Tassie Tour 2011

Today is our final day on the road & the weather gods had decided to show us their displeasure at our imminent departure. The day dawned overcast with a light drizzle, a bit of cool wind and about 12c.

After breakfast we suited up and hit the road by 9.00 to be greeted with showers and cold wind. The visor instantly fogged up as did my sunglasses, so I cracked the visor a little to clear it. The visor cleared but the glasses remained misty and now also had rain on them that was being blown under the visor due to the strong crosswind.

This made negotiating the many bends out of Strahan really interesting as the yellow road signs were pretty much a blur until we were right on them and reading the road surface became highly entertaining.

We soon caught up to a group of other bikers, a Spyder followed by a couple of tourers, they were travelling so slowly I reckon a cyclist could have passed us going uphill. There was nowhere to overtake so we just tucked in behind and followed along. A consequence of this slow speed was that there wasn’t enough wind to blow the rain off the outside of the visor, and the rain hitting my jacket just ran straight down into my lap. Lovely now I had a cold wet crotch as well. No matter, we are motorcyclists and shall persevere no matter what.

Thankfully when we arrived at Queenstown the slow guys turned off and we were on our own. I stowed my sunglasses (not that there was much glare but they are prescription lenses that ease eye strain) and headed for Hobart.

The road out of Queenstown is a corker and would be a blast in the dry, in the wet it is a slippery slithery snake of a thing. Ian of Motoadventure had warned us to be very careful here particularly in the wet as the road could be covered with moss and be extremely slippery. I was taking no chances and picking my lines to follow the car wheel tracks where hopefully and moss would have been scrubbed off. Seemed to work as there were no heart in mouth moments, just a couple of instances of the rear wheel bouncing out of line due to bumps in the road.

The higher we climbed the colder it got and the thicker the mist as we entered the cloud base. I had the grips back on pie warmer duty so at least my hands were pretty warm but it was still hard to see. Finally at the top the mist cleared a bit, but then the wind hit us with gale force and it was icy again. Are we having fun yet?

These conditions continued for around 120km until we spotted a café at Derwent Bridge. A hot meat pie and a mug of chocolate never tasted so good. Doug had a huge bowl of tomato and bacon soup accompanied by a bread roll the size of a house brick. Several other riders also pulled in, declaring the conditions to be as awful as we thought, at least we weren’t just feeling sorry for ourselves it was indeed officially “crap”.

Lots of grinning from the grey nomads as we suited up again, probably made them feel good about their mundane existence. Sure you can always take the comfy and safe option but where’s the living in that! At least I know I have been there and done it, not just contemplated it.

On the other hand there were a few others in the café that were riders that we had chatted to (although in their cars at the present), we got quiet nods and thumbs up from them. Thanks guys, it was appreciated.

The road after Derwent River soon opened out onto rolling pasture so we could pick up the pace a bit, the rain stopped and the sun even tried to peep out. Alright lets get cracking!

Err, no. There was kilometre after kilometre of road works. All posted at 60 kph. Nothing really wrong with the surface, it was new bitumen but it had been swept of loose gravel. One set would finish and we would pick up the pace only to find another set commence a few kays up the road. Oh well at least they are maintaining their road networks, which is a good thing as in the main they are truly fabulous for motorcycling.

About 60km out of Hobart we pulled over to stretch our legs for the final run home. I turned on the GPS & set it to take us to Franklin Wharf, where Ian’s hire business is located. The system lit up and started talking to my helmet, pointing the way home.

Back onto the highway and traffic is starting to thicken up now the closer we get to Hobart. This time I’m awake to the fact that the GPS can steer me into the wrong lanes so I’m keeping an eye on the road signs as well as other traffic. It’s getting a bit busy now.

After a quick refuel so as to deliver the bikes back with full tanks we trundle through the streets down to the wharf area and the GPS leads us basically straight to Ian’s door.

It all seems a bit anti-climactic as we unpack the bikes for the last time, toss our stuff into our luggage and pile into Ian’s van for the short trip to the hotel. Gee have we really just done 3500km around Tassie in 11 days? Is it really all finished now? I guess it will sink in over the next few days, but for now it all feels a little surreal.

Oh yeah, as we handed the bikes back Ian said to Doug that he had some bad news. It appears that he may have been a little naughty on our first day and got snapped by a revenue raising camera. The picture showed him way out in the sticks allegedly doing 71kph in a 60kph zone. Think it may have been one of the many lots of roadworks that we went through that had a single speed sign and then went on for ages with no apparent change to the road surface. Surprisingly I didn’t get a memento, but who knows if there may yet be a surprise in the mail.

