The sun was hot, my jacket was off and I lounged on the grassy bank between the gas station and the main road, this vantage point gave me a perfect view of the road I had just come down and where Phil and Ed should be coming down soon. Strictly speking I should be able to hear them before I saw them, but I could flail my arms wildly to further attract their attention.
Approx an hour later on cue I hear the bassy drone of some high revving big twins and spot Phil crunched up behind his double bubble screen giving it the large. 'Fast Eddie not far behind. Phil boomed past ignoring my impotent arm flailing, Ed however indicated and pulled in. One down, now we were two, but Phil was shifting and decreasing to a speccy drone in the distance with a red light in the middle. Blimey he was paying partial attention and noticed Ed was no longer behind him, He'd obviously braked hard, I was jumping up and down muttering profanities, he was about half a mile away.
The next thing we knew, he's driving back to us, up the wrong side of the carraigeway, up the exit ramp against the traffic back into the station grinning like a mischevious school boy. We were three, the TL triumvirete road train was once more restored.
We harangued each other for at least ten minutes. They had realized I was absent soon after exiting the lay-by back in Austria and went back to look for me (apparentley) which was strange as I'm sure we would have noticed each other, they turned round again and re-retraced their tyre marks, quick to notice the fork in the road that I had turned down, I speculated that in their horsepower greedhead mode they had originally sailed straight past this junction and by the time they had turned round and come back I had passed through and turned off. By the time they had inadvertantedly found the correct route I was about eighty miles down the road.
My phone call had been opportune and perfectly timed. They were gassing up wandering what to do next, 'ring ring' difficult decision averted. They had also encountered the same ribbon of slow moving traffic that I had, hence Phil's impatience as the road opened up before him.
Phil had got the bit between his teeth and had wound the TLS up to max, stressed with the seemingly apalling slow progress (sub 80mph apparently) Thank goodness Ed had listened to my instructions, chucking on the anchors just in time to intercept at the given location.
We ate ice creams on a glorious summer early afternoon, the sussuration of wide tyred big touring cars and motor homes swooshing past us heading south,.Re-united we all studied the map for the next stage of the journey. Once more the TL road train was ready to rock and roll.
We would cover the next 60 miles or so out of the mountainous north Italian border country into the flood plain of the lowlands and drove through to Modena. The road from Verona to Modena was an A road and not fast autostrada. One sustained blast and if we overshot, into Bologna where that ubiquitous spag bol owes its existence, but more importantly the desmodromic V-twin heart of the crimson devil.
The relatively parochial neighbourhood of multi world championship winning 851, 888 and 916's second home to that wild eyed Englishman with sunken staring sockets cold cruel eyes sweeping aggresively aside all before him - Mister Fogarty. Duelling the best in the world on the way to four magnificent World Superbike titles. The Ducati factory where many had made pilgramage and paid homage. We were renegades in this country, no pure blood thoroughbred with their temperament and foibles amongst us. No time for whimsy and starry eyes, our thousand yard stares were not into space but the next corner. We had a mission to accomplish, and fast.
The road was a revelation, I tell yea! We barely touched the ground as we scorched across the flatlands. Their dual carraigeway was A road still but with fuck all traffic on it. There was sporadic and token cars along its length but for all intents and purpose empty. We cruised around the 130mph mark getting bored and occasionally blasting up to 150 overtaking each other.
No joke this black ribbon was flat, smooth straight and went on for about 60 miles or more, we made it in no time at all - funnily enough! By this time the visibility was dropping, turning greyer and with a misting of precipitance in the air, the road surface had a slight sheen and I could feel the bike start to move about as the contact patch was minimal at that sort of speed, I could feel myself breathing, ragged breaths echoing around inside my lid as I kept the TLR screwed tight.
Friday 28 September 2007
Thursday 20 September 2007
Chapter 7 - Onto Mugello
Austria is a relatively slim country and it wasn't long before we were approaching the out side. We had ridden for a couple of hours through superb scenery, high mountains with snow caps, pine lined roads twisting and turning (too much traffic though). We stopped just short of the border in a tourist pull in area all gravel, full of coaches, camera happy tourists and discarded cigarette butts..
It was obviously a popular spot for bikers to have a smoke break etc. We parked up and sparked up, I had a quick glance at the map (which was luckily in my posession, the other two eschewing the need for one, but I had smugly noticed the absence of any reference to the bullshit sheaf of AA instructions on Eddie's part).
Onwards across the border, through the Brenner pass and int Italy. It was about midday.
A quick tyre check, bungee tension OK, enough gas and we were off again.
Phil and Eddie leapt into the steady stream of traffic and were gone, disappearing aroung the first corner already looking for overtaking opportunities. I could have pulled out after them but didn't fancy being flattened by the weight of traffic steamrollering down the road. It seemed like an age before I managed to nip into the metal snake. I knew both Phil and Eddie probably wouldn't notice my absence, they would only be interested in what was in front of them and what needed overtaking. It was a sort of unwritten rule that we were all obliged to keep up with each other. It was my job to catch them up. We all knew where we were going and when they did notice my absence they should ease the pace a little to allow me to catch up.
They must have treally put the hammer down, because I was getting quite lary weaving in and out of the traffic thinking I'll see them round the next corner, but no, they had gone.
A short while after it was decision time, the signs pointed me to a slip road which would take me onto the main autoroute leading me to the Brenner Pass. Still no sign of the others, perhaps they would be at the gates to the Pass?, still no time to procrastinate or ponder, no opportunity to pull over, had to go for it, so down the slip road I went with no sign of Phil and Ed.
As I accellerated off the slip road (by now at least 20 klicks from the last stop) I thought that if they didn't want to stop they would at least ease their pace a bit. Time to get behind the screen and play the big video game. One eye on the whirring dials and one eye on the road ahead praying that the Old Bill weren't about.
I had to re-entry back to relative earth speed when the toll barrier loomed which was the gateway through the Brenner Pass. Surely they would be on the other side of this, if they hadn't noticed my absence by now stationary and rummaging for grubby coinage something must have gone awry. Eddie would almost certainly be chain smoking on the other side. They weren't there, no sign, absence of TL-age
This was bad news, A it meant the bastards were quicker than I thought (which is no comfort to a vain aero space age warrior), they had gone a different way or they had just carried on expecting me to catch up. The only unplanned bit was where were we gonna stay when we got close to Mugello still another six hours away. 'Fuck it' time to get in touch, they both had mobile phones on board. I in my utter confidence prior to the trip decided I didn't need one, si I found a phone booth in a nearby cafe/auberge and dialled them up. Aftre three attempts at contact from the poxy payphone I slammed the phone down in frustration and decided to ride on. Whatever happened they would have to come this way and if somehow they were behind me they would come across me, they wouldn't be hanging about thats for sure.
The Brenner pass is a major gateway to the lowlands of Northern Italy when you leave the mountains and once again the scenery did not disappoint. I managed to drink it all in whilst heading for Bozen where once again the traffic strted to build up. I forgot about my wayward companions, striking out nomad like for a while, spending the next hour or so high speed filtering between the slow moving traffic heading South. It was at least eighty miles or so before I learnt the reason why. It was also the gateway to the North Italian lake district, all the camper wagons and fat touring cars turned right at signs for Lake Delgardo, junction passed and the road opened up again. Time to try and raise 'TL' and 'Fast' again, fuck knows where they were by now but it had to be done, the situation was turning messy.
