The memories of the first hour of the trip were lost in the blur of new conversation, introductions, and improvisations, between new friends. Sydney’s density and pressure of the city drives you to escape. Fortunately the geography of her surrounding National Parks complies with those willing to travel. For in whatever direction you go, the city gives way to bush-life within an hour. So with our car fully loaded with tents, bikes, and cameras, we got lost.
We descended with the sun into Maroota Ridge along Wiseman’s Ferry Road. Something about the bends knocked at the door of my old memories. Left, followed by a sweeping right, each turn was mapping out the past. The final drop into Pacific Park Motorcycle Park sparked the neural connection. I had travelled to this place as a three-year-old - My earliest memory of riding. My Dad and I arrived early on a weekend morning with a Suzuki Jr50 loaded in the back of a Subaru WRX wagon. I’d been brimming with excitement and nerves. This time I’d arrived with new friends, new bikes, and ready to make new memories.
Lost Motos, a group I had only just joined, provided a platform to share the passion for motorbikes and an awareness of my own mental health. It did not matter to me, or the others, that I was nursing an injury and unlikely to ride. Together we built a camp, a fire, and a plan to tackle the next day together. Shared passions used to build strong foundations of friendship. Conversations flowed from tuning two-strokes, to travel stories. We continued talking until the wood ran out and the cold pushed us into our sleeping bags.
The next morning began with the serene quiet unceremoniously broken by two-stroke engines. The day was ours to find. The bbq was fired up for breakfast. Rolls were consumed while climbing into riding gear. It reminded me of the importance of getting out of the city - Getting up early, doing, before the thinking starts. I am fortunate not to be suffering from any anxiety or depression like I have in the past. But I know any day like that is the best kind of preventative medicine.
Pacific Park offered us all sort of terrain to practice our skills and our teamwork. I even found the confidence to tackle the flat track. This brought back the memories. My three-year-old self staring out of the plastic frame of a motocross helmet - I was excited, nervous, and supported by friends. But what if I slide out – don’t think just twist and go!
Undoubtedly the memories of old were made new again and Lost Motos had found a new member for life. Practicing new skills with the support of others can never be underestimated or over-utilised. The car trip home was full of new plans, new goals and new friends. Get lost. Get found.