foreververb

the brake fittings and hose arrived from earl's as i mentioned in the previous post, sorry, just can't live with the horrible o.e.m triumph stuff, i love making up brake lines, routing them so they look just right, alway's end up with bleeding digit's off the stainless brading though, i machined the banjo bolts with a ball mill for no reason than it just looks good, ok, you save a couple of grammes here and there, but really? it's not exactly moto gp is it? funny too how trends change, back in the early eighties, bare stainless braid was the dog's danglies, now? well, i just tend to think 'hair dresser' or 'shower room', nah, plain, black sleeved hosing for me thank's, just a cheeky little 20mm of exposed stainless braid and that's only so i can work on the collar's and olives, stainless bleed nipples finish off the job, the brakes bleed up easily and there's loads of feel at the lever, job done. fitted the new regina chain today too, splashed out on a 'warrior' combined riviter/chain cutting tool so easy to use and a bargain at thirty quid, always struggled in the past when you can make life so much easier for the price of a couple of pints and a takeaway curry. then there's the bollock i've dropped with the headlight / indicator mounting, sometimes you just have to admit it, i've fucked up, dangerous is ecstatic, 'told you bailey you wanker!' yep, he was right, there was no-way i could bend the headlight mounting bracket's at such an angle without a proper folder, to think i could get the right angle using the vice on the miller and a nylon headed mallet was a touch naive, i hold my hand's up, i've fucked up, nevermind, turn the brackets down and they make a wicked pair of indicator mountings....... foreververb? i was am will be, you were are will be, he / she / it is will be, we were are will be, you were are will be, they were are will be.................

a winged victory for the sullen

race bike up at nrp for link pipes to fit the 'glam' carbon can's i bought off e-bay in a drunken moment, at least it means we can meet the strict one-oh-five decibel limit that most race circuits demand. the 'false' triumph is up on the bench, awaiting the mashings from earls so i can make up the brake lines, they arrive today, early doors, stainless lovliness, day three of three day's annual leave [booked to sort out the garden, squeeze me? garden? all thoughts of a garden went south when mr's b turned up with two jack russell terrier puppies, no lawn, 'escape tunnels' every two yard's around the perimeter fence and well chewed plants as soon as the cheeky blinders stick their pretty little heads above the soil. i half heartedly sweep up a bit, drink tea and read 'classic racer' and 'performance bike' magazines whilst sitting in the unseasonably warm march sunshine. the big, red, ducati is sitting quietly ignored in the shed, covered in dust and aluminium swarf, i turn the key and thumb the starter 'whh, whh, whh' the sound of a dead battery, seat off, tank reared up to gain access to the battery, top up with distilled water and stick it on charge while i walk the dogs. home. more tea and check the battery, green light, battery back on, press the button and the big twin coughs into life, it stutters and i catch it on the throttle as i knock off the choke, let it warm up for fifteen minues to get the oil circulating, i should'nt really, i'm far too busy for this, check the tyre pressure, oil level and a quick flick round with a rag, [still the best way to check over a bike i reckon] squirt of chain lube and off we go, it feels great to be back on a bike, four long months, the wettest winter on record, on a bike you are out there, open to the elements, so different from the daily commute, back and forth to work, half-leather, half-fabric, all -plastic, safely cocooned in a temperature controlled metal box, on a bike it's different, a drop of the shoulder here, a slight press on a footpeg there, a shift of weight and the bike is like an extension of your body, you never get that feeling in a car, too detatched from the whole experience of velocity, i just point the bike and i'm along for the ride, half a tank of go-juice spunked, i call in to top up the fuel tank, big tuna cob, bottle of buxton and a packet of ready salted stuffed down the front of my jacket, i'm in search of the perfect picnic spot, i find it, high above carsington, a big, stone barn wall provides the  backrest for munching my vittels, the bleat of new-born lambs, the steady, rythmic, 'tick, tick, tick' of my engine cooling and birdsong providing the perfect backdrop to my lunch, it's warm in the lea of the barn, the stone wall convecting the heat and providing shelter from the stiff breeze. replete. i start the big twin, the noise from the twin carbon can's scattering the shakey legged lamb's. i'm revelling in the induction noise, the free flowing k + n filer sucking the cold air like a bangkok ladyboy, the lazy exhaust note bouncing back as i head down the via-gellia halfway down i pull into a shallow lay-by, the combination of road debris and free flowing snot means an impromptu stop to clean up, [epecially if i'm going to avoid a messy 'ducati to stonewall interface problem' until this moment i had been making 'brisk progress' i'm suitably chastened by the thick, whiteline of roadsalt down the middle of the road, bloody hell, no wonder the bike was a tad vague! back home, i wash the bike down with soapy water and leather it off to remove the worst of the salt deposits, check the chain and the oil level and sit on the bench drinking tea, suppose i'd better get some gardening done then, i'm five minutes into some idle pruning when mrs b turns up from work, 'put the kettle on duck, i've had a right grueller today.................'

