PLANETS WITH CHIPSOvernight Club RideFebruary 6th ­ 7th 2016Peter Hubach

Mal had been organising this ride for quite a few months, as is necessary to get commitment to attend from as manymembers as possible. It’s always good to have a theme for an overnighter. This one coincided with the “alignment”of several planets. So it was decided to go to Tamin for the night, to wave at them.

The astronomical use of the word “alignment” is not what most people think is meant by the term. If the planets werealigned in the normal sense of the word, in a line, we would only see the first one. On this weekend, the planetswere “aligned” in such a way that Mercury, Venus, Saturn, Mars and Jupiter would all be visible in the night sky atthe same time, weather permitting. This is quite a rare event as the orbits of the planets, including Earth, are in thesame plane. So it is more common to have some planets distributed on both sides of our one. On this Saturdaynight, five of them would all be on the one side, the Tamin side.

The start of the ride was the Kelmscott McDonald’s, at a very leisurely 10:00am for a 10:30am departure, (weactually left a bit later, FINE!). At the late breakfast, over luke warm coffee and soggy, fatty victuals, Fred let slip thathe really preferred to be called Frederick.

Tamin is not far as the crow flies, soMal had his job cut out in devising aninteresting circuitous route. Campingin a paddock, in the wheat belt, in themiddle of summer, is not mostpeople’s “cup of tea”. It wassurprising the number of riders whoturned up to enjoy this. In noparticular order the ride group startingfrom Kelmscott consisted of Mal(leader), Steve (tail end Charlie),Ivan, E­J, Nic and Trehan, Dennis,Terry and Janet, Paul and Debbie,Frederick, JC and Nancy and me.Walter and Pienna, and Sindy andAlex would be meeting us at Tamin,having got there in camper vans!(FINE!)

The previous weekend, the Great Australian Summer had disappeared, chased away by pouring rain and coldwinds. This would not have been enjoyable weather for riding or camping and light based astronomy would havebeen impossible. We were lucky that the Great Australian Summer had returned, promising us a weekend of over40ºC days and clear night skies. The plan was to arrive at Tamin Road House mid afternoon, meet up with the“Vanners”, get refreshment and proceed the seven kilometres to the camp site. Here the astronomers would haveset up their telescopes and we would set up our tents, socialise in the gloaming before riding back to town for aquick meal in the pub, riding back to the telescopes to view the stars and planets, eating cheesy poops etc andimbibing the alcohol of choice. What could possibly go wrong?

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After a sunny reading of the Riot Act with detailed instructions about corner marking, we were off. A right on to thehighway and then first left to go up the scarp. Traffic meant that the group could not leave in one, continuous line. Istopped at the first turning, within sight of the riders yet to leave the car park. The big, red, Norge was as close tothe highway as was safe to stop, lights flashing. I stood on the corner waving. Some riders still didn’t see me andwent straight ahead down the highway to Armadale.

When they returned, we were a very spread out group. Unusually, we were not obstructed by cars in our ascent upthe scarp. Some spirited riding but probably more importantly, the fact that the lead group stopped and waited forus, had us all together again for the ride through Bickley Valley to Mundaring Weir Road. Maybe it was already toowarm for the Lycra Lads that habitually block progress along these roads with their bicycles three abreast, becausethere was no sign of them.

At Mundaring Weir car park, E­J realised that she would not make it to Mundaring before requiring a toilet stop. Soa few of us also stopped and waited along with Steve. The water level in the weir was unexpectedly low,considering the previous week’s rain. We waited and looked at the water. We waited and looked at the water again.Then we waited some more and looked in the direction of the toilet block. Just when us blokes were about to drawstraws on who would venture into the “Ladies”, E­J emerged from the toilet block wearing considerably less thanwhen she went in. An almost complete wardrobe re­shuffle was required to deal with the increasing heat.

