Black Uhlans ANZAC Day Poker Run

Booze shall not weary them! Nor the cops condemn...

ANZAC DAY is a very special day for a lot of us! We can reflect on the sacrifices those young heroes made many years ago on that cold morning in Gallipoli, and the many others who have fought on foreign shores, in other conflicts, to secure the lifestyle we are so accustomed to in this great southern land of ours. What better way to celebrate this hard fought freedom, than to jump on ya bike, head down to Coopers Plains and take part in the annual Black Uhlans MC Poker Run.

The smell of a sausage sizzle and the sounds of laughter heralded the beginning of another great sun-shining day as we rocked up on Saturday morning. Riders had travelled from as far as Byron Bay and Hervey Bay to enjoy the ride.

The run left at 12 noon sharp and the street came alive to the sound of 140-plus bikes roaring off in unison for the first leg of the run.

Once again our old mates from the ‘hide and seek’ taskforce decided to make yet another, uninvited, diarrhoea-inducing, appearance. Most poker run participants know the drill — play it safe, stay inside the road rules and you’re pretty well right as far as not getting any traffic fines in the mail from these bottom dwellers.

The Glamorgan Vale Hotel was the first port of call. Here, lunch was served up, steak and assorted help-yourself salads were the order of the day, with a couple of cold ales to wash it all down, and all served up with the unmistakable Glamorgan Vale welcome mat truly laid out for the run-goers.

Jammer made his short and sweet Anzac Day speech just after the 10 minute call came for the riders to saddle up for the next leg of the run. “Our forefathers fought and died for our freedom to enjoy days like this and the cops are doing their best to fuck things up for us! May the fleas from a thousand camels infest their crotches and may their arms shrink up to the point where they can no longer scratch them.” Well said, mate!

The ride found us taking in some damn fine scenery as we made our way through the hills and along the river bank before stopping at the Fernvale Hotel for a few drinks and the third card.

The last pub stop for the run was the Royal Mail Hotel at Goodna.

As usual, the last jaunt back to the clubhouse was a bit of a free-for-all and all the riders made it home in one piece with no real incidents to report.

Darren and Rod did an excellent job of keeping the pack together throughout the day. No raping, no pillaging, no destructions of small towns, just a big pack of bikers out for a good day’s ride with the promise of a good night to follow at the clubhouse and a stack of prizes on offer for the lucky winners on the day. The smiles on the faces of the punters told the tale of another top notch poker run by the Black Uhlans MC.

The best was yet to come! Young Harry on his Buell dumped the clutch and proceeded to do one of the most awe-inspiring burnouts that we had ever witnessed. He fried the tyre on his bike for what seemed like an eternity for about 50 meters one way, then turned around (still doing the burnout), went back to where he had started, then back again, turned around (still burning-out) and came towards me (Danny 666) on the back wheel, hit the front brakes and topped it all off with a ‘stoppy’ that left the back wheel of his tortured Buell high in the air. Even more impressive is that he did the whole thing while standing on his foot-pegs and you can see by his arms in the pics, how hard he was working to stay upright during this impressive display.

Anyone else who was thinking about ‘lighting it up’ for the crowd, silently conceded defeat and wisely headed for the bar instead. Needless to say, Harry walked away with the trophy for Best Burnout and deservedly so! Well done!

The sun was starting to set as the mood became more relaxed and the party was about to start. The presentations for the day’s winners is always a highlight at any Black Uhlans Brisbane Poker Run. It’s great entertainment as the various winners of poker hands, trophies and prizes make their way up to the stage to receive whatever it is that they have won in a barrage of Jammer’s light hearted but stinging jibes.

One major upset this year saw a bloke, who thought he had the best hand (three Jacks), have the trophy and the cash ($250) snatched right out of his hot little hand by some fella who had a full house. The look on the poor bloke’s face with the three Jacks was priceless! But not as priceless as the hasty exit that Mr Full House made to the chorus of “Put a $50 on the bar, ya tight arsed cunt!” that came from the crowd gathered inside the clubhouse. Not to worry, Wolf, you can buy us all a drink at next year’s run, old mate!

Freedom — it’s worth fighting for! Lest we forget!