For now, time to head to the pub for a well earned beer, an early night and up early to catch the flight home in the morning.

I’ll post up an epilogue later to cover what worked, what didn’t and other musings.

We were woken at around 5.00am to the sound of rain hosing down outside, hmm this sounds promising.

A look out the window at 8.00 revealed leaden skies, clouds scudding past at speed and the promise of more rain to come. What the heck are we motorcyclists or what?

On with the wet weather gear and we set out to explore the Strahan area. First stop is Zeehan about 50km up the road. Not a bad road, a bit cool but quite fun. The temperature was a bracing 10c but at least the sun was shining, well at least until we got close to town then it started drizzling.

To consult the map we pulled over onto the footpath under the awning of one of the pubs, it was dry but blowing a gale. A bit of discussion and we decide to head for Reece Dam for a looksee. Just about then the publican pops her head around the corner to see if we are OK. We apologise for parking under her awning thinking that she was annoyed with us for blocking her doorway, no problem at all though, she was more concerned that we had some trouble or might need a warm cuppa, a very hospitable lady.

Up the highway we go with the weather looking decidedly ominous ahead, thick black cloud accompanied by cold gusty winds. Are we not motorcyclists? Sure, but I’m gonna turn on the heated grips anyway.

Out of town the road tops a number of ridges and you can see a wild sea off to the left, this means that we are also exposed to the winds coming straight off the Southern Ocean and they are icy. The temperature drops to 8c and the visor starts fogging up, I have the choice of holding my breath, flying blind or opening my visor. I opt to crack my visor open a little to let the air in to clear the fog, this works on the fog but it also lets in the freezing drizzle a bit, nah, it’s ok as we are motorcyclists.

The road is a bit different to the norm as it is not as well maintained as we have become accustomed to. No real potholes but lots of dodgy patches, corrugations in corners and the odd slippery bit. The pace is a bit subdued, and the wind is gusting to gale force.

The further we travel the cooler it gets, now its reading 6c on the temp gauge but at least the fogging has stopped so I can close the visor, I also turn the grips up from toasty to pie warmer status.

We reach the Corinna turnoff, we had discussed whether to take this road as it is dirt (well silicon sand actually) and it looks pretty good. At the end is a ferry crossing that leads onto more dirt leading to the Savage river, real wilderness country and one of the legendary roads.

I’m no dirt road aficionado but will have a crack at most things within reason. The surface looks pretty smooth, no gravel build up and it is only 12km to the ferry, so we decide that I’ll lead and we will have a go. I set an easy pace (read “nanna pace”) picking my way up the road, which isn’t too bad and I’m soon into 3rd gear and 80kph when the surface starts to feel all weird. The road is wet from the recent rains and is basically wet sand, what looks firm turns out to be slushy stuff that easily gives way. Soon the Panzer is slipping and sliding all over the place, not too bad on a light trail bike but quite unnerving on a tall heavy bike like this. I persevere for around 3km and pull over to discuss the situation with Doug.

He is having a harder time than I am, the Panzer is ploughing through most of it where his bike is light and skittish, getting bumped around all over the place. We decide that today is not the day to be belting down this road ( in the dry it would be fun), the thought of binning a bike out here in the middle of nowhere is not particularly appealing so we turn around and head back.

Continuing up the bitumen we soon arrive at Reece Dam, an earth and concrete structure holding back the Pieman River and powering electrical turbines. It is now blowing a howling gale (yes it is making “that” noise) and damn freezing, a quick photo and back on with the warm gloves to head on up the road.

Bugger me but we pass a lone cyclist way out here, loaded up with luggage looking decidedly bedraggled but determined. More power to you mate, but I prefer an engine to assist.

The road winds through open land and forest, depending on how much cover determines the amount of icy cross wind we encounter. Doug is leading and is having a ball through the corners, soon leaving me way behind. The little 650 delights in the twisty stuff where the Panzer requires a bit more caution when you can’t see way ahead.

At the intersection of the Murchison Highway Doug is waiting for me, along with another rider also on an R1200Gs. He is waiting on his brother and sister who were pulled over a few km back, thawing out (they gave me a nod & thumbs up as I went past). After a bit of a chat we turn right & head for Tullah for lunch.

There is a bit of a saying about Tasmania having 4 seasons in one day, I reckon today they are cycling through about every 20 minutes. It goes from clear blue skies and sunshine to rattling rain and back again over & over again. At least we are prepared for this and our gear is doing it’s job keeping us toasty and dry.

