Less than a decade to get to the moon...

I had to see it for myself.... I just had to touch it's alloy/polycarbonate shell before I could even dare to think it was true.

but there it was, shiny and new just out of the showroom. No dear reader, this item isn't mine and to be honest it's nothing special in its own right, its the huge hurdle the purchasee has had to vault to get to this dizzying conclusion of outright ownership.

Yes..... Pooch has finally bought a brand new motorcycle.

In recent years its become a running joke.

Pooch: "I'm test riding a [insert random bike make/model] this weekend"

Me: "Ohh...... gonna chop in that Brough Superior you bought in 1926 for a model with electrics and those new fangled pneumatic tires are you?"

Pooch: "well, you never know....."

Pooch on his old ride: Taken just last week

Ah, but we do know don't we..... in the 8 or so years I've been riding bikes Pooch has NEVER even been close to purchasing a new bike. I think he prefers to borrow them for a few hours then take 'em back to the showroom and informing the bemused salesman that "well, its nice but I don't think I need a bike with more than 3 gears"

Even the prospect of saving money by getting rid of the nice man who walks in front of his bike waving a red flag didn't entice Pooch to a new purchase.

So, when rumours within the bike industry surfaced that Pooch was about to re-ink his quill to sign for a new bike I almost bought an ounce of Old Holburn.

Of course no one would believe him, Pooch had cried wolf too many times (I'm sure there's a pun in there somewhere).

He'd turn up outside the pub on a Triumph or some other monstrosity, some of the really dunk punters would marvel at his "new" ride while the majority would simply turn away and tut to themselves knowing it was nothing more than a test ride machine.

But now......its.... really....... here.

Ok, so he's gone and bought a BMW (he's getting on a bit you know) but at least its cylinders are vertical and there's no attachments for farming equipment. I think it may take a few months before Pooch gets the colour back in his wallet, sorry cheeks and he gets used to 4th gear and a crash helmet not made from leather.

I cant find the compression lever or the spark retardation handle!

Bikes and Tight bands

So many things so little time..... before I'm questioned about not doing "proper" work and blogging instead.. but here goes..

Hmmm yes, I have bought myself a new bike.... and yes its the expensive BMW one. Not too expensive as its second hand... sort of. Has 255 miles on the clock and was a BMW Staff bike. I collect it tomorrow.

Also my Dad has had a heart attack.... well, he's had two, one last Wednesday but no-one believed him then another on Friday. My Niece said "he's been rushed into Middlesbrough Hospital"..... I don't know whats going on in the NHS but I'm unable to see how someone can be "rushed" to a hospital that's over 35 miles away..... especially as there's a perfectly good hospital 10 miles down the coast in Hartlepool....

Anyhow, he's sort of OK, he's due out of hospital today as they have de-coked his arteries and told him to cheer up...... or something like that....

Oh, and before someone else says it I will...... The new bike was ordered BEFORE the owld fella was ill.

Anyhow, I thought this tune was kinda appropriate in the circumstance...... ok, perhaps inappropriate, but what the feck I'm going to hell anyway

NEC Bike Show 2007

It's persisting down

I found Belgium! It's at the end of France if you need a point of reference.
So, 1001.5 miles in 3 days. No one fell off or broke down and only one puncture amongst 80 bikes. The IAM should be proud!

I was impressed by the Eurotunnel as there's very little fannying about, ride on, wait 30 minutes then ride off into France. As it was my first time the captain invited me onto the flight deck. He then attempted to chat me up and ask me out on a date, I turned him down of course.

The picture above is of the Eurotunnel flight deck on the British side. On the French end the steering wheel is on the other side and the electrics are dodgy.

The entire trip ended up being extremely wet, it started raining at Junction 11 off the M25 in the UK and didn't stop 'till 10 minutes after I got back.

The most impressive thing about riding on the European mainland is the lack of traffic, no open shops and..... no people! I also noticed that the few locals we did meet could speak fairly good English, which is how it should be of course.

I have a medical condition which prevents me from understanding foreign languages but have since managed to say a few french phrases, mostly gibberish, some offensive and a few made up. As I didn't get thumped or arrested I consider that a success.

