another perfectly good motorcycle ruined.......

Sunday, 29 September 2013

it's great when you're straight.....yeah

it's a lovely autumn day in dear, old derbyshire, i have P.M.T, [post match tension, beaten yesterday by our local hated rivals. the red-dog forest bastards, in an ill-tempered local derby game that saw us down to ten men, our keeper save a penalty and the filth squeeze a goal against the run of play to secure the east midland bragging rights, our manager got sacked too, although i think he had taken us as far as he could have and i don't think he was the right man for the job, even though he was the son of old big 'ead, they shouldn't have done it on the day we got beat by the scum, my phone hasn't stopped ringing for the past day, the bastards giving it me, both barrel's, even the banjo playing extra from 'deliverance' or 'merv' the three fingered, sister- bothering, leicester bastard jumping on the bandwagon, chuckling like kim and aggie over a clean toilet bowl at our dismal run] only one thing to do, fire up the ducati and head off into outlaw country, over the border on a mission to disrupt the nott's bastards in their own back-yard, stealth like, [on a fucking bright red, carbon-piped, dry-clutched italian missile, note to self 'it's not very stealth-like daft lad'] on my way and i stop for fuel, a couple of rice rockets pull out at the same time and i can see matey boy giving it the 'wanker' sign to his mate as i glance in my mirror, it's a thirty limit and 'mr alpine stars' is revving the nuts off his japper and almost hiting me up the rear trying to goad me into biting, i resist, two cars in front, they pass me and the two cars, over a blind rise, double whites, road straightens and the old bill is standing in the middle of the road and pointing to the side of the road, i point at my chest and the copper just shakes his head and waves me through, who's the wanker now monkey boy?, 30 is 30, kids, old people, dangerous junctions, it's 30 for a reason, don't get me wrong, five minutes later, out past the 30 limit and i'm on it, not ridden these roads for a good few years, should have done, traffic is light, road surface good and a perfect day to ride, not too hot, fly's and airborne insects almost non-existent, out into sherwood forest, robin hood's own hunting ground, but, like mel brookes said, 'men in tight's?' down through the avenues of tree's, the autumn sunlight  is low and strong, shifting shadows, wind-blown leaves falling from the desidious tree's peppering my visor, the odd 'pop' as a horse chesnut or acorn says 'hello' as it falls from the gently swaying branches, out towards newark, cut back towards southall and back past the massive wind farm turbines on what 'cornerspeed's' nelly refers to as 'the test road' a flat out, rollercoaster of a road, no matter how fast you ride it, it leaves you thinking you should have gone faster, yeah, nottinghamshire, nice women, good roads, wank football team, guess you can't have it all, [unless you live in derbyshire.......]

Saturday, 28 September 2013

days that used to be......

so, after being bombarded with 'mails about the sporty, mostly by total fucking idiots, offering to buy it off me for three-pence ha'penny, [tell you what brotherman, i'm that desperate to get rid of it, i'll pay you to take it off my hand's, in fact, give me your address and i'll deliver it for free, pay for a new paint job and stick twelve months tax on it too, emulsion your front room, do your garden, feed the dogs, re-tile your bathroom, tax your car, put a load of washing in, lag your roofspace pay for your next holiday and i'll throw in my car too seeing as you are doing me such a fucking favour, thank you, thank you, no, thank you from the bottom of my heart ], seriously, it was a result to receive a couple of messages from genuine people, [you know who you are, thank you] who actually appreciated the time, coin, effort, hardwork and love put into this bike, after all my ranting and raving, the sporty has a new owner, [and it's a bloke who i know and is a regular at our local bike-night too] so, i made a two hundred mile round-trip to look at my new bike, money burning a hole in my pocket, a mid seventies, meriden, triumph bonneville, and.... it's a crock of shit, they say the camera never lies, well it fucking does, i'm seething, what a fucking pile of dog do-do's, it's a fifteen hundred quid, total re-build project at best, i resist the urge to spark out the time waster and head off to maccee-dee's for a java, 'mate, mate, mate, i'm open to offer's'.... 'yeah, well i've got an offer for you, shut the fuck up if you want to kep those teeth you c....' refreshed and me and dangerous head down to sheffield to check out a ducati superlight that he's been lusting after, ducati, yamaha and suzuki main dealer, same again, great photo's, reality? total wank, be honest people, saves a lot of time and heartache, another pile of shite, 'patina' doesn't mean total neglect, rust or worn out, patina is genuine............

Friday, 27 September 2013

good times for a change, see, the luck i've had can make a good man turn bad.......


 so, cruising the delights of ebay and i spot a low mileage triumph bonneville, 1977, t140, very nice, i want it, i need to offload a bike to fund it but which one? the ducati?, nah, big, aircooled twin, carbs, mile-muncher, 80 honest italian horses, 135mph and great handling, this one's a keeper, the boxer race bike?, nah, i know it's a money pit and my man has let me down badly but, it's nearly there, just ordered a pair of thirty-eight mill dell 'orto pumpers to finish off the job in a proper style, just need's dynoing to set it up and i'm good to go next year, right, that's it, the sporty has to go, i put it up on e-bay, i get the usual chancer's, wankers and dreamers and spend the rest of the week sending e-mails, answering inane, boring, question's, trying to be polite to fucking toss-pots who don't realise the coin and effort that have been put into my bike, i set a ridiculously low reserve and get a hundred and one emails  asking me to contact whoever because they want to buy it for two and six, you know what? go and fuck yourself's, i'd rather set fire to it and ride it into the armco,it's not for sale now, i'll rack it up, re-cycle it and re-invent it, 'what was your reserve?' phhhwarh, read my lip's, fuck right off..........




