The consequences of this aren't just limited to the motorcyclist and his or her (almost always 'his') family and friends but affect the local community: firstly, this is the only road South from here (without a 50-mile detour), so when it's closed for most of a day it has a real local impact. Secondly, and mostly importantly, people here are genuinely upset about the sheer bloody waste of life that's going – I haven't spoken to a single person who's anti-motorcycling in any way, but to many who are affected by the knowledge that another life has been needlessly lost on our doorstep and who genuinely feel the sense of lost humanity. While writing this blog entry, I've been approached by several friends and neighbours, each asking me if there's anything at all I can do to raise awareness of the specific risks of this road. So here it is.

It's not speed per se that kills, but speed in inappropriate times and places (of which there are many on the A84) and differentials in vehicle speed, which tend to be very high hereabouts. The recipe is a combination of the generally poor standard of driving with erratic, slow-moving tourist traffic, local chav yoof running on testosterone and single-figure IQs, equally brain-dead reps (watch out especially for Vectras), holidaying rental car drivers ('07 registered Fiestas and Espaces are the worst offenders here, according to the local police), psychotic white van drivers and the big stuff – coaches and trucks who have no wish to slow down for anything and which are actually too big to fit entirely within their own side of the road in the tighter stuff. The result is a lethal cocktail of road and traffic conditions, a single sip of which can be fatal to the unwary or actively participating motorcyclist.

So the A84 has a track record of both collisions between bikes and other vehicles and bike accidents that are entirely unassisted by other road users. In the first scenario either the other vehicle is the prime cause or they are merely minding their own business and suddenly find themselves in what is all too often a head-on collision with a misplaced motorcycle.

The prime cause version can only be dealt with by increased awareness by motorcyclists and a healthy dose of assumptive paranoia about what may be around the next bend – in effect, you need to give yourself more time to react, by planning further ahead where there is a visible ahead to plan for and by travelling just a tad slower on the many blind sections of road or by taking just a little longer to assess the potential behaviour of the vehicle you're about to overtake.

The "misplaced bike" scenario itself breaks two ways: bikes who aren't paying enough attention to the anticipation of hazards whilst technically on their part of the road and those who've failed to react in time to the sudden changes in the nature of the road and who end up departing at a tangent into another vehicle or the scenery. Both of which are decidedly hard and lumpy.

The first of those has played itself out more than once on this section of road in a particularly grisly form: decapitation. Too high a corner entry speed on right-handers, with a poor entry line, means a high lean angle where the rider's helmet is on or actually over the centreline of the road. When that's on a blind right-hander where a vehicle of any size is coming the other way, the result is as inevitable and instantaneous as it is terminal.

The second – the tangential departure from track – is almost invariably rider error, the rider 'freezing' when confronted with an unexpected change in the road or traffic, and thereby failing to negotiate a bend or avoid a hazard, be it vehicle, deer or toast in the road (real example). A couple of years ago I was on a course run by Gary Baldwin of Rapid Training - amongst other things, he's an accident investigator, and I remember him saying that, in about 2/3 of single vehicle accidents involving bikes, at the speed the bike had been travelling, it was perfectly capable of negotiating the bend – it's the rider that wasn't. In these cases, it's the combination of failure to anticipate, target fixation and the operation of what Keith Code calls "Survival Reactions" – instinctive reactions that are actually counterproductive on a bike – that lead to these sort of accidents.

So, as ever:

• If in doubt, back off!
• Remember Jackie Stewart's maxim of "slow in, fast out" - it's as true for bikes as cars.
• On a right-hander, take the furthest left line that's safe into the bend. And hold it - road riding isn't about treating the centreline apex as a target but about maximising your visibility at all times.
• Look where you're going, not where you're trying to avoid: if you stare like a frightened rabbit at an errant car, lump of rock or approaching armco, that's exactly what you'll end up hitting.
• (and this is one of the best bits of advice I was ever given) If all else fails, stick it on its ear – modern motorcycles are almost invariably far more competent than their riders and, even if it does all go pear-shaped, you'll most likely end up low-siding on your side of the road rather than firing straight on into the other lane. Of course, if you end up having to do that, you've failed to anticipate the hazard and are already going too damned fast. Which takes us right back to the first point.

Not all of these are easy to get your head around, and that's where taking advanced training really, really does help you to have more fun and more fun more safely - check out your local IAM or RoSPA group, find out if the local plod run a Bikesafe scheme or book a course with an outfit like Rapid Training. And track-based training (California Superbike School, Ron Haslam, HRT and their ilk) will makes a big difference to your machine handling skills and knowledge of just what you and your machine can do when all else fails.

Knowing the A84

Now for some specifics about the A84. And this is NOT meant as a comprehensive riding guide, simply a note of a few particular problem areas – what you do with the information is up to you. I'm describing the road heading North - that seems to be when most accidents happen, as people head up from the cities of the South.

The A84 starts at Stirling and runs fairly wide and open up to Callander, with a few deceptive bends through the woods after Buchany – the main problems along this stretch are a few blind crests, junctions, particularly those for the Ochtertye Road, at Blair Drummond Safari Park and, paradoxically, the long, straight sections that encourage some seriously dodgy overtaking by improbably ill-equipped vehicles and drivers. Watch out for farm vehicle mud on the road as you approach Doune.

