For the last 10 yrs or so i have always watched the sunrise come up on the 21st of june, this yrs location was landguard fort (www.landguard.com) My dad could join me this year as well. I stay the night at his to avoid disturbing my kids and wife when i would leave.
2am we left and rode the 70 miles to the fort, well we would of done if i had set the GPS right, hint here dont use the landmarks in mapsource, as it lead us to the ferry port and was try to tell us to get on the ferry to the fort,a quick recalculate and we are on the road again, nice back roads between harwich and Felixstowe, we arrive at the fort car park with 30 minutes to spare before the sun comes up. Gear off the bikes, down the path across the dune to the sea and we are ready. Cloud cover was a bit heavy but we could see where the sun would come from.
cameras ready, sun is coming out, take some pictures, beep beep camera has flat batteries, quick change of batteries take 2 pictures beep beep flay batteries again!! All 4 kodak batteries were new, taken from the packet the night before. yet all 4 of them were flat, spent the next couple of hrs swapping batteries around to get a few pictures then swap for a few more etc.
Sun was well up by the time we got the stove out for a coffeee and some bacon rolls, what is it with coffeee and bacon rolls on the beach early morning light, listening to the sea gentling roll in, felt good, alive again after the drag of work and family life, felt me again. the local dog walkers thought we had camped over, also gave us some strange looks as did the bird watcher who was there.
Stove and the rest of the gear packed up and time for a walk along the dunes, Down to the fre car ark with the welcoming toilets, along a bit further turn around and back up to the fort and the bikes. it was 8.55am the fort doesnt open until 10.0am so what elese can two bikers do at that time of the morning after 3 hrs kip the night before, yep we settled down in the car park, sun warming our faces and went to sleep. 20 minutes later and i am awake again hearing a strange noise. " shit i fel sorry for my mum" the noise was my dad snoring his head off.
At 10.00am we went into the fort english heritage members means we get in for free, grabbed a couple of audio tours and we went visiting. ( The audio tours were very good) The fort was an interesting place to visit, Lots to see and learn. After we finished there it was time for a cuppa and a cake at the burger bar in the car park around the corner and then the ride back home.
http://s42.photobucket.com/albums/e308/wolfiecbr/
Saturday 25 June 2011
Tuesday 5 April 2011
Riding scotland 1
Being married to a scot, who has most of her family still living up there, trips and holidays there are too many to mention. But one of the ones that still stands out was our biking holiday up there with two good friends.
"Whats scotland like?" was the 3 words that started it all, They came from my mate colin. After giving a brief run down of the places i had been too, a plan was hatched. The four of us would venture north on three bikes in two weeks time. Now as we live on the A1M it was decided that we would ride up to scotch corner and take the A66 across to penrith then head north into glasgow, where we had booked the one and only nights stop, the rest of the night stops were done on the fly in the morning over breakfast as we decided where we would like to ride to that day. Apart from the last nights stop which an uncle of the wifes had invited us to stay at his in edinburgh.
We prepared our bikes over the next week and a half. Oil anf filters were changed, tyres kicked in fine tradition, bolts tightened up, colins Fj1200 went in for a service, paul brought a tank bag and a rucksack for his gsxr1100k (yes the window maker) and I had to buy a set of throw overs as the wife was coming with me.
The Morning had arrived. We gather at colins for 6am, had some breakfast good proper english food before we had to eat the vile scottish stuff like square slice, strawberry tarts with REAL strawberrys, ( Why is scottish food so much nicer than the english stuff? But it is so bad for you, all full fat, lard cooked everything, its true all the nice good stuff is bad for you). the bikes started the plans discussed full tanks and we set off on our epic long distance journey of 4.9 miles. By the time we had reached the first junction on the A1 colins bike had died on him, it had splutter to a slow death, as the wife and i were in front we had to ride up to the next junction 3.2 miles away, back on where we had started from and then pulled up behind him. fuses were checked, the bike was probed and push, yes there was petrol in it, it started!!! On again we went, We didnt make the next junction before it died again, Pulled pushed and wiggled bits of bike, struggled to start but it did, it was then decided that we would head back home to some proper tools and see if we could find anything wrong (Must point out here that we did know a fair bit about bike engines etc, as colin was a car mechanic, paul a farmer who repairs most of his vehicles and the farms, and me, a bloke whose bikes were all brought cheap cause they were fecked and i had to work on them to keep them on the road)
After a few more breakdowns we reached colins and set upon his bike, upon removing the petrol tank we saw the problem straight away, the garage that did the service had not got the fuel line routed right so when the tank was put on on it kinked the pipe thus the bike was running out of fuel all the time, A quick wash of the old hands and reload of his bike we were off, 2hrs later than we should of been.
Paul has an old leg injury and what with riding the gsxr he had was suffering a bit on the boring A1, After a couple of stops we made scotch corner and then came the A66 which at this time was single carriageway and a delight after the A1. We pushed onto carlisle where tiredness was creeping in, sore arse and legs were not helping, After a break the pace increased in the hope that we would reach the first b&b in time to relax before hitting the town for a few beers, now we had chosen the b&b because it offered secure parking for bikes. it was just off the city centre near the old hospital in a square, it was straight out of the 1970's all curtains were bright red, the doors were bright red, the carpets were green and red. After colin and paul had awoken the owner, we asked where the parking was, he directed us down a side road to the back of the houses, it was along this alley way that paul and colin had their first experience of glasgow street urchins.
"Nice bike mister, gis urs a go" etc etc the replies of nah sorry mate where answered by "oo yers feckin english!! ore bruvvers and thair pals are gonna nick them laters"
The three bikes were locked together with 4 chains and padlocks park underneath the window of colin and pauls room that night. After getting cleaned up and dressed we decided to visit the scotia bar as the good beer guide gave it a good write up, good beer, good music etc so we started walking there. We walked for what seemed like miles, the further we walked the more houses were becoming boarded up, then there were no streetlights, it was dark, we were english in the middle of glasgow and all we could see was a faint glimmer of light miles down the road. That glimmer of light became our hope. As the light become bigger we started to hear the welcoming noises of a pub, thats the place was said between chattering teeth as three scared stiff english blokes walked on with a scots woman who was pissing herself at our fear.
About 40 ft away from the pub there was a scream so blood curling we all stopped, shitting ourselves and looking at each other with wide open eyes, feck are we really going in there? It was then we hearing running footsteps behind us and they were a few pairs of feet coming towards at speed, fuck! the 40 ft was a blur as the big brave english boys sprinted for the Bar door. As the wife is scottish she was given the money and told to order the drinks, we were crapping that our sarf east (landon init) accents would give us away and we would then receive a beating whilst whimpering for our mummys. The bar keeper was given a strange and puzzled look as when he had given us the drinks his next question was 'what instooment yer want?" seeing our faces he just pointed to the right hand side where we could see 20-30 people playing whatever instrument they had or were given. We parked our arses in the only available seats in the place, it was heaving, to our left were two total drunk, almost to the point of a coma, men. On our right was a group of 10 shall we say "washer women" all dolled up wearing more makeup than boots stock and again well on there way to be launched into a coma. The women were going on about how they all hate their men, all men are fookin useless and see if he werent so good in bed and have a big knob she would of killed him by now, scary ladies in a scary place.
