I arrived home from work today to find a box full of old photos strewn all over the floor.
Yep, you guessed it, The Pillion got bored and was reminiscing about the old days.
You might remember back in early July, The Bar Tender did his motorcycle training with Noel out at Q-Ride Redlands.
Getting his motorcycle licence was something he’d been wanting to do for a very long time; I guess it was inevitable seeing as he has been exposed to bikes all of his life.
I’m a motorcycle tragic: There I’ve said it.
If I’m not riding bikes, I’m talking about them. If I’m not talking about them, I’m reading about them, and if I’m not reading about them, I’m attempting to write about them.
But maaan… er… or woman as the case may be, what do I do when I can’t do any of those things because I’m… gasp … driving, or worse, wirkin’?
On February 19, 2014 I wrote about The Black Dog ride.
Since 2009, Black Dog Ride has worked tirelessly to raise awareness and funds for suicide prevention programs across Australia.
I reckon the best pillion I’ve ever had would’ve been Daka. He was a wiry sort of bloke, maybe 5’11” who weighed next to nothing. He was a rider himself, rode a GPz-1100 B2 as I recall.
Alas, he was a bit naughty on one or two occasions and the powers that be told him he couldn’t ride (or drive) for a rather lengthy period of time.
A couple of weeks ago Jaja joined me on a trip up to O’Reilly’s in the Lamington National Park. You can read about that visit here.
While we were up there we read a story on a monument about a rescue that took place in 1937 not far from the Guest House and I thought I’d share it with you.
On 28 July 1914, half a world away from Australia, Europe had begun its journey into a conflict dubbed “The Great War”, later known as the First World War.
By April 25, 1915, Australia and New Zealand were drawn into the conflict. On that day they were deposited on the Gallipoli Peninsula (Gelibolu) in Turkey in an unsuccessful campaign to take control of Constantinople and the sea route from Europe to Russia.
Back in October 2013, I was having a chin wag with a mate when he mentioned he was thinking about doing a Far Ride. He told me The Far Riders* were associated with The Iron Butt Association (IBA)* in the United States, and that you didn’t join by paying your dues and/ or attending a couple of meetings at a local pub or club house.
A few weeks ago I wrote about Getting Out Of Dodge.
In a few days, The Pillion and I will be hitting the road. We know where we’re going, but not the route. Maybe we’ll play it by ear, sometimes the unplanned adventures are the best.