Ride Like Hell and You'll Get There (14 page)
Diego and myself—ready for Tassie motorcycle nirvana.
Miles and miles of sideways smiles, and no one else.
Christiaan and Jethro’s Beaver sea plane in good company.
The crew of the
Bob Barker
—don’t mess with them, especially the small chick at the front.
Diego fast and loose.
That sign.
Bondy, myself and Janelle.
Sydney Harbour shoot for
Australia—Life On The Edge
: Mat is dressed as an officer, I’m the convict next to him, Nathan the cameraman is in the middle, then Russell the director in the stern.
Dirk Hartog Island shoot in WA: Ulrich Krafzik cameraman (left); Eliot Buchan (centre) directs me with flair.
MELBOURNE WAS MORE
than 300 kilometres away and it was 11.30 a.m. in Corowa.
‘Pol, wat time ees our ferry departing?’ Diego was looking at his watch.
‘4.30, mate, we better get a wriggle on.’
He looked up. ‘A what?’
I fired up my Harley and yelled back at him over the engine noise, ‘Never mind, let’s go.’
He bounded up to his BMW and performed the Diego Legover: his short frame required a comical run-up and vaulting action as his crotch was much lower than the seat height of the huge bike; he looked like he was humping it. Having said that, once he’s mobile he rides like a demon; we exceeded the speed limit constantly. I had to put the hammer down just to keep up with the mad bastard.
We blitzed down the M31 like we just robbed a bank, hitting Melbourne’s outskirts which opened into a maniacal blaze of confusing direction choices, usually made at the last millisecond by Diego. He had the GPS telling him in a clipped British accent to turn right in 50 metres. Diego, on the other hand, was convinced he should turn left; although his bike was indicating right, he went left with me in pursuit swearing while weaving through traffic. We went over the Bolte Bridge three times trying to work out if we were going in the right direction and every time poor Diego was hit with a fine; I have a side-mounted licence plate that folds in, so each time we passed a toll I reached back and flipped it in and out of sight.
The
Spirit of Tasmania 1
is a massive vessel that crosses the Bass Strait in a constant to and fro between Melbourne and Devonport, ferrying huge amounts of people, vehicles and truck freight. In fact, the traffic going in and out of Tasmania is so heavy that there’s also a second ferry, imaginatively named the
Spirit of
Tasmania 2
. Diego and I finally rounded a corner at the end of Waterfront Place and there she was like a floating skyscraper lying on her side in the water.
We pulled up near the entrance to the jetty and lay on a grassy embankment in the sun. One by one other riders appeared; every single bike was a big tourer loaded with gear, sporting huge windscreens and panniers with stickers from all the runs they had been on, engines with more power than my car. They had mountains of kit, thermal jackets, balaclavas, boot liners, neck warmers, insulated gloves—we’re talking crazy amounts of gear and luggage. Meanwhile I sat there in a T-shirt and jeans with a run-of-the-mill leather jacket—my gear, or lack thereof, caused some punters to point and laugh. Diego had about the same amount of kit as I did, which was fuck all, though of course his was more stylish.
Diego looked up the weather forecast for Devonport on his phone. ‘You know how yesterday the weather was forecast to be fine and with sun and 25 degrees,’ he began and I nodded lazily in reply. ‘No more, Pol. Now eet ees rain and the showers with high wind gusts and 15 degrees.’
I looked over at the parade of stormtroopers still smiling smugly at us. Now I knew why.
‘How you say, we going to freeze our teets off.’ Diego laughed at his attempt at Aussie slang and I thought to myself he wouldn’t be laughing about it for long.
The boom gate opened and we formed up in a queue waiting to enter the belly of the gargantuan ferry. While the massive line of vehicles waited to board, people got out of cars and stretched their legs, occasionally chatting with other passengers. Here we got our first look at a ‘Taswegian’, a species of bogan found on the Apple Isle. He emerged from a horrendously battered Kingswood that was parked next to us, wearing pyjama pants and a sauce-stained singlet about 50, overweight; his nose alone suggested large amounts of beer were about to be consumed. He smiled and asked if we were ‘goin’ tourin’.
Diego froze in complete astonishment before glancing at me.
‘Yup,’ I replied and smiled.
‘First time to Tasmania?’ He was openly and unashamedly scratching his balls.
‘Yes, we’re really looking forward to it.’
He removed his hand from inside his pants and offered it up to shake, I stepped aside and deflected the shake to Diego. ‘This is my friend Diego,’ I said as the manky ball-sweat-stained-hand was redirected at Diego.
‘George,’ said the man.
Diego smiled serenely and put his gloves back on—nice move, mate—and shook the offered hand then continued to smile and nod so much he started to look like a stroke victim. I pretended there was a problem with my bike and lay on the ground tinkering with it. Eventually the Taswegian went away and sat on the bonnet of his Kingswood, pulled out his false teeth and started polishing them with his singlet. Diego and I hid behind my bike, consumed with our all-important task of tinkering, while Diego whispered ‘Unbelievable’ and ‘I have never seen anything like eet, Pol’.
We were saved from any more unwanted attention when the crew started boarding the bikes, a process done with predictable efficiency, and before long we had hit our cabins, were showered up and sitting down to a very nice meal in the restaurant. We were both excited at the prospect of five days of riding ahead of us, five days to do whatever the hell we felt like in one of the most beautiful places in the world.
After dinner we moseyed into the bar, which was more like a nightclub it was so packed with happy punters. Even so, Diego’s Argentinean mojo reverberated like a compelling bass rhythm and he was soon approached by a stunning young lady who tossed her hair and blushed perfectly. I smiled as I imagined her disappointment when she discovered Diego really is ‘just friendly’ and stepped out on deck.