One of the two blokes suddenly raised his head up quickly from the table with a urghhh, its true the dead can rise, his mate then lifted his head up, they stared at each other for a while raised their glasses to their lips and then the first one grunts "see if yee wasnt my pal, i'd feckin glass yer" and they both sunk back down in the warm and welcoming state of a drunken coma. The fields of athenry came from down the end by the loose group of folkies and hippies, so we made our way down to them. The rest of the night was a blur of singing dancing drinking and even colin had a go on the guitar. In all from the fear of the place at first to the drunken laughing mess we left in it was a good and eye opening night.
The bikes were still there the next morning so the urchins brother even could not of climbed the 12ft high fence topped with barbed wire or he was busy shooting up somewhere else. The destination that day was to see Culzean castle something to do with the kennedy clan of which the wifes family had connections with and then make our way up to ardrossan to catch the ferry to Arran as we had decided to spend a night in the catacol bay hotel.
Left glasgow toward east kilbride where she was born and then down to strathaven, muirkirk, new cummock, wallacetown, turnberry, nice roads bit rough in places but a good ride, in to culzean spent a few hours there in the castle and around the gardens, down to the caves on the beach etc. Then we had to get a move on to reach the ferry in time, but didnt want to sit on the main road so, coast road to ayr, troon, through irvine , well around irvine a few times due to wrong turns etc etc, into ardrossan managed to get to the ferry with 30mins to spare. Now the ferry from ardrossan to Brodick is massive, is the size of the channel ones, so bikes strapped and secure, upstairs, beer, chill out a bit and then we landed on one of my favorites places in the whole world. the Isle of arran has everything, hills, beaches, wind, sun, rain, fresh water, its own distillery, wild empty places, but you are never too far from people if you want to find them. Wild raw untamed places with sheep for the welsh readers, such unspoilt beauty, natural landscapes for the painters, photographers then the man made gardens and landscape of the castle and proms. It truly is a magical place for me.
From the ferry we headed north around the coast road towards catacol, the road follows the coast then cuts across into the hills, recall colin nearly took the short way down ie straight on at a right turn, time for a breather and a fag? nope push on to the hotel. Where we were greeted by a long haired ex biker bloke, two very smart rooms and a quick shave shit etc we were downstairs in the small bar, ordering some beamish red, lovely pint after a good days riding. We ordered some food and went outside to enjoy the view of the sea, listen to the waves gently breaking on the beach and listen to the 12-15 locals who were in fine spirits. At 7.15pm on the dot the locals all stood up and moved indoors, We sat there puzzled to hell, the sun was still out the sea was gentle it was warm, the beer was cool, the bikes were in view we were in heaven, what the feck were the words we aimed at the retreating locals. Inside the pub the retreating locals had called upon reinforcements, so now there was about 20-25 locals all staring at us in the garden, all smiling like the red necks from the film wrong turn, laughing with each other staring at us sitting outside. " ah feck, what the feck is going to happen to us?/" more red neck grins, "anybody got there bike keys on them?" "Nope" "feck cant make a run for it" More laughter , more grinning, " borrox , make yer pints last and look for a weapon, cause we are going to get our feckin heads kick in" The time was 7.25pm "ouch fuck!!" "what?" something sharp just stabbed me" "ouch me as well", "fuck and me" "ouch", "fuck!""fuck"" fuck!" louder laughter, big smiling grins , Locals with tears running down their faces. Three english lads trying to look hard whilst shitting themselves and getting biten, "fuck this i have had enough" We stood up and all we could see was thousands of flying things Our heads were in amongst them they were every where, "fuck midges!!" one of us screamed pints were spilt, bodies smashed into each other as we tried to run away from the flying demons, "aaarrrgggghhh!!!"three six foot englishman screaming like girls "arrrggghhh fuckin ell" the sharp pain from one of them bastids was immense. We crashed through the pub door, the wife being smaller had escaped most of the bastids and having not drunk as much as us was able to run faster, the grinning locals were in floods of tears howling with laughter, clapping us on the back whilst utter strange words in thier own version of english. We were still shitting , trying to kill small demons that were in our clothes the locals were not helping matter by howling each time we got bit, in fact typing this now is making my skin crawl again, feckin feckin bastid midges. After a change of clothes salvon cream drowning our bodies we realised that we had been the entertain for the evening. the rest of the night was spent drinking playing pool and just chatting and laughing with the still grinning red necks.
"Whats scotland like?" was the 3 words that started it all, They came from my mate colin. After giving a brief run down of the places i had been too, a plan was hatched. The four of us would venture north on three bikes in two weeks time. Now as we live on the A1M it was decided that we would ride up to scotch corner and take the A66 across to penrith then head north into glasgow, where we had booked the one and only nights stop, the rest of the night stops were done on the fly in the morning over breakfast as we decided where we would like to ride to that day. Apart from the last nights stop which an uncle of the wifes had invited us to stay at his in edinburgh.
We prepared our bikes over the next week and a half. Oil anf filters were changed, tyres kicked in fine tradition, bolts tightened up, colins Fj1200 went in for a service, paul brought a tank bag and a rucksack for his gsxr1100k (yes the window maker) and I had to buy a set of throw overs as the wife was coming with me.
The Morning had arrived. We gather at colins for 6am, had some breakfast good proper english food before we had to eat the vile scottish stuff like square slice, strawberry tarts with REAL strawberrys, ( Why is scottish food so much nicer than the english stuff? But it is so bad for you, all full fat, lard cooked everything, its true all the nice good stuff is bad for you). the bikes started the plans discussed full tanks and we set off on our epic long distance journey of 4.9 miles. By the time we had reached the first junction on the A1 colins bike had died on him, it had splutter to a slow death, as the wife and i were in front we had to ride up to the next junction 3.2 miles away, back on where we had started from and then pulled up behind him. fuses were checked, the bike was probed and push, yes there was petrol in it, it started!!! On again we went, We didnt make the next junction before it died again, Pulled pushed and wiggled bits of bike, struggled to start but it did, it was then decided that we would head back home to some proper tools and see if we could find anything wrong (Must point out here that we did know a fair bit about bike engines etc, as colin was a car mechanic, paul a farmer who repairs most of his vehicles and the farms, and me, a bloke whose bikes were all brought cheap cause they were fecked and i had to work on them to keep them on the road)
After a few more breakdowns we reached colins and set upon his bike, upon removing the petrol tank we saw the problem straight away, the garage that did the service had not got the fuel line routed right so when the tank was put on on it kinked the pipe thus the bike was running out of fuel all the time, A quick wash of the old hands and reload of his bike we were off, 2hrs later than we should of been.