I pulled into an Agip filling station for juice and found a phone that would take a credit card and charge me bizarrely in American dollars. With the credit card at least it meant I could keep trying until I got through to speak to them (unlikely) or leave a message.
Thank god for the Dollar charging scenario, the Lire was a nightmare currency and I was down to my last thousand or so (which equated to about fourpence or something meaningless and rediculous) woefully inadequate local funds for an embarkation into international sattelite bouncing mobile phone wizardry.
The first call I made produced a ringing tone then cut me off. I vowed to be patient, trying to decipher the hieroglyphics in the booth and try again. Same result. Time for some radical bullshitting. I rang the international operator and told her that the poxy phone was haemorrhaging my dosh and demanded that she try for me. Seconds later I was miraculously talking to Phil, who was filling up ironically.
Bingo!! I was a bit pissed off with them for fucking off into the blue yonder and explained where I was. They were approx eighty miles behind me on the same road (quite how we didn't notice each other en route I don't know).
I told them where I was. Look out for a massive blue roadsign saying 30KMs to Verona and then shortly afterwards the Agip filling station off the slip road. 'I'll be in there, it's about an hour away'
It was easy and straightforward, just keep coming, read the road. I settled down to eat Italian ice cream, smoke and study the map in the pleasant afternoon sunshine.
It was obviously a popular spot for bikers to have a smoke break etc. We parked up and sparked up, I had a quick glance at the map (which was luckily in my posession, the other two eschewing the need for one, but I had smugly noticed the absence of any reference to the bullshit sheaf of AA instructions on Eddie's part).
Onwards across the border, through the Brenner pass and int Italy. It was about midday.
A quick tyre check, bungee tension OK, enough gas and we were off again.
Phil and Eddie leapt into the steady stream of traffic and were gone, disappearing aroung the first corner already looking for overtaking opportunities. I could have pulled out after them but didn't fancy being flattened by the weight of traffic steamrollering down the road. It seemed like an age before I managed to nip into the metal snake. I knew both Phil and Eddie probably wouldn't notice my absence, they would only be interested in what was in front of them and what needed overtaking. It was a sort of unwritten rule that we were all obliged to keep up with each other. It was my job to catch them up. We all knew where we were going and when they did notice my absence they should ease the pace a little to allow me to catch up.
They must have treally put the hammer down, because I was getting quite lary weaving in and out of the traffic thinking I'll see them round the next corner, but no, they had gone.
A short while after it was decision time, the signs pointed me to a slip road which would take me onto the main autoroute leading me to the Brenner Pass. Still no sign of the others, perhaps they would be at the gates to the Pass?, still no time to procrastinate or ponder, no opportunity to pull over, had to go for it, so down the slip road I went with no sign of Phil and Ed.
As I accellerated off the slip road (by now at least 20 klicks from the last stop) I thought that if they didn't want to stop they would at least ease their pace a bit. Time to get behind the screen and play the big video game. One eye on the whirring dials and one eye on the road ahead praying that the Old Bill weren't about.
I had to re-entry back to relative earth speed when the toll barrier loomed which was the gateway through the Brenner Pass. Surely they would be on the other side of this, if they hadn't noticed my absence by now stationary and rummaging for grubby coinage something must have gone awry. Eddie would almost certainly be chain smoking on the other side. They weren't there, no sign, absence of TL-age
This was bad news, A it meant the bastards were quicker than I thought (which is no comfort to a vain aero space age warrior), they had gone a different way or they had just carried on expecting me to catch up. The only unplanned bit was where were we gonna stay when we got close to Mugello still another six hours away. 'Fuck it' time to get in touch, they both had mobile phones on board. I in my utter confidence prior to the trip decided I didn't need one, si I found a phone booth in a nearby cafe/auberge and dialled them up. Aftre three attempts at contact from the poxy payphone I slammed the phone down in frustration and decided to ride on. Whatever happened they would have to come this way and if somehow they were behind me they would come across me, they wouldn't be hanging about thats for sure.
The Brenner pass is a major gateway to the lowlands of Northern Italy when you leave the mountains and once again the scenery did not disappoint. I managed to drink it all in whilst heading for Bozen where once again the traffic strted to build up. I forgot about my wayward companions, striking out nomad like for a while, spending the next hour or so high speed filtering between the slow moving traffic heading South. It was at least eighty miles or so before I learnt the reason why. It was also the gateway to the North Italian lake district, all the camper wagons and fat touring cars turned right at signs for Lake Delgardo, junction passed and the road opened up again. Time to try and raise 'TL' and 'Fast' again, fuck knows where they were by now but it had to be done, the situation was turning messy.
I pulled into an Agip filling station for juice and found a phone that would take a credit card and charge me bizarrely in American dollars. With the credit card at least it meant I could keep trying until I got through to speak to them (unlikely) or leave a message.
Thank god for the Dollar charging scenario, the Lire was a nightmare currency and I was down to my last thousand or so (which equated to about fourpence or something meaningless and rediculous) woefully inadequate local funds for an embarkation into international sattelite bouncing mobile phone wizardry.
The first call I made produced a ringing tone then cut me off. I vowed to be patient, trying to decipher the hieroglyphics in the booth and try again. Same result. Time for some radical bullshitting. I rang the international operator and told her that the poxy phone was haemorrhaging my dosh and demanded that she try for me. Seconds later I was miraculously talking to Phil, who was filling up ironically.
Bingo!! I was a bit pissed off with them for fucking off into the blue yonder and explained where I was. They were approx eighty miles behind me on the same road (quite how we didn't notice each other en route I don't know).
I told them where I was. Look out for a massive blue roadsign saying 30KMs to Verona and then shortly afterwards the Agip filling station off the slip road. 'I'll be in there, it's about an hour away'
It was easy and straightforward, just keep coming, read the road. I settled down to eat Italian ice cream, smoke and study the map in the pleasant afternoon sunshine.
Tuesday 18 September 2007
A little something for Endurance racing fans
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The '07 Bol d'or wound up at the weekend with much ado throughout the race. Mucho incidents apparently, with both BMW's expiring along with the hub centre steered Suzuki, the Macdonalds sponsored MV and the Duke, leaving it the top privateer team GMT 94 to take the race win after 14 years of trying.
Team Alf's endurance Racing had to retire early Saturday night due to ongoing niggly mechanical problems, If there was an award for effort and meticulous preparation the Sussex based squad deserve all the plaudits. you can view pix here from John 'more than two cylinders is just plain greedy' Brookes.
I was fortunate enough to have been involved in the April Le Mans race whith Team Alfs. Unfortunately they didn't fare much better there, but I did scribble a race report which still hasn't seen the light of day yet so though not of the moment you can read it now, hopefully it will paint a picture of what I think is the hardest motorcycle road racing discipline there is.
If you want to learn more about endurance racing, you might as well get it from the horse's mouth. link to the Race Corporation here. Official site of the Eurosport race commentator.
