Normanton Crocs Social Riders

01/11/2026

04/10/2026

🏍️ NORMANTON CROCS SOCIAL RIDERS – RIDING TIP #1 🐊

🔄 Countersteering – How to Get a Big Bike Into a Corner

One of the first things I tell riders, especially those moving onto a bigger bike, is:

To turn left, gently push the LEFT handlebar forward.
To turn right, gently push the RIGHT handlebar forward.

It sounds backwards at first, but this is called countersteering.

👉 Want to go LEFT? Push LEFT.
👉 Want to go RIGHT? Push RIGHT.

You aren't deliberately turning the handlebars dramatically in the opposite direction. It's a small, smooth input that causes the motorcycle to lean in the direction you want to travel.

Once the bike is leaned over, your vision and body position help carry you through the corner.

🏍️ On a big bike

This becomes particularly important on heavier motorcycles. Don't try to wrestle the handlebars around a corner.

Look where you want to go, stay relaxed, and use smooth countersteering inputs.

⚠️ Important: Practise this at a safe speed and in a controlled environment before trying to apply it aggressively on the road. Smooth inputs are the key.

🐊 Ride smart. Ride smooth. Ride home.

Normanton Crocs Social Riders

13/09/2026

Being Weird

I’ve been called weird more than once in my life.

And you know what?

I’ve finally decided that’s not such a bad thing.

Because being weird usually means you don’t quite fit into the box everyone else has decided you should fit into.

You think differently.

You question things.

You notice things other people don’t.

You might take the road nobody else wants to take, ride the bike nobody else understands, start a business when everyone says it won’t work, move somewhere completely different, or decide that your life doesn’t have to follow the same script as everyone else’s.

I’ve spent a lot of my life doing exactly that.

I’ve made mistakes. Plenty of them.

I’ve taken chances. Some worked. Some didn’t.

I’ve changed direction more times than I can remember.

And I’ve never been particularly good at pretending to be someone I’m not just to make other people comfortable.

Maybe that’s what “weird” really means.

Maybe it means you’re comfortable enough to be yourself.

So these days, if someone calls me weird, I don’t take it as an insult.

I’ll probably just smile and say:

“Thank you. Normal never really interested me anyway.”

Because the world already has enough people trying to be the same.

Be a little weird.

Be different.

Be yourself.

You might just discover that being weird was never the problem.

Pretending not to be was.

22/08/2026

The morning sun was already baking the outback tarmac as the engine thrummed beneath me, rhythmic and steady on the run out to the Burke and Wills Roadhouse. Out here, the horizon stretches forever, but the immediate goal was simple: a cold b**r and a proper steak sandwich.
Pulling up to the roadhouse, the low rumble of a pair of Harleys already sitting in the dust signaled good company. Inside, I struck up a chat with Rob and his mate. They were just rolling off a few solid days of fishing up in Karumba, sun-baked and full of stories. Their paths were splitting—Rob was pointing his front wheel toward Mount Isa, while his mate was heading east for Cairns.
Rob had recently slapped a new set of handlebars on his Harley, but the wiring harness must have been just a fraction too short. The tension had pulled the wires clean apart. Unbothered, he whipped out a quick bush fix, pinched the connection back together, and revved up to hit the road.
About the time my steak sandwich arrived, a couple from New Zealand sat nearby. We got to talking over lunch, trading perspectives on the current weather and what the season might bring next. The conversation naturally drifted into classic outback chatter—keeping an eye out for crocs near the waterways and dodging the local wildlife taking their sweet time crossing the roads.
With lunch done, I rolled over to the bowser to top up the bike. That’s where another adventure rider pulled in, pulling up a seat next to me while the engines cooled. He started filling me in on the local secrets—telling me about the hot artesian bore out near Burketown that locals call the "volcano," breaking down the latest road conditions ahead, and sharing a few hidden historical gems tucked away in the terrain.
By the time the sun started its afternoon dip, hands were shaken, well-wishes were traded, and everyone scattered down their respective highways. Just another afternoon on the road, where strangers become mates over a cold drink and shared miles.

15/08/2026

Sign the partition: https://www.aph.gov.au/e-petitions/petition/EN10222?fbclid=IwY2xjawTsiQ9wZG9mBWV4dG4DYWVtAjExAHNydGMGYXBwX2lkEDIyMjAzOTE3ODgyMDA4OTIAAR4GbnzOdLG2SuSceD5yqcZ96NnHrKWPzDjvXCysRXZgp4U2C-NTD6GSiOFvBQ_aem_bJkDJ7I4Sxw5GxnUt14aLQ

10/07/2026

CAUSE THE MISSUS WON’T LET ME
(An Aussie Biker’s Lament)

‘Cause the missus won’t let me,
I can’t roll out at dawn,
She said, “Your back’s gone cactus, love,
And the bins ain’t out since morn.”
She don’t care if the sun’s just right,
Or the chrome’s beggin’ to gleam,
She said, “You’d better mop that kitchen floor
Before you chase your dream.”

’Cause the missus won’t let me,
I can’t grow me beard out wild,
Says I look like I lost a brawl
With a possum high and riled.
She buys Gillette by the dozen,
With creams that smell like flowers,
Says, “You ain’t no bushie, darling,
Just me bloke who showers.”

’Cause the missus won’t let me,
I can’t live rough and loud,
No thongs on the table, no grease on the tap,
And God help me if I’m proud.
She’s labelled every shelf in the shed,
Even sorted all me screws,
Said, “You can tinker with your Harley,
But don’t dare spill the brews!”

’Cause the missus won’t let me,
I can’t go shirtless in the sun,
She reckons me chest hair’s tragic
And me ni***es make kids run.
I told her, “I’m a free man, babe,
Born to ride, not shop,”
She said, “Well ride your arse to Woolies
And grab dish tabs and a mop.”

’Cause the missus won’t let me,
I can’t flirt like days gone past,
Not even with old biker chicks
Whose ink sags kinda fast.
She said, “I know your pub crawl years—
Your youth, your grog, your fun.
But now your ‘club’ is camping chairs
And bedtime’s half past one.”

But the missus won’t stop me loving
This ride, this life, this track,
She may not cheer the open pipes,
But she’s always got my back.
She keeps me sane, keeps me fed,
Stops me acting like a fool,
Even if me biker vest
Now lives in a Bunnings stool.

So here’s to every Aussie bloke
Who rides—but ain’t alone,
‘Cause true love ain’t just on two wheels,
It’s shouting, “TAKE YOUR PHONE!”
We might be tamed, slightly trained,
But there’s still fire in our stride,
And when she says, “Alright, go ride” —
That’s heaven, countrywide.