Paul has an old leg injury and what with riding the gsxr he had was suffering a bit on the boring A1, After a couple of stops we made scotch corner and then came the A66 which at this time was single carriageway and a delight after the A1. We pushed onto carlisle where tiredness was creeping in, sore arse and legs were not helping, After a break the pace increased in the hope that we would reach the first b&b in time to relax before hitting the town for a few beers, now we had chosen the b&b because it offered secure parking for bikes. it was just off the city centre near the old hospital in a square, it was straight out of the 1970's all curtains were bright red, the doors were bright red, the carpets were green and red. After colin and paul had awoken the owner, we asked where the parking was, he directed us down a side road to the back of the houses, it was along this alley way that paul and colin had their first experience of glasgow street urchins.
"Nice bike mister, gis urs a go" etc etc the replies of nah sorry mate where answered by "oo yers feckin english!! ore bruvvers and thair pals are gonna nick them laters"
The three bikes were locked together with 4 chains and padlocks park underneath the window of colin and pauls room that night. After getting cleaned up and dressed we decided to visit the scotia bar as the good beer guide gave it a good write up, good beer, good music etc so we started walking there. We walked for what seemed like miles, the further we walked the more houses were becoming boarded up, then there were no streetlights, it was dark, we were english in the middle of glasgow and all we could see was a faint glimmer of light miles down the road. That glimmer of light became our hope. As the light become bigger we started to hear the welcoming noises of a pub, thats the place was said between chattering teeth as three scared stiff english blokes walked on with a scots woman who was pissing herself at our fear.
About 40 ft away from the pub there was a scream so blood curling we all stopped, shitting ourselves and looking at each other with wide open eyes, feck are we really going in there? It was then we hearing running footsteps behind us and they were a few pairs of feet coming towards at speed, fuck! the 40 ft was a blur as the big brave english boys sprinted for the Bar door. As the wife is scottish she was given the money and told to order the drinks, we were crapping that our sarf east (landon init) accents would give us away and we would then receive a beating whilst whimpering for our mummys. The bar keeper was given a strange and puzzled look as when he had given us the drinks his next question was 'what instooment yer want?" seeing our faces he just pointed to the right hand side where we could see 20-30 people playing whatever instrument they had or were given. We parked our arses in the only available seats in the place, it was heaving, to our left were two total drunk, almost to the point of a coma, men. On our right was a group of 10 shall we say "washer women" all dolled up wearing more makeup than boots stock and again well on there way to be launched into a coma. The women were going on about how they all hate their men, all men are fookin useless and see if he werent so good in bed and have a big knob she would of killed him by now, scary ladies in a scary place.
One of the two blokes suddenly raised his head up quickly from the table with a urghhh, its true the dead can rise, his mate then lifted his head up, they stared at each other for a while raised their glasses to their lips and then the first one grunts "see if yee wasnt my pal, i'd feckin glass yer" and they both sunk back down in the warm and welcoming state of a drunken coma. The fields of athenry came from down the end by the loose group of folkies and hippies, so we made our way down to them. The rest of the night was a blur of singing dancing drinking and even colin had a go on the guitar. In all from the fear of the place at first to the drunken laughing mess we left in it was a good and eye opening night.
The bikes were still there the next morning so the urchins brother even could not of climbed the 12ft high fence topped with barbed wire or he was busy shooting up somewhere else. The destination that day was to see Culzean castle something to do with the kennedy clan of which the wifes family had connections with and then make our way up to ardrossan to catch the ferry to Arran as we had decided to spend a night in the catacol bay hotel.
Left glasgow toward east kilbride where she was born and then down to strathaven, muirkirk, new cummock, wallacetown, turnberry, nice roads bit rough in places but a good ride, in to culzean spent a few hours there in the castle and around the gardens, down to the caves on the beach etc. Then we had to get a move on to reach the ferry in time, but didnt want to sit on the main road so, coast road to ayr, troon, through irvine , well around irvine a few times due to wrong turns etc etc, into ardrossan managed to get to the ferry with 30mins to spare. Now the ferry from ardrossan to Brodick is massive, is the size of the channel ones, so bikes strapped and secure, upstairs, beer, chill out a bit and then we landed on one of my favorites places in the whole world. the Isle of arran has everything, hills, beaches, wind, sun, rain, fresh water, its own distillery, wild empty places, but you are never too far from people if you want to find them. Wild raw untamed places with sheep for the welsh readers, such unspoilt beauty, natural landscapes for the painters, photographers then the man made gardens and landscape of the castle and proms. It truly is a magical place for me.
From the ferry we headed north around the coast road towards catacol, the road follows the coast then cuts across into the hills, recall colin nearly took the short way down ie straight on at a right turn, time for a breather and a fag? nope push on to the hotel. Where we were greeted by a long haired ex biker bloke, two very smart rooms and a quick shave shit etc we were downstairs in the small bar, ordering some beamish red, lovely pint after a good days riding. We ordered some food and went outside to enjoy the view of the sea, listen to the waves gently breaking on the beach and listen to the 12-15 locals who were in fine spirits. At 7.15pm on the dot the locals all stood up and moved indoors, We sat there puzzled to hell, the sun was still out the sea was gentle it was warm, the beer was cool, the bikes were in view we were in heaven, what the feck were the words we aimed at the retreating locals. Inside the pub the retreating locals had called upon reinforcements, so now there was about 20-25 locals all staring at us in the garden, all smiling like the red necks from the film wrong turn, laughing with each other staring at us sitting outside. " ah feck, what the feck is going to happen to us?/" more red neck grins, "anybody got there bike keys on them?" "Nope" "feck cant make a run for it" More laughter , more grinning, " borrox , make yer pints last and look for a weapon, cause we are going to get our feckin heads kick in" The time was 7.25pm "ouch fuck!!" "what?" something sharp just stabbed me" "ouch me as well", "fuck and me" "ouch", "fuck!""fuck"" fuck!" louder laughter, big smiling grins , Locals with tears running down their faces. Three english lads trying to look hard whilst shitting themselves and getting biten, "fuck this i have had enough" We stood up and all we could see was thousands of flying things Our heads were in amongst them they were every where, "fuck midges!!" one of us screamed pints were spilt, bodies smashed into each other as we tried to run away from the flying demons, "aaarrrgggghhh!!!"three six foot englishman screaming like girls "arrrggghhh fuckin ell" the sharp pain from one of them bastids was immense. We crashed through the pub door, the wife being smaller had escaped most of the bastids and having not drunk as much as us was able to run faster, the grinning locals were in floods of tears howling with laughter, clapping us on the back whilst utter strange words in thier own version of english. We were still shitting , trying to kill small demons that were in our clothes the locals were not helping matter by howling each time we got bit, in fact typing this now is making my skin crawl again, feckin feckin bastid midges. After a change of clothes salvon cream drowning our bodies we realised that we had been the entertain for the evening. the rest of the night was spent drinking playing pool and just chatting and laughing with the still grinning red necks.