Thursday, 26 September 2013

northern soul

northern soul, where do i start, elaine constantine's new book and film are out very soon so it's back in the news, programme on bbc2 last night, radio coverage on my favourite station, radio six today, as usual with anything deemed slightly warmer than a greggs pasty, [ie, 'cool'] the programme was pretty good actually after all, the radio 'peoples playlist'? nah, i'm sorry didn't work for this old soul boy i'm afraid, they trotted out all the 'usual suspects', bar probably the best soul record ever, the heart-stopping 'she'll come running back to me....' by mell britt, i admit it, i was gone, crying like a baby, big, fat tears rolling down my big fat face, much to the delight of my workmates, i tried to say what it means to me but just sobbed instead, anyhoo, enough of that, here's a documentry from back in the day which sums up the rare soul scene in the seventies, watching it now makes me realise how grim it actually was back then, hard times, the best times of my life...........

Sunday, 22 September 2013

unlucky for some......

 well, there you go, me and dangerous were sitting in the shed this afternoon, i'd been out on the ducati, dangerous on the bonneville, a beautiful early autumn afternoon, i really should have been doing my chores, i've got car's to clean, grass to cut and the garden to sort, my fence and gates need creosoting and the shed need's sorting, nevermind the hundred and one other little job's that i never get around to, dangerous had been out to see his sister and i just hopped on the duc and guess what? yep, i passed him going in the opposite direction, [i waved, he ignored me because i was on a sportsbike, fucking snob] just goes to show, man really is a creature of habit, of all the roads in derbyshire, no, england, no, great britain, no europe, no the planet earth,  we end up passing each other! anyhoo, back in the shed, a cold peroni in hand and dangerous say's it, [strange, i've been thinking it all afternoon] 'you know tosspot, it's nearly a year since you raced the beemer' yeah, he's right, almost a year to the day and my bikes still down in kent, i'd better chase that one up i reckon............................

Saturday, 21 September 2013

Friday, 20 September 2013

astronomy domine

post shift, post chore's, post dog walk and post some stickers off to jan, i set off on the ducati for a ride, it's 17.30hrs and i need some fuel, [dangerous has been caning the duc all week while i've been keeping the country running and the tank is almost empty] full tank and i'm slipping the clutch and trying to keep the bike running, it's on half-choke and coughing and weezing like a smoker with a forty a day habit, the traffic is heavier than i thought for this time on a friday, perhaps people actually work beyond my 1400hrs knock-off time after-all? i'm keeping a cautious eye on the temperature gauge, allowing the big old air-cooled lump to warm up properly, up past the 'hanging gate' at shottle, through the lovely sweepers dropping down to the 'railway' crossroads, bugger, there's a line of about six cars and at the head is a car towing a caravan, i just resign myself to sitting in line, the road is too narrow to 'filter' to the front of the queue, it's a 30mph limit and there's 'double-whites' down the centre of the road, as we make the climb out of turnditch i'm feathering the throttle and i'm past them in a flick of the wrist, good run into ashbourne, clear roads bar the odd car, despatched easily, the climb out of ashbourne towards leek and i catch more friday night stragglers wending their weary way home, speed cameras here so pick them off one at a time, into leek and turn right and right again and out past the 'roaches', the point where the gritstone of the staffordshire moorlands meet the rolling but white scarred limestone crags of derbyshire, the road is clear at last and i give the ducati it's head, oh my god, this is what it's all about, just clear road in front of me, well surfaced and the glorious views to my left and right, there's no tight, tricky corners on this stretch of road, just very fast sweeping turns, a few abrupt rises see's the front wheel pawing at the air but the ducati is never un-settled, into buxton and i resist the urge to tackle the 'cat and fiddle' and it's 'average speed cameras' and hang a right, bypassing the town centre and turn left onto my 'secret' road, a little 'b' road which god himself must have designed, there's everything here from adverse camber, downhill, suck-you-in-and-spit-you-out-sucker lefties to flip-flop left-right-left-right combo's where the bike is never upright for a second, cow shit strewn blind's and a terrifyingly narrow, between two cottages bit that look's for all the world like you are riding straight into a stone wall before the road widens into a gentle right hander and leaves you wondering what all the fuss was about and before you ask, no, i'm not giving it away, [ever since 'performance bikes' published two of my other favourite roads, there's always a police presence, easy pickings to tax the bike riders and the speed limit has been dropped to fifty emm-pee-aitch] onto the A6, probably one of the finest biking roads in this scepterd isle and again ruined by a combination of the over -zealous police, motorcyclists smashing themselves into the scenery in 'single vehicle accidents' and the sheer amount of traffic using the route, it's best enjoyed late on or early doors, after the climb out of buxton, it's downhill all the way to bakewell, i hit the dual carriageway and there's nothing on it, then i spot the police disco doing a u-iee across the central res, i don't know who's more shocked, me or him, he wave's an apology and i get a great run at the bends, fuck me, i don't think i've ever had these turns to myself before and i'm whooping inside, down into a deserted bakewell, the tourists and ice cream vans long gone, hit a right and past mock-beggars hall, a bit of sport with a mercedes slk who eventually bow's down to the superior power to weght ratio of the duc, [either that or i intimidated him through the combination of the intake noise and the unholy row through the carbon race cans] and he backs off and waves me through, via-gellia, damp under the tree's and getting dark, derbyshires own version of the tt course through laurel bank, anyone who's been to the island will get it, onto the wirksworth road, tractors are ploughing the old crops back into the earth and there's that smell of autumn, light fading fast now and i'm getting cold, lost the feeling in my fingers and toes long since, time to head home........

