We met up with Wes at Shell, Albion Park Rail at 7am. As we were departing, several riders, Ross, Dean and others turn up to do the cappuccino loop.

Heading off we made good time up over the mountain via Picton Rd and onto the Hume highway at Wilton. With a taste of things to come, we spied our first camera car lurking in the bushes, on the freeway just north of Campbelltown. Fortunately, it was coffee and donuts time, and he just shook his head as we motored past.

M5/M7 and the usual tedious run scraping with the traffic up Pennant Hills Road we entered onto the Newcastle Expressway only to have three police vehicles, flashing lights ablaze, in high-speed pursuit, come flying by and off into the distance. We cautiously motored up to the Berowra exit to meet up with DOCNSW members at the Mobil service station.

Just before saddling up to depart, we spot helicopters overhead. Later we informed that they had closed the southbound lane of the Newcastle to Sydney freeway, and landed on it. Within minutes of departing onto the old Pacific highway, the group of twelve or more had become a huge convoy with an exceptionally high police presence. We could not see the beginning, or the end of the traffic. What a mess. There were groups of riders stopped along the verge everywhere along this stretch of road. The usually entertaining run through the mountains heading towards Mooney Mooney slowed to walking pace with the snake only moving as fast as its head, several kilometres away. At least at this pace we were not about to donate to the states coffers anytime soon. I was running out of fingers and toes to count the number of police standing around waiting to pounce on any little indiscretion. Crossing the Hawkesbury River is when we first noted that southbound lanes had literally stopped. It was just one huge car park.

Fortunately we had decided not to stop at Road Warriors Cafe on the way to Patonga but rather to call in on the way back. It was just a sea of bikes. It was like parking at Philip Island during MotoGP time. Possibly five kilometres further past, we regrouped off the verge, for the run to Patonga.

Whilst Taffy and I were testing our radios, the rest took off. After a little sightseeing expedition of about twenty kilometres worth we consulted his GPS and headed to Patonga, via Umina. On arriving at Patonga we were chased down by a blue GS BMW. With its rider flapping its wings, black riding jacket, with bright pink highlights it could only have been DOCNSW President Di on one of Celina’s bikes. Over half an hour later the others finally arrived.

After some discussion our pub lunch plans were thwarted with the pub not permitting our group to sit together on the shaded balcony. I can only presume business must be terrific if they can afford to send over fifteen customers away at a time. The cafe next door was far more accommodating and got our business instead.

With full stomachs and a top up of fuel at Umina we made our way back the long way via Central Mangrove to the Road Warriors Cafe. An entertaining piece of road and see many more gainfully employed boys in blue along the way. After meeting up with more club members at Ebor, Chewy and company rode in. Chewy was on his way to a full hand, having collected 3 tickets to the policemans ball earlier that day. I received a text message later that afternoon. He picked up number four on his way home.

Wes and I departed, as we still had another tank of fuel to burn before arriving home. Our blue friends were thick on the ground. In each instance fortunately for us, they were always busy. Mr Rees government will now be in surplus after this blitz! . Even the south coast was not exempt. With donations being written out as we rode by at Dapto and Albion Park Rail.

It was with some relief that we rode into the BP Albion Park Rail after just over 530 kilometres. The super bike riding position had cramped up the legs, and the wrists were feeling the pain. Not to mention the backside was crying out for something softer, than the surface that masquerades as a seat on the 999. The weather gods had been equally kind, waiting until I was safely in my garage for it to bucket down some twenty minutes later! ou leave home early, ride all day, and return all in one peace. Isnt life grand!

Concourse De Elegance

The only definite on the morning of this annual event was that as a committee member of DOCNSW I had better at least put in an appearance at the Concourse this year. The previous years I have avoided it simply due to my unwillingness to ride in the chaos of Sydney traffic, preferring the open countryside on my own doorstep.

Hmnnnn, Which group of South Coast Ducati Owners Club members should I ride up with? The time I crawled out of bed would be the determining factor. Option A or option B?. One group was leaving Fairy Meadow at 8am, and another leaving at 9.30am. With dark clouds hovering over the Deep South [Jamberoo], I chose the full leathers, over the Draggins, a decision I was latter to regret in the heat of the midday sun.

