UKBiker

Not Fair on Erik

2009-10-26T13:21:00.000-07:00

'and another one gone, another one gone, another one bites the dust'

No more Corsaro's and now no more Buells, the only Harleys that seems really fullfilling and that have a little more kick and more importantly a grin factor, a shame to hear though I have yet to hear what the plans for MV are, I suppose you could argue that an MV is more desirable bike across the board. They're just a shit load of money.

I only had one real ride of a Buell but I have to say I loved it, quirkiness an' all. The roadtest is somewher in this blog's back archive thing.

Motorcycles aside,
I picked up a copy of New Model Army's new album, 'Today is a good day'. What a corker! I thoght 'High' would be really hard to beat as I judged it probably the best since Thunder & Consolation, but this new one is absolutely awesome.

They don't really break too much new ground, but they just get better and better at what they do do.

Lyrics I wish I could have written, passion, fire, and an absolutely awesome band keeping the Sullivan ship coursing ahead.

They have to be for me the archetypal proper English band ever, fuck the Beatles and the Stones, nod and a tip of the hat to Zeppelin and the Who,They are not still producing but this lot are.
Brilliant album, go buy and listen!!!

Lament for Morini

2009-10-07T12:18:00.000-07:00

I read today in the trade press the merest snippets of information regarding the future of Moto Morini. Creators of the fang tasticherissimo 1200 Corsaro Veloce.

It would appear that despite selling 15% more machines in the year to date (more than the entirity of 2008 year), they cannot and have not made ends meet.
If any bike needed an airing to a wider audience, this was one of them, superb motor and great styling. A real fucking header of a bike, glad I rode one before they were no more.

KTM manufacturers of my equal first most desirable road bike to a penurious pocket and puddle sized eyes of desire have also slipped by 40% in brand sales. That is a fuck of a lot of toasters to sell to make up the difference.

Mr. KTM I will personally sing the praises of an Orange meanie throughout the land if you wanna give me one. Hell they aren't any good sitting in the factory gathering dust and spider's eggs!!

Talking of orange the sodium lamp opposite my garret window sheds flaming drips of rain, whilst the blue lights of Der Polizei, flash down the hill chasing some itinerant drunk who appears to be waving a fire extinguisher about.
I can almost hear his last gleeful cackle into the rainy sky before the batons rain down quick sobriety and enforced penitence, the blue lights blinding him. Could be a her I suppose?

It's a million laughs a night here in Mega City One, Home of the homeless, denizen of the desolate, The lost and lonely ones, the crazed and foolish, deceivers, believers, the vain, the mad, the sick and the craven.

Oh yes my friends in Etherworld, hear my laughter.

Another sleepless night

2009-10-05T12:44:00.000-07:00

I'd almost forgotten that I had a blog. There certainly hasn't been much motorcycle action of late, well the last year really. Dark circumstance has overtaken my waking hours, no bikes to speak of just sedentary desolation.

I've always scribbled on a reasonably regular basis, mainly about bikes, mainly because they have been a constant throughout my working life.

When I had no bikes and the dredds gripped my soul and squeezed my heart, only wine, the keyboard and a whimsical semi autobiographical tale about a sentient statue I have been constructing in my head kept me alive.
I vowed to vanity publish this collection of vignettes one day. I've written fifteen, this will form the basis of the next one. It's incomplete as I have not yet weaved in the Statue or in fact much of it into the story/plot.

Friends are kind, they tell me my writing is good. (I have my doubts)but as I haven't put anything on this for practically a year, I thought I'd create some space and then fill it up with some dark vision or two.

I'm desperate to finish but can't concentrate at the moment, been looking for a filip for months to kick start the next page or two. This could be it. Amazing what pictures worry, anxiety, bitterness and loss can do for the mind.

It was just a dream, ('cept it was a powerful one.)

Psycoanalysts requiring patients sign up here. What does it all mean..... crumbs!!!!

Goths, EMO's and lost children of the night read on.

A dream whilst enduring another sleepless night.

Pushing through dense woodland, tightly packed, akin to mangrove. Broad trunked and saplings alike forming a formidable barrier to progress. It’s not that the progress is hard , though it isn’t effortless either, it’s just that progress is slow.

I can’t remember entering the woodland mangrove forest. It’s remarkable by its clean monochromatic aspect, all greys and blacks and silvers and smoke, no other colours to bleed chaos into the symmetry of shades in evidence before me.
I don’t know how long I have been walking. It could be days. I’m not tired or hungry, I am not apprehensive, I am just pushing steadily through the dense wood, Where to I don’t know. I rack my brains.

When I look up I see the leaveless upper boughs poking into the metallic graphite sky, all black, all crooked, skeletal. Should I see meaning in this?

I see the shadow of the great black bird. It shimmers fast but purposefully across a screen of trees ahead. I wonder how I have seen this, the trees are so tightly packed. Nevertheless I did see it and I saw it clearly.

I look up through the bony screen of upper boughs again. Those accusatory fingers, some pointing some imploring to the graphite sky. The smooth, unblemished, airbrushed sky, almost lit from behind in the absence of perhaps a chrome sun or silvern moonlight.

My only view of the sky is a narrow circle above and slightly to the front of me, I see no great black bird wheeling around. I look down and see the shadow once more.
I push forward again curious, should I follow the smoky silhouette as it shimmers in black against the black trees ahead?

Where to giant Corbett? Illusory Albatross?

There is no wind, not a breath, no leaves to sussurate. No wind, that cannot be! The wind is always somewhere.
There is no sound, not a twig cracked underfoot no protestation from the trees as I pass through. I can only hear myself breathing from inside, the tree’s are absorbing sound.
I and the shadow are alone

The only sign of life are the trees (I can’t tell if they are dead or alive, I surmise that they are dead as there is no foliage or fall from them).
The trees could be stone, smooth stone.
How could I push past stone? How could I push through a wood as dense as this with no snags, no briars. They cannot be stone. They are however ageless, they’ve always been like this, this place has always been here. How did I get here? Still following the Raven.

How much time has passed? I don’t recall. No sunset, no sunrise, no variation of temperature, still no wind, still walking, pushing through the mangrove.

I have no shadow, the bird has flown on ahead or dissipated between the trees.
Still walking with only the space inside to think. No real room outside of me.
Just me, the trees and the sky now. Still walking, wandering, wondering.

DT 30/09/09

Bollox to this!!

2009-01-05T13:10:00.000-08:00

Today it snowed, tomorrow it will be icy, for the rest of the week my fingers will seize from the ill remembered and ill suffered mild frostbite received at the hands of Jack Frost some years ago.

I remember the occasion of diagnosis well. I had for weeks been commuting 100 miles or so daily in the depths of the worst case fimbal winter for years on my GPZ900R (equipped with titanium belly pan slider for the daily Pevensey Roundabout heroics, and a pipe that used to set of car alarms if I cogged it down a few in a closed street environment (chortle)).
Each day I turned up at work furiously massaging my fingers into some semblance of useful digitry other than the reddened claws of a skin raped freak, the bike shop I worked in had no heating, so consequently the aforementioned claws remained cold all day and then I rode home.

I'm too much of a tough geezer to stop and pansy around trying to sear some heat from the sonorous and mighty R's 4-1 through my completely uselss (however hideously expensive, non waterproof- despite the myriad of swing tags that had attracted them to me in the first place, pieces of shit that passed as top of the range winter gloves)so consequently, by the time I had quick changed clutchlessly and kept as much momentum in the highest gear possible and returned home the aforementioned skin on the claws felt like it was peeling with intense cold heat.

Naturally I plunged them into the nearest warm thing I could find, usually a bowl of washing up water as a grim second to my then girlfriends cleavage which worked once but the skin on one side of my face also nearly peeled away at the harsh slap it received and was never an option a second time.

I digress, after a few weeks of this appalling scenario, my hands eventually puffed up into sausage like proportions. (Those who know me laugh now ((as you did then you swine)), but I can tell you it was rough), I literally couldn't bend my fingers or grip much at all.

I made an appointment to see the doc, who gingerly poked the grimy and reddened digits even himself likening them to sausages (the sarky b'stard)He asked me what I did for a living and the sorry tale of frost and fear and loathing on the Worthing trail was duly related (thanx Hunter you were a friggin' genius).
He immediately came up with a diagnosis and cure, the diagnosis was that some pipes or capilliries or summat had burst and the fluid usually contained therein had seeped out and swollen my fingers to epic porkinson proportions, (I briefly teased dogs with them), he said I have a perfect cure....... 'Buy yourself a car, don't worry they'll go down gradually but you'll probably notice the damage done in the future if it gets really cold and you don't wrap them up'.

I was ready to stab the fuckers with a scalpel/pencil/penknife, safety pin to relieve the pressure they hurt that much and were a very odd hue of bruised purple and livid cerise but he advised against it.

I eventually bought a right old crapheap Fiat 127 so that I could remain warm over the winter months.
Ironically the heater didn't work and it was dubbed The Fridge' by all of my winter passengers.

Because of Xmas and the the sundry requirements of grinning nicely in all the right places to all the right people, the kids off school and a wallet barer than a hibernating hedgehog's stomach, the Z1R has kinda taken a back seat for a while.

The rear wheel has been reduced to stained and definitely unvirginal bare aluminium finish by way of extensive Nitromors attacks and patient wire brushing.
It is actually ready to etch prime and paint but I need gainful employment to proceed, plus a warm environment in which to spray in, (the house is out of bounds despite breaking up the furniture to fuel the fire and the assorted rags wrapped around our miserable limbs for pitiful warmth don't help nozzle control also).

However as I think I previously mentioned, Yuasa company furnished some power through the loom and the all the lights work and the motor turns over. Which is very very nishe!
I have in my possession some fine pattern Hi-Flo oil filters which will be bunged into the sump, subject to removing the crusty pipes and not rounding the ancient sump plug and breaking fingers in the resultant slippage or gush of filthy fluid passing itself off as oil, though by now it must have reverted to it's original state of crude (just my luck barely 45 dollars a barrel, hardly enough to retire on, 'another kick in the bollocks Sir' leers an obsequious and oleaginous type voice from the ether or is that the inside of my head? No matter, Onward.

I did notice that the clutch doesn't actually work, though the gearbox does, due to the fact that its a half cable, half hydraulic affair which appears to have seized. Whatever possesed the the designers of Kawasaki Heavy Industries to pioneer this dreadful half bastard mongrel lash up is beyond mere mortal thoughts nearly thirty years hence. Hopefully if I can get the cockpit fairing off and remove the clutch master cylinder assembly, wire, and lever assembly and replace it Bob is truly all of our uncles and will desrve his place in Zed heaven.
If not then I'll be compelled to swear like a Sicilian and endeavour to embed my spanners into the side of the cinderblock garage wall and then sigh resignedly and have to take the clutch basket plates etc to task which is not a job I relish.
Still it's just time and a few bob, all of which I haven't got at present as I roam The Net and the styrofam littered streets of somebody elses drunken midnight kebabbery looking for discarded local papers that haven't been snapped up by the homeless hegemony for a worthy job for a man of my illustrious talents, all of which can be counted on the fingers of one hand no doubt.

But consider the girth and experience in those fingers my friends,dutch dyke owners fearful of When the levee breaks' (apologies had tosqueeze a rock n roll mention in somewhere, ladies........

Oh by the way anybody read 'When giants walked the Earth' by Mick Wall, (Biog of Zeppelin)?
On the book front I can heartily reccommend Iain M Banks's latest Culture novel 'Matter', am suprised at the actual humanity of Baron Von Richtofen (having read his autobiography >1917 recently)ploughed through a 700 page anthology of sci fi writers which was rather average other than a story entitled 'Mother Aegypt' which was fantastic and written by Kage Baker, and just started The John Peel biog 'Margrave of the Marshes' which is shaping up rather well.Tried reading an Irvin Yalom book entitled 'Loves Executionor and Other Tales of Psychtherapy, apparentley it may help me become a better person, I fear that it was quite tedious and discarded it after a number of cases were digested. I am to remain obviously a hopeless wreck of a man with no social graces or esteem in the world from any of my contempories or peers. Sobeit!!!

Shalom (contempory but far from the truth of the matter I fear)
or if you prefer....
Peace love, fast motorcycles, good reading matter, proper brown beer or Bordeaux red if you prefer a more subtle poison, watch out for the sharks etc, hope 2009 is good for you.

Note to self must raid Master Polnuds extensive library next time I see the bloke.

Bleeding knuckles and recalcitrant bolts, Not enough to stop me - I have and shall continue to prevail

2008-11-30T10:32:00.000-08:00

The Zed Diaries.

Picture from the gloom and dank cavern of the garage.

Now safetly ensconced in the garage, time to take a proper look, in the cold grey steel of a winter's day. Firstly the tank has to be removed this should reveal whether the main part of the loom has melted from some arcane self destruct-ism in a fit of pique only usually reserved for the old and failing or desperately suicidal euthansior.

Have I bought a right old dog? Thank the Gods, it would appear that I am saved severe electrical stress, loom looks wholesome, unbutchered and with a drop of GT-85 even the weathered shrinkfilm passes for a glossy black.

0

I had to sever the petrol feed pipe as it was harder than Lemmy's veins and the fuel tap was not in a playful mood, so it got a damn good squirt of the ubiquitous GT-85,the underside of the tank is clean and I have the misssing tank decal in proper 3D faux plastic, in fact in those days they were bold plaques of chrome and black as if stating their intent of heavy metal and speed, not like today's computer generated micro gsm vinyl laquered, to pare down weight and to remain understated, not like their proud Nastilini forbears who sought the sunlight to blink and bedazzle onlookers rapt and amazed at the day's musclebike. (which if you consider the lumpy old brit thumpers and spindly two strokes of the day, they were in deed heavy metal heroes in the making.

Seat next, The pan is in one piece and clean but stuffing is worse than a beggars palliase and will need restuffing with something better than Japanese straw. No airbox on this baby as the previous owner obviously got carried away with the latest go faster fad of K&N's (debatable whether they are the quality US items, probably the cheaper S&B variety. The battery was dead so that's gone in the bin, but all the connections seemed perfectly servicable.

A quick rummage through some bits and pieces I have stashed about the garage revealed a Z1000A1 rear light unit which matches exactly the R, so on went the lens, a perfect fit.

Whilst waiting for a battery to check the Zeds vital signs, I must have a plan.
Battery to check all is well, and then to see if the motor turns over. If it does then drain the black custard out of it's guts, replace the filter, bung some clean but cheap oil back in for the time being and turn over to circulate the clean stuff around the lump. If all this goes to plan then I might try just feeding some juice straight into the carbs to see if it will actually run or whether the carbs will need stripping and cleaning (most likely)but you never know, under the suface crust of filth and neglegt their does actually lie a few clean surfaces. I'd like to be suprised.

Anyway haven't got all that yert, so in the meantime, I thought I'd disconnect the drive chain (horseshoe clip thankfully) and take the wheel out. The adjusters need some rubbing down and coating once clean with ACF and I need to check the wheel bearings and cush drive as well as freeing up the rear caliper for a probable strip, and rebuild, (had to get the heavy mallet out to knock it off the disc).

Remarkably the spindle showed evidence of fresh grease, the bearings were fine, the cush drive looked like new and despite the rear sprocket looking crudful and shitty it was square toothed and would only need a scrub up and would be entirely re-usable.

The Rear wheel is blooming with ally canker and bubbling non standard gold paint which means that whoever sprayed them several millenia ago didn't etch prime them, so easy job to scrape the old paint off, ready for possible bead blasting (depends how bored and wealthy I feel)etch priming and spraying a lustrous satin black with picked out edges to the spokes and rims in shiny ally.

Well that's the plan anyway, next post should be fitting a shiny new Yuasa YB14LA-2(handy as thats exactly what the A1 needs to get it running again, so they'll have to share) and seeing if the thing spins up, assuming the leccy boot hasn't rotted away at the controls, the switchgear look a bit rank and needs investigating and there is no sign of the spare (make that redundant - in '78 kickstart arm under the seat - missing, the march of technology eh, what a wonderful, awe inspiring thing to behold the revolutions played out before us in metals and alloys mostly unnoticed every day, only truly realised with hindsight and affection).

Well that's it 'till the battery is strapped in and ready to jolt the Frankenstein into life once again.

Z1R

2008-11-21T15:30:00.000-08:00

The last two months have been hideous, jaded, disconsolate and isolated, morose, desperate and full of shite. However once you have hit the bottom there is only one way and that is up.

Just purchased a Z1R '77 in desperate need of some TLC, by repute it featured in the first Mad Max film and despite the lack of provenance it is a very early frame number and registered in the UK in November '77, which lends credence to the story as the Z1R D model didn't appear over here until '78. Was going to turn it around quickly but now I think I'll take it apart and clean it up , see if I can get the old girl running and looking like she should.
Could take a little while and a few quid needs to be bunged in it's general direction, but been ages since I had a project to work on, boring stuff seems to have got in the way over the years, so time to polish the spanners, dig out the ancient Zed manual and get fettling, might even post a few pics soon. I like them cheap and dirty, allows me to stamp my own authority and care on them. Last one I did properly was a KH250 and a Z650. Looking forward to taking it apart and wielding the spanners and oily rags.

Thanks to the raving punkster (former owner) for letting me in on it. Come on you splodges, make that two pints of lager and a packet of crisps please, the circle has turned and the three Oaks boys have all owned the same piece of history now.

First things first, get the old thing belching some flame and smoke before polishing up and replacing the other vitals. I reckon, the wheels need re-spraying, the block needs respraying, the front fairing needs repairing, new handlebars, rear fender, front fender, control cables and a few hundred litres of GT85 should do the trick, plus an exhaust system and a new forkleg, hey presto, a pretty mint Z1R, registered '77 and with an interesting history and a very early frame number.

Condalini where are you now? Where are you when I need you? Bubba ring up Zed power and get me the vitals, this baby is not dead yet!

Talking about people or things that are not dead yet, went to see Motorhead last week, is Lemmy still breathing or has his record company filled his veins full of mercury and propped him up with some robotic fingers and glaring warts? Motorhead England? I think not, Lemmy is Welsh as far as I'm aware, and the other two are septics. Thank fuck for Wurzel making an appearance for The Ace of Spades, the coke and alcohol abuse hasn't killed him yet.
New album Motorizer, not bad, bit formulaic, no suprises really, but 'Rock out' has some amusing lyrical passages.

I digress, the glass is empty and a wild keening is in the air, more wine required from the Devils cellar.............

Brightona 2008 - The sun shines on the blessed

2008-10-14T05:22:00.001-07:00

After the hideous summer we've all had, any organizer of outside events must have been cacking it, especially events later in the year. One of which was The Brighton based 'Brightona' motorcycle extravaganza.

What a glorious day, the organizers must have cackled with glee after the fog cleared about 10.00 from the surrounding countryside.

I arrived at around 8.30 forcing my way through the murk from Hastings, I didn't have a great deal to do, just hang out with the low riders really and help artist pal Portisart set up his easels to display the one off oil paintings he had bought along.

I watched the bikes come in for over four hours solid, from scooters to huge trikes to custom specials, classics etc, it is fair to say it was a celebration of all things motorcycle. The Dyno sounded like it was busy all day, the hot rod display was a useful foil to the plethora of bikes. The three music stages rocked out, the custom tent was full to capacity all day and if the stallholders didn't do brisk business they were doing something wrong.

I will be getting a few facts n figures from the organizers next week, but a conservative estimate was that 4,000+ bikes came through the gates with an estimation of 10,000 people/bikers in total. It makes you wonder where they all come from.

Wherever you came from the organizers are hugely grateful, because we all helped raise enough money (fingers crossed) to buy yet another piece of vital equipment for the Sussex Heart Trust, this years equipment is gonna cost circa £30,000 so if they make their target, it'll be down to all of you who attended.

Heres a few pix of the day, more to follow along with a proper report when I've got five minutes.

2008-09-22T05:55:00.000-07:00

Well, It's been quite a week, the murky waters of the credit crunch have lapped at my own shore, rendering yours truly a victim of the bottom line.

My time as Channel Manager at UKBike has ended, it's been a great learning experience, a pretty good company to work for, great for riding bikes and made me a few more good friends, as well as remembering about all that office politics stuff again, presumptuous and naive I suppose to have assumed that it would have changed after such a hiatus in similar occupations.

Any way the bike....

The Harley XR has been returned and finally with a bit more time on my hands the ZX9-R will be polished to within an inch of its life, the mighty Zed Thou will be treated to a long awaited birthday, (poor thing hasn't run for two years, last time I looked at it, there was a disused nut store in the well by the starter motor beneath the carbs).

The last year has been kind to me in many ways with reference to riding bikes, not may people get to ride a 1098R, Fatboy, ZX-10R, ZZR1400, ZX6R, Z1000, CBR1000, Buell Lightning and that fabulouus black Nastilini the Morini 1200 Corsaro Veloce in the course of a year.

I managed to drop the last one, the XR1200 on the penultimate day before return.
They are not the most svelte of motorcycles, though this was a proper Harley sportsbike, the like of which has never beenn since that filthy porker the VR100O, in fact it was deemed such an important bike as to be specifically launched in Europe.

Its 90hp (still not as much as a Buell) which begs the question, why? Especially as Buell is a wholly owned subsidiary of H-D. It doesn't feel as balanced as the Buell, and other than its pseudo XR750 flattracker values is not much different to the rest of the range.

For sure its got twin front discs, a higher ground clearance, UD forks and sportier rubbered wider wheels but the back end is 70's design style at its worst, I feel sure more could have been done with this, the side panels are black and look cheap.

On the open road it's great to bomb about on, but I could not give this bike a Sporty tag, knowing what else is out there in Bike world, at low speed it's jerky, when it rained, my gloves fouled the mirrors and the front end did not feel that positive, at one point it felt like I had a puncture, maybe thats the nature of the suspension at low speed as it isn't adjustable in any way, it's not too bad at higher speeds.

Anyway, lacky feely brakes, gravel road lost foot purchase resulted in a tumble at about 7mph or something equally as rediculous.

The damage was a scuffed muffler a mere 480 odd quid (someones having a laugh) the exhaust lower heat shield about 35 quid, and minimal grazing of front brake M Cyl, mirror, indicator lens and the rear brake lever and possibly slightly untoward handlebars if they wanted to get picky, all in all about £700 quid.

I wanted to like it, it looks great in the press launch pics, it is a serious departure for Harley, so fair play to them on that score, but the ground clearance is still poor, the hero blobs were scuffed which was not a result of my cack handed low speed riding style.

Marks out of ten --4, its not an authentic copy, however modernised, of the XR750 it hasn't got enough grunt and it's not very refined, if it's a sporting Harley you want, then it's got to be a Buell I reckon.

Sporty Harley that's not a 'Sportster'

2008-09-09T02:28:00.000-07:00

Next up for your delectation avid readers of the UKBiker blog is one of these new, launched in Europe prior to the states the XR1200.

Looking forward to testing the ground clearance (always an issue)and feeling my way around the 90hp claimed power.

Looks alright, but not sure what the point is when Buell a H-D owned subsidiary use Harley engines and produce slightly more power (excepting the 1125R of course).

Proof is in the pudding etc.

Looking forward to it though, always good to sling a leg over a brand new bike I've never ridden before

Brightona Bike fest

2008-09-03T01:21:00.000-07:00

Make a note in your diaries for The Brightona Bike festival Sunday 12th October.
Madeira Drive Brighton.

Eddie Kidd special guest signing autographs, stalls, bands all day - three stages, custom show, hot rods, food, dyno, loads of bike parking space and loads more going on, entrance on foot is still free (though donations are welcome) and a fiver per bike (not per rider)to get into the event (that includes a pillion if you bring one).

All welcome, bikers, trikers, scooters, rock n rollers, hot rod fans, family's.

Custom show entries and stall holder enquiries welcome

The organizers are hoping to raise over £20,000 again this year, so come along and support the south coast's leading bike event.

Who says bikers have a bad name?

All profits donated to The Sussex Heart Trust

If you need more info check the gallery pages on the main UKBike site where you will find links to the organizers and archive pictures.

Sponsors of the event include

UKBike -
http://www.ukbike.com/Brightona/GalleryIntro.aspx
http://www.billet.co.uk
http://www.811studio.co.uk
http://www.portisart.com
http://www.concorde2.co.uk

(for some reason the link tool isn't working, so you'll have to copy and paste into your browser or hit the back button if you've got here via UKBike.

Moto Morini 1200 Corsaro Veloce

2008-08-26T02:43:00.000-07:00

Well version one is the previous post, but you might see the following version published in print shortly. If not then nevermind, but so it gets a fair airing here's the second version, a bit more visceral perhaps.

The main reason being. I like to have a bit of criticism, constructive naturally. The consensus of opinion at UKBike where most of the material is placed is that other than being a windbag who tends to go on and on, the quality of writing is good its just bring presentation issues.

Most people it would seem (online anyway) appear to have a very short and finite attention span, and whilst theuy might happily read a bike review in for instance Bike magazine that is 2,000 words long, online they won't. (Quite what the difference is I don't know if the copy is the same)so attempting to be a little less prosaic than usual I penned the first piece to be a bit more informative and structured it with sub headers etc so that it was easier to navigate between sections without trawling through the whole piece to find out the relevant information required.