Will endeavour to post up chapter 7 of the road trip soon, but I thought all you long suffering readers might want a break before you get too bored so here's something else to get your teeth into
In the meantime read on messiuers et madames (be warned it's a bit of a long one)
View from the greenhouse (revisited)
One more account to add to the others I’ve written about this event.
Its (if I was honest) a parochial tale which was not my intention but none the less I feel the need to relay it as it came out from my head to my trembling fingers or is that tremens fingers? Hard to tell at the time
A tale of cacophonous motorized harmonies. Strange and oddly hued vapors, top speed and light smears. Pallid faces in the dead of night. Toil, blood, sweat, swearing, fatigue and insomnia.
For this is a tale of three days on the Red Eye Express. Sweeping us along to its destination. The 2007 24 hour endurance race held at the circuit De Bugatti, Le Mans France. A name synonymous for 24 hour events of both two and four wheeled varieties. An international brand and a most prestigious event. One which all who have been at the sharp end of this form of motorcycle racing hold their head up high and describe the event with a little awe and lashings of pride.
I was proud to be part of this years event, kindly asked by Team Alf’s Endurance, (a local team to me from Worthing West Sussex) if I could help them out again this year.
My immediate response was count me in, though in previous years like my worst hang over I usually vow never again. But it’s the excitement, the living on the high side, the buzz, Motorcycle racing, I felt fortunate to be invited along to the party
Alf’s who in previous years had mustered names such as John McGuinness, Chris Burns, the late great Gus Scott and Ronnie Smith, this year had managed to secure the services of X men look-alike and all round fantastic geezer who is tipped to topple John McGuinness from his all time great status (amongst many other notables throughout TT history)at The Island this year. Bring it on for Mr. Guy Martin.
Accompanying him were two rising stars in the Superstox and Supersport arenas Adam Jenkinson and Craig Fitzpatrick. The mount was an ‘07 ZX-10R which was equipped for Super Production racing, (check out the pix), it’s a bloody gorgeous thing kicking out 170hp at the wheel and weighing in at about 165 kilos. A serious contender in the class and a threat to any betting.
That’s the beauty of this racing. Not only have you got to be fast but you have to remain fast for hours and hours and hours, round and round and round…. It gives all teams a fair crack of the whip.
But, I’m ahead of myself we hadn’t even started yet. We had to get there first. Five of us in a mobile home equipped with some excellent loudspeakers amongst it’s mod cons courtesy of Chris ‘frosty bollox’ Frost. He had bought the previous year’s bike from Alf and was checking out this year’s race from the Team involvement angle.
Over the water and then Approx 200 miles south of Dieppe
Naturally we were all excited and revved up on the ferry meeting up with a contingent of bikers corralled together by previous 24 hour rider ‘Mickman’ who works at the Alf’s Kawasaki franchise. He had volunteered to organize a road trip down to the circuit with a posse of customers to enjoy the Le Mans experience. Loads of new 10‘s a couple of ZX6‘s a Gixer, a brace of R1’s a Triumph Daytona with Mick and his wife on the ZZR1400, it made me all misty eyed and I wished I had polished up the venerable ‘9‘ and was accompanying them by bike.
How many beers later and at what hideous hour I crawled into the sack for what seemed like a scant minute I cannot tell, but the sun was soon up and my eyes hurt and my brain was inert for the journey through France. Uneventful until we arrived at the circuit.
Getting in is frankly a right bastard, there seems to be about ten entry points for the soon to be great unwashed which we had to ‘trouver’ via the myriad signage and swarms of bikes. Each official was resolutely ‘non, non, monsieur’ sending us around several houses and up shed loads of garden paths until, finally with explicit instructions from Alf and a little belligerence we breached the outer ring and made our way into the circuit.
We were stopped in sight of the garages by a mustachioed dwarf who was resolutely determined to stop us. I tried to be diplomatic, explaining in simple terms that we were with a team, with a proper garage and that space had been reserved for us. The ‘Accueil’ had given us all the passes available. But ‘non’ it was not enough.
Now faced with steadfast refusal like this knowing he was mistaken started to really piss me off and when he told me to ‘en couler’ that was it. Frosty parked the camper in the road and I marched off to find the head fromage and Alf. To cut a long story short, we were let in and found our allotted position, but the refusal of gatekeeper bloke colored the general likeableness of his countrymen all weekend.
The team garage was right at the very end of pit lane and shared with team 78 ATS Peace & Run who were exceptional in the fact that they had endeavored to try and qualify a 675 Triumph Daytona. (Pink with flowers on it in a kind of Oxbow stylee). There were three male riders and the rest of the team were girls, pink overalls ‘n all. They hadn’t qualified and had dropped the bike also. We meeted and greeted joked and joshed, spirits were high.
Guy had dropped the no.1 Alf’s bike in practice however and it was being restored back to fitness when we arrived Friday afternoon.
The riders were not happy with the handling of the bike however and this may have been a result of set up problems. Now I won’t go into detail, but the bike was shod with xxxx Dunlops and equipped with some gorgeous Ohlin’s Superbike forks. The problem was that there were three riders with contrasting styles and a huge amount of settings. Finding a happy medium for Guy (a proper ‘biker’ in my opinion) who was is used to the bike moving around under him on proper roads and circuit specialists like Adam and Craig who were used to razor refined missiles was not going to be an easy task. In some respects a setting had to be found and any flaws had to be rode around. It was after all an endurance race.
The dictionary definition of endurance is ‘the ability or strength to continue or last, esp. despite fatigue, stress, or other adverse conditions; stamina’ and was true to the mark in these events.
Steve Plater who was riding for the incredibly quick Superbike spec Kawasaki France Fuchs no 11 machine kindly offered help with front end settings, air gaps, rebound and compression etc (though I’m sure he didn’t have to and wasn’t supposed to).
He didn’t know me from Adam but when I approached him in pit lane walkabout thrusting a t-shirt at him to sign with a request that he asked the French riders and Hawk Kawasaki rider Scott Smart both in the Kawasaki France team to sign it, he was pleasant, all smiles and genuinely warm.
I’m not sure if it was a recognizable accent in a sea of Babel but when I went back to the Garage he grinned apologized that he had one more to get from Moreira and asked me to come back. We missed each other after that like ships in the night as he was either asleep or on circuit, but I’m sure if I manage to track him down he will send it on he seemed like that type of guy.
I also introduced myself to Scott Smart professing to know his father and holding back any embarrassing memories I harbored from meeting the thirteen year old Scott trussed in a hideous headlock of dental braces working at Paul’s Kawasaki franchise then in Paddock Wood Kent. ‘Hello mate how you doing’ he said casually. This is the man who gave Hawk their memorable BSB win on the C1 based ZX-10. I was chucking beer cans at the telly that day whooping, and here he was friendly as you like.
Unfortunately for Scott despite being second fastest in practice (his words not mine) he was pushed out of the weekend ride by the French rider who has more experience than him. Howze the guy supposed to get experience if they don’t let him ride? (Give Alf’s a ring for the Bol D’Or in September Scott he might let you out for a spin.).
I digress, there’s just so much to say and too little space.
A man with a bib upset the applecart somewhat announcing at 7pm that Alf had to move garages. Check the pix out again, it’s not just a toolbox and some tyres, it’s a 7.5 ton crammed panel truck’s worth.