I met up with the early group at the Fraternity Club car park [I suppose it is appropriate that a group of Italian bikes should meet at an Italian club]. I took several photos as they departed, then packed the camera and went in pursuit. But which way did they go? Left or right? No bother, I thought to my self, I will soon catch them somewhere before Bulli. Not much chance, I must have got every traffic light in the Illawarra.

I finally caught the slower group near Coledale and figured the fast guys would be in the car park at Stanwell Tops, before their blast through the national park. No sign of them at the Tops, they must have continued on through the National Park anyway. So off in hot pursuit I go. Pressing on as hard as I dared. With its tightening radius bends, and sometimes goat track like surface, I was starting to believe that I must be getting too grey to ride a super bike. Why havent I caught them? Am I not trying hard enough? All was revealed when I turned up at our next scheduled stop at Deus Ex-Machina, on Parramatta road .They had detoured down the freeway, and had not gone through the park at all!

The place was packed to the rafters with people and bikes. The shiny thoroughbred red Ducatis looked rather out of place in such low rent company. To my untrained eye it looked like a shop run by step-toe and son, with its mix and match bitser bikes masquerading as motorcycle artwork. Sounds harsh but one mans trash is another mans treasure I suppose.

Following Wes' mate Bondi Boy Anthony, on his trick looking 1098, the fully regrouped cast made its way across Anzac bridge and onto the Concourse at Ryde. I dont know how Sydneyites put up with the incessant traffic. The heat emanating between the legs was extreme. Undoubtedly due to the lack of airflow being generated by our slow pace and was in danger of presenting myself at the concourse with a scorched sausage and two well baked potatoes

When we got to the venue I was quite surprised by the number of people already set up, and the army of volunteers rushing around directing all the new arrivals into their respective judging categories. Resplendent, in their bright fluoro orange Ducati tops. Very professional. So I set off to size up the opposition bikes in the same category, I noticed Warrens black 999, neatly lined up with its promotional picture frame propped up against its front wheel. Wouldnt it be great, if only for bragging rights if I could knock that one off for a trophy?

I spent several hours walking around, looking at all the bikes, and catching up with friends, foe and even a relative. Generally talking bikes, bikes and more bikes. Just as well I didnt bring the boss; she would have been truly impressed. Maybe I will bring her next year if they set up a handbag and shoe stall (NOT). Leon was at his usual task, at the BBQ, ably assisted by his many apprentices.

Chewy, Warren and many others were busily qualifying their judging, assessing the criteria and conferring with each other. They didnt want to get it wrong for fear of retribution from the masses. With the end desire of being able justify to all, the merits of each deserving category winner. A task I believe they did commendably well. I imagine it must have been a very long day for all those directly involved in with its organization, implementation and final cleanup.

At the beginning of the trophy presentation Di Scaysbrook the President of DOCNSW, presented a cheque on behalf of their Club of over $3000 to the Moorong Spinal Unit. Di also announced a new annual award called the Presidents Award, in memory of Mark Van Heeswyk who recently passed away. As I write this I am awaiting a full list of category winners.

I do however recall several SCDOC members taking out awards .With Humpo and his 848 [must be one of those extremely rare R versions], and my own red 999, taking the gong from that black 999. With official duties over, there was thus a mass exodus from the park.

With everyone keen to make tracks out of the city, it wasnt long before we lost Urio and his wife Hanna in the mayhem that is Sydney traffic.

Making rough estimations on normal fuel range, I believed we would have got at least back to Heathcote easily, before a splash and dash for home. Sitting at the lights, near St. George, Wes, on his 1098 was getting rather concerned that he needed fuel urgently, as his fuel light was on.

I glanced down at the dash, and mine was also glowing a lovely amber colour. Mental note, super bikes get better fuel economy travelling faster rather than slower. I wonder if the judge would accept that one as a plea?

It wasnt long before we reached the fringes of civilisation, and released the shackles off the ponies. Both horse and rider were relieved to be free again. The only limiting factor, being how hard Judge Dredd was willing to push his beloved MHR, Sophia.

