beezer

walking the dog's the other night, i have to pass through the farmyard, the farmer is a grumpy fucker who doesn't like dog's apparently, i don't give a fuck but tow the line and put one of my two boy's on the lead as we go through the yard, it's his back-yard after all, he's dicking about with a bsa outfit, it's an old bike and i can't resist a pike at it, he doesn't even look up as i ask him about it, local legend's right then, he is a grumpy fucker, short and squat, he look's like he can handle himself, just as i'm getting fucked off with him he lighten's up a little, he is well into his classic bikes, vintage, flat-tank especially, he show's me a set of crankcases off a bsa g26, a thousand cubic centimetre flat tanker from 1926, he's building it up from a pile of bit's, the crankcases are damaged and he's had them welded up, need's them re-finishing so he can bolt them up, i offer to mill them up to remove the surplus weld and make a new, flat bolt surface, never ceases to amaze me that people have stuff like this lying in their shed's, brilliant.....

indian summer

ok, i know, it's not officially an indian summer until after the first frost of the autumn, but, the weather is probably the best we have had all year and after the drenching the brit's have had this year i've decided to make the most of it, been out every night after work this week, only 60-70 miles as the night's are starting to draw in rapido now, i've gone from having a blast down some of my favourite road's, the 515, the via-gellia, round carso reservoir, even the a6, police and relatively traffic free to pootling along single track's, gravel strewn and pock marked by frost and neglect, grass growing through the broken tarmadam, one thing these old track's don't share in common is there longevity, the local council in derbyshire use the hateful 'top dressing' method of re-surfacing the roads here, basically, they pour hot tar on the roads then spray chippings on top, that's it, no rolling or sealing, the traffic does the work for them, pressing the loose chippings into the tarmac and leaving loads more on the road surface, it's like riding on marbles on a bike, you dare not touch your front brake or you would be off, plus there's the added comedy effect of big ruts of loose stone piled up where the flow of traffic doesn't press it into the tar, deep joy and as the council also promote the 'shiny side up' campaign to prevent accident's involving motorcyclists in derbyshire, you would think some bright spark might ask the bloke who sit's in the next office and look's after the re-surfacing work to use a bit of gumption......

motorraderwerke zschopau

i need an mz es 250/2 trophy, no seriously i do, the styling may not be to everyones taste, but i just really like the look of these bikes, the 1968 model was the fastest roadbike in the factories range, punting out a massive 21bhp and capable of propelling you to a heady 70mph, saw this immaculate restoration job on the 'british two-stroke' club stand at stanford on sunday and it re-kindled my interest in these sturdy east german motorcycles, anyone got one lurking in the back of the shed? [wake up squire neil and pay attention!] come on, admit it, you want one too........

miles from nowhere

monday night, all roads lead to miles from nowhere, it's a nice evening, dry, if a little cool, but that's what you expect in early september, jump on the sporty and make the short journey, park up in the big pub yard and look around, it's a very sparse attendance for a late summer/early autumn night, grab a bottle of coke, say hello to ammo and lynda and have a look around the bikes, my old mucker glen, [aka midnight], turns up on his bike, glen isn't your normal harley rider, he's black, [no shit sherlock] he's got dreads, a panhead and a rigid s+s motored shovelhead chop, we catch up and discuss everything from his recent tour of portugal on the chop, the forthcoming dice party this weekend and racing the boxer, a few year's ago we upset some bro's at a rally when glen hijacked the sound's and started playing some old ska tunes, good times indeed, barse turns up on his shovel, more banter and it's time for this princess to skin out as it's starting to get dark and i ain't got no steenkin' light's baby, i have to stop on the way home though, i'm a sucker for sunrises and sunsets me.........

one of those day's in england......

'one of those day's in england' roy harper, great track, had it in my swede all day, i skinned out at midday, it's a cloudy, cool day, threatening rain, but whatever, if i don't get some miles in soon i never will do, it's got a definate autumunal feel in the air, low cloud, that still, quiet, mellowness that you only get as the year starts to fade away,i'm out on the girl's bike, the sportster, make quick work of the inner city ring road and out onto the 'b' roads, through the market garden town of melbourne, out past the old cheshire home, into pegg's green, kirkby mallory, [yep, same one as the famous mallory park] and into hinckley, past the triumph motorcycle works and join the old roman road of the a5, quick blast down to lutterworth and pick up the sign's for stanford hall, the home of the vintage motorcycle club's founder's day rally, pay the sick squid admission, park up grab a brew and wander around the numerous owner's club stands and the massive autojumble, the 'founder's day' is usually in the middle of summer, [what summer?], this year it was rained off and re-booked for this weekend, i bump into sweary mick and chalky, falling out who's going to buy the ice-cream's as usual,three hour's go by and i make a move, working my way through the back lanes of leicestershire towards market harborough, it's raining now, a steady drizzle, not enough to sting your boat or make it unpleasant but wet enough to get the sporty's back wheel spinning up if you open the throttle too hard, into 'harborough and onto god's own road, biking's worst kept secret, the b6047, fuckinell, this is a road, like a rollercoaster, the authorities have seen to reduce the speed limit to 50 poxy miles-per-hour due to the amount of accidents on this stretch of road involving bike riders, easy to get sucked in, the road laugh's at you, you drop into a corner and you could take it ten miles an hour quicker, then it comes and bites you on the arse, you go into a seemingly innocent corner and it tighten's up or drops into an adverse camber, spilling you over the white line, woe betide if there's anything coming in the opposite direction, into melton mowbray, [the home of the pork pie] and i need to fuel up, into the services and get chatting to a bloke on a new blade. i notice his trackday sticker on his fairing and we hit it off straight away, he dig's the sporty and fill's me in with the lc350 yam special that he's built,out out of melton and i'm on it, i used to ride this road everyday, wymeswold, rempstone, my finger's are numb now with the vibration, two-times- six- hundred -and twenty- pistons trying to jump out of the cylinders, my body is shutting down, white finger, personal vibrator set to stun, 220 miles in and another 50 to go, my leather's are greasy, oiled from the spit back from the carb,the sun's getting low in the sky but it's a lovely evening, i don't want to stop riding, it's one of those day's in england.........

iPad trial post

technology, frightening, jess and me, trying to work out the iPad, it's the devil's work..........

