Total Motorcycle Community Forums

Wednesday 17 August

I've just learned today that Gordon, my wife's cousin from Canada, was on the Piccadilly line and passing through Russell Square station minutes before the bombs went off. Tavistock Square, where the bus was blown up, is just outside the university office he was visiting. Two of his university colleagues got caught up in the explosion. One was killed the other had his legs blown off. This thing just creeps nearer all the time.

Wednesday August 24th 2005


Edited Friday August 26 2005 - reread this today and thought it needed a bit of judicious pruning.

With my wife becoming increasingly disabled I don’t get much time on my own these days, but I do get to go on rideouts. A month ago it looked different: I’d already had to miss a few of the club runs and it seemed that, in future, I was going to have miss a lot more. In mid-July I saw details of a particularly interesting Sunday rideout posted on the club website - which I would have to miss, so I spent the afternoon mooching about the house, quietly indulging myself in a bit of regretful grumbling.

For over a week the bike had been idle. From its parking place in my back garden, it sang its Siren song to me. I listened. It was driving me nuts. If I’d been sensible, I would have saved myself the pain and put all idea of riding out of my head and just got on with doing what was necessary. But biking gets to be a fever in the blood. Perhaps I was too weak-willed to knuckle down to reality - or maybe I just didn’t want to (note the genuine addict’s defence). But it was then that my wife suddenly announced that she had organised some extra care for herself that Sunday and I would be free to go. For someone who has a hell of a lot of other things to concern herself with right now and thinks bikes are just a big macho pain in the arse, that was a great gesture, don’t you think?

Over the following month, friends picked up the message and rallied round. Every week now someone rings up to ask if we would like them to come and be with Di for a morning and afternoon while I go out on the bike. And every Sunday I am bundled (ever so unwillingly, of course!) out of the house and onto the SV. It's in situations like this that you find out who your friends are and how much selflessness there is in the world.

The rideouts are ‘organised’ weekly by a bike club I belong to; It’s a big club - about 150 members - and the rideouts can be large or small, depending on the weather, domestic commitments and how much beer the guys had downed the night before. The club has been around now for nearly sixty years. It’s one of the oldest in the country. In the 1950s it had a strong sporting focus. A lot of the older members were professional racers. Some of them held national and world records in bike sports. By a quirk of history, two of them still hold unbeaten international sprint records which they won just before the world went metric - so there have been no further challenges at that distance. Today, most members prefer propping up the bar in the evenings, or sitting round in cafes chatting and drinking tea. One thing they don’t talk about much, I’ve noticed, is bikes.

It’s amazing the rideouts take place at all. The club members are a great bunch of guys, but they couldn’t organise a p1ss up in a brewery. Some of them complain about the lack of organisation but no-one has the will to do anything about it. The rideouts just happen. Someone puts a note on the website, and people turn up. Usually, someone decides on a route and a destination but it is hardly worth it. On the day, the ride is quite likely to end up going somewhere else, either by last-minute agreement or by sheer accident. There are no rules to these rideouts. Nothing is organised. Everyone just does his own thing. That is both refreshing and annoying. We get lost, lose individual riders, have the occasional hair-raising moment and disagree a lot. It’s a kind of good-natured chaos.

At rock bottom, though, I don’t care. I just love getting out onto the bike. I also have to admit that a big part of me likes this anarchic way of doing things even though it is often confusing and inconvenient. There’s too much order and routine in the rest of my life – especially now. I’ve never been good at being organised or punctual or any of that stuff. I think maybe a day will come when I’ll start to get more discriminating about where I want to go and how I want to get there, but, eighteen months and 25,000+ miles since getting back on a bike, I see no signs of it yet.

Four weeks ago, after my wife’s announcement, I dragged myself out of bed at quarter to seven (quarter to seven is a pretty psychedelic kind of experience for me these days). I got my wife up, got breakfast, got into my leathers, went through the day’s routine with the carers, and hared off to Stevenage for the morning meet.

