Lots More on the A84…

Categories: Diary Rides

I've mentioned before that I live next to one of THE great biking roads, the A84 from Callander to Killin. That's all of 20 miles of fast, wide sweeping bends that every so often turn into narrow, bumpy, twisty complexes that test machine set-up and rider anticipation, skill and basic sense. And far too bloody many people are failing that test: we've just had what (I think) is the third biking fatality of the year – and all of these on the mere eight miles between Callander and Strathyre, particularly through the twisties of the Falls of Leny, just North of Kilmahog and at the notorious "Doctor's Bend" a couple of miles further North.

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.

Continue reading "Lots More on the A84…"

A821 Dukes Pass

Categories: Diary Rides

Today I should most definitely have been working – too much to do, too little time, yada yada... But by 11 o'clock the temperature was about 23° and not a cloud in the sky. I also tripped over my Arai on the way to make a coffee, which was an omen not to be ignored, so the concept of 'early lunch break' had its definition rather stretched. Besides, I wanted to test out a new toy – a little Sony GPS that records everywhere you've been – the downloaded results then being used to tag the photos you've taken along the way, before mapping them in Google Maps or Google Earth. And where should I go to test this but a second (and third) pass at a road I discovered last weekend – the A821 from Kilmahog (I kid you not) to Aberfoyle, via the Duke's pass. That's the Duke of Montrose, not the Duke of Bologna, which would have been so much more appropriate. This road is something else – it starts with a couple of fast sweepers that throw in a decreasing radius 120° corner at the last moment, then into a switchback straight which has self and machine airborne at anything over about 70mph – even with the new suspension. A large number of sump gouges and suspicious stains along this stretch tell their own tale. The road is a mixture of old and broken surface (with the occasional pothole and patch of loose gravel) and brand new shiny tarmac – overall, not too bad by Belgian standards, and less than brilliant by anyone else's.

Continue reading "A821 Dukes Pass"

Pass Wide and Slow – Bikes and Horses

Categories: Diary Riding

Here in the National Park, we've got pretty much every category of road user – bikes, bicycles, cars, walkers, horses and the occasional tap-dancing Pine Marten, all trying to do their own thing at their own speed, and often at the same time. While there's a wider concern about how all of these can share the roads (in like peace, light and harmony, man…) the technique for passing large, hairy quadrupeds does seem to cause some stress amongst all parties. So here, reprinted with the author's permission from our local community rag is a small plea on behalf of horsey folk everywhere:

Continue reading "Pass Wide and Slow – Bikes and Horses"

"Honey, I Spent The Aga Budget…"

Categories: Bikes Diary Reviews

Time for a new toy. My old faithful STealth – my ST4s – has served me well for four years and it's a keeper, as a supremely capable all-round machine, so I'm looking for something more specific and more focussed for play on the local roads. Which is where the first of many dilemmas kicks in – which toy for which roads? Around here there are ballistically-fast, sweeping A-roads with sudden sections of tight twisties: that'll be a Ducati 1098S then. Then there are the smaller glen roads - rising and falling, twisting and turning back on themselves as they follow the edges of the lochs: much more Monster or KTM SuperDuke territory. Finally, there are bikes that seek the best compromise for all of these, plus my kilometre of potholed Belgium-on-a-bad-day drive: possibly a Multistrada 1100S - in fact if the Multistrada had the Testastretta engine, it would have been a shoo-in - I've ridden the earlier incarnation enough to know just how good a chassis they've got. But hang on, we're not talking about looking for an all-rounder here: we're looking for the maximum of engagement, hoot-inducing fun and the ability to get from A to B, usually via C to Z, with as much flair as possible and a decent tank range, given the distance between filling stations hereabouts. So I'm off to Ducati Glasgow to sample a selection of their range.

Continue reading ""Honey, I Spent The Aga Budget…""

When You've Had Your Kicks On Route 66…

Categories: Diary Rides

…Then Get Some More On The A84

Been a bit quiet of late, haven't I? There's a reason for that and, I hope, a good one: self, partner, our businesses and the cats have all been busily uprooting ourselves from our past lives – in my case, twenty years in the hinterlands of Surrey and replanting ourselves in our new demesne, the Highlands of Scotland. We've been here for two weeks today, and I'm typing this whilst looking out over the local Loch as the low Winter sun glows off the hills opposite. Which isn't a bad way to start the day, and a distinct improvement on the absolutely solid rainfall of the last fortnight. And, if the viciously incompetent British Telecom ever starts keeping its broken promises to provide us with our landlines, things will be just perfect. The lack of photographs in current posting (since updated) are just a reflection of the very limited bandwidth I have here via my mobile.

Continue reading "When You've Had Your Kicks On Route 66…"

Scott of the West Midlands

Categories: Diary Rides

Warning: Gratuitous and rambling nostalgia ahead: In 1981 I was living and working in Warwick, in my first 'proper' job after graduating – my prior history as a ski bum didn't really count. Now Warwick is a very beautiful olde towne in the English Midlands, but it is some 330 miles from my semi-ancestral home of Edinburgh, which is where I was intending to be for Christmas. Now I could have done the sensible thing and taken the train from Birmingham, sitting (or at least standing) in a semi-comfortable fug of other people's colds, second-hand cigarette smoke and generalised flatulence. But somehow that didn't sufficiently appeal to the masochist in me. My newly acquired pride and joy at this time was my Honda 400/4 – a finely crafted jewel of a motorcycle and an utter paragon of reliability after my upbringing on (and off) old British iron. I guess there was a mindset here that said, "I'm on a wonderful piece of to-the-minute japanese engineering. I am therefore invulnerable to the vicissitudes of the world". Which in turn led me to think, "So I'll just leap onto my machine and ride to Edinburgh for Christmas".

Continue reading "Scott of the West Midlands"

I have seen the Future…

Categories: Bikes Diary

….and it goes "whirrrr".

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.