We continued on the weir road. Just past the roundabout after the weir, we were flashed by a couple of cars.Evidently we were being warned to keep within the speed limit. Of course, we always do anyway but I kept a goodlook out for constabulary or white X­Trails. It wasn’t until we got to Mundaring town site that we spied the white X­Trail, pulled over with the tail window concealing the electronics, aimed at traffic leaving Mundaring. It probablycould have photographed our number plates too but we were squeaky clean.

Our route from Kelmscott to Mundaring had been through some beautiful country with lovely winding roads andmercifully low traffic. Most of the group had bunched up behind a car for the descent to the Helena River after thedam. But those that had stopped with E­J had a free run down and then up the other side; marvellous corners!

We continued through Mundaring on to Stoneville Road. There were no corner markers at the roundabouts oranywhere else. At least I knew that the ride was going on to Toodyay Road. All the way to that junction there wasno sign of the other riders. They were waiting just before the junction. Yes, the ride went straight down StonevilleRoad so there were no turns to mark for that section but the roundabout section and lights at Mundaring would haveconfused riders who didn’t know the area or which way to go. We can do better than this!

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Toodyay Road is busy, often has big trucks, has limited overtaking sections and is limited to 100km/h along most ofthe way and less for sizeable sections. Our club uses it just to get somewhere else when there is no alternative.We used it that morning to get to the road to Clackline via Hoddy Well. This is a nice road! Although it’s morescenic going the other way, when the Toodyay Valley opens out in front of you, it provides lovely sweeping cornersin both directions. Some cobwebs accumulated on Toodyay Road were well and truly blown here. The airtemperature as well as the pace of the ride was heating up.

At Clackline we rode under the Great Eastern Highway and on to Spencer’s Brook Road. The new straight sectionwas closed because of road works, so we were diverted down the old road, which is much more twisty and scenic,past an old, white walled farm house nestled amongst the obligatory rose bushes, sheltering from the increasingheat. The group stretched out as those at the front exercised their right wrists and others enjoyed the rollingscenery at a more sedate pace. E­J, having stood at the turn off for York in full sun, was able to cool off by dartingpast other riders to regain her usual position close to the front. The Castle Hotel was calling us to lunch. It’samazing how short a time motorcycle riders can go without food.

The group split up in the car park of the Castle Hotel, each rider finding shade for their bike in an attempt not toreturn to a scaldingly hot seat. There was one large gum, inhabited by Corellas that cheekily threatened to decoratethe bikes parked beneath them. The bar inside is not large by Australian standards. There were a couple of roundtables with high stools. What it lacked in atmosphere it gained in air conditioning. It was rather cool inside,especially compared to the baking, brick beer “garden” that we walked through to gain entry. There was a very nicedinning room up the ornate staircase, dripping with heritage features snap frozen by the efficient air conditioning.Guess where we sat after ordering our drinks and food?

Yep, outside in the brick cauldron, under the iron roofs that captured the sun’s heat and effectively radiated it on tothe tables below. There was even a cosy wood fired pizza oven to gather around. Since we were riding after lunch,proper beer to slake our parched throats was out of the question. Mal recommended some lightweight beerconcoction that tasted almost exactly unlike beer. Ivan told me later that Mal usually drinks Corona, so that explainsit. Every meal ordered came with half a plateful of chips, even the “healthy” sounding choices. These were goodchips though, proper thick ones with a nice crispy batter. Mind you, in that heat, even the salad was crispy, havingquickly passed through the wilted stage and on to being baked to the plate.

The distant throbbing of a KLR became louder as we munched through lunch. It was Nigel, who couldn’t make theKelmscott start. Nigel’s excuse for joining us late was that he had some work to do. Those familiar with Nigel’smorning aversion thought that a Saturday lie in was most probably the true reason for him missing the already latestart. Nigel had been told that there would be some dirt roads on this trip, so he had eschewed his six cylinderBMW for the one cylinder KLR, loading it with enough gear to make it weigh approximately the same.