Once past Callander, you're into more three-dimensional territory, as the road twists and turns through the Falls of Leny and then heads along the side of Loch Lubnaig, interspersing long, broad, sweeping sections of road with narrow blind bends and crests around the rocky outcrops along the lochside.

There's a particular Northbound bend at the Northern end of the Falls of Leny (just after you pass the car park entrance on the right) which rises steeply to the left, then crests and drops away very steeply, turning sharp right as it does so. Anyone piling over this crest at high speed and cranked over will simply find that their suspension comprehensively unloads, losing traction and throwing them down the road. Taking the same on a sloppy line and then suddenly finding that you have to turn in hard right puts you right into the head-over-centreline scenario I've described above. And keeping it hard left simply puts you at risk of tail-ending an innocent cyclist who's recently crested the same brow. And, even when you're on line and on speed, the sight of an oncoming enormous coach or artic suddenly appearing to rise out of the earth like a mobile block of flats is disconcerting, to say the least. Go slower than you can possibly think is necessary here.

This particular section has also recently been resurfaced (good) but hasn't had any new white lines painted on it (very bad) - it's now near impossible to pick out the crest and line at night or in heavy rain.

There's a lot of Shellgrip (pale-coloured and grippy stuff) at many (but not all) of the tightest bends. It's a mixed blessing from a bike's point of view, where I'd suggest that predictable consistency of grip is more important than absolute grip at any point, and it is laid with cars in mind, so that it has a nasty habit of running out just at the point where a bike is still leant over but is hard on the gas. Best therefore to use the Shellgrip as a warning of tight bends rather than to rely on it for any reason at all.

Watch out for the well-hidden turnings on the left into the car parks along Loch Lubnaig and for caravans and camper vans lurching into and out of these and various laybays with neither reason nor warning.

Running along the contour of a lochside, you are of course following a spring line so, even on the sunniest days, there are damp patches on the road, invariably (of course) on the exit from tight bends - being hard on it when you hit one of these can make life interesting.

Once North of Strathyre (and you were sticking to the 30mph limit there, weren't you?), there's a complex of deceptive and bumpy bends past a couple of cottages at Beananach (not signed), then a long sweeping section up towards Lochearnhead. Watch out here for the short-notice left turn into the Golden Larches restaurant at Balquhidder Station. Past Lochearnhead and you're into Glen Ogle and rising rapidly to the head of the road – once you're away from the glen floor, there are some well (and a few not-so-well) sighted curves up the mountainside before you crest the summit and immediately run into another series of off-camber bends and sweeps, with turnings into tourist lay-bys (and a snack van). Thereafter, it's downhill towards Lix Toll and the turning to Killin, which marks the end of the A84. There's a final sting in the tail – as you drop into the forested section of the road, there are a couple of near 90-degree bends, left and then right, followed by a sharp curve down towards the petrol station, which partially conceals the turn to Killin and the traffic slowing down to turn right there.

And that's the A84, not a long road, but one that, with common sense and a helping of awareness, makes for a superb ride, and one that I and everyone else around here would much rather you were around to do many times. If you find this remotely useful and you spot a slightly grubby grey Ducati parked up outside the Munro Inn in Strathyre, drop in and buy me a second coffee!

What my sightline does now include is a small cluster of other bikes, working their way past the inevitable camper vans and second-gear tourist Hyundais. First up is a GSX1400 with a very tense-looking rider – several tens of kilos too much bike for the road. A R1200GS pilot is cruising along in his shirt sleeves and, as we're both running with panniers, I have to wait several bends before there's sufficient clearance to bop past without pinging his Touratechs into the scenery. Now it gets interesting: the rider of the bright green thing I can see on the horizon is actually putting some effort into his riding and it's some time before I realise that the gap is closing. He's riding track lines on the road therefore can't actually see where he's going so I do manage to disprove the rumour that Kawasaki sports bikes self-destruct if overtaken by a tourer. By now we're over the pass itself and dropping towards Aberfoyle – the last few hairpins are of Alpine grade as they drop into the village and their new surface lends confidence and a little cautious exuberance. The Wee But'n'Ben Bistro offers a mean baked spud and welcome caffeine shot, fuelling me up nicely for the return journey. In the process, there's a slightly surreal conversation with a couple who've waddled in on a Harley and a much more resonant one with the local postmaster, who rides an SV and aspires Ducatiwards. Before turning the dial back up for the return trip, I detour briefly to Dounan's, the school camp on the edge of town where I spent a happy month at the tender age of ten. It's still much as I remember it but, in the sad absence of nubile and impressionable sixth-former girls, I pause only briefly before turning around. There's another detour – a smallish B road that leads from Aberfoyle over the hills by Loch Ard to the hidden Eastern shore of Loch Lomond at Inversnaid, another of the homes of Rob Roy – his first being two houses up the glen from our place. The road surface is however so bad that I call a halt after a few miles – a full motocrosser would be a better bet along here. In fact, most of today's run would have been perfect for a full-on Supermoto rather than anything over-large and over-powered for the road, which is pretty much anything else. There's one other problem with this road: trying to stop hooting with laughter long enough to concentrate on where I'm vaguely supposed to be going.

