Rolling back the memories, this was my first scooter run since 1985. I didnít sleep well the night before due to constant reminder of engine seizure I had almost 20 years ago on the same run.  Saturday started out perfectly sun and scooter which started on 3 or 4 fourth kick.

Packed the sleeping bag and spares the night before, so all I had to do was get a caffeine fix and breakfast down. Rode the short distance to Fremantle Round house, which was built to house the prisoners in the 1800ís (not a good omen).  

 

Most of the lads had arrived early; as usual Adrian wanted to make a grand entrance and arrived late with Simon. Adrianís Vespa looked uncluttered of camping gear; he had palmed it off to Simon who was using the club Vespa. Simon's Vespa looked like a rent a Camel with Adrian's ground sheet, pillow, air mattress, sleeping bag, back-pack, gazebo, swimming pool etc.

Once the introductions had been done, we departed to meet the seconded crew in Rockingham.  We had gone only one kilometre before some local Fremantle resident wanted to give his own tradition farewell by calling Gareth a skinhead and gobbing at Adrian.
It was like the old days, when you had to be on guard constantly for incoming missiles or Holden/Ford that tried to pry off your scooter at 70k an hour.  He obviously didnít what to talk to us because bolted out of sight as quick as Gareth can knock down a pint of Guinness.

 

We finally made it on to the coastal roads before Sharpie's Silver Special starts blowing smoke rings and miss firing. The verdict was to go home and drink beer and earn some brownie points at home. No problem, but we soon realised that Sharpie had one of the three tents, meaning we all had to get to know each other a little better at the camp site.  He refused our polite attempts to get him to drive down and bring the tent.

Before we get to Rockingham we had three more breakdowns, but nothing serious.  The group were waiting patiently for the scooters to arrive, heads counted off we went for the 160k ride to Bunbury.
Bunbury has changed quite a bit over the last 20 years the roads are dual carriage way and has plenty of service station for fuel and a bite to eat. County people on the roads are not quite sure about a group of scooters clogging up the roads, but most gave us friendly smile or wave. Trucks are different story, when they pass you hang on to scooter grips like death was about to descend. Although one dickhead in a 4WD decide that the West Oz road death carnage wasnít quite high enough. They tried to take out the cars in the opposite lane while overtaking scooters and a truck while crossing double white lines.

The group had split into two and the first group arrived at the Caltex petrol station 5 k from Bunbury when word comes through that Canadian Rob has seized his engine and was in the process of sticking it in the back up vehicle. The problem was it wouldnít fit so Adrian decides the best way is to give the broken Lambretta petrol tank mouth to mouth so we could lay it down in the back of the 4wd without spillage, only to realise when letting the air out of the tyres it will fit in standing up. We almost made it without any collateral damage.

 

Gareth decides he canít wait for the pub and decides try the same as Adrian to suck a litre of petrol from the tank of his scooter but forgets spit it out, for the next 24 hours heís bringing up petrol. Teach him for over filling the tank.  We hit the town and find the local Irish pub and the first rounds are ordered and downed before the second group arrives. Wayne a local resident also meets up in his lovely series two lammy. Wayne provides us with details the best pubs and clubs to visit.

After a couple of pints we head back to the camp site to pitch one less tent (thanks Sharpie) and try and freshen up for the session tonight. You couldnít have asked for more at the Koombana camp site, we had Estuary views and ample space for scooters and tents. It was walking distance to town which is blessing at 3 in the morning. At eight bucks a head plus another fifteen for fuel, it made for a cheap weekend. Unfortunately Duane managed to part with three hundred for the weekend. Try explaining that to the wife!

Bunbury is a happening place, night life and full of young people ready for a good time. We had consumed copious amount of alcohol well before 10pm, and tried the wares at three different venues. The boys kicked on till 3am before deciding it time to head back to the camp site. Although a couple of lads decide the night wasnít finished until they woke the whole camp site up with details of the burger joint that wouldnít give him a coke because he tried to steal all the mustard and tomato sauce packets.  Adrian also tells me he vomited in some local car who kindly offered him a lift back to the campsite. Nice one son. While Gareth decided heíd make a good postie and abandon his unfinished burger in somebody's letter box.

 

Next morning started early, first disaster to arise was missing keys. Duane had committed the cardinal sin and lost his keys to the TV 175. After searching his soiled jeans from the night before, Tim tries his ignition keys from his Spanish 1984 Lambretta and fits his Italian 1963 model Lambretta. Thank god only one set of keys was made to fit all. Eventual the cleaner turns up with his keys from the toilet block.


The ride back to Perth was uneventful full no breakdowns or mishaps. We had planned to assemble at the bakery at Falcon just outside Mandurah for fuel and lunch. After 100k of riding in hot conditions, food and drink was enthusiastically welcomed by all riders. Some of the best and most expensive pies are sold here, all washed down with coffee.  After some good old fashion bullshitting, we hit the road. We had a tail wind all the way back, which made it a quick trip back to Fremantle and Rockingham.

A big thank for PLSC for organizing a great weekend.