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[ ]Old racers never die; they just think they go fast By David Williams
Cairns had a week of Glorious weather however the day before we were due to leave it all turned pear shaped and rained. The first day it was wet, the guys were kitted out with enough gear to make any sponsor happy. We hadn't hit the trails and had just gotten off the bitumen when Blappers bike lost the rear brake. He copped a lot of flak about bike maintenance; he reckons he was set up. We hit the trails early and the tracks had just enough grip to make the ride very interesting to say the least. By the time I pulled up and checked to see we still had everyone, the stories about near misses, get off's and who was roosting who had started. We got to Mt Molloy without drama and Gavin McLeod decided to show us how to fall off in front of the whole crew after refuelling, the shopkeeper had a good giggle and we all ended up with sore ribs from laughter. That wasn't to be the last. The guys had the biggest hamburger in OZ from the Mt Molloy Cafe and Ian was eating it like we were at the Hilton, "You just have to attack it with no mercy" I told him but he didn't want to get his fingers dirty. Back to the trails again which led us onto the original packhorse track that joins the Mt Carbine Highway. The guys were worried about losing the bikes over the side so I said "if you fall push the bike against the hill"; they looked at me with blank stares. The ex enduro guns just smiled with anticipation. We got out without incident and a couple of the guys gave a silent prayer. We camped on the Mitchell River where we had cold beers and talked about the day. The rain was clearing so the next day promised to be a beauty. After a big feed the boys crawled into their swags and snored so loud any bush critter felt threatened enough to stay away. Early the next morning we headed off to the Maytown track and rode into the original town of Maytown. In the 1880's in its heyday it was a booming gold mining area. The local Aboriginals liked the taste of the Chinese and after looking at the cemetery life was short. After lunch on the Palmer river we joined onto the original coach road to Laura, I had warned the crew that the track was hilly, very rocky with huge wash-outs and was going to be a challenge, the ex racers eyes lit up like they had just solved the matrix. We arrived at the camp spot without any problems and it looked like the KTM V'S Yamaha debate was going to be a close one. Tonight was State of Origin, after dinner a few of the boys ventured off into the pub to watch the game. It looked like the cockroaches were going to pull it of when one of the local Aboriginal elders jumped up and put a curse on Freddie Fittler "you got fuc*ing fleas fittler". It must have worked as the Cane Toads came through, talk about a close call. We awoke after the temperature dropped to about 10 degrees overnight, thank god for the rum the previous night as it took the edge off. After a slow start we travelled up the Battle camp road to the old Laura homestead and then onto Kalpowar crossing to our next camp. Peter (the bull) the support driver had the camp set up and I fitted up one of the bikes with a new chain that had snapped while the guys had lunch. We went croc spotting and got to see a large freshy, then a salty about 6ft long. The crew were wary about getting near the water when Ian (5-star) slipped and fell into the water with his Italian hand made shoes and Gucci shorts on, he came out with his face as long as a milk run. We got plenty of mileage from that one. Any chink in the armour was fair Game. Sitting around the campfire that night, the bull gave us a lesson on how to treat women; he is still single and wonders why. Speddo reckons he was going home to try the techniques that the bull recommended; he will be another single man soon. Next day we rode the Starke track to Cooktown, we were one of the first groups to do it and after the big wet season this year. There was still plenty of water and we had to find our way around a few of the large creek crossings. The guys loved the terrain and Carlos kept getting filled in when he backed off coming up into a water- hole. Slow learners the west OZ crew. I ended up with something in my eye and it had swollen up to look like I had just done a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson, I got some funny looks when we reached Cooktown. After refuelling we went onto the Famous Lions Den Hotel. Pete had the camp set and dinner on the go -it was another gourmet delight. With the clean up out of the road the guys hit the pub for some local entertainment. I got on the phone to the landowner of the Daintree property to organise a 4x4 tractor to get us across the Daintree River, as it was still high after the rain we had. He was all for it and the Creb track hadn't seen a lot of traffic for 5 months so the challenge was to get through. Word was there were a lot of trees down and a land slide half way as a couple of riders had got through after 11 hours of pain a couple of days before. The Creb track proved once again why it is a must do track, the red clay was earning the respect it deserves when it claimed a couple of victims, a 4x4 had been through and had carved up the track even more. One good thing though they had cut a path thru the fallen trees so there was only a couple of detours. Paul (Mr clean) Baericke the MPE suspension guru decided to show the crew how to attack logs and came off second best. His ribs are still hurting and Speddo offered to give him some training when he gets back home. We had to carry the bikes across some creeks and then we finally arrived at the bottom with the Daintree crossing the big river between the start of the Creb track and the Daintree. I had a quick look and decided to give it a go, the mighty Yamaha made it and then Mad cow McLeod decided to try and cross, unassisted. He had got half way when the current proved too much and sucked the bike totally under, with him hanging on, looking at the Orange submarine thru his goggles. He managed to get it to the other side and after a dingoes pause (piss and a look around) he tried to start it. Well cut my legs off and call me shortie the orange sub gave a hick up, snorted and farted then coughed into life. Heaving up a heap of water we were all stunned, his care and maintenance of the bike, of which there was none, had proved to be a winner. The rest of the guys decided on the safer option to walk the bikes across which proved a good move. After getting all the crew across we lunched at Daintree village then headed for home. It was an injury free 5-day ride and we all had a great time, and as they say, " The older I get, the faster I was". All content is © 1996-2010 Netrider unless otherwise noted Privacy Statement | Contact Us | Disclaimer | Forums Terms & Conditions |
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