motorcycles, travel, friendship, respect… I may drift off into WTF-land at times so hang in there.

Look Harder.

The sun filtered though the trees warming the brisk morning air as The Pillion and I followed the black ribbon that was Mt Nebo Road.  No one ahead of us, nor behind, and only the beat of the engine beneath us breaking the silence.

It was one of those surreal moments in time, when everything just flowed.

Mt Nebo Road - Thank You Google

Mt Nebo Road – Thank You Google

I geared down a few cogs and tipped ‘Old Z’ into a left hander we’d been around dozens of times before on the way up to Jollys Lookout; it was one of those split corners with a drop-off, a nasty piece of road design that could catch you off guard.

Without warning, I felt the back wheel come up.

The collector on the Transac 4 into 1 exhaust had bottomed out on the road surface, lifting the back wheel and depositing it further out than where it should have been.  I felt The Pillion shift in her seat and lean into me as I struggled to hold ‘Old Z’ on her intended line.

Suddenly, I remembered a conversation I’d had with another rider we’d met at The Gap BP 20 minutes earlier. He’d warned me about slow-moving tip trucks and some damage to the tarmac from their dual wheels. Then it dawned on me; I’d hit one of the ruts left by a tip truck.

Time had slowed to a crawl, yet everything was happening at light-speed.

Visions of a high-side danced in my head and the thought of both of us landing on the road below seemed a real possibility. The edge of the drop-off was getting closer by the millisecond, there was no guard railing to stop us slipping off the edge and into the path of oncoming traffic making its way down the mountain.

“Was this the part where I put my head between my knees and kiss my arse goodbye?” I thought.

The Pillion gripped my waist harder, so hard I had trouble catching my breath.

A calm came over me, my mind drifted back to McQ, the bloke who taught me how to ride all those years ago. McQ’s words began to ring in my ears. “You’ll end up where you look, idiot!”

McQ had a way with words, subtlety wasn’t one of his strong points. “Look through the corner.” I heard him say

Followed by “If you think you’re not going to make it; LOOK HARDER!”

In a moment of absolute clarity, I snapped out of it. I forced myself to trust ‘Old Z’. My only hope was that The Pillion would trust me.

In one movement, I pointed my chin over my left shoulder, and, with a supple hand, locked ‘Old Zs’ throttle. I held my speed as best I could, not wanting to wipe off too much, or accelerate too hard.

‘Old Z’ bucked again as she traversed yet another rut. We were rapidly running out of road.

I looked harder.

Mt Nebo Road - Thank You Google

Mt Nebo Road – Thank You Google

I knew once we breached the apex, the road opened into a short straight before tipping into a slight right hander. In my mind’s eye, I could see what ‘Old Z’ and I needed to do.

I slipped ‘Old Z’s’ clutch as we crested the apex, the front wheel came up just a little, just enough to clear another smaller rut. ‘Old Z’ regained her composure, her front wheel touching down as the road opened out into a short straight ahead of us.

An eternity had passed in a blink of an eye. The road ahead was clear, there were no cars coming the other way, we were still on the right side of the road; only just though.

I breathed a sigh of relief. We were through.


G’day,

The preceding story is true.

It happened in the spring of 1992 while The Pillion and I were out on a morning run through the hills to the west of Brisbane. The screen grabs above are of the corner as it exists today. Back then, there was no guard railing separating the upper and lower sections of road.

We came out of our foray into bronco riding unscathed and continued along our way, albeit somewhat shaken. It ended well for us, more due to luck than anything else. There certainly wasn’t any skill involved.

I found out later that other riders before and after that day were not so fortunate. Some walked away after dropping their bikes, while others, unfortunately, lost their lives along that 30km (18.5 mile) stretch of road.

Eventually, the truck drivers causing the damage to the road surface were held accountable for their carelessness. Repairs and upgrades were made to the road in the following months. Although, it has to be said that the road is still treacherous to this day, even with the upgrades.

Cheers

1979 Kawasaki Z1R MKII

1979 Kawasaki Z1R MKII – ‘Old Z’

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11 responses

  1. Great telling of the story! Glad all was well. I had similar advice but not as simple as look harder.

    Like

    August 5, 2015 at 2:12 AM

  2. Good job remembering to look where you want to go. Hard during a “pucker butt” moment to remember to do that.

    Now, all these years later looking back, at least you know you handled it well even if it didn’t seem quite that way at the time.

    Like

    August 5, 2015 at 6:00 AM

    • I still think I was lucky, the ruts were quite bad but the one thing in my favour was that I knew the road and wasn’t riding at warp factor 9… I never have when The Pillion is on board.

      Like

      August 5, 2015 at 8:16 AM

  3. Bob

    I disagree. Maybe a little luck, but sounds like there was more skill there than you thought in the moment. Being able to “snap” out of it and do what doesn’t come instinctively isn’t luck, it’s training and skill. Nice story with a nicer ending!

    Liked by 2 people

    August 5, 2015 at 9:40 AM

    • I guess that’s true, Bob. First responders do bucket loads of training and they do without thinking much of the time.

      Like

      August 5, 2015 at 9:49 AM

  4. Holy shit, Ghost! I had pucker butt (thanks, Trobairitz) just reading this, and I’m sitting at my desk chair. Skill, luck, whatever–something sure worked out for you and The Pillion, especially as it sadly didn’t turn out so well for others. I’m glad that y’all survived to tell the tale.

    “And you continue to ride?” asks the typical non-rider, with that does-not-compute, my-head-is-about-to-explode expression on his face…

    Like

    August 5, 2015 at 3:26 PM

    • Why, yes I do continue to ride sir (or madam, as the case may be). If you had tripped on a crack in the pavement and broke your wrist, would you cease walking?

      Thanks Ry for your comment 😉

      Liked by 1 person

      August 5, 2015 at 4:39 PM

  5. Great reading. You had me on the edge of my seat. I was half expecting the post to end with “writing from my hospital bed”. Glad it turned out well for you two.

    Like

    August 7, 2015 at 4:50 PM

  6. Pingback: A Matter Of Trust. | EXPERIMENTAL GHOST

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