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Uneventful run down to Coffs Harbour taking fuel on board about every 300ks or so gave me chance to rest the nether regions as my backside soon confirmed it was designed more for speed than comfort and I would never want to describe riding my Beema as a pain-in-the-arse. Well appointed Motel room but too close to main road with heavy traffic all night. Good meal at the Ex-Service mens’ club in the centre of town at just $7 was good vfm and the beer was also easy on the pocket and good on the palate.

Away at first light only to run into heavy rain on the outskirts of town. Frequent showers all morning tested my new wet legs which proved OK. This was my first real wet ride this century or in this country or on a Beema. Must say the cylinder heads make a good drying out place for your gloves at resting points along the way. Made the mistake of getting on the freeway south of Newcastle ……. Mind numbingly boring so got off at the first exit for Hornsby. Easily found Pro Cycles BMW shop in Hornsby which was to be the meeting point for Sunshine Coast riders to make convoy into Sydney for the Friday ferry crossing. Stayed with friends (ex Poms/Kiwis) in the suburb of Cherrybrook, not too far from Hornsby.

Sydney friend Sue works for Auto Trader and I accompanied her around Sydney bike shops and car yards taking photos for the magazine. While Sue got on with her photography and administration I did some serious tyre kicking, much to the disgust of salesmen who thought they were onto some easy commission. It was good to have someone who knows their way around the city and we managed to get in some sightseeing before meeting up with Paul her other half for a superb meal in the evening.

Pis….ing down which had me uncertain about what to wear as up till now it had been too hot for leathers and had travelled in lightweight BMW (detachable leg type) pants. The rain brought about a drop in temperature so opted for less tropical attire. Lazy start to the day as I did not need to be in Hornsey until 1030hrs. Luckily the rain ceased just in time giving a dry run into Pro Cycles. The shop was nicely laid out with all BM stuff including a good array of bikes on the first floor while lesser makes (Triumph, Suzuki etc) were housed on the floor below. Had plenty of time to sample the coffee bar and do some more tyre kicking until Neil Schaefer from Coastline BMW and Noel Evans (both aboard R1200GS) arrived. A few other (local) Safari riders also turned up but did not wait to ride into the city with us. Although I had the route through northern suburbs to the ferry mapped out in my head all was made easier as Neil had the terminal co-ordinates logged into his GPS. I suppose if you work for a BMW agent you should have all the flash toys! Arrived at terminal without incident but NO BOAT! Advised delay due to engine problems on way over from Tasmania. You can imagine how this went down amongst the growing number of riders. Over 200 bikes going from Sydney and more still from Melbourne. So it was off to the pub over the road to wet the internals, get some hot grub and to escape from the now pouring rain. Some criticism of the Ferry services that expected several hundred bikers to stand out on the quayside in the wet or huddle in a draughty warehouse while they chugged in to port at half steam. Anyway by the time the ferry arrived most of us were passed caring and just wanted to get aboard to change into dry clothes. Much to the disgust of the motorist also queued up on the quayside, bikers were marshalled on first up the wet slippery ramps into the ship then up yet more ramps inside across wet slippery decks and hazardous vehicle tie down points to our allotted space. The noise was deafening adding to the urgency to remove panniers and other gear needed en-route and find my cabin. But first checking bike was in gear, on side stand and double checked the stevedore had tied the bike down securely. I was to share an internal four berth cabin complete with shower and en-suite that was hardly big enough for one. It was necessary to do things by numbers or for three to go walk-a-bouts while one got changed out of riding gear into more suitable attire. Sailing was scheduled for 1600hrs (4 pm) and we eventually released mooring lines at 1830hrs. Although skies were overcast we had a great panoramic view of Sydney as we sailed (why do we still say sailed when there are no canvas sheets for power only big smelly diesel motors?), under the bridge and out past the Opera House. Once through Sydney harbour heads the ship began to pitch and roll in moderate seas left over from the previous days storm. It had been nearly forty five years since serving as a boy in the merchant navy aboard Esso tankers so my sea legs were a bit wobbly but the old sailors gait soon came back and it was fun to waltz around other passengers less stable on their feet. It also meant there was plenty of spare grub at the evening meal and it is essential in such conditions to have plenty of bulk inside to soak up the copious amounts of liquid refreshments added during the evening. The only down side being that this was not an international crossing therefore there was no duty free booze available. I had been allocated a top bunk causing much merriment to my cabin mates as they watched a 6’3” un-supple geriatric trying to get into a space barely large enough to accommodate a four foot midget. The deck head (ceiling to you land lubbers) was less than three feet from my mattress making it impossible to sit up, but once snug under the covers I felt cocooned in my pit and it mattered not that the ship pitched and rolled for most of the night. (so I’m told).

