Ride The Dream (For Nick)

On 27 June the Diamond Creek OM:NI Group and Eltham  Mens Shed lost an old and valued friend. Nick Grange sadly passed away after a battle with cancer. Nick was a long standing member of both groups. With OM:NI he was one of the early members, and with Mens Shed he joined later on, and here he was one of the driving forces in operating the bike repair group. Nick started this blog for OM:NI which has been an invaluable record of the history and activities of the group. He was a keen member of the cycling group, who encouraged members to ride further astray, and who we loved to share a coffee and talk with. All who knew Nick were influenced by his dreams – for the blog, the bike repair group, and the cycling peloton. He will be sadly missed by all, but his memory will live on via this story below, which is my personal feeling towards my friend.

  My Friend Nick.

I have a friend named Nick, who I met eight years ago when I joined the Diamond Creek OM:NI – Men’s Discussion Group.

As in any group bound together by a commonality, we tend to focus on some individuals within the group, those we have common interests with, who we enjoy talking and listening to and those who for some reason we simply like from the start.

Nick was one of these people to me. We shared a few passions and dreams, mainly a love of cycling and cooking, in particular coffee brewing, as well as the same type of whimsical and quirky sense of humour, plus a keen appreciation for the sense of the ridiculous.

The group started a weekly cycling ride, which over the years grew into a small peloton. No Middle Aged Men in Lycra, on sleek shiny machines, simply a bunch of older blokes on a motley collection of bikes, wearing comfortable clothing. A bunch of guys having a leisurely friendly ride, the main concern finding a decent coffee shop to stop for a chat.

Nick became an enthusiastic member of the group. He progressed from riding an ancient touring bike to a proper road bike, a birthday present from his wife. I enjoyed riding alongside him, chatting about food, bikes, trips and life in general, and at morning tea comparing the taste of our home made muesli bars. He was a trained cook and had spent all of his life in the food industry, and this was one of his passions. I gleaned much about cooking as we rode, for example the difference between cottage and shepherd’s pie. I occasionally got a kick when I taught him something about cooking that he didn’t know.

About four years ago, the Eltham Men’s Shed formed a bike rescue service, where donated old bikes were done up and donated to local needy kids. Nick joined this group and quickly became the dominant force, progressing from a limited knowledge of bike repairs to a formidable amateur skill in restoring bikes of all ages and types. In the beginning, I taught him things about bike repairs, but he soon out skilled me.

He persuaded the committee to fund a full set of modern tools and equipment, so the group could repair modern bikes requiring specialist tools. Under his tutelage a steady supply of bikes were gifted to young kids. His only partial failure was in renovating an old electric bike, he made it roadworthy, but the battery could only last about ten kilometres, requiring the new owner to be extremely careful how far he travelled. He would impatiently sit through the weekly meeting, then hurry around to the bike workshop and start work.

With the cycling group, Nick took on the role of unofficial leader, sending out the weekly group email advising of the ride. He was the most adventurous of the group, suggesting different and wider ranging rides, rather than the Yarra or Mullum Mullum trails, where most of us were generally content to ride. We started exploring other rides, one beneficial side effect being giving us the chance to visit a wider range of cafes, where we would leisurely taste the coffee, comparing it to that from other venues, and enjoying this task over a good chat, along with the rest of the group.

A few years ago, Nick came up with the idea of a blog for the OM:NI Group. When he first mentioned this it was met with mostly blank stares. Most of the guys had no idea of social media, did not know what a blog was, some had Face book so they could see grandchildren photos, and a quarter did not have email.

Nick took up the blog with a passion. He thought the history of the group was worthy of being formally recorded. He persevered with the blokes, explaining what a blog was, and slowly encouraging them to upload stories and photos, mostly their local caravan trips and overseas travels. He managed to find local sponsors to fund the upgrade to a formal web site. Today the site is a fairly professional looking publication, containing eight years history – Xmas parties, special events, stories and poems by members, numerous group cycling shots. All this from a guy who only owned an ancient analogue Nokia mobile, is a tribute to his persistence, dedication and willingness to take on a challenge.  Not a bad achievement.

Sadly, I now only have the memory of my friend Nick. Twelve months ago he developed lymphoma. The specialists were initially confident that plan A would work, but as they progressed through the alphabet, there were no more letters left, it was incurable and there was nothing but palliative care. My friend died on 27th June, 2018, two weeks short of his 71st birthday. After attending his 70th birthday one year earlier, where he was healthily and happily celebrating life, this was a sad sudden shock to us all.

