Riding With Phil Davies 21st Mar 2025

This is not an obituary. It’s a memoir; a ride down memory lane with Phil.

 

Phil was quintessentially English, of Welsh heritage of which he was proud. He said he was a blitz baby, born in the early part of the war as the bombs rained down on Coventry. He was his own man, never unfriendly but with a certain poise and an individual that did it his own way. You knew he was close to his family. He was smart. Classy sometimes like James Bond, but without the malevolence. Occasionally he could remind you of Inspector Morse, silver-grey hair, smooth and particularly so when he went through his Jaguar period.

 

He was a very good rider; experienced, tidy. He liked fat touring bikes, like the Yamaha FJR and the BMW RT.

 

I can recall following him up through the Murray region. You go up through Yackandandah and the Keiwa Valley. There is a very nice long cut up through Granya State Park which eventually gets you, via some wonderful roads, to Walwa and Corryong before you tour into the Snowy’s via Khancoban. The ride up and over Granya State Park is a series of switchbacks. You cannot ride through it without at least something of an adrenaline rush. Toward the end of the Park, there is a long downhill section with a tight left-hand sweeper at the end, into the village of Granya. Phil, in front of me, rattled down the hill at a speed only slightly below mach 1. I drew breath as I watched him fly wide into the tight left-hander. It was a perfect execution at what I thought an impossible speed. Mostly Phil was pretty steady…but occasionally he was with the wind!

 

The guys in the Thursday Riders in those days are legends. Bob Yonge, Ronnie Knight, Kieth Greenland (Ridden On), Rob Toshack, Frank Malone (Ridden On) and Company. Rob recalls, on a trip up to Narrabri in 2018 for the Sydney Branch Odyssey, not long after they’d checked into their motel, Phil, puffy pink lined white faced and looking shocked, turned up at the door of the unit Rob and Ronnie shared. Rob feared the worst and invited Phil in. 

 

“I’ve won the lottery” blurted Phil. Apparently, he’d received a call from a Queensland Art Union telling him he had the choice between a Porsche Macan or a pile of gold. Phil was never seen in a Porsche , but nor did he ever speak of the gold again. He was a man of discretion.

 

Whilst Phil was a very good rider, he was not without incident. He went through a period of intense and perhaps unwelcome dialogue with his insurers.

 

One well remembered event by anyone that was there was on a run up to Mudgee, near Hill End. Somehow, Phil and the road had a separation; a difference of opinion about where each should be. Phil was seen to disappear through the trees, slalom style and deep into the bush. It was difficult to comprehend how he could miss the trees and indeed, eventually, a large old gum decided to impede his progress. Phil was shaken and stirred, but otherwise unhurt. He brushed himself off, looking angrily for the proximate cause of his disaster. It was a very rare creature indeed that had run in front of him, a giant Wambaroo. Occasionally the beast is still seen skulking around the Hill End region.

 

The famous crash was followed by a famous celebration-of-life dinner at the Orient Hotel, Mudgee which, that night for the one and only time in its existence, ran out of red wine. Rob Toshack has a lasting image of Phil, under mutual support from Keith Greenland and Frank Malone, waddling six-leggedly and in unsteady fashion, all the way back to the Soldiers Motel.

 

Phil was intensely trusted by his mates. Ronnie Knight, during the period of Phil’s dialogue with his insurers, recalls Phil was without a bike. Ronnie loaned Phil his Suzuki V-Strom. Ronnie said it was no problem, not an issue. You just knew Phil would turn up with it in due course. He was a friend, a true mate.

 

Like many of us, Phil was about trips, overnighters with a distant destination, sunshine, cool mornings and the long road with a touch of adventure. He was always good company over dinner and told new jokes every time – mostly one liners. In the morning, he would sit outside his motel room…a simple breakfast, tea, toast, a cigarette. He’d knock over the cryptic crossword from yesterday’s Herald in no time flat. 

 

Occasionally he and I would address each other as “cuzzy bro”, simply because of the same surname and our Welsh heritage. For me, Phil was a guy so easy to respect and it was a privilege for us all to know him. Vale Phil Davies.