Sometimes you have to wait a while for the dreams to happen. Well, I have waited well over twenty five years to get to my first motorcycle rally.  Ever since I first read about motorcycle rallies I have wanted to go to one. Two Wheels old rally correspondent Kog Godfrey really stirred the curiosity. The mysteries of Stone's Green Ginger Wine were out there to be discovered. It was much the same as I dreamed of the day when I could ride to the Australian Motorcycle Grand Prix but had to wait until I went to my ninth GP before I could fulfil the dream (and then I caught the bus from San Remo - but that's another story).

But why did I pick this rally as my first? No real reason, just those collections of circumstances that happen along and lead you down a path. I went to Mr Smith's political meeting at the tiny village of Cassilis, NSW in April 2000. There I met Ashley, a Ural rider from Coolah, a little town not far from Cassilis. Ashley had a dream of going to Thrasher's Terrifying Trek and said this year he was definitely going and he'd be riding his Ural. I said I'd go along with him if that was OK. It was. But I also lined up a couple of guys (Stuart, HD 883 Sportster with cruising bars and seat, and John, BMW R100R) from Orange, NSW to come along - also rally virgins. Good thing, because poor Ashley ended up not being able to go. Also, giving people (read spouse) a five month warning of a proposed activity is not a bad thing.

Well us three Orange lads did our planning for the big adventure. Camping gear was organised, bikes were prepared, approval from spouses were negotiated (very unrally goer like if Kog Godfrey is to be believed), maps were consulted. 

I became a phone friend of Mrs Thrasher, the lovely Sonia, (or is it Mrs Grunge? Mrs Thrasher sounds better. Does anyone know what Thrasher's surname is?) as I sought her advice (as she always answered the phone) on routes to take, road (or track!) conditions, pitfalls for rally virgins, etc. Luckily no-one asked me what sound a whale makes because I wasn't really sure that what Sonia had told me was the right answer or, if I'd done what she said, it would have really made it obvious that I was a rally virgin.

We knew that a lot of the ride in would be on dirt. After we left Oberon, we would have a bit over 30 km of bitumen. I actually forgot to look at how much dirt there was from Oberon to the rally site. The first 20 km were on made dirt roads. The next 30 or so km was on a fire trail. Luckily Sonia had warned me about the 'drainage humps', the first of which was at the top of a hill. These were like mini motocross jumps formed across the track for erosion control. Good fun on a dirt bike but to be approached with caution on a road bike. Then there were the sudden, tight, rocky bends around the end of ridges. All good fun on our bikes but they'd have been a nightmare on any sport bike or sport/tourer.

I was looking forward to the opportunity to take photos on the way home because some of the country was beautiful and there were to be some good shots to be had of the bikes travelling along the track. 

Following Sonia's excellent directions we came up to an intersection where a gaggle of bikes were stopped. Yes, this is the way to Thrasher's they said. Why were they stopped - to have a beer was the obvious answer. 

We hadn't even tried to bring beer given the amount of other stuff we were carrying. We stuck to soft packaged alcohol - two 2 litre casks of wine and one of port. Oh yeah and Stuart's well wrapped bottle of Stone's Green Ginger Wine and John's similarly protected cumquat brandy (we were well prepared). But there it was - a slab of VB sitting on the rack of one of the bikes. Later at the rally site one guy said that they lost half a dozen cans on the trip in so his mate rode back to the nearest town (Taralga -1 hour away) to refill the Esky.

Off we went again along the trail and soon after spotted Thrasher's distinctive TTT sign pointing off to an even tighter looking track. 10 km of mainly down hill riding later, we were at the bottom of a little valley winding our way between the trees to a grassy clearing. 

Stuart had left John and I near the top of the hill when he decided to try and keep up with a bloke on a big dual purpose bike. He said later the suspension was a bit soft for fast trail riding. His bent front guard showed that there are other hazards to be encountered on a Harley Davidson trail bike. Seems a stick caught under the guard and snagged on something on the frame when the suspension compressed.

Someone asked me what we did for the rest of the day and why would we go to a rally anyway. Well, we managed to fill in the rest of the afternoon in a very enjoyable manner and that was why we went to the rally - to enjoy ourselves. We pitched our tents, built a fire place from rocks we collected from the creek, collected some water, cooked some sausages, ate half the banana cake I took, got the vegetables and meat ready for the pot for dinner before it got dark, and started on the Stone's.

When I reported to my wife that I discovered that I liked a drop of Stone's, she reminded me that I told her John had said it was an acquired taste. Well, I had a sip and acquired a taste. Unfortunately, we finished of the Stone's just after dark. Good thing we had brought back up, in the form of wine.

The afternoon and evening progressed on with us circulating around the rally site yarning to people, talking about bikes, etc. As darkness approached we returned to our fire to get dinner done. It was then we discovered we'd forgotten one essential - a torch. But we coped. 