As the disease crept forward, Nick continued to follow his dreams. He still attended the OM:NI group, still worked on the old bikes, and continued to come riding with us, although these became shorter and shorter, slower and slower. He still continued to develop his blog, maybe this passion helped him cope with the increasing pain.

There was no formal funeral, simply an open day at his home, where friends came to pay their respects to his family, while consuming much tasty food, which I think he would have liked. His ashes were gently scattered by his family in a peaceful bend of the Diamond Creek, next to the bike path where he rode each week, and where he and his wife would take the dog for a walk, and sit and talk on a nearby bench. We realised then how much the cycling outings meant to him. On our first ride after he died, we stopped at one of his favourite coffee spots and gave our friend a coffee salute.

Will Nick’s dreams live on?

We will certainly try to make this happen. A few weeks before his death he asked me to take over as the web administrator. This task I readily accepted as a tribute to Nick and to the effort he put into this passion. So the blog will continue, not as grandiose as Nick would have liked I suspect, but I will do the best I can. My first post will be this story.

The cycling group has decided to conduct an annual Nick’s Tribute Ride on the anniversary of his death. This will follow the route of his last group ride, a short one in the Eltham/Diamond Creek area, and we will stop at that gentle bend and reflect for a while on our friend, then the blokes from the groups who can’t cycle will join us for morning tea at a Diamond Creek cafe to quietly celebrate Nick’s life and passions.

The Lost Recipe

There comes a time when we all actually get serious about cleaning out our “stuff”, items we no longer need, but still retain for various obscure reasons.

We recently helped my daughter and partner move house and I was amazed at the amount of “stuff” they had accumulated after only eight years together. This prompted me to get serious about getting my own house in order, sorting out my historical detritus.

It’s a complex, difficult process, more emotional than physical. Particularly with sorting through old items of one’s parents. It’s as though your childhood is finally slipping away into the darkness, it’s a type of guilt about disposing of items which once meant something to them. But there is little stuff that I would personally use, and I know my children would not be interested in these superfluous snapshots of family history.

With Dad, I have many memories and reminders. The piles of his writing, the boxes of slides, and a few treasured old tools. With mum, it’s not so easy, she was mainly involved in the garden club. But thinking about her life, if there was one particular remnant I would choose to mentally retain it would be her cooking. It was her role in the family. The Sunday roasts, the apple pies, but particularly her famous tasty Christmas pudding.

From a young age I looked forward to Christmas day on my aunt’s farm on the Mornington Peninsular.  For lunch, the huge dining table seated a horde of assorted uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, friends and other hangers on, to consume a massive meal.  After the main Christmas course, all would keenly await the highlight of the day – the grand entrance of the pudding.  This icon would be carried into the room by my mum, the maker, and would be flaming with lashings of brandy, (in itself a fire danger in the old timber cottage.)

We would devour the pudding, hoping to get a thruppence or sixpence, which sadly we had to return for next year’s pudding.  There were second helpings, laughter and compliments to mum that this was her best pudding yet.  Then onto the second highlight of the day, giving out presents.

This ritual lasted for decades.   Faces changed, older family died, cousins brought new partners, grandchildren arrived, but mum always made the pudding.  In October, the annual process would begin.  Mum would spread the ingredients on the old timber kitchen table, and clamp on the heavy cast iron hand mincer. I played a critical role as the suet mincer, laboriously but proudly mincing up a huge pile of suet, at that young age not knowing what this tough sinewy stuff was.  Mum would start up the big Sunbeam mixmaster; we would all give the mix a stir with the old wooden spoon, throw in the money and make a wish.

Dad’s role was to maintain a steady fire to steam the pudding for eight hours. Our old house in Clifton Hill had an outside laundry with a huge copper boiler..  He would rig up a device to support the pudding by its cloth loop at the right height, and every hour would stoke the fire and top up the water.  Finally the pudding would be hung in its cloth ball in the laundry until Christmas day.

The huge family gatherings finally ended, but mum still made a smaller pudding for the immediate family.  After she died, dad continued the tradition until he died.  All this time, I never actually knew what the pudding contained, as mum refused to give away her recipe, and dad continued this secrecy.  We were simply happy to enjoy the rich sticky tasty treat.  When he died I found the recipe, scribbled on a piece of tattered paper in an old diary.

