I grabbed a nutty bar and the water bottle from my bag and headed towards One Mile Beach, accessed through the bush (scrub, undergrowth) on the edge of the park. The sight was tremendous: blue sky and an azure sea with big white breakers. The only other people were two men fishing from some rocks. I walked to the end of the beach and ate my breakfast. I sat for two hours in the sun wearing a T shirt, casual shirt, sweater and fleece and I was still cold. A few people passed by dressed very lightly. One man passed the comment, "She’s got a bump on her today!" (The sea is a bit rough today).

Don’t Panic! This servo (service station) had a mechanic on duty. Unfortunately he did not have the correct type of valve. A call to SMW was unfruitful, it was my responsibility to get it fixed, I was told. I was not happy. This was my last full day with the bike and I was feeling ill, impatient and a little annoyed. The nearest bike place was half an hour away. I rang them and yes, they could fix it if I could get the wheel to them. This is where Andrew, the servo manager came in. He knew of a motorcyclist, Woody, who lived only a few kilometres away.

Andrew phoned him and Woody soon returned his call to confirm he had a second hand valve and the equipment to remove the tyre from the rim. Andrew then borrowed some tools from the garage, I phone SMW to get instructions on how to remove a front wheel from a twin disked BMW (the hydraulics were concerning me) and after taking two more aspirins I set to work. After leaving the hydraulics intact but removing the callipers the wheel came out easily. Two and a half hours had passed since the tyre went ‘phhhht.’

The following day brought more sun, better health and a surprisingly quick ride back to Sydney. I spotted a Denning double decker coach, similar to the Neoplans I drive in my spare time but not so classy I thought. I cruised at no more than 110kph (c.70mph), stopping a couple of times for photos and fuel. Back on the Pacific Freeway I decided it was time to play. By now I was more confident with the bike and swung into the bends faster than the recommended speed signs. The road was dry, there was no traffic and I was enjoying myself immensely. My enjoyment was thwarted for a short while when I came up behind a minibus taking some elderly people for a spin, complete with multi coloured blankets visible behind the rear seats.

After a couple of kilometres at no more than 60 kph I decided to… er… ignore the no overtaking signs and after ensuring there was no other traffic about I shot by at such a rate I surprised myself. This bike can move! The next bend was negotiated at a greater angle of lean than I am used to (the Vulgar Velo scrapes easily on bends). Greater caution was exercised from then on and I arrived back in Sydney at SMW mid afternoon. The staff were apologetic and refunded me $140. If I have spoken ill of SMW then I apologise, but I do feel strongly that they must have least suspected that the tyre had a puncture.  Although my time with the Bee-Em was quite an experience, in retrospect an LE would have been a better bike to poodle about on - more economical, lighter, and with a tyre I could repair myself. I left their premises and walked the short distance to Sydney Central Station and bought a ticket for Engadine.

The journey of about 40 kilometres in the smart double decker train cost only $10 (£4). It felt strange sitting on the lower deck as the platforms passed at shoulder height. At Engadine I rang LE Club member Terry and in less than ten minutes we were on the way to his house. We had an enjoyable couple of hours talking bikes and associated matters.  He was apologetic, saying that he had got me here under false pretences as his MkII was away having the ignition looked at. In his workshop under covers was a big V4 Suzuki tourer, a model that had remained unsold in a shop window for a while which had allowed the paint on one side of the tank to fade a little. A cup of tea and a photo swapping session followed and very soon it was time to go. He would not return me to the railway station but insisted on driving me to Keiraville, some 35 kilometres further south. He took the tourist route, despite the night, in order to show me some good motorcycling roads.

Ellen was surprised to see me at her door, she was expecting a phone call from Wollongong station. Off she went to work on her night shift midwifery duties at the local hospital to return about 7.30 the next morning. After breakfast she went to bed and I waited for ten o’clock and Andrew. Andrew was the third LE Velo Club member I met in Oz and we spent all day together. Once again I was to experience generous Aussie hospitality as Andrew showed me around Kieraville starting with the view from Mount Kiera. I was shown some bike photos and as we had the time Andrew drove me to his home a few miles away.