Tuesday 1 March 2011
how NOT to get to the bmf show at hop farm
the plan was launched late saturday night after a few falling down waters.
me and my mate damo would go to the bmf show at hop farm.
Sunday morning both had bad heads set off about 10.30am towards that foreign country called kent. boring A602,M11,m25.
Got over the bridge and joined the queue well started filtering, saw a red bird 2 up with topbox, W15 blah blah blah was the reg, totally missed junction 5 due to looking where i was going and not where i wanted to go. stoped at the depressing rip off place(clacket lane i think it was called), back onto m25, got off at Junc6 on the A25 back towards sevenoaks. Found that and then went down the A21 looking for BMF signs or a paddock wood sign. ???????? Don't be so fookin stupid, did not see one sign, the bmf show for kent and not one sign.
Ended up in Royal Tunbridge Wells when Lady Fawett and poodle completing ignored me when i asked her for directions. left RTW on the A267 toward frant, when we stopped for a fag, then decided borrox to the show lets just ride.
So from Frant we picked up the B2099 through wadhurst and ticehurst(short but entertaining road), join the A21 towards hastings, did not fancy hastings sea front so cut through st Leonards on the A259 straight through bexhill and into brighton .....
big mistake the fookin london to bright cycle race thing was on, bloody pushbikes everywhere, fookin thousands of them jammed the place up solid, followed the local boys through the gaps and down the wrong side of the road extra (hats off the bloke of the rs250, he was filtering between the 2 rows of traffic with the cyclists on his far left, matey boy in transit closed the gap on rs250 man so he is now stuck between transit and a bus , to get transit mans attention he revs the bike a few times, nothing happens so he then goes a burnout with trye screaming bus load of people all watching tyre smoke covered all the cyclists(LOL make me fookin laugh) transit then wakes up and moves over again rs250 man then shoots between bus and transit on the back wheel) decided brighton was not for us so along the coast and then back onto the A27.
Stayed on that until the A24 turned off then towards horsham but on the left spied a sign post saying A283 thought hmmmm nice road that is and went along there, towards petworth, stayed on the A283 to milford. where i noticed that damo was not with me anymore, so had a fag waited and waited then called him he was in a garage eating.
Then thought ah wonder if barny ben is at home , a quick phone call later and yes he was, so we then took the B3001(again entering road but short) to barny bens few cups of tea good laugh and then m3 , M25, A1 to home.
Total mileage was 290 miles and we never found the fookin show but we had some great roads, some stupid speeds, some amazing eye candy, a bloody good laugh, was i dissapointed about missing the show???
Nah borrox was I.
me and my mate damo would go to the bmf show at hop farm.
Sunday morning both had bad heads set off about 10.30am towards that foreign country called kent. boring A602,M11,m25.
Got over the bridge and joined the queue well started filtering, saw a red bird 2 up with topbox, W15 blah blah blah was the reg, totally missed junction 5 due to looking where i was going and not where i wanted to go. stoped at the depressing rip off place(clacket lane i think it was called), back onto m25, got off at Junc6 on the A25 back towards sevenoaks. Found that and then went down the A21 looking for BMF signs or a paddock wood sign. ???????? Don't be so fookin stupid, did not see one sign, the bmf show for kent and not one sign.
Ended up in Royal Tunbridge Wells when Lady Fawett and poodle completing ignored me when i asked her for directions. left RTW on the A267 toward frant, when we stopped for a fag, then decided borrox to the show lets just ride.
So from Frant we picked up the B2099 through wadhurst and ticehurst(short but entertaining road), join the A21 towards hastings, did not fancy hastings sea front so cut through st Leonards on the A259 straight through bexhill and into brighton .....
big mistake the fookin london to bright cycle race thing was on, bloody pushbikes everywhere, fookin thousands of them jammed the place up solid, followed the local boys through the gaps and down the wrong side of the road extra (hats off the bloke of the rs250, he was filtering between the 2 rows of traffic with the cyclists on his far left, matey boy in transit closed the gap on rs250 man so he is now stuck between transit and a bus , to get transit mans attention he revs the bike a few times, nothing happens so he then goes a burnout with trye screaming bus load of people all watching tyre smoke covered all the cyclists(LOL make me fookin laugh) transit then wakes up and moves over again rs250 man then shoots between bus and transit on the back wheel) decided brighton was not for us so along the coast and then back onto the A27.
Stayed on that until the A24 turned off then towards horsham but on the left spied a sign post saying A283 thought hmmmm nice road that is and went along there, towards petworth, stayed on the A283 to milford. where i noticed that damo was not with me anymore, so had a fag waited and waited then called him he was in a garage eating.
Then thought ah wonder if barny ben is at home , a quick phone call later and yes he was, so we then took the B3001(again entering road but short) to barny bens few cups of tea good laugh and then m3 , M25, A1 to home.
Total mileage was 290 miles and we never found the fookin show but we had some great roads, some stupid speeds, some amazing eye candy, a bloody good laugh, was i dissapointed about missing the show???
Nah borrox was I.
Wednesday 16 February 2011
the Wheelie king
Sometime after the battleship grey c50, i was given a dark and lime green CZ125, the thing weigh a ton. Top speed was a slight improvement over the unrestricted C50 but not much. To wheelie it i had to put it on its centre stand chuck it into first gear, rev the nuts of it and then rock it off the stand. This gave me some excellent wheelies with feet dragging along the ground behind me. My mates with their er50's were dead impressed and jealous, i could tell that from their eyes.
We used to leave school as soon as possible and ride the 2 miles to the local girls school and when there, give the girls the ultimate show in cool. Huge, padded shouldered, market leather jackets brought for the grand price of about £15, still had the open face £2 autojumble lid and by then a red pair of textile gloves. But the cool gear above still did not hide the fact that we were still wearing our school trousers and in most cases our school shoes, either of the above took away the large sportsholder/school bag strapped on the back seat with a bungee cord from halfords which was a fetching green and yellow thing about 8ft long.
Often at the girls school some would smoke, act cool, and try to chat up a bird or two, sometimes we managed it but most times we didnt, still have no idea why not?
I got told one evening that tess or mandy (cant remember her name) thought i was good looking and wanted to go out with me, so to improve my changes and look super cool, i decided to attempt the biggest wheelie i could on the Cz the two stroke smoke was gagging people behind me, how we all laughed at that, the revs were reaching dizzy heights, clonk into first, hold it longer and harder the engine was rattling away like a road drill on piece work. I then noticed that the bike was moving along on the stand, the vibes were making the bike standwalk, oo errr i thought as I rocked it off the stand.