Tuesday, 17 September 2013

need one.

some big changes coming up here on planet loveless, all will be revealed shortly, meanwhile, here's a beauty, boxer race bike superstylin' [one of the ritmo-sereno machines perhaps?  dunno, anyone know?] c/o jan tomlinson at http://stinkyfive.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1

Sunday, 15 September 2013













last post about the classic tt i promise, but, if you think there's anywhere better to be during the last week of august/the first week in september, let me know........





Saturday, 14 September 2013





digging out the old photo's that my mum took of jeanette and me ready to go to the tt in 1981 really fired me up as i knew i had some photo's of my crashed suzuki's, a gs750 and my pride and joy, my gs1000s 'ice cream van' i really made a mess of the old gs 750, a combination of too much throttle and a damp road saw me binning it in a right royal fashion, i like to think i almost saved it but the broken glass on the speedo is actually from where i head-butted the clocks with my trusty bell star two helmet before it all went sky, screecch, air, sky, pain, the handlebars pinned my left hand against the tank and i hit the kerb amidships, the bike flipping over and barrel rolling into a field ripping the engine out of the frame in the process, [check out the second picture and you can see where it's smashed free from the mounting] in a state of shock i jumped up when i eventually stopped sliding and ran over to the bike to survey the damage, vinny had stopped and turned around and helped me pick the bike up uttering the immortal line, 'fucking hell bailey, where's your jeans!' the force of the impact had actually ripped them off and i was stood at the side of the road just in my grundies and the remains of the waistband and belt around my waist,  after the initial shock had worn off vinny pressed the starter button and the fucking thing only started! home via a lift in vinny's bosses van and thankfully before the old bill turned up, i eventually rebuilt the old girl and sold it to a mate, stevie carr, [r.i.p], who thrashed the living daylights out of it for years afterwards, i can't find any pic's of the damge to my gs 1000, i know i've got some somewhere, but here's a couple to wet your appetite, the very same afternoon before i stuffed it racing vinny on the roads up at foremark reservoir with vinny's brother, karl, on the back, just remember, this was a year old bike, on hire purchase, i was working every hour i could to buy this bike, weekend's, christmas, ghoster's, every fucking shift i could do, check out my marzzochi shocks, remote reservoir, [the eighties equivalent of ohlin's] the alfa four into one exhaust, [the eighties equivalent of an acropovic] and the metmachex alloy swingarm, [the eighties equivalent of a very trick, trick thing, eccentric chain adjuster's? pure factory race item back in the day bro] two bikes smashed in a week, what a fucking tool...............

Friday, 13 September 2013













we tip up at the italian bike owners gig at port st mary around 1900hrs, the temperature has taken a big dip from this afternoon and the threat of rain soon turns into reality with a steady, fine drizzle, the old manx railway station is already packed when we arrive, the streets around are thronging with italian loveliness, sorry for the lack of photo's but my neck was out on stilts scoping the greatness that is italian motorcycles, a line of factory fresh treble-eights, monster's of every shape and capacity, mv's from little one-two-fives to triples, fours and magni's, laverda's? yep, the massive jota's and my own favourite, the montjuic's are all present and correct, itom's? yep, two stroke's represented?, you knows it, gileras, moto-guzzi's and everything else, all here under a dark grey, cold, cloudy sky. ridden not hidden and then, there's the ducati's, not that i'm biased mind, but, well, when the blue 'radical ducati' turned up in a bowel-loosening, deep, air-cooled cacophony, well, let's just say, that was it, only one thing left to do, off to 'the albert' for a pint and my new favourite barmaid telling me where cal crutchlow is going wrong, [cal lives on the isle of man by the way] 'passed him the other morning, he's on a tricked out mountain bike, fully lycred oop and breathing through his arse,  i'm away to fetch the milk and papers on me shopping bike, three-speed, rigid, shouted 'morning cal' he wasn't amused' don't fuck with the locals.........