The day ended with a very clean and uneventful run back to the south coast. I believe, all those who attended had a great day. Many thanks, to all those who made the effort to participate and those individuals who assisted in making the concourse a success.

Well I will start the ball rolling for a ride story to post on the web. Sorry looks like no photos, as I didnt notice anyone with a camera. Or maybe they didnt want to take their gloves off, and get frostbite.

After much discussion and consultation at one of our highly publicised and well-attended club meetings, it was decided that we would alter the ride south. This was achieved quite quickly and easily by the non-attendance of our esteemed ride marshal, Urio, even though he did apologize in advance, it made it easier to hijack his planned ride for the day.

It must be now given to our president, Alex, for his creative/imaginative title for the ride. With reference to he of backpacker infamy, and the area we passed through. And those in first class seats, 20 000 feet in the air, actually think/believe that he was actually doing corporate work on his lap top at the time.

o od Good to see the website getting a few hits, with enquiries coming from up and down the coast, and across to Canberra, days before the ride. It appeared like we might get a decent roll up, providing the weather held.

A ap At the appointed departure, the numbers started to swell. With, a multitude of different bikes and people. Rising to a level that nearly started to dwarf our Ducati riding contingent and associated friends and associates. It appears that several other rider groups were all meeting at the same time, same bat channel. We had a mix of super bikes, tarted up chook chasers [multi s with bling], old school [sport, gt and bevel] and a lone monster. Some of the ring ins included a BM and a tractor [HD].

Starting through Albion Park, and towards Macquarie Pass, it dawned on me that the leading cycle in this procession was not one known for its cornering ability, handling or braking prowess. Yes, it was the tractor leading this merry band of men .No itâ€™s not a sexist comment. [None of the fairer sex attended this section of the journey, too cold/too early]. It was time to alter the situation. A few followed my lead as we headed up the mountain.

We hit the dual lanes, near the top, a 1098 came past, in full glorious song.[I think it was Wes].But now was not the time to give chase, as the road near the top was quite damp, as I was soon discovering, with the rear tyre having a little dance on several of the top tighter bends. Stopping for several minutes at the pie shop, to regather the numbers. The tractor was having problems, not running properly. And he decided to head back home, only to realise shortly after that he had left his choke on. He turned around and caught up again at Marulan.

I think next time; we should take more notice of the numbers so that we dont loose them. Somewhere along the way we lost a 1098R, the BM, a black chookie and Nev. After waiting at the Kangaroo Valley/Fitzroy Falls turnoff for what felt like eternity the ride through to Bundanoon was free flowing, with no dramas other than the previously mentioned, where are they?

We stopped at Marulan for a splash and dash. One word comes to mind, COLD. Yes they are in capitals. Two pairs of socks, three layers of shirts, plus thermals. I think it was the shock from just removing the helmet and gloves. Was it the adrenalin, or the heated handgrips, but I didnt recall being this cold whilst I had been on the bike.

Slowly but surely the rest of the group rode in, except the R. We had lost him. Calling Scott, from Ulladulla he informs us of the poor [yes it was raining] weather conditions down the coast. Should I inform the others now, or let them find out later, it may clear up. We will meet up with him later at Nelligen Hotel for lunch.

Moving out, we travel a mere kilometre along the Hume Highway and deviate off through Bungonia State Forest. This back road brings us out the back of Goulburn, near the showground, and not far from Wakefield Park Raceway. This time we made sure we waited at several intersections along the way, for the less adventurous to catch up. This is not a bad track during the light of day, with little or no traffic to contend with, but judging by the amount of road kill .I wouldnt advise doing it at dusk or during the dark of the night on a bike. On reaching the outskirts of Goulburn, Nev and the tractor driver [he had to be at work by 5pm], had a change of plans, and decided to continue on with us for the trip across to Braidwood and onto Batemans Bay.