Breakfast or Brunch as it was called was from 0700hrs to 1000hrs so as the others shuffled their way through ablutions I snuggled down and waited for the cabin to clear before extracting myself, rather ungainly, from my top shelf. We had all day to kill so there was no rush to do anything. Grabbed a good breakfast for after 10am there would be no further victuals and as were not expecting to make land before 1600hrs it would be a long time between meals. Docking was eventually made at 1630 and it was another 30mins before we cleared the ship. Planned routes for the journey from Devonport in the north to our first night accommodation in Hobart were scrapped due to our late arrival. By the time we disembarked my stomach was thinking my throat was cut and my first port of call was for fuel for both the bike and myself. Then of on the 300km + dash down the A1 to Hobart through driving rain … all the way. Before long I’m wet, freezing cold and quite miserable. Very envious of the big K 1200L Ts with their pilots hiding behind huge fairings passing me at over 140 k.p.h like battleship Galactica leaving me in a plume of spray. Driven by the cold and the ever present desire to get into a steaming hot bath I too cranked it up and made Hobart in well under three hours. Luckily the boys in blue thought not even a dog would take its master for a walk in such conditions so they were conspicuous by their absence. Crouching low in an effort to gain some degree of shelter behind my small screen and shrinking my neck down so as to close the gap between my shoulders and the bottom of my helmet in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent the ingress of rain and the escape of what little remaining heat left in my body I soon became cramped and throughout the week suffered with a very stiff and sore neck and shoulder. Fortunately, I teamed up with a fellow rider who had GPS and was staying at the same accommodation and we were able to go directly to our hotel. EUREKA my room not only had a king size bed but a full sized bath. Not that I was particularly dirty but was soon up to my neck in steaming hot bubbles. OK so I admit I’m a devout coward when it comes to being cold and I could not shake the picture from my mind of Red Goose saying “told you so”.