Continue reading "I have seen the Future…"

The Zen of Sports Touring

Categories: Diary Riding

The UK's Bike magazine recently asked for contributions to a story about the why, the how and the myth of "Sports Touring". Which prompted me to put together a few random thoughts, and here they be:

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…

Continue reading "The Zen of Sports Touring"

Dear Ducati…

Categories: Diary Rants

I've owned your bikes since 1982, albeit with a longish break along the way. My current machine is getting a little leggy and, despite its so far consummate reliability, I'm looking for a replacement. But here's my problem: you simply do not make a motorcycle that meets my desires. And a quick glance at your 2005 sales figures suggests that many people feel the same way – your motorcycle revenues worldwide were down 13.1%, with total unit sales down 5.5%. Margins were also down, occasioned by a 40% collapse in the sales of your higher margin Superbike models. The only ranges that increased sales were the Multistrada (up 57.9%) and the new-retro Sport Classic range.

Continue reading "Dear Ducati…"

Fool to Miss It: Rob Vine Fund Charity Auction, April 1, 2006

Categories: Diary

Haslemere Motorcycles are running a Charity auction in aid of the Rob Vine Fund on the 1st of April this year. The fund helps to keep the Isle of Man TT races and Manx Grand Prix running by funding medical equipment for the Manx Air Ambulance: quite simply, no Air Ambulance, no TT!

Continue reading "Fool to Miss It: Rob Vine Fund Charity Auction, April 1, 2006"

State of the Art…

Categories: Bikes Diary Rants Reviews Rides Riding Tech

Bear with me, will you? I've been running this blog and site since late 1998 and have finally gotten around to migrating it all into my Two Worlds vServer engine, a set-up based on Movable Type content management system plus lots of other bits and pieces, held together with various hackettes (sorry, "ubiquity integration modules) in perl and php. Anyway, most of the raw content is across, but I'm still writing a few scripts to handle images and attachments, hence the sudden lack of photos, incriminating or otherwise. This will be completed very soon, at which point whatever passes for normal service will be resumed.

Richard

Those Definitely Weren't the Days...

Categories: Bikes Diary

During a recent discussion on the Ducati ST owners' list about the relative merits of kickstarts and electric starts, I was forcibly reminded of a friend's 1954 BSA B33 500cc single. Despite having the flywheel mass of the Brooklyn/Forth (choose according to domicile) bridge, it would frequently not-quite-make-it past TDC and kick back with the full force of its very long stroke. But in slow motion, as befits a very leisurely motorcycle (at 'touring' revs it was firing every other streetlight). Quite enough to cause any or all of: knee to hit chin (moral: don't stick your tongue out while kickstarting a motorcycle); knee to hit handlebar with eye-watering force; or, and from the spectator point of view, finest of all, to fire the entire hapless and sweating human being into orbit - half a dozen of these things in sync and Britain would have won the space race years before Gagarin and Thunderbirds got in on the act. Landing was iffy - I'd arrive in the gutter, do a half roll and rise to my feet just in time to watch the thing gracefully keel over sideways and land with the metallic sigh of a job well done. I like - I REALLY like – electric starts.

French Leave

Categories: Diary Rides

It's 6am on a Friday in June, and some sort of semi-conscious recollection tells me that this is D-Day for the annual club invasion of France and that I really should be heading for the nearest ferry terminal. After managing a state of denial about my increasingly frantic alarm, I finally give in to its electronic persistence and fall out of bed at 6:30. But by 7:20 I'm sitting on the loading ramp of the ferry in Portsmouth harbour.

Call me an antisocial git (form an orderly queue, please), but a 5am hack across 120miles of Southern England to reach the Chunnel with the main group is not my idea of wakeful fun. The fast SeaCat had been full (a P&O claim later denied by others) so I took the slow boat, arrived in Le Havre at 3pm and I was sitting in the bar in the Hotel Dauphin in L'Aigle by 4:30pm. Which was probably a mistake, as I was cheerfully beered-up by the time everyone else arrived and great concentration was required to maintain conversation. Which of course explained my headache the next day - too much concentration, clearly. As before, the Hotel Dauphin was welcoming, hospitable and thoroughly pleasant. Pity then that I wasn't there - along with the rest of the 'disreputable bachelor' contingent, I'd been booked into the only other nearby alternative, the Hotel Artus. L'Aigle is a small town and, it being national Musique week, everywhere was booked solid, so t'was Hobson's choice. And I have stayed in worse: a flophouse in The Congo being about all that springs readily to mind. One night there was quite enough, after which bribery, corruption, luck and pathetic whimperings found me a place in Le Dauphin.

First Aside: when does a habit become a tradition? In each of the last two years a certain member of the club has entirely failed to finish the French trip on the same motorcycle he started on. That looks like a habit. Now it might be pushing it to claim that two years of expiring Ducati, BMW-hurling and deer attack can be called a tradition. Three I'd suggest lays a good claim. So, while sitting contemplating the joys of Biere pression, I heard motorcycles approaching. Particularly, I heard the sound of a v-twin exhaust playing continuo to the rattle of a Ducati clutch. "Aha", thought I, "that'll be either Malcolm or John, then", just as a group of machines hove into view, led by Mr C's Ducati. I'd just got as far as thinking, "Coo, he's made it this ti...", when I saw the state of the fairing. So let's call it a tradition, shall we? Continue reading "French Leave"

Goodwood Revived

Categories: Diary

Here we are again: I've described the atmosphere and environs of Goodwood once before, for the Festival of Speed, but this is different – a festival, but not The Festival, and a full race programme rather than a hill-climb. This is the annual Goodwood Revival meeting, where the proud and doting owners of classic racing cars and bikes meet up for mutual admiration, conversation and annihilation, all held in front of a large crowd of enthusiatic spectators in period dress. Although which actual period seems to be a matter of some debate – anything from the 1940s to 1970s seems to be acceptable, although I couldn't help but feel that some of the crowd wouldn't, if challenged, have considered themselves to be in costume. Much tweed was apparent. As was a splendid selection of classic cars and bikes, as both competitors and spectators.

