festival of a 1000 bikes 2013 part three

viewer discretion may be required for the following post, this post contains adult theme and profanity from the outset, thank you, 'what's up with this twat! does he think he's the only fucker trying to unload his fucking van or what?' 'calm down dangerous, he's only trying to get his bike out of his van, there's plenty of time yet, it's only half past seven, get the kettle on and let's have a brew' 'the blokes a cu..' 'dangerous, everybody's just trying to get their bikes out and sorted' ,yeah, but scrutineering's open, i haven't signed on yet and i'm out at 1100hrs and and and i need a shit, and i need a shit now!' he disappears for his evacuation and i unstrap the bikes and wheel them out of the van, onto their stands, fetch water, stove lit and kettle on and i must admit to a little sly chuckle, i've been here for the past four year's and know how it roll's, i've seen it from the rider's perspective and it's amazing , the crowds are five deep at the fences and to actually take part is truly humbling, no wonder dangerous is feeling the pressure, he return's ashen-faced, i give him a brew and he's twitching, 'shouldn't we be signing on now, i don't want to miss it' tea drunk and we sign on, 'just sign the indemnity to confirm you are riding the bike you have booked in' oh fuck, i get that sick feeling in my stomach, i'm lying, i'm going to be riding the 'macchi not the boxer, scrute pass issued and i push the 250 down to the scrutineering shed, the bike flies through, sticker issued and i can see the load lifting off dangerous's shoulder's, my turn now, the 350 fail's miserably, the throttle is sticking and the clutch lever is hitting the cut-away on the fairing, minor repairs and i've got a sticker, another brew, check the tyre pressures and mick and chalky turn up, i've got that guilt thing gnawing away at me, the lad's say 'fuck 'em' but i just can't do it, i'm not made this way, i'm as honest as the day is long and i decide to 'fess up, 'your fucking stupid' rant's the d.man 'their not going to let you ride, don't do it, no-one will even notice' i grab my doc's and head into the race control office, tell the lady the truth, my boxer's not ready, i've scruted another bike and can i ride that instead? 'cause you can love, just sign this form and that's it' fuck me, why was i worried? cause they would let me change my bike at the last minute, now all i have to do is get my head around riding a right-foot gearchange, race pattern, one up- six down gearbox, a four leading shoe grabby as fuck grimeaca  front brake and a bike that won't tick over under  two-thousand arrrhhh-in-the-fucking-pee-emmm, no one said it was going to be easy.......

festival of a 1000 bikes 2013 part two

'and that was a partly typical broadcast on behalf of the 'save mallory park' party, now, our usual service will be resumed, please be aware, this report may contain flashing lights and profanity from the beginning......' right, after blocking a couple of 'staro's' in the shed on saturday night after loading the van, yours truly started getting a right dose of dutch courage, 'you know what dangerous?, fuck 'em, ive paid my money up front so fuck 'em let's stick the three-fifty aermacchi in the van and i'll ride that, who the fuck do they think they are telling me i can't swap bikes?' dangerous is well up for it, 'yeah, i mean, why', his glasses resting on the edge of his glass as the effects of the alcohol kicks in, 'can't you ride the fucking three-fifty instead of the boxer? fuck 'em, just plead innocent and tell them some bollock's' we drunkenly push the three-fifty up the plank into the van, strap it down next to the metisse and chuck my leather's, arai helmet, gloves and boots in the back of the van and call it a night, curry, a couple of episodes of 'breaking bad' and goodnight irene, i don't even make it to bed, it's too hot to be cuddled up to my little scottish bird and i hit the sofa instead, after  a fitfull night, a combination of a car alarm going off three times, straggler's from the village fete spewing and shouting, the heat and jack russell's jumping up on me to make sure i'm ok i eventually awake at sparrow fart, 0400hr's, shower and i'm at dangerous's for 0545hrs, he get's in the van bleary eyed, not much conversation for the forty mile journey to' the park', in the almost cold, well, no, it's not really cold, more luke-warm, well, more very warm light of day our bravado seem's foolish, arriving at mallory is alway's a buzz, it's fucking heaving, security check our van passes, our wrist-bands and we are heading down the famous shaw's hairpin the opposite way you see it on the telly and squeeze into a space in the paddock, when i say a 'space' i mean into the space between the rows of vans, caravan's and race transporters already here, the sort of space a gunner on lord nelson's 'victory' would consider palatial.........