The run back from Zeehan to Strahan is interesting with the violent icy gusts blasting us from the sides. Not too bad on the Panzer but Doug is being belted around a bit.

Finally we arrive back at the hotel around 2.00 after some 270km of interesting fun and retire to the pub for a couple of well-earned ales. The skies once again darken and this time it begins to throw down hail, this is indeed a diverse place.

Tomorrow is our last day on the road, basically a blast down the highway from Strahan to Hobart for about 300km. An early start should see us arriving early afternoon.

OK, philosophy hat on now. People who don’t ride ask what is the attraction. It is something that is difficult to describe, just “it”. However for me I think the appeal is to do with being connected to the elements, you are in the breeze and what ever nature throws at you is felt directly. You ride and feel the changes in temperature as you ride through forest or across a river, you smell the scents of your surrounds which evoke memories of past experiences, it is a rich and varied tapestry that you are a part of. Someone once said that only a motorcyclist truly understands why a dog sticks his head out a car window. OK enough of my dribbling.

Tomorrow Hobart.

That was one of the worst night’s sleep of this trip so far. The guy in the room beside us coughed, snored and farted at just about every hour on the hour. Must have had some sort of inbuilt chime system. Consequently we were a bit bleary eyed when we roused at around 7.00am

Instead of partaking of the hotel breakfast we decide to head into town on our way out to have a café brekky. A little establishment whose name escapes me had a big breakfast for $16, sausages, bacon, toast, tomato and mushrooms. Washed down with coffee we were well fortified for the day.

Stanley is a quaint little seaside town, small fishermans cottages line the streets near the port, an old pub plus some boutique type shops. After breakfast we took a bit of a stroll around to shake the enormous repast down before setting off.

When returning to the bikes there was a hire van parked haphazardly in the road nearby, a bunch of young Asian tourists happily scoffing noodles for their breakfast. As soon as we arrived a couple of young fellows jumped out and made “photo taking” gestures to us. Sure, why not. So then the guys did their obligatory poses beside the bikes, presumably to impress their friends back home about how they had motorcycled part of their way around Tassie. Next thing they are motioning to try on my helmet for pictures, sorry guys I draw the line at someone sticking their head into a very personal space.

I mentioned earlier about all the buttons and readouts on the Panzer, well one of these had mysteriously ceased to function, the tyre pressure monitor. I’d checked the tyres with my own gauge and the pressures seemed a bit weird so we headed to the servo to check with their pump. For all the beaut and innovative things on the Panzer they had simple straight tyre valves, which doesn’t sound an issue until you try to fit a long inflator stem (like older service stations have) in between the brake rotors an onto the valve. An exercise in frustration, requiring the bike to be shuffled back & forth to give sufficient access. Don’t know why they didn’t simply fit right angled stems like my Triumph and the Ducati had. The mission was eventually accomplished and I had 38 psi in the rear tyre with 34 in the front.

Back down the A2 to Boat Harbour Beach we go, and immediately see a motorcycle cop booking a motorist. We had hardly seen a Police vehicle the whole trip so far and here was one on a bike doing his thing. Bugger me but about 20km down the road a sneaky radar was set up behind some bushes on the side of the highway. Must need the revenue.

At Boat Harbour we turn right onto a “C” road for Odina, nice little rural type road that wound it’s way through farmland. Although this was a relatively minor road, the surface was almost hotmix smooth, gee they look after their road network here. Funnily enough after a few kays they are resealing the surface, dunno why it looked alright to start with. But maybe the government “Roads to Recovery” signs may have been an indication.

Whilst booming along this road a funny looking chook type thing sprints across the road in front of me. No idea what it was, just a grey shape with a long outstretched neck and a pair of legs that were rattling away so fast as to be a blur. He didn’t present much of an issue as I steered behind him, but my eyes were darting around looking for his mate.

Speaking of Police, we trailed one of their 4wds for quite a few kilometres, which sort of ensured that the fun factor was dialled back a bit. Mind you it did mean that they sort of ran interference for us with oncoming traffic, which made life easier.

At Yolla we join the Murchison Highway for the run through to Tullah, with Mr Plod still in front of us. Nice road but plenty of traffic, grey nomads, timber trucks, cyclists and people going about their weekday business. This road also winds its way down into & out of the Hellyer Gorge, oodles of fun with more chicanes, hairpins and stuff. I must say the roadbuilders had to have had motorcyclists in mind as there is almost the perfect camber on each corner.