Location: right here, right now

boxer racer project

application's in for cadwell park, just doing the saturday due to serious lack of fund's and the fact that i have to save some money for the race motor, be good experience though, cadwell's my favourite cicuit, the meeting's the last one of the year, last weekend in september, if you want to come along and have a laugh at how slow i am you are welcome, the kettles never cold and i'm taking dark chocolate digestive's with me.....

barrington levy

tried to post this last night but for some reason, [probably the fact that i'd wrapped myself around the best part of two bottles of merlot], this morning it had disappeared, oh well, let's try again, back in the day, the young loveless did a fair impression of 'sponge bob square pant's' everything was fresh and new, i soaked up popular culture, from sweaty punk rock gig's, northern soul's elitist, vinyl led, rare soul charge, [the original all-night, dancing, amphetamine head-rush, tunes to move you to tear's with the sheer emotion ] and then there was reggae, my first introduction was at school, the end of the skinhead era, before skinhead took on a more sinister angle, listening to my black mates dad's ska and rocksteady vinyl, then, waiting for the band's to come on the dj's dropping heavy dub  track's, this led to, in our town, i don't know about your's, a real culture clash, attending the dances at the west indian clubs, big soundclashes where the bass could give you a nose-bleed and even make you lose control of your bowel's, the legendary mark hancock blues party's on porter road, wednesday night's, yep, wednesday night's, how the fuck i made it to work thursday morning i don't know!

big bass speaker's,made out of chipboard, speaker leads taped to the floor with silver duct tape, white boy's, drinking red stripe and smoking herbal cigarettes, sound-systems and sticky carpet's, big dread's and that cafe on normanton road where we all used to congregate after hour's, post-punk rock, natty dread and punky reggae party, good tunes, good times, whatever happened to the youth?, they all look the same to me, there's no-such thing as 'youth-culture' now, [not that i consider myself a youth at the grand old age of 53] but really?  everyone wearing those baby-sick coloured, gathered ankle, low slung trouser's, no sock's and shit, no-name slip-on pumps?, they all look like they should be an extra in wham's club tropicana video, whatever happened to 'fuck-you', whatever happened to kicking against the jam's? whatever happened to youth culture and rebelling........ here's a tune by barrington levy.......

i buy too many book's me....

i buy too many book's me, i've been saving up my bonus from last year to put toward's a couple of air-fares for me and mr's b, the bonus isn't cash, it's a downloadable card, redeemable at 'selected outlet's', the airfare option went out of the window because the 'preferred supplier' was trying to have my pant's down, [in other word's, pay cash-get twice the value as opposed to using the 'redeemable card'] mr's b has been coveting one of the apple i-pad's, so i took the plunge and got her one, [and, i must admit, i'm embarassed, i got one too, well, what would you do?, i've got this card burning a hole in my arse pocket, it's got to be redeemed by the end of the month otherwise i lose it], like i've said in the past, i'm a fucking luddite me, i don't embrace technology easily, i've only had one fuel injected bike, one mono-shock bike in my life and that was my ducati, i've never owned a water-cooled bike, never, ever, total caveman approach i know, but, give me point's, a carb and inner-tubes, spoked wheels and anything you don't have to plug-in, download, up-load, something you can use a spanner on, a feeler gauge and i'm a happy bunny, happier than a bunny on acid, anyhoo, back to the plot, i-pad's, amazing, but you can't blog on them, what?, yep, you have to buy an 'app', [what the fuck's an app?, that's what i have at work after i've eaten my dinner, pull my cap down, 'don't talk to me, i'm having an app....'] these are some old-school book's i've scored recently, proper, printed on something called 'paper'..........

ryan

one of my favourite road racers, ryan farquhar, has decided to retire from the sport following the tragic death of his uncle, trevor ferguson, in wednesday's manx supertwins race, it's a brave decision for ryan to take, one of ireland's most succesful racers ever, with 44 tt, manx gp and southern 100 wins and numerous irish road race win's under his belt he has nothing left to prove to anyone, respect due ryan.........

the dangerous bonneville

the dangerous bonneville is causing some serious head scratching at the moment, it starts a dream, you couldn't even call it 'kicking it up' flood the twin wassell carbs, [replica amals, brand new and less than ninety quid a throw, they really are a bargain, look just like the amals and are beautifully machined inside, not like the shit spanish 'amals' we run on the boxer race bike], ignition on, whiff of throttle and just press the kickstart lever and she starts straight away, runs great up to 50mph and then? nothing, wouldn't pull the skin off a rice pudding, dangerous is at his wit's end with it, timings spot on, new plugs, [two different sets] new ht leads, boyer brandsen ignition and new coils, even paul, electrickery's answer to harry potter is baffled, anyone got any ideas? must admit though, it was nice sitting in the late evening sunshine trying to figure it out.....