festival of a 1000 bikes 2013 part one

the festival of a 1000 bikes, is there anywhere finer to be in the world over this weekend? i think not, if you have any interest in classic bikes, classic racing bikes or any inkling of the importance of seeing and hearing veteran, vintage and classic machines actually being thrashed around an iconic race track instead of being polished and preened and treated like treasure then this is the place for you, i must apologise in advance for the poor quality of the pictures, peoples feet, ugly faces, short's and ice-creams are all in my shots, but , to say we had a bit of a stressfull day would be an understatement to say the least, [all will be revealed in the next couple of posts] and i only had an hour at dinner time to have a quick scout around the local vicinity and grab some pic's, how big is the festival? absoluteley massive, we only saw a third of the race paddock, we missed all the famous riders on their demo laps, never ventured 'over the bridge' to have a look at the hundreds of stalls, owners club tents and campsite bikes in the outfield area, missed the sprint, the vintage grass track and the trials, it's bloody massive and what's brilliant is that it actually 'breathes', the noise, the smell, motorcycles, like the old saying goes 'if i had to explain........' and what's really sad is that this is probably the last one, apparently house prices in kirkby-mallory the old village built around mallory park are ten to fifteen thousand pounds cheaper than the surrounding villages so some shrewd property developers have been snapping up houses at a bargain price and then complaining about the noise from the circuit, excuse me? buy a house near a race circuit, a theme park, airport, motorway, pub, railway, engineering works, blah, blah, blah and surely you would expect some 'noise' not this bunch of shyster's, they want to close mallory, their 'investments' make ten to fifteen grand overnight and well, what will mallory park be used for? uhhm, let's guess, you can't use it as race track, the circuit owners only make an income if the track is being used, trackday's? perfect, can't use the track? bail out, sell it to the property developers to build houses on and lets make a killing, it stink's, mallory is part of our heritage and it's going to be turned into a fucking housing estate and line the pocket's of a bunch of businessmen? fight the power........

festival of a 1000 bikes

just back from 'the festival of a 1000 bikes' it's been a long day, hold tight...........

john newman 'love me again'

one of the lad's at work bought this tune to my attention, he said, 'this reminds me of you' i took this as a compliment, yeah, the dancings a bit pony but that piano? brilliant......blue eyed soul.......

team sleep

for barse. you know why.

got the phone call i'd been dreading today, my heart skipped a beat when i saw the number, i really was dumb enough to think i would be heading south to pick up the boxer, i told myself that it would be a close call, i mean, let's be honest, you can't expect to really turn a bike around in seven month's can you? what was i thinking about? the twenty second of december when me and sweary made the trip 'darn sarf' on probably the worst day of the year, rain? yeah, apparently the average december rainfall in a day, the day i decide to take my bike down to ensure it's ready for the practice day on march the 21st, that day came and went and so did the next four month's, no bike and a load of frustration, when i called last month to give a gentle reminder that i would really like to ride my bike this year and i definetley  needed it back by thursday the eleventh of july at the latest to ensure i had time to check everything over, lockwire everything up and just get my head sorted i thought it would still happen, in my stupid naive head i thought i would be heading down to pick up my bike, yeah, it's tight but fuck it, i can go down late saturday afternoon, pick it up and drive straight to mallory, sleep in the van, in my head me and dangerous are sipping a cold staro, laughing at how tight it was but at least i'm going to be riding, i mean, call me the optimist but really?  seven month's? 'cause it's going to happen, except it's not, apparently' the bearing housing on my bike has a crack in it, it need's a 'new' cover and bearing and no-one stock's them so i've tried my best and i'm sorry and if i'd noticed it earlier i'd have had the part's and got it sorted, i'm really sorry....' sorry? not as sorry as i am, i'm gutted, i feel like i've had a swift hard kick in the bollocks, i paid up front for the festival, that was when? oh yeah january, a hundred and twenty quid, paid the deposit on the van for what? another load of broken promises and disappointment, sweary dropped the 350 'macchi off tonight, i phoned the vmcc to try and change my entry but no-joy, so there you go folk's, i'm crewing for dangerous instead of riding, we are taking both 'macchi's but one of them will just sit there in the paddock on it's stand and i haven't got a ride because my bike isn't ready and the 'spare' 'macchi will just sit on it's paddock stand looking pretty because of a 'jobsworth' in the vmcc office, pissed off? me?........naaah.....

books and water

 here's a couple of shot's from wednesday night at MFN, the jota, owned for twenty-eight years by the same bloke, jmc swinger looking good and the noise when he started it up and rode off? fanbloodydozy! [i actually parked next to him but the bloody jota is so massive you can't see my sporty behind it] the honda s.o.h.c seven-fifty? surely everyone has owned one of these in the past? the original 'superbike' this little beauty tastefully done, but it's still crying out for a pair of clip-on's? just saying, still a brilliant bike......[oh yeah, as you know, most of my posts are song titles from what i'm listening to as i post this drivel, check this one out for a quality tune, look it up, it won't come up on a google search so here's another clue, ten more turnips from the tip.....]

