Classic TT / Manx GP 2019 (part two]

 My alarm rudely awakens yours truly from my well earned beauty sleep and after a quick shower and a hasty breakfast I call in at the local Co-Op for a black bean, cheese and guacamole wrap, a packet of Hula Hoops and a bottle of San Pelegrino and head out of Port Erin over the Sloc. The Sloc, or the A36 is thebest road in the world. As the famous TT course gets more and more restrictions, be it 50mph speed limits, helicopters and police radar seemingly on almost every corner and for me, the previously unlimited run along the Cronk Y Voddy now also restricted, riders are seeking out more, shall we say, rider friendly routes.
   The A36 is a thrilling, super fast road that offers an unrestricted speed limit across a mountain and down into Foxdale that will challenge any rider. Make no mistake, this road will bite you on the arse if you show it any disrespect, it was controversially re-surfaced at a cost of half a million big ones back in 2016, I can remember me and Croftsy riding it Port Erin to Foxdale, Foxdale to Port Erin, Port Erin to Foxdale time after time until we collapsed, absolutely fucked in the picnic area as the sun set and we lost the light, a total mind-fuck that saw us giggling like teenagers at a Bieber concert.
   I’ve seen Classic TT / Manx GP riders testing their bikes up here, as far as I can remember there is only one junction, maybe two on the whole road, visibility is fantastic and the road surface super grippy, for me I always feel I could go faster, I’m in track mode on the 790 and chucking gears at it but I’m craving more horse power.
    Keep it quite folks but your welcome for the recommendation, [no one reads the blog anyway so we should be safe!] Anyhoo, I join the TT course at Ballacraine and a fast ride down to Quarry Bends and I get a prime spot against the Recticel barrier before realising I’m missing an essential tea making ingredient,  Skin out up to Sulby Crossroads for a pint of milk and back again before the roads close for the Classic TT Superbike Race, my fellow spectators think its highly amusing when I get out my super light stove and mashings from my day sack but after a three hour delay are soon asking me if I can spare them a brew, fucking amateurs!
     An early retirement is Gary Johnson on the beautiful York Suzuki prepared oil burner, them, there are factory Yoshimura carbs people! Check out the welding majik on the frame, the qd battery charger connector, [got these on my fork truck at work, not exotic, just superbly practical]

     I offer my phone so Gary can inform his nearest and dearest that he’s safe but he’s already phoned them, he tells me most riders have a burner tucked in their leathers to let the family know they are safe and well, as I pour over the details of the machine I notice two of the ht leads are flapping in the wind, the plug caps still attached but the circuit broken.

Classic TT / Manx GP2019

As the summer slips into early autumn, the nights start to draw in and the days become shorter, you know that there is only one place in the world to be, Mona’s Isle, the Isle of Man or the Road Racing Capital of the World, whatever you wish to name it the tiny island in the middle of the Irish Sea is the Mecca for road racing fans, whether you are into the classic bikes or prefer the modern machines of the Manx GP competitors there’s something for everyone with a remote interest in motorcycles.
     The racing in the Isle of Man devides opinion like no other discipline in our chosen and I hasten to say this ‘lifestyle’ that we follow, the detractors say that we lose too many competitors in horrendous accidents, life’s are snuffed out in milli-seconds by an error in judgement, clipping a kerb or running into a bend too fast, machine failure, or a hundred and one other reasons that at the speeds, racing on normal roads with all the associated road furniture all too often prove fatal to the riders.
   No one is forced to race at the Isle of Man, be it the Tourist Trophy, the Classic or the Manx GP, there are no World Championship points at stake as there was back in the day, the racers, their nearest and dearest and associates all know the risks involved when they head off across St. Ninians crossroads and onto the fearful drop of Bray Hill on the Glencrutchery Road.
  The men and women who choose to do these races are chasing something that we mere mortals can only dream of, to compete here is the ultimate test of bravery, skill, endurance and determination and I have nothing but the utmost respect for each and every rider, from the well established winners with their names etched onto that famous ‘silver lady’ to the bloke who comes last, but, who has still managed to finish a race at the Island.
  I must admit to having mixed feelings about Agostini’s appearance at this years festival, here is the man who was vehemently against the TT and ultimately got it dropped from the World Championship standings and yet continues to enjoy a handsome payday from cruising around on an old MV Agusta in the parade lap and selling loads of merchandise on the back of it. And yet, here is an absolute legend, ex world champion and probably Mike the Bikes greatest rival, who am I to deny that Giacomo Agostini should not enjoy a leisurely trundle and enjoy the experience in his twilight years and yet I feel that after all this we should really be supporting the right of choice of the modern day competitors to take on the Mountain Course.
   As soon as the second motorcycle was built men and women have wanted to race each other, this year we lost Chris Swallow and as tragic as this is I cannot imagine for one second that his father, the legendary Bill Swallow would be calling for the races to be banned, in the Classic Lightweight and Manx GP we saw the emergence of James Hind, a baby faced 19 year old who despite getting a 30 second penalty for speeding in the pit lane still managed to get a third place in the 250 junior classic, two lightweight wins and two lap records, [one from a standing start!]
   Yes, the stakes are high and sometimes tragic but in this world of mission statements, health and safety and rigid control there’s something ultimately life affirming about the right to choose wether to race and place ones destiny in the lap of whichever god you follow. Stay tuned race fans, Loads of photos and wordy bollocks to follow about my own experience over on the Island........