We were to stay in Hobart for both Sunday and Monday nights and were able to dispense with panniers and excess baggage etc although I kept the tank bag on so as to follow my route map easily without exposing it to the damp atmosphere!! It was nice to ride naked (just the bike…definitely not me) again and the bike definitely handles better without all that junk hanging on the back. I wonder if LT, GT and RT riders ever get used to always riding with their suitcases on board. BMW Safari ’04 produced excellent fliers for each day's event. One for the ‘Touring Route’ and another for the ‘Adventure’ or chook chasers. Additionally, routes were marked at junctions along the way, green for Touring and orange for Adventure. Fliers gave both a map outline and distances and by zeroing trip reading at the start of each ride it was possible to accurately locate junctions en-route. Not that it is possible to get lost on Tassie as you can’t go more than 300ks in any one direction without running into ocean. Todays route for the tourers had us heading north east from Hobart first through some nice twisty bits then on to the A3 to Swansea via Oxford. Swansea, Wales was my last address in the UK where I completed my service as a fire officer. There is absolutely no comparison between the two. One is a bustling city whilst the other is little more than a one road hamlet. I’ll leave it to the readers to guess which is which. There were however two similarities with my past, the first being the only hotel/pub was burnt to the ground the night before safari riders arrived, honest I had nothing to do with it! The second was the rain similar to South Wales as it came in horizontally from the sea. A wet windy ride continued past Lake Leake, too miserable to take the short lookout route up to the lake, and on to Campbell Town. Turning back south along route 1. towards Hobart but diverting into the small village of Ross for a lunch stop. Fabulous food and cheerful service at the local bakery/diner. Safari organisers had done a great job of advising local businesses throughout the island of our routes and many of the cafes were well prepared to feed and fuel up the multitude of Beemas and their riders. Others more wisely locked up the wives and daughters for the week. Man and machine satisfied we headed back to Hobart in now pleasant sunshine although there remained a distinct chill in the wind. A loop of 340kms. Back in Hobart in plenty of time to cruise the city and familiarise myself with the previously confusing one way street systems in the centre of town. Sunday evening started with a welcoming party on the pier, smart casual dress was the order of the event and we were welcomed with an excellent ‘String Quartet’. In the scramble to the bar(s) for free (3) drinks and buffet food the musicians were drowned out by chatter of over five hundred hungry and thirsty bikers, sounded like an Irish Parliament in full debate. However, I did the geese proud by making a special effort to go and compliment the quartet in appreciation of their playing. And no, not only because there were two attractive females in the group although nothing as tasty as the ‘Bond’ quartet girls. There followed welcoming speeches and details of special events throughout the week and we were advised that Kieran Perkins would be riding with us as an ambassador? for BMW Australia. He made no stage appearance, not that I (as a pom) would have recognised him and the only contribution to the safari that I’m aware of was the resultant publicity when he fell off and damaged the brand new R1200GS loaned to him for the event. Festivities finished at midnight and I have to confess old firegoose did creep away early so as to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for Monday's ride.

The touring route was split into two separate rides. The first being a short 135km loop through Margate, Kettering and returning via Huonville. Followed by an out and home 230km run to the interesting and historic location of Port Arthur. Much to see and do on this route which included the Tesselated Pavement, a walkway high above the forest. The penal colony at Port Arthur was also interesting if you are into bondage and all that sort of thing. For the purist… the roads were excellent save for a plain white un-marked Nissan van with a camera lens just visible through its blacked out rear window. It was positioned just inside a 60kph zone of Dunalley village and like all law abiding bike riders with respect for the locals I had nothing to fear. This was confirmed later when returning I checked out the van which was unoccupied and had no forward facing camera. Any of the ‘boys’ unfortunate to have had their picture taken on the way to Port Arthur can be reassured there will be no nasty letters in the post waiting for them on their return home. Monday evening saw most if not all congregate in the restaurants and hostelries of Salamanca Square, a swish place in downtown Hobart. Stories were swapped and friendships made or rekindled. It was here that I first noticed the guys with the biggest grins were all GS riders. They had the funniest stories and experiences including the now famous (or perhaps infamous) Captain Nemo (see separate report from Longfellow).

