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Both bikes are probably not too badly injured, Hud.

Wrider is likely right about the SV's forks. Seals, bushings and oil should get them as good as they were new, if you want to splash out, have them put in a Goldvalve damper piston kit in and they will work better than new. The springs could also be sacked, so they might need a new set. For suspension, aftermarket is almost invariably better than stock, if not cheaper as well.

Your Daytona may or may not have a tweaked swingarm. Have the mechanic you like check it out properly to see. But swingarm bushing/bearing wear could be the cause just as easily. A little movement at the swingarm pivot becomes quite large at the rear axle. Any play in the rear wheel bearings only adds to it.

So it may not be as gloomy as it first looks.










....... but it can be....... it always can be.....

Cheers Buzz, Wrider. Thanks for the advice on the SV.

Buzz, as you will see below, I er, umm... the Daytona... well, you better read on a bit.

Thursday

Got the Daytona back from Simon at the Letchworth dealers. Simon's verdict: nothing seriously the matter with the bike except - tyre pressures racked up to hell! Hmmm! Yes, but...

Anyway, how did that happen?

Tyre pressures were the first thing I thought of when the bike started seriously squirreling around. I am always careful with them – one of the few things I am meticulous about.

I check first with a hand gauge, pump the tyres to the correct level as shown on the foot pump, and then double-check with the hand gauge again. If the hand gauge and the foot pump gauge agree to within a couple of psi I’ve always reckoned, the tyre pressures are likely to be correct.

As soon as I got the Daytona home on Thursday I borrowed my neighbour's pressure gauge and tried it out on the Daytona. Whereas his gauge was reading 36 and 42 front and back (where Simon had set them), my hand gauge was showing around 20 and 29. My foot pump was showing something similiar - just a little higher. What p1sses me off is that the hand gauge is new. I chucked away the old one only a couple of months ago when it started to give variable readings. This one is going back to Halfords.

When Simon had checked, both my tyres were reading in the region of 50 psi. No wonder I was slithering all over the place! I asked him to adjust the suspension while he was at it since it was a bit hard. I’ve been fiddling round with it recently and couldn’t get it quite right. He did a good job. Suits me fine. The ride feels much smoother.

[Buzz, I rang him up afterwards and asked about the swingarm pivot bearings. He said he hadn't noticed anything. If there had been a problem - I'm pretty sure he would have noticed.]

Friday

The Daytona is now riding better but not perfect. I went for a longish ride this evening after work and the improvement was noticeable - while I was riding on main roads. For the last five miles home, I took the twisties where there was still some surface water hanging around. In these kind of conditions she still feels less planted than she used to. On the other hand I didn't have any serious slides. So let's say thats a 70% improvement. Is the remaining 30% just down to me? I don't think so, but I'll let you know.

Saturday.

Wet and windy. Several new books and a DVD were calling to me. Did not go to the NEC Motorcycle and Scooter show as planned.

Sunday

Slightly wet and slightly windy. Got up late. Checked myself out for resistances, reluctances and bloody-mindednesses; assessed them as minimal and decided that I would go to the NEC after all. Packed my waterproofs; fixed a tailpack onto the back of the Daytona (not that I was intending to buy anything, of course), got myself together slowly, had a hurried breakfast, abandoned the housework and set off for Birmingham and the NEC. Time 11.45 am.

It’s a dull ride up to the NEC. Apart from the first ten miles it is motorway all the way, (M1, M6 and then M42 for the last few miles.). The M1 is always very busy and demands full alert mode. There are no real overtaking lanes on this road since, most of the time, all three lanes each side of the central reservation are packed solid with traffic travelling at similar speeds (usually at or something above the national speed limit of 70 mph).

The traffic in the outer lane is usually a little faster than the others. I headed for the outer lane and stayed there. My head was dull that morning so I had to clear it out. The best way I have found to do that is to listen. I listen to everything: traffic noise, engine noise, helmet noise (everything you are likely to hear on a motorway). That stopped my morning thoughts chattering inside my head, and settled me down to the ninety minute haul up to Birmingham. The M1 always puts me into total defensive mode. I ride eyes sharp on the traffic up ahead, in front and everything in between; I make regular checks in the mirror; and I cover the brake when the traffic gets particularly dense or a potentially hazardous situation develops. I keep other thoughts down to a minimum.