I also met a fellow WVAM member called Peter Lee. Which is odd because I used to live in Peterlee but was purged sometime ago. No doubt he's got a very large colon. I didn't get much further with Peter as he hummed of "management" and had a forced ambitious side to him. I've no doubt he's a very nice person and will end up happily married to a beautiful and faithful wife with a big house and own several large screen TV's and a heated swimming pool.

I want to ride my bicycle

As you can see, SHE RIDES WITHOUT STABILISERS!!!

But best of all, she did it with her Daddy. Something she wont forget and will carry with her forever, as I will.

Of course she needs a few more hours in the saddle to help with stopping, starting and turning.... but apart from that, she'll be fine!

Can we stop to do some shopping?

If you have a bike, then go to Wales..... unless its a Hardly-Ableson as they have corners and bends in Wales that require you to lean the machine into. Something the Hog was never designed to do.

I've just come back from 3 days of intensive biking (750 miles in total). Five blokes, four of them IAM level and one who's almost there..... and not one whining over sensitive fun bothering female person in sight...

God is a biker, there's no other reason to arrange the hills and valleys of Wales in a way that makes almost every road a technical adventure to negotiate on a bike. The Devil of course drives an underpowered Skoda towing an unfeasibly large caravan, or as I like to call them, moving chicanes.

Luckily for us, the Devil was off shaking chimney stacks in Kent and left the Welsh roads caravan free. Bloody fantastic.

Left hander......possible knee down event.

I quickly and unconsciously skim through "the system".... the bend is visible all the way through, nowt on the road, nothing to hit, my position adjusted, just left of the long white divide. Speed and gear selection needs to be perfect, enough speed to keep the adrenalin flowing and the correct gear to neutralise the suspension bias front and back.

Everything slows down, becomes quiet and I feel a tightness spread across my face as the inevitable grin begins to show.... Arse slips off the seat to the left, right elbow anchors itself into the recess contoured into the tank design, left knee and leg rotate outwards ready to skim the bitumen.
Subconsciously I begin the turn, but thats not enough to do this correctly, I need to apply some science and have heroic amounts of self belief to stop under-steering and meeting an oncoming tree....or worse.
Forcing a 1000 yard stare up the road to where I need to be in just a few short seconds and applying a forward push on the left bar to countersteer the bike and myself around the apex...... Ground rush becomes apparent to peripheral vision as the lean angle increases.....I try not to think of the forces being transmitted through the bike, to the suspension and down to the tires and onto a contact patch with the road the size of a credit card.

I can feel the increase in G's spike then begin to fade, perfectly in unison with the degrees of lean. The throttle is slowly opened making sure I don't over do it and spoil the whole experience by spinning up the rear tire too early and invoking a spleen shattering high-side......

As the bike returns to its perpendicular attitude and my arse finds its usual residence I begin to hear a strange noise in my helmet , sounds like a screaming, giggling, over excited 10 year old at a Beyonce concert....... feck...... that noise belongs to me.

Oh look! another bend up ahead...... possible knee down event.

@rse over tit....

I could of fallen off the bike, oh yes.... tight left hander, magnesium knee sliders spraying a shower of sparks into the air as the lean angle allows me to almost touch the hot tarmac.... As I concentrate my attention into the far distance I don't notice the smallest of diesel spills which has exactly the same dimensions as the credit card sized contact patch my front Avon uses to hold over 300lbs of racing machine (and human) to the road surface.. Within a fraction of a second the bike has low-sided and I'm sent spinning across the road, across on-coming traffic and into a variety of road furniture............

It could of been like that.....

but it wasn't.

I actually fell UP the stairs at work. Arse over tit. Latte in one hand, bacon and sausage bap in the other. The first thing to touch mother earth was my right knee cap, it slammed into the metal edge cover and then had the best part of 17 stones of pure British lard jack-hammer it home.

Yes... it hurt. I swore a lot.... repeatedly. The pain was so intense I almost lost grip of my bacon and sausage bap (the latte was mostly a stain on the wall at this point).