The front wheel lifted hard and fast, carried on climbing into the air as the bike speed along the small road i was in, i watched the wheel carry on climbing higher and higher as my school shoes dragged along the foot behind me, the rear light touched tarmac and smashed itself into unknown millions of bits, i could see sky, only sky, then the front wheel flying higher and higher as it came away from the rest of the bike, "who threw a tyre at me ?" i thought.
The most powerful wheelie ever in our gang came to a smart stop, when the small road had run out and i had parked the underside of the bike onto the back of the parked car that i never saw. The bike and I both slowly slid down the side of the car, ( think it was the first kind of tag around here) as we laid there in a crumpled heap with blood coming from my knees and one of my school shoes missing, i then noticed that the front wheel was missing , the girls were screaming and running off, my mates were kicking like feck upon their kickstarts in order to escape. I managed to get up, pushed the bike down an alley way and limp off quickly. After about 4 hrs we did return and then spend the next 2 hrs looking for a front wheel, until a bloke came out of a house asking what we were doing, we told him and he asked did it look like this tyre, it was my wheel in his left hand. Quick as a flash my mate phil then told him the story of the bike being stolen from school and one of our girl friends had seen it hiding down the alley way, so touched by the story the bloke even then gave me a nut that was missing and helped fit the wheel back on the bike.
What happened to the girl? She quivered alot when i was near her but never spoke to me again.
We used to leave school as soon as possible and ride the 2 miles to the local girls school and when there, give the girls the ultimate show in cool. Huge, padded shouldered, market leather jackets brought for the grand price of about £15, still had the open face £2 autojumble lid and by then a red pair of textile gloves. But the cool gear above still did not hide the fact that we were still wearing our school trousers and in most cases our school shoes, either of the above took away the large sportsholder/school bag strapped on the back seat with a bungee cord from halfords which was a fetching green and yellow thing about 8ft long.
Often at the girls school some would smoke, act cool, and try to chat up a bird or two, sometimes we managed it but most times we didnt, still have no idea why not?
I got told one evening that tess or mandy (cant remember her name) thought i was good looking and wanted to go out with me, so to improve my changes and look super cool, i decided to attempt the biggest wheelie i could on the Cz the two stroke smoke was gagging people behind me, how we all laughed at that, the revs were reaching dizzy heights, clonk into first, hold it longer and harder the engine was rattling away like a road drill on piece work. I then noticed that the bike was moving along on the stand, the vibes were making the bike standwalk, oo errr i thought as I rocked it off the stand.
The front wheel lifted hard and fast, carried on climbing into the air as the bike speed along the small road i was in, i watched the wheel carry on climbing higher and higher as my school shoes dragged along the foot behind me, the rear light touched tarmac and smashed itself into unknown millions of bits, i could see sky, only sky, then the front wheel flying higher and higher as it came away from the rest of the bike, "who threw a tyre at me ?" i thought.
The most powerful wheelie ever in our gang came to a smart stop, when the small road had run out and i had parked the underside of the bike onto the back of the parked car that i never saw. The bike and I both slowly slid down the side of the car, ( think it was the first kind of tag around here) as we laid there in a crumpled heap with blood coming from my knees and one of my school shoes missing, i then noticed that the front wheel was missing , the girls were screaming and running off, my mates were kicking like feck upon their kickstarts in order to escape. I managed to get up, pushed the bike down an alley way and limp off quickly. After about 4 hrs we did return and then spend the next 2 hrs looking for a front wheel, until a bloke came out of a house asking what we were doing, we told him and he asked did it look like this tyre, it was my wheel in his left hand. Quick as a flash my mate phil then told him the story of the bike being stolen from school and one of our girl friends had seen it hiding down the alley way, so touched by the story the bloke even then gave me a nut that was missing and helped fit the wheel back on the bike.
What happened to the girl? She quivered alot when i was near her but never spoke to me again.
Tuesday 15 February 2011
What the Hell Am I Doing?
Stolen from somewhere years ago but still true today.
by J.D. Tuccille
There's nothing like the feeling of a motorcycle sliding out from beneath you on a busy thoroughfare to focus the mind
beautifully on the value of life. As your ass bounces from
the cushioned seat toward the hard tarmac with the screech of
unseen cars slamming on their brakes to your rear, you have
one glorious moment in which to ask yourself: "What the hell
am I doing?"
You see, that's the precise question that flashed through my mind as my accelerating rear wheel spun helplessly on an
oil slick and 400lbs of Japanese machinery cushioned its fall
with 170lbs of J.D. Tuccille.
My left elbow slammed against the asphalt before I had time to consider the answer.
But to a large extent, it's the question itself that matters the most: "What the hell am I doing?" Sooner or later
most of us ask that same question. We ask it when we're doing
something foolish, or brave, or unfamiliar, and we especially ask
it when the situation goes sour -- when we find ourselves airborne
in late-morning traffic. And if we don't ask it of ourselves,
somebody else is sure to do us the favor: "What the hell are you
doing?"
The question means that we're taking risks, trying something new, or just pushing the boundaries of our usual behavior. It means
that we're living, not just existing; to pass through life without
facing that question would imply a tightly constrained existence
lacking risk and adventure.
Not every situation that provokes the question is to our credit, of course. Sometimes we've made a mistake, sometimes we've
embarrassed ourselves, and sometimes we've made a complete balls-up
of a situation and we find ourselves staring up from the ground into
the face of an Emergency Medical Technician. And whether we decide
that our latest venture was a moment of glory or shame, it's a sure
bet that somebody else views our decision with disdain; we all have
our own lives, and our own very different standards by which to
judge them.
But it's important to remember that while everybody has the right to ask the question of himself and others, only the person on
the spot, the person living that moment has the right to offer a
binding answer. And that is what gives life so much of its value.
We have the right to try, to risk dignity and even death as we take
the basic fact of existence and mold it into a life worthy of the
name through a personal choice of experiences, occupations, and
adventures.
So when others try to answer the question for us, to prevent us from taking the risk because they don't approve, they don't
just do us a disservice -- they rob us of the freedom that gives
life its value. Through laws and taxes and regulations they try to
consign us to an existence instead of a life; and this is not
because the decisions they would make for us are necessarily bad
decisions, but because they are not our own.
Some people -- not enough -- do understand this. After the accident, when the EMTs had assured themselves that my limbs were
all in place and that I remembered my name, one turned to me and
said: "And now for the important question: How's the bike?" As an
EMT he had certainly seen his share of nasty motorcycle accidents
-- incidents that ended with consequences more serious than my
broken arm. But he understood, or at least respected, my decision
to ride and to take risks that others find unacceptable.
We have the right to demand that attitude of everybody: disagree with us, call us fools, live your own lives differently,
but don't try to tell us what decisions we may make in the conduct
of our lives. Because the value of life is determined not by the mere
drawing of one breath after another, but by the freedom to make our
own decisions; to mold our lives as best we can into a shape that
pleases us, and to enjoy the benefits or suffer the consequences.
