pieces of a man

spending loads of time out on the bike's at the moment, just riding, wednesday night over to mfn for the bike-night, absolutely rammed, thursday a quick hundred miles on the ducati, friday, over to ammo's to catch up, saturday see's me and mr's b taking a solstice ride out into derbyshire on the bonny, sunday, well sunday is sunday is sunday, the usual sixty mile ride out late evening, we are past the equinox now, the longest day gone, time on the bike is time to think, fuck me, i've just become so cynical, i analyse stuff too much me, i need to chill and not let shit bother me, i'm becoming the bitter old twat i've always hated, if people want to build bmw cafe racers, pipe-wrap old-ride-to-work-honda commuter bikes, grow beards, ride in an organised bike-run wearing tweed or attend pre 1967 only bike events then who am i to cock a snook at them? when i look back at some of my early posts it was all about fun, perhaps it might be time to call it a day...........................

i can't find the time for times

this weekend has been one of those times when the planets align and everything is good, friday night and me and mrs b head out on the bonneville on a beautiful summers evening for a pint, except everyone and his dog has decided to do the same thing, pub after pub, all packed with people sitting outside and just enjoying the rare english summertime when you can actually do that, no worries, we just enjoy the ride, great to spend time together, laughing and loving, mrs b's hands around my waist, snuggling in, watching the buzzards soaring on the thermals above carsington reservoir, precious time together, we didn't get our pint but we got a great ride out on the 'false' triumph instead. saturday and me and dangerous head out on the two bonnevilles with no destination in mind, just getting out there and riding, the roads are quiet and we get some good runs at out favourite derbyshire roads for a change, i'm liking the big 'inckley triumph the more i ride it, got to get the gearing sorted as i'm trying to find a non-existant sixth gear all the time, i've already ordered a nineteen tooth front sprocket, [two teeth up than the standard seventeen sprocket] to drop the revs a tad in top gear. the bonneville is best ridden like a dirtbike, no hanging off or knee out malarkey, just push the bike into the corner using the wide flatracker bars and it goes exactly where you want it to, the clutch is slipping badly when i give it a fistfull of throttle, it's fine when riding at more 'sensible' speeds, so, looks like a new clutch is next on the shopping list, dangerous reckons it's with the extra hp that the smoothbores and pipe combination has freed up and while the bike is certainly quicker i can't see that we have released so much power that it renders the standard unit useless? after an afternoon of general hooning about, passing each other time and time again, general dicking about and two tea breaks we finally end up in matlock bath for one of our rare excursions to the mecca of derbyshire motorcycling, seriously, i know people who think that the world ends at matlock bath and never venture further than walking the promenade, bag of chips in hand and dodging the throngs and police speed checks / helicopter enforcement / general harrasment of anyone on two wheels, thats why i usually avoid the place like a dose of the clap, but, on a dull, cool late afternoon we decide to make one last tea stop. my phone rings, its barse, 'where are you? i'm stood looking at your bikes, get us a brew in' good to catch up, we spend an hour shooting the shit before we bail out for a cheeky beer in the shed. sunday see's me and dangerous again bonny mounted and waiting at the crewe and harpur to rendevous with big stevie marsh, debbie and gaz, we aren't waiting long before steve comes into view on his new cvo bagger, a little present to himself after his recent near death heart experience, i'm not sure which is louder, his new vance and hines exhaust, steve laughing and shouting out an expletive ridden greeting, or the on-board cd player blasting out guns and roses! gaz is tucked in behind on his forty-eight sporty and we are on our way over to mallory park for the british historic racing meeting at mallory park, the forty five miles are soon despatched and we are soon stood by the fence, tea in hand and watching the manx nortons roaring past a few feet away, after a great afternoons racing we set off in light drizzle, the clouds gradually get lower and the light drizzle soon turns into sharp rainfall, i look back at dangerous to be met with a shrug of the shoulders and a shit-eating grin, resigned to getting wet, [we didn't pack any rain gear as the forecast didn't mention it], we just enjoy the ride, a quick fuel stop and we decide as we are damp anyway we might as well take a detour and call in on sweary mick to check his progress on his aermacchi project, out of staffordshire and back onto home turf and the weather picks up, another fifty or sixty miles passes as we aimlessly just ride the rapidly drying roads and wouldn't you know it, as we sit out supping a well earned peroni the sun finally makes an appearance........