This was going to be a boy racer day. I knew it was going to be a boy racer day when, just beyond the Toddington Services, a youngster in a black saloon attached himself to my tail. He flashed me twice to get past despite the fact that I was riding only twenty yards behind a tightly packed line of traffic. (Idiot! I can do without impatient twnety-year-olds harrassing me from behind. I would have moved over for him if there had been any point. But there wasn't. So I didn't.

When flashing his lights didn’t work, he tried other methods. Three times he tried to undertake me (and the cars ahead of me) by scooting fast up the middle lane whenever it cleared for a few moments. Three times he failed to get back into the outer lane and had to fall back again behind me - and sometimes several other cars as well. On the fourth attempt he managed to pass a few vehicles and squeeze back into the outer lane ahead of me. That put him in the middle of a long orderly queue. He had gained two car spaces, and there he stuck. Ten minutes later I passed him again when he tried to undertake once more, and was forced back by slow vehicles in the middle lane. Back to square one, matey!

I pulled over at the Northampton services to fill up and to get some lunch. My body made it quite clear that it wasn’t in much of a hurry that afternoon and, left to its own devices, would have been very happy to sit around for an hour or so with a plate of fish and chips (without the chips). The rest of me, on the other hand, wanted to get to the show before it closed. A private debate ensued, and while I was deciding whether to stay or to crack on, several coachloads of youngsters in traditional muslim gear arrived in the services cafeteria.

Most had strong Midlands accents, and were horsing around. I watched them for several minutes, finished my meal and decided to crack on. In the loo a mass islamic foot-washing event was taking place. As the basins were not designed for this kind of activity, it was a fairly gynmastic exercise. A few minutes later, when I walked outside to get back on the bike, the kids were all lining up in the forecourt and had started to pray in the general direction of the motorway.

Although there are large muslim communities in my part of the UK, somehow out here, beside the roar of the M1, the culture clash seemed particularly acute.

Religion! (of whatever kind) - it's unfailingly bizarre!

From Northampton it is not far from the M6 turning and then only half an hour or so to Birmingham. Once past Corley I moved over into the left hand lane to make sure I would get good sight of the exist sign for the NEC. So many tall wagons use the outer lane on this road and the NEC sign is so dinky that I have occasionally missed it.

The NEC site is vast and confusing and looks more like a warehousing complex than a prestige exhibition centre. I found the entrance, worked my way round the endless ribbon of Perimeter Road and finally turned into the temporary undercover bike park (a huge, echoing and otherwise empty exhibition hall).

The show was, as everyone had said, fairly low key this year. But I hadn't come with any particular expectations, just to enjoy a day out. The effects of the recession on the show were palpable. Many of the major manufacturers were missing. Aprillia wasn’t there; Ducati wasn’t there (there were just two bikes on a small stand); Honda was very visibly not there.

But Norton was there! That was a name I never expected to see at a bike show ever again. The company's new flagship Commando SE was on show as were the S model and a café racer. I tried them all out. The deep knee-holes in the tank give the bikes a very waisted look. This and the engine configuration makes them remarkably skinny. The seat is like a plank but surprisingly comfortable (at least for the few minutes I sat on it). If I could afford one…


Norton stand at 2009 NEC motorcycle show



Norton Commando



Commando



1959 Norton Dominator


I got some pics of several interesting classics. I had a long conversation with a bloke who restored them. I checked out the stands of a dozen motorcycle touring firms. I politely accepted leaflets from a variety of semi-clad young women. I sat on a large number of bikes. And I generally had an ejoyable time for several hours.