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Debbie had momentarily left the table, declaring that shecouldn’t eat the second half of her pulled pork Moroccanwrap and plate of chips. Nigel didn’t hesitate to assist;Debbie returning to an empty plate a few moments later, theKLR would now have to cope with even more weight.

The ride continued across the Avon, the temperature risingabove 40ºC as we crossed the bridge to the QuairadingRoad. The riders satiated with chips and fizzy beersubstitute. We climbed out of the Avon Valley and into therecumbent landscape of open paddocks and toweringwhite­barked gum trees. At Kauring, we turned left on toCubbine Road, well most of us did. No corner markingmeant that Nic with Trehan and Steve rode straight ontowards Quairading. Until they found road works. One ofthe road workers told them that the recent works were verysoft and not suitable for road bikes. So Nic and Steveturned around, realising that they must have missed a turn.They knew that the next stop was Quairading, so Nic,astride the six cylinder BMW with GPS and SatNav, turnedsouth towards Corrigin, completely in the wrong direction.Apparently they found some very nice salt lakes beforerealising their error and eventually finding a way to us atQuairading. Some might add here that the tail end Charlieshould know the ride route, but I’m far too diplomatic tomention it.

The ride turned off Cubbine Road on to Hayes Road. Nancy and I stopped to corner mark. It was nice and warm.There was no sign of Nic or Steve’s bike. After five minutes or so, I thought that something may have happened tothem, so I began to ride back the way we had come. After a few minutes I stopped. Nancy and I had had the samethought at about the same time, a very rare event. We both realised that we didn’t know if Nic or Steve had everturned on to Cubbine Road. We rode back to Hayes Road and on to the junction with the York – Quairading Road,where the road works were to the right and Quairading a few kilometres to the left. One of the workers there toldme that two of our riders had arrived at the other end of the road works and turned around.

At Quairading, the group had ridden past the open road house (the one with the cool drinks) and stopped at thesecond road house in the town. It was closed, the road house and Quairading in general, but there was shade.Riders sat on the comfy concrete in the shade and waited for Nic and Steve to arrive. There was some mobilephone activity so we were assured that they were OK and on their way. Warm tap water was available from a tapon the toilet wall. Several riders enjoyed a wet shirt but there was no competition:­ Ivan won. Nigel had some iceremaining in a plastic bag and the last lumps were consumed eagerly. The remaining ice water and bag made acooling hat for me for a short time. Then I accepted the ice bucket challenge and emptied it over my head. Imagesof the Solo Man flashed through my mind, then I realised that I probably looked more like Smeagol than Solo.

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When Nic and Steve rode up, it would have been selfish to ride off immediately, so we waited for them to refreshthemselves with warm Quairading tap water. Eventually it was time to leave Quairading and strike out for Tamin.On the extreme eastern outskirts of the Quairading CBD is Loudin Street and a signpost pointing north with “Tamin47”. This becomes Mount Stirling Road and then joins Badgaling North Road which joins Goldfields Road to go toTamin. Not many people know that. Which probably explains the lack of traffic, most people rushing to Tamin forthe alignment would have gone via Great Eastern Highway. They would have missed the sweeping panoramas ofgranite rock outcrops and Mount Stirling that we enjoyed, shimmering in the late afternoon heat.

At Tamin road house, we met up with the “Vanners”, Walter and Pienna, Sindy and Alex. They had been therewaiting for us for some time, in the air conditioning, with access to food, cold drinks, comfy lounge suites and propertoilets. How they must have suffered! After fuelling up with cold drinks, warm, greasy food and petrol, we headednorth to the astronomical camp site, all that is except Frederick. It turned out he was staying at the pub in a motelroom. “Well, with all the moving that is going on at home.”, he confessed to me, “I would probably forget to packsomething such as the remote control.”. I didn’t ask what the remote control was for, probably for the wave machineon his camping water bed.