Continue reading "Goodwood Revived"

Seeing the Light…

Categories: Diary

It's an early summer Sunday night, warm and rather humid. I'm heading out of London, in mellow mood, just watching the miles slide under my wheels on an empty A3. Past the M25, the stars all vanish. Somewhere near Guildford, the rain starts, and gets heavier and heavier, until I'm doing a good impression of a sea slug – at least it's warm. Then the lightning starts up with a really good display of heavenly angst. I'm rather enjoying it, and just cruising along at a steady 80mph or so, with warm rain trickling down the back of my neck.

Then the world turned into a photographic negative – the black of the night replaced by an all-consuming whiteness. I felt a massive shock travel up from my fingers, down through my body and out through my toes (some people pay good money for that sort of thing). For a moment I actually felt that I was riding through a tunnel of light - Hallelujah! and all that. It was all over so quickly that I didn't even have a chance to react, which was probably no bad thing.

Continue reading "Seeing the Light…"

Good Frideday

Categories: Diary Rides

My subconscious is obviously at work – it's half-past six on Good Friday morning and I'm wide awake. A low dawn sun throws soft luminous patterns across wall, floor, duvet and the severalsome infeasibly large cats who are occupying far more than their fair share of the bed.

The awakening mind prompts again – it's got a lot to deal with at the moment – some good, some bad and some merely paradoxical. But around and around it whirls all the same. The best medicine for this is the detachment of doing something – anything that requires total focus. This however from someone who, in the general course of things, is quite capable (to choose but two instances) of having malevolent door frames leap out and gratuitously bruise him or of losing the sunglasses that he's been wearing for the last two hours – without taking them off.

That focus comes though, when I change modes – when I'm skiing, reading compelling books or listening to truly great music. But above all, it comes when I'm on the edge, in that space where enjoyment and survival depend on the interplay between concentration, judgement and execution. And that, for me, is when I'm skiing the high mountains, extreme mountain biking or motorcycling for its own sake. As it's mid-April, and I'm in Southern England, let's say it's going to be a motorcycling day.

Continue reading "Good Frideday"

(Un)Shiny Toy

Categories: Diary

In Southern England, an only moderate spring and summer have suddenly sequed into a classical Indian Summer - it hasn't rained at all for over two months. Today, it is absolutely pissing down. So guess when my new bike arrived?? Very nearly right - I actually picked it up yesterday afternoon, and managed the first 60 miles in the glow of a glorious Autumn evening, presumably running on residual kharmic credit. It's been damply downhill ever since.

Firstly, the sadness: watching and listening to the (not note, my) 748 disappear up the road, ridden by its proud new owner. I'd arranged a trade-in for it, while keeping the private sale ads in the papers. The evening before I was due to pick up the new machine, there was a phone message. A viewing the following morning, and a mutually agreeable wodge of cash was exchanged for the machine. So that was that.

Secondly, the stupidity: Ten minutes later, in an instant of revelation, I exchanged nostalgic regret for the realisation that I'd just sold the only viable means of getting the 50 miles to Pro Twins to pick up the new bike. Oops. A quick call around and huge thanks to my friend Siobhan for driving me all around the Home Counties in pursuit of an obsession. There will be chocolate (there was).

Continue reading "(Un)Shiny Toy"

STealth Bomber

Categories: Bikes Diary

Here's where I come full circle: I'm doing higher mileages and longer distances – over 400 mile plus days on a 748 are entirely doable, but my back, neck, knees and occasional passengers are starting to ask telling questions. The 748 is also building a highish mileage, so everything points towards it being time for a change. Reluctantly, as I've had a great time with this machine – It does need a new chain and sprockets, and the rear tyre is looking just a tad distressed. Apart from needing a bit of a freshen-up at its forthcoming 18000 mile service, it's running beautifully.

So what to go for? The first intent – a 999, in standard or S form, has already been dealt with, on the grounds of comfort and cost. The Aprilia Futura looks good (yeah, my taste is weird like that), but is a little characterless; the BMW R1150GS is great, but doesn't quite do it, and the new Honda VFR800 is a two-stroke reincarnate. So it's a Ducati ST4s, that's what. The ST4s: take a concept – that of a sports tourer, then hand the development over to a bunch of Italian engineers who can't, under any circumstances, bring themselves to put the 'tourer' before the 'sports'. They started by taking the 996 engine, retuning it slightly for more low-down torque and stuffing it into the ST frame. They then found that, with the less restrictive low-level exhausts, it puts out MORE power than the 996, not less. Thus inspired, they went to town on the suspension, with a very shiny remote pre-load Ohlins rear shock and Showa Titanium-nitrided forks, complemented by lightweight Marchesini 5-spoke wheels. That's nice, then. All wrapped in the now-trad ST bodywork, with big tank, comfy dual set and pillion grabrail. Not to forget the pannier mounts. And a centre stand. So practical too.

Having decided on what I wanted, then it's a matter of finding one - these are Ducati's forgotten machines - people who don't know ducati's don't know what they are, and most ducatisti will go for the image of the Superbikes or a little light lunacy from the Monster range. A recent second-hand one would do nicely, preferably in stealth matt grey, with panniers. This might take a while. On the other hand…

Continue reading "STealth Bomber"

IAM: Inevitable and Absolute Mayhem

Categories: Diary

Brought to you by the Institute of Advanced Muppetry. Not the venerable IAM itself, you understand, but a number of its members. You what? OK, let's rewind for a moment: start with a very good idea - to organise a track day for IAM-affiliated clubs, specifically for those people who've been put off track days by some of the on-track behaviour and the generally testosterone-soaked atmosphere around these events. Sounds good. Then pick an experienced organiser and book Cadwell Park, one of THE great bike circuits, anywhere. Sounds very good. In fact there's about twenty people from WVAM going, which should make it a nice sociable occasion.