I up the pace considerably, lifting the elbows occasionally. Noting that theirs a still a number of headlights on my tail, I dont think I have lost anybody, time will tell. On the outskirts of Lake Bathurst, as luck would have it. We caught up to some slower traffic at just the right time. A bike coming towards us gave us a wave, now was that a straight wave or a circular one. Bingo, a kilometre further on we pass the local camera car. Have to shout that biker a beer next time we meet. No further dramas as we get back into the groove and head on to Braidwood, swapping the lead role from time to time.

Waiting ,waiting,waiting..Met up with some CDDC members on their MV F4 who also took off to Nelligen, while we waited, Several cigarettes, a drink from the local hotel [NON ALCOHOLIC of course],Nev and his travelling companions finally arrive. We advise them to continue on, noting that not only will we catch them up, but undoubtedly pass them also which we subsequently did, after Anderson lit another cigarette, had a cool drink, and we all put our gear back on.

In hot pursuit, passing Nev and his new found friends, we head off down the mountain, with Wes on his 1098, making hand gestures [hey my fuel lights on], and Crash Camel [Michael Anderson] trying to tell anyone who will listen, that he s faster than all those super bikes down the mountain on his glorified chook chaser. [I hope his wife reads this].

Arriving at the Nelligen Hotel, there must have been a good 30 bikes. With Ducati owners from all along the South Coast and ACT joining our little troupe. There were even in attendance a certain yellow 999, with the current owner hoping to have a chat with its previous owner, who just happened to have bailed from the full journey much earlier than he had anticipated the joys of parenthood. We fuelled our bodies, whilst others went in search of fuel for their bikes.

Leaving Batemans Bay around 3pm.We took off after the far south coast contingent, who was predominately riding STs, two up, in all their versions. We caught up with them at a lone service station; out of town with 15 bikes waiting in line at one premium bowser .The ride back up the coast was uneventful other than the very changeable road surface. Wet/dry/wet/dry, [we luckily missed the rain itself] with a mix of unmarked and work in progress road works. As we neared Nowra, the final south coast riders departed, and the traffic became quite a bit heavier. We managed to make fast work of them and continued onto Jamberoo Pub, which we arrived at by 4.30pm.

Have I waffled on long enough? The tourist thus departed, with Anderson having to ride home to Maroubra, and the rest, Wes, Urio, Dave and co despatched to their own suburbs. Me I stayed just a little bit longer, talking to a friend and his wife on his GS series BMW, as I only had 1.5ks out of town to travel.

Autumn turned on one of those magical days for Sunday, May the 18^th with the possibility of rain remaining just that. 34 riders assembled at Berowra in the cool morning sunshine keen to get out into such a beautiful day and begin racking up ferry crossings.

The route varied this year, being reduced to 3 ferries due to maintenance issues but that still left plenty of good roads to do.

As we snaked down to Berowra Waters Ferry you could feel the day starting to warm up and there was no better place to be than out on The Duke enjoying that beautiful rumble and the rhythm of gently scything through the twisties to the ferry. Two of Whittos mates disappeared but we kept going as he was confident that they would be OK. Turned out that the Black 900SS snapped a clutch cable which was quickly replaced with a spare.

Then across Berowra Creek and onto a convenience stop at Wilberforce servo where Whittos mates caught us up. Don Hodgson from Ducati Penrith kindly gave us all discount vouchers for Road Warriors Cafe which were sure to come in handy later. We then made short work of Sackville ferry and on to an early lunch at Wisemans Pub missing Portland ferry and the line up at the order counter at the pub.

The locals (birds) decided that a few meals needed a bit of extra tartare sauce and Guy threatened to do a Ramseys Kitchen impersonation but the company was much better than the food. We managed to hit the road before we had to face the music, preferring to make our own music across Wisemans ferry and along the long twisty road to Mangrove Mountain. It was then on to The Old Road and the Pie in the Sky Cafe.

Most of the group arrived together and were joined by the remainder over the next hour. We met up with a few monster riders at the Cafe who were pleased to hear our collective exhaust notes arriving. After some great pies, coffee etc and company it was off to our separate abodes without any mishaps at least none reported to Big Al (the ride coordinator)

Thanks to all 34 participants (on 28 bikes) who made it another great day out on the bikes with the club.