reflektor

so, me and dangerous tip up at the local bike night wednesday, dangerous superstylin' on the real bonneville, the original meriden triumph, [i can remember pressing my snotty nose against wilemans window on siddals road in derby as a callow youth and admiring the 'big' british twins], i'm trailing behind on the 'false' triumph, the hinckley, the podgy, awkward sister to the supermodel, we park up and immediately people flock around to look at the dangerous bonny, old blokes, 'i had one just like it youth, back in the day, let me tell you about the time me and my missus went to.....' bearded trendy boys, classic bike buffs even 'hedumakated' sports bike riders, all drooling over the loveliness that is the 'e' type grey, love-removal-machine that is the dangerous trump, i just take off my lid and go and get the cokes in, [proper coca-cola though, full sugar, served ice cold in a glass bottle, non of that syrupy shit behind the optics] as dangerous signs autographs, poses for photo's with the fan's, the grandkid's, young ladies, dignitaries and the local ukip candidate, answers numerous questions about his bike i go off for a wander around, all biking life is here, from turbo charged, lengthened swinging-armed, quick-shifting katana street legal drag racers, through to the local zip mounted scooter massive, the local h.a. turn up as do the r1 riding superbikers, all rubbing shoulders, smiling, no attitudes and getting along famously, it's all good and yet, somehow, it's not, i'm feeling rather uncomfortable with it all, don't get me wrong, i live for motorcycles, it's just that, erm, i don't really feel part of it all, i don't really fit in anywhere, i liked the ride there and i loved the ride back i just didn't like the bit in the middle...............

i'm out in the shed until 2300hrs saturday night trying to programme the speedo, in the end the wine and fatigue take their toll and i sack it and go to bed, i'm awake early doors, brain trying to figure out how to set the bloody thing up, a half-hearted look mid morning sunday and i just put the seat and tank back on, fuck it, too nice to be dicking about in the shed, the bikes taxed, mrs b did it on-line for me, i just don't have a disc to display, so, only thing to do is stick the reg plate on with some double-sided tape, [so much neater than drilling it and using plastic screws]. i cram my jacket pockets with a selection of allen keys and spanners and off to shake the bike down. i head across town to call in and see ben at roadhouse tattoo, it's only fifteen miles, a quick brew and catch up and stop for some fuel, the petrol in the tank is eight months old so some fresh octane is in order. i'm being very cautious as i am with any newly re-built bike, hey, we are all human, people forget stuff, one of the best things i ever learned was always, but always, tighten up fasteners to the correct torque setting whenever you put one in, even if it's only temporary, even so, i have that nagging doubt that there may be a fastener just finger tight, no loctite, just waiting to vibrate out and send me down the road. after the all too brief four-laps-of-the-village last weekend my initial impressions are good, yes, the bloody thing is still heavy, [the ducati feels like a 250 in comparison], even after shedding a load of weight, but, on the road, the handling is really good considering the nineteen inch front wheel, the front end is a little soft despite changing the oil for a heavier grade and swapping the springs for progressives, definetly going to invest in some cartridge emulators in the near future, the rear shocks? well, what a revelation, i really can't recommend the ram/realm shocks highly enough, great feel and damping, not too stiff or harsh, they soak up the pot-holed b roads with ease, the wide, harley sportster bars and rearsets are perfect for me, the bars offering loads of leverage and the rearsets not too high, just far enough back and offering a really natural riding position. the keihin 35mm smoothbores are just too good, the bike starts on a wiff of choke, knock it off as soon as the bike starts and it tick's over immediately, theres no coughing, farting or banging on the over-run, just brilliant performance from the get-go, the exhaust? umm, let's just say it's pretty loud even with the 'baffle' fitted, i'm laughing like the strange bloke who sits next to you on the bus as i wind it on and scatter cow's and sheep in the fields next to the road, juvenile? yep, you know's it, the weather deteriorates and big, heavy raindrops hit me in the face like ball-bearings, [open face helmet today, no visor] i turn onto a minor road and head for home, quick glance in the rearview, bugger, traffic car, bmw, where did he come from? i'm waiting for a tug, illegal black and silver plate, not only that but not legal dimensions, [too small] and i'm not displaying any tax, plus i don't have a clue how fast i'm going as the speedo is inoperative, he follows me for what seems an age, i reach a t junction and signal left, he turns right...........