The security guard (who is stationed right next to the stairs) immediately called for the Duty First Aider, smart move you may think, only, I am the duty first aider..... After I stopped screaming I switched off my First Aid pager and returned to my "screaming like a little girl" routine until a small crowd had gathered.

Luckily, there was no claret, if there had been the screaming from me would of stopped sharpish as I passed out (as a first aider I can handle other peoples blood, but not my own). I could feel my knee cap swelling by the second and I could feel the unmistakable signs of shock welling within.... cold, clammy, gray skin and a raised heartbeat. I took refuge on a nearby couch just as one of our other first aiders arrived (thanks Ann!)

It was quickly established I needed a visit to E&A pretty sharpish, there was no way I was gonna waste a busted knee cap on an ambulance so Chuckie volunteered to drive my car with Ann and myself to St. Peter's Hospital.

After lots of poking about, x-rays and a heroic dose of painkillers it was established that I hadn't broken anything and it was no more than a very nasty sprain/twisted knee and severe bruising.
In good old NHS fashion I was fitted with a tubular bandage and a shiny pair of crutches and told to naff off home for tea and sympathy.

and thats where I am now, "working from home", high as a kite on Tramadol (Hmmmmm, t-r-a-m-a-d-o-l) nursing a right knee cap the size of one arse cheek while watching daytime TV.

The killer stairs, tried to take me and my bacon & sausage bap OUT.... not forgetting my knee cap

I was never told what happened to my bacon and sausage bap. We went through a lot that day.

JOGLE '06

We did it!!

John O’Groats to Lands End sponsored motorcycle ride within 24 hours. What a hoot, what an adventure, what a sore arse I’ve got!

Yes, we completed the journey in 17hrs, setting off from John O’Groats at 3.30am and arriving at Lands End at 8.30pm. That’s a total of 874.2 miles according to my GPS.

Not only did we hit our target of £3000 for Breast Cancer Support groups, but we doubled it!!!!! How bloody marvellous is that?!?!

As an added bonus no-one fell off or crashed, ran out of petrol, got lost or otherwise.

I spent some quality time with a bunch of Lords for a cause that needs supporting.

So……

John Webster, Karen Webster, Michael Darby, Nick Corney, Martin Dartmouth, Howard Dixon, Tim Goodman, and not forgetting the organiser and run leader Rex Hawkes (aka The Marathon Man)

I salute you!

In need of some help....

I'll be taking part in a charity ride in aid of Breast Cancer Support and need some help. I, along with a few other IAM members will be riding from John O'Groats to Land's End, a total of approx. 850+ miles within 24 hours.

We aim to raise £3000. It's a lot of cash, but it's needed. Breast Cancer, if caught early enough is a very very treatable disease. Please help me by lobbing some wonga in my general direction.

You can do this by simply catching me in the street, at work or on the lavatory and forcing me to have some cash.

If you're geographically challenged then simply goto our Charity Donation website and scrape some plastic into the coffers.

yes, it is a bloody long way, about 850 miles, lots of fuel, possible RTA's and soreness
and remember, I'm doing this on my Honda Super Blackbird, not a poncy Hardly Ableson*






*if offended, please donate £50 to my sponsorship and I'll remove it.....

Sorry about the rain......

It's my fault. It always pisses down when I have to take the bike in for a service.....

Life is like a red lion.... full of drunken Irishmen and gaming machines

Left hander......possible knee down event.

I quickly and unconsciously skim through "the system".... the bend is visible all the way through, nowt on the road, nothing to hit, my position adjusted, just left of the long white divide. Speed and gear selection needs to be perfect, enough speed to keep the adrenalin flowing and the correct gear to neutralise the suspension bias front and back.

Everything slows down, becomes quiet and I feel a tightness spread across my face as the inevitable grin begins to show.... Arse slips off the seat to the left, right elbow anchors itself into the recess contoured into the tank design, left knee and leg rotate outwards ready to skim the bitumen.
Subconsciously I begin the turn, but thats not enough to do this correctly, I need to apply some science and have heroic amounts of self belief to stop under-steering and meeting an oncoming tree....or worse.
Forcing a 1000 yard stare up the road to where I need to be in just a few short seconds and applying a forward push on the left bar to countersteer the bike and myself around the apex...... Ground rush becomes apparent to peripheral vision as the lean angle increases.....I try not to think of the forces being transmitted through the bike, to the suspension and down to the tires and onto a contact patch with the road the size of a credit card.

