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#21
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 22, 2026, 01:25 AM"Mr Carter?" he enquired, looking at his clipboard, then scanning the otherwise empty room.
"That's me," I tried to say, stumbling to my feet, but actually said something like "haaaaashme" in the style of an asthmatic drunk, owing to the fact that my legs were no longer working and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.
"I am your examiner. Mr Pass," he said, offering his leather-gauntletted hand. The words of W. H. Murray flickered once more across my mind.
"Is that really your name?" I asked, looking for the cameras.
"Yes," came a voice, deadpan, from somewhere beneath the helmet, in the manner of a man who hadn't heard anybody point out the absurdity of his name. Well, not for 10 minutes anyway. "Shall we start?"
I managed to dodge the souped-up Novas and weekday shoppers of Neath, and when we eventually pulled back into the riding school, Mr Pass went through the litany of cock-ups that I'd managed to squeeze into 30 minutes of riding.
These included failure to indicate, failure to execute life-saver and failure to resist taking the piss out of his name. Though the latter was not officially listed on the charge sheet.
I was braced for "You're a disgrace, Carter, what are you? Drop and give me 20." But instead he said, "You've passed." I thanked Mr Pass for passing me and uttered something about being happy that I'd avoided Mr Fail's shift, which went down about as well as my original comment.
Uneasy Rider Mike Carter p16-17
"That's me," I tried to say, stumbling to my feet, but actually said something like "haaaaashme" in the style of an asthmatic drunk, owing to the fact that my legs were no longer working and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.
"I am your examiner. Mr Pass," he said, offering his leather-gauntletted hand. The words of W. H. Murray flickered once more across my mind.
"Is that really your name?" I asked, looking for the cameras.
"Yes," came a voice, deadpan, from somewhere beneath the helmet, in the manner of a man who hadn't heard anybody point out the absurdity of his name. Well, not for 10 minutes anyway. "Shall we start?"
I managed to dodge the souped-up Novas and weekday shoppers of Neath, and when we eventually pulled back into the riding school, Mr Pass went through the litany of cock-ups that I'd managed to squeeze into 30 minutes of riding.
These included failure to indicate, failure to execute life-saver and failure to resist taking the piss out of his name. Though the latter was not officially listed on the charge sheet.
I was braced for "You're a disgrace, Carter, what are you? Drop and give me 20." But instead he said, "You've passed." I thanked Mr Pass for passing me and uttered something about being happy that I'd avoided Mr Fail's shift, which went down about as well as my original comment.
Uneasy Rider Mike Carter p16-17
#22
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 21, 2026, 12:49 AMI considered if the experience had changed me, if I was returning to England a different person. Fundamentally I didn't think it had. Bar a few kilos less, a new scar on my left shin, a much-improved knowledge of mechanics and a vault of extra memories, I was still me. I hadn't undergone a spiritual transformation or 'discovered' myself in some ecstatic epiphany. But I had learnt a few things on the Trail; insights that could only have come from travelling alone. In times of adversity, when the mire and the mountains had conspired to beat me, I had faced myself and passed the test. I hadn't cried or given up; I'd stuck my chin out and kept on going, mile by muddy mile. For someone as self-critical as me, this felt like a significant achievement. I hesitate to use the word proud, as it reeks of vanity and arrogance, but I did allow myself to feel a smidgeon of pride. Whatever the future held, I would always have the knowledge that I'd cajoled an ailing twenty-five-year-old Cub over the Truong Son. If I could do that, I hoped I could overcome a lot of life's difficulties.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p348
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p348
#23
All Events Calendar / Re: FarRoad Victoria
Last post by ZigZag - Jan 20, 2026, 07:13 AMGreat little pub this one. Hopefully they will let me stay again given last time I rode off in the early hours with my room key in my pocket. 
#24
All Events Calendar / Re: Race the Overland
Last post by ZigZag - Jan 20, 2026, 07:11 AMI'm keen to have a second go at this one. The ride from Southern Cross station to Geelong on the first attempt was hairy, heavy rain and zero visibility. It improved from there but when I got home I realised I'd ridden the day ignoring what I thought was a mild cold but in hindsight was quite nasty. It was a good days riding other than that.
