Friday, November 20, 2009

The Mule

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Back to the story. Ross, as the tall one was known, had a pack pony and draught horse rolled into one. I asked him how long he thought it might take him to get to Darwin.

His Beemer had a swag over the pillion seat, two side panniers full of gear and another bag full of tools. This man was prepared for anything and as we were soon to find out, travelled over any mountain through any river and faster than a rabbit being chased by a hawk. I thought the bottle of VB in the brown paper bag hanging out of his left pannier was a mark of the man. This was no ordinary librarian, he was from MANly.

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We drank coffee, ate cake and took pictures, thanked them for their hospitality and sped off to Denman. It pured rain and then it got worse, but the big sky country seen from the vantage point of a speeding bike as you slide into open sweeping curves is addictive. The 40 to 60k winds were a slight nuisance, though I often saw Alan A. slide from the left to the right lane and back again, that is, when I saw a glimpse of his taillight. Boy could that Kwaka go. I thought I smelt racing fuel.

We turned into the main highway into Denman but the Beemer was not to be found. I circled back but soon saw the pack mule flying up past me. Ross had stopped to do some running repairs.

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