It was going to be about my 6th or 7th time to cross the Nullarbor and head for Perth. Once again, my mode of transport was my 1986 FXR Harley. The year was sometime in the late nineties (I think?) and this time I was on what was to be a life changing mission. Let me share with you a funny story about a bizarre set of circumstances, so to paint the picture I best explain how these circumstances came about.
I was working as a manager for a viticultural labour hire company in the South East of South Australia. Miss Linda was living in the first home she had bought in the tiny plantation forest town of Mt Burr. Mt Burr had become our base but most of my work was away. I had not long since finished working on drilling rigs in incredibly remote regions of Western Australia and was now working closer to home, but still wasn’t home much.
We were in the later stages of harvest time on a large vineyard just out of the seaside town of Robe. I was living in a small cabin in Robe and only travelled the 100km journey back home to Mt Burr occasionally between shifts. The sometimes-frantic pace of day and night harvesting was winding up and for me it was a more enjoyable aspect of my job. All I had to do was drive the chaser bin for the beast like grape harvesters. This time of year, I didn’t have the constant pressure of running large crews and client contract deadlines like during pruning season. In-fact the hardest part of the job at this time of year was putting up with the hangovers from the most enjoyable late-night sessions with Ron, the boss and owner of the company I worked for.
Ron could be dangerous, but only because he was a good bloke and a good mate and we just couldn’t seem to help ourselves when it came to a session in a local pub somewhere. But I knew the time was coming for me to move on. The thought of running crews for the next pruning season was too much and really the only reason I was still there was because of Ron. I was looking for a change and that change seemed to find me as often seems the case.
I was having a knock-off beer at the Caledonian Hotel in Robe and strange for the time, I was on my own and not having a beer consumption competition with Ron. There was a bloke sitting next to me at the bar who I had been chatting and swapping stories with. We established that he was here for his business and he had secured a contract with a local winery to supply barrels. He was a cooper and ran a business out of Perth making wine barrels.
The next night I happened to be sitting on that same barstool when in walked me old mate from last night, the wine barrel bloke. This time he wanted to talk business and he invited me to join him for dinner. His ears had pricked up when I had told him the previous night that I spent two years living on an old traditional wooden boat, Huck Finn, on the Murray River. In our discussions I had mentioned that with guidance from mates, Miss Linda and I had slipped Huck and pretty much done a ground up restoration all whilst living on the banks of the Murray.
Turns out my new found mate, wine barrel bloke, had been toying with the idea of putting on an apprentice cooper to help cope with the growing demand. Also turns out that apparently, unbeknown to me, I was the perfect candidate for the position. So right then and there he said if I made my way to Perth the job was mine.
Well! What an opportunity.
I was bubbling over with excitement; this was too good to be true. The thought of doing a mature age apprenticeship in a trade I was truly interested in, at a time when I was fed up and looking for a career change, the stars had surely aligned. We swapped business cards and the deal was as good as done, I couldn’t wait to let Miss Linda know about the series of events over the last 48 hours.
Of course, the other person I had to tell was Ron. This was done in our now traditional way over a dozen or so pints of beer. He totally understood my enthusiasm and assured me that if things didn’t work out, I always had my old job to come back to. So, it was down tools on the old job and bring on new opportunities. Miss Linda shared my excitement and it was agreed I would travel to Perth on my bike and if everything turned out the way we thought it would she would come over and join me in due course.
For some people dropping everything and heading to the other side of the country could seem a little daunting, but for Miss Linda and I this is how we roll and it never seems strange to just get up and go. Hell, that’s the way we live, it is part of our DNA to follow gut feelings and I had a real gut feeling about this one. So once again I found myself packing the swag and saddlebags and heading off into the unknown. I just love that feeling! Still do.
Money was tight, so it was going to be a swag in the scrub for accommodation and pretty much a beeline for Perth and my new job. The new rear tyre would have to wait but there was enough rubber left on it to get me to my destination, just. I had plenty of mates in Perth so finding a room once I got there and got working was never going to be an issue.