 bugger, it's three week's until the bhr practice day at cadwell park, time to stop dicking about with the 'false' triumph and get my finger out on the racebike, there's no way the bmw is going to pass the noise regulation's, 105 db, fuck me, i can fart louder than that, i know that with the supertrapps with 'closed end's' i was tipping the noise meter at one hundred and nine db's, there's no-way i'm going to be out on the track with the 'closed course competition only' free flowing end cap's, the draconian health and safety laws even hit the racing world, if i tip the meter at over 105 i'm donaled ducked, no track time for timmy, time for a re-think, hmm, i've got a pair of carbon can's sitting unused under the bench, bs stamped, i was originally going to fit them on the ducati, but, with hindsight, [always a wonderful thing] they were a touch too 'glam' don't get me wrong, i love carbon fibre me, just not the highly polished stuff, in it's raw, pre-peg state, lovely, but, this is a race bike, doesn't matter what it look's like as long as we meet the reg's, need to get nige at n.r.p exhausts to make us a ouple of adapter pipes to suit and we are good to go, well, almost, my front tyre is a road item, so that need's changing, which means the lockwiring on the brake calipers need's replacing after the tyre is fitted, then there's the open bell-mouth's on the dellorto's, last time we were at cadwell, there was a load of small pebbles and grit just waiting to be sucked into the engine and cause mayhem, the diatribe sitting on top of the gearbox webbing ready to wreck the expensive motor. need to sort some sort of filter arrangement, if only to see us into the holding area, it's hit me tonight, there's loads to do on the racer, lots of running around, van to hire, my boot's are shagged, i need to get a new pair, it all takes time, reckon i might need to book some annual leave then..............................................................

northern soul girl

a lot of time during my night's and day's following the northern soul scene were spent on railway stations the length and breadth of britain, waiting for a train to get us to the next 'nighter/'dayer, this was back in the day, no car, no buses, public transport started at 0600 and finished at 2200hrs, just enough to tranport the worker's to their place of work, we caught the mail train's to distant town's to savour the soul, 'fry's' chocolate for substinance and grumpy, old guard's, piss -stained seats,  flickering carriage light's. swaping record's, chewing gum, amphetamine's, kisses and promises and lies, deserted, cold railway platform's the best days of my life, here's northern soul girl dancing on a platform, sum's it all really.........

fun powder plot

had the 'royal' visit this week from the world's 'most handsome man' ladies and gentlemen, mistahhh ben jones, tattoo artist extraordinaire, best collection of exquisite blades, [as in 'very sharp, very dangerous, highly illegal knives] in the mid-shires of merrye olde england, gun's? are we talking weapon's here? ballistic brilliance, everything from self -propelled rocket propelled grenades to  an original magnum, ak47? no problem, desert eagle? ask for a tribal tattoo and you'll find out! the best line in politically incorrect comment and banter?  step right this way, as an example, one of our regular 'lady' visitor's, on being introduced to mr jones, decided to ask about getting a cover-up of a particularly horrible rose/tribal thing on her thigh, mr jones, [on studying the a photo of the aforesaid 'work of art' on the victim, i'm sorry, the customer's phone] reponds with, 'fucking hell, are you wearing a nappy?' 'no!! i've rolled my hot-pant's up to take the picture!' 'fucking hell, who did that to you?'  'he's a mate, ratty's his name' replies the unfortunate one, much hilarity ensues with ben dropping in a comedy kung-fu chop, 'you missed me you twat' say's ms smarty pants, 'no i didn't' say's ben, 'you'll be unconcious in twenty minutes' fucking brilliant, such a shame then that even with ben's elegance, hand made boot's, lined trousers, one off, solid silver barbed wire, made in that there londinium bracelet, two expensive antique rolex , tweed jacket, waistcoat, neat haircut, white collared expensive tailored shirt, solid silver, bespoke 'los bastardos de la muerte' [the bastards of death, a fictional bike gang invented by ben and your's truly during a day long tattoo session] signet ring, the black bmw, a dead ringer for the batmobile and the red and white, polka dot, silk cravate, very smart, very 'english gentleman' very cool, but, sorry to spoil the party peep's, i didn't mean to piss in the chardonnay, but, [ i'm whispering here, sshh, keep it to yourselves],  ben rides a harley-davidson, sorry to break the majick folk's, yep, a shit, slow, wank handling harley, just goes to show, you can't have it all after-all and to cap it all, i got to thinking ben reminded me of someone and tonight it dawned on me, toad of toad hall...........

