king tubby and valve amplifier's, back in the day before computers, phasing and overdubs, genius.

geoff duke, superstylin' on the gilera, cucumber coolness.

 sunday, raining, that steady drizzle, that soaks you through, i set off on the beemer, mallory park. british historic racing, manx norton's, scooters, matchy's and ducati's, the j.a.p engined morgan's were awesome, i watched from the 'bustop' chicane, the sidecar outfits hitting the rumble strip and flicking the outfit's onto two wheel's, the noise, the smell, castrol 'r' and methanol, the sun broke through and i get a dry ride home, happy day's....

cloudy, but warm, threat of rain as me and dangerous set off to mallory park for the british historic racing, we pull into the carpark 60 miles later, it's not exactly a hive of activity, it wouldn't be, we are a day too early, should have checked rather than relying on the 'old bike mart' wallchart stuck on the wall above the lathe, there's a trackday on so we decide to check that out, the red flag goes out and some poor soul passes us in the ambulance heading to the leicester royal infirmary, back to the cafe then for a brew and a toasted cheese and onion butty, we sit outside in the milky sunshine, replete, we head down for a nosy around the paddock, bloody hell, some of these boy's have got more tackle than the average british superbike racers, genny's, motorhome, tyre warmers, snap-on tool chests and laptops everywhere downloading data, racks of spare tyres in different compounds, serious stuff, not my scene though and i wonder what mike hailwood, perhaps the greatest racer ever would have thought about it, i stop to have a look at the bronze statue at the entrance gate to the 'park and i can see that mike 'the bike' thinks the same as me......... we leave before a wheel is turned in anger, down the a5 to lutterworth and across to market harborough, we get a good run along the b644 to uppingham and call in at our usual sopping point, the harley/ducati dealership, another brew and we are trying not to laugh as a punter is getting a valuation on his triumph streetriple, an immaculate 2009 bike and his daughter's similar honda hornet type thing, he want's to trade them both plus cash for a year old harley, [why?], the salesman look's him square in the eye and offer's him three and a half grand for both machines, the bloke look's like he's just been kicked in the bollock's, i would have just head-butted him if he had insulted me like that but the bloke thank's him, shakes his hand and say's he will have to think about it, i bet he goes back tomorrow and fall's for it, meanwhile, i'm happy riding my new acquisition, my thirty year old beemer, yeah it rattles, yeah it's tatty and yeah i've realised you don't need to spend big money to have a good time on a motorcycle.

so, week to the day, i'm the owner of another bmw boxer, this one was a third of the price that the tosser tried to charge me for my old bike that he'd neglected for the past twelve year's, i did my homework, i'd never considered an r65, barse had one back in the day, 45 bhp, but what planted a seed in my head was the fact that it had a considerable shorter wheelbase than my old r80, the motor is narrower, so shouldn't be any ground clearance problems and the final straw was a phone call to jim cray the bmw race tuner, he confirmed my research, we can build a 750cc oversquare engine, 40mm delorto pumper's and putting out around 80bhp at the back wheel, i start to get excited, e-mither to the eligibility officer at the crmc, gordon russell confirms i can go ahead with the build, my class will be post-classic 750cc, right, let's try and find one, there's three for sale, one is a total resto job up for £4000, the other two are honest, needing work, bike's, i'm delighted to find my donor 8 miles up the road at alfreton, i test ride it wedneday night, 35 mile run, taxed until november, mot until may next year, dealer serviced in june, the bike has had one careful owner, [and fifteen people who really couldn't give a fuck] i knock him down £200 quid, he accept's , we shake, deal done, good point's?, low mileage, [62,000 miles], two brand new tyres, starts, stop's, [even though the brake hoses are more spongy than spongebob squarepant's], bad point's?, 16 previous owners!, carb's need sorting, the fairing wobbles about and there isn't a panel on it that isn't shagged, i called round for dangerous on stu's sv650, it's the on;y bike in our lot that has a pillion seat, short blast up to alfreton to pick the beemer up, i can hear dangerous snorting his derision as i try to start the bike, fuck me, i forgot how heavy these bloody thing's are, fill up with petrol and out into the peak, i forgot how these boxer engines thrive on rev's, i'm caning it like a two-stroke, ten minutes later and we are road racing, i promised myself i wouldn't do this again after last year but, well, there's just something about the beemer's that suit's my, [non], style, 50 miles later we are back at the shed, dangerous is amazed at how the beemer performed against the sv, i start the bike to ride it into the shed, turn on the single fuel tap and it dumps unleaded all over my right boot, 'it's ok youth, they all do that...........'