#25
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 20, 2026, 12:23 AMThe boy said goodbye and I waved as he vanished into the traffic.
This was it. I rode Panther slowly towards the gates, savouring the last 100 metres of our journey, stopping only when I felt the front wheel bump against the gates and knew I couldn't go an inch further.
"We've made it, Panther," I said out loud, leaning over the handlebars. "We've bloody made it."
A group of Japanese tourists stopped photographing the Palace and looked at me.
I didn't want to get off my beloved Pink Panther. I couldn't believe we'd actually done it. For ten minutes I just sat there, staring at the white facade, smiling, savouring the moment. Six weeks, three countries, 2,000 miles, four engine rebuilds and one hell of an adventure later, my Ho Chi Mission was finally over.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p339
This was it. I rode Panther slowly towards the gates, savouring the last 100 metres of our journey, stopping only when I felt the front wheel bump against the gates and knew I couldn't go an inch further.
"We've made it, Panther," I said out loud, leaning over the handlebars. "We've bloody made it."
A group of Japanese tourists stopped photographing the Palace and looked at me.
I didn't want to get off my beloved Pink Panther. I couldn't believe we'd actually done it. For ten minutes I just sat there, staring at the white facade, smiling, savouring the moment. Six weeks, three countries, 2,000 miles, four engine rebuilds and one hell of an adventure later, my Ho Chi Mission was finally over.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p339
#26
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Jan 19, 2026, 01:40 AMThanking her, I kicked Panther into life. But the kick-start sputtered and popped. The engine remained silent. I realised what had happened at once. In my anxiety to find my way and reach the Palace in one piece I'd entirely forgotten about petrol. Now, 5 miles before the end, I had run out of fuel. What an idiot! As luck would have it, there was a petrol station less than 400 metres up the road. I wheeled Panther there along the pavement, laughing at my ineptitude.
Now it was truly the final furlong. We inched towards the finish line, pulled along in ten lanes of traffic, a tiny particle in the city's endless two-wheeled cavalcade. Half an hour later the New World Hotel rose up on my left. I must be close. Outside it, the traffic lights turned red and I stopped in the front row amid a battalion of revving mopeds.
"Does anyone speak English?" I asked, addressing neighbours.
"I do!" replied a teenage boy, leaning over the handlebars of his moped a few rows away.
"Brilliant! Do you know where the Reunification Palace is, please?"
"Yes. I'm going that way, follow me." What a stroke of luck.
The lights turned green and a hundred tiny engines thrummed into life, leaping forward; the charge of the Honda brigade. The boy ducked and dived through the streets, past grand French buildings and down leafy boulevards. Every time I thought I'd lost him I caught sight of his brown helmet, bobbing like a cork on the sea of traffic. Then, there they were, the grey iron gates of the Reunification Palace, the same ones the NVA tanks had surged through on 30 April 1975.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p337-8
Now it was truly the final furlong. We inched towards the finish line, pulled along in ten lanes of traffic, a tiny particle in the city's endless two-wheeled cavalcade. Half an hour later the New World Hotel rose up on my left. I must be close. Outside it, the traffic lights turned red and I stopped in the front row amid a battalion of revving mopeds.
"Does anyone speak English?" I asked, addressing neighbours.
"I do!" replied a teenage boy, leaning over the handlebars of his moped a few rows away.
"Brilliant! Do you know where the Reunification Palace is, please?"
"Yes. I'm going that way, follow me." What a stroke of luck.
The lights turned green and a hundred tiny engines thrummed into life, leaping forward; the charge of the Honda brigade. The boy ducked and dived through the streets, past grand French buildings and down leafy boulevards. Every time I thought I'd lost him I caught sight of his brown helmet, bobbing like a cork on the sea of traffic. Then, there they were, the grey iron gates of the Reunification Palace, the same ones the NVA tanks had surged through on 30 April 1975.
A Short Ride In The Jungle Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent p337-8
#27
Far Road Rides / IRode Tassie #9 Saturday 31 Ja...
Last post by Carsten - Jan 18, 2026, 06:21 AMVenue is Carrick Inn Hotel, 46 Meander Vallery road, Carrick.
03 63936143 -41.53155 147.00817
Aim is to be there between 12 to 12.30 pm on Saturday 31st Jan 2026.
