Black Uhlans MC Brisbane Poker Run

Go-hard-or-go-home was the order of the day when it came to the Brisbane Poker Run—and go hard, we did!

“TEN minutes!” came the call over the loudspeaker which sent the crowd of 200-plus participants scrambling back to their bikes before the run started. Dregs were quickly drained out of beer bottles, helmets, jackets and gloves were donned, a massive roar as the bikes seemed to fire up in unison, and away we went.

Now I’ve been on my fair share of poker runs but the trip from the Black Uhlans clubhouse to the M1 Motorway was one of the most well orchestrated fangs I’ve taken part in. All the red lights, roundabouts and intersections were expertly blocked off by club members so as the huge pack could stay as one. For the whole journey it was a case of head down, arse up and hook in. Fuckin’ excellent!

There were a lot of wide-eyed smiling faces with a few first timers shaking their heads in disbelief at the furious pace we had set to get to the first stop, the Windaroo Tavern. I personally reckon I broke every road rule ever written and loved every white-knuckled second of it.

After a couple of beers and our second card it was back in the saddle for the second stint of the run.

This leg took us through some great roads into the Gold Coast hinterland to the Coomera Lodge Hotel. This was the venue for the lunch break and the steak burger was included in the $20 entry fee. As I was walking around the huge beer garden I noticed a big black fuckin’ cloud headed our way.

The ten minute call came over the loudspeaker again and we raced the storm all the way back up the Motorway. What an awesome sight as the mass of bikes thundered along, taking up three of the four lanes of the M1, and the looks on the motorists as we flew by could only be compared to ‘frightened fawns in the forest’.

The Runcorn Tavern was the last pub stop. We had grabbed our fourth card and were relaxing with a beer when we heard the all too familiar voice of Jammer over the loudspeaker once again: “Five minutes till we leave,” He then cheekily walked into the pokie area and repeated the call in his usual menacing tone. Me and my mate laughed to ourselves as we watched a few of the local patrons filing out of the gaming room because they thought he had been referring to them.

The last leg was nothing short of a race, and as we rounded the last corner, the whole road was engulfed in thick grey smoke as the burn-out comp was well under way. A Commodore took out the honours for the best burn-out by a car by blowing both tyres. Alby got the thumbs up from the crowd for his efforts on the bikes. First he popped the rear on his Trumpy then borrowed a member’s bike and gave it a thorough workout as well.

Once inside the clubs grounds it was beer o’clock. There was multi-draw raffles and a separate raffle for a toolbox that would give Tim the Toolman a woody. Speaking of woodys, the wet T-shirt comp was only a two horse race and only one young lass got ’em out! How about a bit more crowd participation next year girls?

The band was setting up when they started to announce the winners of the poker hands and the rolling bike show. One lucky bastard not only won a meat tray at the last stop, but also took out the worst hand trophy (sponsored by Ozbike) and the cash. There was a stack of consolation prizes and free give-aways as well.

The smiles and laughter of the crowd said it all. One hell of a good day, no real incidents to report on the run bar a flat tyre and one breakdown. On a sad note though, Jammer asked for a minute’s silence, jokingly, for the club’s trusty old Combie van which caught fire and burnt to the ground midway through the run. RIP.

words & pics by Chuck U Farley

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