This rideout was going to be a long one, about 250 miles all round. We were heading for Great Yarmouth on the coast, and then up to Cromer. At the morning meet, we stood around gazing blankly at the maps and typed directions the ride leader produced for us. He was a new member and hadn’t yet understood the club’s preference for chaos. Maps and printed directions on rideouts were something of a novelty.

It was a good route though, and (unusually) pleased almost everybody. The scratchers were pleased as there were several good runs of fast curves on the way out. Those that liked to improve (or show off) their riding skills were pleased because there was a fair selection of twisty back roads. And there were ample opportunities for those that just wanted a blast.

The plan was to stop off for breakfast at Snettershall. At Yarmouth we’d stop again for a snack and then head on up the coast to Cromer for tea. You’ll notice that food plays a significant role in club activities.

The café at Snettershall was a biker’s place, but definitely one to cross off the list. We waited for what seemed hours to get served. I can fall asleep almost anywhere - except on the bike (I thought I’d better just say that!) but it was a first for me when I dozed right off while standing in the queue waiting by the counter to place my order. I believe there are photos to prove it.

At Yarmouth we parked on the sea-front and had tea and sarnies at an open-air restaurant under a grey and windy East Anglian sky. As usual there was a tension between the women (mostly pillions, but a couple of solo riders, too) and some of the guys who wanted to chill out and look around the town for a while and the rest of the male hard core who just wanted to get back on the bikes and ride. As usual the hard core won out. No rematch competition on the Dodgems, today!

I’ve come to enjoy riding with this group for a lot of reasons. They’re a great bunch of people, very funny, very friendly and very loyal. (Funny, in particular, is something I need badly right now.) There are some very good riders among them, so I learn a lot. And between them they have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the best biking roads in East-Anglia and the South-East. The problem for me is that these guys ride just so damned fast. And when I say fast, I mean FAST. On this Sunday between Saffron Walden and Yarmouth the speed freaks began to set the pace. One guy overtook me doing at least 130mph. Don’t get me wrong. I like a blast from time to time, but with this lot, given the right road, the pace can become relentless and after a while it is just hard work keeping up. There is also the small issue about retaining my licence.

I’m not the slowest rider in the pack (as I once was) but I do tend to drop to the back. That’s partly because other people overtake, assuming I’m going to be slow, and partly because I don’t have a strong competitive instinct. People fight for the front, and I can’t be arsed with that.

On the twisties, I can hold my own with the group for maybe half an hour or so, but after that my concentration flags and I lose confidence. Once I begin to tire, my automatic reactions take over and I start to fixate. I’m still working on that one. Is this age? I ask myself sometimes, but I don’t like to think about that.

On the other hand, my riding has improved considerably just by watching other more experienced riders in the group. Before I met them I used to ride like a cager. I’d sit comfortably in queues of traffic, only overtaking when the cars ahead were particularly slow. At first, I rarely filtered, and waited my turn a traffic lights. I didn’t push much beyond the speed limit. Going on these rideouts introduced me to a different way of riding. First, I discovered the throttle, then the brakes, then 40 degree leans. I’ve still got to rub the last few millimetres off the edge of my tyres, but I’m getting there – and having a lot of fun doing it. I thought, when I first came back to bikes that, at my age, I’d learned a few things and that I was going to be a sensible rider. I still think I’m a sensible rider but, well, you know…

The second rideout was much shorter than the week before, and very different in character – different roads, different leader, far fewer riders, more ad hoc. Five of us turned up at the morning meet. We coulcn't agree, so two went off for a short blast to the Silver Ball (a biker's cafe on the A10), while three of us took a ride round the back roads of Herts and Essex: through Great Essendon, Saffron Walden, Wendens Ambo and back through Baldock. These are very narrow roads, very twisty, often with tall banks so sightlines are poor. The guy who led the ride knew the area well. He was a great rider, very fast and very smooth on these tricky roads. Keeping up with him was a real challenge - not dangerous, I think, but demanding focus. I was very pleased with myself and I’m sure my riding improved that day. Speed gives you a tremendous buzz, but improving your skill as a rider is ultimately much more satisfying (IMHO)

This following Sunday rideout was very different again. It was a quick jaunt due south down to London (30-odd miles) to the Ace Café on the North Circular. This week the Ace was hosting a streetfighter event and several stunt teams were strutting their stuff on the forecourt that afternoon. I’ve got video footage of some of it. If I can overcome my technophobia I’ll try and post it on the site.

