Ride leader: Nizz. Tail End Charlie: Rosco.

I hate writing a report on a ride I did a month ago. I can barely remember what I did
yesterday nowadays, but it all started sometime in the distant past …

The path of 8 brave souls come mysteriously together at a point randomly chosen by fate
(that just happens to be the Baxter Servo) after trekking alone from various points on the planet to form a ragged but legend-worthy band of men (and 1 woman) and become known forever in the writings of history as ‘the Noojee lunch gang’.
One man was chosen above all as their fearless and wise leader; chosen to forge the path forward for all to follow without the fear of poor planning and shit U-turns of those lesser who have tried to stand on the toes of his greatness. His name forever sends tremors through the
channels of time. His name was
Nizz.

Another chosen as the caretaker, a man of great strength and knowledge but also of patience and care, his place to follow those of the gang, to keep them on the path to glory, to fix the issues at hand and to lay praise even when the cornering skills of others may not be up to scratch. His name was Rossco.
The time had arrived for these 8 warriors to mount their steeds and bravely venture off onto a path that they had not yet foreseen but did so without fear as this was no ordinary band of heroes. The battles along the way of their first leg were epic, but they all managed to make
the safety of the cave of ‘Koorbmeg’ (Gembrook). It was here that they stopped to feed their
empty stomachs and patch up the wounds from the journey.

But the day was far from over and the long and perilous road lay still ahead so, again, they dragged their worn and tired bodies back onto the steeds and pushed onward to perils
unknown.
They battled the endless turns of the forest of ‘Gembrook’, the abominable traffic of the ‘Land Launching Place’.
They were not fallen as fools by the peace and tranquillity cast upon them by the Sirens who frequent the forests of ‘Powelltown’ as it was clear a battle lay ahead with another band of lesser men, or far lesser and of significantly lower quality steeds (Harleys) through the mountains. The fight was real and blow after blow was thrown, the ringing of steel from the clashing of blades was heard
echoing through the valleys (it may have been a Harley dropping parts on the road). Time and time again, they tried to shake off our band of heroes but, to no avail; they were beaten and lay down their arms as our heroes turned off to ‘Neerim’.
Arriving at the destination tavern of ‘Eejoon’ (Noojee) was a joyous occasion with laughter and camaraderie had by all. Songs of victory and stories of bravery were told; children listened with awe, townsfolk celebrated our tales, and a well-earned ale and meal was ordered and given by the barkeep and maidens of the tavern.
But not all was as it seemed – although the day was long, it was not done with yet. Our merry band was well aware that our journey home took us. through the dreaded forest of ‘Valflats’, a place so vile, the trees reach out with branches like swords and they can take the air from your tyres in a flash! So, on our greatest care we must forge.
We made our pass of this horrible place without incident; perhaps the stories of this place were exaggerated or we were just fortunate this time. We continued onward with less resistance on this leg. ‘Willow Grove’ was passed without problems. We turned off back towards the forests and our merry band was starting to get complacent with the ease and the little resistance we were encountering. This was concerning for our great leader as he knew what lay ahead. By the time our band passed the ‘Village of Jindivick’, wandering minstrels could be heard singing the tales of our glory, but the leader grew more and more concerned. The great Nizz was wise and could foresee a tragic end to this quest as his band of heroes had now become distant and absorbed by their own needs. No longer travelling as a solid unit, they had lost the strength in numbers.

‘This will only lead us to failure alone,’ he thought. He was right. The chosen path had to cross over the ‘highway of confusion’ with many paths and roads that could be taken, all but one leading to various horrible fates for those foolish enough to fall for their lure. Our leader had lost many men here before and was nervous as he made mark on the last two turns. As he continued on, he could hear the faint sounds of his band fade away into silence and he feared the worst had come true.
He stopped just short of the village ‘Bunyip’ and waited. What seemed like hours had passed and with nightfall now approaching, he knew the worst had happened to his band of heroes; they had all succumbed to the trail and followed their individual paths
to their own end. Sadly, he could wait no more and, as he hopped aboard his steed for the lonesome ride home, he heard a familiar sound. It was ‘Andy the Silly’, one of his greatest allies and stern friend. He had made it through the ‘highway of confusion’. Only
Andy had the wisdom to not be fooled by this trick of evil. A clash of hands and smiles as
these brothers were united again in the final journey home.
Safely back within the walls of his castle, our great leader looked to the heavens and was thankful for making it home, for having the band of brothers start this epic day, for overcoming all that lay before them, but a little sadness for those lost along the way (yes,
they did get home). Now forever in the pages of history, this journey will remain (until I do it next time) as a symbol, a blueprint of greatness, of a band named ‘the Noojee lunch gang’.
Nizz!