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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.

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.

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.

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.