Outdoor Miner

escape capsule

 bizzare week. Out Thursday night on the 790 duke, a balmy, late summer ride down to the vic at Coalville, strange, not many folk about for a nice night, it’s usually packed, get chatting with a couple of locals who inform me that everyone is over at the Norton factory for the bike night that is held regularly through the summer. These two lads are hilarious ‘Suspect One’ is a bricklayer who has recently smashed his collarbone to atoms on his ktm    ‘crosser and so cannot work, been signed off for six weeks as he can’t physically pick up the bricks with his damaged arm, self-employed and pissed off but still riding his bang tidy Yamaha R6 carby, he keeps fishing tins of Stella from his bag, ring-pulled, three gulps and ‘pppppssshhh’ another one despatched, the empty tins crushed and tucked back into his bag, ‘Keep Britain Tidy? Nah, none of that old malarkey, he’s skint,  he can get a six pack of out of date wife-beater for a fiver rather than paying pub prices. I don’t for one minute condone drinking alcohol and riding, I like the occasional port and lemon or sweet sherry myself but find the adrenaline rush and subsequent endorphin dump of riding a motorcycle too fast to be an enough stimulant without clouding the experience through imbiding alcoholic beverages and riding, no judgement from me. I don’t agree with it and hopefully he makes it home safely and
without injuring himself or anyone else.

‘Suspect Two’ is another story

altogether, he is riding a 1290 Superduke R, as we chat he is quaffing lager, this time pints of draft lager, his bike is sans rear view mirrors, ‘don’t need ‘em mate, not bothered what’s happening behind me, only what’s happening in front’ his tyres are ragged beyond belief, I enquire if he’s done a trackday recently? ‘Nah mate, used to do them but too many rules, got bollocked last time I did one for forcing someone onto the grass’ he traded the 1290 for a Panigale. ‘I like this better, I can wear my jeans and a hoodie’ indeed, that’s the sum total of his protection, no gloves, trainers but an Arai rx7,with black visor.

‘I felt a bit of a twat in my leathers, looked like a chimp, they were Dainese D-Air’s, cost me two grand, couldn’t walk straight in them, race crouch cut you know?’

‘The 1290 is more ‘stealth’ for on the road, you blend in more’ oh yes, especially with the Austin Racing end can, I’ve heard some loud bikes in my time but whoah! Fruitier than a fruit bat with a hard-on! I was just saying, your motorcycle is a tad loud, ‘sorry, what did you say?’ ‘I was just saying, your two-wheeled, fire-breathing death machine is rather at the higher end of the pain threshold in relation to its decibel output’ ‘sorry, what did you say?’ You get the picture. LOUD.

‘Suspect Two’ skins out, ‘I’m off for a pint, see ‘ya later’ and with that he treats the onlookers to that glorious cacophony that accompanies his first, second and third gear mingers as he disappears up the road. 

