at the local hotel. The fatted calf was slaughtered and the fat was chewed (can it be done - both the same evening) - ending with a tour of the local wine bar(s), until bed called "Come hither you idiot" and we did. 

More facts: Day 2 was from Stanley in the rain across to Frankford in the Mount Careless Mountain Range. We were not and enjoyed a safe ride across the top of Tasmania. That stretch was 171km in 2 42 min at max speed of 134km/hr

After lunch we sprinted across the Batman Bridge, and on via Pipers River to Branxholm, near Derby (better informed, but no wiser). At 145km, 1hr and 48 minutes, maximum speeds registered between 161 and 217km/hr. Banking angle (not a financial derivative) of about 20 degrees for some and 28 for other(s).

And on the 2nd day we rested.

The steak at the Branxholm was great. Red wine flowed and the jaw loosened the vegetables and stories were told, then retreat to the pool table, and ultimately upstairs to bed for some to saw wood all night to the consternation of others. 

At $45 a night a head, an very tidy clean fresh rooms, one may not complain

This shot at end of day 4: your scriptwriter at home somewhat exhausted, but in other respects, refreshed. Cop that!

Day 3 was the 'leg' from Branxholm via the interesting renewed town of Derby, down through the forest to the east coast (beautiful mist hanging in the trees) and then up to St Marys: with planned balance of day trip to Bicheno, then Lake Leake Highway, and back route via Cressy to Longford.

Down to Georges Bay from Branxholm was 73km, warm but wet, and an hour and 23 minutes. Max speed 116km/hr. Next on the coast then up to St Marys: 40km and 49 minutes ride time. That was when Jonathan killed his bike.

We 3 Nick, Tone and PK continued with the loss of Jonathan, and then came the 2nd major incident. Tone was flexing his motorbike through the chicane on the way down to the coast at Chain of Lagoons, when he pulled in too tight to the right wall, and 'clipped' the guard rail with a sticking out bit of his bike (being the main engine bit) then also his right side pannier, which gave way under the thrust, and was 'ripped' bodily from his bike, and sprung down the road, leaping tall fences and into the bushes. He corrected the squiggle his bike must have been doing, and stopped to hunt for his pannier. Found, reinserted and strapped on, he continued the journey - he might say 'unabashed'. We said 'somewhat bashed'.

Could definitely have bene worse. 

From there we sprinted down the beautiful east coast to Bicheno, and called in on Kev Fagan and Viv Hale in their newish digs up on the hill, and enjoyed a coffee and a 1/2 hour rest before the final leg to Longford.

Image: tree lined streets in Longford, with the spring blossoms.

That final leg along the Lake Leake Highway, was lovely sloping lines through long sweeping corners, and great until a light drizzle set in. But that lasted only until the midlands highway, and across that we headed west to Cressy (40km) and Longford (20km) to arrive about 5.30pm.

Our accommodation at Longford, upstairs at the Queens Arms. Very comfortable rooms, and conveniences. We dined that evening on a range of seafood at the Blenheim Hotel - also in Longford not near Oxford

Image: tucking in parts of his broken luck, Tone gets ready for the final leg of day 3.

Discussion ensured roadside about Jonathan's burnt out motorbike: "it could have bene worse" we all agreed.

This: the snapped fuel line

Image: the Branxholm "Imperial Hotel". Here Majesty stayed there one night, in the very same bed that Nick presided over

Image: when I first read this I thought "I'm back in Lima" - and I misread the 2nd animal as a 'beer goat'.  What a surprise to see this at Branxholm! 

Said beer goat:

Statuesque

"Hold still Jonathan" said Nick as he adjusted the straps.  The publican called out "what is going on in there" 

Visible hand on shoulder - "Look mum, no hands!"

"Press a little harder St Nicholas"

Scribbles on the ceiling in our bedroom:

It was a sombre time for this guard, made to stand, stone like, outside the wine bar in Stanley - all night, and every night

Stanley - the Nut, also Norfolk Pines, and gravestones.

Not our accommodation: but someone did name their house such:

Whiskey bar at Stanley "Angels Share"

Stanley, an elegant and old town: some lovely example of early Australian colonial architecture

Image: out digs at Stanley. Very comfortable

The pub and the nut. The two shall never be separated. Well they could be. 

Early part of the trip: Deloraine

The deregistered Melted Moustache hotel. Something to do with Groucho Marx

Your scribe - on day 1. 

Tone: with that very attractive Austin Yellow R1250 - RS, well, not entirely RS, just a little broken around the coupling for the pannier

St Nicholas and his strap on bag containing the mysteries of perpetual motion

Tres Amigos. Well - actually none of them, but their motorbikes.

The Trumpet

The Austin 
Yellow

The Executive Blue

So the final leg (as it were) - Longord to Hobart this morning: 188km in 2hr and 21 min, max speed 163km, my max angle 25 degrees. Home by 1pm, and a few jobs to tidy up the detritus of motorcycling, clean up, wash, dry out, and relax.

Time for a BBQ.

Overall: an excellent 4 days, which felt well like 3 weeks of enjoyment - time expands if you have fun. The Tasmanian hills and highways, the forests, and water-edge - beautiful scenery and atmosphere. Very pleasant hosts and staff around the establishments for dining, refreshing and accommodating. 

As I've said once of twice before: "If I hadn't other things booked in, I'd do it all again, immediately". As we passed the Melting Moustache Hotel on the run in toward Hobart, I was sorely tempted to run right and off back to Bothwell.

Thanks Nick, Tony, Jonathan. Perhaps time to trade the 1200 in for a new R1250 RS JS?