Cheers, Carsten
0418920355.
03 63936143 -41.53155 147.00817
Aim is to be there between 12 to 12.30 pm on Saturday 31st Jan 2026.
Cheers, Carsten
0418920355.
#28
General Discussion / Re: From Beyond the Library
Last post by Taffey - Jan 18, 2026, 02:37 AMCHAPTER SIX
Heinrich Arrives, the Llama Chooses Violence Again, and Constance Makes a Decision[/size]
Heinrich arrived precisely as Heinrich always did: loudly, unnecessarily, and convinced the world had been waiting for him.
He came down the ridge on a mule that looked faintly ashamed of its role, wearing knee-length leather shorts, woollen socks pulled to the knee, and a hat with a feather that appeared to have been won in combat. A pair of binoculars bounced against his chest. A yodel echoed triumphantly behind him, as if the mountains themselves were applauding.
"ARCHIBALD!" Heinrich boomed, dismounting with theatrical flourish.
"I knew I would find you here! I felt it in my sternum!"
Sir Archibald groaned.
"Good Lord. It's you."
Heinrich swept his hat off and bowed deeply to Constance.
"And this must be the famous Lady Lydney-Farrar! Ach! Photographs do not do you justice. They never do."
Constance inclined her head politely, suppressing the urge to apologise on behalf of civilisation.
"And you are?" she asked.
"Heinrich Vogel," he declared.
"Explorer. Alpine survivalist. Ethnographer. Occasional lecturer. I once crossed the Dolomites with nothing but a compass and a wedge of cheese."
Tom muttered,
"Tragic."
Heinrich's gaze snapped to him.
"Ah. The estate man. You have the shoulders of a peasant hero."
"Thank you," Tom said flatly. "I think."
Heinrich clapped his hands.
"Now, Archibald! I hear you are chasing a frog."
"A very special frog," Archibald snapped.
"Which I would have secured by now if it weren't for llamas, storms, time travellers, and general incompetence."
At the word llamas, the Altar Llama — who had been standing nearby with the quiet patience of a being waiting for its cue — lifted its head.
Its eyes locked onto Heinrich.
"What," Heinrich said carefully, "is that?"
"Sacred animal," Tom replied.
Heinrich beamed.
"Ah! Wonderful! I once wrestled a sacred goat in Nepal."
"No," Tom said firmly. "You absolutely did not."
Heinrich stepped forward anyway.
The llama lowered its head.
What followed was swift, decisive, and deeply humiliating.
The llama charged.
Heinrich yelped, attempted a heroic sidestep, and was promptly launched backwards into a stack of firewood, where he landed in a heap of lederhosen and dignity.
The llama snorted once and returned calmly to its original position, as though nothing of consequence had occurred.
Tom nodded.
"That went about as expected."
Heinrich sat up, blinking.
"That animal," he said weakly, "is deeply spiritual."
Sir Archibald rubbed his temples.
"I need a drink."
As the household descended into controlled chaos — Heinrich's pride being tended, Archibald's nerves fraying — Constance stood slightly apart, Noraly's book Free Ride still tucked beneath her arm.
Tom approached quietly.
"You all right?"
"I think so," she said. "I'm just... seeing things more clearly."
He waited.
"All my life," she continued, "I've been told what sort of woman I am. Explorer's wife. Companion. Observer. Never the point of the story."
Tom said nothing.
"Then I come here. I cross an ocean. I get chased by a llama. I catch a frog no one believes exists. I meet women who ride across continents and don't ask permission — not even from time itself."
She looked at him.
"And I realise I've been living as though the most interesting parts of life were meant for other people."
The lantern light flickered across Tom's face — admiration there, and restraint.
"Constance," he said quietly, "whatever you decide—"
She raised a hand.
"Let me finish."
"I don't know yet what my life will look like when I leave this place. Or who will be in it. But I do know this."
She met his eyes.
"I won't go back to being invisible."
Across the courtyard, Heinrich groaned loudly as a poultice was applied with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Sir Archibald called out,
"Constance! Tomorrow we resume the search for the map! And the frog! And possibly Heinrich's dignity!"
She looked toward her husband, then back to Tom.
