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#11
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Feb 25, 2026, 05:49 AMAnd this is the Darkness before the Dawn, too. The time of night when people become werewolves and rip their neighbours' throats out. The time of night when nothing is possible but anything is likely. The time of night when you're most mortal, and yet feel immortal.
I'd consumed a Red Bull twenty kilometres back, and am now so wired I could do duty as a dingo fence. But I am comatose compared to the twenty young bucks having an ice-smoking party in the Kempsey servo I stop at. Three old cars, plastered with the Koori flag and various land rights logos are parked there. Around them, drinking and yelling and wrestling are some of Kempsey's more excitable residents. To have ridden straight out would have been an act of cowardly wisdom. To stop, turn off my bike and fuel up is the act of a crazed man - which I doubtlessly am by this stage of the game. The ice-smokers don't bother to stop smoking when I pull up, but since they only have one pipe between them, many of them are free to engage me in manly banter.
"Heeey, bro!" one of them says, his eyes glistening with insanity, "Det your bike?"
"Yep," I lie cheerily, willing the petrol faster into my tank and spilling some because my hands are trembling.
"Heeey, bro," the lunatic smiles wickedly, "you're shaking .. hee hee hee . .. we'll hev to ride your bike for you ... hee, hee, hee."
Then he stalks back to the group to report that he's scared the motorcyclist so badly he is shaking like a leaf.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p249
I'd consumed a Red Bull twenty kilometres back, and am now so wired I could do duty as a dingo fence. But I am comatose compared to the twenty young bucks having an ice-smoking party in the Kempsey servo I stop at. Three old cars, plastered with the Koori flag and various land rights logos are parked there. Around them, drinking and yelling and wrestling are some of Kempsey's more excitable residents. To have ridden straight out would have been an act of cowardly wisdom. To stop, turn off my bike and fuel up is the act of a crazed man - which I doubtlessly am by this stage of the game. The ice-smokers don't bother to stop smoking when I pull up, but since they only have one pipe between them, many of them are free to engage me in manly banter.
"Heeey, bro!" one of them says, his eyes glistening with insanity, "Det your bike?"
"Yep," I lie cheerily, willing the petrol faster into my tank and spilling some because my hands are trembling.
"Heeey, bro," the lunatic smiles wickedly, "you're shaking .. hee hee hee . .. we'll hev to ride your bike for you ... hee, hee, hee."
Then he stalks back to the group to report that he's scared the motorcyclist so badly he is shaking like a leaf.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p249
#12
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Feb 24, 2026, 12:19 AMI have always known there are demons in the night. Fanged, red-skinned horrors, playing at the edges of your vision and capering through your mind as you ride.
Hemingway, in 'A Farewell to Arms', understood the night to be a time and place of great 'otherness' and wrote: 'I know the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist...'
A mate sent me the above wisdom just before I set off at 11 pm one muggy Friday night on a run unlike any I'd ever done - and the words rang with a fierce truth. I am no stranger to night riding. I actually quite like it. I am also no stranger to banging out big miles, and I don't mind that, either. But doing 1000 kilometres in a twelve-hour period and riding 250 kilometres past my destination and then 250 kilometres back was something I'd never done before.
How this came to pass is not as important as the ride itself, though you probably need to know why I wedged myself upon a tiny, screaming 600cc Yamaha R6 and howled northward from Sydney through the murk. A man called Dave had invited me along on what he called a 'FarRide'. A FarRide is a type of ride undertaken by a group of blokes known as FarRiders. They are a unique breed of motorcyclist, for whom the ride is purity incarnate - the be-all and end-all. Some of them have accomplished distance-riding feats that beggar belief and which prompt the question, 'Why?'
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p244-5
Hemingway, in 'A Farewell to Arms', understood the night to be a time and place of great 'otherness' and wrote: 'I know the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist...'
A mate sent me the above wisdom just before I set off at 11 pm one muggy Friday night on a run unlike any I'd ever done - and the words rang with a fierce truth. I am no stranger to night riding. I actually quite like it. I am also no stranger to banging out big miles, and I don't mind that, either. But doing 1000 kilometres in a twelve-hour period and riding 250 kilometres past my destination and then 250 kilometres back was something I'd never done before.