It’s still relatively early so I make my way down to the Norton factory in Donington, it’s very busy here and bikes line the picturesque courtyard of the old house which serves as the offices for the Norton concern, I grab a brew and settle down to watch the comings and goings as the bikes continue to roll in. Tea quaffed and a slow lap of the courtyard to check out the machines and I skin out as the sun starts to set, the roads are quiet now, the commuters long gone and I give the KTM it’s head on the way home, I detour onto one of my favourite roads rather than going straight home, the air is cool now, definetly a touch of autumn in the air and I shiver as I’m only wearing a t-shirt under my bike jacket, any thoughts of being cold disappears as I wind the throttle on, there’s nothing like riding a bike, fast on a quiet road and as the darkness falls I kill a million insects as they are drawn to the light.

Saturday comes and an afternoon out on the Moto Guzzi, I head out into the high peak via the Staffordshire moorlands, out over the Roaches, the rocky ridge over Leek and drop down into Buxton, I turn off into the beautiful Goyt Valley, it’s so quiet up here, the roads are awash with the previous days heavy rain and the road is more like a stream bed in places where the,water is coursing down from the peat banks leaving a trail of mud and grit in its wake. I stop a few times to take in the view, the heather on the moorland is just starting to get its purple hue and I watch a pair of Buzzards gliding on the thermals, a Curlews haunting cry ringing out across the desolate moor as it calls to its mate. 

As I ride along on the Guzzi, it’s steady burble my soundtrack and my butt cheeks  slowly succumb to the vibration induced numbness I realise that this is why I ride, my consciousness is raised as I tune into the sights, smells, sounds and senses of moving through the air without encumbrance and as I wend my way home I’m already planning my next escape........

 

 stumbled across a few photos of the bmw boxer twin racebike project this afto, can’t remember if I posted these before? I think not and they are probably ‘out-takes’ from when I was building it.
   I’d forgotten how much machining work had been put into that rear hub! WTF! I think we made a good fist of turning a piece of shit, neglected,  unloved, [see what I did there?] unfashionable 650 tourer/commuter into a rather smart race machine........;.;
 

Donington Classic Motorcycle Festival [seconda parte]

Now, where was I? oh yes Donington classic Motorcycle Festival, so many lovely machines, the big Harris Suzuki, met the owner a couple of times last year at the classic tt/manx gp, really nice bloke who spends all his annual leave as part of the ‘orange army’ at the Isle of Man, if it wasn’t for these die-hard volunteers the races wouldn’t take place so massive respect is due. the bike is brilliant, a suzuki tscc air-cooled lump in a Harris frame and is  really well prepared, I can’t remember all the details, [but if I bump into him in a couple of weeks time in the iom i’ll ask for a more detailed spec]
   The JAP engined, single cylinder ‘Montgomery’ I have no idea about but I loved it, girder forks, ridgid frame and that tank cut away to fit around the cylinder head was mint, the tiny, jewel like Kreidler/Van Veen 50cc racer was just beautiful, so tiny but packed with engineering brilliance, I wanted to pick it up and take it home in my game-keepers bag, throw the telly out and just place it on the table, lush.

 The standard of the bikes was exemplary, these are no show-ponies here, just race machinery and even the people ‘parading’ were seriously rinsing these old knackers, the way it should be. My favourite bike? Well, you do become a tad blasé when there are so many fantastic bikes on show, [can’t believe I didn’t take a photo of any of the big buck ‘lansdowne’ manx nortons] May be a surprise but for me, it’s the Takuma Aoki ‘Cup Noodle’ 250 ‘stroker that gets my vote for bike of the meeting, bike porn of the highest quality, I’ve got this on my shed wall from a centrespread poster from an old ‘fastbikes’ magazine, if my fading memory serves me well, the stickers are all painted on as they are unobtanium, the photo doesn’t do it justice.......

Donington Classic Motorcycle Festival [prima parte]

 after a week of endless rain, saturday morning dawns bright and warm and it would be rude not to get out on the bike. the guzzi is nearest the door so that’s the weapon of choice for the twenty mile ride down to Donington Park for the crmc’s classic racing motorcycle festival.
    I rock up at 1100 hrs and I’m surprised that it doesn’t seem too busy with punters, the pits though are a hive of activity, the whole place is packed to the rafters with race machine exotica. this is a noise limit free meeting and the glorious sounds of unfettered race bikes warming up is pure music to the ears, two-strokes, the sound of racing, a high pitched scream, the revs rising instantaneously and the haze of blue smoke, I breathe it in, memories of a simpler time, free of save the planet, greta thunberg, political correctness and emission conscious bollocks, yes, I’m a caveman, I make no excuses for that.

