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The first weekend of spring has graced us with its presence, which I must say has been a welcome embrace. With the curtain finally down on winter and term three of nursing completed I decided to break out of hibernation and hit the open road.

Bike folklore (aka embellished stories from Q. Siddans) talks about a series of mountains inside the greater Brisbane region that exerts an almost magnetic attraction for thrill seekers on two wheels. From memory there were quite a number of embellishments so I had to spend some time sifting them out to see where would be the best place to go. In the end decided to head out to Mt Glorious, mainly because there is a café up there where I can get an espresso and cheesecake (it’s folklore business).

When I woke up this morning I was in two minds. With the weather as gorgeous as it was I couldn’t let the opportunity to ride along the bay pass by, so before heading up the mountain I gave the bike a shakedown along the peninsula. Good thing I did, as I can’t recall the peninsula looking as beautiful as it did today. For any of the yuppies still waking up while sipping their lattés along the beachside cafés were certainly awake after I rolled past. When the run from Shorncliffe to Scarborough ended I headed west out to Samford Valley and out toward the mountain.

I have been up Mt Glorious in my car on numerous occasions as I quite like the drive. Since it is such a hot spot for motorcycles I’ve always observed with great interest the cornering and attitude of the bikes I see through that area. I often asked the question, what does it feel like to do that? It’s a question that has remained unanswered for a good ten years and today I finally got my answer.

I have to say riding gives the mountain a whole different appreciation. Obviously there is a greater level of commitment that is needed to lean into the corners. There is a greater toll on the body with the undulations and the physical work needed to position and reposition the bike. That aside, it was amazing. It felt like being in slow motion the whole time. Gazing at the shadows of the trees as they made their impression on the road surface, analysing the contours and camber of the road, watching and hearing the gentle breeze rustling the trees, and listening to the sound of a sports bike wind through the gears. It was somewhat artistic.

In the end aesthetics had to make way for reality and by about this time I was getting a little saddle-sore and started to lose sensation in my right hand, which I wasn’t too worried about on the way up however I was pretty keen to make sure it would be right on the way back down. After a quick break at the top I looped around and started the decent. I think the thing that impressed me most about the whole run was the braking on the way back down, in fact the brakes on a bike have impressed me more than the power. After pulling a few Stoner manoeuvres on the way down it didn’t take long for the forest canopy to open, a sure sign that I was clear from the mountain. Between the sea and the mountain it was a thoroughly enjoyable ride. When I get another free weekend I’ll be sure to do it again.

For quite a number of years I’ve had these aspirations of getting a motorbike and riding off into the sunset. Well, the years have certainly past and the dream is still there, however the sunset might have to be substituted for something more practical like college or church. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since I was in high school but the opportunity to get my R-Class license was gradually bumped down the priority list pretty much from 2005 onwards due to my involvement with Uganda, almost to the point where it became a pipe dream. Funnily enough it was while in Uganda that I rekindled my love affair with riding a bike. Whenever Pastor Edward had business in Kampala he would often leave his 125 at our place to use if we needed it. I would make any and every excuse to head into town just so I could ride. While I was running ‘errands’ in town I was really riding around the Kabale hills reflecting on life and God. While riding one day I said to myself I would put the R-Class license on my ‘things to do’ list before leaving Australia again. To spice it up a little, when I returned to Australia I found out the legislation for unrestricted opens was to change on July 1, restraining learner’s from obtaining an open R-Class straight out, so the time to acquire an R-Class was now or never. It seemed that every man in Brisbane had the same idea, which left training centres busier than a florist on Valentines Day. Although most training centres were bursting at the seams they were able to put people inside a 6 month threshold, basically stating that if you were inducted before July 1 you had 6 months to complete the assessment.

The backlog didn’t seem too bad as I was only put on hold for three weeks. I finally got the call on the Thursday just gone and was set for the assessment the next day. My instructor was a 50yo South African man who spent a fair number of years in Zimbabwe. When he found out I was from Uganda, I mean, worked in Uganda we spent more time talking about Africa than how to ride a bike. If he used an illustration it would be to the tune of a typical day on African roads. The assessment took around 5 hours and after a series of instinctive African tests like balancing a complete furniture suite on the rear, carrying at least half a dozen pillions, and flicking the ignition off while going down a hill, I walked away with my R-Class and a very big smile on my face.

They say the name Phillip means ‘lover of horses’, which I could never really understand. I suppose if the horse has a steel heart pumping with oil then I guess I could make an allowance.