"For those many non-horsey people, that "Please Pass Wide and Slow" fluorescent tabard (or similar) you may well have seen moving along a country lane, is not meant to describe the obstacle in front of you – the rider is actually asking for your consideration in safely passing the horse, for both your safety and theirs.

Horses are ‘flight’ animals, meaning they would rather run than stand and fight, and, as with any domesticated animal, are slightly unpredictable. High speeds of approach, revving engines, honking and not allowing much space when passing could well spook a horse – and then you or another road user could well be faced with a half-ton panicked animal looking for an easy escape route, and not all horses are natural jumpers!!

Country lanes are in use by us all; on foot, with children, dogs, on bikes or horseback and in vehicles of all sizes – and we DO need to respect each road user. If you find horses in your path, two-a-breast, we are not catching up on local gossip (only!) but we are trying to make ourselves as visible as possible and attempting to slow vehicles approaching our animals, before passing.

Bemused cyclists who have come up behind a horse and rider may well wonder why we ask that they “say something” whilst approaching. Again, this is purely for safety, as horses generally cannot hear bikes. The sudden appearance of something moving up behind them, without warning, is as frightening to them as a preying animal (natural instincts are in us all!) – however, horses are bright enough to acknowledge that it probably isn’t dangerous if it sounds ‘human’.

The Lothian & Borders Police Road Safety Unit held a meeting with the British Horse Society at the end of last year, and a staggering statistic came to light - “64% of all road deaths happen on roads regarded as rural and therefore quiet”.

PLEASE don’t add to that statistic – give considerations to horses and all other road users in our beautiful glens and don’t ruin your day or anyone else’s because you couldn’t be bothered to briefly slow down for that ‘obstacle’ in front of you.

Thought for the day: When sitting on a ‘FLIGHT’ animal, believe us – we want you to pass us and not crawl along behind us… …but SAFELY, for all our sakes.

With thanks for reading this,
from B.R.A.- the Balquhidder Riding Association." – Thanks there to Tanya and Karen for words and picture.

Can't say fairer than that, to which I'll add my own observations that motorcyclists are probably a horse's worst nightmare: fast, loud and sudden (and the bikes themselves aren't much better…). If coming up on a horse or group of horses, do slow down a long way in advance, giving yourself time to check them out and ask yourself: have they obviously heard you coming? do any of the animals (and/or riders) look nervous? are they changing formation in anticipation of your passing? If in any doubt whatsoever, wait until you're sure that they're aware of you and that the party is composed and ready for you, then pass as above – wide and slow. If you're approaching them from the front and on a narrow road, you might even be advised to pull over, shut the engine off and wait until they're well past before lighting up again – I tend to do this as I've noticed that twins such as Ducatis and BMWs seem, at low revs, to cause more equine consternation than fours.

…To Sublime

Then I jumped back on the ST to head home. Now hang on a minute: discounting its current pogo-stick behaviour from the service-overdue rear shock, this was the revelation of the day – I've spent four years and 40,000 miles setting this machine up to suit exactly how I ride and in understanding its preferences and propensities – the end result is a machine that fits me like a favourite running shoe and which always works with me, whatever I do and wherever I go. So here's a first step: I'm taking the ST in next week for a suspension rebuild and upgrade: a full service for the rear Ohlins plus a slightly stiffer spring and K-Tech internals for the forks to bring them up from merely good to something approaching the quality of the rear Ohlins. Then I'll decide where to go with the toy fund. Now there the 1098S is currently on a shortlist of two, the other being that Aga.

The sun did come out this morning, albeit a pale, wan thing struggling in the Southern sky against the mountainous black clouds that have seen it off for the last week, but I don't need much to inspire me, so it's time to stick my nose outside and see what the local blacktop has to offer. That's as opposed to the local pot-holed and rubble-strewn tracks, into which category my drive firmly falls – I either have to upgrade it or buy either an R1200GS and matching tartan slippers. But for now, 'tis but a challenge to be overcome so, togged up in full Inuit gear, I fuel up the ST4s and point its nose out of the garage door. A kilometre of tiptoeing around flooded potholes and through inches-deep Autumnal leaf mould and I'm finally on the black stuff - a humpback bridge and a twisty, corkscrewing single-track road from the village toward the main road.

I've now got to rebuild my biking infrastructure: find a local club; a friendly Ducati dealer and of course the necessary biker-friendly watering holes across the country. Of the last there appears to be no lack; there's are several localish riding groups with whom I should get in touch and I've gone from having four Ducati dealers within an hour's ride to having two in the entire country. Fortunately, Ducati Glasgow seem like a really decent bunch and they're only an hour or so's cruise away – less by motorway. So lots to learn, but it's looking good so far…

And our courtyard has a really good echo – just perfect for warming up Ducatis.

But here's the problem: this car, like many of its contemporaries, is simply dangerous. In the pursuit of secondary safety (protecting the occupants when an accident happens), Toyota have severely compromised primary safety (being able to avoid having an accident in the first place). The Aygo follows the fashion for very heavily raked A-pillars which means that, to provide modern standards of rollover protection, those same pillars need to be hugely heavy and wide to cope with the oblique load path. Then, in order to place the mirrors where they can actually be seen by the driver, they've mounted them on large triangular infill panels in the acute angle twixt A-pillar and base of the window, thus effectively blocking a complete cone of vision.