the ‘diesel’s’ are well accounted for, the bass tones of the four-strokes shakes the ground, I must admit a wry smile glanced across my boat race when a small child burst into tears when a particularly loud MV was being given the berries! Fond memories of the Carib club in derby, warm red stripe, dub reggae and bowel loosening frequencies.                                                                                          

  thanks to mike smith and his dad for taking the time to have a chat about their absolute weapon of a gs thou. trident frame but with a proper two-valve gs thousand, air-cooled suzuki lump. they were just about to strip it down because it wasn’t selecting any gears, dad was going bin-dipping for a suitable receptacle so they could drain the oil. trouble with the brakes on their other bike, [a triumph trident if my fading memory serves me well but I stand corrected] it would be too easy to just stick a four-valve bandit lump in  and call it an xr69 like everyone else but these boys are keeping it real, along with all the associated pain. 20bhp down to the oil-burners but still sticking to the original two-valve motor, proper.........

national hillclimb association/curborough twisty sprint

 a wet and windy sunday, post breakfast and after being glued to the box watching the last three hours coverage of the suzuka eight hour endurance racing on eurosport I wimped out, chucked the camping stove, mashing kit and wet weather gear in the back of the trusty transporter and headed down to curborough for the nhca meeting.
  truly grass roots racing at its finest with approachable people only too happy to tell you about their home-brewed concoction’s of highly improbable race machinery and for me that’s what makes it all the more appealing. the vast majority of machines are ktm motocross derived bikes with 17” supermoto wheels and tyres, nothing wrong with that, cheap, light and devastatingly fast, crash well and very competitive, but for me, it’s the odd-ball stuff that gets my attention, now, for the life of me, what is the ‘zrf’ machine? I would think a yamaha szr single frame/swing arm? definitely a honda 250 racer seat unit, [used one of these on my mz racer’ engine? mx derived big single? the ariel arrow was just lovely, the greeves too, [but you know I’m a sucker for a ‘stroker] and then, there’s the dkw rotary, I mean, like basement jacks said, ‘where’s your head at?’ just brilliant that someone has the balls to race such a diverse machine, hats off to you sir!
    as the rain gets heavier the intrepid competitors continue to try and better their times, I feel very humble, there is probably a hundred racers and marshalls and I reckon around eight spectators, racing for the love of racing, massive respect due...........

who the fuck is wes cooley?

 for men of a certain age, the big ujm, [universal japanese motorcycles] were where it was at, big, hoary,  in line four cylinder bikes with too much weight and power, spindly frames and skinny tyres, [i managed to squeeze a massive 130 pirelli phantom onto the back of my ‘ice cream’ van, blue and white gs 1000s] dave aldana in his black skeleton leathers riding an evil looking gs at the transatlantic series match racers in the early eighties sealed it for me, croz, the new zealander on the yoshimura, high-bar gs, racing out there with the tz’s and rg strokers, these were bikes that we could identify with, bikes you could buy at the dealers, strip off the lights and ride at the weekend. of course it wasn’t like that in reality, these were big money, factory machines prepared with a massive budget, a bit like the bsb bikes today, basically a silhouette but a million miles away from the road bikes. the ‘duke’ vhs videos added a new dimension, grainy, poor quality video footage of ‘our’ bikes racing and winning at daytona, all narrated by local legend chris carter.
   I traded my red and white, ‘speedblock’ yamaha, rd400 for a blue and white gs1000 at the local co-op, yes really, the co-op! some genius decided to get into the motorcycle scene and make a killing, unfortunately it didn’t quite go that way as the ex-car dealers running the show didn’t have a clue so there was some great deals to be had and the mighty co-op pulled the plug a mere six months later after having their fancy gilded pants down and their arses royally spanked by all manner of local scrotes trading in worn out, crashed tat for sparkling new bikes. happy days. to this day I can’t believe I pulled off the deal with a seized rd for a low mileage gs1000.
the transformation soon began, at first foam grips, then a set of marzocchi shocks, [they all came red, I stripped them and sprayed them blue, later powder coated the springs white] I stripped off the engine case lacquer with nitromors and polished them with solvol, a local firm, metmachex started building beautiful aluminium swinging arms with eccentric chain adjusters, I had to have on and ended up using a car jack to splay the frame to get it to fit, an alpha 4 into 1 pipe, swiftly swapped for a harris f1 followed, cir cycle yellow ht leads and polished bell-mouths and raask Rearsets, the ubiquitous stainless Allen head screw kit for the engine and a kawasaki steering damper.
  The second picture is my bike, taken sometime in the very early 1980’s in my ex girlfriends backyard, look closely and you can see the tin of mr sheene polish and the tube of auto-solvol polish.
  so, where’s all this going then? it’s friday night and im looking at gs1000r endurance racers, wes cooleys AMA supebike has been done to death, I love them, big, tough and lairy but the yoshimura endurance racers are the nuts, don’t know if it’s my upcoming annual visit to the Isle of Man for the Classic TT/Manx gp, yes the xr69 bikes are all oil-boiler bandit/gixxer based four valves and not the original two-valve motors but what the fuck, the Manx Norton’s are all summerfield/works performance or molnar four valves, the mv’s built in a shed in the West Midlands and nowhere near milan.
   Mrs b is not happy, I’ve bid on a tatty 600 Suzuki bandit, mot failure and needing work, the photos taken after the well known dodge of spraying with a hosepipe, [everything looks better wet] I’m not fooled, it’s a knacker but all I can see in my minds eye is a suzuka eight-hour yoshimura endurance racer........

