It’s Australia day, another article to post, another week of no riding, Unless you count a trip down the back paddock to prime the pump on the creek. At least this week I was home, a family holiday last week made riding or a post impossible.


This week we did all the earthwork for a new shed, you can never have too many sheds, as I hosed down the dusty dry soil, my neighbour came over. I was fortunate enough to pick my neighbour, a bike rider naturally, someone whom I have shared many adventures, from the notorious old Coffs Harbour enduro’s were finishers were rarer than an honest politician and the rain was almost enough to start gathering animals in pairs. Not that it stopped us from filling the course with huge clay hills and super tight-technical single track.


To the many adventure rides including the brilliant ride in NZ last year, or even the blasts around the undulating back paddocks on a freshly cut in grasstrack, we have shared plenty.

As we laughed about old adventures and planned new ones it reminded me about what Australia Day was all about, mates, nothing is more Australian than mateship.

Anyone that knows Wolfy understands he is a revhead, from using two litre’s more at every fuel stop in NZ on identical DR’s to having him almost land on you during an adventure ride when he finds a good lip for his 450 KTM.

He is also the only bloke I have almost had a head on with, opening up my new boots with his footpeg, he also cleaned up Tom on one of our grasstrack days.


I met Tom when he covered a multi-day trailride I had run, found out he loved the wolfy designed grasstracks ( tight technical and full of off cambers) and despite me repeatedly knocking him down in the early days we have become firm friends.

Despite him once telling me I couldn’t write and couldn’t take photos, I have hounded him with articles, he eventually run this letter below, probably hoping I would go away and forget where he lived, no such luck, another story in next issue of adventure rider and video link here.

Without Tom, the dualsport Australia discs would probably never have happened and definitely never been so good and professional.


I think it is time for wolfy to cut in another grasstrack on my property and knock them down again for old times sake.

Mates, where would you be without them? probably overshooting corners that’s for sure because good mates make great berms.

The letter I sent Tom when he was editor of Trailbike Adventure Magazine (TBAM)

Dear: Tom

It’s not true what they say about bikes taking on the personal traits of their owner.


A Cry For Help


Dear T.B.A.M.


Seeing your mag had a project DR650 you might be able to help. You’re my last hope, I’m too embarrassed to ask my local motorcycle mechanic.


I know this is going to sound strange but I think my bike is evil. I know what your thinking, DR650 but there not that bad, underrated even. No mine’s different, possessed.


It all started when it was just two months old. (warranty?) My neighbour and I were mucking around the grass track. The big girl felt all out of place, embarrassed even, but when the nice white KTM fell over in front, the DR lurched forward, gurgling with glee jumped on top and ground wolfy and the KTM into the mud.


Now, I just put it down as an accident but strangely the big girl seemed to go even better, the front became lighter and the bike just seemed happier.


Two weeks later on one of our mid-week rides, the big girl caught Boris’s KTM450 napping and vulnerable. Again it lurched forward, refusing to stop, but my screams alerted Boris and his KTM got away with just a few scratches and scrapes. Again the big girl seemed to go better, gobbling up single track like a bike of half its size. This was getting weird.


I’ve tried to keep the big girl away from KTMs but it hates YZ250s and RM250s, tries to run over everyone it sees.


I knew the problem was getting out of control when it started picking on little XR250s piloted by a mild editorial type person. Picking up the XR and tossing it off the track all while making truly unholy noises, the eerie quiet of the muffler overrun by grinding and gouging. I must admit I appreciated the extra go as a now not- so- mild-mannered editorial type chased the DR looking for blood but to no avail.


Now there are mechanical signs as well, the leaking base gasket where it’s been spinning its head when I’m not looking. It oozes black stuff out of various areas; in fact it’s soiling my veranda as I write.


I even tried exorcising the demons I told it that it was time. I was taking it out to Gleniffer church telling it firmly its behavior wouldn’t be tolerated. As we got closer to the church it started to vibrate and shake. Those crosses made out of zip ties, fastened all over the bike, were clearly upsetting it. With the church in site, it ground to a halt, refusing to be even pushed closer, shedding four gears in protest.

I was hoping with the new gears (thanks Suzuki) the big girl would behave. But during a recent ride to Stanthorpe, while crossing a river it spotted the editorial type bloke that chased her so meanly. She reared up and if it wasn’t for that log the bloke cowered behind I don’t know what would’ve happened. I can’t let her taste blood.

HELP what should I do?


Signed Desperate and Husky- less

One Comment

  1. Yes, it must be true, you & the DR,s are like peaches & cream.

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