AA: Absolutely Abominable

March 08, 2011

I had to curtail a ride today due to a nail in my front tyre - with it going from 36psi to 10psi in 3 miles, I wasn't going to get thirty miles home unaided. Called the AA (via Ducati Assistance) from Springkerse. Three hours later they turned up, with a truck with a comedy bike attachment that hung off a piece of wire and looked like one of the ore carts that Indiana Jones used to get chased through mines in. Rather less comedy when the guy was fiddling around with the securing straps and the bike promptly tipped sideways out of the device and onto the ground. Result: mirror; bar end; hand guard, pillion peg/hanger, pannier mount and, best of all, gouging one of Marchesini's finest forged alloy wheels on the way. Just as well I wasn't wearing my shiny new Observer's jacket at that point - I would have brought the IAM into serious disrepute.

0/10 also to J K motorcycles in Stirling for being "too busy" to help, despite my being 400 metres from them. 10/10 though to Strathearn Tyres in Crieff, who stayed open until I finally turned up then fixed the problem promptly and efficiently - they even managed to have a spare Diablo Rosso Corse on standby in case the nail had caused internal damage to the tyre. And a big fat kick in a very sensitive place to the bloody AA, who were, in timing, design and execution, culpably useless.

Humberbug

March 29, 2010

Firstly, a disclaimer: I don't live in Humberside. Now that's neither for nor against the place, simply a statement of elsewhereness. But hold that thought while I digress. I'm also a considerable fan of road safety, having desire to neither kill nor be killed on the public roads. But - and this is a big one - I'm like most of us, in that the more threatening and authoritarian the message, the more likely I am to start taking the piss. That's not big and not clever, but is pretty basic psychology – engage with me and I'll listen, behave like a fascist and I'll start fomenting revolution.

Where I now live, things seem to be generally sensible: no fixed cameras, strong enforcement of urban limits and a high days-and-holidays police presence at biker gathering spots like the Green Welly, where they're promoting Bikesafe courses and wandering around mumbling slightly abashed comments like, "Take care out there lads...". Several plain clothes plodmobiles (cars and bikes) tend to be out and about at similar times, but I've seen relatively little bad behaviour or general numptiness by the local Police.

Go for a long ride though and, as you pass from force to force, you'll see a wide variety of approaches: from the engagement-driven attitude of places like Durham and North Yorkshire (both of which have amongst the best safety trends in the country) to the outright hostility and bullying control freak mentality of places like North Wales and Northamptonshire. When I ride into the latter County, with its huge "You ARE Being Watched" signs everywhere, I am seized with a near uncontrollable desire to behave in a manner outrageous, illegal and undignified (not necessarily in that order). On the same ride, I'll then cross into Buckinghamshire and find signs along the nicer roads that tell me what the accident rate for that road is for a given period. Thanks, you've treated me like an adult, given me information and I'll act on it. All is then peace and light.

Safety Last

December 08, 2006

My mother doesn't change her car very often: her last change was in 1991, from a thirteen-year-old Fiat 128 to her still-current, Zen-basic, 1-litre Peugeot 205. So basic in fact, that it doesn't even possess a clock, let alone advanced toys like a radio. The upside of this is that it represents motoring at its most focussed and basic, with nothing to distract you from the act of driving – and with such skinny tyres, you can have huge fun at very low and genuinely legal speeds. The late James Hunt used to drive an old Austin A30 van for exactly the same reasons. The Pug also possesses supremely good all-round visibility from narrow pillars and a low waistline. Its absolutely direct handling is a delight and the only downside is its criminally heavy steering, making three-point turns an exercise in forearm-pumping and giving my mother a seriously dangerous left hook. That little Peugeot is now fifteen years old and, despite its only having 25,000 miles on the clock, is starting to show signs of incipient decreptitude.