One of the members who turned up agreed to lead the rideout down to London (after being volunteered for it by someone else). When she is at work she is a police motorcyclist, and knows the roads round here very well – well enough to get us to a familiar destination by a very unfamiliar and um… interesting route. We got to the Ace at about ten-thirty. .It was packed solid. There must have been a couple of thousand bikes there, parked up on the forecourt and on both sides of the road fronting it.

Most of the stunts were pretty routine. There were loads of people doing doughnuts, (one thing I learned by watching one poor guy – if you want to do doughnuts, don’t buy an MV). There were plenty of people doing burn outs, and one guy who tried to entertain the crowd by setting fire to his exhaust emissions. (??????). (That’s his bike’s exhaust emissions, by the way, in case anyone was in doubt.) But, there were one or two spectacular stunts, including one I hadn’t seen done live before. One rider had hold of the side of his fireblade, one hand grabbing a handlebar, the other on the back bar. With his feet on the side of the fairing and the bike leant over at 60 degrees, he rode it round in tight circles for about three minutes. Amazing to watch.

But you could tell the real bike fanatics that afternoon. They were the ones sitting around tables in the café discussing timings and tyres and things, while the forecourt was seething with mental foreplay. Everyone else was crowding round Charlie. ‘Charlie,’ an extremely leggy model arrived with a press photographer and spent over an hour posing on, over, against (etc) a customised steel frame 1100 Suzuki with turobs (beautiful bike), losing most of her clothing as the afternoon and the enthusiasm of the photographer wore on.

With the coming of the rain (of course – it’s been a lousy summer), the café got jammed, the band turned up the amps, and the staff began yelling out the order numbers at the top of their voices. We sat around chatting vaguely at the tables and drinking tea. Sitting around in the Ace on days like this reminds me of my teenage years, mildly boring, sociable and thoroughly enjoyable.

Last Sunday, just gone, the rideout was the smallest yet. Just three of turned up this time. I’m not surprised. The plan was to join a charity run in London to raise money for the victims of the recent bombings. Or that, at least, was the way it was advertised on the club site. When I got there and read the T-shirts they were selling, it turned out to be more of a ‘London will not submit to terrorism’, sort of event (whatever that meant). Worse still, they were going to end up at the Ace for a flag raising ceremony. Well, that was all a bit much for me. Yuk! What any of this had to do with bikes, I don’t know, and I don’t think anyone else did either. And I don’t think anyone really cared that much. I got the impression it was just another excuse for a mass rideout tacked onto a vaguely populist, right wing agenda. I didn’t feel comfortable. But it was a blue light event – there was a police escort - and riding through Central London with 3,000 other bikers is fun; especially sincde we would be running through red lights and ignoring bus lanes while police outriders held up the traffic. That has a certain attraction. So I went.

London has a significant Muslim population and many Muslim visitors at this time of year. I wondered what they were making of us. Did they see it as an anti-Muslim demonstration? Perhaps it was. With 3,000 riders, no-doubt some of them thought so. After the recent rise in Islamophobic attacks in the capital recently some onlookers might well have seen in that light. So I was relieved to see a number (though not all) the riders waving to people in Muslim dress among the crowd. I was even more pleased to see some Muslim watchers waving back.