By that time I had forgotten about the suet, and was horrified to see what we had been eating all those years —  slabs of saturated fat, plantations of sugar, chocolate, gallons of alcohol, all bound together by healthier mixed fruits, but topped by a sugary creamy custard sauce.  Great for me as a diabetic.  My wife was horrified at what her mother in law had fed her. I thought it best to keep quiet about the huge tub of lard in mum’s fridge, used to baste the rich Sunday roasts, which all enjoyed.

In honour of my dear old mum, I made her pudding, only once, the first Christmas after dad died when the recipe came to light.  It was not as tasty as mum’s, as I left out the suet, and went easy on the sugar, but my family enjoyed it and I had fun telling the kids tales about their gran and pop and aunt May’s farm.  It brought back happy memories of our big family, now dispersed, and about our times on the farm a long time ago.

The recipe?  Long since gone.  I recently spent hours searching through old recipe boxes, through my parents’ papers, and I couldn’t find it.  I would not have thrown it out, and it must be somewhere in the house, and may turn up one day, maybe my kids will find it when I go. But in the process I had a beautifully poignant time, trawling through mum’s old recipes, dad’s old stories, ancient photos and the memories of my early life.

Out of curiosity, I googled “old fashioned plum pudding” and hundreds of hits came up, all with the same type of ingredients, including the suet.  This was slightly surprising as I thought mum’s recipe was unique, but clearly many mums in that era were busily boiling up puddings pre Christmas, and their little kids were busily mincing suet. But I guess the eating environment gives each pudding its own unique flavour.

In mum’s memory here is an old imperial recipe which from my early memories seems to most resemble her one. For the fun of it, I may make it one Christmas, and we would greedily and guiltily consume the sinful product, but I reluctantly think not. Maybe a synthetic suet pudding will suffice.

 

The could have been mum’s Christmas suet pudding.”

4 oz plain flour

2 oz dark chocolate grated

1 teaspoon mixed spice

6 oz fresh white breadcrumbs

10 oz suet ground

8 oz brown sugar

2 oz dried apples and apricots

2 lbs raisins, currants and chopped dates

2 oz hazelnuts, walnuts and almonds chopped

zest of one lemon and orange

2 teaspoons of vanilla essence

1 teaspoon almond essence

4 large eggs

1 tablespoon honey

qtr pint dark rum or brandy

A Chance Encounter

The ride had started nicely. It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon, my solo riding day; I can ride where I like, explore trails, without having to follow the wishes of the Thursday cycling group. That day I had suddenly decided to explore a new trail, branching off from the main track to Warrandyte, reached by a wide gate.

To my delight it began well; the track was a gently winding dirt one, following the river on my left, so according to my calculations I could casually ride back to Fitzsimmons Lane, a fairly short distance.

However, the track steadily became rougher, steeper and rocky, seeming also to veer away from the river. After a while I lost my bearings, but hoped the track would eventually head back to Eltham. But the track petered out into a steeply hilled area, with power lines leading in a straight line into the distance. Definitely lost, but feeling safe, I reasoned it would be too far retracing my steps, the power lines must lead to somewhere familiar.

A rocky four wheel drive trail followed the pylons. I had to walk up the steep rises and carefully ride down the descents. The thought flashed into my mind about what was I doing here, a seventy year old man in a deserted location, with no help around if anything went awry. My Cyclo Cross bike was certainly designed for severe off road riding, but maybe the rider was not designed for this purpose.

The outcome was predictable. On a really steep descent, I took a chance and began to carefully ride down but lost braking control, started skidding and finally crashed. Fortunately I came to rest on top of a four metre high embankment leading into a steep gully. One metre more and I would have been in serious trouble.

The bike was undamaged, but my knee was badly swollen and painful, I must have knocked it on a rock. The only option was to keep following the trail to civilisation. Finally a fence and house appeared, then another. To my relief, the trail then ended at Beasley’s Nursery, and I rode slowly and painfully home, where after checking the Melways I realised I had gone the wrong way, upstream rather than down, straying into a Parks Victoria reserve. Heading away from Fitzsimmons Lane.

Later that night, I reflected on the event, ruefully realising that it had happened entirely by chance — Why?

Because two months earlier, on the same ride to Warrandyte, at that gate, I had answered my mobile. As I remounted my bike, a man walking past suddenly stopped and started a conversation, mentioning that past a nearby gate, over a bridge, there was a track along the other side of the river that cyclists used. In all my years of cycling this area I had never seen that track, nor seen cyclists on the other river bank, so I thanked him and rode off, convinced he was mistaken.