There in a shipping container under lock and key were his bikes and under the container some Goggomobile bodies resided. The most interesting inside were an early LE, a Viceroy and (I think) a Viper. What a collection! The Viper and the Viceroy would need only a small amount of work to get running. Elsewhere was a Moto Guzzi Le Mans currently undergoing a final drive rebuild. Purchased new, it had covered a high mileage, which is not uncommon with Aussie vehicles. Hardly a surprising fact when you consider the size of the country. That afternoon Andrew was to be of great help to me as I sought out a couple of chairs that I knew Ellen wanted. We tried several places and I was grateful for Andrew’s help. These I gave to Ellen as a thank you for her kindness and hospitality. Ellen and I enjoyed a tasty last meal together at Southern Crepes, she then went to work I went to bed after not only an enjoyable day but also an educational one.

The next day, Thursday everything went according to plan but in hindsight we should have planned differently. Ellen was insistent that she should wave me goodbye at Central Station so when she returned from work at 7.30 we quickly left for Wollongong station and Sydney. A better plan would have been for us to have had a leisurely breakfast and then for Ellen to have waved me goodbye at Wollongong instead of Sydney. Once at Sydney we relaxed over a couple of cups of coffee in the Plaza Café near the station watching the rain pour down. Around eleven o’clock we returned to Central Station and I waved goodbye to Ellen after a hug on the platform.

I felt a little sad in leaving but I had the pleasures of a trans-Australian train journey and Western Australia to look forward to. The Indian Pacific was due to depart at 3pm, boarding was at 2pm so I spent three hours in an rather cool station listening the deafening sound of rain on the roof. Upon my return home I found out that this rain fell unrelentingly, long enough to cause flooding and forced evacuations in Woollongong. Ellen had recommended a good book, a 500 page true life story by a father about his haemophiliac son who died from AIDS related diseases. Despite the novel it was a long three hours, probably the longest of the whole journey with the exception of the flight home.

This was the end of the first part of my Oz experience which was not to feature any more motor cycling. I had thought I might hire another in Perth but it was not to be due to time constraints - it was amazing how fast seventeen days passed. But what of the train journey? Here are a few facts and figures to contemplate. Length of journey: 4352 kilometres (2720 miles). Length of train: 22 carriages, 509m (nearly 1700 feet). Longest straight railway track in the world: 478 kilometres (297 miles) as it crosses the Nullarbor Plain.

It was whilst heading west across the Nullarbor that I noticed the sun shining in the north facing carriage windows. It had only taken me twelve days to work out that the sun passes from East To West via the North in the Southern hemisphere! It also explained my concern over my directions whilst on the motorbike.This rail journey proved a relaxing break between two very different parts of Australia. For $13 we were taken on a tour of Adelaide by coach, the driver holding the microphone while he drove. Cook, in the middle of the Nullarbor Plain is a staging post for the railway but now has a permanent population of only three. A sad reminder was the board: If you’re crook, come to Cook! This was a campaign to keep the hospital open.

At the open cast mine she told me she used to drive the tipper lorries, those gigantic beasts with ten foot high tyres we may have only seen pictures of. Here they were crawling around the mine like ants illuminated by torch light. Impressive! Her tour route took us pass a bright Harley Davidson dealership and we were informed that Western Australia has the highest number of Harleys per capita in the world. I disputed this at first but it was not long into my time in W.A. before I changed my mind. Every other bike seemed to be a Harley.

Back on the train the night conductor checked to ensure I was awake and at 04.45 the train with its sleeping cargo came to a halt at Northam, approximately 100 kilometres north east of Perth, to allow me to disembark, which is where we came in several pages ago. The stainless steel seat outside the station was too cold to sit on and I was too lazy to delve into my rucksack for something warmer, so I wandered around, thinking, "I’m here! Northam! I really am here. Wow!" This excitement was due only to the fact that a friend of mine comes from Northam, well, Clackline, a few kilometres away to be precise. Having known her for three years, heard about her family, friends, farm, church and many stories of her upbringing it was difficult to comprehend that I was actually here. Soon an old white Mazda appeared with three occupants, my friend Michelle, (the same Michelle that Ellen and I spent time with in the Blue Mountains), a younger sister and her father. After two hugs and a handshake we drove to their farm. Unreal! It was like walking on hallowed ground. After more introductions; her mother, two dogs and a pet sheep, I felt that my adventures in W.A. had really started on a good note.

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