Now fast-forward to the day itself. [By this device I conveniently gloss over my hurling of toys from the group pram on the ride up – sorry, but 120 miles in four hours through 30/40mph limits on a 748 is going to do in anyone's head (and in my case, their back). The journey improved though - the second, solo, 120 miles was over clear and wonderful roads and took an hour-and-a-half. Antisocial git that I am.]

Continue reading "IAM: Inevitable and Absolute Mayhem"

999!

Categories: Diary Reviews

There have already been more words written and opinions expressed on the Ducati 999 than on most machines of recent years – replacing something as iconic as the 916 design was never going to be less than contentious. Over the next few months we'll all no doubt be reading test reports and comparisons on the 999 until terminal boredom sets in. We'll see it being wheelied, stoppied, ridden knee down, elbow down and occasionally arse up, by road testers whose behaviour is entirely untempered by the need to pay for maintenance, tyres and damage. Good for them – we'll enjoy the vicarious carnage.

Me, I'm neither particularly fast nor painfully slow, moderately competent on a good day and prone to the occasional braindead moment – pretty much like most of us, then. So this is the everyman opinion, albeit concocted over the course of a single hour-and-a-bit's test ride. This test ride has been occasioned by the decision to change bikes – time to pension off the faithful 748 for something a little newer, perhaps a little quicker and possibly a little more comfortable – the old injuries are playing up.

So here are my very personal impressions of what is, in brief, dynamically the best motorcycle I have ever ridden; visually, one that I find to be something of a curate's egg and which I found ergonomically, er, perplexing. Of course, your mileage may vary…

Continue reading "999!"

Mild in the Country

Categories: Diary Rides

I am not tired. I went beyond tired about four hours ago, on the other side of the English Channel and 200 miles away. I am however home. My motorcycle is also home and is shiny-side up. Strictly, most of my motorcycle is home – the clutch went functionally AWOL somewhere mid-Normandy. That was interesting, and bloody ungrateful of it – I'd spent the weekend praising its 15,000 mile reliability to the skies – the one other Ducati on the trip having come home on a trailer.

So my hall now contains a strewn trail of oversuit, leathers, gloves, boots, rucksack and helmet, the trail leading directly to the wine cupboard. All bar the wine are steaming gently as the microclimate of a long, damp ride slowly clears itself. The cats have sensitive noses. They look appalled.

Continue reading "Mild in the Country"

Been a While…

Categories: Diary

Indeed it has – sixteen months since the last update. In mitigation, m'lud, I have managed a few updates on the project pages, albeit more out of duty rather than enthusiasm. The management, what there is left of it, wish to apologies for a service interrupted by the overdue/untimely* collapse of the tech/new media sector, fallout therefrom and assorted other traumas which have no place in a site about motorcycling. I do still have the 748, despite having done depressingly little riding for some time. Time to do something about that. I've also registered and moved the site here, to www.ducati.info, so have rather painted myself into a corner if I want to buy anything else…

Continue reading "Been a While…"

Maxing Madly…

Categories: Diary

England leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I've been away. I get back. Drive home from the airport. On the way, decide to fill car up - head for my local gas station, only to find queue of vehicles heading off into the middle distance. Decide that civilisation has in fact collapsed in my absence, something I always suspected would happen. Turn radio on to discover that the English have finally learnt something from the French and blockaded the oil refineries as a protest against high fuel prices.

Time to do the responsible thing and switch to a more economical form of transport – that would be the Duke. But I don't need to go anywhere. That's easily fixed – there's a note around from a few of the local group suggesting that a sunny evening with most cars off the road would make for a good rideout, and might help cure my jetlag. So it proved.

Continue reading "Maxing Madly…"

This Little Piggy Went to Dorking…

Categories: Diary Rants

…and hung around to hassle innocent motorcyclists.

As the weather forecast for Sunday morning was good (being England, this simply meant it wasn't actually raining), there was a early rideout to the new Ducati Owner's Club venue – the Punchbowl Inn, at Oakwoodhill near Ockley in Surrey. The early bit was dedicated to the production and consumption of large volumes of strong coffee, before everyone felt sufficiently aware to survive the ride down via breakfast cholesterol at Box Hill. That was the good bit of the day – things went rather pear-shaped thereafter.

Continue reading "This Little Piggy Went to Dorking…"

"My Fellow Amphibians…"

Categories: Diary

OK, so it wasn't actually snowing this time. Which is about all that could be said for the California (hah!) Superbike School Level 1 course at Cadwell Park. This time, I'd taken no chances and had ridden up the previous day, staying at a B&B near the circuit. However, come 7am and scrutineering, the local ducks were waterskiing on the Cadwell hairpin. So we all trooped into the first classroom session feeling a tad dispirited, and waited for the whole thing to be cancelled. Not a bit of it: "It's wet out there, but that'll focus you all on riding smoothly, won't it?" Guess so - in fact only one person binned it, and that in the dry at the end of the day. Format? Simple - five track sessions, interspersed with classroom lessons, each adding another element to the mix of things to try. The order went something like:

Throttle control and no brakes drill - fourth gear only: lap times in the 2'15" range. In fact the 'one gear, no brakes' bit was something of a theme for the day. Then Turn Points - bloke standing at edge of track pointing to bit of tarmac at which to turn in. Ah, that late? Lap times down to around 2'03", just by concentrating on turn-in. Next, Quick Turns: in late and use scarily heavy counter-steering to take bike to desired lean angle as quickly as possible. Lap times around 1'58". Rider Input – better use of information, camber and track reading. Another 6 seconds off the lap time. And, finally, the Two Step – putting everything together with greater anticipation of the stages of the corner. Final result: lap times around 1'49". OK, so some people could run around the Cadwell short circuit faster, but that wasn't the point - it was all about technique, being smooth and thinking ahead. Definitely felt like I'd achieved something.

Continue reading ""My Fellow Amphibians…""

England: Weather, Not Climate

Categories: Diary

Let's see: Friday through Monday – cloudless skies, warm breezes and everyone wandering around in shorts and T-shirts. Tuesday: Wet, windy and 'orrible. Wednesday: The day I've booked myself on Keith Code's California Superbike School's training day at Brands Hatch. Wonder what the weather's going to be like?