So on that sunny fateful Tuesday a month later, as I was passing this same bend heading to Warrandyte, on a pure whim, thinking about what the stranger had said, I stopped at the gate, which was normally locked. Now the padlock had been changed to a latch. Naturally I passed through the gate and rode to the bridge. To my surprise, I realised the stranger had told the truth, because a bike trail began. Naturally again, I decided to follow it, as every good cyclist would, with my crash being the unexpected end result.

If my phone had not rung at that exact moment; if the stranger had not appeared at that precise time, if the gate had been locked; I would have remained blissfully unaware of that bloody trail, would have casually continued to Warrandyte and safety home, looking forward to the Thursday ride with the guys.

Instead, as directed by my doctor, who diagnosed a knee hematoma, and prescribed rest, I have been dolefully sitting inside on the healing couch, leg elevated, ice compress in place rather than being cheerfully perched on a bike seat, eagerly traversing familiar and safe trails with the Thursday peloton.

Curiously enough, the topic for the week’s writing group was the expression “chance would be a fine thing.” A fine phrase, meaning ‘it would be lovely if something was to happen, but it most likely won’t.’

It sadly occurred to me that this definitely applied to my unfortunate episode. As I was precariously riding down that steep rocky hill, the thought furiously flashed into my mind was that it would indeed be a lovely thing if I could not crash, but this looked more unlikely the further and faster I descended.

Hopefully, I should be back on the bike shortly, having fun with the Thursday peloton pedalling on our familiar safe trails. The lesson has finally sunk into my

Septuagenarian brain that sometimes it’s not worth taking a chance.

Ya Gotta Get In

Progression                                                                    Bruce McCorkill November 2017

Conceived, formed, born

Mystical gateway gently opening

A turmoil of forms, spilling

Onto the carpet, answering the call

Seeking the distant door

 

The lucky ones run

Fleet of foot, fast and sure

Dancing, bouncing, playing on the pile

Deft scampering from door to door

Positive pleasurable progression

 

The hopeless hapless try, intend

But get mired in the mud

The carpet can be treacherous

Sticky tentacles reaching up

To suck the unfortunate

Down into the morass

A miserable angry sodden trudge

To a mean shabby sunken exit

 

The middlings – a great messy mass

Strive to do their best

A confusion of aimless ants

This way, that way, diversions, tangents

Crawling and scrambling, sometimes dancing

Striving to avoid the suction of the bog

A journey to some meaning somewhere

 

Is there a purpose, any rhyme or reason?

Who cares, all end at the final portal

None can escape, like it or not

The snuff man is nigh, gently beckoning

Patiently waiting, waiting, waiting

So start the race, begin the journey

It’s the only one that counts

Life’s a bitch and don’t we know it

Way too short and way too hard

The bad is bad, but the good is good

You gotta get in to get out

Australia Day Award For Ken – 2018

The Jagajaga Community.
AUSTRALIA DAY AWARDS 2018

Diamond Creek OM:NI Ken Ramplin, awarded Australia Day honours by Jenny MacKlin MP for …..
…..”his work in the community including the founding of three groups of OM:NI in Diamond Creek, Eltham and Hurstbridge.”

Well deserved, and congratulations from all your OM:NI mates Ken.

MOVEMBER 2017


It was the last Thursday in December and again the OMNIcycle boys kept the tradition of the annual Movember ride from Diamond Creek to Melbourne City.

Due to predicted high temperatures up to 35* Celsius  Bill, Barry and Nick set off from the Marngrook oval in Diamond Creek at the earlier time of 7.30am to meet up with Steve and Bruce at the Eltham tennis court rendezvous. It was good to see Ken there also to see the boys on their way and also took charge of taking the start photos.

The riding was warm, as the min temp had not dipped below 22*C, but with a following breeze was reasonably uneventful with the usual stops and coffee around 10.00am at the Fairfield Campus coffee shop. From thereon it was a gentle ride down the Yarra through Collingwood and Burnley across the Morell Bridge to Alexandra Parade to bbq on the banks of the river.
Daryl……
….the 1982 Mercedes fired into action and loaded with BBQ goodies it headed into Mighty Melbourne along the banks of the muddy Yarra River in Alexandra Avenue South Melbourne, it was a very hot day 34c and windy.

Lady Florence, Lynda and Sir Daryl pulled up in the shade of some mighty oaks to be greeted by the ever vigilant southern sea gulls. It had been an eventual trip with no air conditioning and a car pile up on the freeway plus bridge repairs on Swan st.

