Copyright John Ford image printed on 250gsm Kodak paper:
 
Bathurst. There was no weekend like it. The soothing exhilaration of the clear mountain air on the run into town, bikes everywhere. Faded leather, denim, greatcoats, wax-cotton, road-weary Rossi boots, swags, and number plates from afar as WA. Police checkpoints confiscate sawn-off shotties, knives, knuckle-dusters, swords and the odd cannon. The mandatory stop off at the bottleshop before heading up the hill, wild nights, chilly mornings, the smell of 276 camp fires, freshly cooked bacon and durries; gathering firewood in empty beer cartons, the smouldering car or bike in the Bull Ring. The remnants of crashed bikes lay scattered at the makeshift drag strip near Reid Park as a blanket of mist elevates the hungover sea of dishevelled humanity to an Austral Asgard.