the High-Country huts are for; a hav-
en against the conditions.
I warmed my hands against the
side of the crackling fire, never had
I appreciated an open fire so much.
The other riders sat against the side
wall discussing what was next, I knew
I wouldn’t be included, there was no
anger, perhaps just a little disappoint-
ment, certainly embarrassment. A
few glances were directed my way,
perhaps the others were disappoint-
ed, embarrassed for me.
Somewhat warmed we remount-
ed the bikes for the final time and
headed on the main trail towards the
Mount Buller village.
The road was extremely well main-
tained however, the warmth provided
by our last stop had brought some
feeling back into my hand. Dave
had suggested that when we reach
the bitumen, I take it back down the
mountain to the MBMA headquarters.
He’d been good about it, acknowledg-
ing that my busted hand wouldn’t be
up for the final trail. Embarrassed, I
agreed, I’d agreed to nothing more in
my entire life although, a slight regret
slipped across me.
As we rode the final few kilometres
of dirt, I found I was having to use
my left hand to adjust the throttle, the
right hand had finally given up.
We reached the bitumen and head-
ed down the mountain, the other rid-
ers soon to turn off while I continued
on the easier path. Despite the weird
sensation of riding with tyres using
mousse inserts I’d never been happier
to be on smooth, black hardtop.
Reaching the Aalfor Lodge, the
fantastic HQ for Mount Buller Motor-
cycle Adventures, a long hot shower
pulled me in, the blood was again
flowing … on yeah, the hand was now
hurting. It didn’t matter, this had
been a great day of riding.
One by one the riders returned,
dishevelled, dirty and shivering, all
with massive grins on their faces.
The last trail the toughest of the day.
I walked outside to enjoy the last
TRAVERSE 24