How this came to pass is not as important as the ride itself, though you probably need to know why I wedged myself upon a tiny, screaming 600cc Yamaha R6 and howled northward from Sydney through the murk. A man called Dave had invited me along on what he called a 'FarRide'. A FarRide is a type of ride undertaken by a group of blokes known as FarRiders. They are a unique breed of motorcyclist, for whom the ride is purity incarnate - the be-all and end-all. Some of them have accomplished distance-riding feats that beggar belief and which prompt the question, 'Why?'
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p244-5
#13
Fuel and Rest Stop Locations / Yamba SA. premium fuel no long...
Last post by Large 2.0 - Feb 23, 2026, 06:20 AMAs per the title, there is only 91ULP sold at Yamba SA now. The premium hoses have been removed and the tanks are full of foam.
If you want 98/95 ULP it's either Renmark/Paringa SA or Cullulleraine Vic.
If you want 98/95 ULP it's either Renmark/Paringa SA or Cullulleraine Vic.
#14
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Feb 23, 2026, 12:46 AM"You good?" he asked, helping me wrench my bike upright.
I nodded. I was okay physically - again a breathing, sweaty testament to the sanctity and glory of body armour.
"I'll ride it up to the level bit for you," Miles offered kindly.
"I'll have your flamin' babies for you if you do," I muttered, but I don't think he heard me. I then watched agog at the ease with which he did just that, with Ian right behind him. I took a deep breath and commenced to clump up the cliff face after them. In ten metres perspiration was cascading off me and I was puffing like a blown horse. In twenty metres black spots were exploding in my vision and there was not enough air on earth to satisfy my needs. I stopped, hands on knees and retched emptily into my helmet. It smelled like old lollies. Miles, Ian and Mick watched my glacial progress from above.
"When were you giving up the smokes, Borie?" I heard Miles ask from on high.
Since my remaining time on earth was measured in minutes, I didn't waste it replying. I resumed clumping up the hill, got on my bike and went at it again.
But the scenario I just described was to repeat itself several more times. Sometimes Ian helped me, sometimes Miles helped me. Once, Mick almost ran over me, which would probably have helped by putting an end to my misery.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p222-3
I nodded. I was okay physically - again a breathing, sweaty testament to the sanctity and glory of body armour.
"I'll ride it up to the level bit for you," Miles offered kindly.
"I'll have your flamin' babies for you if you do," I muttered, but I don't think he heard me. I then watched agog at the ease with which he did just that, with Ian right behind him. I took a deep breath and commenced to clump up the cliff face after them. In ten metres perspiration was cascading off me and I was puffing like a blown horse. In twenty metres black spots were exploding in my vision and there was not enough air on earth to satisfy my needs. I stopped, hands on knees and retched emptily into my helmet. It smelled like old lollies. Miles, Ian and Mick watched my glacial progress from above.
"When were you giving up the smokes, Borie?" I heard Miles ask from on high.
Since my remaining time on earth was measured in minutes, I didn't waste it replying. I resumed clumping up the hill, got on my bike and went at it again.
But the scenario I just described was to repeat itself several more times. Sometimes Ian helped me, sometimes Miles helped me. Once, Mick almost ran over me, which would probably have helped by putting an end to my misery.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p222-3
#15
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Feb 22, 2026, 05:34 AMIt was all I could really do, because I could certainly no longer ride a motorcycle properly. All my bastard shit hurt. My helmet ground into my thudding skull and the rest of my body throbbed with a strained ache I'd only ever experienced the morning after a big fight with angry bouncers. As I sourly burped my way past the Mount Stromlo turn-off and the bitumen got twistier, my riding skills deserted me altogether. I must have been about a kilometre behind as I saw the rest of the crew turn off onto the dirt and head up into the Brindabella Ranges.
The DR, its knobby tyres and I just could not get it together.
"Shit," I chanted over and over as I lurched and yawed up the winding track that had the traction of greasy kitchen lino. The dirt was hard-packed, but heavily peppered with shiny buried rocks that caused the bike to skitter alarmingly from side to side. I couldn't stand up on the pegs because I was too busy hanging on for grim death and it was getting colder the higher I climbed. Yesterday afternoon, I had been planning on entering the Dakar. Today I was planning on throwing up in my helmet.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p205
The DR, its knobby tyres and I just could not get it together.
