From the Library

[Biggles]

We came across the other riders and together we roared around underneath this famous Olympic venue, thirty bikers, most of whom were athletically challenged yet doing something that most in our world could only dream about, and in front of 80,000 plus screaming fans. It was a blast (fully sick, if you are under 25).
As we neared the exit ramp something else happened that to this day has me shaking my head in disbelief. Coming around the final section of the road and on our way to head up the ramp we came across about eight cops. To my amazement they began applauding us as we passed, all of us. It was a moment to savour. Usually bikers and Police keep pretty distant from each other in social situations. Here they were reacting to us in a positive, friendly even supportive way. Even when an older sergeant stepped in at the death to stop this public bonding exercise, it was too late. Something had happened that none of us expected to see in our lifetimes. 
Police clapping riders instead of reacting in a negative way. I guess anything can happen at an NRL Grand Final.
My Motorcycling Life  Greg Hirst p40

[Biggles]

I could again see a constant stream of bikes go around Parliament and park. This time it took a full hour for all the bikes to pass which delayed the official start time by fifteen minutes. Not that anyone seemed to mind, as the band on stage was playing some jumping rock music. Finally we were ready to start. As I got to the microphone to welcome everyone I could sense the excitement amongst this huge cross section of clubs and individuals. Besides the usual riders' rights suspects there were tourers, vintage riders, Ulyssians, Outlaws, Christian clubs as well as road and off road racing types. Darrell Eastlake got a huge cheer as did the other celebrity speakers. Impressively Triple J's Merrick Watts and Triple M's Brendan Jones rode all the way and spoke passionately about their motorcycling life. Jonesy was particularly impressive having ridden to Canberra after stopping at Goulburn Hospital. On the way down he caught a bug in the eye, requiring it to be bandaged. 
Even in pain he finished the ride and spoke with passion about his clear love of riding. Politicians from the Liberal, Labor and Democrats all spoke in support of this endeavour, taking the opportunity to present written policies ahead of the next Federal election. Warren Fraser and Ray Newland represented the industry and hailed this united approach of riders, industry and sport to positively challenge society in a pro-motorcycling way. In the end this call to work in unity provided a fitting end to an event that had drawn riders from all over Australia and remarkably, in 2001, appeared as big as many of the rider's rights rides in the United 
States and Europe.
My Motorcycling Life  Greg Hirst p60

[Biggles]

However, it was on the way home that the action really started. We had decided to go back to Sydney via the New England Highway and unexpectedly ran into the mother of all inland storms. Not only did it rain heavily but a fierce, driving cross-wind made riding extremely dangerous. Regardless we rode on. As time passed Grunt, who was on the back, started to get ill. It got so bad we had to stop at a servo at one of the small towns near the border in NSW. It was a good thing too. Little did we know that the battery on my bike was in trouble. It couldn't cope with the long ride with the headlight hard-wired on and was on the verge of complete shutdown. It wouldn't start at the servo and the mechanic who inspected it gave it a death sentence. In fact if we hadn't have stopped then, the battery would have been fried. 
And in those conditions, with fierce wind driven rain and the number of heavy vehicles using the road at the time, we could have easily found ourselves bent around a tree or sharing the grille of an oncoming semi.
My Motorcycling Life  Greg Hirst p85

[Biggles]

As I walk the bike along the riverbank, following the man with the machete, I ask him how we will cross. He points to an esplanade ahead: "Bac. I'm the captain." Bac is a French word adopted in various countries to describe a raft.
Soon we round a curve and find in front of us a floating wreck- a rusty iron platform, full of holes, 25 meters long and 8 meters wide. It's fixed on top of a dozen rusty 50-gallon oil drums, tied to a rusty, frayed steel cable that leads to rusty pulleys anchored to trees about 200 meters apart on opposite shores. The bac will cross by means of the cable, which has to be pulled by hand. Everything looks as if it will fall apart in midstream, but my biggest concern, as always, is money.
"How much will you charge to take me across?" I ask.
"If is to the other shore, one million," he says. "You have to settle up with the pullers."
I smile at his term, "If is to the other shore." What could he mean, that he only charges half to get to the middle of the river? One million of his pesos equal $25 a fortune in these latitudes, so I start to bargain. We settle at $10, then I ask, "Where are the pullers?"
"I don't know."
"How can I settle up with the pullers?"
"I don't know."
"When do we cross, then?"
"I don't know. Maybe when the pullers come."
"And when do the pullers come?"
He shrugs his shoulders.
"OK, who are the pullers?"
"You. And others who may want to cross." 
The Longest Ride  Emilio Scotto p8

[Biggles]

As an adult I took a job with Pfizer selling pharmaceuticals. One day a sales rep from another laboratory said to me, "I've bought a motorcycle, and I have to go to sign the papers. Why don't you come with me?"
I'd never been interested in those types of vehicles, which cost as much as a car but left you looking like a cat rescued from a river when it rained, but I went with him out of my impulsive curiosity. That decision changed my life forever.
At the dealership my gaze fell upon an advertising display picture, a photo of a big, black, bulky, enormous, shining machine. It looked like a bus, a motor home. It had saddlebags, one on each side, a big trunk at the back a large protective fairing with glove compartments, a soft seat that looked more comfortable than my grandmother's rocking chair, and a powerful 1100cc four cylinder engine. The ad claimed that it even came with a cassette player and antenna. Honda Gold Wing Interstate was the name of the hair-raising monster. Like a premonition, big red letters on one corner of the leaflet proclaimed, "Your future has come on two wheels."
The Longest Ride  Emilio Scotto p12

[Biggles]

I went back to the show room with the money and signed the documents. The owner knew that sooner or later the moment would come when I wouldn't be able to pay the installments, and he would keep what I'd already paid, and the bike, which even used, would cost double the original price, because that was the way things worked in my country in those days.
A few weeks later my wonderful machine arrived from the United States. When they handed it over to me, I found another major drawback- I'd never been on a motorcycle, much less driven one, so I didn't even know how to start it. When I asked, they all looked at me in horror. They took it into the street for me and gave me a 10-minute crash course.
I started up. After 100 yards, I fell off. The left mirror broke.
My monthly salary was just enough to pay the installments, but I only managed to pay two of them; by the third I couldn't keep up the payments. Everyone who knew me agreed that I'd made the biggest mistake of my life, dreaming beyond the mark, and that in a few days it would be proven to me.
The Longest Ride  Emilio Scotto p13