I'm sure others will post a report of their experiences, but having just finished processing the IBA Application, I decided, late though it is, to write up an outline of my Insanity.
Rubina was anxious to get started, and having refuelled with the required docket in the bag, I was also primed.
Suddenly I noted Olaf moving and called out asking if he was leaving, as I was expecting quite a few would be following his lead. Without hesitation he was away, and so was I, with just one other rider. About 4 kays out I realised I hadn't started the SPOT, so there was a flurry of panicked searching in the dark for the right buttons sought by roughly gloved fingers at 80kph.
Once I'd done a few laps I felt comfortable about stopping for a photo of this creature. Is it a lobster? Can't be- there are "eyes" on every "limb". Butterflies? Modern art- it is
avant garde Canberra, after all.
It didn't take many laps before I worked out where breakfast was in the sequence of landmarks, but it was 8:45 before I allowed myself a stop, figuring it could, at a stretch, be brunch. After all, one's body clock is irrelevant on an adventure like this.
Chatting at the end, Martin happily agreed a Bacon and Egg McMuffin with a triple shot capuccino is the "go to" for brekkie on the road.
One of our key landmarks was Black Mountain. Its appearance was the warning to look out for a "double exit". We'd been warned in an email briefing by Olaf that getting this wrong would be costly for "out-of-towners" since regaining the designated route wasn't to be taken lightly. The sky was cloudy all day, but a few breaks in the late afternoon gave me hope I could get a photo of the tower with the sun directly on it, but it wasn't to be. However I'm very happy for the dedicated "pit crew" that the cloud cover made their vigil far more comfortable than clear skies.
I think the worst part of the lap was Drakeford Drive. There were times when I seemed to get every red light, often just for one vehicle turning across, or one on the cross road- even in the small hours of the morning. Oh, and that dumb arrangement of lights associated with the Light Rail on the 70kph Federal Highway! The traffic generally wasn't heavy except for the expected Saturday morning mob, and it often wasn't worth filtering to the front of one or two cars, but I did it a number of times just to keep the adrenaline flowing (the Honda's mirrors are the same height as most car's wing mirrors and the lanes weren't wide).
It must have been around the 7th lap that I nearly dropped the bike at the Kuringa Drive Stop sign. Accelerating into the right turn a patch of diesel evoked enough adrenalin to get me through the next half lap.
The highlight of every lap was, of course, being met at the pit stop by a very efficient record keeper, folder at the ready for the ODO and GPS numbers. In the mid afternoon Fatman was nearby solicitously asking after my condition. With a bit of exaggeration I could respond (albeit horsely) that I was "fine". Lynne The Pillion very generously ran into the servo to get a Coke I needed to wash down my lunchtime Roasted Salted Almonds (did I ever tell you how good they are?) The best meal of the day was pizza on the 14th and 15th laps. Maybe it was getting a bit cool, but it's the ideal way to scoff a bit of nutrition without the need for accoutrements. Bless whoever supplied those- no one was asking for payment.
Around 10:00pm, Fatman the encourager, was on hand again assuring me there were only three laps to go. At that stage I couldn't really muster any enthusiasm for the prospect of what had become profoundly boring, but resolved to just tough it out, dreading the long 100kph stretch down by the airport into the bone chilling wind. It was around that time rumours of Police radars began circulating. The only one I saw (twice) was lit up like a neon sign by my headlights. The large whiteboard above it assured us our speed had been recorded. I deduce it couldn't read our rear number plate. Maybe he would have jumped out of his van and flagged us down if we were caught misbehaving. Whatever, the report of a mobile Cop with a hand-held radar kept me scrupulously honest for the last two laps.
Finally I had my own cheer squad when I rolled in at 1:30am- finished with 75 minutes to spare. There were plenty more efficient riders, but I was happy just to have succeeded in my own time.
The early arrivers had left a handy space between their bikes, so Rubina was proud to slot in there. She could still compare notes with the other ST1300 just two bikes away to her left.
While I wasn't desperately needing to hit the sack, I did need to head off before the final photo because every bit of sleep was going to bolster my chances of getting home to Brisbane on Sunday.
Apart from the IBA's requirement of a lap recorder, the mission couldn't have been completed on time without the excellent pit crew. They cheerfully met us on every lap, willing to go beyond the basic recording duty. Once night fell, the temperature dropped to 12 degrees and there was a chilly wind to make it feel like 8 degrees, but they still soldiered on.
I did get home on Sunday night, after pushing through torrential rain on the M7 and west of Byron Bay, and drizzle most of the rest of the way. My wife waited up until 10:30 (QLD time) for me. One of her first questions was, "Would you do it again?" I know others have said they will if the opportunity came up. My reply was easy- "No." BTDT- Been there, done that, keep the grey IBA shirt and cap for another insane challenge.
Oh, and the "lobster" was a 