I always send the finished article to a few alternative places, one of them being the Riders Digest magazine, who are a great bunch of people and down to earth with it as well, not parading themselves as egotistical big shots, which unfortunately (in my opinion) a number of UK magazine journalists tend to do. Anyway, the editor there gave me the completely different opinion, preferring the more prosaic and visceral road trip style of review. So that meant another bottle of wine and here it is. If you've read the first one, skip to para 6 and read on. It's all true (honest, Its just that I didn't include it in the first one because thats what I thought was required, and I didn't want to go on at length. which I appear to be doing here so read on mes braves......

2008 Moto Morini 1200 Corsaro Veloce

Predatory and purposeful in its look and build the new Moto Morini 1200 Corsaro 1200 veloce (in effect the SP version of the existing Corsaro) is a street fighter to be reckoned with. Equipped with all the attributes and necessary equipment to make it a bike you don’t really want to get off.

The newly revived still wholly family owned factory at Marabese in Italy has drawn on its heritage and produced a thoroughly modern V- twin motorcycle that is such a grin to ride it’s almost painful.

The Corsaro is the fifth Model in a small but perfectly formed factory line up which after investment started producing motorcycles again in 2005.

A quick straw poll of bikers I came into contact with over the Corsaro weekend either hadn’t heard of Moto Morini at all, or, only remembered the seemingly legendary 3-half sport and that was the extent of their knowledge. A case of out of sight out of mind.
Unlike Triumph for instance that is enjoying a remarkable renaissance, Moto |Morini only ever made its mark in the minds of the few and though still lovingly remembered by the cognoscenti, their numbers are dwindling and the modern motorcycle audience has grown up without the brand presence over the last 20 odd years

It didn’t stop all and sundry admiring the revival though , in fact whilst at a rather large auto jumble that weekend it drew a sizeable audience, attracted no doubt by the purposeful profile but probably more by the exhaust note produced by the under seat mufflers.
3X motorcycles who had supplied the bike thoughtfully equipped their demonstrator with un baffled Termignoni’s and the accompanying dedicated ECU produced a ‘well proper’ motorcycle noise.
This played a large part in my affection for the machine over the weekend, popping and blarting sound across the Romney Marsh area of the Kent countryside.
It wasn’t intrusive (to me anyway), and it really enhanced the delivery from the 1200cc V-twin motor.
If I was looking for a street fighter with bags of character I could easily be cajoled into purchasing this black devil of a motorcycle.

The standard items on the standard Corsaro are fat organ pipes of quiet harmony conforming to the usual euro nonsense and aesthetically in the eye of this beholder detracted from the overall profile.
The Veloce at £9,900 new would have to be worth digging a little deeper into the bank managers pocket to gain these performance pipes, not to mention a fine Ohlins rear suspension unit, which replaces the standard Sachs unit, slipper clutch, and Brembo brakes allied to a radial clutch master cylinder .

Obviously all this branded stuff is not worth a jot if you’ve got a flat and lifeless motor farting away beneath you. Returning from 3X motorcycles down the A27 is not much of a test either. Other than keeping a steady pace all the while from Bournemouth to Chichester weaving in and out of bloody traffic jams it was no test at all, any bike labelled 1200cc could do it No, the true test was through the twisties and some unpopulated A roads

Weaving an artful web of semi lies and thin deceit, ’It’s work dear’ I exited the house Saturday afternoon leaving miserable DIY duties to sink a few brown beers and watch a local rock outfit power chord their senses away across the border in East Kent at the invite of a very good friend who was helping to organize the Ham Street Auto jumble on Sunday, he thought I might like to ‘network’ which was the perfect excuse to spank the Morini to Rye via the landgate in Winchelsea, (loosened a bit of mouldering mortar in a momentary down shift blip frenzy).

I was starting to enjoy the feel of Franco Lambertini’s Bialbera Corsacorta engine, not sure what the hell it exactly means other than ex-Ferrari man Franco Lambertini who has been responsible for most of the lumps for Morini. Apparently he took his inspiration from a ‘famous’ serial race winning 250cc machine way back before I were a lad. (Please address all letters decrying my ignorance to the esteemed Mr. Gurman for the next issue, whereupon I can weakly protestate my innocence due to an inevitably breached word count and a computer that’s absolutely feckin’ rubbish when it comes to connecting to the net, attention spans and all that, or possibly to quote Rodney Stewart, I could ‘blame it on the wine.’

Any way, Pill Box corner despatched, liking it a lot by now, loosened a few window panes ‘blarting’ through Rye and then onto the Camber rode, seven o clock and mercifully empty roads, completely uncalled for wheelie over the little Rother Bridge, Nice! Liking it even more, the chassis and front Marzocchi’s took the ham fisted landing in their stride with hardly a murmur or gut wrenching twist of the bars to speak of, same for the unkempt surface and railway crossing at East Guldeford, God be praised this was fast becoming the largest grin in Christendom.

I barely noticed the new wind farm being built out on the marsh road between East Guldeford and Brenzett, concentrating on the almost laser sharp pin point accuracy of the steering, the wide bars should have a crosshair sight mounted on them, seriously I found it that good, to be honest everything else other than the pummelling sound of the Termi’s and the fixed concentration on the next bend, scrutinizing the surface ahead was extraneous’
Anybody who knows that road will know about the corner just outside the Woolpack Inn just before the Phillipino village (in fact not even sure if the Phillipino village still exists, concentrating on stringing the two corners together before the long nearly mile straight).

I have to confess I approached Woolpack corner about Forty miles an hour quicker than I should, It was an ‘Oh shit’ moment, this is where the labelling and nomenclature comes into its own and you realise why such a bike has such a price, because I stamped through the firm and precise gearbox rapidly but methodically whilst applying the brakes, It’s moments like this when you realise what an idiot you’ve been and the apex is mere picoseconds away. (Images of myself vainly trying to the explain hideous and engraven facts of destruction and reckless hooliganism ran past my head like a dying person’s broadcast to themselves), but no, luck and superb engineering once more saved my face, I had to let the clutch out (sixth to second very rapidly) or spear myself and the black devil across the road into an unforgiving looking five bar gate. (I know its unforgiving because a pal on a 2 day old Fireblade did exactly that years before. It was a bloody mess I can tell you), let the brakes off and tipped it in, stuck my knee out like |I knew what I was doing and Witham style put as much weight over the front as possible.
The slipper clutch shrugged off the manic stamping and frenzied clutch action with almost a nonchalant shrug, ‘It is my job you see, you stupid Engleesh pig’ The Brembos and massive 320mm discs did all the work before I had to let go and hope for the best.
Next thing I know I’m short shifting into third and rolling round the Phillipino village corner and out home free onto the Brenzett straight.

Oh yes my friends Marabese be praised! Franco you are the man!!

My mate wasn’t at the auto jumble, there was no sign of beer or rock band, so on the old blower to be greeted with ‘be there in half an hour.’
Well, to be honest after the ride I’d just had, I wasn’t going to wait half an hour smoking roll ups and wishing I was still on the road, so I buggered off for an hour out through the back lanes of Ham Street, Warehorne and Kingsnorth to a mate in nearby Woodchurch, said hi, gulped a cup of tea, felt guilty for not really hanging around and jumped back on the bike, (apparently waking the baby up), then back again to the Auto Jumble to greet Mr. Polnud.

Yes. I’m weak, I was following the buzz, I couldn’t hang around. I felt like a teenage alcoholic who hadn’t had their cider fix for ten minutes Half an hour later I was back in the saddle doing it all over again, the only difference being the darkness (the lights are rubbish by the way Franco) the silence of the night acting like an echo chamber to the bombastic Termignoni’s and the spattering of multitudinous bodies on my visor.

Nipped out again on Sunday with riding pal and fellow UKBike member ‘The Coghurst Boy’ who remarked on the lack of illumination from the sculpted rear lens, querying an intermittent fault. (He should have seen me yesterday, spattering desperate red light all over the Woolpack).

Following on his beautiful KTM Supermotard it was noticeable how little I used the brakes apparently. We swapped bikes in order to gain a comparison, when we stopped roughly twenty miles down the route, he knew why.
His KTM felt soft and almost sports toury compared with the taut and sharp ride of the devil black Nastilini.
I pointed out the 320mm double discs, not your almost de rigueur mono block sports bike oriented calipers but standard four pot Brembo units, (mustn’t grumble) The skinny brake lines (probably Kevlar reinforced- couldn’t find the actual spec) probably helped.

The KTM had measured up on paper other than the capacity, Coggy boy had Akrapovics, WP up front and at the rear adjusted to take into account lightweight Dymags (to combat the triple clamped Marzocchi’s and rear Ohlins unit on the |Morini), slipper clutch, admittedly less acute rake and longer wheelbase, but what an amazing difference between the two bikes.

I could descend into an abyss of technical details now but suffice to say the trellis frame, (hard to find as a production preference outside of Italy, almost a mechanized two wheel national signature piece, the nation as a whole must have the worldwide patents for this design style).was brilliant, other than a bit of Sveedish the rest was pretty much home produced gear the combination of the parts totalling an absolutely brilliant motorcycle that was a scream to ride, Oh, other than the dash which I barely looked at all weekend, but it had a rev counter dial and an adjacent digi construct telling me everything I didn’t really need to know other than How fast I was actually going (best to behave in town unless really late at night), but it wasn’t easy to see

To recap the most important bits to concentrate on our yummy big bore 1200cc V-twin motor, |Termignoni’s, Brembo stuff everywhere, slipper clutch, wide bars and sorted suspension settings from the factory .I personally think suspension is a bit of a black art, so fiddling with factory settings at one end usually affects the ride at the other, unless you are a guru in this department my view it to leave well alone and rate the factory settings. The factory settings are bloody good, firm but pliant at speed, I had no desire to feck about and fiddle with either the front or rear Ohlins suspension. It delivered most excellent performance right out of the crate.

Hone your neck muscles, wear out the stock tyres immediately and bung some very sticky numbers onboard. You can’t go wrong!!!

MPG? Hmm, errm, urrr, I spent about 60 quid for which I received close to 500miles Frankly though my dears I don’t give a damn about the mpg, the bike was a blast to ride and because I’m restricted to a word count, I merely implore you to consider this bike in your next purchasing process, don’t be put off by the relatively obscure name, it comes with a wealth of heritage a three year warranty, bristles with top kit that you’d only have to shell out for extra generally on a cheaper bike, and has the added kudos of exclusivity. And that absolutely perfect Termignoni aural signature…. The Cagiva group/ Texas venture capitalists must be gutted.

Wanna try one? 3X Motorcycles Italian centre, is where they’re at. They can supply in black, the red (looks well flash) and |I believe they do a yellow, very similar to the |Triumph gold sort of livery.
If your recession proof pound can stretch to a non Japanese street fighter - Ducati Monster (which I believe are in very short supply at present), KTM Duke, Triumph Speed Triple, Buell etc do yourself a favour, don’t buy until you’ve spread your wings on a Moto Morini Corsaro Veloce 1200

Doby Trutcenden 30..7.08

Moto Morni 1200 Corsaro Veloce

2008-07-28T01:12:00.000-07:00

2008 Moto Morini 1200 Corsaro Veloce

Predatory and purposeful in its look and build the new Moto Morini 1200 Corsaro veloce (in effect the SP version of the existing Corsaro) is a street fighter to be reckoned with. Equipped with all the attributes and necessary equipment to make it a bike you don’t really want to get off.

The newly revived, now wholly family owned factory at Marabese in Italy (which after investment returned into the original family ownership from the Cagiva group in 1999), has drawn on its heritage and produced a thoroughly modern V- twin motorcycle that is such a grin to ride it’s almost painful.

The Corsaro is the 5th new Model in the small but perfectly formed factory line up that once again started production three years ago.

A quick straw poll of bikers I came into contact with over the ‘Corsaro weekend’ either hadn’t heard of Moto Morini at all or only remembered the seemingly legendary 3-Half sport and that was the extent of their knowledge. A case of out of sight out of mind.
Unlike Triumph for instance that is enjoying a remarkable renaissance, Moto Morini only ever made its mark in the minds of the few and though still lovingly remembered by the cognoscenti, their numbers are dwindling and the modern motorcycle audience has grown up without the brand presence over the last 20 years.

It didn’t stop all and sundry admiring the revival though, in fact whilst at a rather large auto jumble that weekend it drew a sizeable audience, attracted no doubt by the purposeful profile but probably more by the exhaust note produced by the under seat mufflers.
3X motorcycles who had supplied the bike thoughtfully equipped their demonstrator with un-baffled Termignoni’s and the accompanying dedicated ECU produced a ‘well proper’ motorcycle noise. This played a large part in my affection for the machine over the weekend, popping and blarting sound across the Romney Marsh area of the Kent countryside.
It wasn’t intrusive (to me anyway), and it really enhanced the delivery from the 1200cc V-twin motor.

The standard items on the standard Corsaro are fat organ pipes of quiet harmony conforming to the usual Euro nonsense and aesthetically in the eye of this beholder detracted from the overall profile.

The Veloce at £9,900 new would have to be worth digging a little deeper into the bank manager’s pocket to gain these performance pipes, not to mention a fine Ohlins rear suspension unit, which replaces the standard Sachs unit, slipper clutch, and Brembo equipment.
If I was looking for a street fighter with bags of character I could easily be cajoled into purchasing this black devil of a motorcycle.

The motor is not just an 1187cc 87 degree V-twin motor it is a Franco Lambertini designed Bialberto Corsacorta motor - Oh Yes!
The POS shamelessly tells us that since Franco left Ferrari in 1970, all the Morini engines are his by design. Well Franco, you are to be congratulated.

The motor is smooth, not at all lumpy in its power delivery, I couldn’t find much vibration to speak of, the power rolled in a steady and increasingly steep wave of pure fun with no glitches in the fuelling, (apparently a common gripe on earlier models).
Peak power is reached at 9,000 revs by which time the chassis suspension and tyres have to cope with 140hp of absolute wanton and hedonistic drive.

What else marks this bike as special? Well, the frame is a steel trellis, hard to find as a production preference outside of Italy, it’s almost a mechanized two wheel national signature piece, the nation as a whole must have the worldwide patents for this design style.
Using the motor as a stressed member and allied to the one piece cast aluminum no frills swing arm the mean black chassis delivers razor sharp handling with a wheelbase and rake that allows pin point aim and sure footedness.

The front forks are Marzocchi units, black, gripped by a muscular triple clamp bottom yoke, fully adjustable for rebound compression and spring rate at 50mm diameter.
I personally think suspension is a bit of a black art, so fiddling with factory settings at one end usually affects the ride at the other, unless you are a guru in this department my view it to leave well alone and rate the factory settings. The factory set up is bloody good, firm but pliant at speed, I had no desire to feck about and fiddle with either the front, or rear Ohlins suspension. It delivered most excellent performance right out of the crate - Its amazing how did they know my weight and the way I was going to ride it?

Naturally the faster you go, the quicker you need to stop.
I have to say I didn’t really test the brakes to a maximum, the engine braking and slipper clutch took care of most of the deceleration, In fact riding pal and fellow UKBike member ‘The Coghurst Boy’ remarked on the lack of illumination from the sculpted rear lens, querying an intermittent fault.
Following on his beautiful KTM Supermotard it was noticeable how little I used the brakes apparently.
We swapped bikes in order to gain a comparison, when we stopped roughly twenty miles down the route, he knew why.
His KTM felt soft and almost sports toury compared with the taut and sharp ride of the Morini.
If called into play though re-assurance was supplied by a pair of 320mm double discs, not equipped with almost de rigeur mono block sports bike oriented calipers but standard four pot Brembo units, (mustn’t grumble)! The skinny brake lines (probably Kevlar re-enforced- couldn’t find the actual spec) probably helped also

Comfortable? The wide bars and upright riding position only became uncomfortable on one part of my body and this was only at speed.
My neck muscles took a bit of a battering but only at speeds I’m not prepared to state in writing.
At average ‘hoon’ velocity it wasn’t an issue. No arse ache, no shoulder ache, no leg ache, in fact nothing but an ergonomically comfortable ride. The engineers must have far-sighted my physique and build and tailored it exactly to what I found comfortable, again uncanny - how do they do it?
I managed to cover just over 650miles in four days and it was a wrench handing the keys back.

View from the cockpit was of the open road, I had to consciously make an effort to check the information displayed on the digi dash and rev counter dial, to be honest on the open road I paid very little attention to any of it.
I don’t need this sort of information when on a mission, I’m usually too wrapped up in the ride to worry about random numbers, preferring feel and the soulful experience over harsh and unerring information that modern technology delivers these days.

Call me vain and over confident but after twenty plus years of virtually continual riding I think I can judge when I’m going too quick for the conditions I’m in without having to refer too much to the plethora of information that is available.
Riding a bike to me is about the visceral experience not about the data!

In town naturally it makes sense to behave revs and speed critical, but the bike behaved perfectly.
I do have a criticism though, the angle of the dash was such that in strong sunlight (much like the Ducati 1098 I rode a few weeks prior) rendered the information hard to see.
My personal view is that all concentration should be focussed on the way ahead, if it takes me a few extra seconds to focus on the wealth of information supplied which is even greater if I want to stab the miniscule mode switch repeatedly, I’ve taken my eye off the road.

Again call me vain, but I was conscious of the brand spanking new tyres fitted before my arrival and the light drizzle I rode away in.
Chicken strips were not an option, I had two days to scrub them in and have the confidence to hold my amateur head up high amongst the vanguard of proper paid up motorcycle journalists who had borrowed and no doubt ridden the wheels off the bike as I had tried to do.
I’m pleased (I suppose you could say smug) that the bike was returned spattered with decimated swarms of Kentish fly and a respectable non shiny surface over the radius of the rear tyre at least.
The Pirelli Diablos were adequate but for the next level, or, an impromptu track day, stickier tyres should be the order of the day. (Quite how much longevity you’d get however is another matter, but power and control and all that memorable marketing stuff, would be realised as a truism on this bike I reckon).

My wallet is empty and the planet is no doubt a few degrees warmer, it’s a thirsty big bore 1200cc motor fed by Magneti Marelli fuel injection and a relatively meagre (for any lengthy journey) tank capacity of 3.9 UK gallons which is just under 18 litres, average tank range about 110 miles for very nearly twenty English pounds.

Frankly though my dears I don’t give a damn about the mpg. The bike was a blast to ride and because I’m restricted to a word count (inevitably breached), I merely implore you to consider this bike in your next purchasing process. Don’t be put off by the relatively obscure name, it comes with a wealth of heritage a three year warranty, bristles with top kit that you’d only have to shell out for extra on a cheaper bike, and has the added kudos of exclusivity. And that absolutely perfect Termignoni aural signature….

Wanna try one? Talk to the top geezers at 3X Motorcycles Italian centre, they can supply in black, red (looks well flash) and |I believe they do a yellow, very similar to the Triumph gold sort of livery.
If you are considering a Ducati Monster (which I believe are in very short supply at present), KTM Duke, Triumph Speed Triple, Buell etc do yourself a favour, don’t buy until you’ve spread your wings on a Moto Morini Corsaro Veloce 1200

Doby Trutcenden 24.7.2008

What a blast. Moto Morini Corsaro Veloce

2008-07-22T13:45:00.000-07:00

This week I have mainly been bombing about on a Moto Morini Corsaro Veloce, kindly supplied by those nice people at 3X Motorcycles.

My full write up on here soon, but as a preliminary.... Fucking hell what a fantastic bike, quite exclusive, V-twin 1200cc, motor really smooth, gear change short and firm, handling absolutely spot on, predatory and purposeful styling and Termignoni silencers sans baffling allied with dedicated ecu which just made the most awesome racket you've ever heard.
Not sure abot the price tag especially as the Termi's aren't standard, but streetfighter,fast cruiser, wide barred naked stylee only from Marabese Italy, you've just got to give one a quick burn if you are ever near 3X motorcycles near Wimborne in Dorset.
Its a bit juicy but grin factor levels climb rapidly from the moment you are onboard and stay in a fixed maximum state until your jaw aches.

Its fair to say I loved every minute of the 800 miles covered. Wallet.s smoky and ruined but what the fuck, it's not often I get the chance.

Well done Morini, a far cry from the days of the 3 half, which actually was a good little number and a sought after bike these days. Wonder if Benjy Straw is still about?

Ducati 1098R

2008-07-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

Something for the weekend Sir? Ooh,Ducati 19098 Sir? Ooh suits you Sir!

Q. What has been named the international bike of 2008?
Here’s a few clues…
It has the highest torque to weight ratio in the super bike class
180bhp from a 90 degree V-twin motor
Sand cast engine cases
A frame that weighs just 9KGS
Fully adjustable Ohlins TTXR rear shock
Fully adjustable gold nitrided front Ohlins 43 mm forks with mono block radial caliper mountings
Brembo Mono block calipers gripping 330mm discs
165 kilos
52 57mm (fat) diameter exhaust system
Traction control allied with twin |Termignoni mufflers and dedicated ECU
Elliptical throttle bodies
Titanium valves which are chrome nitrided and titanium con rods.
All valves operated by a Desmodromic actuation not conventional springs.

The spec list would take up at least two pages, and in fact the official PR release almost does
It’s the most powerful twin cylinder production motorcycle yet produced.

It is of course a Ducati, but no ordinary Ducati, Its still red, got a dry clutch and looks like it was sculpted by Michaelangelo and powered by Vulcan, exercise wonderment and rapture all ye who worship at the feet of the sports bike altar, Gentlemen genuflect for the awesome new Ducati 1098. The R version.

Ducati engineers have taken the already stunning 1098S and expertly fettled it with a few extra rip snorting goodies that take your breath away when you ride one. In fact make that if you ever are lucky enough to ride one. I feel like one of the chosen few, I was lucky enough to benefit from a very good friend’s kindness the other weekend. Almost brand new, only just run in and with the Termignoni’s fitted, he rang me up and offered me the keys.

I alluded to some gentle Schadenfrude in the ZX-10R review I wrote recently and this mischievous remark was aimed at this man, because when I first called round to salivate over the blood red machine, it was away at the menders. Apparently the onboard computer had said ‘No‘, when he was preparing to go to work one morning soon after taking delivery. Ho ho thought I, the usual achingly gorgeous Italian machine let down by a ‘character’ temperament that has been the bane of most people‘s Ducati ownership at one time or another.
I feel guilty now, it was a little callous, because the second time I called round this time to liberate the bike for the weekend there was no hint of reticence from the bike.

The multi functional digital, MotoGP derived clocks, gave access to more info than I could concentrate or to be honest even want when hurtling through the leafy lanes of Kent and Sussex.
The most important thing he said was ‘if it rains you might want to dial the traction control in‘, which is accessible by a rocker switch on the left switchgear, mode selected and then he showed me how to adjust the TC, up or down.
He had it set on one, and having followed him home with the Nine gasping for more breath just to keep him in sight, I thought that this level of performance looked perfectly acceptable to me so it could stay set at one.
He did point out that because the ‘Y shaped’ Magnesium alloy Marchesini’s were shod with what can only be described as barely cut slicks. (Standard rubber for this machine were Pirelli Diablo Super Corsas, and they were smooth as well as having no visible chicken strips on them - already) it might get a bit hairy, I was convinced that I would be tiptoeing around conscious of the fact that this was a privately owned machine with a value of £24K, so valued the tip.

He just grinned and clapped me on the back. He knew me better than I know myself.
It was obvious to him that after a few miles of getting comfortable I would be riding it to close to the edge of my ability and enjoy every moment of it. That’s why he offered me the ride. A truly selfless act of generosity.
I guess if I had really thought about it logically I should have come up with the same conclusion. He’s a biker, he’s worked his bollox off for years to get himself in the position to own a bike of this ilk, I’m a biker and we’re friends that was it. There was no sign of fear or concern in his demeanour, it was genuine altruism, a very rare thing to find these days.

The sound of the bike as I thumbed the starter was truly the equivalent of a dawn barrage by a battery of big guns before the armoured assault in any war. I could I swear feel the concussions of the contained explosions through the soles of my feet as the sound echoed around the drive, bouncing of wall, hedge and garage door, the Sound of the Dry clutch spinning was almost as invasive as the exhaust note, the clutch was open, you could see the anodised red pressure plate through the vents in the carbon clutch cover and make out a smear of white which was the Ducati Corse branding.

He had to put his children to bed so he bid me good evening and waved goodbye grinning.

I was expecting a hideous crouched posture akin to a gorilla on a BMX bike but other than having to high kick over the beautifully sculpted rear end of the solo seat (finished in revealed carbon fibre, deep red and sharp white paint separated by gold pin striping) it was comfortable, my size tens shuffled to find the lissom foot controls, clutch in (change of clutch note) Stiff clutch action despite the Brembo hydraulic master cylinder and lever assembly, - I was off.

The Clutch was pretty much in or out with little room for slipping the clutch that you might do on a four cylinder bike, the sledgehammer thudding of the engine pushed me into the evening, The Sussex Downs starting to take on the first glow of evening light,.
The sound bounced off the walls of the small village, I grinned to myself as I blipped rather more than necessary, (It just had to be done). A few miles further down the line slowly getting the motor up to temperature and allowing time for heat to permeate the tyres and I was into late commuter traffic.
I figured that I should get the feel of the bike on a straight wide road before I started thinking about pushing. I had a meeting with the local MCC when I got home but I had an hour and a half to get there, usual journey time was only 45 minutes so, easy does it and then the long way home via my favourite stretch of road about twenty miles away.