Enfield Bullet



200cc Ducati elite 1960



japanese-engined Speedway bike. Look at the stroke on that thing! The bloke on the left is its restorer


So what did I buy? I did very well until the last thirty minutes of the show. For a full three-and-a-half hours I bought nothing, was tempted by nothing, desired nothing. Then I gave in. In the space of a few short minutes I bought one thing I thought I needed, one thing I sort of wanted but didn’t need, and one thing I didn’t know I needed until I saw it and wanted it. Could I afford any of these things? Could I hell! Bang went my austerity drive. But what’s a couple of weeks on bread and soya milk compared with the pleasure of new bike-related purchases.

Well, so now you want to know what it was I bought, I guess? OK. Here goes.

The thing I didn’t know I needed was a pair of alarmed padlocks - two for 20 quid. Not bad. I can absorb 20 quid easily enough. they are sensitive little buggers. Tap them once and they beep, tickle them twice and they scream. The same goes for anything you touch that they are attached to, like a chain. I can make good use of them; one for the bike one for the shed. I account them a 'good buy' – so long as they continue to do what it says on the label.

And then I bought… No, I’m reluctant to tell you what I bought, ‘cos what I bought was something I have always said on this site I would never buy. It took one moment of weakness and my reputation was forever in tatters. (Oh the shame of it!) I bought myself… I bought... OK! I bought myself a pair of heated grips for the winter.

BUT IT WAS ONLY BECAUSE THEY WERE BEING SOLD AT A BIG DISCOUNT PRICE!

It's true! It really is. (And look, don’t tell me I shouldn’t use capitals in a blog because it looks like I am shouting at you. 'Cos I AM FUC*ING SHOUTING AT YOU! Just in case you should think I’m getting soft. (Meep!) Actually, I bought them to test out my technical competence in fitting them. I probably won’t actually use them. ??????

Oh, go screw yourself!

Moving swiftly on!

The third thing I bought was a real boy’s toy. I bought myself a helmet cam. It’s a cool looking little device, slim, streamlined and made of rubberised plastic, neat and entirely self-contained. It comes with a 4Gb memory, mounts, and remote wrist control unit. And it cost me £165. I’m rather pleased with it. All I need to do now is to work out how to use the bloody thing and how to upload the vids onto U-Tube. When I've done that I'll put a link on the blog and introduce you to a few local rides. That will keep me occupied for a while and out of trouble.

God, I feel technical already!


Made out of motorcycle parts.

I didn’t get lost coming out of the NEC this year. Nor did I go the wrong way up the M42. And most particularly, I didn't end up in Stratford-upon-Avon. But I was tired and stopped off for nearly an-hour-and-a-half at Corley services (just a few miles from the NEC) before continuing on home. Initially, there was a good reason for the stop: I had a nagging feeling that I had forgotten to do up on of the straps on my tail pack and had left it dangling down beside the back wheel. Once I had stopped to check in the car park though, the bright lights of the restaurant drew me in. There had also been warnings of traffic snarl-ups ahead on the roadside information boards. By taking a break now, I hoped to avoid the peak traffic and get a cleaner ride home. Once inside the services, I bought a magazine and settled down to read, to think about how I was going to use the helmet cam, and to dodge a fountain of milk that sped my way from a young customer at the next table.

I was pretty pleased with what I had bought. And pretty pleased, too, that there was one thing I did not buy - even though I had been sorely tempted to it. This was a GPS-driven speed-camera detector (quite legal) - a piece of essential kit in these islands. I'd seen the same bloke hawking them at the BMF Tailender show back in September and nearly bought one then.

According to the manufacturer, it will give warning not only when you are approaching fixed speed cameras but police radar vans as well. Because entrapment is illegal in the UK, the police have to register in advance precisely where they will be with their nasty little devices at any particular time. The info is available on the web. You simply download it weekly into your little box of tricks and then ride out with a smug look on your face. The GPS system does the rest. Nice idea! But on this occasion financial sobriety prevailed and a speed-camera detector is one piece of kit that will have to wait for another time. (Perhaps till the Excel bike show in London next month.)

The journey home from Corley was uneventful - if you discount the blustery wind near Newport Pagnell that suddenly blew me right across the carriageway and left me riding uncomfortably close to the central reservation. Soon after that it began to rain and for quarter of an hour the M1 dissolved into a damp and twinkly confusion of cats eyes and moving lights. Late commuters were getting impatient now for food, home and the TV. Whenever lanes opened up now, they started sprinting down them. (Not me, of course!) Unlike those I encountered on the way up, these were largely middle aged and elderly boy racers driving black four by fours.