Scrutineering for the day is at 7am and I live about 65 miles from Brands Hatch, so it'san early start, with everything (including waterproofs) laid out the night before, ready for a quick start. By 5:15am (when?!) I'm kitted up and ready to go, so it's time to fling back the curtains and see whether I should put my waterproofs on. White. Very white. Nothing but bloody white. Total blizzard conditions. Thanks a bundle – it's hard not to take this sort of thing personally. So layer up with full skigear and waddle out to the garage. Start the bike (with unspoken apologies to the neighbours for warming up a race-piped Duke at 5:30am). Onto the bike and slither backwards down the drive, both wheels locked, until I reach the road. Ice, slush and a delicate snow topping. Yum. Comfort myself with the thought that, with our village's local microclimate, it'll be fine a couple of miles down the road. Optimist. Thirty minutes later, I'm ten miles away in Milford and things are, if anything, worse – riding through ridged slush, with wet sleet freezing solid on my visor. Visibility zero – can't even see the damned instruments. It's a silly game and I don't want to play any more.

Continue reading "England: Weather, Not Climate"

Gratuitous Nostalgia

Categories: Diary

Now I'm sure that I said somwhere in these ramblings that I wasn't getting back into biking to recapture any notional lost youth – I 'm well rid of most of that part of my life. Bikes are about the now and the appreciation of the performance that the finest modern engineering can deliver. No intention of staggering around the countryside on any under-tyred, flexi-framed nostalgia special. Absolutely not. Right?

Continue reading "Gratuitous Nostalgia"

Making Progress

Categories: Diary

So I passed my Advanced Motorcycling Test. Just what does that really mean? Not a lot, really – I'd regard the IAM test as the minimum starting point for being able to demonstrate control of a motor vehicle in good conditions with a favourable wind. Where then do I go from here?

In my earlier biking incarnation, I'd been an instructor with the old RAC/ACU training scheme in Edinburgh and later with Cambridge's CAMrider Rider training scheme. That was around the time that compulsory basic training (CBT) came along and moved the whole teaching thing onto a professional basis, thereby rather taking the fun out of it for us enthusiastic amateurs.

What we have now of course is organisations like the WVAM, where enthusiasts give their time to help train people up to and beyond the Advanced Test standard. I like the idea of doing that – of keeping the cycle of learning going and having a good time with people whose riding you can trust – that and going ballistic down a wide assortment of twisty country roads.

So I put myself down for assessment as a candidate for Group Observer training with WVAM. Which is how I came to be standing in Box Hill car park at some ungodly hour last Saturday morning, stuffing coffee and a Ryka's bacon butty into my face while our little company of five assembled – three potential trainees and two of the groups most experienced Observers. This was a 3-4 hour assessment ride, to work out if each of us was up to the required standard to go into Observer training. Rather than a prescriptive ride to arbitrary road rules,it was to be all about how we did (or didn't) demonstrate the hallowed combination of Progress with Restraint – making the first while demonstrating the second.

Continue reading "Making Progress"

Testing Times

Categories: Diary

It's the 29th of December. The temperature's -4oC, the roads are like glass (the bits that aren't are caked with diesel and salt) and it's 7:15 am – a time I normally only ever see from the other end of the day.

So why am I even thinking about getting my bloody bike out? The usual excuse of congenital insanity doesn't even hold this time, as the decision was made several days in advance, following a call from the IAM's examiner for the advanced test – something I'd applied for back in November, when 'dry roads' wasn't an oxymoron. I'd had one non-attempt at the test already – earlier in December, we'd arranged a Saturday morning. On the day, it was throwing it down and I had major-league jetlag. My server had also crashed so I obviously needed to go into London to reboot it (turned into a three day rebuild, but never mind :)), so that was a good enough excuse to cry off. This was the rerun.

I'd even managed to get some practice in – for a couple of hours on Boxing Day the gales died down and a strange yellow light appeared in the sky. That was enough to persuade me to kick the tyres and head out for a quick 70 miles down my second-favourite local road, the infamous A272. There is a certain perverse pleasure to be had in successfully and semi-smoothly negotiating conditions that, taken on their own, you'd simply choose a motocross machine for – washdown, leaf residue, tractor mud and diesel from numerous elderly horseboxes heading out for the Christmas Point-to-Points. All good practice at keeping a smooth line and learning good throttle sense – accelerating and slowing as far as possible without using the brakes – I managed thirty miles of twisties and villages at a halfway decent pace without touching either brake lever.

Continue reading "Testing Times"

Mortality

Categories: Diary

As I hope you've gathered, this site isn't meant to be entirely or even approximately serious. There are however times when there's simply no humorous or whimsical slant on an event. This is one of those.

On 17 October, Jim Osborne, Chief Observer of the Wey Valley Advanced Motorcyclists (WVAM) and his wife Carol were leading a club run on what was a perfect Autumn day – warm, sunny and crystal clear. At just after 6pm, at Henley Hill, on the A286 North of Midhurst, Jim and Carol were involved in a collision with a car and were both killed.

I don't know the details of what happened but it does bring it home – they were skilled and experienced motorcyclists who have put much time and effort into helping bring others (including myself) up to something approaching a reasonable standard of skill and awareness.

The only reason I wasn't on that ride was that I had a prior commitment in Guildford that day. I was on the bike, had taken the long way home and had one of my best rides ever. I'd also passed along the same stretch of road only an hour before the group did. This entry was originally going to be about that ride, the focus and the pleasure – the reasons we ride motorcycles. I'll still travel that route. I'll be slower for a while. There will however be a certain extra satisfaction in getting it right.

