The FZ1 was certainly a different ride than the XV1000 back in 1978. (Photo: David Peach) » More Photos

The incident started a chain reaction of events that was going to test the Aussie’s mettle, as we flew across some wide-open grazing land at a steady 200km per hour. Approaching Walcha, my fuel light came on so I backed off, and enjoyed some solitude out in the Australian bush as the rear end of the red MV Agusta disappeared into the distance. Riding alone, I was surrounded by huge rolling expanses of green grass stretching toward the distant hills, interrupted only by the odd farmhouse. In town, I found Dave at a gas station sucking down water and trying to laugh at the attendant’s lame attempts at humor. He was actually pretty funny, but with the stifling heat and Dave noticeably suffering, we fueled quickly, dropping south on the Thunderbolt’s Way heading toward Gloucester.

Dave was showing no sign of trauma as the MV scorched across the undulating landscape though. Challenging corners kept us on our toes, excuse the pun, the countryside framed out by the Barrington Tops Mountains as we crossed into Gloucester County. Here the two-lane road turned rough, but we kept the hammer down knocking of 140 kilometers in less than an hour, as we blitzed through deserted farming country. Some time later, I noticed smoke coming from the MV, so we pulled over and stripped the bodywork to find oil in the bottom of the fairings. A seal had gone on top of the motor causing oil to drip onto the pipes. Thankfully, the oil level was ok, and there was plenty of coolant in the radiator. So, making a committee decision, we pressed on into Gloucester where we found a safe place to stash the bike.

It was getting late in the day as we hopped on the FZ 1 and headed out along the 77 clicks of twisty country two-lane to the Pacific Coast Highway. The big four cylinder pulled like an Aussie road train, even with the two of us on board, and we made good time turning south as we lost the sun. A couple of hours of highway drone later, the lights of Sydney came up ahead as a softly falling rain turned to a downpour. Filthy dirty from the hot, dusty, ride through the bush, down to one bike, and soaked to the skin, I looked back at Peachy and we both started laughing. Seventeen years had passed, but it could have been a day. Friends for life, we had just been on a quick adventure and the long hiatus hadn’t lessened our friendship a jot. Maybe it’s ok to go back after all?

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