Though I've had many more unpleasant rides, I was glad when I saw the lights of Luton up ahead, and gladder still when I turned off onto the slip road and saw the first sign to Hitchin. From there is was a short ten mile ride along roads where even the darkness was deeply familiar.

Weather!

Four hundred and fifty million years ago, England (or what was to become England) was floating around on a bit of the earth's crust when it crashed into Scotland (literally) and held on, annexing its ‘northern neighbour’ once and for all and claiming it for the British state. This all took place down near the south pole where the earth’s plate tectonics had taken the two countries for a winter break.

I guess what this means is that, back then, my home town of Hitchin (or what was to become Hitchin) was somewhat cooler than it is today, and a mite snowier as well. Frankly though, this is a little hard to believe given the icy winds and snowstorms we have been experiencing lately. In any case, back then, the first leggy fishes were only just beginning to drag themselves out of the rivers and onto dry land, and, pitiable as it may sound, they didn’t have a single motorcycle to ride between them. (I guess they didn’t have to pay road tax either, so maybe there were some advantages.)

Now, I know all the Canuckers and northern Yanks among you are going to be smirking when I tell you this, but the temperatures here today plummeted to minus 6 Centigrade. Brrrrr! (OK, make your jokes and get over it! ( )) I have to tell you that this is pretty cold for us in December, and there is no doubting that it gets extremely nippy on a sportsbike in temperatures like these. All right, I’m joshing you. Nobody here - neither me nor anyone else as far as I could see - was mad enough to ride a sportsbike today through all this ice, snow and salty slush.

I could be macho about this, and tell you of that the reason I didn’t ride to work as usual today is a financial one: I’ve made two claims on my insurance in the last three years and that has already put my premium up to hell. Another claim, and I would have to sell my body to stay on the road. I could tell you this, and it would be true in an abstract, philosophical sort of way. In reality, though, I decided this morning that I’m not actually mad (I’m slightly sensitive about this at the moment, as I will shortly explain ) and there is nothing wrong with enjoying a little comfort and relaxation from time to time. Deep down inside, though, I have a sneaking suspicion that the really, truly, fundamental and determining reason I caught the train today is that I was too damned lazy to go out and clean a mountain of snow off the bikes, spray them with WD40 and get them ready to ride.

Riding in winter weather recently has been… shall we say… interesting? I took a couple of trips over to the Red Lion in Breachwood Green last week after work, to meet up with my mate, Chris for a couple of evenings of mutual commiseration . Breachwood Green is way out in the sticks. It’s not a long ride, but it is a bit of a hairy one after dark.

On the first occasion the roads were wet. It had been raining hard earlier in the day, though the evening itself had turned out fine, if a little cold. I took the more direct route along the dual carriageway, up Offly Hill, through the village and then along the Lilley Bottom Road. Lilley Bottom is no more than a very narrow, single-lane farm road which wiggles about in the valley bottom for about four miles east of the village of Lilley. I don't usually travel this way, so I don’t know all its many twists and turns as well as I might. Some of the fields on either side are unfenced and at night it's sometimes hard to tell where the road ends and the fields begin. Still, there is that old nagging desire for speed…

I was bombing along comfortably on the Daytona, when up ahead I suddenly saw what appeared to be a gigantic hole in the middle of the road. Now bear in mind that it was a very dark night, overcast and without any moon, and the Daytona’s headlights are c r a p! So, although the voice in my head was telling me that, "no way is there a big hole in the road up ahead", those parts of my body that were in charge of the controls started screaming, “Yes there is!” Hands and feet went rapidly into action and brought the bike down to a manageable speed, but not before the back wheel had become distinctly balletic and the front of the bike had slipped ‘over the edge into the hole’.

