than usual.
Avoiding as much highway as
possible our track wound around the
back of Cessnock towards Ruther-
ford, through residential develop-
ments encroaching on formerly rich
agricultural allotments. Evidence of
previous agricultural pursuits in the
broken and dilapidated buildings;
milking and grain storage sheds
standing as silent, broken reminders
of a previous life.
Historic towns like Paterson a re-
minder of a grander time, when craft-
manship and 'stone was cut by hand'.
Buildings made to last a lifetime and
more.
The road reminded me of a braille
board - bumps upon bumps, upon
bumps. The dryness of the adjacent
paddocks a very vivid contrast to 2015
where the town of Dungog flooded,
and lives were lost.
The main street became a 'tempo-
rary workshop' with tool rolls un-
furled and furrowed brows attempt-
ing to fix the braking issue on the
R1200.
From Dungog we motored north
and found dirt and new challenges
- in abundance! The sign at the gate
suggested the road was not regularly
maintained should have 'spelt a warn-
ing'. We motored on regardless.
The steep, rutted, gnarly track
laughed quietly at us. The consensus,
to allow discretion to be the better
part of valour, an alternate route was
discovered.
Parking four bikes created a
parking lot and as had become the
tradition a bike decided to take a nap.
Steven Redden jumped surprisingly
quickly for a short bloke.
Concern for the mechanical lon-
gevity and ongoing viability of the
R1200, a decision was made to head
straight to Port Macquarie. Thirsts
were quenched as we made a beeline
for the pub.
Bernard Fanning sang with incred-
ible clarity; "I smashed the mirror
just to look what's behind, I picked
TRAVERSE 62