It was a straight bitumen road with one significant bump and then a few metres of dirt down a side road to the gate.Good job that Nigel had brought the KLR! The astronomers had set up their telescopes on concrete pads. Therewas a shipping container, two portable toilets, a bush shower and a tap with town water. Next to the cleared areawas a plantation of sandal wood trees, “..pretty shonky too”, according to our sandal wood expert in the wet teeshirt. The astronomers told us that there were double­gees throughout, particularly in the tree area, they hadsprayed the flat paddock area but the little prickly burs were still abundant, waiting to puncture our air beds. Sincethe bur­free concrete pads were occupied with telescopes, most people elected to pitch their tents amongst thetrees to give some protection from the sun and wind.

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The delays on the ride meant that therewas not much time to set up camp, wanderaround eating cheesy poops and chatbefore we had to be at the pub in town toorder the evening meal before the kitchenclosed. Mal had warned the publicanpreviously that there would be about fifteenmotorcyclists to feed this weekend and hehad arranged to put on an extra kitchenhand. Paul, Debbie and Dennis decidednot to go to the pub with the rest of thegroup. Dennis had food and stove to beself­sufficient and Paul and Debbie werenot hungry, maybe the heat had affectedthem, not being used to it coming fromTasmania.

We met up with Frederick at the pub and everyone had ordered by 19:00, the kitchen supposed to be closed from20:00. There was one barman covering both food and drink orders. We wrote down what we wanted on thewaiter’s pad and paid when the barman had time to attend to us. Again, because we were riding after the meal,drinks were restricted to low alcohol varieties except for pillion Nancy and the “Vanners’ ” passengers.

Frederick had decided that a bush outing was a good time to dust off the Blundstone boots that had been sitting inthe boot room for a while. There was no point in soiling his BMW boots with country dust, the Blundstones would bemore suitable for off bike perambulations. The boot servant had been let go after the unfortunate fire incident, soFrederick was sporting rather scruffy footwear when he arrived in the bar. Maybe he thought his old, designerdistressed “Country Roads” check shirt would draw away people’s attention?

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The table arrangement at the pub did not allow our group to sit together,so we split in two, the true motorcyclists not wishing to sit with the“Vanners”. We waited for our meals and sipped our insipid drinks.There was nothing else to do but talk. Frederick, not used to such tardyservice, tapped his Blundstones against the table footing with increasingfrustration and severity. We waited. Then we waited some more. Thedrinks ran out. Fred arose from the table and walked to the bar,obviously despairing of table service in such an establishment, leavingin his wake a brown trail of disintegrated Blundstone sole. Under hischair was a mini Mount Stirling of Blundstone rubble. Like MarieAntoinette pretending to be a milk maid, Frederick assumed the role of aworking class man and procured a dustpan and brush from the barmanand proceeded to experiment with their use. “Don’t let it get back to Jenthat I’ve worked out how to use these.”, he pleaded. As if we would…

At the side of the room was an old piano. We often find an old piano onrides with Nigel, they’re drawn to him. This one had a secret, it was apianola. Sadly, not in tune and not in working condition. Nigel openedvarious panels with reverence. Inside it was more complicated than anearly BMW anti­lock braking system, tubes everywhere. With moisteyes, Nigel explained the mechanism to us. The bellows wouldn’t holdair, much like the digestive system of hungry bikers. Nigel ran hisfingers up and down the keyboard. Even the most musically inept couldhear that it was way out of tune, probably last being played for thecoronation, and not the last one at that.

We continued to wait for our food. Eventually, Nigel got his pork chops,(probably to stop him abusing the pianola), then the cook started on thenext order. It appeared that the meals were prepared one after theother. For example, Ivan snaffled Steve’s plate of garlic prawns when itarrived and Steve was away from the table. Ivan reasoned that thegarlic prawns must be ready and another plate would be arriving soon.Wrong! It was probably a good hour later that Steve got his meal, a factI’m sure he hasn’t forgotten. Mal was one of the first to order, a pizza.His was the last meal to arrive, over two hours after ordering. We foundout later that the extra kitchen hand had phoned in that afternoon askingfor the evening off. It was her birthday and her father had unexpectedlyarrived from Britain to celebrate. Sindy had volunteered to help out inthe kitchen or waitressing, but her offer was refused.