Suffice to say I got a few looks as I surged smoothly (but if its not an anathema) - lumpily, through the traffic glorifying in the sheer bubble of noise, the assault and battery, the forge of Vulcan!

It was noticeably narrow especially at the rear of the fuel tank, at first it felt a bit odd not having to splay ones legs so much, but it was immediately comfortable and there was plenty of grip still afforded to the knees when called into play. The reach to the foot controls and clip ons were very good, my wrists ached a little at first but I think that was because they were used to a different bike, they just needed to adjust, it wasn’t painful, just different.

One thing that I did notice which seemed odd at first was whilst braking normally (increasing gentle pressure), the brake lever seemed to oscillate slightly under my grip, it took me a a few minutes to suss it, it was a new bike, the discs wouldn’t be warped.
It was the vibration of the engine causing my grip to shake ever so slightly as I decelerated and trailed a little too much throttle, it may be a big twin with a shit load of torque, but trying to pull away or increase speed in a high gear after reasonably rapid decceleration did induce a judder. (Don’t get me wrong I know when to change gear and when not, but the sheer brutishness off the power delivery almost negated the torque on offer which I tried to ride, it was smoother just knocking down a gear rather than using the torque - I guess it’s just technique, the best I could admit to in V-twin ownership was a TLR Suzuki, which is a far cry from the Duke.

The next morning I had arranged to thrapp out to Dymchurch in Kent to Visit a friend and to show him the bike. I actually got up at 8am on a Saturday, (very important day). I wondered if my close mate with a KTM950 Supermotard fancied a ride. He answered The phone promptly and was well up for it, having heard that I had a very special bike. (His was no slouch, and was equipped with light weight wheels and Akrapovic mufflers, and in an ideal world, thus far this was exactly the bike I wanted).
A chap called Alan was coming along on his bright orange 2007 Kawasaki Z1000.

We were going to stop at a café just outside Brenzett in order for Steve to munch some pig, egg and beans, the Rye Road was clogged, so we effectively had to just growl along, I could tell the Duke was just bursting to stretch its legs, the whole vibe of the bike is of power and perrformance, it hammered through the clogged roads until Steve took advantage of a half mile stretch of straight road, His Ktm took off and with a deft look over my shoulder, The mirrors are perfectly fitting to the overall aerodynamics of the front end, but only the outside sliver of mirror edge reflected anything worth seeing, the rest was blocked by my leather arm. Its forgivable, this is primarily a race bike, so a quick glance should be expected and de rigueur any way. I just built the revs momentarily in fifth and twisted the throttle, Steve came and went in a moment of thunderous acceleration and increased noise like I imagine an air bomb exploding and I was braking for Pill box corner.
I braked to early, the front Brake set up efficiently reined in the sudden momentum’
I trailed the throttle to the corner and then applied a sniff of drive to push me through, the bike returning to its steady beat.

The Marsh road to Brenzett is a twisty number and Steve pushed the KTM round them no doubt with a big grin on his face, (he travels this route to work every day). I’m not sure where Alan on the Zed was, Steve wasn’t slowing so naturally I shadowed him, eventually relaxing into the straight that brought us to the main Folkestone Road. Alan soon caught up so onto the café just down the road, for brekkie a fag, bike banter and machine appreciation.

Steve helped me shoot a bit of video and then I was off to Dymchurch whilst him and Alan headed for Ashford.. There’s a few small villages on the way and the Duke caused several shoulders to turn , backward glances and an absolute classic gawp from some nipper holding his dad’s hand. By this time I had covered about 120 miles (a tank of juice), the only discomfort that immediately occurred to me was the back of the knees (which we all know there is no proper name for) which were getting hot, bathing in the halo of heat produced by the Duke’s steady trickling through the streets, shaking windows and attracting attention. I felt like a million dollars.

I did my best to wilt Tim’s new hanging baskets with the fiery stench and temperature of the Termi’s, but he came out the door before I could manoeuvre the bike into the optimum parking spot. This Duke even feels safe on the side stand, other Dukes I’ve ridden in the past have had decidedly dodgy numbers on board.

A usual hearty welcome from Tim, weeding out the acerbic bits for the wit and charm that is his nature. He was in good spirits and going Kayaking later so I glugged a cup of tea and turned round to go home, looking forward to the ride home. A fresh tank of gas and back into it, the Duke was very taut at low speed, you could feel most of the surface that passed under it, but it didn’t matter, this is an exotic race derived focussed motorcycle from Italy.

I couldn’t really see the dash clearly, the default view set was a sectored square of slim digital readouts, speed was the most important, just a few nths extra here and there on the throttle resulted in the 1098 clearing its throat expecting more fuel to burn, there was a lot of traffic about.

I finally blip frightened some woefully dawdling drivers out of the way and headed back to Rye through the twisties that Steve had expertly negotiated on the way out, you/ve really got to keep the Duke revving to an extent and then blip it down a gear to push it through a corner, I unconsciously traiked round a couple and the bike felt like it was running wide and about to fall over, must remember to keep the power constant for optimum effect, different technique to a Jap multi!

The Corsas gripped faultlessly. It was a lovely hot day and I had neither the ability or enough open road to test them (alas), didn’t notice wrist ache any more, knees were getting hotter though, exacerbated by a sprawling stream of scooters teeming out of Camber and heading for Hastings.

There were hundreds and hundreds of them. Now I was on a bike that could smear them all instantly but they were on two wheels and thoroughly enjoying their wheels in the same way as I was, so I tried to nip past pockets of them as quickly and carefully as possible. A few of them may have had their eyebrows blasted off the ir face by the murderous barrage of sound they may have suddenly encounterd, the rest of there was a lot of raised ones and quite a few almost jumped (it was not intentional) as I blipped down a gear behind them, a few of them wobbled at my sudden appearance, but they kept station and the sheer amount of them was good to see, there were a lot of restored classics amongst them and quite aptly the majority of them were of Italian birth.

I didn’t have a chance to really test the slipper clutch, but The owner reckons you can bang it down two or three gears under rapid deccelleration and the bike doesn’t skip or throw a fit, I know this is what they are built for but I was happy with my ride I had witnessed the hype, carefully examined the components, the swing arm………………………….. The fat diameter thin wallled frame tubes, the huge hollow spindles supporting the Marchesini’s, the quality of carbon fibre on offer, the neat little Italian tricolour between the narrow of the eyes of the headlights, the Swedishly efficient and purposeful Ohlins equipment.
Oh to be a track day God with one of these to use.
It’s a lot of money, it’s almost three standard ZX-10R’s, but there is a certain je no sais quoi about owning a bike like this especially a Ducati, you know it’s only really value for money when you pore over the bike without realising it, you find yourself unconsciously running a tentative hand along its lines, when you bask in the thunder burst of its voice and velocity, its thunder burst of sheer power, when realise this is the basis of World Superbikes you see the like of Bayliss Riding, it’s very special, rare to see but hard to miss when you do. It is a supermodel amongst the common folk of the ordinary mainstream.

The last real shock and awe tactic was just prior to a nights drinking with another buddy who isn’t into bikes, but appreciates a piece of machinery when he sees it, he‘s more of an F1 fan. I unpadlocked it from the garage and wheeled it out and started her up, Gavin’s face was one of surprise not really believing that a motorcycle could be worth so much and the power it had, he took a video clip of the bike ticking over and as he came in closer to the rear end I blipped the throttle (it’s addictive behaviour with this bike). Over a sherbet later he replayed the clip, it sounded like the phone had exploded.

Thanx Nick this ones filed in the top drawer of motorcycling memories. Sorry about the large amount of dead fly meat over it.

This is the shortened version of the road test, I’m sure you’ve read more edifying accounts about the more technical ability of the bike from those more able and with more time, but once again you can read the spec on the right when placed on the www.ukbike site and visit you tube etc, video should be done shortly. Hope you enjoy(ed) the ride

Doby Trutcenden 4.7.08

The Latest on Motorcycle training

2008-07-03T00:59:00.000-07:00

Just read an article by Tim Luckhurst writing for The Guardian about the chaos and rubbish implementation of a European directive for the implementation of a new Motorcycle test scenario.

I could summarise but Tim's article says it all.

There are a number of uppity comments by righteous car drivers saying, that us two wheeled 'do as you likers' are a menace, so, if you'd like to redress the balance somewhat with any cogent, logical and sensible statements, leave him a comment.
(I don't know the bloke and I've not read anything by him before, but what he points out is obvious to me and I for one don't want to see the start of a process that appears to be the beginning of an erosion of motorcycling).
I once again quote Robin Trower .. 'Where are the roads to freedom?'

Here's the comment I left for what it's worth.

Like Tim, I ride a motorcycle most days, and I have to say it is a most puissant one at that.
On an average round trip of 100 miles on my daily commute, I see the same cars with single occupants (generally) sitting in the same traffic jam, sweating and white knuckled hunched over the steering wheel.
I constantly wonder as I sail past watching them watching me why the bloody hell do they still do it.?

The only conclusion I can come to is that they are scared to leave the assumed cossetted confines of their cars, choosing to waste time and energy by remaining stationary for long periods.

On the occasional stretches of open road I then generally encounter rubbish driving, outside lane hogging and similar 4 wheeled stupidity.

The answer (in my opinion) make car tests harder, encourage more people (by offering easier and better training) onto motorcycles.

Motorcycles are quicker, more fun, generally cheaper, keep your reactions sharp and easier to park. There are several niches, you don't have to buy into sports bike hooligan scene you can buy big cc scooters, commuter machines or grand tourers.

Sure some bikers tear around like their arse is on fire, but the amount of 'Foo boys' in souped up almost certainly highly illegal crap cars adorned with all manner of stupid frippery popping exhausts and terrible pop polution is just as rife. When was the last time you saw one of these Herberts sticking to the legal speed limit?

P.s I'm a middle aged git, with a few busted bones in the past to other road users credit, a car owner and can't get enough of fast motorcycles, the more car drivers encouraged to be biker friendly the better and probably the lower the accident rate.

Tims article can be found here http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/jul/02/motoring.travelandtransport?commentpage=1&commentposted=1

Ducati 1098R

2008-06-30T07:13:00.000-07:00

It's been a bit of a V-twin month for me.
First the Harley and over the last weekend, the very kind offer of a ride on Ducati's stunning new 1098R, Termignoni's fitted, Traction control on board, rakes of carbon fibre, dry clutch Ohlins everything and very nearly slick Diablo Supercorsas.
All told an impressive package, a blinding design, and a sound to suck the breath out of your lungs and make the ground tremble.
I haven't had a chance to fully digest the experience so haven't wrote it up properly yet, but thought I'd post this luvverly arse shot.

Harley Davidson Fatboy

2008-06-24T00:25:00.000-07:00

Harley-Davidson FLSTF 'Fatboy'

Well here it is, two weeks with a Harley-Davidson Fatboy, now returned to the fold.

I welcomed the opportunity to ride it, I'm thankful for the opportunity to ride it and I hope that despite my misgivings as to the 'value' of the bike, i've given it a fair summation.

I urge you lot to find the book in question, it's a history of the American motorcycling dream carved out of pre and post war dissacociation and alienation, of the beginnings of the outlaw motorcycle clubs (gangs if you prefer) All those who buy into the H-D lifestyle should read it for a thourough grounding in the iconic bike's rise to prominence on it's home turf and it's spread wings throughout the world today.

I would value comments at the end or even better on the forum (it'll get noticed more) so here you go.....

It’s not often that I refer directly to pieces of work by other much more acclaimed writers or, commentaries on articles that I’m trying to originate, but in this instance somehow it seemed to strike a chord with the way I was thinking about the latest UKBiker Road test review.
The Harley-Davidson FLSTF ‘Fatboy‘ - 94 cubic inches of motor wrapped in heavy metal, burnished chrome and denim paint.

I was struggling to find the reasoning behind the bike.
Pound for pound it’s worth it’s weight, but as for the overall ethos of a relatively old design in the modern milieu I just couldn’t make up my mind why.
Its an expensive machine, the sum of its parts are hardly contemporary and the only real item of modernity I could find onboard was the electronic fuel injection, which I’m sure if the H-D engineers weren’t forced to use through ever increasing legislation they wouldn’t.

In an anthology of stories, newspaper articles and columns cropped from the last fifty years of American bike culture ‘The Mammoth Book of Bikers’ starts with the Hollister ‘riots’ and ends with modern RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) investigations into alleged outlaw biker activity, it’s a rattling, startling and sometimes brutal book to read if all the accounts are true.

The last piece by Bernard E. Rollin (doesn’t say when it was published) sums up the reason for the Fatboy and you could argue the majority of the archetypal Harley-Davidson range. The raked low, chromed look that is recognizable by young boys and grandma’s alike and so long as the company is still breathing will probably continue to produce it’s signature product, adapting only to the vagaries of global pollution laws, (that’s sound as well as emissions).

I will summarise the lengthy article with excerpts here and there but unlike a politician’s sound bite I hope they will be relevant and related. it’s a piece about Motorcycles being art and why they are featured as such, what they stand for and what they mean to people, in this instance essentially Harley-Davidsons.

‘The motorcycle is an immortal cultural icon that changes with the times. More than speed it embodies the abstract themes of rebellion, progress, freedom, sex and danger. The limits imposed by its possible forms and functions and the breadth of variation that has been expressed within these limitations, provide a framework in which to examine the motorcycle both as object and as emblem of our century‘.

After all the motorcycle pre-dated cars by twenty odd years and aeroplanes by even longer, Harley Davidson were one of the first to build these means of ‘rapid singular transportation’ in America, and you can still see that heritage in their bikes today.

‘…on a motorcycle you are part of the world through which you speed, the wind in your face and hair, the bugs in your mouth and beard remind you constantly that you are speeding through the world, rather than as in an equally fast car a machine with you in it.’

Okay this is all a little romantic, I haven’t got much hair left personally and I’m sure a fair number of current and future owners are probably in the same boat, bearded or no, I wear a full face lid because I don’t like the taste of bugs, but you get the general idea.
This was illustrated to me by the man who offered his services to test the relative comfort as a pillion rider one day.

In all the rides on other people’s bikes that I have been fortunate enough to ride whilst in this ‘Lofty’ position as helmsman at UKBike I have never really had a bike that would almost certainly be used to take a pillion when bought by it’s new owner. This bike was a sure candidate , so to be thorough, I considered that this option had to be tested.
Step forward ‘The Bison’ (yes that’s one of his nicknames and quite apt I feel for this piece).

Unfortunately because of many reasons causing lack of freedoms to really chase the western sun across the skies of the USA we tested it on a hundred mile round trip commute to work.
One of the first things the Bison said when we dismounted at our destination was words to the effect ‘when we were riding past that long row of traffic I really felt like I wanted to touch the cars we were passing, they seemed so real, it’s amazing what you can hear as well, it’s stuff that driving a car shields you from.
So here is the word from the Bison as to his 100, mile round trip straddling a fat boys rear end (Joke, JOKE, OK)!

…………………….word from the bison – coming soon......................
....................................………………………………..............................................................

In essence I think he summed up what Rollin is saying, and was the fillip for me to dig out the book and have another read, knowing that I would find the answer to writing the road test within it’s pages.

Ok I hear you say skip the bloody history lesson and all that romanticism, did you like the bike, how did it ride and would you buy one?

I’m a biker, I like bikes and I’m open minded enough to realise that they come in all shapes and guises to suit the individual. Of course |I liked it.

I liked the overall look of the thing, as I mentioned at the beginning, its long, its low, it’s chunky.
I loved the wide sweep of the fat bars that hides the switchgear wiring and the enormous headlight shell fixed firmly in the chunky chrome sheeting of the yoke covers.
The wheels themselves are discus from titanic Olympic games, huge turned aluminum hubs fixing them to the girt forks.

The twin filler fuel tank, one a dummy holding the fuel gauge with speedo centrally inset in a chrome raised panel, the tank finished in ’Denim’ paint, the simple chrome oil tank under the seat and the simplicity of the chromed coil cover.
Hardtail looking back end with overstated fender and humungous rear tyre, the sumptuous riders seat and the lumpy thump of the 1584cc motor.

As for how it rode, I will be honest. The front forks ‘kerlunged’ over all but the minor bumps in the road , by all means be traditional but damn it Willie G who’s your export manager?
Here in the UK we have lumps and bumps in the road, how about some proper front suspension, you can always wrap them up in a different coat to give them that authentic slightly old school look, it’s a 13K+ motorcycle, surely that’s not too much to ask.

I know this is not America and we don’t have long open roads and simple grid systems to navigate. We have flowing bends and very short stretches of straight (and flat) road, none the less at what seemed like anything more than 15 degree of lean the rider’s footboards were trailing lumps of aluminum down the road.

Stop riding it like a sports bike’ I hear you say. - I wasn’t!

The ground clearance is frankly atrocious in my opinion, to the point of embarrassment, it got to the point that when I saw a nice sweeper approaching, I lifted up the footboard with my toe to prevent the inevitable scraping of metal against tarmac. The first evening I rode home I followed a police rider at about 60mph at a safe distance thankfully, I was impressed at the balance of the bike, it may be heavy but it wasn’t as cumbersome as I thought it would be when it was rolling. Following the copper’s lines and matching his medium pace The footboards decked at least four times, catching me out each time.
Lift the footboards or put some pegs on it, If I owned the bike I just couldn’t tolerate it I don’t think.

The gear change is clunky and |I mean Clunky with a capital ‘C’, this however was not a disappointment, it’s to be expected, but the heel toe rocker gear change set up was horrible and would after the removal of the footboards for something more suitable be the second thing I would junk.

The performance of the motor was I have to say a bit of a let down, I was nearly caught out on a couple of occasions when overtaking. I wasn’t savagely trying to rip the throttle off the bars but I was being quite spirited and trying to stay smooth. The motor just didn’t have the brawlers punch I was expecting, It wasn’t comfortable at anything over 80mph in my opinion the bars started to weave ever so slightly, my legs were whipped by my boot cut jeans by the through draft, the hardtail softail underslung suspension started to let go, especially over bumpy surfaces 60 -70 being optimum levels of velocity solo, and with the massive bulk of the bison and I onboard the best speed was approximately fifty miles an hour, The bike was happy to go quicker but it wasn’t comfortable.
It just didn’t seem to deliver moving what it promised sitting still, with the sunlight winking off its chrome.

The 96 inch cubic motor is equipped with six gears and once notched a little green light will appear on the speedo face. Also in the centre console is the ignition, which is a chunky chrome switch with a flip up lid for the key to fit.
Once more though functional the key looked no different to a Halfords hollow barrel cheap bicycle lock, £13K bike remember, it’s a bit like a prize fighter forsaking his spiky expanse of keeper ring for a slender band of Chinese silver which you know will snap as soon as he tries to force a chunky sausage finger through it. I expected a little better I must admit.

Braking wasn’t too bad a tall, considering the bulk, (but I suppose bearing in mind the relatively low speeds), the belt drive is a great idea I reckon, virtually noiseless, clean and doesn’t need constant adjustment, so that’s a major plus.
The Zorst noise is a common complaint with me. Yes the law says they have to be quiet and the law enforces the valve on the upper muffler to get it through emissions no doubt,the specs say that this valve is to enhance 'the sound quality and street rumble'. Sorry don't agree, I thought it was very sanitised. I like bikes to sound like bikes, so head to the nearest Vance & Hines stockist my friends.

I’m not sure there is a great deal of innovative technology that I could waffle on about. The Fatboy is what it is, it was born that way, it’s ‘big boned’ bulk is in it’s metallic blueprinted DNA. It has it’s place in the world of motorcycling, thanks partly to superb product placement/sponsorship in Terminator and the desire of a buyer to live the celluloid bad boy lifestyle, of the American dream.

It’s a great bike for some people just not for me, nonetheless it was still a pleasure to be offered the opportunity of riding a kingpin in their 2008 range, like all things it’s in the eye of the beholder and the personal experience gained. Well done Harley for sticking to your guns, and producing a product that people desire and want to own (they may be Winchesters but they still fire bullets).

As Rollin says.. ‘cars have become increasingly automated, replete with cruise control, navigator computers that talk to the driver and electronic parts that take the ‘I’ out of driving. There are those who project a future automobile that do not require a driver, where the machine is centrally controlled, the would be driver thence becomes a passenger. Such changes are not seriously projected for motorcycles, for motorcyclists do not largely ride for practical reasons, despite those who extol their mileage per gallon,… motorcyclists ride largely for the aesthetic experiences riding provides , from being nearly out of control, or extending total concentration not to get killed, from getting soaked in warm summer rain to being totally dry an hour later. In a deepest sense, riding takes skill that driving a car does not, skill that one can take pride in‘. (whatever you ride)

Bernard E Rollin. (Sometime in the late eighties/early nineties)
‘The Bison’ June ‘08
Doby Trutcenden June ‘08

Harley Davidson Fatboy 2008

2008-06-12T04:32:00.000-07:00

Next Road test will be on the Harley Davidson Fatboy. (you know the one, Arnie rode one in Terminator 2 I think it was.

Had it for two days and burnt a tank of fuel just pottering (or should that be surging about)Unlike the Nightster I rode earlier in the year which is probably the smallest in the line up, other than the ultraglides this is one of the biggest. Too early to write too much about it, but if anyone is reading this I'd like to hear your views on the bike. You can do it by placing a review on the main UKBike site.

For instance how atrocious do you find the ground clearance. I'm conscious of the fact that it is a cruiser and am desperately trying to ride it like one, but despite this i'm shedding metal every time I hit a bend. This is not heroics on my part its just terrible ground clearance, how the hell are you supposed to ride it properly at speed?

Other than that its comfy and feels like a proper hog, gonna get 'The Bison' on the back to report on the pillion ride. 100 miles of cramped stomach muscles, queasy stomach and white knuckles, (no cissy bar you see - chortle) or a comfy ride he'd volunteer for again, it's also a big bike so a combined thirty stone should put it through its paces, can't see why it wouldn't cope, though at about eighty the hardtail looking softail underslung shocker set up was a bit weavy and squirrelly) we'll see.

Kawasaki ZX-10R

2008-05-13T01:33:00.000-07:00

ZX-10R 2008 I’ve changed my mind about 1000cc sports bikes. Of late my view has been jaded, musing about the virtues of having a machine that is effectively too powerful to use anywhere near the limit, concluding that whilst they are not exactly pointless (there are still homologation issues for racing) they are not at all practical for the average punter seeking day to day usage.

They can get you into trouble if you are not totally focussed and they leave you wishing you could have got more out of them. However having ridden the latest ZX10R, I’ve been forced to re-evaluate my views; it’s a mad and bad piece of kit, a very naughty pleasure.

I thought the Fireblade was quick (and it is), but the Ten seems to up the ante, it feels devastatingly quick. It’s not that it is much quicker, it’s just the way that you get there I think is the difference. Whereas the Honda will do anything you wish it to, it doesn’t stroke your misplaced ego into pushing and pushing. If you wanna go slowly, the Honda will go slow and remain tight lipped, it doesn’t goad you into a rev hungry wanderlust. It has manners and subtlety. The Kawasaki ZX-10R however though a similar machine on paper is a relentless and urgent device of exotic metals and sleek plastic with a harsh voice and mischievous throttle.
I read somewhere that a road tester in one of the mainstream mags likened it to a 500GP bike he had ridden from a few short years ago. He reckoned the ZX10R was very close to the 500 mark. Having never ridden a 500GP stroker (I do not move in such esteemed circles), I can’t say if I agree or not, but what I do know is that this bike could very easily become habit forming, riding it was addictive, and I only covered 170 miles in 24 hours, but what a 170 miles.

Apparently, this bike is a meld of it’s direct predecessors best traits. The first ‘C’ model was a bloody handful, it was the new loony toons for the early 21st century motorcyclist, those who wanted thrills and didn’t mind the odd heart stopping moment punctuating the aggressive style you tended to adopt whilst onboard this little number.
I can’t lie despite my fondness for the marque the twin piper ‘D’ model, looked in my opinion rubbish, with the wheelbarrow-esque mufflers and the odd looking front end, it was however apparently a much easier bike to ride at hoon levels than the ‘C’ models. I’m not sure that it sold at all well in comparison to it’s peers, so Kawasaki as it appears is the way with the Japanese factories, refreshed the Ten for 2008 once again.
They got the power right, and the handling right and the looks pretty bang on to my mind; it was just the power delivery that they had to work on to feed the lascivious habits of the Kawasakisti. And that they got that bang on also.

It’s hard to describe the way this bike makes you feel when riding. Like you know you are on a proper 'f*ck off', take no prisoners sports bike. The bike though conforming to Euro emissions crazy law whatever it is growls with intent. All you see is time and speed melting otherwise perfect roadside detail into smears of history. Look down for a brief second, just to check I’m within the speed limits

The top yoke is chiselled, the fork tops are fat, the numbers just build in their floating digi inset panel, as the needle winds up the tricolour rev counter, the neck muscles take a battering, ensconced firmly in a positive crouch, more of the same drug. Wind it up, lean it in like you’re riding on the shoulders of a giant with seven league boots on.
It’s not the light hearted grin of a ride on a street fighter that you’ve thrashed senseless around the lanes this is more a tight lipped race track last lap in the lead smile, 'I’ll save the grinning broadly for when I pass the finish line'.
The job at hand is 'more revs, more urgency, more, more, give me more'.