aermacchi

spent a couple of hour's round at dangerous's gaff bolting up the 'double-bubble' fairing last night, the screen needed a touch of therapy as the previous owner had made the mistake of drilling it with a normal hss drill bit instead of 'backing it off' a tad so its easier to drill without causing any damage, a bit of shaping with a smoothish file and some wet and dry to finish and it's sorted, i was a bit apprehensive about running the fairing, seem's such a shame to hide the mastery of the rickman bros behind a fibreglass fairing, but, now it's on, i can't imagine it without it, plus you can junk the big, horrible plastic number boards and free up all that lovely fresh air in front of the rear wheel, job done, we skin out up to 'miles from nowhere' for the second time this week, it's a cool, fresh, night compared to the last few, we stop for fuel at heanor, i park up next to the pump, filler out, nozzle in, nothing, i press the delivery lever again, nothing, dangerous shout's across to me, ' look at the notice on the pump dickhead' oh, it's a laminated photo-copy, 'motorcyclists MUST remove helmets before fuel is dispensed' well, i'm a fifty-four year old bloke wearing an open-faced lid, must be the local kid's in fullfaces stealing a tank-full for there scoot's, i try again, nothing, a 'lady' [i use this term loosely] comes out of the service station and tell's me 'take your helmet OFF or you don't get fuel!' at any other time other than being desperate, i would have just found another garage, the last time i encountered this i just threw the hose on the floor and rode off, i'm fucking livid, i take off my old cromwell and put it on the floor, draw my fuel and pay without a word, no 'thank-you's' no ''how's it going' or 'the weather's brilliant isn't it' none of those usual little human interaction's that make life more bearable, i just offer my money, get change and leave, if you think i'm a criminal what do you expect? 'i'm so sorry to be riding a motorcycle and for calling into your poxy establishment and offending you by my wish to draw fuel, pay and leave without the inconvenience of having to remove my helmet, by the way, do you ask all bmw car owner's for a copy of their driving licences before you let them draw fuel just in case they are drug dealers, gun runners or just the simple fact that they don't use their indicators? i feel like playing up to being 'typecast' where's the fucking chickens? i'm gonna bite their little heads off'! 'who you looking at square? i'll chain whip you and your's, steal your wallet and set fire to your volvo mofo!' pull out a glock 19 and blast the pumps, instead, i just stick my lid back on and mutter a curse under my breath catching the two old hag's in the service station smiling broadly at their win, fuck them, i'll never use this place again, down to MFN, it's rammed, traditionally more sports bikes here tonight but the 'alternative' brigade is out in good numbers, less bog-stock shop harleys and more cutdowns, chops, old brit wankers, classic iron getting an airing and the usual assortment of race-piped japper's, a small contingement of jap cafe racers and the ever present buzzing of local kid's on ped's, finally caught up with grant, he's been commenting on the blog and we just hit it off straightaway, had a good chat about the state of things, and we will meet up soon, my faith in human nature almost restored, the usual dash for home ensues, dangerous still 'headlight down' in other word's, not working, we stay out far too long for safety's sake, at least his back light is working, fly splattered spectacles, oily jean's and petrol stains down my rattlecan spray job.......

miles from nowhere

monday night is always 'miles from nowhere' the bike night at the old 'shipley boat inn' once a run-down canal tow-path pub on the border of derbyshire and our scutty neighbours just over the border in nottingham, [excuse me while i gob on the floor, the spittle balling up in the dust just like lee van cleef in a sergio leone movie , hand hovering over his colt, eyes narrowing,] must remember to revisit some of those classic 'spaghetti' westerns sometime soon, now it's a thriving venue dedicated to all things with an engine, bike nights twice a week, local cruisers and hotrods and staging numerous rally's over the year from V.W's to scooter rally's and everything inbetween,  anyhoo, first visit of the year, great to catch up with some old faces, barse filled me in with his recent adventures down to 'linkhert' stevie marsh and deb's and gaz out in force representin' the sporty massive, [there you go mucker, the size of your bike doesn't actually relate to the size of your penis after all, you don't need a 'lard-boy' to be cool, real men ride sportsters, sticking it to the big-twin's since 1957 and remember the 'factory designation is 'XL', yeah, you know why don't you ben?] just the perfect destination on a hot summer night, i'm looking at a ducati diavel 'carbon' sixteen big-one's worth of machine, never liked them in red, but, in bare carbon, bloody-hell, the bloke who on's it say's 'hop-on' to dangerous, no air's and grace's just people interested in motorcycles, from old steely framed dog rough cbr 600's to brand new gixxer's, classic harleys, triumph's, [including the lovely t140 with the sporty forks, expensive brakes and lush paint] kid's from the local estate on scooter's and for me, the bike of the night, the old zedder kwak with the full ohlins suspender's, trick wheel's, original 'blown' yoshi aluminium can and a braced frame, forget all that 'johnny-come-lately' bollocks, this is a locally owned bike, developed over the years by the same bloke, not built in some 'emporium' or fucking 'speedshop', an honest-to-goodness old-school bike, i love MFN me, proper, sorry about the lack of photo's but i spent too long catching up with old mates, making new ones and having the crack to remember to take any piccies, when i did the sun was sinking fast and i'd forgot dangerous hadn't got the bonny headlamp wired up, me, barse on the shovel-fucker and dangerous skinned out on a balmy summer evening, me in front protecting dangerous with my puny bates two and a half candle power chinese 'bates' copy and barse shadowing his back end on the shovester, [back-light fading, dying then coughing back into life before going out all together, deep joy], we don't give a fuck, i give it the berry's through one of my favourite set's of bends, dangerous has to keep up because it's almost dark and he can't see diddly, i can hear him swearing and telling me to 'fucking slow down i can't see fuck-all you...] we turn off and barse carries on straight to home, he's laughing like a drain at our antic's, left foot up on the primary case, a quick wave and we head home......