It started off as a good ride by it went on for far too long. The idea was to visit all the bomb sites on route. We rode through North London, down through The City and part of the East End, down the Strand into the West End, then up the A40 and the North Circular and back to the Ace. Until we got to the A40 most of this was at about 8 miles an hour, average. The SV has a heavy clutch and by the time I got back to the Ace my wrists were dropping off. The pain!!! I didn’t stop but got back home again up the A1(M) as quickly as I could.

Next week is a Bank Holiday weekend so there is a rideout on Monday as well. The club is going to Stratford upon Avon. There are some good roads out that way.

Thursday 25 August 2005

Is there no-one out there with a spanner you can trust? "poo poo"!

I took the SV in to my local dealers today. I wanted the mechanic to exchange the 42-tooth sprocket (the one he put on last time the chain was changed) for a 40-tooth one, which is standard for the bike. The 42-tooth sprocket was a wow. The SV Thou is already a pretty fearsome torque monster without those two extra teeth. With them, it packs a hell of a punch. On a straight a country road in the quiet of the evening, that sprocket plus a bit of throttle could send you through into the fourth dimension. But there was a downside. The extra torque felt like it was putting a strain on the engine that was a lb-ft too far. Sometimes, if I got the gears even slightly wrong there was a heave and a struggle in the pistons. Ultimately, it just didn't feel right. So (reluctantly) it had to go.

I also wanted the dealer to check out the intermittent vibes, rattle and knock one last time before I threw in the towel and just decided to live with them. At least, if the mechanic noticed anything at all, I could get them acknowledged. I might then have an argument with Suzuki if they got worse later when the warranty expired. People keep telling me that v-twins are vibey bikes. Yes, I keep saying, v-twins are vibey bikes, but this is new. Up to 12,000 miles she was as sleek as a baby's bottom.

Despite all the ranting I've done about my local dealer, I decided to take the SV back to him. With Di now needing full time attention, I couldn’t afford the time to take it further afield. And I’m glad I made that choice. The clutch reservoir and valve were loose – you, know, the reservoir and valve that the Cambridge dealer replaced for me just a month or so ago. On the valve there are apparently two screws, one long, one short. The Cambridge mechanic had swapped them over. ********** (Use your imagination on that one.) Who can you trust to do a decent job?

Loose bits could well contribute to the vibes problem. And sure as eggs, when I rode the bike home it was a lot less buzzy. The vibes hadn’t entirely disappeared, but they were a lot easier. But I'm not holding my breath. They come and go all the time. Time will tell.

The dealer also pointed out that the left-hand fairing lowers which had cracked around the lower fixing had gone again. (I had them plastic welded about a month ago). I hadn’t noticed (shows how long it is since I cleaned my bike), so there's another possible contribution to the buzz. Back to the welder, then.

Rattle and knock? No-one heard them. Listen. I swear I am not imagining this.

And the 40-tooth sprocket? I’d forgotten exactly what a qualitative difference it had made to the feel of the bike. With two less teeth she still has loads of torque, but is a calmer ride. She no longer feels... well, manic. If I want the acceleration, I’ve still got it. I just need a little more throttle and a rethinking of the gears. But she now feels smooth as full fat cream once again. Luuuuuverly. And – a big plus when slow riding – I don’t need so much clutch.

That just leaves me. Well, what a dumb-dumb. I called a taxi to take me to the dealer. Just as it came, I realised I only had a fiver in my wallet – not enough to pay the driver, so I ran upstairs to get a couple of extra quid in change. I put my wallet on the table – and left it there. I clean forgot to pick it up. When I got to the dealers I didn’t have enough money to pay for the taxi and I had no credit card to pay for the bike. Who felt like a total wally??? You guessed it.

The taxi driver was a trusting type (after all, he knew my address). He gave me an 'invoice' on the back of a business card and asked me to deliver the money to his office. The guy who works at the dealers knows me (he's a member of the bike club I belong to – the chairman, in fact) so he was cool about it and said bring the money in the following day. Just before I left though, he lit up like a light bulb, this big grin spreading like an oil slick right across his face – did I realise, he said, there was no fuel in the bike when I left it with him? The mechanic had taken it for a ride up the road, but had only got a couple of hundred yards when he came to shuddering halt. They had to send a van out to get it back.