I said my farewells, fired up the Harley and pointed it West yet again
If only I knew what was coming, but then again not knowing is part of the adventure. First night out, was of course, a night in the pub at Ron’s home town of Kingston SE, only 120km down the track, for the obligatory beer drinking competition. The next day, with my head making as much noise as my bike, the trip was on in earnest.
There were no smart phones and social media in the late 90’s or if there were I knew nothing about it, so I was in my own little, on the road, bubble. Me, the highway and a mission to cross the country and my new adventure awaits at the other end. Getting there has always been half the fun for me and I had spent the night in my swag on the beach not far out of Port Germein in the state’s mid north. I rolled up the swag and remember thinking to myself, today I get back to the outback. When you leave Port Augusta and travel west the country begins to change. It is here when that feeling comes over you, that feeling of, shit this country is big and I am about to get amongst it.
As I rode through Port Augusta, I had a strange feeling that people were staring at me, why did I seem to be attracting more attention than usual? Was my fly undone or something or was I just imagining it? There was definitely something different going on. The first hint was when I bought some supplies for the Nullarbor leg of the journey and the guy in the bottle shop asked if my mates were in town yet. What mates? What was this guy talking about and why are people staring at me?
I found my answers soon enough. Not far passed the Northern Territory turn off and just near the infamous big water tanks I rode straight into what seemed like check-point Charlie. The flashing of police lights gave the impression of a major accident which is what I thought was happening, but no, it was a police blockade. Imagine my surprise when I found out that there were around 500 members of an outlaw motorcycle club on a national run and I was just ahead of them.
This had been big news over the past 24hours but I hadn’t seen or heard any news because I was in that road bubble thingy I talked about. Police can be interesting when it comes to outlaw MC’s, they seem to be somewhere between panic and cowboy and I was riding straight into the OK Corral. Somehow, I had to be the first motorcycle on the scene, how does that work?
“I believe you to be a forward scout for the approaching outlaw Motorcycle Club,” was the opening line from possibly the largest policeman in the force. Now don’t get me wrong I understand that police have an incredibly important role to play in our society but, “Forward Scout”, didn’t see that googly coming.
“No, I’m not, I’m travelling to Perth for my new job, did you say forward scout and what motorcycle club? This is all news to me,” was my honest reply.
“You can’t tell me you know nothing of the 500 members of an outlaw MC on a national run, about 30 minutes behind you,” said another man who was the largest police officer in the force. “I can and I don’t,” was my bewildered and still honest reply. Nothing on earth was going to convince these heavily armed giants that I was telling the truth. After a relatively short and unsuccessful argument with the boys in blue, they were now taking their frustration out on my bike. I had passed the breath test but it was now obvious that if I was to carry on West it would be on foot because the lads were going to put me off the road for some bullshit roadworthy offence committed by a completely innocent motorcycle.
Some sort of truce was found when I managed to convince a higher ranked but still giant police officer that if I turned south and sat out this fiasco in Port Lincoln, would you let the innocent motorcycle and its rider continue on their journey. I suppose the officer thought that if I headed south not west there may be some truth in the apprentice cooper story. So that’s what happened, I was suddenly taking the scenic route to Perth. Sometimes a degree of flexibility is required and in this case a necessity.
It’s not that I don’t like the Eyre Peninsula coast, I love it, in-fact it is one of my favourite destinations in the whole country. But the delay and extra expense was going to really stretch the already stretched budget and the extra miles were going to put a real question mark on my rear tyres ability to complete the journey. Nothing like cutting it fine during a life changing move, a new tyre wasn’t an option, my bank balance dictated that.
I ran into some local blokes on bikes in a pub the day I arrived in Port Lincoln and after telling them how my plans had changed due to my encounter with an army of law enforcement officers, they invited me to their property on the outskirts of town. It was Friday night and obvious that weekends at the big shed were a regular event. The well-stocked bar, music, endless BBQ, raging fire and really friendly likeminded blokes made for an unforgettable weekend. Yes weekend, I crawled out of the big shed on Monday morning thinking that my sessions back home with Ron were only a dress rehearsal for this main event.