Naturally disbelief and initial reluctance met the officials demands in should we say the most strident of terms, but the ultimatum was move or be disqualified. One more pin in the voodoo dummy of French officialdom that weekend.
It turned out that according to FIM regulations, any team contracted for the complete series was entitled to a garage to themselves if one was available. The pink trumpet hippie collective hadn’t qualified so voila we thought we had a garage to ourselves. We had not however contracted for the whole series (and were English) so we had to move. In hindsight fair play really but when you have to pack up and move, without being able to remove the timing box on pit wall at 8pm and then continue building the bike for the next morning does not engender a feeling of deep joy.
At 11.30pm with the bike pretty much in one piece Alf noticed in the wan light of the garage a reflection on the gold nitriding of the Ohlin’s fork leg. Further investigation revealed a slight nick from Guy’s off which had torn the seal and was leaking. You guessed it, it had to be replaced. Ok not a hard job, but another one to add to the growing scenario of aggravation. If we had an off in the race and a fork leg was damaged that was it ‘dommage‘! Race over.
Ohlins guru Zweitze Rooske (best name of the weekend) on site cleaned it up pretty good with some wet and dry type stuff, but it was never going to be 100% again.
The sky was salmon, a lonely contrail split the aerial scene, there was a crescent moon, I feel closed in surrounded by sound. In the distance an engine explodes and a muffled tumult followed its demise.
I crawled into the mighty camper at 1am having scribbled my notes and drunk a few beers. I vowed not to spend the next 24 hours cooped up in the Perspex prison that is the timing box, baking hot. (Ideal conditions for tomatoes), perched on pit wall. Ears assaulted every 1 min 45 seconds by the aforementioned tortured motors screaming their heads off in defiance and agony as the pilotes screwed the last ounce of power out of them down the long start finish straight.
The whirr banging had started from the canvas citadels grouped around the circuit Organs of discord. As the Gauls challenged the Franks and the Hun joined in with Tommy no doubt pitching into the Blitzkrieg of disharmony.
I remember previous years, the half lit Hieronymus Bosch world, of valve destroying oil burning noise. It won’t stop until Sunday morning at the earliest. Some people were not going to make it home on the mounts that bought them there. Put to the sword of rev limiter and kill switch madness.
A festival, a mechanical entropy of noxious carcinogenic vapor fried brain cells and inebriated stupidite The audience creating their own entertainment and for most the only entertainment, whilst preparation for the main event was relegated until tomorrow and other than the start relegated to almost behind the scenes, secondary to the massive partying taking place on the perimeter of this event.
Truly you top fuellers and party people you have to go once in your life. Ask an old git who has been in the past. They’ll tell you. They will look sidelong onto the middle distance of the sky and murmur ‘yes I remember Le Mans…… ‘Make sure you listen it’s almost certainly all true no matter how extreme it may sound.
Race day dawned. For pity sake give me some heavy narcs I’m morphing into a serious insomniac and my head hurts from the residual memories of yesterday’s hangover.
The engine was fired up and kitty litter from the previous days off spat out the twin Akrapovic trumpets, red hot they burnt the hand of Tom Burns son of the legendary Steve missing from the team personnel this year due to migration to Aussie.
Morning practice was over almost before it had started. The stunt show roared their way to ovation after ovation, the crowds were revved up. Time to climb into the Perspex prison, hot as a greenhouse. Guy had a piss against pit wall moments before the blart of the klaxon for the two warm up and sighting laps. 3pm clicked into place and we were off. ‘All aboard the crazy train’ (if you will allow me to quote Ozzy Ozbourne), only 24 hours to go.
Guy started from the rear of the grid way down the pecking order and so the great game began.
There wasn’t long to wait the 666 Diablo machine run by ‘Too Tall Tel’ Terry Rymer (a previous winner and champion) hit a Suzuki up the arse and limped back in badly damaged. We were already running 27th overall.
The first session for Guy Martin wound it’s course and we counted him in at 9 minutes to 4pm on the pit box inboard. 32 laps in.
The works Beemer baritoned its way past like a WW11 bomber (shakedown for WSB I hear you say). The Ducati 1098 similarly bassed its way through, the only discernible differences from the high pitched high revving fours screeching past.
Adam was out next and as he wailed past pit lane exit there was a definite weave to #59.The 666 Diablo machine was back out again.
Adam pitted 5 laps early seriously concerned about the handling. We dropped from 21st to 46th as the hoops were changed and the bike checked over.
Craig was next but pitted at 5.40 with a seriously overheating bike. Thirty eight minutes later with a new radiator installed and Tango sporting a scalded hand we were back out. The radiator had holed and when replaced it was discovered the ignition power fuse had also burnt out, meaning more delays while this problem was sought and rectified. We rejoined 3rd from last and twenty odd laps down. It was a long race ahead but our chances of a top ten finish were surely dashed.
The riders circulated and the race stayed mostly out of trouble, at 7.00pm the Diablo machine appears to be down again but rejoins the race.
The Alf’s riders were still struggling with the way the bike was behaving. It appeared to weave at the end of the start finish straight as the bikes ran wide for the first turn, it could have been many things, but there weren’t many other bikes displaying the same symptoms. The Bristling Beemer bassed and bombed around this section very robustly in its open class.
The guys kept circulating through evening and into the night, despite their best attempts we were still lying close to the foot of the leader board because of the unexpected expense of the previous radiator change.
Alf asked Dunlop to check out the front tyre of the bike. They did so and revealed a faulty carcass on the first front tyre and subsequently apparently the second.
Naturally this discovery helped explain some of the stability problems but the bike was set up as a best setting suitable to all the riders so to some extent the suspension set up had been aggravated by this now revealed tyre problem
Midnight. Round and round and round they rip through the air, lights blazing as they ravenously tear up the next sector. Luckily for me still in the timing box approximately 9 hours in I had an electronic display hooked up with the official timing available via the garage. This is much easier on the eyes as you don’t have to physically look out for them as in previous years. Just watch as the sectors countdown and record the lap time. And set the board for their next circulation.
1.20am We were still circulating and fighting hard to make up for the afternoons enforced stop, but it was going to take hours and we would have to rely on other teams ahead of us having problems.
Up front it was a tight pack of leading Suzuki’s with the GMT Yamaha with Gimbert and Checa on board. The Fuchs France Kawasaki featuring British interests Steve Plater were also battling hard to remain running with the pack
The Beemer drones down to pit lane exit and the rider nearly took out a line of perimeter cones as he sought the right switch to disengage the rev limiter to prevent pit lane speeding
Can we still assure ourselves of a top 12 or better finish we all knew the team were capable of?
The Ducati blasts past My bet that it wouldn’t go half distance was looking decidedly shakey, we have made up only two places.
The MV Augusta of team 31 swept past in 21st place behind the Beemer in 20th position.
Round and round and round, too noisy to hear the circus in full swing no doubt out there on the perimeter, ‘Out there there are no stars‘. As fire and smoke and lights and glare and glazed eyes act out their own dramas.
Thirteen hours to go. Could do with a beer! No, two in fact, and then some kip and a bit of a rest from the constant noise and activity before I have to face it all again, hopefully more refreshed.