the right string baby, but the wrong yo-yo

nearly there with the triumph project, just the speedo to sort, i get it out of the box this afto and my heart sinks, bollocks, this may be a tad challenging to a thick derby lad like me, reading the instructions and i soon suss that i need to mount some magnets in the disc bolts, [front or rear, doesn't matter] to enable the sensor to read the speed, a dummy run reveals the rear disc is the neatest option, drill the mounting bolts, epoxy resin the magnets into the heads and drill and mount the sensor into the caliper bracket, ahh, the speedo, mill up a bracket and mount that up to the top yoke, err, wires everywhere, i eventually work out what wire goes where to make the speedo work, result, except there are another nine wires that i need to connect to get a neutral light, oil light, fuel gauge, trip meter, indicator lights, blah, blah, blah, i just don't do electrickery majik, it's doing my head in, i decide to just tuck in the remaining wires into some heat shrink sleeving and tape it up, i offer up the original numberplate, oh dear, fucking massive and totally not in keeping with the bike, good job i've had a totally illegal, black and silver pre-'72 plate made, not sure what to do here, do i keep it legal or go with the more aesthetically pleasing illegal jobby? no contest, thats it then, all being well i'll be riding the 'false' triumph tomorrow, i push the bike into the shed and the magnets are catching the rear caliper mounting bracket, bloody fucking hell, the paddock stand won't fit properly because of the new exhaust, i use a piece of wood under the downtubes of the frame and jack the bike up in the alley between the house and shed, it's wobbling like a fat bird in greggs, i really don't like this, disaster is imminent, all i can see is the bike falling off the stand and getting damaged, bracket off, bolt onto service plate and mill the offending material away, all the time i'm running out to pump up the jack as it's shagged and keeps sinking making the whole plot even more unstable, fucking motorbikes, i'm struggling to get the rear spindle aligned, the spacers in and all of a sudden that fireblade on e-bay looks more and more attractive...........

tourist trophy

michael dunlop, another four tt wins this week including the big one, the senior tt six lapper, a fantastic performance from the man from ballymoney, he's fast becoming a legend in my eyes, who else would tell the mighty honda legend team to stick it up their arse and go their own way with an untried bike and team who had never seen monas isle before? fair play and more power to his elbow, in his own words, 'i'm not here to make friends, i'm here to win races'

boil some water, lot's of it, get clean towels and pass me the stanley knife.........

 after a great day yesterday to-ing and fro-ing between the counties of derbyshire, staffordshire, cheshire and shropshire on the ducati's, taking in some great roads, good tea, nice cake, the cat and fiddle public house, [travelling the most dangerous road in great britain to get there, so dangerous that the authorities have installed average speed cameras along the route to slow the thousands of motorcyclists who travel the route every weekend] it was time to stop dicking around and nail the keihin smoothbores onto the 'false' triumph, after a cursory inspection last weekend i knew that i needed a tee piece to connect the fuel lines up to the new carbs, the original triumph o.e.m items are fed off a single connection, i picked the tee piece up at oulton park last weekend and it was a simple job to splice it in, a little more tricky was routing the fuel lines so they didn't restrict the flow or 'fret' against the throttle mechanism, the standard cables fitted up easily and adjusted up ok to take out the slop. the beautifully machined adaptors proved more challenging, well not the adaptor rather the 'o' rings which kept rolling off the machined lip, in the end i just applied a dab of superglue to hold them in place while i made them in, a squirt of wd40 to ease the airbox back onto the carbs, bolted up, battery back on, rear mastercylinder reservoir re-mounted, tank and seat back on and a quick brew in the warm sunshine, helmet on, primed the carbs and press the button, bloody hell! it fires up straight away. the bark from the pipe is fruity to say the least, a lot different from the stifled standard pipe, jump on, select first and off for a highly illegal, no mot, no tax, no registration plate quick four laps of the village, initial thoughts? so different from the bike i bought, much more responsive, no farting, popping or holding back like the standard machine, it's got a definite kick up the arse rather than the bland, big honda superdream power delivery of the stocker, the brakes are more responsive, loads of feel and bite, the rear suspension is a hundred times better than before but it does show up the shortcomings of the standard, [bar heavier fork oil] front end and a set of cartridge fork emulators and a possible visit to a suspension specialist is deffo on the cards. it's definitely not the bike that i set out to build, don't get me wrong, i love it, the bike i set out to build was going to be a 'nice' bike, a bike to potter around the lanes on, go to the pub on and just be, well, 'nice' what's happened is that we have somehow created a bit of a frankenstein machine, a hot-rod in the truest sense of the word, dangerous jumped on it when i returned and with a total lack of respect for the law and the gentlefolk of the village, wearing the really sensible riding gear of shorts, a t-shirt, no-gloves and my two-sizes-too-big-arai-helmet rattling around on his head proceeded to rip four more, very fast, very loud laps off, grinning like a fucking idiot and 'whoo-hooing' everytime he went past. when i eventually persuaded dangerous back in to the sanctuary of the shed before someone called the cops i adjusted the tick-over and the bike just sat there, no hunting or surging, the carbs are a revelation, they really do work straight from the box and what a revelation, the clutch is slipping under hard acceleration, no drama there, just needs adjusting, a quick check reveals no fluid leaks, all in all a bit of a result then, stoked? you fucking bet..........................