I feel the XLV shudder as it half volleys a half brick sized rock (like its a ping pong ball) into the valley beside me. but no time to watch that as i have my own trajectory to think about...

A really cruisy ride up on Saturday. Maroondah Highway all the way to Mansfield. Believe it or not this was my first time ever to do this trip on a bike, and only once before to Eildon in a car 18 years ago. Weather was perfect, traffic was slow, so I just enjoyed the scenery. It is beautiful country and I was blown away. On my arrival in Mansfield I was struck by the amount of horseshit all over the main street and the fact that there was a huge fiesta going down. I grabbed a few essentials and headed south west to Barry's place.

Barry and Ros have this modest, yet excellent, weekender not far out of Mansfield. By the time I got there it was just starting to drizzle so we drank a couple while I worked out whether to camp in or out. Soon Steve and Chris Jordan turned up with his XLV on a trailer, followed soon after by Peter Holt on his TA. Next arrival was Nigel on the AT and finally this guy Glen shows up on this XLV that looks like it hasn't even been ridden yet. It's all starting to happen! By this time I've decided to camp out and have set up my leaky tent. Steve lends me his tarp when it pisses down rain so a dry night is had by me and I'm ready for anything.

Next morning its the obligatory v-twin photo line up. Then Nigel and Glen have to head straight back to the big smoke. This left Barry, Steve, Peter and myself as starters for the ride to Myrtleford. Under a threatening sky Barry led through Mansfield nor east thru Tolmie (I think) past lots of happy campers on the way to Tomahawk track. It was here on Tomahawk that Steve horizontal parked his bike and unfortunately snapped off his front brake line. We had already come up a couple of good rises and so Barry went back with him to help on the steep bits. That left just the two of us to press on.

After a minute or so, Peter had convinced me of his navigation skills: he's got the map, the little compass on his sleeve and the working odometer, and even though its overcast and I'm completely disoriented, what the f##k, its an "adventure" isn't it? As we head into the wilder terrain I'm trying to remember all the junctions and forks incase we're lost. Pete seems confidant and soon we start seeing the huts, camp grounds, creek crossings shown on his map and I gain a bit of confidence. Remember, it's my first time in this neck of the woods. The roads are fairly easy for the XLV, we get onto Evans Creek Track and I'm loving the set up of the XLV which seems just right. Paul Dandy's words: "dont be a pussy,,,,,,,WHEELIE OFF the spoonies..." are repeating in my head, and before I know it I'm boldly launching that XLV like a man possessed. It just gets better and better. After a while we emerge onto bitumen near a place called Chestnut. It's a fantastic day, weather is perfect.

Peter's looking for a turn off to Black Range Track at Whitfield north of Chestnut and after a visit to a lavender farm, (where we did not stop to smell any flowers) we're finally on the right track. Heading north-east, Black Range Track is seemingly well used and bloody good fun. Peter's going like a rocket in the lead, and I'm in leapin' XLV heaven when all of a sudden, one of these spoonies has a bottomless pit in the landing area...BAM! The bruisingest bottom out I've ever done. Seconds later, the bike punts rock incident as I described at the start occurred, and I'm starting to think ... "I'm gonna wreck this bike". Just up the road Pete is waiting to tell me how he wants to slow down a bit 'cause he just cased out ..etc. none-the-less he still disappears fairly quickly.

Pete has stopped at a T junction (track to the left) for a leak and I'm glad of a revival break etc. Only trouble, it's not just Pete having a leak. The TA's oil is slowly pouring out of the bash plate from a hole in the sump. "F**k" we both say, and I'm starting to think about how far we're going to have to go two up before we can organise... etc etc. when I suddenly remembered that I had some epoxy ribbon stuff and a litre of oil in my pannier. 30 minutes (and some caveman style bashplate bashing) later, we were on our way.