A smoky firework of a bike fizzes past, serious smoke and big trouble very soon for his team to fix. From what I can gather in between hasty glances at the big screen at the end of pit lane (before the broadcast stopped late in the night) The GMT94 Team Yamaha R1 was heading the pack with the constant threat of the Sert Suzuki’s and The Fuchs France Kawasaki. All Superbike specification. Premier class. The smoker has returned, no.8 by the looks of it the very popular Team Bolliger on the Kawasaki
The team that had taken over our garage earlier comes in and gets pushed in the garage, the bike has taken a beating all over and activity starts as all the dead bits are stripped away and then the basics of the bike investigated. They wheeled their spare bike in and appeared to be contemplating quite how they were gonna patch the bike up safely, within the rules and get the riders back out.
It soon became apparent that it was game over for them.
I think it was about 3.15am when I climbed out of the pit box. To be fair I had snatched brief intervals here and there to get tea and victuals and John ‘more than two cylinders is just plain greedy’ Brookes who snapped all the pix of the weekend in a most excellent fashion deputized kindly, along with Frosty who also helped out a lot, ensuring that there were two of us in the box for at least part of the time.
I left my armband in the garage and shuffled off to the haven not far from the madding crowd, the Mighty Talbot Excalibur. (Now firmly ensconced after the previous day’s mild fracas) in it’s reserved slot. Away from the garages and next to the mobile kitchen.
An absolute must, The Kitchen, at an event like this. Mike the cook supported a team of twenty over the weekend at all hours and had already done so most of the previous weeks practice and set up period, with the first wave of the team setting out their stall.
I sat on the steps of the camper van and drunk two stubbies, smoked a roll up and just listened. before turning in.
I set my alarm for 5.30am which would allow me at least half hour wake up period before heading back into the dawn.
Mr. Burn (damn fine engineer bloke) woke me up when he entered the van at about 4.30 to say that Alf had had to make the decision to retire after the second radiator had also been holed. Not only did this take a long time to fix. There wasn’t a spare, it was the one leaking, allowing the bike to overheat.
I greeted this news barely awake but it confirmed my earlier thoughts. The sum of the weekend’s troubles had reached critical point. The first DNF that The Sussex based team had encountered at Le Mans in four years of racing in this prestigious event.
Logically the law of averages has to kick in at some point. The more you do the more likely you are to fail at some point. It’s a grueling race and the team had worked hard at their game, but disappointment was hard to put to one side.
The team had completed 376 laps in 12 hours and 52 minutes
Alf the Team owner said he was feeling positive despite the enforced end to this year’s campaign. He has some plans up his sleeve I’m sure of it.
That new morning and throughout the day the equipment was stowed and crammed in various support vehicles, the race continued unabated, but the field of runners had taken a beating with teams dropping out through the nigh until the end of the race. The 30th edition of this race was over, the noise stopped and the dust settled. Only half the field had finished with Sert Suzuki taking the honours first and second 818 laps in 24 hours. Kawasaki France third. Phase one previous champions featuring Glen Richards and Warwick Nowland also managed a difficult finish battling to 9th overall. I hope the Beemer finished, the marque hadn’t participated in an endurance race for fifty years. Variety is the spice of life and it makes a change to see a non Japanese bike competing.
Finally we were off to the hotel for food and sleep.
I lay awake most of that night unable to sleep, my head buzzing with the recent memory and tiredness.
On the ferry when traveling home the next day there was talk of the Bol D’Or in September down at Magny-Cours. Alf didn’t say no.
Apparently all three of the riders were better for the experience they had gained, Guy may have offered to come down with the team again, Alf had telemetry planned, more dyno time, separate workshop facilities devoted purely to the raucous ZX-10R and a shakedown test in mind at a UK endurance round.
Endurance racing is big in France and a lot of Brits go, but for those of you that it has passed by. Check out the web links at the end of this piece. You owe it to yourself to go to Le Mans one year, in my opinion it ranks with other musts for those of you who like a proper ride out and knees up. Like the IOM not far away, 100th year celebrations and all that.
I’m going to sleep now!
Doby Trutcenden 2.5.07
The Team
http://www.alfsmotorcycles.co.uk/
Support
http://www.ukbike.com/
Pictures of the event courtesy of John Brookes.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/yeahmeagain/collections/
Thursday 13 September 2007
Kawasaki Z1000
Zed 1000
I have to be honest I have a penchant for Kawasaki’s, I always have. I’m not sure why but I have always been drawn to the Zeds.
I am fortunate enough to still own a ‘77 Z1000 A1 which though not a purists example, pretty tastefully modified I hope. It still encapsulates that classic design from the Z900A4 which was the direct predecessor to the seminal Z1000 thirty years ago.
Thirty years on and from the launch of the original model (which would have seen me in the first year of my secondary school at the time). Kawasaki have resurrected the theme (again, it has to be said).Progressing from the Zephyrs and ZRX via the now also classic Gpz900R range and the ZX9’s.
The modern day Z1000 is a symbiosis of sports bike and naked bike which has come about with the invention of the street fighter niche. The factories cleverly studying the market and started producing bikes that people want that they couldn’t get from the factory until a few years ago. Originally to thank, I am led to believe were the vanguard of sports bike owners who crashed and couldn’t repair. On go the handlebars and tattered fairings stripped off for the no/minimal fairing look but still benefiting from riding on the sports bike components.
Just the name Z1000 sounds like it’s gonna be good, and since the revived moniker has been in place, the bikes that served it have evolved into this cleverly designed efficient street attack vehicle.
I have been graced with this stealth bomber thanks to the largesse of some old colleagues, and for the opportunity I am truly grateful.
I have owned my Zed for twenty years now and always hanker to get it fit for duty year after year, but each time despite my understanding of it’s oily classic heart and what it can and cannot do in comparison to modern bikes, I am always somehow disappointed. Its design is timeless but sadly the performance isn’t. But what a great start for today’s model, what a lineage it has to trade on.
The ‘05 and ‘06 models looked good and went well, you could say less cluttered and with cleaner lines but this latest incarnation really does come right up to date and to the mark.
Seeing the’07 ‘Star Wars’ version in the window of the dealer I really really wanted to ride it!
First impressions. Mean, menacing, aggressive, very angular, insect-like with it’s extremely well fitting modular sci-fi arrowhead panels, this design echoed throughout the bike from the fender stays, through the well fitting side panels and frame covers to footrest brackets, swing arm , chain adjustors and rear caliper bracket, all bear the mark of thought and theme, excellent function with singular design. Mr Tanaka (who was shipped in from Mazda) to spearhead the design of the next generation of bikes apparently picked a spot in front of the front wheel and drew an imaginary line at a 30 degree angle or thereabouts and based the lines of the bike on this imaginary line to give it the appearance of movement whilst stationary. He’s succeeded.
The sharp and rapacious front end with bulbous tail. Orca-like black and silver. There is no mistaking the designer’s intent. This is a street fighter, meat eating muscle bike and Ti-fighter in one well equipped and power packed package
The seat is hard, it becomes bearable after a while but I would probably ask for a little more padding and lose the slight slope to it. It pushes you forward slightly pushing your knees into the tank, great for prolonged hooning but possibly arse ache after a few hundred miles. Remove it and there is a cavity underneath for a small stash of tightly wrapped waterproofs or similar.
