Ride Like Hell and You'll Get There by Paul Carter

Author:Paul Carter [Carter, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: book, BIO000000
ISBN: 9781743431917
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2013-10-17T11:00:00+00:00

STORMTROOPERS

AFTER ENOUGH COFFEE to make me jittery, a hearty breakfast and a lengthy session trying to dry our shirts using the toilet hand-dryer, we tentatively stepped back out into the howling rain and rode to a nearby shop that stocked mountain-climbing equipment, again staggering through the doors like someone just flushed us down the toilet.

‘Didn’t pack well for the tour, guys,’ said the smartarse behind the counter.

‘Yeah, yeah, we’ve been getting laughed at since we got on the ferry.’

He smiled like he’d seen us coming. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort you out.’ He bounced out from behind his counter and proceeded to flog us $500 worth of wet-weather gear.

Diego was shivering in the corner, his face frozen into a gargoyle smirk. ‘May I use your toilet, please?’

‘Yeah, mate, help yourself.’ In the end our friend was good, he even gave us cups of tea.

Properly tooled up we swaggered out into the street, stormtrooper-clad, warm, dry and ready to man up and take on anything Tassie threw at us. Diego, now 20 pounds heavier and unable to spread his legs as much as he needed to, spent a full five minutes humping his bike in an effort to get on.

We peeled off in the direction of Port Sorell. It was freezing cold; I hadn’t ridden in conditions like this since the last time I was in Russia. In fact, the only reminder that we were in Tasmania was the lone wombat we passed by the side of the road, a rather grumpy-looking fellow sitting on a rock with a comedy frosting of snow.

We crossed the Rubicon River as the snow turned into slush and Diego got his ride on. After crossing another river he suddenly turned off towards the national park; there was no traffic on the road so we flogged it. It was wet, but in my mind I justified the speed by telling myself there were no trees, just low scrub, and I’m a stormtrooper now so I’ll just bounce if I drop it. Diego finally pulled up when we ran out of blacktop. He killed the engine, flipped up his visor and pointed down the gravel road. ‘Let us go and ride on that beeech.’ A hundred questions popped into my mind but I just nodded at him, and we were off to ride on the beach while I thought about all the reasons why you shouldn’t take a Harley onto the sand.

Having said that, the bike had no issue with it. It was amazing; we blasted up the beach, completely alone. The sand was perfect, like a combination of loose gravel and snow but compacted and solid. My bike is only a Sportster, the lightest of the Harley line-up; this particular model called the ‘48’ has a low, snug riding position, a short rake on the front with huge fat tyres and masses of torque, ideal for riding fast up a beach. I didn’t buy this bike to sit in my garage and polish it: I intended to respect it, care for it, but ride the shit out of it.

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