"Shit," I chanted over and over as I lurched and yawed up the winding track that had the traction of greasy kitchen lino. The dirt was hard-packed, but heavily peppered with shiny buried rocks that caused the bike to skitter alarmingly from side to side. I couldn't stand up on the pegs because I was too busy hanging on for grim death and it was getting colder the higher I climbed. Yesterday afternoon, I had been planning on entering the Dakar. Today I was planning on throwing up in my helmet.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p205
#16
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Feb 21, 2026, 06:26 AMI showered quickly as tiredness started to set in with a vengeance. I then fell into a bed that was more akin to a hammock, only to find Mick bellowing it me the instant I'd closed my eyes.
"Come on!" he yelled. "It's four AM, we have to go!"
Damn good thing I'd tucked the almost empty bottle of Turkey in Al's snoring arms before I put myself to bed, or he'd be shaking me even harder, I thought I struggled to my feet and started to dress myself. I knew no one had shat in my mouth because I'd been hung-over before and I was on familiar ground, but my head was sore and murky as I squirmed into my boots.
"Good job," Ian grinned as he watched me curse and mutter and search for my wallet and phone which had somehow found their way under my mattress. "I always get pissed on good whiskey before riding 400 kays of really difficult dirt," he observed.
"Yeah me too," I growled back and swallowed some gooey spit that tasted rather more like some liquefied internal organ than I would have liked. Then I went downstairs, got on my bike in the frosty darkness and headed for Canberra along the Federal Highway.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p204
"Come on!" he yelled. "It's four AM, we have to go!"
Damn good thing I'd tucked the almost empty bottle of Turkey in Al's snoring arms before I put myself to bed, or he'd be shaking me even harder, I thought I struggled to my feet and started to dress myself. I knew no one had shat in my mouth because I'd been hung-over before and I was on familiar ground, but my head was sore and murky as I squirmed into my boots.
"Good job," Ian grinned as he watched me curse and mutter and search for my wallet and phone which had somehow found their way under my mattress. "I always get pissed on good whiskey before riding 400 kays of really difficult dirt," he observed.
"Yeah me too," I growled back and swallowed some gooey spit that tasted rather more like some liquefied internal organ than I would have liked. Then I went downstairs, got on my bike in the frosty darkness and headed for Canberra along the Federal Highway.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p204
#17
All Events Calendar / North Coast Capers
Last post by Taffey - Feb 21, 2026, 05:01 AMUlverstone sits where the Leven River meets Bass Strait, a quiet coastal town on Tasmania's north-west coast between Devonport and Burnie.
It's not loud or trying to impress. Therefore, it's the perfect FarRoad destination.
And just like Swansea in May, it's coastline, farmland, with the inland rise toward Leven Canyon that creates ride opportunities that shifts constantly between open sweepers and tighter hinterland lines.
It is also tantalisingly close to the Ferry for those mainlanders looking for a more adventurous riding opportunity.
Ride Options
• iRode 1000 – 1,000 km in 24 hours
• iRode 1250 – 1,250 km in 24 hours
• iRode 805/12 – 805 km in 12 hours
• iRode my way – Ride rule free
Check-in window:
11:30am to 12:00 noon (local time)
Plan deliberately.
Ride cleanly.
Finish well.
FarRoad.
If you intend to participate in this FarRoad ride, please DM Carsten so he knows to expect you. Those seeking recognition under other frameworks must register separately.
It's not loud or trying to impress. Therefore, it's the perfect FarRoad destination.
And just like Swansea in May, it's coastline, farmland, with the inland rise toward Leven Canyon that creates ride opportunities that shifts constantly between open sweepers and tighter hinterland lines.
It is also tantalisingly close to the Ferry for those mainlanders looking for a more adventurous riding opportunity.
Ride Options
• iRode 1000 – 1,000 km in 24 hours
• iRode 1250 – 1,250 km in 24 hours
• iRode 805/12 – 805 km in 12 hours
• iRode my way – Ride rule free
Check-in window:
11:30am to 12:00 noon (local time)
Plan deliberately.
Ride cleanly.
Finish well.
FarRoad.
If you intend to participate in this FarRoad ride, please DM Carsten so he knows to expect you. Those seeking recognition under other frameworks must register separately.
#18
All Events Calendar / FarRoad Tasmania - Swansea
Last post by Taffey - Feb 21, 2026, 04:29 AMEast Coast Lines
Some rides are about remoteness.