Recent research by the UK's TRL (Transport Research Laboratory) has shown that the A-pillars of modern cars can block vision of an approaching motorcycle for up to four seconds. In the case of this Toyota, I'd say that the same would be true of a 40-tonne semi. This car was bad enough with myself in the driver's seat, and I'm 6' tall. My mother found the car undriveable, as her primary line of vision was directly in line with the mounting panels for the mirrors and the mirrors themselves – she simply had no side vision whatsoever. All the salesman could do was suggest a booster seat!

I got back in the little old Peugeot afterwards and was amazed - while the Toyota undoubtedly has far greater secondary safety, the Peugeot's primary safety is vastly superior - great all-round vision, that direct steering and real fun to drive. Backwards into the future - I may well buy the old wagon off my mum for track days if she can ever find a worthy replacement. That does however leave us motorcyclists with the problem that there are many of these cars on the road, and we need to be continually alert for the fact that the drivers simply can't see us. Thanks so very much, Toyota et al.

Two hours and rather less than thirty miles later, I was still slithering towards the M6 motorway at Birmingham. At this rate my mother would be keeping my Turkey warm for Boxing Day. At which point a small icy particle of inspiration sleeted through my brain, thusly: Trains get places (eventually) even in bad weather. Trains have guard's vans for the luggage. My motorcycle would fit in a guards van. So rather than the M6 slip, I turned directly for the centre of Birmingham and New Street station. I bought a ticket for Edinburgh, and one for my Honda, just to add some legitimacy, however spurious, to the exercise. Unbelievably, even for the time, I managed to blag self, luggage and bike onto the second train to Edinburgh, the guard on the first having exercised the micro-power of the disenfranchised in telling me to, "Sod off, sonny". The train was so crowded that I spent the entire journey lying along the bike, my feet on the its handlebars and using my rucksack as a pillow. All whilst doing 70mph up the West Coast Main Line. I'm sure Einstein would have had something pithy to say about frames of reference...

My parents were just a little surprised when I and Honda materialised from the storm, looking like nothing so much as a rather baggy Yeti. They were even more surprised that i was actually moderately warm and dry underneath. It was some time before they realised that my final ride home had been all of the six miles from Waverley station – just as I was working myself into a Munchausenesque fable of lashed-to-the-mast heroism, my father, who'd wandered into the garage to eyeball a bike with precisely four times as many cylinders as any he'd ever owned, spotted the British Rail luggage tag still affixed to the Honda's rack. The game was up.

So honour of course demanded that I did in fact ride back all the way to Warwick. By now it was January 2 and the storm had abated to the point where it was merely lashing with rain from a Westerly gale: sheer luxury. Waving my parents goodbye, I turned South and towards the hills of the Scottish Borders. It's a reasonably well established fact that hills rise and that, as they rise, the temperature falls. By the time I was 50 miles from Edinburgh, I was riding in the teeth of a blizzard: not dry fluffy snow either, but big soggy flakes that hit, stuck and melted on my one-piece oversuit. This I had been expecting: I was wearing multiple layers of thermal underwear, ski gear, woolly seaboot socks, silk undergloves and those good old mainstays of British foul-weather exercise, Wellington boots. All would have been well, save for one thing: rather than having the legs of my oversuit OVER my wellies, I had stylishly tucked them INTO their tops. The rest was inevitable: the melting snow ran down my waterproofs and oh so efficiently filled up my boots. Capillary action via my socks then dragged the freezing meltwater up my rapidly chilling legs. At Coldstream, i spent the best part of an hour in the toilet of a petrol station, holding, in turn, wellies and feet under the hot-air drier.

The next couple of hundred miles are now a merciful blur in my memory. Suffice it to say that by roughly 2am I had made it as far as the Southbound M6 near Birmingham. The wind had dropped, the snow had vanished and the night looked set fair, even if I was tired beyond the need for mere sleep. But was I about to let off that easily? I think not – the fog that now descended just got thicker and thicker, reducing my world to a small yellow glowing bubble of reflected headlight and the glint of the cats-eyes marking the motorway lanes. It was so thick that I was riding by looking down to my left in order to follow the adjacent lane markers - nothing else was visible.

The rear lights of a car emerging from the mist in front of me were a welcome point of reference, so much so that I latched onto the vision and simply followed it. I held this position for quite some time, until I realised that he was driving rather more slowly than before. Figuring that he'd seem something ahead that I couldn't, I slowed down too. He slowed down further. So did I. He then stopped. In the absence of much alternative and in my own internal fog of weariness, I stopped too. My brain was slowly processing the fact that I was now stopped, for no apparently good reason, on the M6. I hadn't reached any sort of conclusion when a figure emerged from out of the murk, in the process of seating his uniform cap on his head. "Good evening, sir", said the slightly bemused looking Policeman, "And can I help you?". "Hello officer" I mumbled through helmet and balaclava, "What's the hold-up on the road?". "Hold-up, sir? Now what hold-up would that be?". At this point a small swirling of the fog momentarily lifted the visibility to all of thirty feet, quite enough to reveal that the car I'd been following was a police car and that he was now parked on one of the raised "pig perches' that are found alongside British motorways. I'd only gone and followed him onto it. To his huge credit, his reaction was one of sympathy rather than derision and, when he found out how long I'd been on the road for, he insisted on escorting me the rest of the way down the motorway until I peeled off into the suburbs of Warwick and home.