The view however is fantastic, the binnacle is neat compact and unfussy. White faced rev counter dial with supporting digi enhancements by way of a clock, trip meter and large display speed readout, It shows me all I want to see in a nano glance allowing me to concentrate on the task ahead.
The rear seat is small and don’t think you could stow a bungee cord or packet of cigarettes underneath ‘cos you’d be wrong. It’s full up with components and pipes and wires etc, you might get a packet of Rizla’s in there but that’s about it.
Nice wide bars allow very slow speed control when simmering past reps slumped in queues of unmoving traffic and are great for levering into fast corners.
Braking is top notch, the twin wavy discs and mono block four pot calipers allow firm two finger breaking even at high speed. The six way adjustable lever is a nice touch, and with the fuel injected bike requiring no handlebar mounted choke lever or light switch, the bars are not cluttered with chunky switch gear.
The motor is fantastic for a road bike; the hours spent in R & D fuel mapping has produced an urgent turbine like delivery of pace with rapid acceleration. At legal town speeds its exertions barely register on the tightly spaced first sector of the rev counter
Sport‘s pilotes would argue that it‘s not as quick or as sharp as their choice, but this thing barely has a fairing and wide bars to tax ones neck muscles. Whilst it’s always nishe to have as much power as you can get, this bikes delivers from the road riding general populaces’ viewpoint a pukka ride with plenty of power that is usable and huge grintastic fun is the inevitable result.
The suspension has been criticised in the press. Whilst I believe that they are probably right, it didn’t detract from my riding pleasure. Sure it could be improved, but that’s what multi adjustable suspension is for - twiddling and tweaking. I am of the opinion that suspension set up is a black art and whilst I understand the fundamentals I leave it to the guys that I know, know!
All the advice received is grateful from pub critics to fellow riders, but let‘s be honest, the factory aren’t amateurs, they spend hours on testing and all that pre launch stuff, they employ experts in their fields and incredibly experienced test riders. The associated press are not to be ridiculed in their perception of the machines capabilities and flaws but equally none of us should decide a bikes fate without riding it.
The gearbox is slick and not heavy, the clutch action really fluid with a great feel, naturally this is a demonstrator so basically new, hence the drive train was quiet and slick also.
The pipes I hear you say what about the pipes. I have to admit I am undecided and they do form a largish part of the bikes looks. Whilst on one hand they fit the bikes design once again through their shape and form, (bearing in mind the Euro 3 stuff that all modern bikes have to comply with for cleaner air etc), they are in fact twin mufflers with the heat shield/protectors effectively splitting them in two (hence 4), again great design allied to necessary function.
They are however bulbous and I would no doubt linger long and hard over an Akrapovic or Muzzy system should I stumble across one at a show with a few bob in my pocket. It’s a tricky one to call I must confess.
Hoops are de rigeur sports bike size with the nice touch of polished rims. Rubber is provided by Dunlop and they stuck lovingly to the road.
My favourite stretch of road was maximised with my new toy, all mention of actual speed is really irrelevant, but it does rev very quickly and with a bit of muscle handles like you’d expect a modern bike to, with a little more time to get aquainted further…………
Haven’t managed to check out the headlights so I will assume they are good, most modern bikes are now well equipped and perfectly adequate, the tail light is an LED unit and as such clear and bright (as well as being flush fitted to the tail section) above that other adherence to the rules of type approval or whatever, the ugly rear light unit and number plate holder. Again it doesn’t look bad, it is again a compromise between necessity, function and form, but I think I’d visit the R & G stand after I’ve perused Mr. Akrapovic’s wares.
I have increased my carbon footprint this weekend burning fuel mainly for pleasure. The tank holds 13 quid’s worth after about ten miles of the last fuel cell winking at me, returning me approx 120 miles. I’ve drained three tanks. It was a blast!
I could have ridden perhaps a little more parsimoniously and reported a better fuel consumption figure I guess but hey it wasn’t raining for a change. I thought I’d enjoy myself.
If Darth Vader ever wants to ride a motorcycle George, get him on one of these mothers they definitely have the force. The earthbound and mere mortals like you and me should chat up their friendly neighbourhood Kawasaki dealer and badger them for a test ride, I warn you though you might end up wanting one alot!
Now about that ZX-10………………
All the spec and techie stuff can be gleaned from the Kawasaki website http://www.kawassaki.co.uk/.
The very nice people who supplied the bike can be found here www.alfsmotorcycles.co.uk
Check out over 3,500 reviews here
I have to be honest I have a penchant for Kawasaki’s, I always have. I’m not sure why but I have always been drawn to the Zeds.
I am fortunate enough to still own a ‘77 Z1000 A1 which though not a purists example, pretty tastefully modified I hope. It still encapsulates that classic design from the Z900A4 which was the direct predecessor to the seminal Z1000 thirty years ago.
Thirty years on and from the launch of the original model (which would have seen me in the first year of my secondary school at the time). Kawasaki have resurrected the theme (again, it has to be said).Progressing from the Zephyrs and ZRX via the now also classic Gpz900R range and the ZX9’s.
The modern day Z1000 is a symbiosis of sports bike and naked bike which has come about with the invention of the street fighter niche. The factories cleverly studying the market and started producing bikes that people want that they couldn’t get from the factory until a few years ago. Originally to thank, I am led to believe were the vanguard of sports bike owners who crashed and couldn’t repair. On go the handlebars and tattered fairings stripped off for the no/minimal fairing look but still benefiting from riding on the sports bike components.
Just the name Z1000 sounds like it’s gonna be good, and since the revived moniker has been in place, the bikes that served it have evolved into this cleverly designed efficient street attack vehicle.
I have been graced with this stealth bomber thanks to the largesse of some old colleagues, and for the opportunity I am truly grateful.
I have owned my Zed for twenty years now and always hanker to get it fit for duty year after year, but each time despite my understanding of it’s oily classic heart and what it can and cannot do in comparison to modern bikes, I am always somehow disappointed. Its design is timeless but sadly the performance isn’t. But what a great start for today’s model, what a lineage it has to trade on.
The ‘05 and ‘06 models looked good and went well, you could say less cluttered and with cleaner lines but this latest incarnation really does come right up to date and to the mark.
Seeing the’07 ‘Star Wars’ version in the window of the dealer I really really wanted to ride it!
First impressions. Mean, menacing, aggressive, very angular, insect-like with it’s extremely well fitting modular sci-fi arrowhead panels, this design echoed throughout the bike from the fender stays, through the well fitting side panels and frame covers to footrest brackets, swing arm , chain adjustors and rear caliper bracket, all bear the mark of thought and theme, excellent function with singular design. Mr Tanaka (who was shipped in from Mazda) to spearhead the design of the next generation of bikes apparently picked a spot in front of the front wheel and drew an imaginary line at a 30 degree angle or thereabouts and based the lines of the bike on this imaginary line to give it the appearance of movement whilst stationary. He’s succeeded.
