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

Sunday, 29 November 2015

beaky blinder [aka the ktm 690 supermoto project]









the last thing i need at the moment is another project, i'm into the 'not a ducati tt replica' project but, after the trip to cadwell park to watch the last british supermoto championship round i've had an itch that needs scratching. idly flicking through ebay see's a suitable 'donor' bike, i try to ignore it but i keep watching it, no bid's, i leave it another day, crack and message the owner, we have a chat, drop him a well cheeky offer and thats how we end up going up to bridlington to pick up another fucking bike. there's nothing as sad as an english seaside town in winter. deal done and bike loaded on chalky's trailer and we are off in search of a traditional fish and chip dinner. all thoughts of dining alfresco soon disappears. it's bloody freezing. the north sea is a dirty, yellow colour, no laughing children building sandcastles today, barking dogs chasing frisbee's or pensioners dripping ice cream down their sunday best. just a bone chilling wind and angry, white-topped rollers smashing onto the beach. we find a cafe and much to the amusement of my two comprades, dangerous and chalky, the lady asks if we want three 'pensioners specials' haddock, [skinned and boned] chips and a pot of tea, four pounds and ninety five pence only. i'm about to protest and chalky gives my shin a sharp boot under the table, i shut up. 'save you three quid youth, keep 'yer gob shut!' the food is great, thick, white, fresh haddock and proper thick cut chips, strong tea in a mug, perfect, i feel the warmth flooding back into my old bones. walking back to pick up the car and trailer and i have a feeling of sadness, i used to come here with my mum and dad for a day out, back then it seemed like utopia, full of fun and the promise of good times, today, on this freezing, overcast, rainy november afternoon it just seems a forgotten town, the feeling of melancholy is overwhelming. as i check the tie-downs on the trailer two blokes, cans of special brew in hand compliment me on the bike. they aren't bikers. they no nothing about motorcycles. they ask the 'usual' questions about the bike that non-motorcyclists ask, 'how fast' 'how much is it worth' 'my dad had a bike like that' one of the men is, i reckon, in his late thirties, the other, ages with me, the older man has missing teeth and the yellow pallor of alcohol abuse, the younger lad is wearing only a t-shirt, the alcohol numbing his sense of feeling to the conditions. we talk. they are both from teeside, neither working, the strong north yorkshire accent along with their slurring is hard to follow as the wind whips away the conversation. 'if we had seen the bike on the trailer we'd have had her away, funded 'us beer fo' a week would that!' 'yeah and when i saw you pinching it i'd have kicked both your arses!' they are happy drunks and we shake hands, they are laughing. high on the alcohol and what ever other stimulants they have necked to relieve the monotony of their situation. back home and bike unloaded in heavy rain, a couple of tyskie's and start to swap the salt corroded fasteners for some fresh stainless from the stock cupboard. making lists. two new tyres and some rear brake pads a must. and then there's the hideous exhausts..........

Friday, 13 November 2015

not a ducati tt replica.




i really need help me. i've had sleepless nights after last weekends trip to cadwell park for the british supermoto finale, every day scouring the interweb for a potential victim, sorry i mean 'donor' bike. insomnia, a heavy dose of man-flu and copious amounts of alcohol and cold and flu remedies not helping the cause. only due to the timely intervention of my beloved mrs b, the scottish bint, saves me from sending a load of money to an anonymous eastern european scammer, like the man said, if it's too good to be true then it probably is, oh and a wasted trip to a well known motorcycle dealer to buy a bike. it's half past five on a november afternoon, they shut at six, i've got five hundred notes burning a hole in my arse pocket ready to put down on a bike as a deposit, there are at a rough guess? three hundred machines in the showroom. i reckon theres ten staff, milling around, clock watching and waiting to shut up shop and the only customers are me, dangerous and chalky, i ask them to knock a hundred quid off  the bike, [that needs a pair of new tyres, the ones on the bike are shagged, used for commuting and squared off],  not a fucking chance! really? i'm stunned, i can't see anyone queueing up to buy a bike here! it's november, it's dark, cold and very, very wet, the bike i'm looking at is covered with a light covering of dust and grease, it's been here a while, can they really afford to turn down my offer? well, yes, apparently they can. it's all kidology when you buy a bike, but, to say i was stunned, squeeze me? baking powder? fuck 'em. i stropped off like russell brand, [well, a fat, late-fifty year old russell brand, with no hair, no beard, no skinny fit jeans and a better understanding of politics than aforesaid rich tosser courting the corbynister's....] anyway, back to reality. there are good people out there. spike at ragged edge racing is up there with the best, quick phone call to ask if he can make me a ducati tt f1 top fairing, [not going to hide that lovely engine] and a tt f2 seat unit, both in 'road' weight fibreglass [i'm running 'peaky' primarily as a trackday tool, but, i want to stick a 'daytime' mot on it so i can run some cheeky miles on the road and don't want flimsy, race weight stuff.] spike isn't fazed, doesn't even ask me for a deposit, just emails me to let me know it's ready, a true craftsman. the fairing, screen and seat turn up three weeks later, to say i'm stunned with them is an underestimate, perfect shape, weight and finish, spike seems suprised when i ask what i need to do to paint them, 'just wash them down with some soapy water, dry and your good to go' please, support the true independents, not some tossers trying to sell you merchandise under the banner of a trendy magazine / blogspot / 'lifestyle' show, www.raggededgeracing.com

Saturday, 7 November 2015

menthol.







day out with dangerous and chalky last weekend, up to hull to drop off 'peaky' at chads for some work. stupidly mild for this time of year, we hit the humber bridge, dodging the scooterists on their way home from their last rally of the year, [we are not worthy, we 'need' an 'adventure' bike / tourer / bagger / blah, blah to even consider a ride over a hundred miles, yet, these lads and lasses think nothing of travelling five hundred plus miles in a weekend on a 200cc two-stroke, respect due, done it myself, the bikers big event, the farmyard party at helmsley, fell off on the wet grass outside the beer tent at fuck this o'clock, sunday morning much to the hilarity of the assembled party animals still drinking from the night before, bike never even stalled, just lay there ticking over, they picked me up and clapped me away, just a great moment. i had one of my sporsters at the time but me being me, i kicked against the jams and bought a couple of vespa scooters, my ride to work px 200 disc and a project, [wow, that's a suprise] it ended up a  matt black, tuned to buggery, scootershop race seat special to fuck about on, loved the reaction when i turned up at rally's / runs /demo's on it, nothing to prove i guess, been there, done that] any-fucking-way, back to the plot, i checked out that the british supermoto's were having their final meeting at my beloved cadwell park, thirty miles away,[not from my house, from where i dropped off 'peaky', keep up with the plot!] no contest. chalky blags us in for gratis, [we have an empty trailer on the back of the motor, 'just picking a bike up, not bothered about watching the racing mate....'] cheeky fucker! just brilliant. oh my, my knee's are going wobbly, fucking hell, these boys are on it! massive grids, foot down, slick shod, motocross bikes, fighting tooth and nail for positions, what's not to like about it, i'm transfixed, i forget to take photo's, it's cheap to race, cheap to buy a competitive machine, friendly and just looks like great fun, as we make our way home and the sun sets i'm already doing the sums.......................