What the hell was I doing? I was living my life. Now hand me my helmet or get out of the way.
Ride yer own line
A few years ago I belonged to the local motorcycle club, not a patch club ubt one of them meet on amonday night at a different pub, have a beer, chat, laugh type of clubs.
We always had a ride out on a sunday morning, ranging from 4 to 30 bikes depending on weather normally. On this sunday we had about 9 bikes, nobody had any suggestions were to go so I said that I had ridden some good roads a few weeks back, the others then agreed that i would lead and they would follow.
Set off at a steady pace so take most of us could enjoy the ride, and the roads were cracking, dust and grit free, nice warm summers day, no traffic to speak of. Noticed in my mirrors that some of the riders were not staggering themselves as we rode along, not my problem as the next bikes behind me were and i had ridden with the riders for a few years and knew their style of riding as well as they knew mine,. We stopped off in a cafe in the back end of belong is essex somewhere, normal cafe food, nice cuppa and talk turned to getting home and if we were going the same way home or not. it was decided that we would, so off i set leading again. Crept though a small town, by now the locals had woken up and had just attended church or something like that, so the pace slowed down. Grandpa Joe and his austin princess managed to get in front of us and slowed us down for the next 5 miles to 20 mph, nowhere to overtake as it was a single car width road and he was driving down the middle of it.
trying to remember the road layout ahead when he turned off and the bike automatically leaped forward as i wound the throttle back, down 2 gears and the bike came alive again, long fast sweeper coming up i remembered, there it was, left , right, right, left again the bends and the bike were flowing. lean angles increasing as were the revs of the bikes, quick glances behind, mates look good we flowed, the road was ours. Another set of bends then a long straight faster we rode along that road, then I noticed the hedge was turning towards the right, cant be I thought aint due to yet.
But it did indeed, I chucked the bike down as far as I dare, praying that i would crash, the rear tyre started snaking on the tarmac, I started shitting myself, fear held me ridged on the bike and but some grace of feck knows what i made it around the bend. damo and phil behind me made it as well different lines and phil was very close to feckin the edge. It was then that i saw in my mirrors kev went straight on, so did his two mates who were following him. Feck!! braked and turned around to find a bike shape hole in the hedge. We got off our bikes expecting the worst, but all three of them were fine, just few cracked plastic and a few bruises. Alan who was following them was standing at the side of the road laughing, when he could catch his breath again he then explained that they had all been in each others tyre tracks and about 4ft between them and the one in front.
He then went into great detail how kev had stood the bike up aimed for the hedge and hit it almost dead upright, his two mates who were following did the same bloody thing and hit the hedge in the same bloody place.
"it was like the fookin red arrows motorbike team" he laughed,
whoosh whoosh whoosh one after the other straight through the same hole, amazing skill to pick the exact same spot. Kevs answer was to blame phil for taking the wrong line as he was following phil into the corner and had tried phils line instead of his own. He never rode with us again after that ride, But i do know he rode into another bike he was following in the tracks off on another ride. Some people never learn.
We always had a ride out on a sunday morning, ranging from 4 to 30 bikes depending on weather normally. On this sunday we had about 9 bikes, nobody had any suggestions were to go so I said that I had ridden some good roads a few weeks back, the others then agreed that i would lead and they would follow.
Set off at a steady pace so take most of us could enjoy the ride, and the roads were cracking, dust and grit free, nice warm summers day, no traffic to speak of. Noticed in my mirrors that some of the riders were not staggering themselves as we rode along, not my problem as the next bikes behind me were and i had ridden with the riders for a few years and knew their style of riding as well as they knew mine,. We stopped off in a cafe in the back end of belong is essex somewhere, normal cafe food, nice cuppa and talk turned to getting home and if we were going the same way home or not. it was decided that we would, so off i set leading again. Crept though a small town, by now the locals had woken up and had just attended church or something like that, so the pace slowed down. Grandpa Joe and his austin princess managed to get in front of us and slowed us down for the next 5 miles to 20 mph, nowhere to overtake as it was a single car width road and he was driving down the middle of it.
trying to remember the road layout ahead when he turned off and the bike automatically leaped forward as i wound the throttle back, down 2 gears and the bike came alive again, long fast sweeper coming up i remembered, there it was, left , right, right, left again the bends and the bike were flowing. lean angles increasing as were the revs of the bikes, quick glances behind, mates look good we flowed, the road was ours. Another set of bends then a long straight faster we rode along that road, then I noticed the hedge was turning towards the right, cant be I thought aint due to yet.
But it did indeed, I chucked the bike down as far as I dare, praying that i would crash, the rear tyre started snaking on the tarmac, I started shitting myself, fear held me ridged on the bike and but some grace of feck knows what i made it around the bend. damo and phil behind me made it as well different lines and phil was very close to feckin the edge. It was then that i saw in my mirrors kev went straight on, so did his two mates who were following him. Feck!! braked and turned around to find a bike shape hole in the hedge. We got off our bikes expecting the worst, but all three of them were fine, just few cracked plastic and a few bruises. Alan who was following them was standing at the side of the road laughing, when he could catch his breath again he then explained that they had all been in each others tyre tracks and about 4ft between them and the one in front.
He then went into great detail how kev had stood the bike up aimed for the hedge and hit it almost dead upright, his two mates who were following did the same bloody thing and hit the hedge in the same bloody place.
"it was like the fookin red arrows motorbike team" he laughed,
whoosh whoosh whoosh one after the other straight through the same hole, amazing skill to pick the exact same spot. Kevs answer was to blame phil for taking the wrong line as he was following phil into the corner and had tried phils line instead of his own. He never rode with us again after that ride, But i do know he rode into another bike he was following in the tracks off on another ride. Some people never learn.
Ride a 1000 miles in 24 hrs??
23rd of may 2010 i was stuck for something to do on the may bank holiday , browsing the web i came across this site (ironbutt uk) and thought yeah why not?
Planning included making a route , downloading the forums, reading as much as i could about attempting a SS1000, getting a "1 am allowed out to play" slip from the wife, and talking to a few friends.
my bike is a honda blackbird supposed to be a fine sports tourer yet, those who do tour on it fit different seats for more comfort, raise the bars, lower the pegs and fit double screens.
I thought i would test what mr honda had planned for the bike when he made it so left everything as standard .
30th of may, yes 1 weeks of planning, and i had rigged up a satnav holder, (map bag velco to tank cover), put 2lb of mixed fruit and chocolate bars with 1.5L of water in the tailpack, packed a tool for every nut bolt screw and tools to adjust the chain, a torch and made sure my phone was charged and i was off to the petrol station tesco to get fuel and first receipt. Got the fuel but the automated receipt was out of paper and the garage was not open so off down the road with wife and kids in the car to act as my witness to sainsburys, got an atm receipt, kissed wife and kids goodbye with promises yes i will call or text at each stop and i was off up the A1 towards a1/m62 services for the first stop.
