From the Library

[Biggles]

A group of people at a party hear you ride a motorcycle and at least one person in the crowd can produce a richly detailed, moment-by-moment account of catastrophe on a first bike ride. Usually the tale ends in a vow never to ride again, or to "stick to four wheels".
As nearly as I can tell, a typical sequence of events in most of these mishaps seems to be: (1) surprise at the abruptness or speed of forward motion combined with a poor sense of twist-grip modulation; (2) growing panic in realizing that the technique for stopping safely has not been adequately rehearsed; and (3) a total loss of steering control as the unnatural instinct to countersteer is replaced, through terror, by an attempt to automatically turn the handlebars in the direction you want to go (which is effective only at very low speed) causing the rider to hit the very object he or she had hoped to avoid.
Leanings  Peter Egan p261

[Biggles]

Reflecting on this later, I thought it was both sobering and a little amusing (if such serious matters can ever be said to be amusing) that so many of us who love cars, motorcycles, airplanes, etc. nearly always react to a life crisis in terms of a coveted machine- or an untaken adventure with a machine. Chest pains? Quick, call your Ducati dealer and see if that 916 is still unsold! Tornado miss your house by a few hundred yards? Might as buy a new XR and do Baja off-road, all the way down to Cabo.
Time's a-wastin'!
Leanings  Peter Egan p290-1

[Biggles]

Yours truly, for instance, has hardly ever been without some form of late 1960s Triumph in the garage. I like the way these bikes look and sound, but there's a little more to it than that. Part of their appeal lies in the fact that these are the bikes I most lusted after during the time I was in Vietnam. And every time I look at one now, it reminds me I'm back.
There's a little reward built into every Triumph, a little private celebration. I suppose people who don't care about motorcycles find some other way of handling these curve balls life throws at us. Maybe a new set of gardening tools, a deluxe bowling ball, or a trip to the Yucatan. Or, if they are of a non-materialistic bent, they may find renewed interest in some spiritual aspect of life, or merely be reminded of how much their families and friends mean to them, or how pointless it is to cause dissension in this short passage of time.
Leanings  Peter Egan p291-2

[Biggles]

Inside, mixed with fishing lures, hip boots, rifles, and shotguns, were rows of new 1973 Hondas. And one of them, pulled out from the row, had a tag on the handlebars that said "SOLD: Egan."
It was a Honda CB350- first year with the disc brake- in a beautiful dark green.
I looked at Barb, who was watching my face to see if she'd done the right thing.
"How did you do this?" I asked quietly.
"I saved a little every month in the credit union at work."
Back in business, after three years without a bike. Reborn.
Anyway, when someone says, "I'm surprised your wife lets you have a motorcycle," I never get annoyed. I just reflect for a few fond moments and am too. Every time.
Leanings  Peter Egan p295

[Biggles]

The author wrote this book after completing a round-Australia awareness raising ride for Batten Disease sufferers and their families.
She self-published the book, and all proceeds go to the Batten Disease charity to promote research and support families with information.
The book is only $17.50 posted and can be bought here: http://www.battens.org.au/perils-motorcycling

During 1988 I went up to Queensland to visit my youngest sister Kylie for her 21st birthday. Her partner was a truckie and they had to go out to Ipswich to drop off a truck somewhere out west, so I went in the car with Kylie.  We followed his semi-trailer with the truck on the back of the trailer.  Whilst I was sitting in the passenger seat, a horrible thought occurred to me.  What would we do if the truck fell off the back of the semi?  I started sliding down in the seat to see how flat it was possible to lay.
The next minute I noticed all the chains had in fact snapped, and were dangling off the left side of the truck as we started heading up a hill.  I told Kylie and we madly overtook Phil to get him to pull over before he continued on.  We joked later that because I came up for her birthday, it prevented her from becoming a flat pancake.  She would have been in the car by herself and wouldn't have noticed the broken chains from the driver's seat.
I have the utmost respect for truckies and have appreciated their help over the years during my travels.  Many of them ride motorcycles as well, so their brains work on a similar wavelength.  I've lost count of their "saves" and can remember their warnings, whether it be water over the road ahead or some other potential disaster.
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p47