The sharp and rapacious front end with bulbous tail. Orca-like black and silver. There is no mistaking the designer’s intent. This is a street fighter, meat eating muscle bike and Ti-fighter in one well equipped and power packed package
The seat is hard, it becomes bearable after a while but I would probably ask for a little more padding and lose the slight slope to it. It pushes you forward slightly pushing your knees into the tank, great for prolonged hooning but possibly arse ache after a few hundred miles. Remove it and there is a cavity underneath for a small stash of tightly wrapped waterproofs or similar.
The view however is fantastic, the binnacle is neat compact and unfussy. White faced rev counter dial with supporting digi enhancements by way of a clock, trip meter and large display speed readout, It shows me all I want to see in a nano glance allowing me to concentrate on the task ahead.
The rear seat is small and don’t think you could stow a bungee cord or packet of cigarettes underneath ‘cos you’d be wrong. It’s full up with components and pipes and wires etc, you might get a packet of Rizla’s in there but that’s about it.
Nice wide bars allow very slow speed control when simmering past reps slumped in queues of unmoving traffic and are great for levering into fast corners.
Braking is top notch, the twin wavy discs and mono block four pot calipers allow firm two finger breaking even at high speed. The six way adjustable lever is a nice touch, and with the fuel injected bike requiring no handlebar mounted choke lever or light switch, the bars are not cluttered with chunky switch gear.
The motor is fantastic for a road bike; the hours spent in R & D fuel mapping has produced an urgent turbine like delivery of pace with rapid acceleration. At legal town speeds its exertions barely register on the tightly spaced first sector of the rev counter
Sport‘s pilotes would argue that it‘s not as quick or as sharp as their choice, but this thing barely has a fairing and wide bars to tax ones neck muscles. Whilst it’s always nishe to have as much power as you can get, this bikes delivers from the road riding general populaces’ viewpoint a pukka ride with plenty of power that is usable and huge grintastic fun is the inevitable result.
The suspension has been criticised in the press. Whilst I believe that they are probably right, it didn’t detract from my riding pleasure. Sure it could be improved, but that’s what multi adjustable suspension is for - twiddling and tweaking. I am of the opinion that suspension set up is a black art and whilst I understand the fundamentals I leave it to the guys that I know, know!
All the advice received is grateful from pub critics to fellow riders, but let‘s be honest, the factory aren’t amateurs, they spend hours on testing and all that pre launch stuff, they employ experts in their fields and incredibly experienced test riders. The associated press are not to be ridiculed in their perception of the machines capabilities and flaws but equally none of us should decide a bikes fate without riding it.
The gearbox is slick and not heavy, the clutch action really fluid with a great feel, naturally this is a demonstrator so basically new, hence the drive train was quiet and slick also.
The pipes I hear you say what about the pipes. I have to admit I am undecided and they do form a largish part of the bikes looks. Whilst on one hand they fit the bikes design once again through their shape and form, (bearing in mind the Euro 3 stuff that all modern bikes have to comply with for cleaner air etc), they are in fact twin mufflers with the heat shield/protectors effectively splitting them in two (hence 4), again great design allied to necessary function.
They are however bulbous and I would no doubt linger long and hard over an Akrapovic or Muzzy system should I stumble across one at a show with a few bob in my pocket. It’s a tricky one to call I must confess.
Hoops are de rigeur sports bike size with the nice touch of polished rims. Rubber is provided by Dunlop and they stuck lovingly to the road.
My favourite stretch of road was maximised with my new toy, all mention of actual speed is really irrelevant, but it does rev very quickly and with a bit of muscle handles like you’d expect a modern bike to, with a little more time to get aquainted further…………
Haven’t managed to check out the headlights so I will assume they are good, most modern bikes are now well equipped and perfectly adequate, the tail light is an LED unit and as such clear and bright (as well as being flush fitted to the tail section) above that other adherence to the rules of type approval or whatever, the ugly rear light unit and number plate holder. Again it doesn’t look bad, it is again a compromise between necessity, function and form, but I think I’d visit the R & G stand after I’ve perused Mr. Akrapovic’s wares.
I have increased my carbon footprint this weekend burning fuel mainly for pleasure. The tank holds 13 quid’s worth after about ten miles of the last fuel cell winking at me, returning me approx 120 miles. I’ve drained three tanks. It was a blast!
I could have ridden perhaps a little more parsimoniously and reported a better fuel consumption figure I guess but hey it wasn’t raining for a change. I thought I’d enjoy myself.
If Darth Vader ever wants to ride a motorcycle George, get him on one of these mothers they definitely have the force. The earthbound and mere mortals like you and me should chat up their friendly neighbourhood Kawasaki dealer and badger them for a test ride, I warn you though you might end up wanting one alot!
Now about that ZX-10………………
All the spec and techie stuff can be gleaned from the Kawasaki website http://www.kawassaki.co.uk/.
The very nice people who supplied the bike can be found here www.alfsmotorcycles.co.uk
Check out over 3,500 reviews here
Write your own review and claim a free T-shirt from the mother site http://www.ukbike.com/
Doby Trutcenden - sideways through time 3.9.07
Doby Trutcenden - sideways through time 3.9.07
Tuesday 11 September 2007
Road trip - chapter 6 - sonic booming down the autoroute like thundergods
The Tl road train was in full flow. Nothing had the energy to challenge us, we ruled supreme, we were kings of the road laying down hot rubber and filling the air with noxious gasses, sonic booming down the autoroute like thunder gods. We had a mission to accomplish.
We stopped briefly in Kempton (I think) and soon we were across the southern German border heading for Innsbruck in Austria
We swept into Austria driving all before us in a three man motorcycle blitzkreig. There must have been some sort of weekend rally going on. As we progressed down the picturesque byway, because we came across throngs of bikers heading in our direction. There were trikes, chops and streetfighters all heading south. The only problem was that they were fannying about getting in our way, even the sports bike riders were taking it easy and were not up for it!
The twisty mountain roads, oncoming traffic and general dawdling of Johnny foreigner were slowing our progress to what seemed like walking pace, it was very frustrating. We had to keep moving at a pace alien to these bikers. They were obviously not professionals.
We were booming in low gear down the road, it was a little damp and we were heading steadily upward through the mountains. The road was open on both sides with no trees or hedges, we needed this extra vision because we were all surging past moving traffic, cutting back in etc just to get some progress on and to get to that open road again.
Phil was in the lead, slicing trough traffic with Ed and I following. I noticed a coach on the other side of the road ambling towards us. Phil pulled out at that moment from behind another car to overtake. No problem, he had the legs on the coach easy and there was plenty of room for a skinny bloke and a slim V-twin to traverse the middle of the road riding the white line.
What Phil hadn't noticed was a parked car on the coach side of the road. The coach instead of stopping or slowing down just veered into the middle of the road around the car approaching Phils intended airspace. Phil thankfully saw this moments before it actually happened and gunned the TL past his car whipping smartly in front of it.
I swear Phil was 2-3 inches away from having his head smashed in by the leading quarter of the dastardly coach, but he did make it around and carried on accellerating up the noe clear road. we followed a little more circumspectly. Phil shrugged it off later in the bar as obviously the actions of an amateur coach driver.
There seemed to be an increasing number of bikes about. I guess some of them were attending the GP though most were on trailies and customs/cruisers and seemed in no particular hurry. Sportsbikes appear to be a bit of a UK phenomonon, most of us UK bikers aspire towards this type of bike though not many of us embark on long distance high speed touring on them. All over the rest of europe it's trailies and tourers as the preferred mount. I guess they have got the european road network which is far superior to our bleak island roads. Any way each to their own, theyare on two wheels and enjoying themselves. Fair play I say.