I know I’m absent minded and a bit vague at times. And I know my focus is elsewhere at the moment but I could have done without this. It will be all over the club by next week. I’m beginning to get a reputation for this sort of thing. C’est la vie!

Nah!

sv-wolf wrote:Thursday 25 August 2005
The extra torque felt like it was putting a strain on the engine that was a lb-ft too far. Sometimes, if I got the gears even slightly wrong there was a heave and a struggle in the pistons. Ultimately, it just didn't feel right.

Interesting, because with the bigger rear cog you need less engine torque to create the same torque about the rear axle. And, for the same engine torque you get more rear-axle torque (and more acceleration).

So maybe it's a lack of fed-back torque at the engine that caused the surge. It was over-revving, then catching, then reacting, then bogging, etc. Interesting sort of oscillation. I wonder if some kind of tuning change could make it work.

sv-wolf wrote:Thursday 25 August 2005........

I know I’m absent minded and a bit vague at times. And I know my focus is elsewhere at the moment but I could have done without this. It will be all over the club by next week. I’m beginning to get a reputation for this sort of thing. C’est la vie!

Nah!

Sorry to laugh at your misfortune, Hud, but that is funny.

Specially since it isn't happening to ME this time.

BuzZz wrote:

sv-wolf wrote:Thursday 25 August 2005........

I know I’m absent minded and a bit vague at times. And I know my focus is elsewhere at the moment but I could have done without this. It will be all over the club by next week. I’m beginning to get a reputation for this sort of thing. C’est la vie!

Nah!

Sorry to laugh at your misfortune, Hud, but that is funny.

Specially since it isn't happening to ME this time.

Go ahead, Buzz! Glad you thought it was funny. I'm at that age when 'saving face' just seems more trouble than it's worth - especially if there is a good story in there somewhere. I've also discovered in my advancing years that cultivating a reputation for mild eccentricity pays huge benefits. Of 840 people in my office building I'm the only one who can get away with turning up in raggy jeans and T shirt. That's purely because that's what they expect of me these days. You gotta keep up standards y'know.

blair wrote:

sv-wolf wrote:Thursday 25 August 2005
The extra torque felt like it was putting a strain on the engine that was a lb-ft too far. Sometimes, if I got the gears even slightly wrong there was a heave and a struggle in the pistons. Ultimately, it just didn't feel right.

Interesting, because with the bigger rear cog you need less engine torque to create the same torque about the rear axle. And, for the same engine torque you get more rear-axle torque (and more acceleration).

So maybe it's a lack of fed-back torque at the engine that caused the surge. It was over-revving, then catching, then reacting, then bogging, etc. Interesting sort of oscillation. I wonder if some kind of tuning change could make it work.

Hiya Blair

You're right, of course. I hadn't thought it through that clearly. At the moment I'm happy with my 40 teeth ( ), but all that extra torque at the back wheel was something else. Maybe, when I get the chain changed again I'll think about putting the larger sprocket back and getting a retune. If nothing else, I'm curious to see what it might do. Cheers for the suggestion.

Friday August 25 2005 (late, late)

Today my run of exclusively female would-be motorised slayers was broken for the first time in just over a year. A pimply yooof it was who pulled out straight in front of me today as I was exiting a roundabout.

When I turned back to growl at him I realised he was a learner driver. How did I know he was a learner driver? Because he had a very grimy, back-to-front and upside down 'L' plate stuck in the corner of his windscreen obscuring his periperal view of the road. Pimply yooof was craning intently ahead with a look of furious concentration on his face and straining his fists in a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Boy, was he determined to show the world that he didn't hesitate at junctions. Dad (or similar responsible adult) was sitting next to him with a smug grin on his face.

