enjoying a Sunday session .
Turning left onto Waverley Road , fresh gravel presented a new challenge , pools of white rocks and a twisting roadway , ensured I was alert and constantly watching the road ahead . My focus shifted , as I arrived at the former Isis River Public School , now part of a well maintained , well presented and impressive holding .
Riding back onto the New England Highway , the competition for big gates and entrances resumed , the status of properties ranked by the size of their gates and driveways . Four-legged money pits frolicked in roadside paddocks , a mix of
chestnut , bay , grey and buckskin . The White Hart Hotel loomed in front of me , a sign for off street parking pointed to the back of the pub . Parking my bike , pushing the centre stand firmly down , the sweat from my shoulders ran down the middle of my back . It was warm and humid . A cold shower , clean clothes , and a cold beer , in that order would be the call for the afternoon .
Taking a pew in a somewhat vacant front bar , a schooner of Toohey ’ s Old became my companion . Condensation formed on the glass , the rich dark colour of the beer , topped with a creamy froth quenched the thirst . I was soon joined by a few
‘ locals ’, collective age 650 , stories of football feats , winning grand finals , 60 years of marriage , winning wagers and the former glory of days past , language as colourful as a Mardi Gras float .
Had I lost the love of motorcycling ? No ! Was it complicated and too hard ? No !
Like so much of life , it ’ s really about the way we approach it . If we think it ’ s too hard , it will be . If we think it ’ s too complicated , it will be . In a time of over exposure to doom and gloom , when bad news is the only thing to make a headline , where everything is about Covid and the ‘ ending of the world ’, I reckon
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