With the river as our vista plus river ferries traveling to and fro we fired up the council electric BBQs ready for the hungry and thirsty 5 riders, that had ridden from Diamond Creek and Eltham in support of fund raising to help with research to reduce prostate cancer, they had at this stage raised $300, this is an annual event held in late November.

All the bike riders arrived safely at 11-30 to the aroma of cooked sausages onions and tomatoes, cold drinks were most welcome and food hungrily took a close second place.

With lots of hugs and handshakes followed by many photos we all enjoyed a very happy time together, but we had to get home, the riders headed to Jolimont station for their return train trip and the support group headed back home along the highways guided by Linda with her vast knowledge of the city pointing out many historical sites as we headed back via Ivanhoe Rosanna and Greensborough.

A Tribute to Kelvin Kaires *(KOM:NI) – Vale


It is with much regret that the men of OM:NI Diamond Creek reflect on the recent passing of Sir Kelvin (Kel) Kaires – friend, brother and much respected colleague. On 15th August 2017, at the age of 89, Sir Kel passed away peacefully in his sleep at home.
He spent 89 years traveling this planet meeting and inspiring people from all walks of life, excelling in electronics building his first television set and ignition systems still used in cars today, he was a small framed man with an inquiring mind full of wisdom which he graciously passed on to all that listened.
He understood the health issues and remedies of the human body and enjoyed a loving lifetime with his childhood sweetheart Val.
He joined the OMNI Diamond Creek discussion group as a founder member and became our mentor and grandfather/brother, we always looked forward to his input and humor in our meetings. He unified the whole group so much we created the Sir Kelvin Award, this became the annual award bestowed upon other worthy members of whom Kel would officiate having dressed in robes and placing a sword upon the shoulder saying rise Sir?
Illness prevailed over many months and Kel could not always attend OMNI but all that visited him came back with the same message I can’t wait to be with you all again, tell the boys I miss everyone of them and I love them all dearly.


Kel made such a difference at our Diamond Creek Group and he felt his time with us stimulated his thinking and re-invigorated his zest for life. How many times did he re-affirm his love for us and his gratefulness for making the last few years of his life worthwhile.
Ken Ramplin

What sad news that Sir Kel has passed away. I will always remember what a kick he got out of conferring the Sir Kelvin Award onto the next recipient. He always had some wise words for us all and he certainly enjoyed a joke.
Our memories of Kel will live on and always be remembered, may he be at peace.
Tom Hendry

Sad news indeed. A true icon and font of wisdom of OM:NI Diamond Creek. A lovely man, a unique man.
Nick Grange

Yes, sad news indeed. Kel was one of those guys who could always make the group laugh, with his humour and quick wit. He still always found time to listen to the rest of the guys. He will be missed as both one of the founding members plus the elder statesman.
Bruce McCorkill

Yes the sad loss of a real character. He acknowledged all with a cheeky word but an encouraging grin and respect.
A wealth of experience and jokes.
Phillip Davis

…Zebras and 2ltr vinegar bottles will just never seem the same again..
Anon

Sir Kel was at my first meeting, and his intellect and wit epitomized the essence of OMNI Diamond Creek. In return he genuinely loved us all with the humility he possessed and exuded. With great regret, I will be unable to attend Sir Les’s service or Tuesday’s memorial lunch for Sir Kel, but remain in the spirit of love and respect shared by every fortunate member of OMNI Diamond Creek.
Manhug and love to all
Barry Jackson

I met this wonderful man at my first OMNI meeting, and whilst warmly greeted by all present, Sir kel went out of his way to personally and privately welcome me into the group and assure me that I would easily fit in with all the guys as they were such a good group of men.
Over time I got to see what a wealth of worldly experience he possessed and how he was always willing to share whatever knowledge he had that he believed would be of benefit to all the blokes.
One of very few men I have met over my life time that never had any problems saying to another man “I love you”.
Sir Kelvin ,truly loved and missed.
Ron Wright

How lucky was OMNI that in 2011 you walked through those doors and into our hearts.
Thank you Sir Kelvin for role modelling that it’s okay for men to share feelings amongst each other.
That it was more than alright to show joy & pain, to cry and to laugh and to tell someone how much they really mean to you.
When we were looking for an icon to name our OM:NI Awards after, it was a no-brainer that you were the choice.
These are a few of my favourite images of you … and believe me there were many spectacular memories you so generously gifted.
Thank you for the privilege mate.
Larry Cahill