                                      mick grant, [honda f1] and graeme crosby [moriwaki kawasaki], scarborough, 1979, check out the tree's with no straw bales or protection of any kind around them, the spectators, standing at the side of the track and the lack of run off, it's the only road race in england, not been for many year's and i really must get my finger out and go again, planning a trip to Ireland too, Ed and Stuka, stand by, the narrowback's are coming!

dickie dale, 1957.

1964 harley davidson xlch, oh yeah.

harley davidson, 1964, crtt, re-badged as a harley, but in essence a 250cc aermacchi single, love it, said it before i know, but why do harley choose to ignore the sporting side of their heritage? , instead they choose to save the 'heritage' name for the obese big twin's, i just don't get it....

4am, phone ring's, we've been done at work, the scummer's have cut the fence at the back of the unit, smashed the security lights and smashed a hole through the wall with sledgehammers, very clever, bank holiday, the place is a right fucking mess, i try to get back to sleep, no chance, my head is buzzing, i'm thinking about the break-in, i'm thinking about the twat who turned up at my house with my old bike, neglected and wrecked, i toss and turn for an hour and get up, mash a brew, slice of toast and shout the dog's, they stretch and yawn and look at me like i'm mad, out into the early morning drizzle, grey and cold, a brief rainbow as the low early autumn sun catches the rainfall over the chevin, the sun is soon blanked out by the cloud, i walk for miles....

well, there you go, the day after i sold my mz racer i got a text off the bloke i sold my bmw cafe racer to asking me if i wanted to buy it back, what's all that about?, twelve long year's gone, all of a sudden my mind turns to converting it to a racer to race in the crmc series, i dropped a couple of e-mither's off regarding eligibility and was pleasantly suprised to find out that i could race in the post classic class with the bike, yes, i was interested, i texted the bloke, he didn't reply, when i sold the bike i received a letter off him wanting all the details about the bike, i sent him chapter and verse about the bike plus loads of photocopies of stuff i had picked up over the years, didn't get a reply, not even a text to say thank you, oh well, that's just how some people roll i suppose, i send him an e-mither and a couple of text's regarding buying the bike, nothing, i forget about it, then, out of the blue an e-mail tuesday, he's back in the uk this weekend, [he lives in france], he promises to send me some photo's of the bike in it's current 'state', nothing, i receive another 'mail, he's on his way and 'forgotten' the log book and documents, he turn's up tonight at 2000hrs, it's getting dark as we unload the bike from his van, i wheel it across the road into the light of my shed, my heart sinks, the tank has a hole the size of someones fist in the rear edge, the right-hand clip-on is snapped off and hanging by the brake lines/throttle cable, the front brakes are inoperative, the battery dead, the front tyre flat and squelching off the rim, the pipes red rust, the whole bike has the air of barn-find negligence, on closer inspection the fork seals are shagged, the stanchions pitted and beyond use, i turn on the fuel-taps and i'm greeted with the steady stream of old octane free petrol leaking out onto the floor, the mettise seat unit is loose on it's mounting's the seat cover ripped open to expose the padding underneath, he think's the sale is in the bag, he wants £2750 cash, i try to explain that this isn't the bike i sold to him all those years ago for a thousand pound's less than what he's asking me, [the bike i sold was immaculate, mot'd and taxed, ready to ride], he's adamant that he won't budge on his inflated valuation, i really try to be polite and tell him he's deluded, 'i can get three grand all day long on e-bay mate', i'm gutted, he's left my bike in a fucking barn in france to rot and then tried to work it back into me for old times sake, i'm biting my tongue, still trying to be polite, 'will you take a bid on it?' a quick estimate and i reckon around another grand on top just to get it roadworthy, 'listen, like i said, i can get three grand all day long on e-bay, you've wasted my time driving here, i'm not taking a bid, do you fucking want it or not!' i help him load it back into his van and give him directions back toward's the motorway, the final straw is when he demand's fifty quid for diesel..........'to draw philosophical guidance from the code of bushido, we must refine our mind to the point where we can embrace the mentality of non-violence and never let ourselves be drawn into the adrenal rush that is associated with any form of physical domination or competition. the spiritual warrior walks away from confrontation before embracing it. his honour is based in the understanding that physical confrontation is never a neccessity, only a choice'