That was twenty-five years ago. Tomorrow, I'm moving house, back to Scotland after more than twenty years in Surrey. This time my motorcycle is going in the removals van and I, partner and cats are doing the journey in the heated comfort of my four-wheeled BMW. I think I'd call that progress.

In the early eighties, I occasionally knocked around on an R90/6 and on one of the first K100s to hit these shores ("What shores?" – "Mine's a gin & tonic, thank you…") – compared to my Pantah, it was like riding a fast-spin washing machine that was attached to the world by rubber bands. Slack rubber bands. Thankfully chassis and suspension have improved over the years and BMW, after a short-lived attempt to abandon the Boxer twin layout, still offer a range composed predominantly of the twins plus four-cylinder heavyweights. I've ridden several of the current generation of both and am generally of the opinion that there are some truly excellent chassis here, all however desperately in search of decent engines.

Low-speed manoeuvering is a doddle: smooth injection pickup with only little drivetrain shunt apparent, and decent steering lock makes for easy filtering through traffic queues. First impressions are of considerable flexibility, so I drop it straight into top gear, to find that it'll pull perfectly happily, if slowly, from 2200rpm. Winding it on in the lower gears, a tsunami of torque from 3000rpm sweeps bike and rider along, albeit with a deceptively soft delivery and a fairly insistent buzz of vibration – it misses the instant joie-de-vivre punch of a four-valve Ducati, delivering its power more like the 1000cc DesmoDue engine, if less smoothly. Which is a compliment nontheless. Then came 5000rpm, at which point and as one, my fillings fell out – the vibration from that point upwards is truly 'orrible, numbing fingers, rattling teeth and causing anyone with mechanical empathy to hover a couple of fingers over the clutch lever. Which is a damn shame, because it's at 6000rpm that everything happens: the engine, which has so far felt like a somewhat overblown and under-refined normal Boxer engine, takes the potion and comes over all Mr Hyde, lurching and leering at respectable society with that most un-BMW of things, a dramatic powerband. Impressive for an air and oil-cooled flat twin, no matter what the capacity. But the vibration, oh the vibration... Then, come 7500rpm, it's all over – Hyde is back in his box and the engine smooths out slightly, but there's little point in chasing the 8500 red line – time to upshift on the usefully light gearbox (clutchless upshifts are easy – once again, very un-BMW) and go through it all again in the next gear.

The R1200S' general chassis demeanour seems slightly on the understeery side of neutral, remembering that this was a machine on settings that were definitely not tailored for me: while the (optional) Ohlins suspension (front and rear) did its usual masterclass job of turning small bumps into a magic carpet ride, I could definitely have done with a couple more clicks of rebound damping front and rear and a little less preload.

A couple of corners later, I deliberately overbrake, trying to stand the machine on its nose. At which point the ABS steps in and calls a halt to proceedings, leaving me momentarily with the feeling that I've lost brakes altogether. The system is effective, much smoother in action than its earlier iterations and generally unobtrusive, but does cut in a little too early for the, ah, sporting ride. This is where it comes second-best to Ducati's ABS which, on a dry warm road, will cheerfully allow you to get the machine into a stoppie before deciding that enough is enough. I haven't ridden an ABS-equipped Triumph and please speak to me not of the Honda VFR's Combined Braking System/ABS combination.

I'm left a little puzzled over the positioning and intent of the R1200S: Despite its being 15bhp or so down on power, the 1200cc engine in the sibling R1200GS is a far more civilised and useable item, even if only in relative terms. In the R1200S, I really do get the impression that BMW have taken the pursuit of power a step too far beyond the need for rideability and a notch beyond what the Boxer engine is comfortably capable of. It's a strange world where the all-round tourer in the range offers a more satisfying ride than the sports bike and would, I suspect, be very little distance behind it on the road. It's that "Chassis in search of an engine" thing again, and I'd welcome the day when BMW get their act together in both simultaneously. They've managed it with their cars for years, so why not with the bikes?

After hooning around some of the South-East's finest twisties (which are very fine indeed), I turn back towards Guildford on the A3, trying to find a relaxed cruising gear that doesn't actually give me double vision. When I stop to top off the tank I find myself reaching for the diesel nozzle… Back at Vine's, whose bike this is, I hand back the keys, retrieve my own bike from the midst of their row of demonstrators and head back for the open road. I find myself immediately revelling in the tautness, responsiveness and smooth power of the Ducati, flicking it from side to side just to enjoy the steering response and letting the chassis tell me the maker's name on the manhole covers (Stanton PLC, if you must know). At this point, the world has become a better place and I'm absolutely no closer to finding a worthy successor to the ST4s.

More images of the R1200S are in the gallery.

I spent today at meetings in London: it was hot, dirty and noisy and I was contributing both considerable decibelage and a fug of semi-combusted hydrocarbons to the ambience by whomping around on a 1000cc Ducati. At regular intervals the phrase, "there has to be a better way to do this", kept springing to mind. Of course, my bicycle would have been perfect for the job. Had I been able to get it there: with a despairingly predictable lack of joined-up thinking on transport and the environment, the UK government has allowed the rail operators to ban bicycles from most services. Which has rather put a stop to that.