As it happened - hem! – it wasn’t a big hole after all, just a little one (a dip in the road) which was full of water, and what appeared to be the 'edge of the hole' was just the shoreline. However, although the hole was not particularly deep, it was quite deep enough to have accumulated a lot of water, and it was a fair way across. As I pulled the bike out of its slither and plunged into this temporary pond at what must have been at least fifteen miles an hour, the bike created a huge bow wave of freezing water which poured over large parts of me and into my boots before I could yank my feet up off the pegs.

When I arrived at the car park of the Red Lion, I was looking and feeling distinctly cold and damp. As I walked through the door of the pub, the new landlord gave me an extremely old-fashioned look, then turned to one of his regular customers as though to say, 'Look what the cat just brought in.' Ho Humm!

Six days later, I was off to meet Chris again at the same place This time I decided at first to avoid Lilley Bottom and take the more familiar back route, round all the farming villages (call it a Pavlovian response, if you will!) But then, for some reason (call it intuition!) I changed my mind. In some ways I think it was probably a good thing that I did. The back way is even narrower and less easy to navigate that the route through Offley. In other ways, it was almost a disaster - almost chips for Dick!

The roads were dry this time, and the night sky was brilliantly clear. There was little traffic about as I followed the one-way system around Butts Close on my way out of Hitchin. (That perhaps should have given me a clue). I took in some big lungfulls of air as I rode, to clear some of the lingering office atmosphere out of my lungs. It was fresh and very pleasant. On the edge of town, I rode down into the dip immediately before where the road widens and turns into a four lane dual-carriageway (a fast half-mile burst before turning off to Offley.) As I hit the dip, I also hit the fog. And a moment later I couldn’t see a thing – not a bloody thing. (Remember, the Daytona's lights are crap.) Suddenly, I was somewhere in the middle of... nothing, except that this nothing was actually something. And in that something/nothing was a big, hard, moving world that I couldn't see. I peered frantically into the fog. I couldn’t even make out the kerbs on either side of the road or the white line down the middle. I had no idea which lane I was in or whether I was suddenly going to run off the road.

As I slowed to a crawl, wondering what on earth might be coming up behind me, there was a terrific blast in my ear. As my eyes and brain adjusted, I began to see enough to realise that I was in the overtaking lane and there was a huge postbox-red lorry tearing up behind me - but which lane was he in? I couldn’t tell. So, I did the only thing I could think of: I increased my speed as much as I dared, and stayed fast in my lane, leaving the guy behind me take whatever avoiding action was necessary. dodo! The lorry undertook me in the inside lane at about forty miles an hour, still blasting his horn. Hell, did that shake me up!

I was now on the dual-carriageway, so could not turn round. I was 'committed.' I rode along at about thirty miles an hour, which was about the fastest I could safely go and hoped I would get to the Offley turn-off before something else ran into me. Fortunately, only one other car passed me by, and he gave me plenty of room.

In all the fog, I nearly missed the Offley Hill turning and had to swerve onto it at the very last minute across the diagonal lines. At the top of the hill, the village had disappeared completely from view, - as had the speedbumps along the High Street which I had completely forgotten about. (Ouch!)

Riding the Lilley Bottom Road in all this atmospheric soup was like travelling through a dream - one punctuated by tiny squirts of adrenalin, which hit me each time I lost sight of the line of the road up ahead. Lay-bys, sudden widenings, adjoining farm tracks and just poor visibility made it very difficult to identify where the verges lay or where the bends were. I constantly switched back and forth between high beam and side beam in an effort to get a different perspective on the road. Running through my mind all the while was the thought that along here, there are always falls of loose gravel - which I didn't have a dog's chance of seeing.

When I got to the Red Lion, the village was as deeply shrouded in mist as everything I'd ridden through. I could hardly see my way across the small car park to the pub. When I walked in the door in my bike gear, the landlord (and several customers as well) looked at me as though I were mad. Judging by the expression on their faces (and several not-so-inaudible comments) they were clearly of the opinion that my nervous system had not been wired up quite correctly. Someone made a remark, and it soon turned into a joke. It was a good evening.