since god was a boy

A very pleasant afternoon spent at the VMCC founders day rally at Stamford hall, not been here for a few years but nothing really changes, all the stalls are in exactly the same place and I’m sure they are still selling the same rusty old tat that I saw three years ago. Does anyone really buy second hand sprockets with less teeth than a geriatric hen? The bikes are the stars though, yes there are some lovely, concourse bikes wheeled out to receive a rosette and put back in the van until the next show, but for me wandering down the tree lined avenue searching out the gems is where it’s at for me. I know I’m not posting as many photos as I used to on the blog but forgive me, it got to the stage where I felt I was missing out on the ambiance and enjoyment of just stumbling around looking, talking to the characters and just enjoying the whole experience instead of chasing Instagram ‘likes’, followers and comments. 

Sitting in the shade of a massive oak tree eating a cheese and tommy doorstep I found myself reflecting on the whole classic bike scene, I’m no youngster myself as I passed the ‘60’ milestone a few weeks ago but the average age of the visitors must have been at least sixty-five and that’s a conservative [hacks loudly and spits on the floor] estimate. Where are the kids? Where’s the new blood coming through to take over the reigns and keep these lovely old bikes on the road where they belong not sitting polished and burnished and unused and silent and viewed as a piece of fine art rather than a noisy, oil-smelling, loud and dangerous motorcycle? 

itemise loathing and feed yourself smiles

thursday night see’s me out on the 790 duke for a 40 mile run down to coalville for the bike night at the vic, the first bike night I’ve attended for 18 months if truth be told. It’s a warm but overcast evening when I set off, short work through the works traffic, weary commuters making their way home through derby, I cut the queues easily, flick my headlight onto full-beam as I split lanes and filter ever wary of the tool’s in their rep-mo-biles on the ‘phone making excuses for being late to ‘the good lady wife’ 

I cut through the backlanes and I’m soon out into rural leicestershire, the traffic is thin and any ‘obstacles’ are soon despatched with a quick squirt of the the throttle, bloody hell! I had forgotten how much fun the 790 was, I scroll through the menu on the move and stick into sport mode, the bike takes on a different demeanour, it hunts a little below four thousand arr-pee-emm but north of that it’s  off like a scolded cat, front wheel pawing the air and with a very, very naughty exhaust note. The riding position is just so aggressive, ‘want some do ya’ monkey boy! wallop!’ elbows come out naturally, the view from the cockpit is, err, nothing, you can’t see the front wheel, just the tft screen scrolling  from black to white instantly as you go from shade to sunlight, the engine noise is intoxicating, I really don’t know how ktm have got away with this pipe, why spunk £800 on an akra and drop 3bhp? 

sorry, back to the plot, so, I eventually arrive at the vic, park up and go in search of a coke. I have a wander and try to find something to take a photo of, something that fires me up and sparks enthusiasm to trawl evil-bay and purchase a gilera chronos 125, a vespa px200 or t5, a vtr firestorm, another 750 or 900ss ducati, supermono racebike or puch vs50d. 

So, here’s a picture of my drive, primark trainer and ted the dog instead...........