Hobart to Strahan. 302kms. Pack up and ship out. Departure scheduled for 1030hrs left plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast in early morning sunshine. Yes it does sometimes happen even in Tassie. Route A10 pretty much all the way so no possibility to get lost. The road was a little dull until about half distance then things began to get interesting. An uninspiring free lunch was provided by event sponsors Bridgestone at Derwent Bridge Hotel @161kms. Not complaining, anything free should not be criticised and Rob, Craig and Neil the boys from the Bridgestone tyre support bus were a great bunch although I’m not sure how much if anything they had to do with the meal provision, The next 140+kms were a bikers dream, mostly good quality road, long sweeping bends with a few tight hairy ones thrown in now and again just to keep you on your toes. Then just when I thought things could not get any better the final section from Queenstown to Strahan of 39kms consisted of no less than 247 bends!! I don’t know who counted them, wasn’t me for I was too busy hanging on to a guy on a 1150 Adventurer so that I could use him as a marker to judge the severity of up coming corners. The run into Queenstown is quite spectacular with the mountains stripped bare by early miners then poisoned by acid rain from copper mining operations making the area take on a moonscape like appearance. It was on this stretch of road that a fellow on an R1100RS over cooked it and low sided his bike. Luckily he hit a road sign fracturing his wrist, had he remained on his bike there might well have been more serious injuries for the RS continued over the edge and fell 30m down a cliff. I got to inspect the machine a few days later and was amazed to find it had only suffered cosmetic damage. Pannier, fairing, handlebar ends, muffler etc and I could see no major structural fault although I would want it stripped down and rebuilt before taking it back on the road. Strahan is small town situated on the northern side of Macquarie Harbour on the wild and rugged west coast. Looking out to sea there is nothing between here and Antarctica so if there is any bad weather about then this is the first place to get it. In view of Tasmanian climate already experienced we were most fortunate as there followed two glorious days of sunshine. Even the locals could not believe it. With over five hundred souls descending on such a small town placed the hospitality industry into full capacity. My accommodation was a cabin in a camp site about one km from town. No complaints here for it was almost new and quite luxurious, others were less fortunate and had to be billeted back in Queenstown and ferried into Strahan by minibus each night. Climatisation is a wonderful thing for each afternoon as soon as school was out the local kids took to leaping from a small jetty into the icy waters of the harbour. They obviously breed them tough on Tassie.

This day was designed as a rest day when those who wished could take a scenic boat tour. A 178km circuit had been devised for those needing still more punishment to their nether regions. Off road clinics were available for the mud pluggers who wished to improve their chances of staying on. I chose to do the ride and was well rewarded for the only time I was on the crown of my tyres was to switch from one side wall to the other. The first section was back towards Queenstown and the reverse of the 247 bends then on to Tullah for morning tea and return to Strahan via Roseberry. Plenty of sunshine and all in all a very good day.

Strahan to Launceston 370kms. The day dawned clear and sunny but looking westwards the sky was blacker than the inside of your hat. Our route was to take us over Cradle Mountain so taking no chances I rugged up with all available garments. T shirt, long sleave thermal vest, thick long sleave sweat shirt, padded long sleave thermal lining to Dry Rider jacket, then the jacket itself with a layer of news paper up my front for good measure. Wet legs over riding leathers and heated handlebars set on maximum. Anxious about the weather to come I made an early start and tagged along with the rider from an adjacent cabin. Big Mike I called him as he dwarf me by just a few centimetre in height but by quite a few kilos in weight, never the less his R1150GS carried the load seemingly without loss of performance for at times I struggled to maintain pace. Must be getting old. Managed to get a few kilometres in before the weather deteriorated. First came the rain which lowered the temperature, then as altitude was gained it dropped further. A calculation used in aviation is a drop of three degrees for every thousand feet of altitude. By my reckoning we must have climbed a bl..dy long way for I was now frantically checking to see if the heated bar control had a third setting. Descending cloud base lowered visibility at times to less than twenty metres restricting our speed and prolonging the severe discomfort experienced. I am now wet, shivering from the cold and all in all not a happy chappy. Those who know me understand why I now live in Queensland. Some fools were taking the twenty kilometre spur up to Cradle Mountain lookout. This I could not understand for I could barely see enough of the road ahead so there would be nothing worth seeing from the lookout unless your idea of heaven is howling wind driving freezing rain into every unprotect orifice. Stopping at a small servo/café I lacked the will to contest the highest price yet for bog standard unleaded @$1.30 per litre. By this time there were about sixty or so of us crowded into the café trying to get served with anything hot. Once served we clasped our hot drinks like nightwatchmen huddled around a brassier. Steam issued from soaking gear while some could not even bear to remove their helmets else they loose too much valuable body heat. I gallantly assisted one woman pillion to cut up her refreshment as she would not remove her soaking wet gloves for fear of not being able to get them back on for the remainder of the journey. The two ladies serving were rushing about like headless chooks and generally not very happy. I thought “join the club” but did not have the heart to tell them that there were another four hundred or so yet to come and at least half of these would be chook chasers covered from head to toe in mud. Best comment overheard in the café from some poor wet and bedraggled rider “now I know why they sent the bloody convicts here”. Despite this there remained a strong feeling of camaraderie and mutual respect that we were all suffering the same from the atrocious conditions. Underway again along roads that under different conditions would have been a joy to ride upon. Creeping around some corners at less than 20kph that in the dry would have you knee scraping is not what motorcycling is all about. However, once clear of the mountains the rain eased but as the dampness evaporated from our bodies it contributed to the cold as did our increased speed as we now pushed hard in an attempt to hasten arrival in Launceston and warm dry change of gear. Unfortunately my room was sans bath and showers take ages to warm you right through. So I employed a lesson from my early fire fighting days when returning cold and often wet from incidents. We would ovoid using the communal shower for fear of being caught with all gear off in case another call came in. Our response to calls being too quick and would not have allowed time to dress from scratch. The trick was to remove your shirt and filing a deep wash basin with piping hot water place your forearms and hands under, allowing arteries in the wrists to extract heat from the water and carry it around the body. Confirmation of my reasons for retirement to the Sunshine Coast. Once sanity returned I turned on the electric blanket and had half an hours kip before hitting town for some hot grub.