This evening however I've found that better way: I went somewhere else in space and time, to where the whole future arrives, not with a bang, but with a muted whirring - to my first close encounter with the ENV – the world's first dedicated fuel cell powered motorcycle.

What it does have in common with the RR is that they'll hit the market at about the same time - late 2007. Oh yes, and they both have two wheels. However, whereas one is simply the spectacular apotheosis of current motorcycle design, the other represents the first thoughtful steps towards the era beyond oil and beyond internal combustion.

Of course you've got to get the hydrogen in the first place, so you need the infrastructure to generate and distribute the stuff, preferably without creating a net carbon imbalance along the way. In an ideal world, we'd generate the hydrogen directly from renewables or closed cycle sources – there's a wonderful example on Yakushima island in Japan where Honda are testing their FCX fuel cell car. Here the electricity required for the electrolysis process (splitting water to generate hydrogen) is produced entirely by the island's hydro-electric plant. On a household or local scale, there exist hydrogen generators (reformers), which run on a wide range of fuels including propane, LNG, gasoline, kerosene, diesel, bio-diesel and ammonia. For someone (like myself) planning a true eco-house, there therefore exists the possibility of fuelling the thing from the output of a domestic digester/fermenter. Which would take the phrase, "going like shit off a shovel", to a whole new level of literality…

Move downstream of the fuel cell power plant and you're completely in the realm of electrickery and the effective management of a power train that delivers maximum torque at minimum revs. An electric motorcycle is potentially the ideal wheelie machine: the challenge for the power train designer is to stop it doing so. I can cope with that.

The folks behind this remarkable and inspirational machine are Intelligent Energy, an offshoot of Loughborough University. They're now going through all tedious but vital work needed to turn this first, albeit highly professional (it was designed by famed design firm and bike nuts Seymour Powell) technology demonstrator into reliable daily transport. Not a task to be underestimated but, with time, dogged patience and a little ingenuity, something that is entirely achievable, and achievable at a real-world price – they're talking about £5000 or so for the first production batch.

Where the demonstrator uses a removable fuel cell and has cycle parts taken in large part from high-end mountain bikes (lovely Hope brakes and forks), the production prototype has a fixed power unit and has adopted parts from light motorcycles, not least including Ohlins suspension.

There's even better news to come for us ecopetrolheads: there now exists a compact 75Kw version of the fuel cell – that's around 100bhp in old-speak. Hang two of those together and you've got something to potentially and silently worry the RR. Now you're talking…

One more thought: this is a production road bike, however limited the production. Its power and specification could therefore make it the cheapest possible privateer way into competitive World Superbike racing. Now this could be very interesting indeed…

The Why?

There's something very basic here: you don't need some full-blown mile-muncher to tour on: what has been done on a Gold Wing will, I guarantee you, also have been accomplished by some nutter or other on a Honda 90, probably whilst wearing wellies. They may have been a bit slower, carried fewer changes of clothing and been rather more numb of the fundament at journey's end, but they'll have gotten there. The fact that the current round-the-world record holder, Nick Sanders, did it on a Yamaha R1 is indicative both that you can tour on anything and that he really is quite mad. Mind you, if he'd done it on a BMW 1150GS, as per Kevin & Julia Sanders, the previous holders, he probably wouldn't look quite as shagged out as he does in every picture I've seen of him. But he did it. And there's nothing quite like barreling across Europe on a sporting motorcycle, accepting the slight-to-monstrous trade-off in comfort for for the sheer joy to be had from being able to make full and focussed use of the really fun bits: the hairpins of the Alps, the fast sweepers of the Eiffel Mountains or the cliff-hugging nadgery of the Amalfi coast. That's what it's all about.

Now for a little of the how and what…

This is the very essence of Sports Touring and should be considered at all times when packing. Sawing your toothbrush in half to save weight & space might however be considered excessively anal.

You WILL take too many shirts. You will NOT take sufficient socks. It's a law of nature. However, try laying everything out two days before. Add/subtract to the pile over a 24-hour period. Pack half of everything. But do remember to include your trousers - a 6' hairy bloke wandering around the continent in his girlfriend's red sarong is not an edifying sight.

Mains chargers for phones/GPS/PDAs/cameras etc take up a ludicrous amount of space. Invest in a multi-voltage, multi-device charger such as those that iGo do. Then remember to take it.

Modern climbing/trekking clothes are incredibly light and robust - look for fabrics containing silver (antibacterial) - means you can wear them for much longer without people giving you a wide berth (or at least wider than usual). Phase Change Fabrics will change their structure according to temperature - allowing one garment to work over a much wider temperature range and gaining you useful geek bragging rights.

A superlight cycling waterproof, bought large, will pack into a very small space and go over leathers in light showers.

Navigation

If travelling two-up, strap the map case the the rider's back and use intercom or hand signals (see below) for navigation.

Use pencil or permanent marker to write out route instructions: anything else will run. Even if your map case or tankbag are genuinely waterproof, condensation will still do it.

Learn to use your GPS BEFORE you set off.

Do not assume that your GPS is omniscient: turning a VFR around on what has turned out to be a precipitous mountain bike track in the Ardennes takes some doing.