I can feel the increase in G's spike then begin to fade, perfectly in unison with the degrees of lean. The throttle is slowly opened making sure I don't over do it and spoil the whole experience by spinning up the rear tire too early and invoking a spleen shattering high-side......

As the bike returns to its perpendicular attitude and my arse finds its usual residence I begin to hear a strange noise in my helmet , sounds like a screaming, giggling, over excited 10 year old at a Beyonce concert....... feck...... that noise belongs to me.

Oh look! another bend up ahead...... possible knee down event.

Petrol ban for wearing a hat...

A recent report by MCN suggests that in future all motorcyclists will have to remove their helmets if they wish to purchase petrol…..The reason for this? Well, according to BOSS it’s so the cashiers can tell if they are over 16 or not..

Fat hairy knackers is what I say to that. There’s no way I’m gonna take the time to remove my helmet just so some illegal asylum seeker can see if I’m old enough to buy fireworks yet.

Power Ranger

If you came across me while I’m on my bike, dressed up in leathers like a Power Ranger , sitting on a 10k hyper sports bike would it seriously cross your mind if was old enough to legally shag your sister? No, you wouldn’t. I’ve a myriad of ways to confirm my age and identity: credit cards (you need to be 18 to own one), driving licence (17 years old to own one), blockbusters card and even a membership card to the local sex shop (and I havnt even begun to mention all the noises, grunts & groans I make while getting on and off the bike)…. But somehow this just isn’t enough to pay for a tank full of juice.

Quadrophenia

My solution is simple, if they allow me to fill the bike up (which they always do) and they start treating me like I’ve just been released into the community from a maximum security facility then I’ll simply tell them if they want paying for the petrol they can bill me at my home address as I slip my name & contact details under their re-enforced bullet proof window.

Today’s biker is generally middle class with more disposable cash than a Columbian drug runner, so why treat us like extras from Quadrophenia?

Our green and pleasant land

A Bank Holiday! As no-one else I knew wanted me involved in anything they were doing this weekend I decided to naff off on the bike..... You'd think the offer of a ride out into the English countryside on a spectacular summers day with a picnic would entice someone* to come along with me.... wouldn't you? (* female only, I'm not "new man" enough to have a bloke nestling my buttocks on the back of the bike).

A quick flick in the Reader Digest Road Book and I came across Glastonbury Tor, far enough away to make a day of it and in the right direction to find some exhilarating roads to master.

So, a 7am start..... camera, wallet, GPS and two cans of Red Bull... I'm ready. Thumb the starter, savour the growl of the Blue Flame exhausts and I'm off....

There's nowt like hitting the sweet spot of an apex on a twisty "B" road.. and my trip to Glastonbury was full of 'em. 100% concentration, 100% exhilaration, fantastic.

Oh, you wanna know about the Tor, well, its a big hill with an old tower thingy on top... you can see for miles on a clear day.... if thats your bag that is.

Pictures from the rideout here

MotoGP Brno, Czech Republic....

The Hero, Valentino Rossi.

He starts round 11 of the MotoGP world Championships in 4th position, not the best place to start but thats never stopped him winning before.

Here's to a corker GP, it'll be live on Eurosport at 12.30pm so dont miss it.

Sorry, did I nearly kill you.... never mind then

You fucking mong.

Yes, you!…. The fuckwit driver who thinks his mobile phone call is more important than my life. Come over here while I beat some fucking common sense into your gorilla thick noggin.

Yep, it’s happened again. While entering a roundabout on my bike a cunt-on-a-phone in a huge 4x4 decided he’d rather listen to a voice mail from his manky little girlfriend rather than concentrate on not killing me….. Then, in a fit of ineptitude he carries on in his Monster Truck still with the mobile clamped to his radiated fizog.

What a complete cunt. Blissfully unaware not to mention spatially inept. I only hope his continued use of the mobile phone renders him sterile, we simply don’t need his kind of genes in a society which has evolved because of its ability to care for its fellow beings.