It is amazing what a difference a friendly landlord can make to a pub. The outgoing tenant was a miserable curmudgeonly sort of bloke who had managed to drive away most of his customers, apart from a few elderly regulars who sat in the corner all evening with a couple of pints - like Chris and I. Now, even on a night like this, and after only two weeks under new management, the place was popping.

The ride home was equally foggy and equally tense, but this time there were no incidents. I saw only one other vehicle on the way home. Most people had got the message by then. As I hit the dip at the end of the dual carriageway and entered Hitchin, the fog lifted and once again it was a brilliantly clear night. Hitchin, which sits in a little bowl surrounded by hills, was clearly a outpost of sanity in a crazy world.

Back down at the south pole, 450 million years ago, Scotland was undergoing a certain change of allegiance. Until England came along and nabbed it, Scotland formed part of the North American continent. (The Caledonian mountains in the north-west of Scotland are a broken-off bit of the Appalachians.) So I guess Scotland was one bit of North America that the British aristocracy got away with before New Englanders managed to arrange any tea parties to try and stop them.

Unfortunately, at the same time, what was to become the US managed to snatch Florida away from England. So I suppose, in the end, it was a fair swap – Loch Ness for Disneyworld - not a lot of difference really! On reflection though, I suspect the weather in Florida is better for biking at this time of year. Bastards!

Happy riding (those who still can!)

Regarding the NEC show.....

not that I was intending to buy anything, of course

You always say that.....

blues2cruise wrote:Regarding the NEC show.....

not that I was intending to buy anything, of course

You always say that.....

And I always mean it - not!

Cheers blues.

Back down at the south pole, 450 million years ago, Scotland was undergoing a certain change of allegiance. Until England came along and nabbed it, Scotland formed part of the North American continent. (The Caledonian mountains in the north-west of Scotland are a broken-off bit of the Appalachians.) So I guess Scotland was one bit of North America that the British aristocracy got away with before New Englanders managed to arrange any tea parties to try and stop them.

Thats a bit of a stretch! But I guess you guys will take whatever lil bit of this fine countryside that you can get. Seeing as how ya'll (thats appalachian for you all) didn't exactly come away from that particular fight with too much else.

fireguzzi wrote:
Thats a bit of a stretch! But I guess you guys will take whatever lil bit of this fine countryside that you can get. Seeing as how ya'll (thats appalachian for you all) didn't exactly come away from that particular fight with too much else.

Hi FG

Good to hear from ya'.

Well, at the time, I guess no, they didn't. I'll tell you what though. I bet Gordon Brown is bloody glad right now that he is not responsible for the US government's 'national debt' as well as his own. Phew!

Take care

Well Happy Christmas, everyone. Or happy yule, or happy holiday or happy hanukka or whatever it is you celebrate this time of year (even if it is only the opporortunity for a couple of pints of beer and a bacon sandwich.)

It looks like we are going to have a white Christmas for the first time in over 30 years. It hasn't snowed for a couple of days but what has already come down is hanging around, despite the thaw. To be completely accurate about this, it will probably be a slushy grey Christmas. But why be curmudgeonly about it? 25th December only comes our way once in a year.

When I say it will be the first white Christmas for over 30 years, I am giving the sane, rational, common sense, look-mum-it's-snowing point of view. The British meterological office, of course, has a more precise and refined understanding of what this means. According to this august body, the last white Christmas we had was in 2004, which will no doubt come as a big surprise to most people in these islands. (I only found this out last week) It appears that the met office's definition of a white Christmas is one or more snowflakes touching down upon the snow sensor on the roof of their London office on 25th December.

These blokes are entirely without a sense of humour.

What would we do without science, eh!!!!!

So, once again, happy... sod it! Happy Christmas everyone.

Merry Christmas to you, too.

PS. Did you receive an envelope from Canada?

blues2cruise wrote:Merry Christmas to you, too.

PS. Did you receive an envelope from Canada?

I did blues, and I am sorry to say that, once again, despite my best intentions I haven't sent out any cards this year. Most people who know me get used to the idea that they will receive an envelope sometime in the New Year wishing them a happy (in this case) 2010.

Stay tuned.