There's no particular lesson or moral in this – anyone who rides a motorcycle has already taken the decision that the reward is worth the risk. A tragedy like this simply reinforces the fact that it can happen to anyone – just don't ever ride in the belief that it won't happen to you. Always try to ride (and live) in the knowledge that it could and might. It doesn't matter how skilful and careful you are, there's always some moron out there (and include yourself in that) whose behaviour you aren't going to be able to anticipate. It's up to each of us to remember why we do it and keep our own risk/reward equations in balance.

It's Started…

Categories: Diary

Cod philosophy time: It's funny how behaviour on either side of the biggest ideological divides can be indistinguishable – in politics, we've got the fascisms of the right and of the left, each behaving in near-identical ways, while in motorcyling we have Ducati and Harley Davidson.

The Harley rider is someone who's bought comprehensively into the brand's v-twin cult of appearance, style and attitude. Why else would they put up with abysmal performance, atrocious handling and vibration that would shame a jackhammer? They've paid over the odds for a machine that does nothing that you can't find for less money and with greater reliability elsewhere. That's only the start – no Harley is considered to be worth a second glance unless it's been laden with enough extras and chrome to make the original purchase price pale into insignificance. We sneer at the Harley rider.

Now look at us Ducati riders: folks who've bought comprehensively into the v-twin brand's cult of appearance, style and attitude. Why else would we put up with filling-destroying suspension, spine-mangling riding positions and a paranoia about never going out without the warranty card and a mobile phone? We pay over the odds for a level of performance that can be matched or exceeded for way less money and we then spend a fortune on tricking the machine up to make it stand out even more from its peers. Sorry, am I repeating myself?

Continue reading "It's Started…"

Frankfurt Motor Show

Categories: Diary

If it's Tuesday, it must be Press Day at the Frankfurt Motor Show. I'm not press and I'm not in the motor trade, so what the hell was I doing there? Simple – it just happened to be a convenient location for a meeting I'd arranged. Of course, I wasn'g going to turn down the opportunity to wander around new bikes and cars and relieve the exhibitors of some of their copious supplies of champagne and gourmet canapés.

Simple in principle, that is – however, being Press Day, the organisers had some pretty strict ideas about who were and weren't to be allowed in. People with trivial needs like business meetings simply didn't count. Only one thing to be done then – blag Press accreditation. How? As a roving researcher of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy of course. Armed with suitably completed form and my completely unrelated business card, I waited in the sweaty queue of hungry, thirsty hopefuls. Some made it, some didn't. When my turn came, I handed over the form and card with a studiously casual air, staring off distractedly into the middle distance as it this were a tediously routine process. Bloke behind counter looks at my card. He looks at my form. He looks at my card again. Not a good sign. He opens hi s mouth. The guy checking in next to me also looks over, sees my busines card and goes ballistic: "Aha! You are the Digital Village!". "Er, yes – part thereof?". "You are all wonderful – Starship Titanic, h2g2, The Hitchhiker's Guide – all truly great!". At this point, check-in bloke shrugs and prints off my press card. Tamás, nice to meet you and thanks for the help!

Having got the serious stuff out of the way, time for a wander. Although primarily a car show, there were some interesting sightings of the new Hondas: the X-11, The VTR1000-SP1 (RC51 in NA, I think) and the 2000 Fireblade. There was also a new Foggy Replica to be seen, although perhaps not quite what you might expect?

Commuting Practice

Categories: Diary

I don't like commuting. Particularly, I don't like commuting by motor vehicle – the sheer waste, inefficiency and damage caused make it economically, morally and environmentally unsustainable. OK, so I didn't buy either of my motor vehicles with other than a nod towards fuel economy and green cred, but the thought's there?
The state of British public transport does mean that there are times (hopefully few) when it does make much more sense. For instance, when I needed to get from darkest Surrey to Covent Garden on a blazing hot Saturday morning, especially when the bike's been mothballed for a fortnight while I've been away. The temptation was just too much – bicycle plus train or car would have each taken about an hour-and-a-half. The question wasn't whether the Duke would be quicker but just how much quicker would it be?

The answer was illuminating – 42 minutes door-to-door, home to office, a distance of 49 miles. Now I can' think of a machine better designed NOT to be used as a city commuter than the 748 – full head-down, bum-up riding position, with a set of pipes designed to roast its rider's backside and legs at anything below 50mph. That and no steering lock to speak of. Bloody good fun though – London traffic just melted away (as did my legs) and it was definitely a cyclist's wish fulfilment dream – the ability to get through tiny gaps with the help of the Duke's narrow bars (so long as you get the line right well in advance) and being able to accelerate away from anything else on the road. A touch nervous about the comfort in slow London traffic, but I just went into insane London cyclist mode as soon as I hit the city. Didn't even notice the pain.

So it is possible to commute on a Ducati. You can also do dressage with an elephant – it just may not be the best beastie for the job.

Total cost for anyone who's counting – about £7 for just over two (Imperial) gallons of unleaded (ouch), plus any GATSOs I may not have spotted in time.

Unfortunately, the off-peak train fare is £7.25 return, so I'm going to have to work on the excuses a littler harder.

World Superbikes, Brands Hatch

Categories: Diary

It's the first Sunday in August. I own a Ducati. I live in England. The most popular attendance motor sport in England is World Superbike, not least partly because the bloke running away with the championship is both English and on a works Ducati, The first Sunday in August is the European Round of WSB, at Brands Hatch.

It's got to be done.

Turns out that 120,911 other people have had the same idea. At 8am, the queue of cars from the circuit is backed three miles up the M25. The queue of bikes is nearly as bad, but at least it's moving, courtesy of hard shoulders, grass verges and creative use of the oncoming lane.

The constabulary were remarkably good about things – even the one coming the other way on his PanEuropean who ended up stopped nose to nose (on his side of the road) with a hapless and deeply unobservant Suzuki rider.

Half an hour to cover the three miles to the circuit – you could easily spot the 748/916/996 riders in all this – we're the ones riding with right legs stuck straight out to the side in imitation of some bizarre Masonic ritual as the high level exhausts attempt to broil us in our leathers.