I honestly think this is the fastest sports bike I have ever ridden. It’s addictive, and, naturally I want one. A green and black one. Wonder what can I sell to junkie fix getting one?
I’m no expert however and thankfully the little voice in the back of my head keeps the worst excess’s of wanton hedonism at bay.
Surely this is just enthusiastic purple prose? Well the salesman did listen patiently for at least five minutes whilst I raved about the grip, the handling the urgency etc, but finally I had to gasp for air which is when he interjected and told me to stop shouting and give him the keys back, grinning broadly and reminding me that he had told me so.
Whilst filling up on both separate occasions, I was approached by the curious, one of whom professed to own a ‘C’ model, but was tempted to purchase the new model, firing questions at me showing an unconscious commitment to go and purchase one. I also told a pal who owns two ‘C’ models who I believe was genuinely interested to hear of my experiences, (he’d drunk a quantity of wine so was feeling laid back). His bikes were getting a little tired after repeated track day abuse including a large rebuild bill after one particular episode at Silverstone and lengthy road riding of his other one which by his own admission needed a bit of a ‘lamb up’ so he thought he might check the new one out, apparently he rung the salesman later that afternoon.

Good boy Turps, you know it makes absolute sense. Errm… Oh yes I was trying to be constructive and not witter on.
Well it’s not just a ravenous lime road eating giant veloceraptor of a motorcycle; it has all the technical stuff to back up the purple words.
Up front very cool 43mm black nitrided upside downers (or the new nomenclature DLC –diamond like carbon) with incredible amounts of adjustment that I didn’t have the time to absorb, but the standard set up was certainly firm (remarkably so more than the Blade I thought) for a middle aged git approaching 14 stone. Black mono bloc calipers gripped now standard fare petal discs containing dual opposed pads (as opposed to individual ones) set on slender spoked, fat rimmed gloss black wheels factory trimmed with green coach lines. None of your pony aftermarket stuff for a fiver and put on cackhandedly with a chisel, the wheels are definitely a visible feature and a focal point.

The chassis is matt black and as muscular and purposeful looking as previous models, fat at the points where your knees grip and augmented by some hard wearing grip pads tapering to the swing arm pivot which then draws your eyes to the girt swing arm itself in matching matt black, its subtle in colour only, the actual unit is large and purposeful. The engineers have even managed to build some flex into the whole construction apparentley I had no issue with the chassis or the suspension, it felt firm and I’m sure would have really come into its own had I ripped up the envelope as opposed to merely pushing it.
The standard Ohlins damper tells its own story, without one it would no doubt have been an even wilder animal. The rear shocker is adjustable for low and high speed, which I’m told is a first for a road bike. Combine all these high spec bitz with Pirelli Diablo Corsa tyres and if you’re not having fun, then you definitely have no soul, passion or trying remotely hard enough. This bike isn’t for you. Don’t buy one until you’ve passed your hooligan exams!
The grip was phenomenal for road riding and like the Honda it went where you thought it. Leaving more time to twist the throttle.
Unlike the Fireblade, the front profile of the ten is positively aquiline and hawk like, the shape is sculpted, the whole of the bodywork is much more defined than the smooth lined Honda which was most pleasing to the eye and I have to say made the bike look more diminutive and sleeker than the Ten, just different.
Whereas the Honda I rode was almost executive in its rich metallic Ruby livery, the Ten was bright neon green and black, it was not subtle.

There are a few bits I don’t like on the ZX-10, the mirrors and front indicators are pig ugly and something needs to be said. Why can they design some much svelter units as an aftermarket accessory when the mere adoption of these units would hugely enhance the face of the bike? The upside is that you can actually see out of them. It may be fancy, but have the manufacturers been addressing this 'can’t see Jack behind me except my shoulders' issue?
I don’t know why they bother with pillion seats on these bikes; I can’t remember the last time I saw a passenger being carried on a bike of this extreme nature, other than a popular video clip viral of fat bottomed girls with nothing but a short skirt around their ribs to hide any modesty they thought they had. Only in Americ!
I mean would you choose to travel any length of time three and a half feet off the ground with a poor excuse for a seat pad stuck up your rear cleft and kneecaps scraping the wax from your ears, what do you cling onto for gods sake other than dear life as the pilot momentarily forgets he’s got a passenger and violently attacks his favourite corner? Anyway it is the rider’s duty to dissuade everybody and anybody to accompany him on his solo voyages. And his first purchase should be a colour matched solo seat cowl.

The exhaust muffler is also pretty standard, generally on any bike of this ilk, it’s pretty much all you see of the exhaust system, the manifold hides behind a huge radiator and the mid section sits behind the belly pan, so why not make it attractive? The Ten’s muffler doesn’t quite look part of the design, it has a cheap looking shield and really is the only thing other than the mirrors that I don’t like, unlike the Fireblade’s exquisitely engineered outlet which melds with the overall lines of the bike.
I could fill the article with serious commentary on the flat type fuel pump which has allowed fuel tank capacity to remain unchanged, an increased litrage for the airbox, a straighter path for the rammed air either side of the headstock, new two piece frame construction, new shock mounting linkage, Titanium valves and reshaped intake ports for high revving ability. The Back-torque slipper clutch for harder downshifts through the revised gearbox, tweaked electronics for even sharper throttle control, it even features apparently a rib under the throttle grip for enhanced feel, but all the tech spec would take ages to repeat and to explain and the salient features are available elsewhere.
The main objective was rider feedback and enhanced performance that would be agreeable to further tune if taken on track. That objective I would say has been achieved.
Word of warning, small objects may oscillate on mantelpieces as you pass, small birds and young chillun may get sucked into the ram air mouthpiece passing through the frame to be torn apart in the maelstrom of the airbox before being vaporised and spat out as carbon particulate several miles behind. You may have to buy several pairs of tyres and brake pads every other month, the local garage community will undoubtedly thrive on your petroleum buying habits, you may wish to consider a more pleasing muffler adorned with well known monikers from WSB, you will undoubtedly be a mass murderer of insect life, so renounce Buddhism immediately, there is no room onboard for frippery and luxury, buy your lunch at your destination, there’s no room for a pack of sarnies. You may find yourself talking uncontrollably down the pub, your friends may leave you as the habit takes hold, however to indulge in some light hearted shadenfreude it’s probably cheaper to run than an Italian bike….!

Huge thanx to Mickman and Alfred for the opportunity Check ‘em out here www.alfsmotorcycles.co.uk Doby Trutcenden 12.5.08

Team Alf's Endurance. Le Mans 2008

2008-05-06T14:38:00.000-07:00

Team Alf’s Endurance Racing - 2008

Team Alf’s Endurance Racing recently competed in the 2008 24 hour motorcycle endurance race at The circuit De Bugatti Le Mans. 19th - 20th April 2008.

Returning to the race event two weeks after testing at the same circuit, the team were hoping a top ten finish would reward all the hard work and investment by Alf and his small but dedicated team.

The Kawasaki ZX-10R Was retained after 2008 after it’s debut at the same circuit last year. There were many reasons for not campaigning the all new ZX-10R which boiled down to an already mainly prepped set of matching 2007 models.
The spec is endless with many bespoke parts and to source the similar kit to fit the new bike would have been nigh on impossible without factory or race support which The team don’t currently receive, being as it is entirely funded by Alf and some very important sponsors without whom the team could not exist.

Why after so many years the team have not received the credit they deserve after so much faith in the product, time, development, investment and sheer determination I am not a party to, but it does show commitment to the product and the belief that there is no better bike than a Kawasaki and to prove it they are prepared to enter it into (to my mind) probably one of the sternest races out there. Le Mans and most other 24 hour races are such gruelling events. a true test of any machine’s prowess.

Here now follows a spec sheet of the machine, just in case you were wondering how close to standard it might be.

Superbike Ohlins forks. That’s the pukka piggy back gold nitrided jobbies
Superbike TTX Rear shock. That’s right it might just as well be made of gold!
Harris off set yokes
Complete QD assembly for both wheels. No messin’
Twin 4-pot endurance monoblock calipers
Hideously expensive ultra special endurance compound pads for aforementioned calipers, (at least two pairs of fronts throughout the race).
QD Staubli assisted brake line fittings
Goodridge Hose. Thanks to the guys in Exeter!!
AP 2 pot rear caliper
4 sets of 16.5 inch Marchesini mag wheels
305mm Brembo front discs
24 litre fuel tank incorporating seat unit filled with anti explosive spongy stuff
Twin fuel fillers to fit dump tank. Large!
Adjustable ratio Brembo front brake master cylinder
Fairings and bodywork all light weight race use only.
Skidmarx screens. Top screens lads, Road or race these guys probably do one for your bike

GPR radial steering damper. Like what the latest Blades are kitted with.
Harris QD clip on handlebars
Huge radiator and bespoke ‘swell pot’
Full Akrapovic exhaust system
Power commander mapped on own dyno plus quick shifter
Switchable mapping
Standard engine except blueprinted and modified gearbox
Uprated clutch
Quick action throttle
AIM Dash. That’s one of those expensive set of digi clocks that store data and allow downloading of all the info collected whilst the bike is circulating.
Suspension potentiometers
Lighting system modified to suit regulations
Luminescent number board Alf was really chuffed with that little bit of trickery
Carbon/Kevlar engine and frame protectors
Swing arm mods to aid QD of wheels
Bespoke sub frame, battery tray and brackets
Rodamoto rear sets.
Cross over linkage for gear shift Road or race.
That’s about it without going into too much detail, naturally there are two similar bikes pretty much kitted the same. It’s fair to say the bike took its fair share of race incidents, but the bike pushed through it all to record another finish for the Worthing based team.
Race finish 31st out of 56 original entrants. Fastest lap 1min 42.5

It did however increase the carbon footprint somewhat…
Consumption consisted of
674 litres of special petrol, only sold at the circuit and mandatory usage
3.5 litres of oil
16 front tyres Dunlop by name with differing compounds to suit race conditions (plus three wets)
19 rear tyres, as above (plus five wets)
3 sets of bodywork
1 footpeg
1 gear change lever
2 handlebars
Pair of twist grips
Various engine guards.

Getting the show on the road for the one race is like a Pink Floyd album cover, the equipment is endless, and it’s all gotta fit pretty much in a 7.5 tonne truck. Including fully equipped mobile kitchen and food, tents and marquees, timing box and equipment, miles of cable and racks of tools, lighting gantry, chairs benches, bedding, the list of minutei goes on, but enough impermanent infrastructure if that’s not a contradiction of terms to feed, clothe, cook, house, and support twenty people for well over a week for most of the team.

The race day alone usually involves a typical red eye of 40 hours, not counting the travelling, organization, night practice qualifying and practise sessions, when you hear about mechanics ‘working through the night on the telly,’ it’s true, if there is a problem, a tweak or an adjustment it has to be done regardless of the time of day it is.

Oh and by the way t all costs a barrel load of wedge, so please don’t be shy if you think you can help the team, they are a friendly bunch and welcome any assistance you can. If you can’t, grab a team shirt from the shop in Dominion Road Worthing, all the proceeds get pumped back into the team effort.
Just one more list to go…
The sponsors so far

Dave Evans Marks Bloom Accountancy
WEMoto West Sussex, parts and accessories guru’s
The indomitable ‘Turps’ Hi Vac Engineering - Hastings
Silkolene oils
Goodridge Brake lines
Chris at Skidmarx screens
Dynojet UK
Paint by Laurence at ARC
Nick at VA signs

There’s a bit of video footage accompanying this blog Soon) after all the words, the pics you see are from ‘Yeah him again JB‘ with a link to his total album of pix covering the event, so you can see for yourself.
The bike has not been cleaned or prepped after passing the finishing line and getting clearance from park ferme.

For more information on prepping your bike or just needing race parts ordered fitted etc, just nip in and say hi to Alf,and or call the shop number. They do have a dyno at their disposal and know how to use it for any set up or engine mapping you may require.
Enjoy the pix and the video clip.!!

DT6.5.08

Rocket III - But not as you know it.

2008-04-17T04:09:00.000-07:00

Famed as the largest capacity mass produced production motorcycle, the Rocket III has been given a face lift by Roger Allmond.

Comments here or on the http://www.ukbike.com/ forum

Le Mans 24 Hour

2008-04-10T12:36:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna be miserable next week. My ex compadres and jolly good fellows at Alf's Motorcycles are all pilgramiging to the annual 24 hour motorcycle endurance evnt at Le Mans. This is the first year since Alf has been racing that I won't be able to accompany them. (One good thing I suppose you won't have to read my race report this year).
Anyway, I said I'd write a brief intro for their site to help them out. (Helps make me still feel involved) so I thought I'd share it with you burghers in the fourth dimension of cyberspace.

Don't worry not a great deal to wade through but there are a few links if you do wanna know more or maybe purchase one of their t-shirts to show a bit of support.
Those who may remember me know what it's all about, but for the wider audience who don't read on my friends.....

2008 24 hour Endurance racing - Circuit de Bugatti Le Mans - France
For the fifth time Team Alf's Endurance Racing will be venturing across the water to compete in the prestigious Le Mans 24 hour motorcycle event. Team Alf's will be joing Team Diablo666 and Phase One Endurance Racing as one of the three British entrants this year.
Hoping to improve on their first DNF recorded last year Alf has been busy tweaking and improving the '07 spec ZX-10R for this season.

The decision was made to stick with the twin piper as opposed to opting for the new '08 spec machine. The reason being that effectively every time you opt for a new machine the search for parts and tuning goodies is ten fold harder as it takes time for all these parts to become available.
Unless you are a multi budget WSB or BSB team you have to make your own way without factory support, (a tiresome fact of life, despite this race being probably one of the best places to test any piece of machinery as witnessed by the BMW factory who used this series last year to shakedown its expected WSB machine for 2009, no surprise that it performed very well, as well as sounding like a WW2 bomber every time it circulated.The big boxer caused quite a stir in the paddock).

This scrabble for the right equipment always comes down to a last minute scramble and does not help the organization and fettling of the machine. Sticking with the previous years model ensures that there is a ready supply of parts available and at a cheaper price, also by the second season these parts have been tried and tested and if neccesary modified to suit.

With this in mind, Alf has further improved the bike with a modified and lighter subframe to accomadate a new (secondhand cast off) one piece bespoke aluminium race tank which helps lower the centre of gravity. The electrical gremlins have hopefully been ironed out which contributed to the DNF also recorded at the Bol D'Or in 2007. The Ohlins front superbike spec forks have been thouroughly checked and fiddled with to solve the rider's complaints of front end instability last year, (though the Dunlop tyres were also a contributing factor). Gearing has been agreed on, Race number #59 has been retained and this year the team have a garage all to themselves. G NO.49 if you want to pay them a visit.

The team have carried out two days of testing already at the circuit and Alf is confident that a top ten finish is achievable withing the new class. WEC spec which is the superbike spec and shares the same class as the factory teams and top privateers such as Phase One and GMT94 for example.
This years riders are
John Crockford following in the footsteps of previous Alf's riders John McGuinness, Guy Martin, John Barton,Gus Scott and Ronnie Smith
John has plenty of experience under his belt, highlights being experience in British Supersport & Superbike racing since 1998. Privateer Champion in British Superbike Series 2000. High overall placings in British Supersport series during 2001-2003. Raced in the British Supersport and Superstock - Rounds between 2004-2007. Also in 2007 took part in UK National Endurance achieving 3 pole positions, setting 3 -Fastest lap s and scoring 1 win. 2007 Bol D'Or
Joining John this year are also Matt Layt - Racing since '99. Started of 600cc Clubman racing. '00 SuperClub 4th overall moved into Junior Superstocks then Supersport During '01-'02. BMW Boxer Cup in '03 as well as Pro Bike BSB Championship. '04-'08 participated in series such as Superstocks NW200 and Daytona (USA).
Stephen Thompson - Irish Clubman Championships '94-'00. Participated at races such as NW200 in 250 and Superbike classes '00-'04, the Macau GP '04 - '05 and Ulster GP '06-'07.
Fourth rider will be Declan Swanton - Racing since '99. Short circuit racing and hill climbing inIreland. '00 winner of Irish Clubman 600ccSupersport class,-'01 Jnr Superstock Championship finishing 3rd, '02 European Superstocks, 03British Supersport, '04 Irish Superbike championship finishing 3rd,'05 - '07 NW200 and Irish Superbike Championship.
You can keep up to date throughout the race by visiting the official Le Mans website and if you'd like to know more then check Clive McNeil's comprehensive and specific site dedicated to Endurance racing current and past. We will post a few pix when we return and have slept a little. It's always so exhausting you need a holiday to get over it, or at least a link to view images in a library or similar.
Last but no means least. Alf has managed to squeeze a few quid out of the budget to produce some race support T-shirts for not alot of money. Contact the shop if you'd like to show your support by purchasing one of these luvverly garments.

C'mon Alf time to show them how good that bike is, time to prove that all those hours and all that money has not been in vain!!!

Oh by the way don't forget to check out the UKBike main site if you want to find a ZX-10, read a review. From memory there's my C model review on there and fingers crossed I'll be riding the new '08 spec bike next week, clement weather expected etc, so will be scribbling frantically about that no doubt when it happens. Also hoping to get some good viddy also.

Still looking for personal biker and bike reviews and will shortly be re-instating the free t-shirt promotion with new design as well as hopefully announcing a massive and fantastic one off prize for the best submitted. Can't say what yet but for five minutes of time it'll be a blinder of a prize. Oh yes my friends.
Yahoo......

2008 Fireblade

2008-03-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

‘I say what a fine array of shiny missiles you have my good man’
‘Absolutely Sir, are you looking for anything in particular, we have the full line up of weaponry from the Honda Skynet corporation on display with appropriate demonstrators. Perhaps a sub spatial orbiter, stratosphere cruiser,…
‘That one there is rather appealing with the stubby exhaust vent‘.

Ah, of course, the latest generation of Fireblade, note the sleek outer shell and pared down profile for decreased molecular friction. Perhaps Sir would care for a swift lunge into hyperspace? The oxygen tanks are full and should see you through two hours of earth time heavy breathing. If we could just take a little blood for the demonstrator contract…. (A tiresome necessity you understand should you burn up and trash on re-entry‘).
‘Don’t mind if I do, a couple of millilitres be sufficient‘?
‘Perfect Sir. If Sir would care to get suited up I will just run through the instrumentation checks before you launch onto the supernova space highway‘.
‘Be aware that the thought police will be surrounding the outer limits of the atmosphere to snag the unwary aero space age warrior as they accelerate into the golden void‘.
‘No problem my good man, see you in two hours’

I’m always reading about race track derived technology, every year the marketing gets more Sci Fi, more alchemistic, here’s a line from the new Fireblade brochure …”Sired by a MotoGP champion and tempered in the fires of world super bike and endurance racing…’ the sentence continues with words like ‘omniscient and ‘searing performance’ we truly are being persuaded to buy the pinnacle in mass produced fire breathing 21st century two wheeled motorised propulsion, (no doubt the other factories coin similar enchantingly human-machine symbiotic qualities) but this is the best one I’ve come across so far.

Every year there is a new feature or an improved spec integral in the design of a new machine, every year technology that costs hundreds of thousands of pounds utilised, proved or broken within the global race calendar that the factories are participating in, every year trickling through the R&D system to benefit us, the bike buying public, mere road riding and track day mortals.
Technology designed purely to make the bike faster, lighter, more responsive, better handling and for more efficient braking.

The 2008 Honda Fireblade is no exception. The bike that won the World Superbikes title last year in the hands of James Toseland has contributed to a large extent in the design and build of the new litre class Honda.

I had a quick two hour spin on the latest bike last week courtesy of my local dealer, he knew I didn’t want to buy one, he knew I just wanted to have a thrash and write an appraisal of the machine as I saw it, and he still let me out on it. (So by way of thanx click the link to visit the Hastings Honda - JS Gedge website. Make sure you talk to Andy).

In pure comparison terms I reckon it’s the same as walking into a Porsche or Aston dealership and asking any lurking Swiss Tony to test ride the £100,000 supercars available. You have to spend that sort of money on four wheels to get close to the thrills and sublime control of a modern 1000cc sports bike.

I didn’t really get a chance to pore over all the detail at the official launch on the 21st February this year, because naturally the place was crowded with eager onlookers, but I had attended a launch of the Kawasaki ZX-10R two weeks prior and these two are effectively the two bikes that have been radically overhauled this year and so you could argue should now leapfrog the other factories in terms of supremacy in the litre class wars, both on the track and on the road, with any factory racing efforts carefully nurturing the technology that we will see in another couple of years on our road bikes.

Emphasis these days is more on handling, braking and the rider enhancement of the power produced, lets face it, litre class bikes ten tears ago were blindingly quick as well, but the difference is that they were bulky and generally needed a lot of suspension adjustment to make them steer. Today’s versions are svelte and sleek and handle like you never dreamed a litre class bike would ten years ago.

Would today’s road going Fireblade be able to compete against a decade year old BSB machine? I venture that not only would they be able to compete but that the road bike would be stronger, because of the technology that has filtered down and become affordable for mass production which has enabled greater rider control, not then available.

For instance. The gravity die cast frame is stronger, lighter and narrower than ever before, giving it a diminutive feel, The flowing ‘hybrid’ aluminium swing arm apparently gives greater stability at high speed and grasps the latest Unit Pro Link suspension.

The standard reactive steering damper works incredibly well allowing low speed leverage but high speed stability, a sensor on the front wheel measures the wheel speed and auto adjusts the valves within the damper unit accordingly.

Wheels now feature even thinner walled spokes for less unsprung weight, standard mono block calipers are reduced in weight and the exhaust system is now fully Euro 3 compliant, the salesman reckons Honda spent £100's of thousands per day just developing the new system just getting it compliant with the new regs, but also delivering it all in an aesthetically pleasing stubby GP style vent. I like it!

Naturally the motor is new, featuring a revised more compact cylinder head (presumably for an even more efficient burn) lighter pistons in a revised cylinder block for a few extra revs, dual sequential fuel injection and a new ‘assist’ slipper clutch housed in new crankcases. The list goes on, but you get the idea. Lighter faster, fleeter etc.

The bike feels like a 600 from a few years ago, its small and amazingly light, well actually its not as amazingly light as I thought it was, its just a snag under 200KGs (quoted ‘wet’ weight) but the balance belies the weight.

On the open road I encountered a large hub cap in my line of flight exiting a corner, a brief shimmy and we were round it, no fuss just the engines urgent call to arms as the relentless and free flowing revs urged me forward. Rider input and impressive balance and weight transfer tested.
Ten minutes later on an unusually long fast and open stretch of road that was mercifully free of meandering minds steering their painfully slow cars home, produced a smooth power wheelie as I gunned it in fourth gear, the bars didn’t flap and the front wheel touched down almost nonchalantly , the damn thing just takes it all in its stride and somehow cajoles you into upping the pace, a series of third gear S bends further on flowed by though the roads were hideously cold and the grip did suffer. It moved a little later on into a fast downhill sweeper . (Naturally this could be put down to the idiot riding the bike as opposed to a shortcoming in the bike itself).
Equipped with Dunlop Qualifiers I’m sure in warmer weather they would have been perfect.
I felt the tyres after 1 hour 45 minutes as soon as I landed back at the showroom and the tyres were barely warm, perhaps I had to try harder. I looked up and the first few drops of sleet started pinging sporadically around me, at least I had a dry ride.

I must admit the thought of the slipper clutch eluded me whilst riding, but looking back it must have unobtrusively kicked in for some rather rapid downshifts (grey faced Geiger eyed individual staring through mottled wet glass as I gracefully semi fishtailed at him, trying to be as urgent but progressive on the brakes as I could) and the gearshift down through the sequential box seemed short and neat, positive, and there was no jerkiness, so the ‘assist’ part of the slipper clutch nomenclature worked well.

Some have said and I partially agree that this type of innovation divorces the rider from the actual riding experience but it’s not like you feel the bike taking over, making your decisions for you while you merely sit on board it just ‘assists’ in the whole process being undertaken, (in this instance the avoidance of mouth agape idiot Geiger boy in his vile mauve hatchback as he blithely sailed into the middle of the road from his driveway without looking). So Check! The slipper clutch works well as does the front brake set up.

Once again Honda have created a fantastic machine, it appeared to be good at everything, it’s a great looking bike and no doubt will offer years of trouble free scudding.

I can’t compare it to the other main rivals in its class as I don’t have the time or probably the ability to really fine tune what the differences are, let the big budget bike mags do that.
The only flaw that I can see is not specific to the Blade, it encompasses it and its peers.

The bike had so much power and ability it was disappointing that it wasn’t possible to use all of it, admittedly in perfect conditions I probably couldn’t anyway, but even (by my standards) at savage speeds I won’t admit to, it was still painfully obvious that there was loads more left, notwithstanding the plague of slow moving cars and a hundred other sundry considerations, it begs the question for me, why do I need a 1000cc sports bike? There will always be that last 25% I’ll virtually never be able or have the opportunity to use, from that point of view its not a sensible every day option for people like me. I'd just want to ride it faster and faster wherever I could.
Streetfighters with their lumpy midrange and wide bars, big bore supermotards, 600cc sports bikes, they are much more 'sensible' and are capable of achieving the same journey time stats as a Blade would.