One of my favourite memories of Kel was when the lady journalist from the local paper came to an OM:NI meeting a few years ago to gather material for an article about our group. She asked Kel, “What exactly do you blokes get out of OM:NI?” To which Kel responded, “OM:NI has taught us to behave like women, that is, to talk to each other about the things that really matter to us and to open our hearts to each other.”
…Tim Bruwer

I met Kel some 5 years ago he was always jovial and serious but told many jokes repeatedly including the one about the Zebra; he was inspiring to be with. He also told stories of sailing around the Whitsunday islands off Queensland.
Daryl Morrow

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* KOM:NI – Knight of the Order of OM:NI

Leslie James Robertson (KOM:NI) – Vale

In memory of Leslie (Sir Les) Robertson who passed away peacefully on August 9, 2017 in his 88th year following a short illness. A man who contributed greatly to the Diamond Creek OM:NI group with his humour and poetry.

You’ll be missed Les.

The following poem was the first he ever presented to the group in October 2013.

 

STILL DREAMING

I ran around the kitchen, with a duster in my hand,
The family was coming and I wanted it looking grand.
You could see the footprints clearly, making patterns in the dust,
So, to keep them off my back – cleanliness was a must.

Since I’d been living here alone they sometimes check on me,
They’re doing me a favour, that much I could see.
Since my wife left for better care, that somehow, now she needed,
I also had outside to mind – and keep the garden weeded.

Often, I get lonely here, just me to make a noise,
The dog will sometimes bark a bit but I’ve not lost my poise.
The grass grows long and really thick, I have to use the mower,
Up and down and back and forth – I sometimes think I’m slower.

But I know lots of people who are not as well as me,
“Cos I can jog around the block, with the dog for company.
Now, I’m not as fit as I once was and I have to walk a bit,
And when that’s the best that I can do – I’ll make the best of it.

I’d like to have a woman here, to keep me on my toes.
Not too young and not too old, just middle-aged I s’pose.
perhaps I could just borrow one, if her love life isn’t finished,
She could show me all the tricks – till my love life’s diminished.

Then when I wake up and realize that I was only dreaming,
I wonder why my slow old brain hasn’t finished scheming.
If I’m alive at 105 and find I’m making plans,
I’ll have had a great life, not ever in strife ……
…………as good as any man’s.

The Labyrinth at Diamond Creek


When the Nillumbik Shire Council recently completed another footbridge over the Diamond Creek, it opened up to the public, parts of the Diamond Creek Reserve many had not seen before.

OM:NI – Mens Discussion Groups within Nillumbik Shire thought about how this experience might be enhanced. The northern part of the reserve has Marngrook Football Oval, Lawn Bowling, Netball, Community Centre, Child Minding, Children’s Playground and Off Leash Dog Park.

OM:NI felt a more passive opportunity was needed. They came up with the idea of a Labyrinth. Labyrinths are known to have existed in many parts of the world for over 4,000 years. With no knowledge of each other, they all had the same purpose. To provide a space for people to be quiet and to meditate and contemplate their place in the world.
Nillumbik Shire Council has built a ‘Pop-Up’ straw bale labyrinth for citizens far and wide to experience and to ‘like’ and to comment on Facebook at Diamond Creek Community Hub. Visit the site or take a drive out to Diamond Creek.

Photo – Peter Clark, Hurstbridge OM:NI, Leon Higgins, Eltham OM:NI, Nick Grange and Ken Ramplin Diamond Creek OM:NI.


***** In Greek mythology, the Minotaur was a creature with the head of a bull and the body of a man or, as described by Roman poet Ovid – as being “part man and part bull”. The Minotaur dwelt at the centre of the Labyrinth, which was an elaborate maze like construction designed by the architect Daedalus and his son Icarus, on the command of King Minos of Crete. With the aid of Ariadne, the keeper of the Labyrinth, the Minotaur was eventually killed by the Athenian hero Theseus.

…and so …. The Journey Begins


19th May 2017 – Barry and Denise, pictured with friends Val and David, taking the first step in their epic adventure to challenge the legendary Canning Stock Route.

From all the blokes at OM:NI DC – wishing you a safe, interesting and fulfilling journey  ……..

**The road goes ever on and on
                     Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the road has gone,
    And I must follow, if I can.
Pursuing it with eager feet,
        Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet,
            And, whither then? I cannot say.

**J.R.R.Tolkien – (Lord of the Rings) circa 1954

Saturday 3rd June 2017
Wiluna, Western Australia – the gateway to the Canning Stock Route and Well No.1