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If we had known it would take so long to get food we probably would have gone to the road house and then back tothe camp site for proper alcoholic refreshment, more cheesy poops and more astronomy. The heavens wait for noman and they had moved on whilst we were stuck at the pub. It was about 22:00 when we all got back, a bit late tostart socialising and drinking, then there was the astronomy to take in. By 23:00 most people had crawled into theirsleeping gear. It was still warm and the wind had increased. Lying in my tent without the fly sheet, I could look up atthe stars and listen to the wind in the dry sandal wood, Nancy snoring, Nigel snoring and look forward to a goodnight’s rest. That didn’t happen.

The best view of the “aligned” planets was a couple of hours beforedawn. The telescopes were pointing at their chosen planet and youcould planet hop between them. Before the sun rose, with the sky quitelight, it was still possible to see some planets. It was the first time I’veseen Saturn and to see it silver with its rings against a light blue sky wasa highlight for me.

Most people were up by dawn. JC and Dennis already packing up.They left the group before breakfast, Dennis wanting a “civilised”breakfast in Beverley and JC with a good ride to get home. Nigel slepton. The blue then pink then dark banding of the sky just before dawnwas explained by an astronomer as the shadow of the earth showingagainst the dust and pollutants in the sky. “The curve of the shadowproves the Earth is round.”, he said. “I’m not convinced.”, I replied, “Adinner plate’s edge is round and would give the same effect. Anyonewho has ridden in the wheat belt knows that the Earth is flat”. Don’t getme started on Gravity Waves. Nigel slept on. As bikes were started inpreparation for departure, Nigel sat up in his swag, but you couldn’treally say he was awake.

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The big, modern road house in Tamin lookslike it was architecturally inspired by the wheatbins across the road. It’s huge. The retailspace is a hotchpotch of shelves and wracksdisplaying the usual Country and WesternCDs, tins of Spam and other detritus form thetwentieth century. From the counter, you cansee through to the kitchen, like in stylishrestaurants. That’s where the similarity ends.No cereal and no marmalade, not a good start.Two of the three coffee machines were out oforder. Breakfasts have to be fried, eventhough it not mentioned on the menu, thescrambled eggs came with chips and thebacon and eggs and everything else, and notthe good chips like those at the Castle Hotel inYork either. At least they had a table longenough to include all of our group. Even if itwas right in front of the slot machines withnames such as “Skill Tester” and “Top Gun”.

Half way through breakfast Frederick arrived,freshly showered from his motel room. “I had toturn down the electric blanket.”, he complained,looking around for his usual breakfast brioche andsmoked salmon. I don’t think the Blundstonesmade it back to Mosman Park.

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It was still early when we headed west. Debbie and Paul opting for the direct but boring route of the Great EasternHighway, along with the “Vanners”. The rest had a truly exhilarating ride along Goldfields Road to York. The sunwas behind us and so was the light breeze. The country lit up in a golden glow of mid summer gorgeousness. Mallead the way at a reasonable, web blowing rate. Until he suddenly braked and pulled over. I rode up next to himand asked helpfully, “Has it broken down again?”. “Nah.”, Mal replied, “Bee sting.”. A bee had stung Mal on theneck and he had stopped to pull out the sting. Mal isn’t allergic to bee stings and was manfully able to continueriding.

Mount Bakewell appeared on the horizon, showing us where York lay nestled at its base. Is this the only hill namedafter a tart? The road seemed to veer away from a direct route, Mount Bakewell now on our right and now on ourleft, getting bigger and bigger with every kilometre. Then the road decided to give up trying to fool us and divedstraight for Mount Bakewell, joining the York to Northam Road. A short re­group at the roadside in York and it wasdecided not to stop for coffee as it was still early and the Tamin chips were occupying much of people’s digestivesystems. So we rode back to our respective homes, much enlightened about our place in the universe and theimportance of chips with everything.