Continue reading "World Superbikes, Brands Hatch"

Boring Farts?

Categories: Diary

Got the bike, wobbled around a bit. Now I've got a choice – I can spend time getting myself back into the groove or I can try to short-circuit the whole thing with some training. There's a wide range of choices here – I could go back to Genesis and have them teach me about the mysteries of the clutch lever again; I can go to a track-based school such as the California Superbike School or I can join a club that provides advanced training. I can't be bothered with the first, don't feel ready for the second, so that leaves the club approach. Around us that's the Wey Valley Advanced Motorcyclists.

Now here we have a problem. The WVAM are affiliated to the Institute of Advanced Motorists (IAM) and put a great deal of dedicated effort into training people up to the standard required for the advanced motorcycling test. A very worthy and worthwhile thing to do. And that's the problem – the IAM has a very worthy and very, very boring image – visions of legions of Belstaff and Sam Browne- bedecked old farts with their elderly BMWs nailed to a 68mph maximum.

Continue reading "Boring Farts?"

Goodwood Festival of Speed

Categories: Diary

This is a beautiful part of the world – full of twisty country lanes, forests, great pubs, little fluffy bunny rabbits (ââ?¬Å?Pass me the Purdey, Jeeves, the vermin are on the lawn again!ââ?¬Â�) and dewy-eyed Bambi lookalikes. While each of those contributes in its own way to creating memorable motorcycling experiences (that's 'memorable', not necessarily ''great' – no-one who's just failed to outbrake a bouncing deer at midnight is likely to describe that experience as 'great'), there are a couple of local places that makes it special for anyone with any appreciation of motor-racing history. One is the great banked circuit at Brooklands (remains of) and the other the Goodwood race circuit and hill climb, set in the rolling countryside of West Sussex.

Goodwood was the Classic Gentleman's racing circuit – attached to a stately home, converted in the 1940s from the wartime fighter airfield, and with the paddocks in the stables, it epitomised the immediate post-war racing clan – the sort of upper-class twit element that instantly and irresistably conjures Monty Python and Harry Enfield. After many years of genteel decay, the whole of Goodwood has been now been revitalised, spruced up and brought into the latter days of the twentieth century. It now hosts an annual Festival of Speed, one of the great opportunities to see racing cars and bikes of every era both close to and in action on the hill climb circuit that runs past Goodwood house itself.

Continue reading "Goodwood Festival of Speed"

Getting the Hang

Categories: Diary

Six weeks later and not only have I not fallen off, but have managed to put about 1500 miles on the thing, it's had it's first service and I've more or less worked out the difference between it's capabilities and mine: A lot.
Fuel consumption is startling – I seem to be getting over 50mpg (imperial) out of the thing. I'm obviously not trying hard enough.

I've also had to deal with running the thing in.There seem to be two schools of thought here – to follow the instructions and carefully build revs and load over the first few hundred miles, or to thrash the thing unmercifully from new, presumably so that it gets used to the idea at an early age. The second option seems unecessarily cruel, in the Victorian manner of character-forming abuse, so I've kept strictly to the gentle development of capability. That also suits my engineering upbringing. That said, keeping it below 7000rpm was no great problem, given that 7000rpm in top is well into three-figure speeds and that I was also running in myself as well as the bike.

That first thousand miles has really brought home to me the difference between the old and the new – it's less the greater power of modern bikes, something that should always be amenable to that direct, fear-driven channel from hindbrain to throttle hand, than the advances in handling, brakes, suspension and tyres. That continues to catch me out – every time I think I'm starting to push it, I find the machine simply sneering at me – I've still got a good centimeter or so of "chicken strip" around the edges of the rear tyre. Those'll have to go. And ground clearance is effectively infinite – touch down on one of these and you've probably already fallen off.

I've also hooked up, via the ducati mailing list, with a local group of mainly Ducati owners. Been on one rideout with them, very much as tail-ender, although getting separated and then beating them to Petworth, courtesy of local road knowledge, was amusing. Current theme then is: Still slow, but working on it…

Collection

Categories: Diary

The week's order time turns into a 10 days. Not too bad, but one final decision to make – colour: choice between Ferrari Rosso (in the finest Italian tradition) or luminous yellow. Dithering but veering towards the yellow when Jane spotted a yellow 748 and declared that she wasn't going anywhere, any time, on a flying banana. Red it is then, dear…

So Jane drives me over to Reading and disappears homewards with a trunk full of paddock stand ("No, I don't think I'd like you to follow me home – it would be just too embarrassing"), locks and assorted paperwork, while the very shiny Duke and I face up across the street. It looks lean, mean and very clean. That won't last. I, on the other hand, am overweight, nervous and in a cold sweat. Now for the getting home bit. The fastest route back to Hindhead? Nah, you don't want that – you really want to go cross-country – lots of nice twisty roads. I do? Yeah, sure I do. Heh. Listen carefully to the directions given by the helpful mechanic and wobble off in the indicated direction.

Next thing I discover is that Pegasus' generosity extends as far as about a quarter tank of fuel. Nice move guys. I spot a nearby filling station and spend an inordinate amount of time making sure I'm not parked on the downhill slope of the forecourt and checking that I'm not about to become a victim of the notorious Ducati spring-loaded sidestand spares revenue scam. Fill 'er up, spend a few minutes trying to disarm the immobiliser, and head for the open road. Two roundabouts and three junctions later, I am of course lost. Another two circuits of the same roundabout doesn't improve the scenery. There is however a sign to the motorway – what the hell, that's a way I know.

Now I'm wearing brand new leathers and a full back protector. Head movement is definitely restricted. This on a bike whose mirrors were designed by Italians whose only priority was to check out their own shades and elbows. This is when I discover that my blind spot is exactly big enough to hide a 40-tonne truck. Makes joining the motorway, ah, interesting. Home is a long time away – 30 miles of pure nervous exhaustion.