Another 370km loop and yes I’m ready to go again which says a lot about the joys of motor cycling. Perhaps too I am a masochist. No rain, don’t think there was any left up there, and the promise of a nice day. Some great bendy bits but necessary to concentrate as many still had damp patches from the previous day. Met up a Frenchman and his wife. In true chauvinist style he was aboard an R1200GS while his wife had a 650 single. They were from Noumea and along with bike to bike comms equipment he also had a weird looking aerial and claimed to be in short wave contact with New Caledonia. Obviously a wiz with radio equipment I wonder if he could help me get channel nine on my tv? Picked up a group of hard riders and had much fun giving it some stick in convoy. I was eventually slowed when one screen fixing bracket failed due to continual flexing from vibration. Speed restricted to about 80kph I rode gently to the next servo. En-route I encountered a patch of sand and grit washed across the middle of a sweeping right hander. I lost my front wheel momentarily but easily managed to regain control. Not so a rider later in the day who did not have faith in his machine and finding himself sliding sidewards decided to take to the grass. Big mistake for he failed to notice a deep culvert ahead and cart wheeled. Luckily no bones broken but bike R1150RT possible write off. Some wag was heard to say to the rider surveying his smashed fairing “I see your headlight protector didn’t work”. A woman motorist following stopped to offer assistance and whilst parked a K1200GT hit the same patch of sand and buried his machine into the back of the car. The K suffered severe shortening of the wheelbase and could also end up at the wreakers. Again good fortune, if you can call it that, prevailed and the rider suffered severe bruising but no broken bones. Both will suffer some damage to their wallets and their pride also took a bashing, lets hope that they soon return to riding. The moral here is not to emulate Rossi on roads and bends that are unfamiliar ‘cos you will eventually come unstuck. This route took us across to the east coast to the lovely harbour town of St Helens and down the coast to the Chain of Lagoons. All very picturesque but noticeably there were no sun worshipers or swimmers along the beaches? Turning inland on the A4 over Elephant pass and some very interesting twisty bits. End of excitement as it all too soon changed into dull flat and fairly straight roads through farm land back to Launceston. It was a short walk from my room at ‘The Balmoral’ and no her majesty was not at home (in case explanation necessary to non poms, Balmoral is the Queens country residence in Scotland) to the Hotel Grand Chancellor (they do like their posh names down here on Tassie) for the ‘Farewell’ event of the safari. Some riders competing for the best dressed award turned up in full evening suits. I’m not sure if they managed to hire these in Launceston for the occasion or brought them along for the ride. At time it was difficult to distinguish them from the many waiters that hovered waiting to pounce on anyone with an empty glass to be whisked away and replaced with a full one. I would hate to pick up the bar tab as they were kept very busy by five hundred thirsty bikers. A new K1200S was on display and was visually and verbally picked to pieces by loyal BMW owners. My first impressions were: nice bike, would be much too fast for me and its full potential would never be used. Secondly I don’t like the (cheap) replacement brake and clutch hydraulic master cylinder reservoirs, what’s wrong with the existing style, neat, tidy and very functionable and there must be a million of them about on existing models. If it ‘aint broke don’t fix it. Next and my most severe dislike is the huge chrome phallic like silencer come catalytic thing along the right hand side of an otherwise attractive machine. I would prefer to see an under seat set up like the R1100S or would even settle for a Buel type under engine set up. After all it’s only a bloody exhaust system, why try to make it into an expensive cosmetic feature. Also I much prefer to see the exposed wheel on single sided swing arm machines. Having said all this I am sure this bike will sell well once ‘the boys’ realise it will out brake and out manoeuvre any other road production bike on the market. A lot of $dollars but a whole lot of bike. Then into the main dining room where round tables were set up to seat ten persons with seating plans previously arranged. Great food with variations for both carnivores and herbivores and a continuos supply of both red and white wine. There were speeches and awards including one for Captain Nemo and the band were the ‘Kat’s Whiskers’ . There was still more riding to on the morrow and I needed to get my screen bracket fixed so not wishing to be hung over, experience told me when my (alcoholic) tank was near over flowing and I still had to walk back to the Balmoral. Nobody noticed me quietly slinking off at around 11pm and many stayed well into the night getting oiled up and there were a few brave souls with cast iron constitutions that never even made it to their beds.