We stopped briefly in Kempton (I think) and soon we were across the southern German border heading for Innsbruck in Austria
We swept into Austria driving all before us in a three man motorcycle blitzkreig. There must have been some sort of weekend rally going on. As we progressed down the picturesque byway, because we came across throngs of bikers heading in our direction. There were trikes, chops and streetfighters all heading south. The only problem was that they were fannying about getting in our way, even the sports bike riders were taking it easy and were not up for it!
The twisty mountain roads, oncoming traffic and general dawdling of Johnny foreigner were slowing our progress to what seemed like walking pace, it was very frustrating. We had to keep moving at a pace alien to these bikers. They were obviously not professionals.
We were booming in low gear down the road, it was a little damp and we were heading steadily upward through the mountains. The road was open on both sides with no trees or hedges, we needed this extra vision because we were all surging past moving traffic, cutting back in etc just to get some progress on and to get to that open road again.
Phil was in the lead, slicing trough traffic with Ed and I following. I noticed a coach on the other side of the road ambling towards us. Phil pulled out at that moment from behind another car to overtake. No problem, he had the legs on the coach easy and there was plenty of room for a skinny bloke and a slim V-twin to traverse the middle of the road riding the white line.
What Phil hadn't noticed was a parked car on the coach side of the road. The coach instead of stopping or slowing down just veered into the middle of the road around the car approaching Phils intended airspace. Phil thankfully saw this moments before it actually happened and gunned the TL past his car whipping smartly in front of it.
I swear Phil was 2-3 inches away from having his head smashed in by the leading quarter of the dastardly coach, but he did make it around and carried on accellerating up the noe clear road. we followed a little more circumspectly. Phil shrugged it off later in the bar as obviously the actions of an amateur coach driver.
There seemed to be an increasing number of bikes about. I guess some of them were attending the GP though most were on trailies and customs/cruisers and seemed in no particular hurry. Sportsbikes appear to be a bit of a UK phenomonon, most of us UK bikers aspire towards this type of bike though not many of us embark on long distance high speed touring on them. All over the rest of europe it's trailies and tourers as the preferred mount. I guess they have got the european road network which is far superior to our bleak island roads. Any way each to their own, theyare on two wheels and enjoying themselves. Fair play I say.
Thursday 6 September 2007
Chapter 5 - Power nap required
We stopped at the next gas station in the heart of Germany, fortunately beside the station there was a pull-in area for picnicers to eat their saurkraut sarnies. I found a bench, groaned and lay down. Merciful half sleep/half wakefulness took me to it's bosom for a whole half hour of powernap bliss. Phil said my eyes resembled those of a tortured pig (image from a tortured mind Phil), they were red, aching and quite possibly porcine.
It was 1.00pm when I grabbed that welcome kip, I had been awake for thirty hours and we were about halfway.
We were all done in, so, armed with my map of Germany we decided to call it a day when we reached the southern town of Ulm (about three hours further down the line). We'd grab a Novotel or similar and get in there within daylight hours, book a room and get a good night's kip before booming onward into Austria and out the other side on our way to Italy and Mugello. That meant passing through Saarbrucken, Karlsruhe and Stuttgart.
We made it to Ulm around four o clock, sussed out a hotel and room with three beds, peeled our kit off to change into civvies and then went to the bar for some large beers.
We ended up having more beers, somehow sleep had been delayed by the speedy effects you can get from large quantities of lager.
As darkness fell we wondered around the picturesque town with it's bizarre baroque cathedral (the architect must have been at the forefront of flying buttress and christmas cake design). It was black with pollution, tall and made a magnificent silhouette . We ate heartily in an Italian restaurant and then retired to our hotel room it was about 11.30. We had all been up for about 40 hours with about half an hours sleep each and were three and a half countries away from home. Not a bad days work!!
It was fitful slumber for me, my brain wouldn't shut down, but Eddie was well away snoring like a badger with a heavy cold. Phil had also flaked and didn't appear peturbed by the snuffling close by.
We didn't emerge until 8am, had a leisurely breakfast and wandered around ULm for an hour or so. It was a nice little town with distinctive German architecture. Still, we weren't there to pansy around looking at the scenery, it was time to hit the road, we had Austria and half of Italy to conquer before the day was out.
We quit Ulm quite late, about 10.00am, gassed up and headed back to the autobahn and onward to the town of Landau. Even at warp speeds the countryside got steadily more pleasing to the eye. There was a patch of country dotted with pine wooded drumlin type hills with a smattering of mini Schloss's or keeps atop some of them, little rounded turrets poking through the tops of the trees. The roads themselves were fantastic, fast flowing, shaded, wide and smooth it wasn't long before we were sonic booming into Austria.The sound of 3,000cc worth of V-twin exiting through race pipes, booming down the highway must have been quite frightening for the ordinary populace and other drivers, we were carving everything up in close formation at well over the ton.
It was 1.00pm when I grabbed that welcome kip, I had been awake for thirty hours and we were about halfway.
We were all done in, so, armed with my map of Germany we decided to call it a day when we reached the southern town of Ulm (about three hours further down the line). We'd grab a Novotel or similar and get in there within daylight hours, book a room and get a good night's kip before booming onward into Austria and out the other side on our way to Italy and Mugello. That meant passing through Saarbrucken, Karlsruhe and Stuttgart.
We made it to Ulm around four o clock, sussed out a hotel and room with three beds, peeled our kit off to change into civvies and then went to the bar for some large beers.
We ended up having more beers, somehow sleep had been delayed by the speedy effects you can get from large quantities of lager.
As darkness fell we wondered around the picturesque town with it's bizarre baroque cathedral (the architect must have been at the forefront of flying buttress and christmas cake design). It was black with pollution, tall and made a magnificent silhouette . We ate heartily in an Italian restaurant and then retired to our hotel room it was about 11.30. We had all been up for about 40 hours with about half an hours sleep each and were three and a half countries away from home. Not a bad days work!!
It was fitful slumber for me, my brain wouldn't shut down, but Eddie was well away snoring like a badger with a heavy cold. Phil had also flaked and didn't appear peturbed by the snuffling close by.
We didn't emerge until 8am, had a leisurely breakfast and wandered around ULm for an hour or so. It was a nice little town with distinctive German architecture. Still, we weren't there to pansy around looking at the scenery, it was time to hit the road, we had Austria and half of Italy to conquer before the day was out.
We quit Ulm quite late, about 10.00am, gassed up and headed back to the autobahn and onward to the town of Landau. Even at warp speeds the countryside got steadily more pleasing to the eye. There was a patch of country dotted with pine wooded drumlin type hills with a smattering of mini Schloss's or keeps atop some of them, little rounded turrets poking through the tops of the trees. The roads themselves were fantastic, fast flowing, shaded, wide and smooth it wasn't long before we were sonic booming into Austria.The sound of 3,000cc worth of V-twin exiting through race pipes, booming down the highway must have been quite frightening for the ordinary populace and other drivers, we were carving everything up in close formation at well over the ton.
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