However there’s something about straddling a super bike and just knowing that you can figuratively kick the shit out of anything else on the road other than a superior spirit on the same machine, and its comforting that you can have all this control for less than 10 grand. After all power is nothing without control apparently.

My thanx to Hawkwind for space music and the pig that is the Roi du Mont

Buell XB12Ss lightning

2008-02-21T02:20:00.000-08:00

Its been a while since posting last, been bogged down with boring rubbish and a jaded mind, but thankfully riding motorcycles has injected a bit of enlivenmnet and excitement into the hum drum of everyday existence of sleep, work, eat sleep, work, you get the picture, the winter doldrums etc.

New years resolution of more aerobic exercise becoming a tiresome chore? Can't be arsed to go down the gym and slog away on any number of strange contrivances designed to make you sweat and your heart beat?

I have a better answer. Wait till summer and buy a motorcycle, one of these will get the pump working, hone your reaction skills and make you smile like a rabid beast on LSD.

Buell XB12Ss Lightning 2007

Motorcycles don’t you just love ‘em? Traffic jams? Pah!

This week I have laughed in the face of the usual debilitating congestion, and frustration, at the Sat Nav space out pilots grounded and impotent. I thudded past the vehicular attention deficit disorder that is daily commuting.

This week I had a temporary present direct from the brilliant engineering mind of Mr. Erik Buell, founding father and innovative American sports bike designer who’s name graces the translucent faux fuel tank of the Buell 1200 Lightning Ss.

The journey home last night by way of example was an absolute treat, thudding through the fresh winter air as it cooled from a day’s sunshine, not a car in sight.

Only fifteen miles until home, I didn’t feel cheated as such but for once I wished it took me longer to get home, even the long way wasn’t long enough!

Not far now, caught up in the riding experience; and there it was approaching fast, been anticipating this little section in the mental segmentation of the journey home.

Revving out in top up the slight incline, long fast and true for a mile or more, 20 degree kink, (hardly noticed it), along the main straight, thudding metronome, check for that hidden turn off by the crooked and flaking white signpost for any approaching snout of a car or tractor about to turn left. Check!
Hug the inside line, brushing the emerging too early for spring budding fingers of the hedge, keep the throttle pinned, stroke the sublime rear brake with subtle pressure to steady the bike as the pale sandy surface of the Shell grip shows its face round the kink in the road,.
Steady….Bang it down a gear into fourth, growl of the low revving motor rises a baritone pitch or two, hint less throttle, psychosomatic dab of the rear brake to shave perhaps three to five mph off the rapid progress, drift wide to the white line and connecting directly to the geometry of the machine by way of almost telepathic mind control choose the line.
Tyres are warm, surface is grippy and grainy, subtle change in tyre noise downloads into my consciousness. Check! Keep it wide, not yet… and turn!
First very long apex, keep it hugging the inside line, count to two to resist the temptation of turning in too early for the next bend, which would upset the following line out of the section. Stand it up momentarily, add a touch of front brake along the few metres of straight before the next bend, back off a touch blip rather more than necessary just because it sounds great and down into third, engine note frenetically thudding up another baritone octave. Can feel a bit of vibration (but that’s alright), ready to cane the shiz out of it through and across the next apex, mindful of traffic.
It’s a lengthy and sinuous series of bends can’t let it drift over the white line, engage telepathy for the exit, push it over and wind the throttle back out with purpose, still Shell Grip, front feels ever so slightly light keep it pinned and flick back upright for drive up the hill, the rear squatting and the rear Pirelli Diablo forcing its footprint into the road, back into fourth short burst and short shift into fifth rolling off the throttle to allow for backed up traffic.
What a hoot! I almost went back and did it again.

If this sounds like a bit of you, then I urge you to find your nearest Buell dealer so that you can badger them for a ride.

If you like thrashing your Japanese sports bike white hot, and your calibre can take advantage of the large figures please read on anyway, it’s perhaps not the bike for you, but it would do no harm to take heed of the opposition.
If you are growing bored though with some say a more rider disconnected sector of the market or your license is besmirched with pestilential points, and perhaps your motorcycling palate is jaded and a desire for something new twists through your soul occasionally, this bike should be considered a viable alternative to the mainstream. Its fun to ride and you can quite easily misbehave on it, it’s just that it does it all in an entirely different way to a more familiar four cylinder power delivery.

The Buell philosophy is of handling over horsepower. Clever old Erik has thought outside the box for a number of years now and 2008 is the 25th anniversary of this radical thinking engineer’s product. The culmination of this philosophy is epitomised in the current range of machines parallel marketed within most Harley Davidson franchises.
In 1994 Erik set up a new Buell Motorcycle Company, With a 49 per cent share holding by H-D and in 1998, Harley purchased an additional 49 per cent, leaving Erik with 2 per cent, bulging pockets and a job for life.
H-D could now compete in a new sector and benefit from the ideas. technologies and engineering concepts by way of a proper handling Harley Davidson V-Twin powered sports bike that is both instantly recognizable and partially unique in the heady world of motorcycle design and, still trundle along very nicely thank you with their core product, big bore V-twin cruisers and low riders.

H-D’s vision and investment in Erik has paid off with the marque expanding by 36.96 percent last year in the UK alone and four fold globally over the last ten years At 12,500 units which make Buell’s contribution to the parent company’s export sales at more than half.

I reckon the Harley-Davidson ‘Sportster’ is a bit of a misnomer, for sure they might be a bit more nimble than the rest of the larger heavy duty range but in today’s world they barely resemble most modern motorcyclist’s idea or mental image of a Sportster. Step in the Buell range, now these are Sportsters!

I admire H-D for keeping their products at the forefront of public consciousness, their brand is instantly recognizable globally, respected and desired by motorcyclists and non motorcyclists alike. An affinity with the fostered for years rebel image is often pursued by rock stars and silver screen bad boys.
T-shirts bearing the famous shield and bar are everywhere in the world
The late John Bonham famously rode a Harley through a hotel whilst pissed up or something, Billy Idol famously crashed one, probably whilst sneering in that affected way of his into a downtown Ventura Boulevard late night kebab joint. Tom Cruise and Jay Leno have massive collections of machines Harleys numbering amongst them, but for me the plaudits should go to the Buell.

I’m going to be pilloried from some quarters for my appreciation of the Lightning, the lack of horsepower, the quirky styling, the no mod cons gizmometry and the price tag.
They would be right as well!

It does only make a ‘meagre’ sub 100 horsepower and in comparison to its peers within this naked street fighter niche the performance figures may not add up to those of a Ducati Monster, a Speed Triple or perhaps a Super Duke, but I haven’t ridden either of those, this is the bike I’m riding I’m telling it like it is, as I found it and I feel able to pass worthy judgement on it.

Each time I land after protracted hooning I walk away feeling full up, smiling and looking back each time as the rear fan kicks in blowing miles of accumulated heat away from the block, the whole thing tics respectably as it resumes more ambient temperatures. The Lightning offers you everything it has and you can use it all, it’s satisfying. You don’t need gravity usurping horsepower and sky’s the limit rev ceilings to enjoy yourself on this machine.

Fairness where fairness is due, the law according to Erik Buell works admirably.
The secret is the low centre of gravity to achieve the sublime handling abilities. It doesn’t have a fuel tank, it has a fuel frame, likewise with the oil tank, it doesn’t have one as such, you just check your swing arm levels.

The exhaust muffler is admittedly a hideously bulky affair but it’s slung under the motor, you don’t really notice it as it could be confused for the lines of a belly pan, and you couldn’t get it any lower if you tried without upsetting the ground clearance. Corner speed and ease of steering is amazing on such a (on paper) low tech machine. Daddy of elbow scraping high jinx Jean Phillipe Ruggia probably has one in his garage for the Sunday run. (Just to keep his ... Urm… hand in).

I now believe Bike magazine when they voted it the best handling road going machine they had ever tested. I believe now that the accompanying picture was not airbrushed software enhanced propaganda. I believe owners I have spoken to who have claimed outlandish hours of happiness and pleasure of ownership from their Buell, I’ve looked into their eyes for signs of over embellishment, of some of the stories I have heard. There was none. I believe Erik Buell has got it right.

The wheels are slender sculptures of motion gripped by Pirelli Diablo tyres in standard sports format of 120 and 180 sections, allied up front with the quirky rim mounted disc the unsprung weight must play a part in the bikes quick turn ability.

I can also attest to the single six pot and rim disc braking efficiency when the other night a white junker of an excuse for a van that was no longer a credit to Ford juddered to a halt like the rudder nosed rotten vehicle that it was with no sign of light escaping from its smashed and splintered rear lens’, the forks soaked up my sudden deceleration stopping me most efficiently without the butt clenching alarm of possible imminent impact and not even the hint of a squeak from the front tyre. The engine braking obviously helps rapid deceleration and stamping down through the box helps naturally. I steered round the rancid excuse for a Transit past hurling potent and strident curses of assorted pox on the driver in his smoking and ruinous cab, (and his descendants) and thudded off up the road
The last time I applied that amount of front brake in such a short space of time the Z1000 I was riding twisted in my grip, laid a scary front wheel darkie in the middle of Brighton and threatened to chuck me off and jump on top of me. Face was saved but only just.

Now the criticism! I’m used to 125 horsepower delivered in a four cylinder format so it does feel flat when on the straights, fifth gear is really just overdrive, peak power I would guess (‘cos I haven’t looked it up yet) is between 4,500-5,000rpm.
And Erik what’s the plot with this stretched chassis malarkey? No doubt to better accommodate a pillion.
Well I sat on the back whilst my mate rode it just to check the ‘Stretched chassis’-ness of it, and you might as well forget it mate, there is jack to hang onto, you’d be off the back in no time with a jaunty hand at the throttle grip, the seat is slidy and the rear of it just… well it just… drops away, its rubbish Erik, forget the pillion it’s a solo machine.

Give me 25 more horses with the same style of power delivery please, bung in a full monty Vance & Hines whilst you’re at it, slightly stiffer front forks, (but not too much mind) and just keep everything else the same. I like the translucent tank showing all the trickery beneath, the frame guards are a good idea, belt drive seems efficient and keeps my wheels clean, don’t need a fairing and the clocks give you all the detail you need. The rear brake works luvverly and the rider’s part of the seat is a wonder of comfort in the buttockular region.

If I wasn’t a fiscally deprived wastrel and had a few bob of disposable to spend on a bike which I could commute on, (good tank range considering the large capacity and throttle abuse I meted out), scratch on and just go hunting It would certainly be on my pared down, decision soon to be made wish list.

You could rule the world for an afternoon on the Lightning, a little bit of tweak age on the front forks to add a bit more compression damping, some Super Corsa tyres, warm day and purpose in your soul, could lay waste to most sports machines. Haunt the B roads, go Gixxer hunting round the twisties, lay waste to sports bike junkie ego’s they’ll be just as surprised as you are until the straights, don’t suffer chicken strips on your tyres, tear them up.
Other than outright top end and all too quick acceleration which this bike veers away from (deliberately) this bike is a rider’s bike.

It’ll be interesting to read what the professionals think of the new liquid cooled 1125R, due in showrooms this year, 170KG, more power, stickier tyres, six gears, slipper clutch and a front fairing which looks wide enough to challenge a jump jet wingspan which means it won’t fit through your standard garden gate or shed doorway. I’m betting it’s a bloody marvel to ride though.

Check the cycle parts detail in the accompanying video (erm when I post it later)!

Doby Trutcenden 20.2.08

Harley-Davidson Nightster

2008-01-22T01:04:00.000-08:00

Harley Davidson XL1200 Nightster 2008

The Harley Davidson ‘Nightster’ is, as the name suggests it might be quite a dark horse!
It, unlike the majority of Harley-Davidson’s you would see in the course of your travels, is missing the almost de-rigueur chrome and lustrous paint of its brethren and breed. In fact, almost entirely contra the normal policy of Harley’s magpie designers it has virtually no polishable metal surface which I think you’ll agree in the main is unusual.

Harley stylists have decided that for 2008 black is the new chrome, and a sand-cast effect finish is the new polished ally for their new 1200 XL Sportster derivative. Furthermore they have stripped this bike to its minimal requirements. The seat is solo, subsequently there are no rear pegs, the rear fender (painted black) adorns the top curve of the rear wheel and other than a number plate (and a lonely crosshead bolt to fit a dual seat if the future owner required) is parsimonious in its feature. The tank is a minimal 12.5 litre affair perched atop the frame rail and is… err, black, with subtle grey tone pin striping and the legendary moniker only. No chunky anniversary badge or shield and bar. The wheels are black rimmed and highlighted quite nicely by chrome spokes. The handlebars, switchgear, levers mirrors, headlight, frame and forks are also painted just plain ole black pardners.
The only chrome features are the exhaust manifold covers and silencers.

It wouldn’t look out of place in the scorching badlands heat of Mexico, land of Zapata moustaches, chewing tobacco, tequila and aged cactus, but it does I fear look out of place on a cold winters day in Sussex as it thuds through the early morning dreariness and cold. Speckled orange sodium spots lining the foothills of the Downs and commuter traffic hobbling the large lumpy motor’s big bore potential. Pale faced shivering rider, clean shaven, skirting Eastbourne deeply imbedded in the burgeoning 21st century fog and drizzle.

Harley-Davidson have successfully marketed their product continuously for decades whilst not really changing the intrinsic design of the machine substantially. It’s still powered by a push rod large capacity air cooled two valve per cylinder V-twin engine. (The VRSCC V-rod range aside). It would appear that’s what it’s customers like, and what wannabe owners desire. There is an adage ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it‘. So they haven’t! Fair play to them for successfully sticking to their guns, what fine marketing people they have.

The Nightster 1200 is a traditional Harley. Essentially it’s not much different to the previous incarnations of XL1200 machines. I’m not sure what came first with this machine, the name subsequently the style or, the stylists vision begat the name.

Other than the colour shade the other styling cues on this bike to differentiate it from others are fork gaiters, a single front disc, cut down front fender and a first I believe for the factory the complete absence of the traditional tail light assembly. The factory have decided that despite its retro look the lines would be cluttered by a chunky tail light, so instead they have configured the rear light and brake light within the indicators, clever thinking Milwaukee geezers. As with all new bikes manufactured for Euro land the lights have to remain on at all times, therefore the LED rear indicator units are wide eyed and red rimmed with the ’pupils’ a lustrous orange when required. Anything but traditional.

When anyone mentions to me the double barrelled moniker, the mental image I immediately think of is one of a large and cumbersome motorcycle chromed and raked with a laid back riding position. A Panzer amongst bicycles. This bike punches a huge hole in that mental myth of mine. It’s actually very small and compact. Parked next to Mazzer’s Fazer 600 it actually appeared smaller.

The seat height is incredibly low (67.6 cms), my wife and some of her pals all clamoured to sit astride the bike and all of them could get the flats of their feet on the ground, for me, a six footer it was almost too low, though the actual riding position was quite comfortable. In the past when I have ridden custom bikes I always find myself pulling my upper body forward, and the saving grace is sensibly positioned pegs, low and wide though sans return springs which is a pain.

Under your left ham is the battery cover which revealed a maintenance free unit, fuse box etc, and under the right is the cover which provides for the remote plastic oil tank. This has a really spiffing satin alloy oil filler cap which is perfectly shaped to follow the contour of the cover itself which, when pressed slowly rises from its confines to allow one to twist off and check the levels on the integrated dip stick. Very clever, very nice but also very subtle.

The bike benefits from fuel injection for emission purposes so started at the touch of a button when the system had primed. It does have a side stand cut out switch so it’s a clutch in job. It was easy to wheel around and though you could tell that this was a 250KG bike it was well balanced steering neatly on its completely non-adjustable basic suspension. I say non-adjustable, but the rear springs are adjustable to one other position to accommodate the extra weight of a pillion should you as a future owner wish to carry a passenger and no doubt wish to buy a Harley ‘C’ spanner from their vast accessories, tuning and clothing catalogue. The bike didn’t appear to have any onboard tool kit in evidence.

Now in this modern day and age you would suspect that a 1200cc V-twin engine would be a bit of a monster, certainly allied to the ‘Nightster’ badge, but no, it still only produces around 60 BHP (I’m guessing, Harley don’t actually list the power output in the specs) which quite frankly could be a little disappointing on the open road.

This bike is however perfect for those who want to buy into the kudos of owning and running a Harley and don’t want to rush about the world at high speed, with handling they will never find the limit of (you can buy a Buell for that). Perhaps the born again biker who likes the idea of owning a bike but is hesitant because of all the talk of massive power deliveries from most of the rest of the factories and who doesn’t want his (or her) arms ripped out by frenzied horsepower. Maybe the PORGs amongst us who either have to wear altitudinous Cuban heels or balance on the furthest reaches of tippy toe on most other machines.

The motor is quite docile (I’ve been bought up on a diet of high revving four cylinder bikes) and revs like a lazy dog, but still manages to deliver 72 ftlbs of torque which is natural from this configuration of engine. The rubber mounted Evolution engine oscillates excitedly on start up and the vibrations can be felt whilst riding though this is not intrusive because if you do buy one of these bikes you should expect nothing else and is possibly the reason why you bought it in the first place.

It’ll pummel its way up to 110mph (apparently) through its five speed box (conventional layout, one down four up) but trust me this is as fast as you would want to go on this bike even if you had more power and a dark desert highway before you. It is amazingly steady at these speeds, but hit a pothole or similar and it does jar the front end showing off the frailties of the basic front forks. It is happiest at around 80mph in top and the best punch in its armoury is fourth gear blattage from around 60mph, that’s its sweet spot I reckon.

It does however clatter like a Fifties thoroughbred on the open road, you are definitely not spared the sound this engine makes, and don’t confuse it for drive train noise either because like just about every Harley out there its an almost silent final belt drive, requiring no lubrication (which in turn means you don’t have to spend hours cleaning filthy oily rubbish off your rims continually) which at first was quite startling, especially as the sanitized mufflers kept just about all of the exhaust note from you. One thing is for sure it’s definitely not a Japanese or European machine. That sound is definitely all American and totally Harley Davidson.
Mental note. Lock all the bureaucrats in a dark cave somewhere to argue their bulls**t rubbish amongst themselves, whilst us everyday people can get on with our lives bolting open pipes to our motorcycles.
This bike is screaming to breathe and shout out its existence to all who are in earshot. And would make a huge difference to its overall character.

The single brake disc up front and rear sibling were perfectly adequate unless seriously heavy braking was required and gave pretty good feel considering the basic layout, Dual opposed pistons on the front and a single 39mm piston affair on the rear, which was necessary during this road test as it was pissing down and cold most of the time I was out on the road.
It’s not really fair to rate the grip of the branded tyres because of the weather, but they felt pretty good in the wet and on a dry but damp, slick and cold winter morning.
The hour or so of dry road I did get one evening whilst tooling home resulted in a few more millimeters off the footpeg’s hero blobs, but to be honest it’s doesn’t take much of a hero to achieve this.

The speedometer is almost an afterthought or a grudging necessity on this bike, it tells you how fast you are going and that’s it. With a small LCD odo panel inset at the bottom, other than for speed cameras it’s barely worth a look. A small row of ‘idiot lights’ close to the handlebar bridge completes the set up.

The switchgear is chunky and easy to use with winter gloves on and even the handed self cancelling indicator switches weren’t difficult to get used to. Levers are chunky and considering the bike I was riding the clutch lever action didn’t feel overly heavy either. Neutral to first gear was a clunky affair but positive and provided you didn’t want to ride it like a Japanese sports bike gear changing was also relatively smooth if you didn’t snatch at it.

Don’t buy one of these if you want to commute. I have no doubt that you could use it all year round, it seemed well built and considering the years of virtually unchanged manufacture under Harley’s belt should be so, but the tank range is frankly rubbish. Less than eighty miles before the light flickers on, ten miles later exiting the fuel station you will only be eight and a half quid lighter and already wondering where the next fill up will occur.

If you feel the urge for a bit of speed and rapid acceleration, a bit of lightweight and flickiness you could get the same performance and probably better handling for a lot less on a Honda CB500 or Suzuki GS500 for instance and the same money would buy you a 600cc Japanese bullet. (Half the price would buy you an Enfield Bullet), so make sure you make your buying decision based on the right reasons.

Buy one of these if you want retro style, if you want a bit of dyed in the wool character, if you wish to attract women, if you want a bit of attitude and history. It wouldn’t look too bad dressed in drab army green, white star on tank, ’property of the US army’ stamped alongside and some dun canvas saddlebags covered in no-mans-land mud. It really hasn’t changed that much in terms of outright styling since the early bucket seat despatch days of the Forties, army fatigues and rifle holster on the front and you could be a film extra or an Audi Murphy wannabee.
If you are not interested in whizz bang sci-fi gadgetry, if you want your biking to be relaxed but still purposeful. If you want a custom bike, you might as well have an original, and that’s what H-D are very good at delivering.

Now what soundtrack should I put over the video, ‘What made Milwaukee famous’ Rodney Stewart covered it I believe, ‘Paint it black’ , Hmmm The Stones or The Animals, can’t decide which version is better, maybe ‘Nightrain’ by Guns ‘n’ Roses, hmmm wrong model, ‘Born to be wild’ is so much of a cliché I don’t know why it even popped into my head, something by Steve Harley maybe, a Billy Idol ‘Rebel Yell’, ‘American Gothic’ from The Cult, hmmmm………………………………............

Doby Trutcenden 8.1.08

Chapter 16 - Andorra to St Jean D'Angely

2008-01-18T06:03:00.000-08:00

After a brief sojourn at the top adniring the scenery, it was time to descend into Andorra itself, we stopped at the border for some grub and duty frees. Eddie packed as many cigarettes as he could fit into his bag whilst Phil and I did likewise including chocolates, then we were off again.

I had no mental picture of what I thought Andorra was like other than a location on a map, a place to tick off the list and stick under the proverbial belt. I'm glad I didn't have any pre-conceived ideas on the place because I think I would have been disappointed. We didn't stop. The main street snaked through pokey streets with roadworks, the houses looked grimy and the shops appeared to be shut. It was not until the north end of the town that the road opened up, we had been steadily climbing upwards again, the mountain peaks were clearly visible. Finally after some fast sweeping twisties we were out of town and back onto the open road just above the snowline and the ski lifts, once more we headed north but down into France proper at Foix.

This part of the journey was very scenic and had good stretches of black top until we met the advance guard of cows and shepherds with dogs hurding the animals down the road, constantly shitting brown spilth, slicking the road. The sad eyed bovines shuffled past whilst the ragged dogs and herders waved sticks, rang bells and smoked fags. They, apparentley had all the time in the world. We killed the motors and waited for them to peel off into whatever alpine pasture awaited further down the road.

It took half an hour before the stragglers had passed and we could continue on our way wary of the faecal slicking that had taken place. They must have moved a fair distance, because there was alot of shite marking the way, we finally hooked up to the motorway network at Foix. It was time to buckle down and munch some miles, to clear the mechanized throat so to speak.

We started to pick up rush hour traffic around Tolouse. We were heading to Agen where we encountered a french biker on a streetfightered GSXR. Wearing completely inappropriate riding apparel at very high speed. It was quite refreshing really, this man obviously had a bit of fire in his belly. He must have seen us coming because he upped the pace and started to pull away. Naturally we picked up the pace and closed the gap, by this time approaching 150mph. We reeled him in. He was game, his rucksack must have gouged his flesh red raw, it looked like it was about to explode off his back bouncing around in the enormous wake he was producing.

We took him in the fast lane giving him the left boot for respect and kept the pace up until Bordeaux, the roads were free and it was only when my neck ached after about ten minutes that I backed off a little.

We were all keen to get to Frosty's pad, the only way was to ride fast and stay fast, put up with the neck ache and bollox to the fuel consumption. The hours rolled past, the petrol greedily guzzled by the unrelenting beasts beneath us, propelling us at warp speed through Saintes, closer and closer to St. Jean D'Angely.

At the last petrol stop before the rendezvous Phil contacted the frosted bollocked one who arranged to meet us at the exit toll off the motorway so we could follow him the last 10 miles to his house, comfy chairs, food and a proper cup of tea. We found the exit as the sun was starting to slip below the horizon bathing everything in that strange soft light you get at this time of day giving the air an almost tangible look and feel to it. Either that or my eyes were starting to feel the strain of 100% concentration for hour after hour at highly illegal speeds.

Harley Davidson test complete

2008-01-17T04:37:00.000-08:00

The Harley has been returned to its rightful owners. The last week saw me rack up close to 600 miles in predominantly hideously inclement weather. The bike was stinking and filthy but at least it had been used, which is the idea of any loan for road test purposes. The only major casualties in that time is a waterlogged and now kaput mobile telephone, seemingly permanently cold appendages (not helped by a dearth of central heating in the house) plus a few grammes of metal from the bikes hero blobs and manifold down pipe covers. Clearly audible in the video (he he)

Will be sharing the full content when the review goes live on the main site with any luck Wednesday 23rd Jan. But here's a suitably moody pic

Chapter 15 - Ola Espana

2008-01-11T00:47:00.000-08:00

We stopped for gas a smoke and some liquid. We tarried a while, relaxing for 10 minutes before the next leg of the journey. The Angel phalanx swept past us and must have turned off shortly after as, when we continued we didn't catch them up again, and we weren't hanging about.