yesterday went too soon

made loads of progress yesterday, treasure turned up in the way of a high-performance air filter, did some research, this thing flow's more air than the industry standard k+n, half the price too, and you can just chuck it in the washing machine with your weekly wash and it comes out ready to go again, bargain, scored a pair of fork-gaitor's too, same source, 'genuine' made in taiwan triumph items in a plastic bag, marked up with 'official triumph' or the same item, in a clear, plastic bag, exactly the same, made in the same factory for half the price? picked up the headlight / indicator bracket's from the world's grumpiest welder, not sure if this is going to work yet, may end up cutting them down and just using them as indicator mountings as i didn;t realise how much off-set i need to mount the headlight in such a small space, hmmm, may need a rethink on this one? on a brighter note, cut down the big, long, massive front mudguard to half the size of the o.e.m item, very satisfying just using a file and wet and dry to get the shape, half the length of the original item, going to get johnthe painter to work his spray-majick on it, [might slot the mounting holes with a file though so it sit's closer to the tyre first], up to cornerspeed to see neil, robbed a couple of 'desmo inside' sticker's off him, brilliant! got new front and rear pad's and a set of pin's and 'r'clips for a steal, home and 'tapered' off some stainless bolt's for that 'factory' look, a bit of solvol on the anti-rattle shim and mounted up with 243 loctite, sorted.........

thank you [falletinme be mice elf again]

, a

whoah, two week's passed in the blink of an eye, rehabilitating an injured, three-week,  post-op dog, walking his 'bro, loads of shit at work, m.o.t to sort for my trusty vw, drive-to-work, work-to-drive polo, [not including my exhaust falling off, getting two new tyres fitted because the others were balder than a porn-star's 'lady-garden'] sorting a new phone because my old nokia went to rat-shit, [is it me or what? don't you want to drop the nut on the tosser's who work in 'phone shop's? 'do you actually think you need a gig of data per month sir?' 'well, let me think about that for a second shop-boy, yes, actually i do need a gig of data per month because i can actually check out bike-porn during my dinner hour, look at tool's, [no offence meant by that 'beard-boy' i know your mother's got one, oh, and by the way, i've actually been wearing converse for forty year's, not actually seen them on some hip fashion blog, actually and decided that with some skinny jeans, [low-slung of course], a skull belt buckle and a cheeky, angled, peaked, woollen beany, that i'm actually 'da shit' squeeze me? baking powder? OI! HELLO CUNT! why are you looking at other potential customer's in the shop when i'm talking to you? yes, i'm an old, unimportant bloke asking questions, but, mate, i've been round the block a few times, a 'quiet' word get's his unreserved attention, i get a good deal, a nice phone and everyone's happy, is there a sweeter fragrance than nitromor's? nah, [seriously. i don't think it's as strong as it used to be, undo the cap and your eyebrow's were falling off, now? you could gargle with it] the black, powdercoating peel's away to reveal roughly machined aluminium, two night's work, wet and dry in four different grades, down to a 1200 grit, [too shiny], see's me reverting to worn out 400 and a quick polish with solvol, perfect. roughed out the rear brake hanger and offered it up, stood back and took in the 'big-picture' and realised the o.e.m oil cooler is uglier than an ugly thing that's been hit with the ugly stick, that's got to go, a little digging through the trade catalogues  and i find two alternatives, the 'classic' mocal, big jappper, beet-style, early 80's, thin, but wide, aluminium cooler and the 'temp-a-cure' curved, more modern, superbike stylee item, can't decide which way i'm going to go yet, i like them both, suggestions needed folk's, [actually].............

walking wounded

 'if i bang my fucking head on that fucking thing again i'm going home bailey!' dangerous is pissed, the oberon indicator is just at the correct height to catch it with your swede everytime you walk past, 'for fuck's sake!' dangerous cop's another direct hit to the temple, i'm pissing myself, [it's alway's funny until someone get's hurt and then it's hilarious], he's got ugly, red, contusions to his forehead, brilliant, tear's running down my face, sides aching, the more i laugh, the angrier he get's, 'bailey, you really are a cu....' the forkleg's need to get the stupid, mudguard stay mountings cut off, no other reason than it just look's better, the i-pod is chugging out goldie lookin'chain, straight outta newport, 'your mother's got a penis' boof, dangerous is holding his head, bloody hell, i reckon he's dead, third strike, even mike tyson would be down on his knee's, not dangerous, 'tea and a hot, buttered, tea-cake thank's.....' i stick a bit of lagging around the offending item and immeadiately smash my knee-cap into the corner of the bike-lift, i'm hanging onto the content's of my stomach, fuckinhellthathurt, dangerous smiles, blood running down his fore-heed, [yeah, i know, should be fore-head, but, i'm just showing the 'scottish' version and while were talking scottish, what's with the 'independance' thing? look, get over it, you scot's can't do it on your own, alex, have a chat with yourself, do the sum's, you might have watched 'braveheart' too many times, you need us, the ENGLISH, we need you too, for, ehh, well, well, something, not sure what though, apart from bitching and moaning about us English] the heavy, horrible headlight mountings get consigned to the bin, mr file and mr emery removing the horrible casting's from the forkleg's, here's some dates for your diary, the loveless race team, [aka, me and dangerous] will be at the british historic racing test day at cadwell park on friday, 28th march, racing at darley moor, the thundersprint, on saturday and sunday, the 10th and 11th of may, feel free to come along, drink tea, eat biscuits and take the piss, we are booked in for the classic tt / manx gp too, august 22nd to the 28th, more dates to follow, 'dangerous, look out!' ooop's, too late.......