wind on forever . It was after lunch that I began to feel pretty confident , the trees rushed by in a blur , the bike seemed to glide over everything as I pushed it into the corners .
“ Oh , that mud looks shiny ,” I thought as I pushed into another sweeping corner .
CRACK ! My shoulder hit the deck like a bag of porkchops . The adrenaline took over and I bounced back up onto my feet like a man 20 years younger as other riders in the group stopped to render assistance .
" Is the bike okay ?" I wheezed as I tried to suck the air in .
Once it was established that a bruised ego was the only major injury , the other riders rode on and left me with Myles to get myself sorted again . My shoulder hurt , a lot , and my bipolar bike confidence had just taken a massive hit . Myles could see it on my face .
“ Look mate , you ’ ve been doing well , don ’ t let this mountain beat you , you got that ,” Myles encouraged . “ Right now , there are two options , keep riding , or call the support vehicles . You ’ ve got plenty left in you mate , your call .”
I nodded my head in agreement and pulled the helmet back on , spending the rest of the day crawling along , like a fragile old man . With Myles at the rear pushing me forward with words of encouragement and a GoPro burning into my back like a laser .
“ Don ’ t fall of again mate , I ’ ll make you YouTube famous in no time ,” he laughed .
That night we all camped high in the Snowy River National Park and shared a few beers and laughed about the day ’ s adventures .
They were a good bunch of lads . There were the mates from the Otway ’ s celebrating a 40th , Jimmy the huge security guard on the Sherco 500 ; standing well over 6 ft , he looked like a 12 year old riding a PeeWee 50 . Brendan the tractor salesman on his new Husky , the paragliding electrician . Dave the farmer , and Gunny and Tim the two old mates on the old Husaberg ’ s .
Then there was Chris , although he had only been riding a few years , he had spent every spare moment he could on a dirt bike riding with Josh and Myles . On a Friday he would hang up his salesman suit and tie and ride all weekend . He would always stop at the corners , relieve the corner man , and ensure everyone took the right turn , then ride up and down the line keeping an eye on the group and chatting away . He was quick on a bike and made it look easy , reporting back to lead and sweep on the different riders and how they were going . He was well liked amongst the group and because he was constantly overtaking everyone , he was donned ‘ the king of the mountain ’.
My shoulder was stiff . Too stiff to ride , I was sure my adventure was over as I woke on day two . I had breakfast and watched on as the group meticulously went over their bikes . Adjusting a clutch , bleeding a break line , replacing filters .
The group was switched on now , they knew what was instore for them and made sure their bikes would survive the day . I watched them ride out green with envy .
Feeling lucky I spent the day in camp with the support drivers Landers and Tex ; the backbone of the whole operation . Helping them pack up the kitchen and drive through the mountains at a leisurely pace to our rendezvous for lunch , it was great to see that side of the ride and actually get to look out over the mountains and take in the views . We set up the lunch camp in a large grassy clearing with a creek flowing through it and a heard of wild brumby ’ s grazing in the sun on the far banks .
The group rode in , and I noticed Dave the farmer had torn his jeans from crotch to ankle . Despite the tear , he was grinning like a school kid
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