In hindsight we should probably have taken the left hand track, but we went straight ahead. The B.R.T. started to get a bit gnarly with a loose rocky climb followed by a loose rocky descent followed by a longer and steeper and looser bigger rockier climb etc. (you get the picture) I was quite taken by the growl of the XLV as it alternately bitched about spitting rocks backwards and then bitched about getting traction and having to lift the front wheel skywards etc. I was also starting to work pretty hard. This track was making Mt Margaret's and Zeka seem like a doddle. I stopped for a breath on a level spot and then took off once more. Only trouble, I'd launched in second gear and pretty soon I was going backwards, dropped the bike and performed a perfect reverse flying "W" much to Pete's amusement. The soft pannier acted like a cushion and no damage was done.

Pete flew on ahead on the TA after he helped me get going again. The steepest was still to come however and it was like riding over chairs. Pete seemed to do it easily but the XLV angrily hurled its arse (and mine) from side to side and with a frame busting boulder dead ahead I had the choice of crashing or parking on a seriously steep and rocky section. I chose the latter. "F**k" I said for the second time that day. I'm thinking "how the f##k am i even going to get a 4wd out here to retrieve the bike let alone the trailer and getting it onto the trailer etc.." Pete just says,"we'll walk it out" I had got the bike past the steepest bit after all. I quashed my doubts and we walked it out quite easily. With the hardest stuff behind we came out near Buffalo Lake and made it to Myrtleford in time for a 3.00pm lunch, fuel, thing. For the ride back to Mansfield we chose bitumen and easy dirt. Stopped at Powers Lookout. Made it back to Barry's after supplies in Mansfield around 6 I guess. It was here after a few cleansing ales and a barby dinner that I started to appreciate, just how adventurous a V-twin adventure could get, and that i had just about blown my mind.

Despite a buzzing mind and a leaky lilo I got a reasonable sleep. Next morning I wake up bleary; Pete's already packed; It starts pissing rain; My helmet's filled up like a bucket; dog wants to bite my wheels off. Pete knows an adventurous way back to Melbourne. (I was going to take the easy way out) Say's he'll wait for me to pack etc. Oh what the hell, I say, It's an "adventure". Isn't that what its all about?

We headed through Jamieson and found the track to Mt Terrible. The overnight rains give us a bit to think about. "Hey Pete this is really F***n slippery" but he's already vanished. The fully laden XLV is a bit different from the "camping gear deployed" version I had yesterday and I'm taking it cautiously. Up the top of Mt Terrible which was easy we met a foursome of antbike riders who had never conceived of a couple of V-twins suddenly appearing. "He's got everything on there" I heard after the kill switch. Despite Peter's friendly motorcycle based conversation they quickly donned helmets and vanished in a burst of high revs and low speed. Snow began to fall as we head down the shady side of Mt Terrible and now its geting really slippery. An easy wrong turn takes us into "B.R.T. seems tame territory". A u-turn and some hard work later and we're back on track. We stop while its snowing like anything for a photoshoot, only for the snow to vanish completely until the second I've got my gloves back on.

The flat yet rocky surface was cool on the level but as we went from shadey to sunnyside of the ridges it became a bit of a traction toss-up between rocks and dirt and greasy mud. After negotiating some very "Paul Dandy's spoonie method unfriendly" spoonies we arrived at Big River Road. "No more hills" says Pete. B.R.R. wound a little to start with then opened up as we passed some more happy campers. Road gets a bit wider as does carby throat. After the overnight rain and traffic the relatively flat surface has developed clay patches on most corners and some surprise ones hidden on the long straights. At one stage I hit one at about 130kmh (trying to get a glimpse of Pete) and luckily it dried up before I got too horizontal but a sobering moment none the less. Hello, what's this. outa fuel? That's right, I last fuelled at Myrtleford. Competely forgot about this thing called petrol. Had to coast it down the watchimacallit spur and ran out of reserve a couple of ks. out of Warburton. Pete gallantly dumped his drinking water so I could get a litre of petrol out of his tank. Fuelled up in Warburton. Pete headed south soon after and as I got closer to town the traffic took over my head space. Some wanker on a Harley is wagging his head at me at the traffic lights and i guess it's on account of my mud caked bike and dirty boots. "What a loser" I'm thinking "he'll never go anywhere."