Into the village and park up beside the kerb, on with the alarm (I think – something certainly flashed) and stagger indoors for a bucket of tea and some major stretching – zero to centegenarian in forty minutes. Wow. Maybe I should have gone for the ST4. Or a wheelchair. Glass of Sanatogen anyone?

Committed!

Categories: Diary

Two great machines – one fun, practical and approximately sensible; the other fun, impractical and insane. A quick reference to first principles and it's no contest – insanity wins every time. So it's the 748 for me. Now for the fun bit – the dealing.

The 748 lists at £9400, £9750 on the road. A UK-spec parallel (or a parallel fully converted to UK spec) is around £8500 on the road. The very cheapest import I've seen was at £7900. Quite a difference.

Looking at the cheap parallels reveals however that they invariably don't have the headlights and clocks converted to UK spec and that everything is extra. More realistic is to make a comparison with a full-spec. parallel against the official machine.
It's also very much worth remembering in negotiation that it's much easier for a dealer to throw in extras at their marginal cost, resulting in a better deal for you as the punter who pays retail prices. I was after a Spyball Alarm/Immobiliser, Datatag coding, a factory paddock stand (essential on a machine that's only got a sidestand, even if the only maintenance you'll do is lube the chain) and a decent lock. Total retail (including fitting) on that lot was about £650.

Continue reading "Committed!"

Test Rides

Categories: Diary Reviews

Having decided that Pegasus in Reading were to be my chosen victims, time for them to put their money where their mouth was, before I'd do likewise. So it's a quick phone call – "Hi, remember me? - I'm the guy who got lost getting to you last week, turned up 2 minutes before you closed, parked on the pavement and kept you half an hour talking about Ducatis". And rather than simply put the phone down and emigrate, they came back with "sure, and you'd now like a test ride, right? No problem, what would you like to try?"

Back to the sensibility versus desire thing – I'm a returning biker after many years layoff, so surely best to start with something at the sensible and less intimidating end of the range – a Monster? 900 or 750ss? Nah – been there, done that - want a faired bike and my old Pantah had pretty much the same engine in the early eighties. So that leaves the semi-sensible – the ST4 sports tourer and, of course, the insane – those design icons of the hypersports world, the 748 and 916.

Now the ST4 has the 916 engine and the 748 has essentially the same chassis as the 916, so the obvious thing to do was to test ride the ST4 and the 748 and if I liked the engine of one and the chassis of the other, then the answer would be a 916. Easy – Logic 101. But would they do it? "No problem – come along Saturday, and we'll have PDI'd one of each for you to try". Erk - so not only was I going to have to risk making a complete fool of myself in public but was going to have to do so on brand new machines with precisely no miles on their clocks – falling off would be double plus ungood.

Continue reading "Test Rides"

Kitting Out

Categories: Diary

So what did I get? Patience – that too will be answered. First off, time to get some new kit – too much mildew in the helmet (I also have a nasty suspicion about what the cats had been using it for) and a 16-year-old baggy Belstaff isn't really going to cut i t on a leading-edge modern sports bike.

When I were a lad, full leathers were a fetish item, and not something to be worn in public unless you were either Mike Hailwood or Tim Curry. Now they're sensibly de rigeur, along with enough body armour to fulfil all my old Dungeons and Dragons fantasies. Fair enough, who am I to argue?

So the question is, one-piece suit or jacket & trousers? One-piece race suits look very good. If you're racing or doing a lot of track days, they're probably the best protection you can get. They're also expensive and less flexible if (say) you want to wear a winter jacket instead of the top. Suits also, if you're buying off the shelf, assume that you're a certain shape. That's where it all went pear-shaped for me, particularly with the fine Italian stuff – Dainese and Spyke – that I liked – if I found a suit that fitted across the shoulders, I had room in the trousers for a small marching band (but let's not follow that train of thought. Really). If it fitted in the leg & waist, I found I was doing a passable impression of Charles Laughton at his finest. I didn't have time to think about getting a suit made, so went for the mix'n'match jacket & trousers.

Continue reading "Kitting Out"

Parallels and Prats

Categories: Diary

This is where we go back to square one –  one reason for buying a bike now, rather than at any other time in recent years. Easy one – they're cheaper now than they've probably ever been. So why's this, when nearly everything else in the UK is a gross rip-off? Dedication to the cause and enlightened self interest by the manufacturers and importers? Do me a favour – it's all down to dear old Adam Smith, as interpreted by the EU.

After years of UK market prices being fixed by manufacturer's cartels, the EU single market has now made it illegal for manufacturers to stop people buying the vehicle of their choice in any EU country. That of course hasn't stopped them trying to get out of it – just ask Volkswagen what their recent a href="http://europe.eu.int/eur-lex/en/lif/dat/1998/en_398D0273.html">100M+ Euro fine was for. In the case of the UK, they usually use the need to supply a right-hand drive car as the reason for either not supplying or delaying the supply of a car. That barrier of course doesn't apply to motorcycles – they are easily transportable and, most importantly, there's no major conversion (lights and speedos only) required to suit them for the UK.

Given that motorcycle manufacturers and importers continued to hold their UK retail prices at 30-40% higher than the mainland, the last few years have seen an enormous rise in the number of independent dealers supplying parallel imports. Other than minor spec differences, including the Euro-voluntary 100bhp restriction, these machines are pretty much identical to an officially imported model, only way cheaper.

The upshot of course is that, with their market under increasing pressure, the major importers and manufacturers all cut their list prices dramatically in late 1998 or thereabouts. Since then, the sticker 'premium' for an official machine has shrunk to perhaps 15%. As I've found however, that's only the start of the story – everything is up for negotiation.

So what's missing if you go parallel? Depends on who you go to – there are parallel dealers who appear out of a backyard, bring in few bikes in crates, dump them on naive or greedy punters and vanish back into the mire whence they came. There are also parallel importers who care about service. Most manufacturers won't honour pan-European warranties on machines bought in countries other than where they were originally supplied, so parallel warranties are usually provided by insurance policies, which don't always offer the same level of cov