After dinner we adjourned to Thrasher's bonfire (efficiently started with 20 litres of diesel) and whiled away the night with pleasant conversation while being entertained by Thrasher's (and other's) fireworks. Thrasher has great fun setting explosive charges around the valley and letting them off just when your not expecting it. The conversation stops for a moment or two while the compression wave does its thing and then we're back into it.

Around 11.30 it started to rain lightly. That signalled bedtime for us but there were still people up and about at 4.30 am. I know because I found that half an inch of foam bedroll is not enough to sleep comfortably. The light rain was steady all night. The morning ride out was going to be interesting.

Apart from what was to come, the rain meant that the fire went out overnight and because we didn't want to delay our departure, we couldn't cook up breakfast. I was looking forward to sausages in tomato and onion gravy with toast and a cuppa. I left the sausages on a log for some feral animal to eat. Maybe it'd give the native wildlife a rest if it had a belly full of Mick the Butcher's finest. Don't know how it would have dealt with the half full cask of Riesling I left next to the sausages.

We tucked in to the cereal John had brought and packed up. Little did we know that the cereal would be our only nourishment until we got the Trunkey 5 hours later.

I really wish that I had not left my keys on the floor of the tent and only discovered this stupidity after the tent was nicely rolled up in its bag and secured on the bike. Doh!

Quite a few bikes had already left, including a number fitted with knobbly tyres. One of the most distinctive bikes so equipped was an absolutely pristine 1978 900SS Ducati. Peter, the owner, had heard that Thrasher's was a dirt challenge and had gone to quite a lot of trouble to find knobblies that would fit the Ducati's wheels. Incongruous it looked, work it did. But even he got stuck in the first boggy turn out of the camp.

With our fully loaded bikes we headed off. I didn't get 50 yards before being stuck with a spinning back wheel in the same bog. The problem was it had a lip that the road tyre couldn't get over. Stuart and John pushed me out. John moved on a further 100 yards and his front wheel washed out in the slippery mud. I couldn't put my stand down to park my bike, so Stuart helped him up. John and I gingerly negotiated the next 200 yards to the main track. Stuart didn't arrive so John went back and found him with his bike on it's side. Finally we were all on the main track and we headed off. A couple of minutes later John told us over the 2 way that he was down part way up a big hill. Stuart and I managed to ride past John to the top of the hill and went back to help. 

Lack of traction was the main problem for the road bikes. And when the back wheel started to spin, the right to left slope of the track meant that the back end would come around and forward progress was lost. Only option was to stop and try not to let the bike fall over. When someone got stuck it reduced the available track for following riders and some of them got stuck as well. For a while there were two or three stuck bikes with 4 or 5 other riders helping and more bikes waiting at the bottom of the hill. In the meantime, the dual purpose and dirt bikes chugged their way on past the melee of stuck road bikes. 

We continued with this little adventure continued onward and upward for the next 10 kilometres, all the time talking to each other on the 2 ways warning of slippery hills, corners, etc and checking on each other. John and Stuart both went over again and I got stuck with my front wheel on the wrong side of a large rock. Over an hour later we were back at the junction where we'd met the beer drinkers the day before. 10 kilometres in more than an hour.

We had decided (by 2 way discussion) not to retrace our steps along the fire trail to Oberon. The thought of those drainage humps and tight ridge end corners was enough for us to take the easy (?) option. But we still had 30 kilometres of slightly firmer track to negotiate. John had yet another slow speed tumble when he found out too late that his front brake was too wet to work. As we got closer to Taralga, the road improved and our speed picked up. The only other hassle we faced was a farmer who decided that a small mob of sheep needed to be moved across the road. Problem was this exercise was undertaken just over the crest of a hill. Luck prevented bikes and sheep from colliding. We rode into Taralga 3 hours after we had left the camp. 

After planning our route home we found a petrol station open (on a Sunday in Taralga!), fuelled up and headed off to Laggan, Peelwood, Tuena and Trunkey. The smooth, relatively dry dirt roads and good bitumen we rode over for the next hour and a half were no challenge for us three intrepid adventurers and we had time to appreciate the scenery of the country we were travelling through. A beer and a couple of meat pies for lunch at Trunkey pub and it was off on the last quick bitumen stretch to Blayney and Orange. I stopped in Blayney for a quick nap on a park bench (rather than fall asleep while moving at 100 km/h) after telling the other guys to go on ahead. 

The ride to Thrasher's took us three and a half hours, including lunch. The ride home had taken us a bit over six hours, but was only about a 100 kilometres further. 

Go to another rally. Very probably. Go to Thrasher's again on a road bike. Very unlikely, unless there was absolutely no chance of rain. The dry dirt road wasn't a problem. The wet dirt road was a major problem.

But we still had fun.

Ian Hallett
September 1999