You’re a social embarrassment with no concept of empathy. A fuckwit of the highest order. Please take an overdose, suck on a tail pipe, borrow a gun from a friend, ANYTHING, please…… make this world a little lighter for the rest of us.

Something you may not know about TALKING ON THE FUCKING PHONE WHILE DRIVING!!!

1. You are a fuckwit, no, really, you are


2. You are 4 times more dangerous than a drunk driver


3. You are a fuckwit


4. Dead horses are more reactive in dangerous situation than you are


5. You are a fuckwit


6. 100% of people on the Isle Of Wight know where you live and are coming to get you


7. You are a fuckwit


8. Your girlfriend/wife/boyfriend/husband IS having an affair


9. You are a fuckwit


10. You have a minimum wage job and drive a white van


11. You really are a fuckwit


12. You will die lonely and penniless in a pool of your own piss


13. You are a fuckwit

Its a good road for a Hardly-Ableson

Some routes ya win, some ya don't. The trip to Rendlesham Forest was crap, the A10/A12 was straight and full of twats, a perfect road for Harley Davidsons. But if you have a bike that accelerates, goes round corners without shaving bits off the exhaust and not sound like a tractor then choose roads that have bends in them....much more fun.

It wasn't all bad tho, some of it was appalling. We missed the rain but not the wet roads, didn't see any aliens either and nearly walloped a few dear into the bargin.

I'd had enough when we stopped at Orford Castle, it was then that I realised I hadn't taken any photographs so took this one. Not very interesting really, not even for a castle (notice the woman in the bottom right of the photo, she also took some dull photos).

I think Tom on his new Fazer 600 realised that touring on a bike is not always mind blowing'ly exciting. Sometimes it's bloody cold, wet and tiring. We clocked up a total of 326 miles in 6 hours and 51 mins...... most of it dull as arse.

We did eventually stumble across some nice twisty bits and trounced a few local bikers (well, I did, Tom still has to have the training wheels removed first).


more luck next time

Beachy Head....

I did go to Beachy Head. Although, its never the destination that counts, its the getting there that matters.

Used the GPS to nav a route and decided to try the A272 from Winchester to somewhere I cant remember then onto Beachy Head. This time I didn't miss any turns (Hurrah!). So, a total of 270 miles and a max speed of just 103 mph (done on a private stretch of race track.... Officer) with a total time of just over 5 hours.

Tomorrow its off to Rendlesham Forest, a well known UFO site where odd people wander the woods at the dead of night searching for imaginary friends........ There are one or two of my friends I wish were imaginary.....


Ho Hum

Haircut, Bike Service and real tabs..

Haircut, Bike Service and real tabs...... must be payday then.

IBM finally coughed up my overtime for the last 6 weeks. So I'm flush again, just as well 'cos the bike service is gonna drill a fairly large hole in the wallet.

BB's birthday on Friday night was a corker, the BV was full, Carol got Gabby to DJ and the Cava was flowing. As per usual back at BB's the party continued, Jez accidentaly smashed more glasses, Camilla wandered off into the night, I fell asleep for an hour, Tom cleaned the floor with Champaign while everyone else just got plain drunk.

Click here to see the photos

Brrrruuummmmm

flum flum flum, brrrrrrrrr, brrrrrrr, brrrrrrrrr, grrrummmm, grrrrruummmm. parp parp parp parp

thats better

German MotoGP

Did you watch the GP? No, I don't mean that dull as arse procession on four wheels with no overtaking where that cheating German bastard always wins. Well, I'm on about the REAL GP, where the riders get upto speeds of 215 MPH on machines that go from 0 to 100 mph in less than 3 seconds.

Thats MotoGP. No specially hardened carbon fibre super stressed safety monocoques' here

Anyhow, my hero Valentino Rossi came in first again at the German GP. The man is a lord. He honed his bike skills at Pizzahut in Walton-on-thames delivering around the area....(thats him in the piccy...he took the pizza box off on the warm up lap).

If you want excitement in your motor racing then have a butchers at MotoGP. I guarantee it'll have you on the edge of your seat.

Check out last seasons DVD. It's a bleenin' corker!