The little lady in her two mini shops, one for cooking and one for ice creams handled our influx plus a few passing travellers without getting to flustered even if the odd blasphemy and swear word crept in, delivered with style and a smile. The rush over she came out and took photos of men and machines, sat down with us for a chat, made sure no one had been missed in the rush and invited us all back again even extending the P.R. exercise by handing out some free ice creams. Damn it, what have Woody and Glenn got that I haven’t. Shortly before we left, he who had turned back arrived on the same machine having looked it over and made minor alterations to the carby mixture. Brave man. Some riders headed straight home, some stopped for refreshment at the Valley Tavern and the backup stopped to load up the new restoration, this time a fuel line fitting had cracked leaving a tankful of fuel in a thin line down Highway 63. The bike loaded on, the rider kicked the gravel in disgust and the sole peeled off his motorcycle boot. It just was not his day. He took it all in good part and even his language was not as colourful as the friendly lady at the roadside café. On being delivered home his good lady was ready to greet him, not with condolences, but with a camera to take a shot of his m/c on the trailer. We sympathise. Apart from the one member’s mishaps it was a good day out. Kudos to Tony on the CZ who rode the smallest bike up the valley and Viv on the 350 AJS the oldest bike to make it there and back well done.
Trev
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