We decide to call into Tullah for a snack & coffee, one of the cafes on the highway looked inviting but on pulling in we found it to be closed, so wended our way into the bustling town for a look. Bustling is a bit of a euphemism; there is nothing worth seeing in Tullah, empty shops and bugger all. We did find a café that served reasonable coffee and had a chat with a couple of other guys on bikes that had also come down the highway. It seems our mate Mr Plod had hidden himself up the road and was pointing a hairdryer at passing trade.

Instead of continuing straight down the highway we turned off onto the B28 which took us past Lake Plimsoll. What a road this turned out to be, nice long sweeping bends, left & right chicanes and a few tight ones just for fun. Wide road with that excellent hotmix finish. These roads are as near to motorcycling nirvana as one could wish to find. We had a fine pace on for this part, the big Beemer just eating up the kays, happily tipping into the corners and powering out, big cheesy grin inducing stuff.

At the end of the run we trickled into Queenstown for lunch. The weather had rapidly turned from bright blue skies and 17c to overcast, clouds on the mountains, and 13.5c, ooer it’s getting a bit chilly in these parts.

Queenstown is a mining town and the landscape around these parts is desolate and blasted. The surrounding hills are bare with hardly a stick of green, looking very lunar. The township is pretty run down, but the café we stopped in served good honest food that was fresh and tasty. Lots of vacant houses for sale, a typical 3 bedroom place is on the market for around $75k.

After lunch we head for Strahan, the road is nice with the customary twists and turns. We are following a little Mazda that is obviously a rental, that is in turn following a 4wd. Soon the 4wd pulls over to let us past and we expect the Mazda to be the customary tourist type plodder. Nope this must be a Finnish rally driver behind the wheel as the thing blazes off into the distance, carrying impressive speed into each corner, damn he was quick and a hoot keeping him in sight. It was ultimately to little avail (but fun while it lasted) as we were all soon enough queued up behind another large slow vehicle. No matter, by now we were arriving at the town limits of Strahan.

Another great day, but I fear the weather that we experienced at the start of our journey may have returned. No matter, the gear is up to the task to keep us warm and dry.

Tomorrow we explore the surrounds of Strahan.

Please forgive the dodgy formatting of some of my postings, due to poor internet connections I need to type this up in Word and then cut n paste. The carriage returns don’t seem to carry over very well.

After a huge day yesterday, I slept the sleep of a million zeds. The really comfy bed, quiet farmland setting and a full happy tummy certainly helped too.

Fronting up for breakfast we are presented with a full fruit platter to start, followed by cereal, cooked stuff and toast/coffee. Awesome stuff laid on by the delightful Brenda and her hubby. If you are looking for a place to stay in the Cradle Mountain area, the Mole Creek Lodge is worth a look.

On the road by 9.00 we head back up the Cradle Mountain road for some more fun before turning North West. Back into the right angles, hairpins and all that grin inducing road. The drizzle from last night has dried and the low lying mist is rapidly clearing to reveal a bright sunny day with only a light breeze. Fabulous weather for a ride.

Arriving at Moina for fuel, we have to leave our licences with the attendant before he will switch the pumps on. It seems that they have had a number of drive-offs and this in one prevention strategy. The bloke manning the pumps has either had a late one or is starting early, get too close and the fumes would knock you over.

Out of Moina we head for Wilmot, a little town whose claim to fame is the site of the very first GJ Coles store. The old building is still there stuffed with all sorts of memorabilia, a piece of history.

The road we want is in a parallel valley to the one we are currently in so using a bit of zen navigation (and a road map) we head up a little road to see if we can intercept the road we want. The mountains soon give way to farmland and pretty views over rolling hills and valleys with glimpses of the sea in the distance, we are headimg in the right general direction.

Stopping near a farmhouse to consult the map a local strolls over for a yarn. It turns out he is an English chap that has been out here for a few years to try his hand at cropping. He has a number of crops on the go including opium poppies at various stages of the growth cycle. There is a story of mysterious crop circles appearing in the opium crops around here, but far from visiting aliens it appears that the local wallabies have been sampling the crop at night and getting a bit out of it, causing them to stumble about in circles.

From Wilmot we eventually make our way to Ulverston for a coffee and snack. Nice place this, neat and well cared for.

Now we head West following the North Coast along the main highway. After the intense workout of the past few days, it is a bit of a treat to just cruise along the highway taking in the sights. It doesn’t take long to get over this though, we are here to ride motorcycling roads not freeways.