No doubt pimply yoooof was imitating responsible adult's endearing habit of sliding out onto a roundabout before exiting traffic have got clear.

Guess what! I saw a motorcycle cop in Hitchin today booking a woman driver for...? (There was a mobile phone on the dashboard. So, maybe, just maybe, this officer of the law had remembered that using mobile phones when driving is actually illegal.) In any case, how long is it since I have seen a traffic cop in Hitchin? ...in Hertfordshire? Anywhere, even?

Edit: a friend has just pointed out to me that 'yooof' might not translate as obviously as I had supposed. In my part of the UK, the local dialect often pronounces 'th' as an 'f' as in: 'I fink I'll 'av a barf' = I think I'll have a bath. ' (not 'I'm going to be sick' ). People who use the dialect pronounciation are often thought of as 'uneducated or a bit stupid. Yooof' therefore = youth = not very bright male teenager. Sorry, if that is obvious. I wasn't sure.

Sunday August 28th 2005

There was a nasty motorcycle accident 100 yards from my home yesterday. A young guy, just passed his test, and riding home on his newly purchased bike was hit side on by a moron in a car revving out of a turning. - a sorry-didn't-see-him job. The youngster was badly injured. My neighbour who saw the accident says the motorcyclists foot was twisted round the wrong way by the collision. A nice start to the poor guy's motorcycling career!

On my way down to London today I had to filter for about six miles between almost stationary traffic on the M25. Cause: a traffic pile up. At least three cars were involved. One of then was lying on its roof thoroughly mangled. It looked as if it had burned. There were about a dozen ambulances and fire engines and the same number of cop cars attending when I passed by.

Seen a lot of unpleasant stuff recently.

Vibes are back big time. Rattle too. Looking for a bucket to stick my head into.

Off to Stratford tomorrow - a Bank (public) Holiday over here. Looking forward to it, so must get to bed and have some rest.

G'night.

Tuesday 30th August 2005


I’ve never heard of anyone writing-off a bike on a speed hump before. But that seems to have been what a member of the bike club has managed. He’s a really nice guy, in his twenties, very measured in most things but he seems to have a rather approximate attitude to the physical realities of the road. I haven’t spoken to him yet but I’m told he took a speed bump at 30 mph (!) in the rain (!!) and lost (the back?) wheel (!!!). He laid the bike down OK (a Honda 500) and slid to a stop without hurting himself much (just a bit of bruising to his ribs), but the bike carried on down the road and hit the next speed hump – crunch time! The following day, he announced to everyone that he was going to buy a Blade. (!!!!) There were some awkward glances among other members, but no-one said anything. Everyone was relieved when he settled for a Daytona instead. I think he must have bumped up against the reality of insurance premiums

There was probably some diesel or some other slippery stuff on the speed hump. We have a big problem with diesel here in the UK. There are a lot of diesel cars on the roads. They’re mostly very good and fuel efficient – though they are an ecological nightmare, pumping tons of dioxins into the atmosphere every year. They also spill loads of diesel onto the roads, creating a skating rink for bikers (and other cars). On a wet day you can see (and smell) trails of the stuff all over the place. A friend of mine wrote his car off on a diesel spill near Kimbolton last year. I’d ridden down the same road on the bike just a couple of hours earlier and narrowly missed it. The local authorities and the police have a legal duty to clear it up if it is reported, but they rarely do.


There was a great ride to Stratford upon Avon on Bank Holiday Monday. Eighteen bikes turned up at the 9.00 Stevenage meet. We went down through Aylesbury and into the Cotswolds. It was a good route, through rolling, wooded hillsides and postcard-pretty Cotswold villages with thatched houses and traditional gardens. The roads were twisty and kept the pace down to a comfortable level.

Stratford, as usual, was total gridlock. And I’m not just talking about the roads - the parks the pavements, every square inch of space was packed to the gunnels with people. Down by the canal, I’ve never seen so many picnics per acre before. The crowds in the High Street were denser than in Oxford Street, London at the height of the 60s consumer boom. I don’t know of any other town in the UK, which capitalises on its ‘heritage’ like Stratford does. The Shakespeare industry is alive and well. Years ago, it must once have been a very pleasant little market town.