The lads offered me the keys to the shed if I needed somewhere to stay but my vital organs had taken a battering and thanks but no thanks was the healthiest reply. Instead, I booked in to the cheapest hotel room I could find. You know the ones, single bed, one chair, one table and a shared bathroom down the hallway. Yes, staying at a pub was safer than taking up my new mates generous offer. Besides I was on a mission and I had not completed that mission. Getting waylaid having a ball was not the mission at hand.
I rang wine barrel bloke and informed him of my delay and the reason for it. He said he understood and that news of the MC’s arrival had the Perth media in a frenzy with headlines like ‘Bikie War Looming’ and ‘In A Show of Force’. Everything seemed ok but I sensed a slight change in his attitude. Anyway, I could soon recommence my journey west.
A few days later I went and saw the local police and told them my dilemma
I was fishing to make sure I was good to go and if I left now would I miss the unwanted extra attention. They informed me that lots of the MC members were about to head back and I might still get caught up in the crossfire. It was never coming across the MC in question that bothered me, it was the fact that I had become an easy target for the frustrated police. With the borderline back tyre issue and current state of play I decided lying low for another few days was a good call.
Friends of Miss Linda’s family who had moved to Port Lincoln found out I was in town and staying at a pub. Generously they retrieved me from the pub insisting I should stay with them until I go. I spent a few really nice days at their place and packed ready to ‘hit the road’ again and get my new life underway. Just before I left, I thought I’d give wine barrel bloke a call and let him know I was still coming and I won’t be long now.
Well! In an uncharacteristic tone wine barrel bloke abruptly bought my new career and trade to a bitter end. With no explanation why he bluntly told me I was no longer needed. Not sure if it was the whole MC thing or maybe he didn’t really think that I would just pack up and head off to Perth. Maybe the whole thing was just piss talk in a pub in Robe, either way wine barrel bloke let me down with a thud.
Like a disgruntled dog with its tale between its legs I rang Ron. “Have I still got a job?”. “Of course, see you for a beer when you get back old mate,” Ron replied. “Need to see my old friend the Murray River first, so I’m gonna take a few days to get back,” I told him and I fired up the old bike for the return trip.
Just when I thought that the series of events had run its course and I would have a slow uneventful trip back to the old job that I really didn’t want to do anymore there was just one scene left to play. As I was rolling into the mid north town of Peterborough late in the arvo, I once again saw that distinct glow of flashing police lights in my mirror and the quick blast of a siren signaling me to pull over, me, who would have thought.
The older police man, probably nearing retirement, wandered up to me and said, “Have you got anything to do with this national MC run?” It was little like popping the top off a warm longneck of beer after shaking it for 5 minutes. That was the straw that broke this camel’s back. The poor unsuspecting police officer caught the full brunt of a disgruntled and totally pissed off citizen. A barrage, where he had no choice but to listen to the whole story from woe to no go, I hardly took a breath.
In a sympathetic response the police officer said, “I can see you have been innocently caught up in this mess”. He had pulled me over in front of a pub which had a sign out the front advertising the cheapest accommodation and coldest beer in town. After taking a deep breath I said to the understanding and slightly bewildered officer, “You can make it up to me if you like”, “How’s that he asked? “I reckon I will stay in this pub tonight and you can buy me a beer,” I announced. “No, I can’t do that” he replied. “Well F#%*k off then” was my knee jerk reply. The surprised officer calmly said, “Perhaps I will leave you to your own devices, ride carefully and maybe it’s time for a new back tyre”.
To this day it is the only time I have told a police officer to F#%*k off, and get away with it. I never heard from wine barrel bloke again and I am sure he never really realised how excited I really was over his offer but it is funny how things work. Not long after I returned, I proposed to Miss Linda, but that’s another story.