[Biggles]

My instruction on learning to ride an outfit was a short lesson in the car park, of which all I can remember doing was a 'figure 8'.  Off we headed down to ride for what likely had been a very short distance.  I went out of control, middle of the freeway.  The rig tipped over, with the chair up in the air momentarily.  Whilst Marie was balanced up there - or perhaps it was immediately after the chair slammed back down to earth, I can distinctly remember her words.  She was so cool and didn't panic, just calmly said, "Lucky no one was in the overtaking lane at the time!"
Well I never got over that experience remaining scared senseless for the remainder of the trip. I loved the chair, but must have had a look of terror on my face during the times I was at the helm.  Firstly, I didn't feel right sitting so high on the K series, being more comfortable lower to the road.  I have a severe case of duck's disease, where my bum is close to the ground and it likes being there.  The occasional time I rode into a service station, I would forget about the chair being there, hitting the petrol bowser.  Anyway, only because of Maries' skill, we made it to Mt Dare in one piece, to enjoy the rally over the next few days.
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p56

[Biggles]

Riding the Beemer R1OO/S westward past Ipswich, it was the most suffocating heat, somewhere in the mid-40s.  It was the most intense temperature by the middle of the day.  The soles of my boots, as well as the foot pegs, were literally soft and sticky, with the rubber actually melting.
I was riding behind a line of cars, when the next moment I got whacked with a large piece of truck tyre hitting me on the lower body and leg.  I don't know how I stayed upright, but fortunately was able to pull over still in one piece despite the intense pain and sit by the side of the road.  I eventually stopped bawling,  regaining my composure.  It was only then that I realised how lucky I was not to have copped it in the head or chest, as it may have been a different story.
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p74

[Biggles]

After multiple attempts to start the bike, it finally fired away.  I looked down at the engine where petrol was pouring out everywhere and noticed some electrical sparks flying about.  Being "the sharpest tool in the shed", I considered that this may be a vital bit of information that could prevent the two of us self-combusting up there on the road.  I quickly informed Ludo and he immediately cut the engine.  That was the only time we started the motorcycle.  Besides not being able to start it, I didn't like my chances of using the right foot gear changes without killing myself.  For those reasons, we have since sold the Matchless.
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p100

[Biggles]

Later that morning, as I was standing with Steve near the main tent, we saw Macka.  I knew him and Simmo from some of the previous Off Centre runs, where the New South Wales and Queensland BMW Club members would sometimes meet up.  I asked him if he remembered me, and he replied, "Of course I do."  At some stage during our conversation, Macka asked me if I was still with the same bloke, as he had met Ludo once before at the Urunga Pub.
Too many years of riding without ear plugs has shot my hearing to pieces, to say the least.  I thought he asked, "Have you still got the same bike?" to which I replied in all earnest that I had to get rid of it because it was too small, it wasn't fast enough etc.  Steve was a bit quicker than I in working out my misunderstanding.  Thankfully he did, as the conversation was going downhill  fast and in retrospect made me sound like a right tart!
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p104

[Biggles]

One day whilst riding the Super Glide, I came across our club President at the time, Steve Hill.  His 1920s Douglas had expired in the main street of Bellingen.   
Knowing there wasn't anything much I could do mechanically, the best offer was my mobile phone or a lift home to Nambucca Heads.  Steve rode my bike with me as pillion, enjoying himself immensely scraping the pegs.  Then he jumped on his GS Beemer, which has a trailer, to pick up his Douglas, by which time he was sorted.   
It was too easy, with such a good setup for towing a motorcycle with a motorcycle!
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p114

[Biggles]

