a glove , get off , pick it up , put it on , frog-march again , switch-on the ignition , take the bike off her sidestand and activate my headset . It was about then that Justin would tell me , through a lot of chuckles , that I ’ d left my pannier open . Cursing followed , turn off the machine , sidestand down , off come the gloves et cetera . Absolutely hilarious when it ’ s not you , infuriating when it is .
The heat shimmered off the tarmac on the undulating roads south to the ocean . A ruffled carpet amongst kilometre after kilometre of green brush , which we zoomed over eagerly on the bikes .
There ’ s nothing like a motorcycle on the open road ; the luxurious lightness , speed and embracing of the elements , also unnerving when a B-Double or Triple approached from the other way , sucking the motorbikes across the road in their wake .
We stopped often as we went along the coast , usually to find small cafes for meat-pies and tea , taking in the shark-diving town of Port Lincoln , then Coffin Bay , perhaps a biproduct of the shark-diving , Venus Bay , Streaky and Smokey Bay ’ s . The beautiful turquoise waters worthy of any postcard , and finally Ceduna
where a friend of ours said the beach drives were a must .
Having never ridden on a beach , we were both keen , so unpacked all our gear at a campsite popular with wallabies , then headed out onto the flat beach . We only went a kilometre or so , enjoying coasting along the harder sand by the water .
A few selfies and other photos before starting to make our way back across the beach . Unfortunately , our tracks had disappeared , and I noticed the speed of the rapid tide coming in . Whilst telling Justin of my epiphany , he was being unusually stoic or immensely uninterested , or both ,
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