Setting off again it wasn't long before the bulk of the Pyrenees started to loom out of the far horizon as we approached the Spanish border, we crossed it smoothly without any drama.

The first toll station we encountered on the Spanish side was more interesting. I stopped a pulled a glove off, dug the plastique out of my pocket, slotted it in the machine and up went the barrier. I wasn't back on my bike before Phil and Ed shot through. By the time I was ready to go the barrier was down again and some droop moustachioed Spaniard was flying out of his little booth extremely animated and shouting all manner of Spanish filth at me. Phil and Ed were right at the other end of the slip road waiting for me, engines idling, no doubt grinning like bastards at my predicament.

I let the bloke vent his spleen, wittering on and on in a most strident fashion until, finally I had enough. I got the message that he was very angry but there was no need for the tirade. I raised my hand to stop the flow (talk to the hand), said clearly and loudly that I didn't understand Spanish and shrugged, taking a relaxed and unconcerned stance lounging against his sweaty little booth wall and started to roll a smoke. This appeared to wind him up further, as he carried on ranting at me and pointed repeatedly at Fast and Ed who by now had switched off their motors, no doubt still grinning like bastards.

He finally let me through after taking details of the bike and making it clear that he wanted Ed and Phil to come back and pay. I communicated this to them , but we just couldn't be bothered, we had some miles to ride.

We found El Masnou, found Gary's residence, parked up outside, unhooked our luggage and lobbed it over his lockedback gate, scribbled him a note for when he returned from work and went looking for a bar, soon found, we drank ice cold lager until his arrival. Very pleasent. We now had a day out of the saddle to look forward to. Some R 'n' R tomorrow.

Gary turned up on his early Gixer 1100H and parked up, we made our greetings over more lager, then returning to his house which housed his 1100 Katana which he didn't ride any more but couldn't bear to be parted with, having had it since he was a lad.

The next two days would take another hour or so to write and in itself is a story of fear & loathing, but I will save it for another day. Suffice to say I have never seen Fast Eddie so drunk and would have liked to see him carry out his boast of eating all the local cannines, if they didn't 'shut the fuck up' (there was alot of barking about) at the top of his voice at two thirty in the morning in a broad Irish accent thickened by lashings of alcohol. I was seriously contemplating the possibility of having to find bail money to release him from a stinking Spanish jail, but it never happened thankfully.

We thanked Gary for his hospitality a day later and set off for Andorra in the heart of the pyrenees, the next stage before hopefully landing at St. Jean D' Angely to hook up with 'Frosty bollox' and Marie-Anne in their newly purchased house near La Rochelle in mid west France where we were hoping to stay the night, have another day out of the saddle before the final home leg back to Dunkirk, to Blighty and home.

It seemed slow going heading North into the Pyrenees. We were on the N145 and arrowing straight through the heart of the massif, lots of twisties to look forward to.
The foothills slowly receeded behind us as we crept ever upwards until we were on narrow roads snaking up the mountains. The roads were atrocious, bumpy, gravely and strewn with minor hazards, all easily negotiable but the TL was not set up for quick third gear squirt and flick action. Squirt in third, blip and into second, round the often tight blind bends, heave it up. snick third, quick squirt, off the gas, blip into second, sling it into the corner, and so it went on as we corkscrewed up the mountain, the Tl was feeling porky putting a strain on my wrists and arms. It's natural habitat was the open road not this short windy stuff. We reached the top of the pass and parked up for some pix and a cigarette before descending into the tax haven nestling in the central valleys.

Here's a taster

2008-01-09T04:37:00.000-08:00

The article in it's entirity will be on the main UKBike site shortly, (link top right) but here's an excerpt

''...........It wouldn’t look out of place in the scorching badlands heat of Mexico, land of Zapata moustaches, chewing tobacco, tequila and aged cactus, but it does I fear look out of place on a cold winters day in Sussex as it thuds through the early morning dreariness and cold. Speckled orange sodium spots lining the foothills of the Downs and commuter traffic hobbling the large lumpy motor’s big bore potential. Pale faced rider, clean shaven, skirting Eastbourne deeply imbedded in the burgeoning 21st century fog and drizzle..........''

Happy new year

2008-01-04T03:49:00.000-08:00

2008 rolled in under a haze of champagne and wine fumes for me, I trust all you do as you likers out there had a fantastic crimbo and new year.

Early back to work for me on the second, but there is a bonus, and thats one of these babies to ride for the next fornight courtesy of Harley UK, so thanx guys and gals.

My aim is to bung 4-500 miles on it within that time and then it will form the first video supported review on the UKBike site proper.

Having never slung my leg over a Harley ever before in my 26 year riding career it should be an interesting experience. They don't even need it returned clean or with a full tank of petrol, which is a bonus, because the weather is terrible and the tank range will be an education. Fully thermalled up I will be heading into the murk later on this afternoon on my maiden voyage.

Usually I scud home on a sub 200kg 125BHP Kawasaki ZX-9. This should be a great test of whether the higher spec Japanese machine covers the distance home quicker or not over the on paper inferior specced Harley. Keep in touch.

If any of you own a similar Harley Davidson Sportster or even one of these 'Nightster's please get in touch via the main UKBike site, either on the forum or write a review. My knowledge base on Harley's is sketchy so let me know what you think.

On a completely different subject, Radio 5 have just announced the cancellation of the Paris-Dakar rally this year, because of safety and security concerns due to a french family murdered in Mauretania Africa - Bummer!

Chapter 14 - It was the first time the TL Road Train had been out thundered

2007-12-20T02:10:00.000-08:00

Hunger gnawed at our bellies, time to forage for food. Fruitlessly we searched the locale for some grub, in the end I gave up and returned to the hotel. I couldn't be arsed to be perfectly honest, I just wanted to relax. Phil and Fast were a bit more tenacious and they re-appeared about an hour later with some decidedly dodgy looking chinese food.

The following day brought the next stage of the journey. We were heading for a little suburb of Barcelona called El Masnou to hook up with one of my old school friends who was working in Spain.

This meant traversing the entire breadth of Southern France, nipping across the border at Perpignon and into Spain. One long straight motorway blast, a bit boring but easily done in a day. We set off about 9.00am on yet another awesome day of sunshine and blue skies.

Perhaps half way across the basement of France around Montpelier in steady motorway cruise mode I noticed a phalanx of riders occupying two lanes glinting up ahead. As we closed up to them I noticed they were all wearing colours and riding American steel at about 80mph in perfect formation. These guys were flying the colours of a French Hells Angels chapter. I slowed the pace and gave these guys room and respect, not interfering with their road pace. They rode as one entity, all chrome, open pipes, aped and raked to impress. It was the first time the TL road train had been out thundered.

The thing that puzzled me was their immaculate turn out. The bikes I could understand. A man must have pride in his machine, the cleaner the faster etc. Apart from Phil, Eddie and I would be riding immaculate machines, not mud caked fly spattered missiles. Most motorcyclists unconciously crave that head turning cred. It's a statement of pride. individuality, freedom and passion for life and thrills. (Well for me anyway). We were however on a mileage mission and had no room or time for cleaning products, just spare oil and chain lube.

The Angels themselves were clean and I mean clean, their apparal looked new, boots were polished, cut offs could have been bought that day, their colours shone. As a teenager I had read everything I could find on the 1%ers, the outlaw bikers with names like Terry The Tramp, Mouldy Marvin and Larry the Lamb.

The myth was grubbiness and filthy beards, cruddy originals and hell raising, raping, pillaging, gun running and drug taking like modern day Vikings. This may have been true in the early days (and if you read about the North American policing, Yves Lavigne for instance it's still true today if you choose to believe them), when the Angels gained notoriety via the Rolling Stones gig at Altamont (I think) and through the pages of Gonzo Journalist Hunter S. Thompsons 'Hells Angels' (which I must have read at least half a dozen times by now). However it is said that it takes ten years to gain a reputation and five minutes to lose one. I think in the case of the Angels and to a similar extent similar clubs it took five minutes to gain their rep (fair or not - you decide) and perhaps twenty years to lose it. Sonny Barger dipped into mainstream acceptance for the fast burgeoning global 'brand' when he carried the Olympian eternal flame part of the Journey to the Atlanta Olympics. I remember seeing that on the box and thinking Yes, how cool is that.

We slipped past and gently increased our velocity. It was shortly after that I managed to max the TLR. It was a three laner, perfect visibility, no slip roads and bugger all traffic to speak of. It had to be done at least once. From 100 or so I wound the thing up in top until the dials showed just over 170mph, there was no twist left in the throttle. With no luggage and and revving it through the gears perhaps I might have squeezed a little more out of it but it was exhilerating enough, the bike felt like it was about to take off, the thump of the V-twin heart pounded beneath me. Fixed things started to blur in my personal tunnel of speed.

For me this is what it's all about, it would have been great to sustain this for more than a couple of miles but the wind blast was threatening to snap my neck and it was drinking gas like a stranded man in a desert with a terrible thirst. so it was back down to 130 ish and a weather eye for the next fuel stop.

NEC Show

2007-12-13T01:14:00.000-08:00

Well the 2007 NEC international Motorcycle show has swept by for another year and in my opinion was the best for a long time. The list of attractions were almost too much to fit in in just one day.

The main reason for attending was to view the new models and there was a fair few of them.

Honda showed off their new brutish looking streetfighter the CB1000R, a compact muscle bike featuring a single sided swing arm, rakish headlight nacelle fairing assembly, very nice wheels and a functional and not bad looking box section looking angular GP stubby esque exhaust.

The new for 2008 Fireblade didn't look half as hideous as in the pictures also featuring a side slung stubby exhaust 175 horses weighing in at a relatively heavy 199kg. I'd have one!

Most of the rest of the range appeared to be the 'same but different' with updates. Honda hope to grab some of the middle price bracket sensible 600 market with the new CBF600abs.

Other Japanese notables were the all new R6 Yamaha which is a stunning looking sports bike which will no doubt be a bloody misssile and move the class forward just a little more, Yamaha also introduce the equally stunning YZF-R125 this little thing will steal sales from the the Honda CBR125 with ease if priced right, for me the best bike in its class, perfect bike for younger brothers to emulate the sports bike antics of their older siblings. Not quite sure about their new V-Max concept, you can see the lines echoing the previous seminal superbike and it is very Judge Dredd, Yamaha are a bit coy about when or if in terms of release date. Suzuki's B-King is reality of course but debatable in terms of styling cues for me, those exhausts are just hideous and in my opinion outextreme the MT-01 which is also an odd looking animal.

Kawasaki have pulled off a master Stroke I reckon with the release of their new sports 250, styled to turn heads with a 250cc parallel twin engine, cheap and reliable spec and bang on the 33bhp limit for newbies, priced right this could sell in numbers. TheZX10R has always been an awesome bike in terms of performance but the twin pipers were definitely the ugly sister in comparison to the earlier C models and the '08 model has been delivered with a facelift, the mirror/indicators look a bit odd but they showed the bike with the mini slimline accessories kit fitted which was much better. Inevitably the zorst was a bulbous neccesity and the pillion area was ....well not really there. The new Blade or this 10 would be my choice for a litre superbike, based on the assumption that I don't win many thousands of pounds so therefore will not be in a position to buy either the magnificent Desmoseidieci, 1098 or the very svelte KTM 1180 LC8.

Triumph had no real new models but their Rocket 111 in touring kit looked awesome, more purposeful looking than the equivalent Harley and less complicated in the bristling with gizmo's Goldwing which features a sat nav and a billion other buttons, it's a gizmo geek bike whereas the Triumph is a bikers bike which has soul. God knows what mind bending drugs the Victory designers were on when they created the 'Victory 'Vision' which has been introduced to this huge litre super tourer class. Marketed as the New American V - twin, on this occasion I'd rather have the old one and swap quids for a Harley if American metal was my penchant. It's a truly weird, admittedly brave and futuristic design, but I think more people were just amazed at it rather than genuinely interested.

On the American side of things, the Harley stand was naturally flash but most of the bikes just looked like tweaked former models which is really what Harley are all about, they have the essential sales ingredientsand just dress them up in different clothes it seems to me. I have to be honest at this point I have never slung a leg over one so I should reserve judgement until I have. And the day cometh. second week in January I will hopefully be riding an XL1200 Nightster so will post my thoughts when its been handed back to it's rightful owners and I've thawed out. I'm actually really looking forward to it.

The new Buells are quirky looking things and the new water cooled offering was no different, the top fairing was wider than a south London market Trader. I'm sure it is very efficient but not sure if it would fit through the garage door it seemed that wide.

I had a pew on the HP megamoto and again very quirky and highly efficient without a doubt but those sticky out pots just don't feel right to me, give me a Hypermotard Duke or preferably a KTM Supermotard R please. Their GS800 promises to further roll out the appeal of the range created almost single handedly by Boorman and McGregor. Benelli showed their entire range. I'm undecided with these beasts, the Tornado looks good but you rarely see one on the road and the rest of the range look well finished but not quite italian. I reckon you can see a Chinese influence in there somewhere especially with reference to the Tre's radiator set up, they were hideous looking, the brand has a modular approach to their very slowly expanding model range. I'm sure they are all great bikes but the proof of the pudding is the buying public.

A little gem amongst the diadem of mainstream manufacturers was the new Megelli range of chinese manufactured machines overseen by a new British engineering concern, Priced at under 2K I'm convinced you'll be seeing some of these on the road next year as they crowd the Gilera DNA sector.

Carole Nash's stand is a must most years but I was left a little disappointed, for sure all the machines displayed were lavished by pride and joy but some how I was a little disappointed, the winner of the Carole Nash award was a most bizarre, It was almost a mechanical animal rather than a bike, the oddest lowrider I have ever seen and not something I would ever want to ride.

The stalls looked busy and the crowd contained noticeably more women than previous years which reflects the touted figures of increasing amounts of female license holders.

Well done to the organizers I reckon. loads to see and plenty to do. Visitor figures I believe are up on last year and loads of new kit to ride.

Chapter 13 - From Mugello to Florence to Pisa to Monaco to Nice

2007-12-13T01:11:00.000-08:00

The roads were crap, spiralling down to city level and the harbour basin, broken up, crossbanded, dusty, gravelly and bumpy (must have played havoc with the herds of supercars garaged in the city). There is a lot of money floating about in this tax haven, you'd think they'd spend some on the roads. perhaps they just wanted to put off auslanders entering their sheltered kingdom, (or they all travelled by helicopter)!

We parked up on the sea front/harbour section, stretched our limbs and grinned at each other. What the fuck were we going to do now that we were here? Late afternoon was starting to diffuse into early evening. We grabbed a beer to wash the dust from our parched throats, had a quick mooch and then decided to split and find a bed for net.

The city-state/province/taxhaven, whatever its official title was as big as the eye could see looking up from sea level, but that was it , no bigger, most of it piled higgledy piggledy strewn across the hillside.We had arrived just 10 days or so after the F1 Grand prix. The superstructure of the stands were still in the process of being dismantled and the road itself had a skirt of fine rubber beads on it's perimeter, scrubbed off the tyres of the F1 guys cars. Those F1 guys know how to lay a bit of rubber alright, though usually at Monace they play follow the leader all race.

We checked the boats out in the harbour, all posh stuff with posh people on board wearing posh jumpers draped over their posh shoulders wearing posh looking shoes. I felt like a hobo.It didn't really exude a 'kicking' atmos, we smoked and then we left, proceeding out of the city via a massive underpass, heading for Nice, the nearest place likely to have a cheap hotel to crash at. We would hole up before heading for Barcelona in the morning.

It gradually got darker until full night was upon us, brightened by Nice's urban lampware. We hit the city and drove around aimlessly trying to find an elusive Novotel or similar.In the end we waylaid a moped wielding pizza delivery boy and asked for directions, he promptly said follow him and away he buzzed up the street with us in hot pursuit, he knew where he was going, we didn't, he didn't stop, drove flat out and had no indicators, naturally at 15 or so he was invincible, paying little or no heed, impervious to the urban traffic, we were hard pressed to keep with him. Suddenly he stopped (no brakelights either), gestured and Lo before us a suitable hotel. Thank fuck for that it was getting late, we were tired and hungry and had ridden from Mugello to Florence to Pisa up the bay of Genoa to here in about 8 hours.

We thanked moped street urchin and went for it. It was a fully automated rest site, even the girl behind the counter did a good impression of an automaton, taking our credit card details with robotic indifference, dishing out the relevant keys and info with none of the Gallic charm expected. Still Bollox! We were in and had a bed for the night, just the food scenario to sort. This was France, part of Europe there must be millions of restaurants open 24/7

Chapter 12- Jimmy Bond and handlebar mounted machine guns

2007-11-28T07:34:00.000-08:00

The last tunnel before the turn off to Monaco nearly claimed me. It was a long one, usual dual carraigeway, but no visible light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, obviously had curved air in it somewhere.

Rashly whilst about halfway through I blasted past a car which had overtaken some other to take up my airspace. I took them on the outside of the outside lane and squeezed past just in time to see the tunnel turn sharply to the left decreasing into a single carraigeway with with roadsigns telling me what was what.

Madly I pawed at my visor to get some extra light on board noticing immediately a car in front with its reds on and a huge trail of detritus on my right with a wall looming ahead as the radius decreased.

This all happened in a matter of a few seconds . Survival is a powerful instinct, turbo boosting the system with adrenaline. I must have missed the car in front by mere inches as I cranked the bike into the turn cutting them up whilst madly trying not to let the bike drift into the deadly crap at the side of the road.

God is good and God is great and I was a convert briefly that day, the Suzuki may have been forged in Hell but the great shining one gave it's pilot another chance (obviously not my time) and I thanked him aloud in the privacy of my crash helmet.

I exited the tunnel more than a little embarrased at my stupidity, bathed in fear sweat, but alive and kicking. There was a pull in just past the tunnel exit right underneath a repeat of the road sign I had noticed but didn't actually read. Fast Ed and Phil landed beside me, they said nothing, perhaps they hadn't seen. It was fortunate that we did stop because the road sign said exit for Monaco, take the right fork, we took it at a much reduced pace and headed for the city state. We'd covered about 300 miles since 2pm. Not bad going.

We had to wind down the road from the top of the coastline into Monaco itself. It was the sort of road you see on telly when James Bond is being chased by evil hoods with thicj eastern European accents. (if they talked at all). In the blacked out sedan spraying bullets ahead of them like badly aimed confetti. (none of these arch crim henchmen ever got a serious hit on Jimbo though).

I was mulling this as we negotiated the bends with low parapet walls, thinking this surely must have been a location for at least one of Broccoli's films. All we needed was a blond blue eyed assasin powering a modified XT equipped with handlebar mounted machine guns chasing us or a couple of skiers zooming overhead clad in radar reflective cat suits and mirror shades dropping grenades as they soared over our heads in a tight crouch. Lastly the scene would have not been complete without a helicopter appearing out of the blue from behind a screen of trees revealing another blue eyed Aryan assasin clone with sniper rifle hanging out the cabin. Call me theatrical or melodramatic but that's what it reminded me of, when....... (absolutely bullshit free), I dropped the bike through the high gears hooking third to take the turn only going 40 odd but close to one of those silly parapet walls (how these things would ever stop a serious crash from plumetting over the edge is a mystery) when a frigging helicopter burst into view ascending from out of sight below into frame slap bang in front of me. When was the searing lead going to bite into my head? I stared into the evil insect bubble of the cockpit straight at the pilot as the slow mo blades chopped the air. It increased height and left the scene as swiftly as it had appeared. My second reprieve of the day.

Hellenic Experiences

2007-11-27T08:09:00.000-08:00

In the words of Justin Sullivan, 'get me out of this place'. Time for a short break, time for a young (at heart) brave to steal away, look at a different sky, a different view.

Leaving the goats at home my wife and I embarked on a swift long weekend in Athens.The weekend kicked off after work with a visit to Brighton to see the tribal kings of politico poetic punk/rock/folk New Model Army who were touring again having released a new album entitled 'High' (which I think is the best album since Thunder and Consolation).
I never tire of seeing these guys, they have soul, passion and anger all rolled into one and for me are an archetype English band. Keep up the good work lads.

Sweating, hungry, tired and in need of a beer we made our way to the airport about 1amI can't stand sitting on an airplane twiddling my thumbs and as one is effectively captive and at the mercy of the elements and the pilot accompanied by cabin crew of debatable intellect (not to mention sexuality, which is not a problem but more an affirmation of the truism of some stereotypes) I try to hide my head in a book and hope they leave me alone, also its not often I have two or three hours to do nothing.

I picked up 'The mammoth book of bikers' which is about 400 pages in length and is a effectively a case study on outlaw bikers or 1%ers, starting with the Hollister 'riots' which spawned the 'Wild One' with Brando and his silly hat through to the present day view of outlaw clubs as a criminal organization (according to the cops) 40 different stories, reports and columns from those who have been involved in the scene from bikers, wannabee's, cops, et al. including Hunter S Thompson who wrote possible the seminal work entitled simply Hells Angels, also mentioned in Sonny Bargers autobiography (though not in a good light, which is good really as sometime the romanticism of living on the edge of society masks the reality of the actual scenario)

Damn good read and gives one a historical timeline.Classic club names such as 'The Boozefighters MC' naturally the HA, Outlaws, Bandido's etc There's more to the picture than meets the eye and it highlights the pallid and insubstantial efforts by the so called outlaw riders out there today who are mere weekend warriors on polished donkeys who don't shave on a Friday morning so that they can look suitably 'unkempt' at the weekend. (owning a Harley, looking mean and riding at the weekends doesn't automatically give you entrance to this exclusive club neccesarily in comparison to some of the guys and activities detailed in the book, Though to my mind H-D themselves don't mind one little bit, producing 'choppers' as well as 'garbage wagons').
One thing that struck me was the mention that some clubs are allowing members to ride non H-D machines. I was under the impression that this 'law' was set in stone, a jingoistic and nationalist rule which hearkened back to the early days. Even Barger himself admits (reluctantly I would think) that the ST1100 Pan European is a better bike than his Road King, though he still remains loyal to the chosen marque. Still You can't fight the inexorable tide of change.
Naturally you can make up your own minds about it all which is healthy, Heartily reccommend it. Good insight for us 'citizens'.

Anyway Athens is full of bikes, though not neccesarily bikers, everyone is riding them and generally in the evening two up, no sportsbikes, cruisers, tourers just shit loads of Varadero's, V-Stroms, XTX's, KTM's a fair few Triumph Tigers and swarms of four stroke c90 type machines virtually all sporting a power pipe making them sound like 600cc singles as they burr past flat out with all manner of stuff carried behind and in front of the predominantly non helmeted riders.

I've seen bikers in Milan and thought they were Death wish heroes but they are tame to some of the antics I saw on the Athenian streets. Still at least they get the helmet choice, it is after all apparently the seat, heart and the starting base of democracy.

The Ouzo was cheap and local beer Mythos is 5%, kebabs are tasty but the ruins are err... ruinous, most left to the imagination rather than a startling amount of info with which one can whet the appetite on. One day I think a bike trip to Southern Italy, across the Aegean sea via ferry and into Greece and back home the long way, through the Balkans would be a great little number. Hard to read a book but a definite righteous roadtrip.

chapter 11 - Kings of the Thunderdrone

2007-11-20T06:39:00.000-08:00

The tunnels were awesome, mostly short quarter milers, interspersed with longer ones. It was so bright outside that it neccesitated black visors to arrest some of the glare. We all played chicken when entering the tunnels. From bright to black. Looking through the black visors meant temporary blindness until are eyes adjusted. For most of them there was a light at the end of the tunnel, so not too bad, but the longer ones with bends in the middle were a little trickier.

We were naturally travelling fast (we had a lot of miles to cover after all), the usual fast but comfy 130-ish, whooshing into the darkness with the odd tail light here and there ahead was an interesting experience. I lifted my visor a coupla times, but this was just a target for the hugest bugs in Italy to smear their disgusting insect carcass's over my eyeballs (which stung quite a lot), and resulted in the by passing air catching the visor and trying to rip my lid from my head.

Towards the end of this particular stage, not far from the Province of Monaco (our next stop) I checked the mirrors to make sureFast Ed was still in tow (he was there at a respectable distance). I did notice behind him though a black car, close to the ground, halving the distance between him and Ed at a very rapid pace, unbelievably he was giving it the big headlight flashing manouvere. Outrageous! We had not been overtaken once thus far on the whole trip, I was struggling to come to terms with the temerity of the man, made me feel guilty for just loafing along at 120-130. I knew we were in Italy and they loved their fast cars but this was ridiculous. I guess he either wanted a race or was just in a hurry. Game on!

I pulled into the slow lane without slowing down to see what would happen next. Eddie pulled over (yes, believe it) and the black estate car (yes estate car) with blacked out windows bearing no visible insignia cruised past, the driver appeared to be fiddling one handed with the radio as he swept past me, it was a science fiction moment, a vanadium coated stealth bomber had just intruded into our space, had a look and was off, shifting through the atmosphere almost effortlessly.