"Tomorrow," she said, "I'll help you find the map."
"You will?"
"Yes. Because it's the right thing to do. And because I want to see where those old paths lead."
The Altar Llama emitted a low, approving hum.
Tom smiled.
"Then tomorrow, everything changes."
Constance looked up at the Andes — vast, dark, and full of improbable promise.
For the first time in her life, the uncertainty did not frighten her.
It thrilled her.
Heinrich Arrives, the Llama Chooses Violence Again, and Constance Makes a Decision[/size]
Heinrich arrived precisely as Heinrich always did: loudly, unnecessarily, and convinced the world had been waiting for him.
He came down the ridge on a mule that looked faintly ashamed of its role, wearing knee-length leather shorts, woollen socks pulled to the knee, and a hat with a feather that appeared to have been won in combat. A pair of binoculars bounced against his chest. A yodel echoed triumphantly behind him, as if the mountains themselves were applauding.
"ARCHIBALD!" Heinrich boomed, dismounting with theatrical flourish.
"I knew I would find you here! I felt it in my sternum!"
Sir Archibald groaned.
"Good Lord. It's you."
Heinrich swept his hat off and bowed deeply to Constance.
"And this must be the famous Lady Lydney-Farrar! Ach! Photographs do not do you justice. They never do."
Constance inclined her head politely, suppressing the urge to apologise on behalf of civilisation.
"And you are?" she asked.
"Heinrich Vogel," he declared.
"Explorer. Alpine survivalist. Ethnographer. Occasional lecturer. I once crossed the Dolomites with nothing but a compass and a wedge of cheese."
Tom muttered,
"Tragic."
Heinrich's gaze snapped to him.
"Ah. The estate man. You have the shoulders of a peasant hero."
"Thank you," Tom said flatly. "I think."
Heinrich clapped his hands.
"Now, Archibald! I hear you are chasing a frog."
"A very special frog," Archibald snapped.
"Which I would have secured by now if it weren't for llamas, storms, time travellers, and general incompetence."
At the word llamas, the Altar Llama — who had been standing nearby with the quiet patience of a being waiting for its cue — lifted its head.
Its eyes locked onto Heinrich.
"What," Heinrich said carefully, "is that?"
"Sacred animal," Tom replied.
Heinrich beamed.
"Ah! Wonderful! I once wrestled a sacred goat in Nepal."
"No," Tom said firmly. "You absolutely did not."
Heinrich stepped forward anyway.
The llama lowered its head.
What followed was swift, decisive, and deeply humiliating.
The llama charged.
Heinrich yelped, attempted a heroic sidestep, and was promptly launched backwards into a stack of firewood, where he landed in a heap of lederhosen and dignity.
The llama snorted once and returned calmly to its original position, as though nothing of consequence had occurred.
Tom nodded.
"That went about as expected."
Heinrich sat up, blinking.
"That animal," he said weakly, "is deeply spiritual."
Sir Archibald rubbed his temples.
"I need a drink."
As the household descended into controlled chaos — Heinrich's pride being tended, Archibald's nerves fraying — Constance stood slightly apart, Noraly's book Free Ride still tucked beneath her arm.
Tom approached quietly.
"You all right?"
"I think so," she said. "I'm just... seeing things more clearly."
He waited.
"All my life," she continued, "I've been told what sort of woman I am. Explorer's wife. Companion. Observer. Never the point of the story."
Tom said nothing.
"Then I come here. I cross an ocean. I get chased by a llama. I catch a frog no one believes exists. I meet women who ride across continents and don't ask permission — not even from time itself."
She looked at him.
"And I realise I've been living as though the most interesting parts of life were meant for other people."
The lantern light flickered across Tom's face — admiration there, and restraint.
"Constance," he said quietly, "whatever you decide—"
She raised a hand.
"Let me finish."
"I don't know yet what my life will look like when I leave this place. Or who will be in it. But I do know this."
She met his eyes.
"I won't go back to being invisible."
Across the courtyard, Heinrich groaned loudly as a poultice was applied with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Sir Archibald called out,
"Constance! Tomorrow we resume the search for the map! And the frog! And possibly Heinrich's dignity!"
She looked toward her husband, then back to Tom.
"Tomorrow," she said, "I'll help you find the map."
