Come Saturday afternoon, the car and trailer were packed, with Steve's new KTM 520 looking conspicuous next to my 10 year old TT250. We departed Sydney sunny and pleasant.  Lithgow, however, was cool and wet. Light rain had been falling most of the week and it looked like we were going back to the mud of a couple of years ago. The campsite was a mass of camp fires, ranging from smouldering masses of damp wood to fair blazes. Petrol and bungers seemed to be the most popular method of increasing the burn. Bikes unloaded and through scrutineering in under 10min. These guys had it down to an art-form, especially when it came time to winding people up... "Hey, this licence shows someone with a tie! Where's your tie? We cant let you through unless you're wearing one too!!"

Steve, jet-lagged from an international flight last night, didn't know which way was up, let alone how to deal with these attacks on his credibility, just mumbled and pointed to the shiny new 520, "dunno, that's my bike, though. What are you riding?" they shut up, gave him a sticker and passed him through. 

Checked into the motel (yeah, I know. But you get to wake up warm and have a shower) to find our neighbours were trying to fix the clutch on their Husaberg. Steaks and beer for dinner made our tomorrow seem less of a problem, but they were still at when we returned. I don't know if they made it.

Sunday morning was cold and damp. Those with jackets were putting them on, while those without were either looking for a mate's to nick or an extra shirt to wear. We caught up with Peter, Scott and Chris from DSMRA prior to departure. As always these blokes are so well prepared they'd put the boy scouts to shame. Scotty was chafing to give his new XR400 a good run.

As we climbed, the mist grew thicker and the tear-off became more of a problem than a solution. Water would get in between the sheets and distort your vision making it difficult to judge the single track terrain. Open roads meant you didn't need to focus on the terrain as much, but they forced in more water. The cold was still there and after 20k's into the ride Steve pulled over, mumbling something about not being able to feel his fingers, wimp. I must admit it was a bit cool on the fingers, but my jacket was doing a great job for the rest of me. We swapped gloves and tried to have a bite, but the space food sticks were rock solid. As we were stopped 2 bow hunters emerged from the scrub, looking unhappy and complaining we'd chased away all the game. Had to laugh because they'd chosen the worst day of the year to come out here.

The first obstacle was found shortly after. Another detour lead off the road to a series of small single track loops, approx 2-300m deep into the bush. There wasn't anything sinister, steep or dangerous, it was just one long bog hole. Traffic had backed up and it seemed anyone who didn't have a new tyre was in trouble. I know it sounds conceited, but this was 4-stroke territory. Just put it in 1st or 2nd and chug through the muck. The first of the official 'Hard' sections came shortly after. A moderately steep down-hill made interesting by the rain, it turn out to be a piece of the '98 track. Much easier and a hoot to go up than down.

The trail turned into a 2-wheel track with erosion berms (who doesn't love 'em?) starting to show up. Strangely, (or maybe not) it was a berm that caught me around the 30k mark. I'd launched over it at about 40ks and 3rd gear and somehow, the bars were slightly turned on landing. In the mud this turned into a tank-slapper as I over corrected, which promptly turned into a 40k front wheel washout / lowside. No blood, no foul, nothing broken (side cover was zip-tied back on) and I'm told it looked good. That's what counts.

Until now, all had been going well. There's always a pork-chop hill. The hill that, in the dry, is so much fun that you ride back down to do it again, a couple of times. The muddy hill everyone has an attack of the 'Polites' on.

"You go first. I insist."

'Oh no, you were here first. I cant take your place'

"Ah, I'm just about to have a smoke. I'll be alright."

A 2 stage affair with an S-bend half-way up and the odd berm for comic relief. I charged and was going reasonable well when, 50m from the top, things started to slow down. No problem. Hold the revs and use a heavy boot to change down. Hmm, still slowing. OK, flick the clutch to regain the revs and go again. About 30m from the top it ran out of puff as first gear did nothing and realisation dawned.