I’d checked the oil that morning for the first time in about three weeks (Guilt!!!!) and it was a bit low - not very low, but low. There was no time to change or replace it before I left home, but with a slightly dry sound coming from the engine and the tendency for the ‘noises’ to kick in when I’m cranked over on the left (the oil pump side) I thought I wouldn’t take any chances. I left the guys lounging around in a pub garden in the centre of Stratford (as I left they were making loud remarks at a traffic warden unwise enough to have shown too much interest in the parked bikes) and went to find a Halfords to get some oil.

On the way back into town I hit gridlock on a four-lane carriageway - and had a moment of road rage. I was filtering down the middle of the road outside a line of stationary traffic. The traffic queue was in the offside lane and I was trying to find a way through to the nearside lane, which was completely clear. As there was a traffic island coming up ahead of me, blocking me off, I was looking for any gap I could find. I saw a big space in the queue up ahead in front of a very flashy red sports car. I moved up but the moment the sports car saw me he reacted like a scalded cat, ramming the car forward to close the gap. I’m an easy-going, forgiving sort of person - most of the time - but that really stoked my fires. The horns shot out right through the top of my head (the only part of my head that was involved in all this.) I just ploughed into the space, forcing him either to sideswipe me or jam on the brakes. It was a potentially very expensive face off.

Fortunately, (no doubt mindful of his immaculate bodywork) he jammed on the brakes. He stopped me getting through the gap straight away but I was angled across his path and he couldn’t prevent me cutting through when the car in front moved forward a couple of inches. Now that felt good! - especially when I rode away, free as a bird, up the empty lane.

On the way out of Stratford we had to slow for a bike accident (another one). An older guy on a Harley (long grizzled beard; battered face and weather-beaten leathers) was sitting on the grass verge nursing his leg. Several other bad-"O Ring" types with magnificent guts were hanging around. It looked like a car had turned into his driveway from the far side of the road and just hadn’t seen him. How can you miss seeing a guy like that on a Harley?

And that wasn’t all. At the first stop on the way home we realised we had lost Ron. No-one had any idea where he was. That’s the second time we have lost him, now. When I got home I rang his house.to find out what happened.

He’d been running at the back of the pack. He was coming up a bit of straight A road. There was a staggered junction ahead (an incoming road to the right followed, fifty yards later, by an incoming road to the left. As he approached the first junction, a car shot out in front of him. He jammed on the brakes. He reckoned the guy ahead would accelerate away and give him extra space, so he didn’t put the stoppers on full but still enough to judder the front forks. Trouble was, another car pulled out in front of the first car at the second junction. The first car slowed and Ron had to brake even harder. I’m not quite sure how he managed it, but he kept the whole show together without ramming the car ahead or coming off.

There are some crazy f**kers on the road.

We were taking a back route home and he didn’t know the way, so by the time he got to the next roundabout he’d lost us. That’s the downside to the way the club members (don’t) organise things

I’m beginning to think that this biking thing might not be all that safe.

On the way back we stopped off at a country hotel for a drink. The hotel was cool and airy after the heat of the day. Drinks were just about double the price you would pay in any pub. It was aiming to attract the Merc and Ferrari set, not a bunch of bikers. There was a portrait of Churchill on the wall in the lounge surrounded by drapes and a library full of books from the Second-World-War period. So that gives you some idea of the place. After a quick drink, everyone was going to go into Bicester for a meal but three of us who had to get home early split off from the main group and rode on separately.

That was a pretty balls out ride back home! I stayed with one of the other riders for most of the way back. She was police trained and bloody good with it. When I got home my nervous system was still revving so fast that I didn’t stop gabbling for at least half an hour, and it took me several hours to change down to a more normal pace.

I need more days like this one.