"You will?"
"Yes. Because it's the right thing to do. And because I want to see where those old paths lead."
The Altar Llama emitted a low, approving hum.
Tom smiled.
"Then tomorrow, everything changes."
Constance looked up at the Andes — vast, dark, and full of improbable promise.
For the first time in her life, the uncertainty did not frighten her.
It thrilled her.
#29
All Events Calendar / Race the Overland
Last post by Taffey - Jan 18, 2026, 02:03 AMFarRoad Encore Ride – Race the Overland (Melbourne to Adelaide)
So... a small confession. Coleraine may have been billed as the finale, but there's an opportunity too good to ignore — particularly for South Australian–based riders. FarRoad is putting on a special Encore Ride: a return challenge to race the Overland train from Melbourne back to Adelaide. We only just beat it last time, with the train in front of us for much of the ride in 2025 — which makes this the perfect question to ask: can we pull it off twice in a row?
This will be a single-category ride only: 800 km in 12 hours, using a proven route. The ride will be conducted as a group, with disciplined pacing, clear decision points, and no deviation from FarRoad principles — this is about precision, planning and execution, not speed. It's a shared challenge, a nod to last year's effort, and a fitting way to close the book on the 2026 calendar. If you were there last time, you'll know why this matters. If you weren't — this is your chance.
So... a small confession. Coleraine may have been billed as the finale, but there's an opportunity too good to ignore — particularly for South Australian–based riders. FarRoad is putting on a special Encore Ride: a return challenge to race the Overland train from Melbourne back to Adelaide. We only just beat it last time, with the train in front of us for much of the ride in 2025 — which makes this the perfect question to ask: can we pull it off twice in a row?
This will be a single-category ride only: 800 km in 12 hours, using a proven route. The ride will be conducted as a group, with disciplined pacing, clear decision points, and no deviation from FarRoad principles — this is about precision, planning and execution, not speed. It's a shared challenge, a nod to last year's effort, and a fitting way to close the book on the 2026 calendar. If you were there last time, you'll know why this matters. If you weren't — this is your chance.
#30
All Events Calendar / FarRoad Victoria
Last post by Taffey - Jan 18, 2026, 01:52 AMFarRoad Coleraine – Western Victoria Finale Ride 2026
Coleraine, Victoria will host the final Standard FarRoad ride for 2026, using the familiar FarRoad format with the usual meeting point, check-in window and verification procedures. This is a classic sealed-road FarRoad event — structured, achievable, and open to riders choosing the distance category that suits them. Whether you ride in solo or arrive with others, the focus remains on good planning, good documentation, and good decision-making over the distance.
This ride also provides an opportunity to support rural communities, particularly those across Western Victoria that have been impacted by recent bushfires. FarRoad acknowledges the resilience of these communities and the ongoing challenges they face. Choosing to ride through, stop in, refuel, eat and stay locally is a simple but tangible way to show support and contribute to regional recovery.
The surrounding region offers some of the best and least-ridden touring roads in the state, with outstanding approaches through the Western District, the Grampians fringes, volcanic plains, and sweeping agricultural country. As the finale ride for 2026, this one is not to be missed — a chance to finish the FarRoad calendar properly with good roads, good riding, and a destination that matters.
Coleraine, Victoria will host the final Standard FarRoad ride for 2026, using the familiar FarRoad format with the usual meeting point, check-in window and verification procedures. This is a classic sealed-road FarRoad event — structured, achievable, and open to riders choosing the distance category that suits them. Whether you ride in solo or arrive with others, the focus remains on good planning, good documentation, and good decision-making over the distance.
This ride also provides an opportunity to support rural communities, particularly those across Western Victoria that have been impacted by recent bushfires. FarRoad acknowledges the resilience of these communities and the ongoing challenges they face. Choosing to ride through, stop in, refuel, eat and stay locally is a simple but tangible way to show support and contribute to regional recovery.
The surrounding region offers some of the best and least-ridden touring roads in the state, with outstanding approaches through the Western District, the Grampians fringes, volcanic plains, and sweeping agricultural country. As the finale ride for 2026, this one is not to be missed — a chance to finish the FarRoad calendar properly with good roads, good riding, and a destination that matters.