I bought a BMW adventure bike to ride it. More specifically, I bought a BMW adventure bike to ride it with my Dad. To go places and see things. To take my time. To take it all in.
I’ve been riding for decades (three of them actually), but in all the years gone by, I have always ridden at a speed that never enabled me to take in my surroundings. In fact, I’ve spent my entire life trying very hard to avoid my surroundings. Particularly those surroundings, such as trees and cars, that bring you to an abrupt halt.
Riding through the deep south west of Western Australia over a few crisp, damp, but sunny days in Spring 2019 I came to the realisation that there was more to riding than riding fast. I realised that, by always riding so fast, I had missed a lot. There has been a lot out there to be seen, but I’ve missed it all, or most of it, at least. The vast majority has just passed by, in my periphery, as a blur. The only thing that has ever been in focus was the next obstacle or the next corner. I have ridden from A to B a million times, but I was always trying to get to B as fast as I could, or at least find B by taking the most technically challenging path.
I still want to do that. I still will do that; ride fast. But, on the BMW F800GS, I have realised that ball-tearing my way from A to B is not always what it needs to be about. With the Beemer, I can now go from A to B just because. Just because I can, and just because I want to. And on the Beemer, it does not seem to matter what the distance is, so long as I’m prepared to make the time to relax and enjoy the journey. Taking my time also gives me the time to enjoy a coffee or three too. On this trip Southern Roasting Co. was the beneficiary.
And so, it was that we rode from Bunbury to Walpole and back in a day just to pick up a couple of jars of honey. Yes, you read that right. Just to pick up a couple of jars of honey.
I must admit, I was initially a little apprehensive at the prospect of this ride. It seemed a little daunting and a little unnecessary. But that was until I realised that ‘unnecessary’ was what made it purposeful. I wanted to do this ride because I could and when you want to do something and you can do something, well then, you must do it. Seldom do we regret the things we do, but often we regret the things we don’t. So, despite my trepidation and with 'unnecessary' being the biggest attraction, the wants and the cans offset the shoulds or the should-nots, and off we went.
Now, we could have gone from Bunbury to Walpole due south along the South West Highway. It’s a beautiful run. A big road, but a good, winding road. All black top. But no, that was never going to happen. We were on adventure bikes and adventure was what we were going to do. So, about 120km into our journey we hooked a lefty and headed east to Lake Muir. Sometimes it can be more remarkable to see a massive inland lake when it is a dry dirty dust-bowl, rather than a lush oasis full of life. It gives you a harder perspective and a greater appreciation that nature can be as nasty as it can be nice. It can give life in one season and take it all away the next. Lake Muir did not disappoint.
After our visit to Lake Muir we headed south for 50km along a dirt road that the military had pushed through the scrub so many, many decades ago to run ammunition on a fast track to Albany, so as to defend our southern coastline. This was the first time I had run the 800 off road and, on the shocking tyres I had, I quickly realised I had brought a knife to a gun fight. I’d be lying if I said that those 50km kilometres were not as exhausting as they were exhilarating. But it was exhilarating in a ‘if I survive this I promise to be a better person’ kind of way. I really don’t think my buttocks have ever been as tightly clenched for as long in any situation I have previously experienced on a bike. I had no control. All I could do was put the bike in a wheel rut, point it south, twist the throttle, hold on and hope for the best. When the bike drifted towards the center of the track or, worse still, the right side of the road there was little I could do other than patiently wait for a rill in the gravel center spoil heap that I could hook into to get me back on the other side of the road. I’ve no clue what I’d have done if a car had been coming he other way. Great bike, bad tyres and an owner needs a stern talking!
When we arrived I was relieved, to say the least. Our pick-up point for the honey was a stunning 217 acre property about 15km north of Walpole, set among the Frankland River National Park. Lunch comprised a catch of fresh-water marron trapped in the short time it took us to explore around the dam. Cooked fresh, whilst we caught up on the latest news, they were all consumed before the blowflies knew they had hit the table.
We loaded up our cache of honey: 24 glass jars. Wafra Honey: Try it! The incredibly wonderful lady that owns this little piece of paradise, still aghast that we had endeavored to make such a journey in a day, suggested we take a scenic route out to the highway before we headed north to go home. Another twisty and undulating gravel track through the towering Karri trees of the southern forests. Who were we to argue with local knowledge? The 800 was tracking remarkably well on this trail home. Strangely capable this time around. So much so, I was beginning to wonder if 12 smashed jars of honey weren’t leaking out of my top box and onto my back tyre, offering the additional traction I was wanting for on the journey down.
Onto the highway we headed north and as we chewed up the kilometres I sat behind Dad in quiet admiration. On a modest little KLR650, he was staunch, and I was happy to just roll on behind him, kilometre after kilometre. He doesn’t complain about his bike or his gear or his back or his neck. He just settles in and rides. He knows where he is going, and he knows he will get there. How does he know? Because he has been doing it for a few decades longer than me. He has crossed the Nullarbor Plain no less than a dozen times and that is a journey that makes Bunbury to Walpole seem like a lazy stroll in the park. It is he who has made me realise I have a lot left to see, and that I need to make the time to take it all in. I’m glad he has and I look forward to putting many more kilometres of bitumen and gravel under the BMW F800GS. Maybe I might head to Paynes Find next week to grab some milk.
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