Up early, too early as it happened. Bags/panniers packed for final run into Devonport for a 1600 sailing to Sydney. But first have to get my screen fixed. With Perspex stuffed inside my Dry Rider jacket I ride to Launceston BMW bike shop only to find they don’t open until 0900 on Saturdays. So its kill time mode for an hour and I source out the Bridgestone Bus and chat as the boys busy themselves with tyre changes mostly for the mud-pluggers. BM shop don’t have the right type of welding gear for my bracket but loan me the tools to remove it from the bike and take it to their other shop for repair. It came back in one piece and painted – no charge. Nice people here on Tassie. After re-fitting I fit a short piece of split rubber insulation along the base of the screen and wedge it tight against the headlight. This steadies the screen and eliminates a lot of vibration so I will stave off the purchase of replacement brackets if/until the weld next breaks. All this takes time and it’s now mid-day and so opt to make a quick 120ish kms to Devonport and take a late lunch there as my boiler was still well stocked from the ‘farewell’ dinner. The closer I got to Devonport the stronger blew the wind. At times making handling difficult particularly when over-taking or passing on-coming large vehicles. There were frequent heavy showers (again) and with each came a lowering of temperature. Such was the strength of the wind that at one time I was riding under a clear sky and in bright sunshine but in pouring rain. The God of Tasmania (who ever that might be) must have been looking down saying “now where’s that fellow Murphy. I’ll teach him to curse the islands weather”. To coin a phrase Devonport was ‘a buzz with Beemas’ as all 525 breezed into town for either the Sydney or Melbourne crossing. We were marshalled to the quayside but this time lined up as entered and mixed amongst cars, trucks and vans etc. Eventually a few bikes were called out of line to a forward dispatch point and this signalled all the rest of us to break ranks weaving in and out of parked motorist. One could almost hear them muttering “but….but I was here first” The sky turned a menacing shade of black as the dispatch marshal allowed just a few bikes at a time to board and we hoped the rain would hold off long enough for us all to gain the shelter of the ships hold. As the first few heavy rain drops fell the marshal legged it for shelter and a now uncontrolled convoy of bikers revved up the ramp before the heavens opened up and a final soaking was avoided. Away on time and once clear of the break water we began to rock and roll but with the strong wind pushing us along a quick crossing was promised and we gained shelter from the mainland about midnight. There were a few crashes from the kitchen and some crockery was quickly cleared from the saloon tables …. onto the deck. Murphy learned long ago in such conditions to eat with one hand and hang onto to plate with the other. A few passenger could be seen making a hurried exit to the loo where they lost the meals they had already eaten. Again I’m allocated a top bunk and better experienced I’m soon in the land of nod.