F#%7*CKING CLUTCH. It was gone. Finished. Away wi' ye faeries. There was nothing to do but push the beastie to the side of the track and wait for the traffic to die down. While waiting I got a chance to see the riding styles of those coming up. Anyone with a new rear tyre was charging. The looks on their faces were a mixture of intense concentration and muck-eating grins, depending on the skill level and the direction they were pointed at the time. It was one of these KTMs that decided to use my bike as the extra traction needed to launch over a berm (BASTARD !!!).

On the other hand, those who had either been convinced by so-called mates, or had blissfully believed that Sunday was going to be 'nice' to them, were often to be heard long before they were seen. Their eyes alternated between from Very Round to Shut as they fought to keep the back from overtaking the front. And they say this isnt a spectator sport.

Steve walked back down the hill to inspect the damage, prod and make helpful comments. "Are you sure its the clutch? What happens when you try 2nd? Are you sure it isn't just the cable?" Life is simpler when its not your bike laid over on the side of a hill.

By now the DSMRA riders had arrived, and I was looking for a sweep rider to get a message through to the recovery truck. Peter and crew offered to help get the bike to the top and it was about here my tool bag started to be useful. Out came karabiners and a couple of metres of rope. 'Biners onto the foot pegs, attach the rope and five of us took 20 minutes of hard work to cover the last 30m. At the top of the hill, the reasons started to become clear. Excess mud had built up between the tyre and swingarm. This created a drag on the engine an the clutch had finally given up. The sweep riders caught up and called in the request for a recovery. Now there was nothing to do but wait. Steve set off with Peter, Scott and Chris to ride what turned out to be the longest 'Hard' section of the day, not a bad effort if you've only been riding occasional trails for 2-3 years. Meanwhile, another TT250 rolled down the track to us. He'd seized the engine and decided to come back to a central point for recovery.

The Landcruiser of Recovery 3 made a grand entrance, driving up the same hill that had claimed so many bikes, being lead by another rider having a bad day. Electrical gremlins had struck his KTM earlier and it was already loaded on the back. He was trying to run up the hill in his dirt boots, while dragging a winch cable ahead of the 4WD. Owen in the Toyota had the unenviable job (if you're a rider) of driving the same course after all the bikes had passed through. The broken bikes were loaded and a few k's up the track we picked up a 4th, an XR400 who'd stopped to repair a flat and promptly lost the rear wheel spacer in the mud and muck.

So it was with 4 bikes on the back of Recovery 3 that we approached the 'other' hill. At approx the 40km mark, (just after ADB Lookout) riders made a slippery decent and crossed a small bridge (a pallet with some matting) before charging into a deeply rutted uphill . We prepped the winch and Owen started off in Low, making it to the top 45 minutes, 5 winch hauls and 2 electrical short-outs later; with us running up the hill, dragging the cable ahead so he wouldn't stop and lose momentum. If you were there and though riding that hill was interesting, just try running up the bloody thing, being chased by a madman in a Landcruiser.

This was the pattern for all major obstacles until we reached the 47km mark where the course indicated a right turn, down a long, greasy, off camber bend The creek crossing at the bottom was closed and impassable by bike, let alone us. Attempting a u-turn, the 4WD stalled and refused to start. Extensive winching had drained the battery and activated a cut-out switch on the electricals so now it was time to recover Owen. With chains and 2 tie-down dogs, we hooked up a tree and dragged the nose of the 4WD back onto the track, 2 chain links at a time. Half an hour and some minor electrical surgery later we were pointed back up hill and our of there.

It was about 4.00pm when we finally rolled back into campsite. Most of the riders had retuned and were casting sideways looks at the bikes on the Toyota, thinking we'd had it easy. Yeah, right... Hanging around for the presentation, I heard stories of the rest of the track, ruts, carnage, near misses and saw a young bloke from Robertson (Jordan Mann) win the KTM300. He even had the hide to admit this was his first Sunny Corner,, Bastard.

Such was Sunny Corner for 2000, not so much a ride as an adventure. Organisers received a total of 825 entries and a wide range of sponsorship. The dak-dak's under going surgery, and the way the boss controls the purse strings, will probably see another year of abuse. 

I'll tell you about it later.

daniel

'97 TLS
'90 TT250

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