Next stop is Smithton for lunch. Doug says the place just doesn’t seem to feel right, there is a certain air of decay about the town and we are not sorry to see the place receding in our mirrors.

The road is heading ever-westward to eventually terminate at Arthur River, basically the farthest you can go to the West, and known as the edge of the world. It is cold, windy and desolate. Dunno why anyone would want to live in the place, bad enough in summer I can’t imagine what winter would be like, well yes I can, it would be bad.

Retracing our path we head back down the highway to Stanley, a pretty little seaside town that has a large rock formation protecting it from the sea, known as the “Nut”.

All in all another beaut day, lots of variety in the ride and around 320km.

Tomorrow we head South to Strahan, gateway to the Franklin River wilderness area.

Last night it took some time to get to sleep. The old guesthose has very thin walls and old wooden floors, as a consequence every burp, cough, sneeze and other bodily noise from the other guests is transmitted to everyone else. Finally at around 11.00 the grey nomads had all run out of steam and the pub up the road had kicked out the last of their Friday night crowd.

A decent nights sleep was had and after a hearty breakfast we were ready for a big day on the road.

Pointing the bikes East towards Deloraine we headed out on a bit of a marathon day. After refuelling at Deloraine we turned South and started the 1000 metre climb to the Great Western Tiers, also known as the roof of Tasmania. The road starts out pretty tamely but soon enough turns into the best funpark ride around. Woo hoo this is a hoot, right angles, climbing, descending, flicking left & right, it's all here. The best part is that there is bugger-all traffic, though you doneed to be aware that the blind corners can (and do) have wayward campervans coming the other way on the wrong side.

At the top there is a great view of the Great Lake,a popular fishing and recreation area, juding by the number of boat ramps around. The road turns into gravel for the next 20km, I'm a bit wary of this as the big Panzer carries a lot of inertia and if it took it into it's head to head off in it's own direction it would be a handful hauling it back into line. So at a steady (and a bit nervous) pace off we go.

Fortunately the surface is pretty good with only relatively minor corrugations and a few potholes along the way. Soon I'm up to a good cruise of 80kph and trying to relax my white knuckled grip on the bars. I catch a movement in the scrub to my right and a fat wombat waddles out into the middle of the road and promptly stops right on my line. One of these guys can really ruin your day on a bike. On the brakes, squeezing hard and feeling the ABS working its magic I haul the bike down to a near stop and steer away from the animal, only to have it reverse direction straight under me. Up on the pegs and haul back on the bars anticipating the impact, nothing. Somehow it had missed the front wheel and ambled off into the scrub. With a bit of a nervous tic developing I continue on my way also.

Around the lakes we make our descent down through the clouds and pull into Poatina for a coffee stop. This used to be the main camp for the hydroelectric construction project, which has since been turned into a small resort. Pretty spot with great views over the farmlands and a mountain range backdrop.
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Refreshed and recharged we continue North to Longford and Westbury before closing the loop again at Mole Creek.

As its only 2.00 we decide to continue West and go for a look at Cradle Mountain, it is only 80km away. So another mountain range is in our sights.

More fun is had on this road, I think at one stage there were 4 hairpins leading down to a river crossing and an equal number on the climb out. Of course there were many more twisty bits as well, coupled with dips, crests and other fun stuff. The views up here are magnificent, sheer rocky crags wrapped in misty cloud, secret valleys tucked away in the distance, glimpses of lakes. All very Tolkien.

Arriving at Cradle Mountain is a birt of a disappointment as you can only get as far as the carpark and have to take a shuttle bus to see the sights. So as it was getting a bit late we turned around and headed back along the way we had come. Gee that was hard to do all over again, not!

As we left Cradle Mountain it started to drizzle so we kept the pace down as there are many signs warning of slippery roads when wet. Indeed a couple of times the back wheel started to spin up as I throttled on out of hairpins, the traction control bringing things back into line without fuss.

Back into Mole Creek at around 5.00 and some 400km for the day, we head off to our digs for the night the Mole Creek Lodge, about 5km out of town. Lovely B&B on a rural property. Our host is a lively lady with a firm handshake and a bundle of energy. Nothing is too much trouble and she gets her car out of the garage so that we have a dry place to park the bikes.

As they don't do dinner for their guests we have to go back into town after freshening up. The landlady kindly offers us her own car to save us having to gear up again and then ride home in the dark. Fabulous country hospitality, we will certainly recommend this place.

Tomorrow we ride for Stanley, the North Western corner of the state.