Calm seas and we awake to see the coast of southern NSW. Knowing there will be no more food after 100hrs we take a long leisurely breakfast topping up from time to time until the Purser called kitchen closed. Unlike my experiences of ferry crossings of the English Channel there are no signs of other maritime activity until in the early afternoon we spy the high rise of Sydney CBD. A school of whales can been seen in the distance close to the entrance of Botany Bay and we are chased by a pod of Dolphins. Once through Sydney Heads it is like every man and his dog are out on the water on a hot and sunny Sunday afternoon. A remarkable difference from the previous week. Quite happy now to stand out on the top deck to view all the sights and sounds of Sydney Harbour and once under the bridge there is a steady drift towards the vehicle deck with all possessions. Waterproofs and thermal linings are dispensed with and I avoid donning riding jacket to the very last moment for although its not hot by Queensland standards it’s a good deal warmer now than for any time since leaving the Sunshine Coast. This time Neil Scheafer’s wife Lisa is our guide through down town over the bridge and out through the northern suburbs. We travel in convoy with Neil up front and Noel and my self trying to maintain contact. Once on the Newcastle freeway it’s hell for leather with tail-end charlies having to apply considerable more speed just to keep the leader in sight. For this is one of those anomalies between physics and reality when the lead bike travels at a steady 120 those behind must exceed this figure due to road and traffic conditions. I ceased counting kilometres as we aim for an overnight stop at Tamworth which is reached by 2000hrs. A large two roomed apartments is shared between us and my lips are sealed as to who snores the loudest.

Up at 0500hrs and on the road within thirty minutes. At this time of the year with clear skies and inland from the coast the mornings are extremely cold, mist shrouded the hollows in the road and by the time a breakfast stop was made we were all in need of defrosting. We gain an hour when crossing the Queensland boarder and find our first mobile speed camera a few metres after a blind left hander. Welcome home, of course we were all good little boys in speed restricted areas so no business here. I am assured by our leader that the New England route is thirty minutes shorter than the coast road but seems to take for ever to navigate through Brisbane from the Ipswich side. It’s hare and hounds again over the gateway and round to the Bruce Highway. Last refreshment stop at the BP servo at Cabulture and we bid each other farewell. Now relaxed I plod homewards where shortly after the Ettamogah while in the O/S lane passing traffic I sense some nut trying pass between me and the centre berm. Easing left I am doubled up by a black R1100S as Young Murf grins at the old man, he has turned out to escort me home.

4,300kms round trip. Didn’t add up fuel cost as some purchases were by cash and others by visa. Don’t want to think about it. Regardless of cost the whole trip was well worth the experience. Would I go again? Definitely NO not in November, perhaps in high summer. Is there one on Tassie? Best things about my R1150R – heated handle bars. Oil coolers and pots that allow heat to lower legs and feet. Convenience of removable panniers. Great brakes. Good road manners and enough grunt to stay with most others. Leased liked: Screen, completely the wrong shape. No fuel gauge and the need to use odometer to calculate fuel stops.

If going again I would like the choice of:

1. For the road conditions the R1150S would have to be best suited.
2. For the climatic conditions encountered then my choice would be the R1150RT.
3. And for the most fun overall without doubt would be R1200GS.

Bumble Goose November 2004

See also Captain Nemo And His Yellow Submarine.

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