Some are about rhythm.
Swansea is the latter.
On 9 May, FarRoad heads to Tasmania's east coast. The Eastern Coast offers long coastal sweepers, measured elevation changes, and that rare combination of ocean light and open road that riders will find rewarding.
Positioned between sea and farmland, it draws riders north and south along one of the cleanest stretches of sealed road in the country. It is accessible without being trivial.
This ride finishes at Bark Mill Tavern and is coordinated locally by Carsten.
Ride Options
• iRode 1000 – 1,000 km in 24 hours
• iRode 1250 – 1,250 km in 24 hours
• iRode 805/12 – 805 km in 12 hours
• iRode my way – Ride rule free
Check-in window:
11:30am to 12:00 noon (local time)
Swansea in May brings cool air and lower traffic volumes. Ideal conditions for long-distance riding.
Plan deliberately.
Ride cleanly.
Finish well.
FarRoad.
If you intend to participate in this FarRoad ride, please DM Carsten so he knows to expect you. Those seeking recognition under other frameworks must register separately.
Some rides are about remoteness.
Some are about rhythm.
Swansea is the latter.
On 9 May, FarRoad heads to Tasmania's east coast. The Eastern Coast offers long coastal sweepers, measured elevation changes, and that rare combination of ocean light and open road that riders will find rewarding.
Positioned between sea and farmland, it draws riders north and south along one of the cleanest stretches of sealed road in the country. It is accessible without being trivial.
This ride finishes at Bark Mill Tavern and is coordinated locally by Carsten.
Ride Options
• iRode 1000 – 1,000 km in 24 hours
• iRode 1250 – 1,250 km in 24 hours
• iRode 805/12 – 805 km in 12 hours
• iRode my way – Ride rule free
Check-in window:
11:30am to 12:00 noon (local time)
Swansea in May brings cool air and lower traffic volumes. Ideal conditions for long-distance riding.
Plan deliberately.
Ride cleanly.
Finish well.
FarRoad.
If you intend to participate in this FarRoad ride, please DM Carsten so he knows to expect you. Those seeking recognition under other frameworks must register separately.
#19
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Feb 20, 2026, 02:18 AMDay Two was to begin with fuelling up, then following the bitumen through Canberra and out onto the Cotter Road to the Cotter Dam. But before plunging into the waters of the dam, we intended to turn right onto the Brindabella Road - which I saw came with its own handwritten aside for me to absorb. The aside said: 'You will die on this road if you do not pay attention and take it easy. It is steep, twisty and if you make an error, you'll plummet off a cliff and into one of the most beautiful valleys in Australia.'
Should I somehow make it to the bottom on two wheels, I would notice that Brindabella Road met Crace Road on a bridge over the Goodradigbee River. Ten kilometres further up, we would turn onto Boundary Road, then Forest Drive, Broken Cart Track and the Long Plain - which had been marked on the map as twelve kilometres of 'super-fast open plains dirt' - and a place I could crash the bike at velocities I had never even dreamed of.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p192
Should I somehow make it to the bottom on two wheels, I would notice that Brindabella Road met Crace Road on a bridge over the Goodradigbee River. Ten kilometres further up, we would turn onto Boundary Road, then Forest Drive, Broken Cart Track and the Long Plain - which had been marked on the map as twelve kilometres of 'super-fast open plains dirt' - and a place I could crash the bike at velocities I had never even dreamed of.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p192
#20
General Discussion / Re: From the Library
Last post by Biggles - Feb 19, 2026, 05:13 AMWe were to meet at Wisemans Ferry West Crossing at 6 am on the day of departure. This was the ferry one caught to cross the Hawkesbury River in order to ride to the old St Albans pub - a popular Sunday beer-and-lunch spot for lots of Sydney's motorcyclists. But we weren't going to St Albans. We were turning left immediately after the ferry crossing and heading up to the Putty Road, then down a dirt road to cross the Colo River on some old wooden bridge that had been built by convicts a hundred years before Sydney got electricity. From there, we'd head up into the Great Dividing Range, to Bilpin and Mount Wilson via the Bells Line of Road and onto the Bowens Creek track - which, according to the knot of contour lines, was nothing but a narrow path cut into the arse of a great sandstone cliff with a surface designed to murder the stupid novice dirt-rider with immense malice.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p191
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me Boris Mihailovik p191