Phil also pulled in and the car swept past him, I again checked the mirrors and saw Eddie pull out, the fiery irishman was not going to let this go lightly. he must have dropped a cog and wound the big red TLR right up and let it go. I stayed in station behind Phil as Eddie thundered past in hot pursuit of the stealth bomber , crudely bungeed luggage oscillating violently in the wind blast, then I pulled out, stuck my head under the paintwork and pressed my nose to the speedometer, as did Phil a few seconds later.

I was viewing 150 and not gaining on Eddie when another tunnel, mouth agape beckoned us in. Stealth bomber hit the anchors and slowed to about a ton in deference to other traffic. We closed up behind him in formation, saw a gap and sped by. It was a four hooped Audi (six months before the first mention of RS6). From that day to this it is still the car I desire most.

The driver demanded respect for this performance and I gave him a thumbs up as we went past which he acknowledged. fair play to the man!!

At the next fuel stop Fast Eddie said he saw 165 on the clock and was just starting to gain ground, another 10mph and our reputations would have been in tatters. Shortly afterwards the same scenario looked like it was going to happen, this time a cheeky git in a posh Porsche two seater, it looked pretty 'fat' and he thought he'd have a go, this time though we thought we'd let him chase us, moments later he was gone, lost in the traffic detritus that was our spent air, we were into calmer air and made steady progress towards Monaco. We were kings of the thunderdrone, disciples of the stoned age! Our ears only heard the wind and static

Chapter 10 - The only sound was the muffled crump off our exhausts.

2007-11-19T07:25:00.000-08:00

We were heading west to Barcelona, to check an old school friend out and thought we'd go the scenic route via Florence and Pisa, then along the bay of Genoa keeping the green wobbly stuff on our left. We had two days to get there, we could have done it in a day but we didn't have to, so we took it easy.

The garage opposite 'manse iceheart' helped us check our tyre pressures. We gassed up and set off. Florence for luncheon don't you know, just a short blast to the sunflower and lace capital of Italy. It was only a short blast down the road.

We parked up, scored lunch and then mooched around the market bathed in sunshine and as warm as you like, we each purchased the token prezzie for loved ones, stuffed into meagre luggage and then hot footed it to Pisa. The weather couldn't have been more different than yesterday, it was gloriously hot and bright and bode well for rubber burning later in the day.

Pisa seemed like a small town, remarkable only for the epicentre of tourist activity that was the landmark church and skewed tower. In the flesh the lean is remarkable, somehow it doesn't look real on postcards, but apparentley another coupla degrees of dangle and the whole lot would topple over. The architect had built his house upon the sand an it had sunk and skewed to one side. Over the years remedial work had been undertaken but to no avail, consequently it was too dangerous to get in and up it.

The whole structure was clothed in an exoskeleton of steel, whilst the latest efforts to arrest the slow downfall of the tower were ongoing.

It was boiling hot, we ate ice creams and waved grinning African immigrants away like bothersome flies with their fools gold and tawdry timepieces. They were persistant but not a groat passed between us. Time to go, we had been a bit lax on the mileage front, time to travel.

In a show of pouissance and cred, slipping the clutch and feeding the revs in, the rear hoop failed to grip and momentarily tried to overtake the front. Starfishing in a frozen moment of dread, the rear Bridgestone finally hooked up and the bike tried to fling me over the highside. I hung on and it righted itself, my heart reduced it's jackhammer beat and fear sweat bathed my torso, luckily I got away with not dumping myself and machine bang in the middle of the street thronged with tourists and hawkers. My wrists ached like mad but I stared straight ahead insouciantly, nipping into line behind Phil and Fast, onward to La Spezia.
We hit the coast and turned right heading back north on the major motorway artery, hugging the coastline, skirting the Gulf of Genoa as it arced up and over into France.

This length of blacktop was truly fantastic, the whole afternoon was a series of shallow curves, long straights, tunnels and bridges, in brilliant sunshine and hot weather for hundreds of miles.

The only sound was the muffled crump of our exhausts as they bounced gobbets of bludgeoning sound off the tunnel walls like syncopated howitzers, the susurration of the Bridgestones as they lightly kissed the tarmac, the windblast as we ripped through the air, and my breathing seeming to come from the centre of my head, (weird effect, probably due to ear plugs).

Chapter 9 - Hill thunder

2007-11-14T03:55:00.000-08:00

Well thats the ZZR1400 under my belt. Might have to wait for Johnny weather to clear up significantly in order to have a taste of the 1098 Duke.

Gotta get a schedule together for 2008 to test at least one new bike a month. Can't wait. The Hypermotard has to be on that list. Then My mate and I can have a tear up, he's got a gorgeous KTM 950 Supermotard. Should be interesting! Roll on spring!!

Anyway without further ado, the next thrilling instalment of the road trip

Mine was the same spec, but with less luggage and twin alloyYoshi's

Thunder boomed across the low hills out the back of the hotel, quite fitting really as the rumbles pealed out of the sky, earlier we had also thundered through the same hills, bouncing hellish sonic V-twin booms down the valleys.
Sorted and showered and once again in civvies we slunk out of the lobby finding a nearby pizza house, we ate mightily and consumed more yellow beer before stumbling back to the nights temporary HQ. My sleep was interrupted by Edmund The Snorebastardmeistergeneral throughout the night, but darkness, relaxation and warmth rejuvenates the soul remarkably well even if wakefulness cannot be shrugged off.

We awake (or rather Phil and Eddie did) rather early, the scrum for a position at the circuit would be intense. We needed to stake our claim and fly our flag.
We trouped down too reception, as luck would have it (or not) it was my turn to sort the bill out. I had forgotten the 5 languaged notice proclaiming 'Absolutely no way whatsoever do we accept credit cards' and calmly palmed my shining plastique to the receptionist. Fully armed silicon equipped holographic authenticity sparkled in the rogue shaft of yellow sunlight. It was motioned away with a dismissive gesture of the hand and my attention was brought to the aforementioned notice. I shrugged and gave it the best crinkling around the corner of the eye type, half teeth revealed smile to get over the 'Look I'm basically honest, I have no cash but you can make an exception for me (cheeky but pleasant) geezer offering credit card, what a nice young man, despite the leathers look, reminds me of my grandson' scenario that I could muster. No feckin Italian dice however.

What was I fucking vampire or something? Tsh!

The elderly matriarcial crone (probably the owner) gesticulated and cackled briefly, the younger pidgeon interpreter woman managed to get over the message that there was a Banco up the roado that opened at 9.00, get up there, score some dough on the plastique and then offski to Mugello.

For their security I had to remain at the hotel with two passports out of three, whilst Phil and Fast had to go and sort the loot out. Bit of a result as they would have to use their own cards.

They returned with the loot and 'Crone Iceheart Matriarch Hotelier Cash Only You young upstart English pup' swapped thousands of Lire in return for our stay and temporarily hostaged passports.

Apparentley when the lads went to the Banco, the dozy trainee bint behind the screen gave them £1000 quids worth 0f Lire instead of £100. If it wasn't for the manager noticing the mistake as they left the building we would have been quids in. Like I said Tricky bugger Johnny Lire even for the locals.

We departed for the short excursion to Mugello, we had arranged to leave our luggage at the hotel because we would need a bed for the night again before embarking on the next leg of our journey. The bikes unfettered with luggage were covered in dead fly filth, but looked great and sounded magnificent as we started our engines and shattered a few windows.

We got to the circuit, which was mobbed, found a parking slot in some old farmers back yard amongst several hundred others, paid our dues to greasy palmed and dirty fingernailed peasant type and hoofed it to the circuit. We didn't have tickets but we managed to score three off a tout and we were in. We had made it.

It was heaving, barely a blade of grass was not covered by a human occupant or their blanket, campfire, tent etc, all around the circuit. To be honest we couldn't see a great deal, the bikes were specks and it started to rain. The desultory conditions were a pisser, we spent more time trying to stay dry than watching the race. When the 500's made their way round on the practise lap it was sluicing down. McWilliams managed to bin his ride so the Irish interest for Eddie was gone. The great Valentino Rossi triumphed. I felt dejected and damp. So much effort to get here and an absolute wash out when we did. It may sound a bit strange but this was the lowest point of the road trip for me. We would have seen more on the telly, the saving grace was that we had jumped on our bikes and done something with them, giving them their head and exercising them far more than most other days.

It took hours to get out of the area after the race, covered in quag and mud from our parking area, spraying it around as we crept slowly to the exits, still at least we had the loudest bikes there which was quite gratifying. We returned to Manse Iceheart Mother in Voglia, holed up for the niight once again and plotted our return leg home.

Engage interstellar overdrive

2007-11-06T02:04:00.000-08:00

Kawasaki ZZR1400

The Fourteen can trace its lineage from the Air cooled super bike Z900 35+ years ago. through the GPZ1000RX, ZX-10 B models, and then the first ZZR proper, The C1. This was an 1100cc machine offered into the marketplace in 1989. I had one and covered a lot of ground on it.

This progressed into a D9 configuration by which time it was sanitised a little and the ZZR1200 ‘C’ models though also a superb machine somehow was behind the opposition, concurrent for a few years was the ZX12R unrestricted ‘A’ models, then the sleeker ‘B’ culminating in the radial callipered B6 models, as a stop gap before the launch of the ‘14’ at the beginning of the 2006 season.

This is a big bike, the engine crammed into its monocoque chassis with the fairing just about covering its blushes. Two sets of lights nacelled into the front fairing with. running lights on all the EU time. Giving it a thoroughly modern leading edge. The main headlights provided a white light that marked the way ahead at this time of year, providing good delineation in the gloom of the oncoming winter nights

I have to say I had gotten used to the clock set-up on the last two Kawasakis the Z1000 and ZX6R. Both of a similar nature and easy to read at a glance. The fourteen had a mixture of traditional clocks, (white faced), and a separate digital panel with the ancillary information displayed by virtue of a mode switch. Including two trip meters, current range and average mpg, as well as the time and gear indicator.

The reach to the wide spaced chunky looking bars is good, equally is the foothold and crunch angle of the knees. The seat is wide and for a modern bike quite sumptuous and for once the screen actually appears to work, pushing the air around and away without obscuring ones vision of the clocks with its top edge like most sports bikes, slight bubble and tinted. The mirrors are widely spaced and akin if not straight from a ZX12 having ridged stalks, presumably for optimum air slicing, they however are a bulky unit with the glass inset and movable separate to the unit itself, you can however see what’s going on behind.

On start up the dials whirr once as the default start up settings are activated, a ‘K’ logo appears on the dash the fuel pump primes and you are now ready to thumb the starter, which catches immediately and puts the bike in fast idle mode turning over at about 1,500rpm. This shortly settles down to slow idle speed - 1,000 rpm, time to select first gear. (Clunk -read ‘positive’)

I picked the bike up with nothing but vapours so my first stop was the petrol station. The big zed sucked up £17 quid to full, I reckoned that I had about 135 mile tank range, so setting my trip meter and with a full gas tank I pierced the slow moving commuter traffic and head off to work, with little chance to open it up.
The bike was mine for three days. The guy who owns it had just received it back from Dream Machine having requested a MotoGP replica style paint job, and what stunning paint! The new livery transformed the staid (but I guess classy monotones) of the standard bike, made it come alive. The sleek bodywork and detail somehow seemed more apparent.

By the time I gave it back I had managed a meagre 206.7 miles at an average of 38.0 mpg, the first tank returning 15 miles short of my estimate at 119 miles.

This bike Kawasaki categorizes as a sports tourer and that’s exactly what it is. For sure this bike is all about speed, this will always be the main talking point. Punching through the air, oodles of torque and a romantic delusion that on the way home the roads will be empty, there will be no Police and no cameras thus a chance to really prove its hyped mettle and to exhilarate the soul of the rider.

Horsepower greedheads and BHP junkies will buy this bike purely because of the claim to the fastest production bike currently made (or was! I have just read the Bike magazine review of the 2008 Hayabusa) despite the fact that it’s restricted to the gentleman’s agreement amongst mainstream manufacturers to 186. I guess the only difference between this bike and the Hayabusa in the real world of daily or regular use for instance is brand allegiance and an opinionated view on the aesthetics which are worlds apart though they both claim to cut through the air the most efficient. It would be interesting to sling a leg over the ‘Busa’ to see if there was a marked difference.

I was expecting a monstrous machine. Perhaps part of me was hoping it would be so in order to pit my skills against it, difficult to wield in traffic and one that required effort to push it through bends, but nothing could be further from the truth. The length of the bike is almost certainly for stability at high speed so I was expecting some under steer in fast sweepers, but no, it went where it was pointed and unless I explored the outer regions of its power supply I couldn’t feel it wandering and my favourite ‘S’ bends usually do not lie.

I was a little surprised I have to be honest it’s very easy to ride and the day to day rider would probably get more pleasure out of a smaller machine to be honest unless they live near a disused runway.
There was simply no space or time to open it up significantly, and this is the truth of daily commuting. Though the comfort angle was tested, and for that it scored sumptuous marks in its class.

I would even go as far to say that the first ride of 100 miles left me disappointed. The traffic was too clogged for me to set controls for the heart of the sun and even if I had a clear launch pad and then flicked it into interstellar overdrive it just pulled seamlessly. As far as I could tell there was no vicious thrust in the back no lung bursting, retina smearing lunge into the space time continuum just a notion of entering the stratosphere and the sudden realization that the air was thin.

I was expecting the capacious maw of the airbox to suck the daylight out of the sky and the colours from it’s surroundings as it pressurized in a relentless and avaricious hoovering of all that surrounded it. But, I was almost divorced from the visceral experience I was expecting. Life seemed silent and frozen, my breath wasn’t coming in ragged staccato gasps like it had on the 6R, I wasn’t cackling to myself within the confines of my lid, I twisted the throttle and it just glided into hyper drive with no fuss just blind but puissant subservience. I even jokingly said to The illustrious publisher of this organ that if he didn’t’hear from me again it meant that I had burnt up on re-entry. Thankfully that was just an element of romanticism and here I am to tell the tale. Wrapped and rapt in wind tunnel design excellence and triumphal engineering.

Kawasaki have a reputation for producing raw edged machines, but I was more blown away by my first ride on an unrestricted ZX12R than I was this bike, I guess what I am trying to say is that it’s too easy, anybody could ride it and if space and time allowed anybody could ride it fast. The intimidation factor, the ‘dredd’ was merely by reputation and not in the actual riding experience as far as I could go (casts around for an unusually deserted runway)

Don’t get me wrong it would be easy to scatter superlatives around like confetti, because this is a consumate machine, it’s just my own perception of it was misplaced. I think I have some sort of gothic notion of alchemy as an ingredient of these latest generation hyperbikes. How do they get all that metal and oil to move so fast so smoothly? There’s a magic in it somewhere.

The current clime restricts my use and so I can’t embark on a 1,000 mile journey into the sunset hills of my fancy, get lost amongst the heat shimmers of the middle distance, so maybe I could try again in the summer.

The technical stuff I won’t dwell on too much in the text because if you want to know, it’s readily available, what you need to know is how it works and or affects you and your ride. Your long term ownership and servicing costs etc.

The tyres are Bridgestone BT014’s and despite a rapidly squaring off and barely legal tread depth on the rear, again I couldn’t’ fault the grip. The bike has completed 2200 miles so look at a lifeline of 3,000 max as a safe estimate at relatively normal velocity with a replacement price of approx £160 inc a shot. When the front is ready this will set you back about £120. OE tread is the Bridgestone’s with the ‘L’ suffix denoting specific rear fitment and ‘SL’ for the front

The more bison-like or statuesque rider can adjust the sturdy 43mm upside downies for compression, rebound and preload. The rear shock can be easily preloaded for pillions whom I should imagine should be more than comfortable on the roomy pasture of the rear seat pad area without the usual scrunched and hunched posture of your average pillion ride.

If you wanna fly solo, colour matched rear seat cowls can be purchased as a genuine (fitted to this bike and painted as part of the overall paint) or aftermarket accessory and as a ‘lost to sports bikes’ soul in my opinion definitely is a must fit item, it certainly improves the look.
There are various companies that offer C/F panels also, which allied with the paintwork would take the aesthetics up a notch.

Discs are now standard semi floating 310mm petal discs at the front and a 250mm unit at the rear for steadying the slew if you were to be heavy with the right foot and they do stop; but because of the 225 kilo’s of acquired momentum they do take more effort than the Zed1000 and the ZX6R I recently tested, but that’s not a criticism, they are all different bikes.

First service on a new bike is usually ‘on the house’ after 600 miles but thereafter minors are approx £100 at 4,000 miles, my local dealer hadn’t completed a major service up to now but look at least £250 upwards

The only raw edge I could find on the bike was the clutch, in neutral at traffic lights for instance there was a definite rumble which disappeared when you pulled in the six way adjustable hydraulic clutch lever and gear changes though positive were a trifle clunky at low speed, it got slicker the faster you were moving, but that’s just trying to find a bad thing to say about a very well engineered package almost to balance the superlatives by way of fairness.

The fan cut in very early whilst in town mode. Makes sense I guess, big bike, lots of metal whizzing around, high tolerances, hence large radiator to shed the heat and a big fan for back up when the traffic jams, speed camera, common sense and a license to protect finally halt any rapid progress you might wish.

De rigeur really I suppose but I would lose the twin pipe set up if funds allowed, they are monstrously long and I think with shorter pipes or a singular unit would divert attention to the obvious length of the machine at 2170mm plus of course giving it a sportier edge lopping off pounds and benefiting the grunt factor by increasing the aural effect, call me old fashioned but bikes should sound like bikes, I realize manufacturers have specs and regs they must adhere to, but this bikes voice was certainly lacking in character.

In a perfect world, this bike would be one of many that I would like to own and when I wished to cross the pond and travel light, this bike I know would come into its own, it could stretch its legs and I could peer through burning air as I headed for European road network freedom.

The real world however is populated by seemingly millions of car drivers that constantly contrive to halt one‘s progress, of insidious policemen lurking in hedgerow and undergrowth of the proliferation of cameras taxing the unwary for their misdemeanors and there are very few deserted runways within hundreds of miles. And its getting farquing cold again. (Must be NEC time).

The aforementioned owner who has kindly lent it to me is a trusting soul and a thoroughly decent chap and has asked me to mention Solus Kawasaki experts Alf’s motorcycles in Worthing West Sussex who sold him the bike and arranged the paint for him.

Doby Trutcenden 5.11.07

Write your own review and submit it on http://www.ukbike.com/ and they'll send you a freebie t-shirt if they publish.

Couldn't find Elvis

2007-11-02T02:21:00.000-07:00

I got my motor running, fired all my guns at once and exploded into space. It's official the Sun is lying, no hint of Elvis, the Titanic or red London busses. Time to come clean Nasa, I did a swift low level orbit and couldn't see their mark.

Road test on Kawasaki's Mother ship coming soon !!!!

Where's all the time gone?

2007-10-23T06:26:00.000-07:00

I,m not sure if I'm talking into space sometimes, but nevertheless this blog is a means to recount my biking activity whether anybody is 'listening' or not but it is cathartic if nothing else, allowing stuff bouncing around in my head to be purged to make way for more plus also an outlet for previous scribbles and allowing me space to write stuff that my day today activity on http://www.ukbike.com/ does not.

It's been a while if you have been 'listening' The memory of the razor sharp ZX6R is fading and I'm hungry for more miles under my belt on something new, The ZX9 felt flat and as sloppy as an old armchair since the 6. With any luck I've lined up a 1098 Duke, and a ZZR1400 for the near future, it's just finding time and a clear coupla days to give them a good squeezing, they are both privately owned machines and I owe it to the owners to exercise due care and attention to their present condition out of courtesy and respect, but soon, soon, I feel like a junkie in need of the next fix.

I was part of the Brightona organization which has received most excellent feedback from all and sundry receiving comments as 'the best bike show in the south by far' which is a great accolade and a fat slap on the back for all the hard work myself and particularly others have put into the event. Bear in mind this event is always described in the same breath as the Rockers Reunion Ace Cafe run, so thanx to everyone who came, participated, paid, donated and enjoyed the day.

I'm an old stick in the mud. I like my sports bikes. Bikes are for thrills, for getting the heart racing, for introducing an element of danger into ones sometimes hum drum life, call me jaded with reality but bikes give me that sense of satisfaction and exhileration that is hard to find elsewhere especially when a clear roundabout presents itself the right gear is selected and (despite the fact that it probably doesn't in reality) the feeling that the rear tyre is slipping due to my (perceived but mistaken belief) trackgod prowess. Its a buzz!

having just said all that Some of the chops, lowriders and custom machines on display at Brightona were fantastic and oh God be kind, bring me some disposable income to have one, I promise I would ride it sensibly, I would park it next to my KTM supermono, ZX-10C and Zed 1000 in my fantasy garage, and lavish equal attention upon it. (At least dreams are free).

Anyway time to finish what I started 8 chapters ago. The TL road trip must recommence until finality. I can then stuff it in my fat and largely discarded files of memorable experiences and move onto another. So here you are...............

Chapter 9 - The strokers are so close I can smell 'em.

One last fill up before we were going to find a roof for the night. We stopped in an Agip filling station, swarming with bikes like angry and discordant bee's, the air resonated and each pump had a 'groovy' gas pumping attendant dude with a cash bag lashed round their waist. I motioned to the nearest one to fill up the sweating TLR, holding the bike upright to ensure a proper brim full load. (I thought that I would need every drop available in the parsimonious tank, tomorrow there would be shit loads of bikes swarming around in packs, availability of juice may be hard to find).

We were within sniffing distance of Mugello which was only about 50 miles away, The strokers were so close you could almost smell them. I could see them in my minds eye scudding around in the practice sessions already, those hideously peaky stink wheel 500cc two stroke missiles guided by their diminutive pilotes fighting for the chequers. Of 60,000 people ululating praise and appreciation upon the victor announcing his entry into that particular hall of fame.

I was drawn out of my reverie by a grubby hand and an alien voice whose balls hadn't dropped pointing at the gas pump's LED display, which showed me a numeric at least 400 charachters long. It rocked me back on my heels for some reason, lucky I was sitting down. Common sense and a grasp of present reality quickly kicked in once more of course they had about 4,000 Lire to the pound (thank fuck for the Euro). Time to get rid of a kilo weight of eytie money. I handed over the sheaf of notes and 'pump groover' said 'no change'. I said 'You what' again rocking back on my heels astride the mighty TL he said again 'no change' this time with a flicker of a sneer on his thin lips. I worked out that the impudent pump pimp groover fellow owed me close to 800.

I had lapsed into incredulous disbelief momentarily once again. Common sense then kicked in. 'Fuck it it's only twenty pence and the coinage required to furnish me with change would be like swimming with lead weights. You may think it's weird asking for 20p change, when in the great scheme of things I was wasting rubber and the ozone layer at an alarming rate, the cost of which on my return to blighty would severely hamper my beer drinking opportunities for many months, but Johnny Lire was a tricky bugger to get your head round. Oh Yes!

We all pulled back into the autostrada super highway and shortly thereafter took a slip road into some low hills adjacent to the motorway hoping to find a snug little B&B or something.

Twenty miles further down the road we rejoined the main artery having had no luck and pulled in eventually at a hotel sign pointing to a little place entitled Voglia Del Plans. The hotel was just up the road opposite a ramshackle garage, quite a grand old looking building faded somewhat but it had a suitable gentrified air about it, family ran, no glitz or neon just old style comfort and faded velvet. We landed and streched our fly spattered leather limbs. There were some other bikers in residence which was a good sign, Germans by the look of their plates, their rear tyres had been given a workout. Fair play to the Hun.

The first thing I noticed as we trouped into the lobby was a prominent sign saying 'No credit cards' in five different languages. We'd just done the last of our cash filling up with juice up the road, because the majority of gas stations didn't accept credit cards either. Basically on the strength of that notice we wouldn't be able to pay for the room and beers the next morning. Still that was tomorrow and we needed a place to stay, we'd work it out tomorrow, if they got the strop with us at least we'd be washed, probably slightly hungover and rested. We stayed mum and the aged crone was eager for the business as far as we could work out. A quick dumping of our sparse baggage, into crumpled civvies and to the bar for painfully small glasses of yellow beer. Refreshing to know we had made it. Tomorrow was the day!

kawasaki ZX6R

2007-10-01T01:47:00.000-07:00

2007 Kawasaki ZX6R

This is the second brand new bike I have had the pleasure to ride in as many weeks, some deity must be smiling down on me granting me this little slice of two wheeled action.

This weeks steed was the ’07 Kawasaki ZX6R, the latest generation of middleweight sports fare from the big K.

Like most models that are popular they are built on a fine pedigree and a winning package. This incarnation of salacious horsepower perfection is no different.

I believe Kawasaki started the relatively modern trend for 600cc machines with the (for then) stunning GPZ600R A1 back in the mid eighties. Time has moved on and the latest crop of bikes deliver such staggering performance that it is partially responsible for the death knell sonorously sounding over sports 750cc models. (Suzuki excepted at present).

It’s been a while since I rode a 600, the last one, again, a Kawasaki J1 model, this was a quick bike and great for the track days I was able to do at the time, it used to howl and you could feel the fuel tank vibrating between your knees as the air box beneath pressurized and forced fast air down its gullet and into the vitals of the bike.