We went on another Just Girls trip, but this time we were heading down to Gloucester. The Sporty was off the road getting its gearbox fixed (no, I did not cause it to blow up!). Instead I was taking the R60/5 with some of the northern girls. I got caught at a set of lights, with one of the girls riding barely ahead of me. As I put the Beemer into gear when the lights changed, the clutch cable broke with the bike stuck in gear. Having a 4WD and also a semi-trailer bearing down on you has a tendency to make your mind go blank, and I panicked.
The only other time I had a clutch cable break was when Mark (from SA) was riding my Beemer down Spit Road in Sydney. We were caught in the far lane and had to push it in gear across the traffic, which was an absolute nightmare. Unbelievably, I had a spare cable under the seat on that occasion which enabled Mark to get us back on the road. Anyway, the truckie jumped out of his rig and helped me get the bike out of gear, then pushed my motorcycle off the highway. You've got to love I truckies when the going gets tough. The 4WD changed lanes, nearly colliding with another car!
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p122

[Biggles]

Three guys were riding through the Coffs Harbour district in the middle of the night. One young fellow happened to be behind the other two riders when he hit a 'roo. 
It was immediately apparent that he'd done some major damage to his leg, but amazingly hadn't come off his Harley.
The pressing problem was how he was going to pull over, lacking the strength in his legs to hold himself up without doing even more damage coming off the bike. 
Consequently he took off after his mates down a desolate country road, somehow catching up and then indicating to them that he was in big trouble. They were able to help him stop, whilst they supported his weight and the bike without the guy falling onto his obviously broken leg. The guys also organised getting him to hospital, along with all the other things needed to be done after coming off second best to a 'roo. You can't do without your mates!
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p127

[Biggles]

I was making a fairly unsuccessful attempt to undo the oil dipstick when a guy who had done a U-turn pulled up to see if I needed a hand. He was towing an enclosed trailer with dirt bikes, and was obviously keen to help a fellow motorcyclist. I didn't have a problem as such, I just couldn't undo the oil thingummyjig. The guy came over, easily undoing the dipstick which I doing a wonderful job of tightening even more. I reassured him that I really wasn't that stupid, and he could have total faith that I would make the Territory in one piece (perhaps the bike as well). Since coming home my friend Glenn has given me some worldly advice which I shall remember forever more: "lefty - loosy, righty – tighty". Boy, did I feel like an incompetent fool!
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p129

[Biggles]

My most common nocturnal activity seemed to be standing on the toilet seat in motels, peering out of the bathroom window to check whether my motorcycle was still there. With no steering lock or a chain with padlock as my security, I was worried that the Stroke 5 might be wheeled off in the dark.
Suddenly, I was awoken midway through the night by someone thumping loudly on my door. It took a moment to orientate myself as to where the heck I was. Logically I knew someone was there, as I hesitantly opened the door with the safety chain still on. However, the sight of a big shadowy figure in the door frame terrified me! I couldn't stop screaming hysterically, meanwhile the guy was trying to pacify and reassure me that he was from the neighbouring motel room. He was able to blurt out that my bike was on the ground, which seemed to calm me down enough to venture outside with him. Sure enough my motorcycle was spreadeagled in front of the unit as petrol poured out, with all my remaining belongings from the saddlebags scattered about. They had also broken into my neighbour's unit but were disturbed midway through their attempted robbery. He had contacted the police. It was fortunate nothing obvious was missing from my bike. Especially lucky for me was the fact that the mongrels hadn't thrown a match on the bike as a departing gesture. It is the only time I have been interviewed by the police in my pyjamas.
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p136-7

[Biggles]

My latest ride on the outfit was out to Nindigully Pub in Queensland for Rob Wynne's birthday bash. A big group of mostly off-road Beemer riders from Sydney, Newcastle and Brisbane were meeting up at the pub to help Rob celebrate another year down the gurgler...
The icing on the cake was a busload of girls turning up dressed to the nines in wedding and bridesmaid dresses obviously sourced from op shops, carefully coordinated with either stilettos or riding boots. They were on a long-distance pub crawl celebrating a hens' night. Priscilla, Queen of the Desert would have been proud as the girls piled out of the bus, under the watchful eye of their driver. He sported a red hard hat with a plastic cattle prod to protect himself from danger and help keep the ladies in line. Within a really short time, the bride-to-be was roaring off down the road as pillion on one of the Harleys. It became a familiar sight with the girls on the back of the bikes, their flowing dresses all pulled up out of harm's way.
The Perils Of Motorcycling  Alanna Gayko p157