Pillions on Tour

Etiquette: When sailing around the outside of groups of sportsbikes on fast bends, having your pillion stick both arms out sideways and perform an impression of a Messerschmitt on a strafing run is generally considered poor form.

If you haven't got an intercom, work out a simple signalling system with your pillion to cover the basics, such as:

• I could do with a loo break at the first possible opportunity.
• My arse/knees/neck started hurting 100 miles ago and you ignored me. When you do stop, you're going to get hell.
• Pillock, you've missed the turning!
• Stop NOW - the panniers/exhaust/centrestand/wheels have fallen off! (I ride a Ducati...)

Make sure that such signals a) can't be confused with normal body contact while riding, b) are easily felt through leather and c) do not cause permanent damage to the rider.

On a Goldwing, knitting en-route is an acceptable pillion pastime. On a sports tourer, it is not.

Pre-Flight Checks

Before heading off on a brisk lap of the Nurburgring, two-up with panniers, with the express purpose of sticking it to the snotty git with the tricked-up F4S, do make sure that said panniers are closed properly...

Take time to work out the best suspension set-up for travelling loaded and two-up, if applicable. Spending a week fighting the bike's stock set-up is no fun at all. If your rear shock adjusts via a c-spanner, take plasters for skinned knuckles.

Luggage

Ignore fancy pannier liner bags - they just take up space: the good old bin liner has much to commend it.

Don't overstuff the tankbag. "Honest officer, I couldn't see the speedo" is not going to cut it.

On the Road

That first/last hack around the M25/M2 to Dover/Folkestone is really, really boring. And heavily policed. Having a court appearance pending from the first morning will definitely cast a cloud over the trip.

French white lines are really, really slippery. The French also have an elite cadre of specially trained cows, whose sole task it is to sneakily crap on the turn-in points of all the best bends.

Belgian roads are the worst on the planet. Really. And I've ridden in Congo.

If you're an EU citizen and touring in the EU, Switzerland or Norway, take your EHIC (European Health Insurance Card)

Zip-ties have multiple uses. So do condoms (Waterproofing small objects and as emergency petrol carriers. For a start). Wet-wipes are handy too - always carry a pack under the seat.

A couple of Ibuprofen every morning work wonders for aching joints, especially if you're doing unfamiliarly long distances on a sports bike.

Take a spare key and either put it in a tankbag pocket or give it to your pillion to look after. If asked to list the top million places not to drop a bike key, a chemical Portaloo in the middle of rural France would probably come pretty high up the list. Which is as much information as you could possibly want, but it took nearly ten minutes of not-daring-to-breathe movement-by-the-millimetre to retrieve the thing from where it teetered, on the edge of, ah, oblivion.

Attitude

Warm up body, mind and bike gradually, over several miles: you've got the whole day to play with - allow yourself to get into that Zen groove, baby...

This picture is of a Toyota Corolla, registration number M381 HPG. I took it at about 11:40pm last night, 26th April 2006. The reason I took it (Toyotas being not, by and large, objects of desire) was that the prize git driving it had just overtaken me on the A287 in Wey Hill in a 30mph limit, whilst doing, at a rough guess, 70mph. To make the overtake, he used the oncoming right turn lane to the Midhurst Road. I felt particularly sorry for the poor sod who was entirely reasonably occupying that lane at the time, waiting for me to pass before turning right. Quite how the situation didn't become an expensive and painful snooker shot, I really don't know. And if the driver of the oncoming vehicle (I think a Vauxhall Omega estate) happens to read this and wishes to contact me, I'll very happily join him or her in making a statement to the constabulary. Whether that would serve any purpose or not is another matter altogether…

But back to you and me, o wayward scions of Bologna: the really frustrating thing is that you make bikes with all the bits I want – just not in the same machine. Here's what I'm after: quite simply, a SPORTS tourer. Got that? Something with no-compromise engine and cycle parts, but that is capable of crossing Europe comfortably in a day, two-up, while throwing in, for instance, a couple of brisk laps of the Nurburgring at lunchtime. I don't want a TOURER, I don't want a sanitised and market-researched bimbling machine – that way lies the horror of the Deauville – I want a full-on sporting motorcycle, one that happens to be comfortable long-distance two-up, inspirational to look at and to ride and as relaxing or edgy as I choose to set it up and ride it to be.

That's pretty much exactly what my ST4s offers: huge low-down torque, a relaxed mid-range and howling top-end punch, combined with superb frame, top-class suspension and brakes and a half-decent fairing. But, oh look, you've dropped it: replaced it with the ST3s, with it's 107bhp DesmoTre (6-valve engine) - a good bike but, in engine terms, not a patch in power, delivery or that great elusive, character, on the DesmoQuattro (8-valve) 996 engine it replaces. Not only that, but you did a half-hearted restyle on the ST range a couple of years ago, replacing the balanced, if ageing, elegance of the original ST lines with a malproportioned (although effective) barn door of a top fairing. So, while everyone else is bringing out sports tourers that are faster, lighter, handle and look better than their predecessors, you're bringing out slower, uglier machines that entirely fail to inspire anything other than grudging acknowledgement. Go figure.