The new one however has moved on since then, appearing as a 636 configuration through the B and C models to its present incarnation as a true 600cc bike again.

The salesman said, ‘you’ve got to rev it, don’t worry about being heavy handed with the throttle’ he then set the natty gear shift indicator light to 15,000, and briefly showed me the various functions on the standard digi clocks.

A real nice feature was the gear indicator display. I’m one of those people who have championed this feature for years, ever since I test rode a GSX550 ESD as a spotty 17 year old, blagging a go from the motors rep at the newspaper I was working at the time. He had been given it to test but he registered zero interest in it.

I’ve been ridiculed and pilloried from some quarters, with the gist of it being ‘well you should no what gear you are in’ but I’m one of those people who will keep changing up until there are none left, constantly seeking seventh gear, only really counting down for roundabouts or cogging down when the motor appears to be losing puff for the conditions ridden in. Anyway I’m wittering, Gear indicators - a bloody good idea in my book!

I did make a mental note of the lap timer toggle switches musing as to where I could utilise it, but time was short. The salesman bade me a hasty farewell, he had a motocrosser to thrash and was late.

I smoked and cast a beady eye around the bike grasping for an overwhelming first impression to communicate.

It seemed simultaneously curvy, perhaps read ergonomic but angular at the same time, it sounds stupid I know but that’s the conclusion I came too.

The screen was tinted and stippled at the base to hide the back of the clocks; the twin headlights were small and perfectly formed though the attention to fairing fit around the top corners I think should be addressed on the 2008 model. I can’t see any reason why the inner shroud needs to be seen when the sleek and shiny outer carapace could hide it.

The maw of the central air vent reminded me of the aperture of the helm of a Nazgul in the recent LOR’s trilogy (it was on last night), with a delightful arrowhead shaped running light sealing the front fairing design. It looked sharp and ready to rock.

There was the usual UD forks (non nitrided) now standard fare on modern sports bikes, mono block brakes and wavy discs (which were awesome when called into action), Most talk will be about how fast this bike is, but a mention of how fast it decelerates is also worthy of a mention. Hollow large diameter spindles pierce meagre spoked wheels on proper wide rims, well hidden catalytic converter, laughable pillion seat plus practical and lawful rear end complete with LED rear light and stalked indicators.

The Zed 1000 I had ridden the week before came equipped with Dunlop qualifiers and I couldn’t fault them. I was surprised to find the Six wearing a set of Bridgestone Battlax’s 016 front 015 rear, I couldn’t fault them either, especially as I found myself on the way home not noticing the mild drizzle and greasy road surface, absorbed as I was in pushing the Six along, enjoying the experience.

I jumped on board and thumbed the starter after the clocks had set themselves, immediately noticing the spread of the mirrors. They looked slightly incongruous at first not quite fitting the lines of the top fairing, but there was no doubt that you could actually see out of them once ensconced onboard. A quick adjustment was all that was needed. I waited for the temp gauge to register 45 and then slowly moved into the evening commuter traffic, telling myself ‘to take it easy, make sure the tyres are warm, test the brakes before you need to use them in anger’

The style of late has been to make sports bikes smaller and smaller. Good idea in terms of performance but what about the tall people?

All I can say is that Kawasaki must have given it a bit of thought (good on ‘em), this is after all a road bike despite it’s race track pretensions and will sell in large numbers to the predominantly North American and European market, and we’re getting bigger by all accounts, wider because of all the rubbish we shovel down our throats and taller because human physiognomy is shaking off the debilitating effect of gravity.

The Six is a triumph of comfort for its class. The seat wasn’t that hard, the footpegs were perfecto and though I suffered at first with a little wrist ache the bars were positioned damned near to perfect as well. (If it didn’t interfere with the leverage/fairing clearance I would adjust the factory set position of the lever assemblies further down which I think would ease the pain of this little niggle). If I had the money to pour gasoline into it’s hungry belly I could quite happily lob a double bubble screen on the thing as well and score a few miles under my belt touring, it was that good.

The throttle felt like it had a little too much slack and when pulling away a conscious effort had to be made to rev and slightly slip the clutch as otherwise it felt like it was bogging down.

I found a few stretches of open road and started to explore the potential of the bike. Quoted at 125-130 horses there was no doubting the straight line speed, the bike wailing up to its shift ceiling in the early gears, with a very tall first gear, (presumably for race track purposes), it must have sounded terrific.

The suspension settings were perfect, neutral and a piece of er. ..cake to flick through some tight esses on the way home, it felt like the quickest I had ever sailed round these particular bends. The bars wobbled a little as the front went light a few times, but nothing really to phase me, it just happened, settled down immediately planting it’s front paw print back on the ground unfussily letting me proceed with the action.

I soon realised that the salesman advice was spot on, you had to rev the thing to get the most out of it, but it seemed to like it the more you did, the more it was appreciated by the bike itself, with its very urgent get up and go. A glutton for punishment! I only hit the rev limiter once however, proving that mere mortals (and vain ones at that) would struggle to get bored of this machine.

Naturally this enjoyment doesn’t come cheap, I’m sure tyres would soon get worn out, standard 120 and 180 fitments, the stickier the compound the better, heavy braking would not be an uncommon occurrence I venture and it did have a terrible thirst on the first night at least. I only managed 100 miles from a brimful tank which improved as the days rolled by peaking at about 120 miles average, I guess gusto and enthusiasm burns more fuel than day to day riding.

The fuel tank holds 13 quids worth from halfway through the fuel low warning zone to full. Tank capacity not surprising really was not huge, it was relatively narrow and I’m sure the capacious air box beneath would be taking up a large amount of the perceived space.

The rear pillion seat once removed reveals no cavity, just a neatly packaged tool kit. I didn’t manage to remove the riders perch, but don’t be surprised to find no room under there either. With the factory c/m rear seat cover emplaced, luggage carrying potential is negligible despite the hooks fitted to the underside of the rear fender more out of a token nod to practicality than anything else.

I managed just over 300 miles in three days before I had to give it back which is not a bad average and I believe qualifies me to talk from a reasonably informed perspective.

You can buy one in stealth bomber black, raving in your face orange (though I’m not sure what the correct factory term for this vivid shade is) and green Natch!

Kawasaki offer a wide range of quality factory accessories, slip on mufflers abound for that authentic race bike look and howl, though I struggle to find a reason as to why you would want to change the originals, other than maybe a weight issue or to bypass the cat if you are a serial track day header. Some carbon fibre panels instead of the factory plastic ones would look the biz, a quick call to Mr. R&G for a tail tidy would tidy the back end up and maybe a hugger if used every day would complete the package for me.

I’ve no idea what the servicing costs would be, but just consider how much a car with similar performance would cost you to buy and run.

The ZX6 is soooo cheap to buy, incredibly exciting to ride and looks the dogz.

I’m sure the CBR6 and the Gixer are equally as good and the R6 is going to be revamped for 2008, but until I ride one I can only speak for the Kawasaki, and if you are prepared to engage urgent attack mode the Kawasaki will not let you down.

Anybody want to gainsay any of my thoughts? Your views are welcome,
Post a review and tell me different.

Now we really must talk about that ZX-10R…….

Once again skiploads of thanx to the top geezers at Alf’s Motorcycles http://www.alfsmotorcycles.co.uk/ for trusting me with another one of their bikes Check the pix on their site of the Dream Machine Moto GP liveried replica.

For more reviews go here http://www.ukbike.com/Reviews.aspx

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ZX Reviews

CBR reviews

R6 Reviews

Gixer Reviews

Doby Trutcenden 28.9.07

‘Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles’ HST Generation of swine

Chapter 8 - The road from Verona to Modena

2007-09-28T05:06:00.000-07:00

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.

Chapter 7 - Onto Mugello

2007-09-20T00:45:00.000-07:00

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.

A little something for Endurance racing fans

2007-09-18T04:40:00.000-07:00

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/

Kawasaki Z1000

2007-09-13T01:48:00.000-07:00

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
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Doby Trutcenden - sideways through time 3.9.07

Road trip - chapter 6 - sonic booming down the autoroute like thundergods

2007-09-11T06:42:00.000-07:00

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.

Chapter 5 - Power nap required

2007-09-06T02:14:00.000-07:00

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.

Chapter 4 - Brussells came and went and we were deep into Luxembourg

2007-08-28T06:12:00.000-07:00

'We slumped like leather trash'

I awoke the morning of the quest proper having only succeeded in fitfully sleeping and then luggaged up, rode to work. Work started at 9.00am and I was due to finish at 6pm.

Ed rang during the day saying he had difficulty locating his passport, but he had printed of an AA web guide - know where you are and where you are going every fifty yards of the way, fifty page dossier with pull out guide to the best breakfast etc etc blah blah boredom bullshit…’ I pointed out that, that’s what maps were for and I wasn’t stopping every few miles to turn the fucking pages and figure out if we’d gone past the stunted Oak etc etc. Town to town at a glance was the way to go. I vowed to buy some up to date maps on the ferry or at least in the way stations where we would be fuelling up our supercharged beasts of V-twin thunder. Somehow I knew we were going to need them.

At 5.30 pm the lads arrived at the shop awaiting the end of my working day. Eddie had not found his passport, blaming his wife for tidying up, but he had found his previous one, full up, the corner clipped off and only a year out of date. He was relying on the basic laziness of customs officers just cursorily glancing at the docs through glassy eyed boredom and waving us on. Once in Euro land there were only lines on the map to impede our progress.

6PM Time to split the workplace and bomb off to Dover to catch the ferry at 8ish heading for Dunkerque, with the time difference we were due to land at about 11.30pm.
The ferry journey was a bit of a compromise. On one hand I had to work that day so we had no choice but to take the night ferry, but what it did mean was less traffic, so hopefully swifter progress, we could get a move on and then find a B&B or summat on the other side once we had a few miles under our belts. The only problem was slightly impaired vision (i.e. Eddie would not be able to read his bullshit sheaf of papers). Luckily I had bought a map and committed to memory our most practical route town by town. From France it was a short hop into Belgium, through Brussels and then into Luxembourg.

It was drizzling and dank in Dunkerque and the proposed ‘steady as she goes’ intent was binned within 5 miles. Naturally (as all true red blooded two wheelers released from the leash that is UK roads) we went for it, negotiating the way as quickly as we possibly could.
It soon became evident that Phil’s TLS needed gas a lot sooner than Ed and I’s TLR’s. Consequently we were assured of a coffee and cigarette break every 100 miles.

Brussels came and went and we were deep into Luxembourg territory before we decided to take a longer breather, with a pocket full of three different currencies (oh yes my friends before the Euro sorted all that nonsense out) it was early morning. We decided to try and find a place to kip for a few hours. I don’t know about the others but my eyes were starting to strain and the onset of neck ache was starting to impinge upon my riding comfort.

We were close to the border of Belgium and Germany at about 5am before we found a suitable establishment on the side of the motorway in which we hoped to get our heads down.

The nadir of the night had passed and though it wasn’t wet it was still very cold. We pulled in, creaked out of our saddles and tried to get into the motel. First we had to get through the outer defences, mashing the button for reception we were met with words to the effect, ‘sorry no room at the inn’, sorry we are not even going to let you in the lobby; sorry we don’t open until 6.30am - Bastards!!

Cold, hungry and by now pissed off we slumped like leathered trash on the steps finding whatever shelter we could in the entrance porch cursing their Teutonic mothers and their shit attitude. I think Eddie managed to close his eyes for half an hour and Phil looked crumpled up enough to grab some extreme ZZZZZZ’s. Alas they bagged to the best corners and though tired I was restless, the bastards were not going to let us in and we were wasting time. As far as I was concerned we might just as well carry on.
I had now been awake for 24 hours but had enough energy reserves to continue for a while yet. A hour later just after dawn with fresh morning sunshine spilling it’s early glow over the horizon we set off again, the morning would bring some welcome warmth and riding at high speeds in daylight was also considerably easier than squinting through sodium punctuated Stygia.

We stopped for gas next in Germany. This must have been a well known way station because it was full of travellers buying up large quantities of cheap cigarettes. We stopped and ordered some brekky in the café nearby to recharge the failing batteries.

Food is fuel (as well as a shit waiting to happen) it tends to make me drowsy, a weird one. I knew I had to eat to grab some energy but the very act of eating and digesting it makes me feel tired. However heartened and slightly plumper we set off again. After another four hours or so on the road the tiredness was starting to really bite, my vision was starting to wander and blur and I could feel my reactions slowing down. I was desparate to close my eyes, my body was getting close to shutdown. The next fuelstop would have to include some R & R otherwise the ‘crash & burn’ scenario after a silly mistake would rear it’s ugly head. We were still riding at over 100mph whenever possible with this pretty much our minimum pace

2007-08-23T01:57:00.000-07:00

Chapter - 3

When I first met Eddie
he was packing a black and gold ltd editition Gixer 750H, sported a moustache only he and Freddie Mercury could get away with (though in Eddie’s case it was not a statement of his sexuality) and the propensity to swear and smoke more than any one person I had ever encountered . This endeared me to the man, he was just a normal geezer at heart who lived for bikes and resolutely refused to ride them slowly. He came in once and announced that he had got away with flashing a police car with his main beam ‘to get the fuck outta the way’ at over 100mph. Like most motorists with a high powered missile up their arse, they did, it was only then when Ed cruise missiled past did he realize it was the fuzz, but he just carried on, he was after all late for work. I’m still not quite sure to this day whether this is the bare faced truth of it or when it was first recounted loaded with embellishment. However it was a cracking story that further cemented the nascent bonding process, it was official. ………..Fast Eddie!

Phil had owned his TL for approximately two years, so he was sorted. I had owned a VTR Firestorm and trackdayed it a little and then flogged it to lie in wait for my next purchase. The mighty TLR.

Eddie the flash git had a 916, went to China for two years work related, came back and bought a ZX6R J1 then flogged it to buy his TLR. A little red number sporting the ubiquitous race cans from Kerker.

I knew one would come up for me, it was just a case of remaining patient and not allowing the few bob I had as a deposit to burn a hole in my motorcycle emptiness.
It came up, oh yes lord it arrived and sent me telepathic messages from its warm oily heart. ‘I need a new home, buy me, cosset me within the environs of your sumptuous garage’ I did and promised to only thrash it white hot when absolutely necessary. It was a classic blue and white liveried model equipped with a tinted double bubble screen, a pair of nishe high level Yoshi RS-3 cans and a neat little colour matched undertray. It sounded awesome. I knew together we could achieve great things.

THE TL ROAD TRAIN WAS READY FOR TAKE OFF
But,alas…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Some filthy fifth element virus mongering swine infected fair Albion with foot and mouth disease, or Apthovirus as it’s known to true germ mongers. In the months leading up to our trip there was a mass culling and huge black bulldozed charnel heaps, smoking mounds of ovine and bovine death stench seemed to fill the nations lungs. The television foretold doom. Worried ministers looked stern and nonchalant in equal measure, mostly with despair and denial, some even forced their unwary offspring to chomp on triple 1000% pure beef burgers free of the bacillus (or so they hoped) raising their eyes to heaven selling their political soul in the hope that whatever mocking demon or angel that heard their silent pleas would protect their child in order to say ‘I told you so’ whilst hopping up the next rung of power to wash their hands of it when the shit really hit the fan, It was fair to say there was a lot of burning and slaughter afoot, and would you credit it, the scare stories rife throughout all known forms of media actually matured into the cancellation of the entire TT festivities since inception during peace time. The Bastards!!!!

We had to have a plan ‘B’. I endured many hours of heavy glugging until we were decided three. It was ‘Bollox’ lets go to Italy instead for the Grand Prix at Mugello, we all wanted to watch the boychildprodigy Valentino Rossi and Ming the moustachiod merciless Maximillian Biaggi at work in the cauldron of Italian motor sport and ‘fuck it’ none of us had been to Italy. It was only a few days ride away, we could tool around there or take our time arriving

Sorted!

THE TT IS DEAD. LONG LIVE SPAGHETTI LAND.

I made a list of all the shit I had to attend to. The only major drawback that I could see was that we were going to be hoovering up a few thousand miles in a relatively short time on sports bikes. This wasn’t going to be a comfort or horsepower issue but one of paring necessary equipment for the trip down to the bone. We all had race cans, as mine were high level that immediately ruled out panniers, didn’t want a molten mess of PU smearing the sheen of my pipes (it can be a bastard to get off you know, I speak from previous bitter experience). This left me with the choice of a rucksack allied to a tailpack. Well the rucksack was pretty much a non starter (I refused myself the luxury of the extra capacity – read greater burden). The bike was supposed to kick out 125horses (tame by today’s litre bike standards) but more than enough to haul me down south, I’m not a great fan of rucksacks on bikes, it would only add to the strain on my upper body and create drag.
If I couldn’t fit my gear into the pillion pack it wasn’t going. Phil and Eddie just crammed as much stuff in their respective tote bags which had a rigid base and then bungee’ d them to oblivion, all the time taking the piss out of me because I had a checklist

Chapter 2 - The IOM would be a 1,000 mile round trip

2007-08-21T06:28:00.000-07:00

The Isle of Man would be at least a 1000 mile round trip with a huge three day party in the middle, and the prospect of ‘Mad Sunday’ thrown into the heady mix. We were all looking forward to it. It’s not everyone who could say they rode as fast as they possibly could around the historic course with no speed camera or Old Bill to hassle you and spoil the fun. (Though most in my opinion should at least aspire to fulfilling this achievement).

I was hoping to secure a TL1000R in the quickest possible time that funds and opportunity allowed. I’d made my mind up that I wanted one whilst in the States at the annual Oktoberbikefest at Daytona Beach Florida the previous year. Don’t get me wrong the Harleys were awesome, swathe after swathe of the chrome eagles circled round and around……and around the Main Street circuit 24/7. The place never closed, but with the amount there, it was hard to remain interested. They infested the place, they were too clean, the riders well trimmed generally, the majority of these bikes had been trailered in not ridden, just ridden whilst there and then trailered back home again.

The bike that stood out for me the whole weekend was the aforementioned TL ridden by one of the Starboyz, loitering in a car park away from the madding crowd. His tyres were worn, it had a bit of rash on the side and the guy obviously rode it a lot! I wanted one,

I don’t know why Ed wanted one but our desires were the same, both of us had set our hearts on this quirky little number. The styling was mostly hated by everyone else; they all raised their eyebrows, tutted and warned us of the unwholesome porkiness associated with this bike. In some ways I agreed, it did look big and heavy, even ponderous, but for me it didn’t matter. It actually had a slightly shorter wheelbase than the previously established and seminal ‘S’ model and also had the added advantage of twin fuel injectors for some meaner and more efficient fuel burn, lastly it had a better fuel tank range than the ‘S’ which would be an advantage on our trip.

Phil owned an ‘S’ model with a full stoating Yoshimiura system bolted on to accompany the flowed heads fettled by the shadowy figure of ‘Mr. Burn’, he’d chalked up a few track days under his belt to good effect and it was fair to say that Phil had got the measure of his mount.

I first met Phil when he wandered into the bike shop I was working in at the time, the man looked like he should have been on the front cover of any late punk album, but I knew that he was obviously a serious biker. At the time he rode a Moto Martin framed big bore Kawasaki Z1100R with loadsa home made bits ‘n’ pieces on board. To look at frankly it was a fucking mess. I’ve never seen him or heard him confess to cleaning his bike unless a particular component was practical for the essential running of the machine (Sorry Phil I did see you with a cloth in your hand threatening to clean the ZX-10 once). Over the months he kept coming back for this or that, only really fixing it when it broke, usually haggling for a deal, bemoaning poverty etc, but it was all good humoured bandinagerie. The Moto Martin finally ended up with a single side swing arm, suspension and wheel from a random early VFR750, he was hoping it would cure the handling problems which he perceived were the cause of the stock spindly swing arm. I’m not sure if the single sider cured the problem, but as it probably weighed about three times a s much as the original, it probably kept the bike more firmly planted..
Finally he gave up on the long term ongoing Project Moto Martin and bought his first new bike. The Mighty TL1000S.

This was the age of the spectacular 916,996 Ducati V-twin dominance. The whole package was an overnight success, from the launch of the 916 V-twins were suddenly popular, very popular , everybody wanted one, not many could afford one let alone keep one running.
Thankfully those crafty men of Nippon know how to rapidly engineer, copy and in some cases exceed the original they are plagiarising, then sell it for half the price of the Italian number. The TL is still talked about today, most of the ones I see these days are streetfightered and are beloved by their riders who in the main don’t look like the original crop of sports riders who first flung their leg over. But the hooligan element is still lurking, with the motor only until recently withdrawn. Up until then it was a donor lump for many machines. It was the perfect bike for Phil he wanted a piece of that. The moniker ‘TL Phil’ was born.

Now Edmund or ‘Fast Eddie’ (no relation to the once Motorhead guitarist) as he was called in the early years was a different kettle of fish. He also started visiting the shop after his wife had cared for the proprieters wife when she was ill
Eddie and his wife had exported themselves from Northern Island to seek fortune in life elsewhere. Eddie was a keen biker and needed a bike shop to frequent, he checked us out and I’m glad to say he kept coming back.

Eddie worked in telecommunications and was a true rock n roller (though he kept it under his hat well), he usually commuted to and fro work 60 miles a day donning his suit in the middle of the day.
Ed’s hero is the great but sadly late Joey Dunlop. Growing up in Larne on the east coast of Ireland he smoked about on the tarmac of the emerald isle, the Irish love their bikes and are known for how tough, tenacious and talented they are when on two wheels, typified by Dunlop. It was hard for Eddie not to be interested in bikes from youth to maturity.

2007-08-03T02:24:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1 - Well learned friends of the online biker community, the time has come to blog up and as the present incumbent in this lofty position time to put up.

In a previous life elsewhere friends and colleagues were very kind and forthcoming in their praise for my muttered rantings and jangled scribbling, telling me I should have a wider audience, I’m not sure if they were humouring me or not (being of an anxious disposition) so here goes.

There now follows a rather long (hopefully not long winded and tedious) account of the greatest ride of my life. Thus far the greatest adventure I have undertaken on two wheels with two friends for most excellent company and three sturdy steeds. Now it was originally written just over four years ago so is not fresh but hopefully is a tale of derring do and will paint a picture in your mind.

Who knows it may encourage you to saddle up and set controls for the heart of the sun, to burn a bit of fuel and use your bike for the purpose intended, perhaps visit countries and gaze upon wonders that are not outside your back door or the usual same old same old you would usually encounter on a Sunday run.

I apologize to the more faint hearted in advance for the odd profanity here and there but at least it is in context and is in the vernacular after all. I’m not a trained journalist so have no hang ups about editorial style etc. It’s how it was with no embellishment and only the tangential stories missing.

The people involved are real and know who they are and I thank them once again for their company and comradeship.

As I mentioned it is rather long, so I’m going to serialize it to conclusion over the next few weeks. It’s not a daily thing, but it will give me some breathing space to ponder the world of two wheels and bring you various dark utterings from the real world.

Fingers crossed a few kind souls will read this to its conclusion and I may even persuade one or two of you to do the same ‘The greatest ride of my life’ (And I don’t want any predictable innuendo from this title, all you wags out there).

Chapter 1

‘Road tripping with my two favourite allies. We’re fully loaded, we got snacks and supplies. It’s time to leave this town, it’s time to steal away……..’ Red Hot Chilli Peppers – Kalifornication

‘Twas the summer of 2001, not a bad June that year, this is when the tale proper begins. The first turning of the wheels towards my most memorable ride ever.

Months of talking about this trip enabled us all (my compadres and I) to drink much ale, yellow beer and Guinness in the planning stages and whetting our appetites for the task ahead. The plan afoot was to immerse ourselves in the heady cocktail of bikes, beer, racing and any other nefarious activity we could find or stumble across at the legendary Isle of Man TT.

Phil, Ed and I were all road riders predominantly. We had all indentured ourselves in the school of two wheels over the lost years of our youth from the earliest age, riding in all weathers. Getting soaked for hours. The freezing cold, creaky knees and bloated with cold fingers and the odd crash or two. Trying to dry hideously inadequate sodden gloves on mate’s radiators as well as the rest of the usual shoddy and completely useless riding gear that was around at the time.

We all appeared to be from a similar mould and were obviously not destined to be gentlemen motobicyclists. None of us were content to leave alone, throwing our money down bottomless pits in order to squeeze a little extra performance out of our mounts, not really knowing any better at the time. This was the age of the stiinkwheel, of bendy frames and skinny wooden tyres. Somehow for us (unlike most of the fey youths of today) car’s didn’t cut it, they after all were invented for shopping not thrills, they didn’t get your heart pumping every time you approached your favourite corner aiming for that extra mile an hour or so with which to boast of your outlandish feats of speed and daring. You couldn’t buy pipes or lovely shiny braced swing arms from such hallowed names as JMC and Metmachex. This was the hey day of Harris performance and Spondon. Bimota were probably still making money before the sly sons of Nippon cottoned on, copied and ultimately beat them at their own game, driving their products into semi oblivion many times

Our lives revolved around bikes and to this day generally still do; we strode through biker life content.

For this trip we had progressed from youthful high spirits on old shitters to fat tyred horsepower hungry beasts of brushed aluminium and streamlined plastic. Time to use them in anger, set a purpose, head for the sun, head for the hills, hit the road and keep on rolling.