Got 1hr up the road and the sat nav died, hmmm got no maps() so try to remember route juncs etc in my head, which led me to miss the first services, came off at the next junc and worked my way back into leeds getting a bit worried as i need fuel and a corner receipt, found one fueled up (didnt test wife ) and i am a lot happier now, knowing that i need to stop at birch services on the m62
fought my way through leeds and onto the m62 arrgghhh roadworks 50mph limit ooo eerrr this is going to put me back abit i think.
found birch fueled and went again on the way now to telford, didnt find trench lock service but an asda instead fueled receipt and out, did not want to ride the motorway again as i knew i was going to be going m6/m5 for a fair distance so took the A5?? instead, onto the m6.
M6/m5 boring as always but make up for holding a steady speed, down to sedgemoor services, i was now aching in the left thigh and wrists, so had a smoke some fruit and 1/3 of my water, got back on the bike after a few star jumps and then needed to visit the boys room so had to get undressed again, fueled up and on to exeter, quick fuel stop and then the plan was to go to redruth by due to no satnav and me never been down there before i missed the turning, ended up going to plymouth over the tamar bridge ( i liked that bridge very nice) and on to st austell where i found a tescos for fuel, trying to remember the map and if st austell was as far as redruth, i decided it was and turned around.
back to exeter receipt gain and then on southampton via Bournemouth poole etc, nice riding road but it ate up the time and i was get a bit worried by time i had left, quick fuel and mars bar at poole i think it was and then to rownhams services.
At rownhams i was in a lot of pain due to cramp in the left thigh, neck was aching and wrists felt they were on fire. made a few calls whilst trying to leap about and walk by bouncing along to get the blood following again in my leg, ate my chocolate bars had a wash ( felt a lot better after that) and told the wife i was going to carry on , was not tired at all just some aches. up the m3 i discovered that i could lay on the tank and hook my feet on the back pegs the cramp went after a few miles, across the bottom of the m25 and down the m20 towards dover.
arrived at dover feeling good, then had to queue for 5 mins whilst a couple tried to decide at the till whether they wanted dr pepper or diet coke, paid , then watched as a car pull in with its rear bumper dragging on the ground, the driver had reversed into a post just down the road and was a bit miffed with himself.
Back up the m20 to the m25, through dartford tunnel and onto the m11 knowing i am nearly home, came off at stanstead down the a120 to puckeridge then up a10 to buntingford, next stop was baldock.( buntingford - baldock road is great in the day light but a bit scary in the dark) baldock back to start point.
Speedo said 1035 i think it was, didnt think about it being out until i got home. Next morning awoke with slightly tender shoulder but the rest of me was fine, checked the receipt and paperwork then noticed the speedo reading, so checked it out on 3 different routing applications, best 1 came out at 1011.5 miles hurrah!!!! the other two came out at 1001.5 and 1003.5 hmmmm arrgghhh after humming and arring about whether to send in the paperwork and speaking to the wife we decided that if i didnt send it in we would never know, so the forms and paperwork were sent off about 10 days later.
really enjoyed the challenge, in fact so much have now gone and brought a secondhand zumo and tested it out, have planned a 1200 miles route and also planned a route to visit the 39 historic county towns of england.
I did do enough miles, 1001 in fact, So now i am the proud owner of a IBA membership number and the back plate is in pride of place hanging in the shed.
Dont think about it, Just ride it
PS I have since learnt that to plan is the best thing you can do, and carry a map for backup! stay safe everybody and maybe see you on the road someday.
Planning included making a route , downloading the forums, reading as much as i could about attempting a SS1000, getting a "1 am allowed out to play" slip from the wife, and talking to a few friends.
my bike is a honda blackbird supposed to be a fine sports tourer yet, those who do tour on it fit different seats for more comfort, raise the bars, lower the pegs and fit double screens.
I thought i would test what mr honda had planned for the bike when he made it so left everything as standard .
30th of may, yes 1 weeks of planning, and i had rigged up a satnav holder, (map bag velco to tank cover), put 2lb of mixed fruit and chocolate bars with 1.5L of water in the tailpack, packed a tool for every nut bolt screw and tools to adjust the chain, a torch and made sure my phone was charged and i was off to the petrol station tesco to get fuel and first receipt. Got the fuel but the automated receipt was out of paper and the garage was not open so off down the road with wife and kids in the car to act as my witness to sainsburys, got an atm receipt, kissed wife and kids goodbye with promises yes i will call or text at each stop and i was off up the A1 towards a1/m62 services for the first stop.
Got 1hr up the road and the sat nav died, hmmm got no maps() so try to remember route juncs etc in my head, which led me to miss the first services, came off at the next junc and worked my way back into leeds getting a bit worried as i need fuel and a corner receipt, found one fueled up (didnt test wife ) and i am a lot happier now, knowing that i need to stop at birch services on the m62
fought my way through leeds and onto the m62 arrgghhh roadworks 50mph limit ooo eerrr this is going to put me back abit i think.
found birch fueled and went again on the way now to telford, didnt find trench lock service but an asda instead fueled receipt and out, did not want to ride the motorway again as i knew i was going to be going m6/m5 for a fair distance so took the A5?? instead, onto the m6.
M6/m5 boring as always but make up for holding a steady speed, down to sedgemoor services, i was now aching in the left thigh and wrists, so had a smoke some fruit and 1/3 of my water, got back on the bike after a few star jumps and then needed to visit the boys room so had to get undressed again, fueled up and on to exeter, quick fuel stop and then the plan was to go to redruth by due to no satnav and me never been down there before i missed the turning, ended up going to plymouth over the tamar bridge ( i liked that bridge very nice) and on to st austell where i found a tescos for fuel, trying to remember the map and if st austell was as far as redruth, i decided it was and turned around.
back to exeter receipt gain and then on southampton via Bournemouth poole etc, nice riding road but it ate up the time and i was get a bit worried by time i had left, quick fuel and mars bar at poole i think it was and then to rownhams services.
At rownhams i was in a lot of pain due to cramp in the left thigh, neck was aching and wrists felt they were on fire. made a few calls whilst trying to leap about and walk by bouncing along to get the blood following again in my leg, ate my chocolate bars had a wash ( felt a lot better after that) and told the wife i was going to carry on , was not tired at all just some aches. up the m3 i discovered that i could lay on the tank and hook my feet on the back pegs the cramp went after a few miles, across the bottom of the m25 and down the m20 towards dover.
arrived at dover feeling good, then had to queue for 5 mins whilst a couple tried to decide at the till whether they wanted dr pepper or diet coke, paid , then watched as a car pull in with its rear bumper dragging on the ground, the driver had reversed into a post just down the road and was a bit miffed with himself.