You do make another superb-handling machine that can be capable of decent distances in comfort: the Multistrada. But you only do that with the 84bhp (measured honestly) DesmoDue air-cooled engine, even in the Ohlins suspended 1000S: a fine and characterful unit, 'tis true, but not up to long-range ballistics. A Multistrada with the wonderful Testastretta DesmoQuattro engine would definitely light my fire.

But hang on, here's the 'new' Monster S4RS – a parts-bin special which combines the Testastretta engine with a frame near identical to that of the ST4s, the package rounded off with Ohlins suspension all-round, radial brakes and a gorgeous single-sided swing arm. Stunning. So just how much effort would it be to take the same basic machine and stick the ST sub-frame, bodywork and luggage-friendly exhausts on it? Look guys, it's something Luigi and his brazing kit could knock up in the back lot of Borgo Panigale over lunch. Hell, give me an S4RS, a set of ST bodywork, sub-frame and tank and I'll do it myself. OK, so it would be nice if you gave the bodywork a modern makeover, but even as it is, it has a nicely timeless line. Please Ducati, this is quick, easy and cheap – is it too much to suggest that this would be a Good Thing to do?

Which brings us on to the vexed issue of visual design. Large capacity performance motorcycles are bought with heart, soul and a small nod to notional sensibility. So you need a design language that inspires your market with distinctive, desire-inducing beauty and elegance rather than what you're actually delivering: a Cyclopean and intellectual Iconoclasm: the only really successful design by Sgr Terblanche being the Multistrada. For a company that sells itself on the passion that its designs inspire, this verges on the paradoxically nonsensical.

You can argue that you've taken bold steps to move the design language of motorcycles on, and I'd have some sympathy with that. But you're not moving the language on in a way that appeals to your market. You were one of the first motorcycle manufacturers to create bikes that use complex surfaces, where the play of light on their surfaces needs even near-subliminal movement to reveal their shape – something that Chris Bangle and his "Flame Surfacing" team have known about at BMW (cars) for years. And even they only get it right about 30% of the time. But others are now doing it better. If you want an example, take a look at Yamaha's current range: models as diverse as the brutally handsome, locomotive-engineered MT-01, the elegantly flowing lines of the current R1, the distinctive funkiness of the new FZ1 Fazer or the truly boundary-shifting design of the latest R6, the last of which has to be seen in the flesh to be really appreciated.

And all this time you're ignoring your core constituency by putting your efforts into digging yourself into the same hole that Harley-Davidson are trying to haul themselves out of – building a retro trio of Sunday-run "Sport Classics", two of which could actually be considered good-looking motorcycles (the third, the GT1000, seems to have been inspired by one of the ugliest Ducatis of all time, the Giugario 'styled' 860GTS) plus the niche-within-a-niche Hypermotard concept, while apparently neglecting the "low-hanging fruit" of a matrix of core market modern machines that utilise your already superb engine, chassis and suspension technology.

So, in the niche market of motorcycles that aren't inline fours, who are you losing out to? The aforementioned KTM, BMW and Triumph, for a start, each of which are now producing individual and well-styled machines that appeal to their market by all routes that reach the wallet. You may still have some room to manoeuvre though – BMW seems incapable of understanding how to design a paint scheme… At the same time as these other niche marques are hugely raising their games, the mainstream is really getting the hang of things – have you noticed that the Big Four are starting to produce machines that not only work well, but which don't need to be covered with shell-suit graphics to inspire covetousness? – and if Suzuki could drag themselves away from a cultural imperative to slap tacky stickers'n'stripes on all over the place, they'd find that they've some seriously good-looking, as well as superbly functioning, machines underneath.

You're doing the Italian thing again, aren't you? In a rising market for niche manufacturers and machines, one that you should be perfectly placed to exploit, you are, quite simply, throwing it all away. Please don't.

Click here for the Colour image gallery.
Click here for the Black & White image gallery.

All images are copyright © Richard Harris, 2006. And watch this space: There's a full road test on the Daytona 675 coming to this site, very soon indeed…

The Auction was the brainchild of local motorcycle racer Mark Parrett, who himself is the 18th fastest man around the TT circuit. Haslemere Motorcycles was the obvious choice to host the auction as Haslemere is one of Mark's main sponsors and Marty Lunde the owner was an international roadracer himself. Almost the whole staff at Haslemere have been or are involved with the sport and, like most motorcyclists, are keen to help.

Up for Auction are: 2 Suzuki experience days, one Track Day at Mallory Park, an off road day at the same venue, a ride in a Replica Ford GT40 from Thruxton sports cars, 2 sets of leathers from Mark Parrett, each of which has been around the TT circuit at podium speeds. Arguably the jewel of the auction is an AGV helmet signed by Valentino Rossi himself, (this will come with full certification – thanks to AGV for this). These are just tasters for what will be available – amongst the lots will also be a Shoei Helmet signed by the Factory Honda UK squad.

Haslemere are also asking owners of interesting or unusual  motorcycles to make an appearance, to make the day even more of a draw – this will be much appreciated.

And anyone who is able to contribute any items for the auction, please call or email Mark or Mike.

There will be lots of other things to see and do on the day, including the latest Triumph Daytona 675 and street Scrambler bikes. Suzuki Motorcycles, including the new GSR600,  will be available for demonstration on the day by prior arrangement (call 01428 641305 or email sales@haslemeremotorcycles.co.uk to book).