Back up the m20 to the m25, through dartford tunnel and onto the m11 knowing i am nearly home, came off at stanstead down the a120 to puckeridge then up a10 to buntingford, next stop was baldock.( buntingford - baldock road is great in the day light but a bit scary in the dark) baldock back to start point.
Speedo said 1035 i think it was, didnt think about it being out until i got home. Next morning awoke with slightly tender shoulder but the rest of me was fine, checked the receipt and paperwork then noticed the speedo reading, so checked it out on 3 different routing applications, best 1 came out at 1011.5 miles hurrah!!!! the other two came out at 1001.5 and 1003.5 hmmmm arrgghhh after humming and arring about whether to send in the paperwork and speaking to the wife we decided that if i didnt send it in we would never know, so the forms and paperwork were sent off about 10 days later.
really enjoyed the challenge, in fact so much have now gone and brought a secondhand zumo and tested it out, have planned a 1200 miles route and also planned a route to visit the 39 historic county towns of england.
I did do enough miles, 1001 in fact, So now i am the proud owner of a IBA membership number and the back plate is in pride of place hanging in the shed.
Dont think about it, Just ride it
Riding a Motorbike is like sex
You dont know what you are missing until you have tried it. Then you either love it and explore it more or you just take it and leave it. i was lucky in the fact that My dad liked bikes (still does in fact). I was nine yrs old and we have moved to a new town, when dad came home one Saturday with a few boxes of bits, a quick glance and i was off out the door football in hand, Little did i know then what them boxes would do to me later on in my life, How much grief they would cause, the highs of feeling alive, the lows of days/weeks of work only to find the bike still would not run right. And it was all my dads fault.
At the age of sixteen i finally could have my first road legal bike hurray! It was a 1973 Honda C50, in bloody battleship Grey, complete with the full fairng windshield and legshields. No CBT then to ride a moped, so off we went me on the C50 and My dad on, the bike that he built from the box of bits, his BSA B31. I was in front so he could watch me ride and give hints tip extra when we would arrive at our destination ten miles away. I was alive, the wind was rushing through the £2 autojumble helmet i had brought 2 weeks before, my donkey jacket was stiffer than plank of wood, my £5 jeans off the local market let the wind rip through them like they were made of tissue paper, but i was alive, i was moving the world was mine i could go anywhere on this bike, the sun was shining the birds were singing , my bare hands were freezing, My doc martin boots were muddy, I had arrived, I was a biker at last!
Third roundabout in i was in the nearside lane, checked the massive mirrors to find where my dad was, as I wasn't sure which way to go. He was in the outside lane pointing straight over or so i thought. As I crossed over into the outside lane his pointing became more urgent, Slowly iI looked in the direction of travel just as i crossed the give way lines to the roundabout, it was then i noticed the Mercedes car coming around the roundabout and straight at me. My riding skills kicked inand i grabbed the front brake. yes the front brake on a 1973 C50, the front forks rose up higher the harder i grabbed then the tyre skipped across the tarmac and some alien screaming started from somewhere inside the cheap lid, shit thought I the bloody lid is haunted.
After a loud screech and a bang and another even louder screech, I opened my eyes to find myself sitting on the road in the middle of a two lane roundabout with the front end of a merc 2 ft away from me, to my left was a battleship grey seat less hondaC50 revving its head of whilst laying on its righthand side, the strong smell of petrol made me get up and walk across to the bike to find the cap had come of and my £0.50p of petrol was draining away across the road, like a wet snake. The merc driver then grabbed me by my shoulders and just shook me whilst shouting his head. My dad ran across and pulled the driver off me and gave him a mouthful back, whilst two old ladies walked towards the bike and dragged it across the road out of harms way and they even stood the bike up for me. After the old man had finished with the merc driver and had managed to get the old dears on their way, he handed me the petrol cap. As he watched I replaced the cap and shut the seat down Click.
"get back on then " he said
"i cant!" i stuttered from fear feck man no way was i going to ride agin it is feckin dangerous!!
"Get back on your feckin bike, I aint riding it home" was his words
With legs like jelly and an arse clenched so tight it could break walnuts i got on the bike started it and followed him to where we was going. By the time we had got home again that evening I was king of the road again, alive, running free and about to take over the world.
Still was all his fault, if he hadnt made me get back on, I would given up there and then.
At the age of sixteen i finally could have my first road legal bike hurray! It was a 1973 Honda C50, in bloody battleship Grey, complete with the full fairng windshield and legshields. No CBT then to ride a moped, so off we went me on the C50 and My dad on, the bike that he built from the box of bits, his BSA B31. I was in front so he could watch me ride and give hints tip extra when we would arrive at our destination ten miles away. I was alive, the wind was rushing through the £2 autojumble helmet i had brought 2 weeks before, my donkey jacket was stiffer than plank of wood, my £5 jeans off the local market let the wind rip through them like they were made of tissue paper, but i was alive, i was moving the world was mine i could go anywhere on this bike, the sun was shining the birds were singing , my bare hands were freezing, My doc martin boots were muddy, I had arrived, I was a biker at last!
Third roundabout in i was in the nearside lane, checked the massive mirrors to find where my dad was, as I wasn't sure which way to go. He was in the outside lane pointing straight over or so i thought. As I crossed over into the outside lane his pointing became more urgent, Slowly iI looked in the direction of travel just as i crossed the give way lines to the roundabout, it was then i noticed the Mercedes car coming around the roundabout and straight at me. My riding skills kicked inand i grabbed the front brake. yes the front brake on a 1973 C50, the front forks rose up higher the harder i grabbed then the tyre skipped across the tarmac and some alien screaming started from somewhere inside the cheap lid, shit thought I the bloody lid is haunted.
After a loud screech and a bang and another even louder screech, I opened my eyes to find myself sitting on the road in the middle of a two lane roundabout with the front end of a merc 2 ft away from me, to my left was a battleship grey seat less hondaC50 revving its head of whilst laying on its righthand side, the strong smell of petrol made me get up and walk across to the bike to find the cap had come of and my £0.50p of petrol was draining away across the road, like a wet snake. The merc driver then grabbed me by my shoulders and just shook me whilst shouting his head. My dad ran across and pulled the driver off me and gave him a mouthful back, whilst two old ladies walked towards the bike and dragged it across the road out of harms way and they even stood the bike up for me. After the old man had finished with the merc driver and had managed to get the old dears on their way, he handed me the petrol cap. As he watched I replaced the cap and shut the seat down Click.
"get back on then " he said
"i cant!" i stuttered from fear feck man no way was i going to ride agin it is feckin dangerous!!
"Get back on your feckin bike, I aint riding it home" was his words
With legs like jelly and an arse clenched so tight it could break walnuts i got on the bike started it and followed him to where we was going. By the time we had got home again that evening I was king of the road again, alive, running free and about to take over the world.
Still was all his fault, if he hadnt made me get back on, I would given up there and then.
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