dickie dale, bmw, paddock stand...

 ritmo sereno beemer,' ooh yeah, who do you think you are?, mr big stuff......'

mike krauser, famous for his 4-valve head's for boxer engines, his mkm trick framed specials and more mundanely, his motorcycle luggage system's, mike was also a great racer in his own right, i must admit i lost interest in sidecar racing after the death of the late, great jock taylor, i've always appreciated the technology and engineering involved in the outfits, the ultimate must have been the lcr/worm outfit's of the mid to late '80's, my interest has been sparked again when i've been to spectate at the bhr meetings at mallory and cadwell, especially the kneeler vs big wheeler vs morgan battles, all good stuff, what fascinates me about this photo is the 'tilted. outfit, i've seen the picture many times before but only tonight noticed the passenger 'steering wheel'....

 monday night and the boxer racer project continues, i spend a couple of hours stripping all the road-bike stuff off, i'm suprised just how much this stuff weighs, it must be a german thing, total over-engineering, same as when we built the mz racer, where the jap's would use abs plastic the germans use aluminium castings, for all that though, the bike comes apart with the minimum of fuss, the aftermarket crashbar's prove a fight and i make the discovery that the fairing isn't a factory part, but a home-brewed affair by one of the previous 15 owners, it's actually the top half of a k series 'brick' engine glassed to the bottom half of an rt boxer fairing, very well done by a serial fiddler and i can vouch that it actually works having ridden the bike in the rain, [unlike ben, who's bike is made of sugar], time has taken it's toll on the machine as i get down to the nitty-gritty, the battery carrier and swinging arm have taken the brunt of the weather and leaking battery in the past, nothing a good blasting and powdercoating can't sort though and i've seen worse, [particularly on my ex-metropolitan police/despatch rider beemer], good point's? the 650 has a couple of nice alloy yokes rather than the flimsy stamped steel plate of the bigger twin's and the fork leg's are perfect due to the protection offered by the unfashionable rubber gaitor's, the fork legs need some 'massaging', the reflector castings are hideous and the yoke's will look good when they've had a bit of work.............

 saturday afternoon see's me skinning out on the beemer to darley-moor to catch the late afternoon practice sessions, eight miles out and i'm approaching weston underwood, this is a great bit of road, past kedleston hall and a series of left-right-left, off -camber bends, roll it off for the junction on the left and then flatout between the hedges left, left, left, right, brake and i never get this left-hander right, either too fast in or too slow, frontend goes light over the sharp crest, left and right handers then hard on the brakes for the thirty limit, there's a nissan micra in front, drop down two gears, got to get past before the climb out of weston to get a good run at the next piece of road as i head towards hulland ward and ashbourne, road's clear, gun it and, bastard, the motor dies, feels like a diaphragm's ripped, i pull over into the next lay-by, mr micra cruises past, smug look on his face, drop the float bowl, loads of debris in there, flush it through and take the top off the right hand carb using my trusty leatherman, diaphragm looks ok, i reckon i've dropped a valve then, don't fancy hanging about for the rac man so press the button, bloody hell, it start's, i make my way home, a 325cc single cylinder, every now and again the motor kick's onto two cylinders, coughs and blows a load of thick black smoke from the right hand pot, i park it up in the shed and walk the dog's, sunday and i dig the sporty out of the shed, put the new tax disc in the holder and head up to kev's for his end of season show, he's a jammy bugger, he alway's has great weather and today is no different, it's a lovely day, warm and sunny, meet up with barse and gordy, cup of tea and i need to get away from the harley owner's as soon as possible, weekend warrior's, i can't be rocking the hog patches, trikes and bolt-on attitudes, skin out to chesterfield, make my way over to darley-moor, as i walk around the paddock and clock the attitudes and motorhomes, the tyre-warmers and works factory set-up's and realise i don't belong here either, i try and find something interesting to photograph but instead put my camera away and head home, glass of wine, de-la-soul on the i-pod and i start to strip the beemer, summer's gone, hello autumn.....

oi ben, you really ought to shut-the-fuck-up until you know what you are talking about, i've been riding bikes since you were still a glint in your old man's eye, i was riding bikes before they became the 'next big thing', i've been riding, [and building] bikes when motorcycles were dangerous, not a fucking fashion accessory like an i-pad, the latest training shoes, [converse all-stars for me thanks], sushi bar's and pin-striping, i was riding bikes everyday, all-year round as a necessity to get to work, fetch the shopping and my only means of transport, not 'profiling' at matlock bath or the harley dealer's, i've been riding bikes when you risked getting your head stoved in and your bike wrecked because you rode one, i've been riding bikes since you got refused being served at pub's because 'we don't serve biker's', i've been riding bikes when bikes were a political statement, putting it to the man, fighting the power, protesting against law's that would have put us off the road forever, don't disrespect the old school, embrace it and who know's you might learn something, until you've rebuilt a shovelhead primary like barse and me in a telford pub carpark using handtools and cardboard from mcdonald's don't talk to me about riding bikes you fucking lightweight, oh yeah, your bike is made of sugar because you only ride it in the dry, sucker......

 andy saunders, #1, mz racing champion, 2011, respect due.

british historic racing, cadwell park, september 25th, the devil is in.....

wednesday night, we are already past the autumn equinox, the night's are longer than the day's, we are having a last blast of summer, temperatures well above the season norm, i really like this time of year, the mellow fruitfullness, blah, blah, blah and yet, i really don't like the shorter day's and the evening's darkening so soon, i get the dog-walking out of the way and jack sort's out the domestic chores, i'm away for 1745hrs, the shadow's are already lengthening but it's still a lovely night, no sign of the autumn chill we associate with at this time of year, the sort of cold and damp that slowly creep's up on you, fingers starting to numb, creeping back into the warmth of your jacket, checking the zipper to make sure it's all the way up, the roads are light on traffic at this time of day/night, everyone has made it home from the daily commute, the quarry- lorries driver's have run out of hour's on their tacho's and had to park up for the night, the 'safety partnership' operatives have knocked off for the day and the mummy's on the school run are preparing tea for little apple and moses, the discovery's and prius's are safely parked on the printed concrete and block paved driveway's, time to ride then, senses working overtime, [good name for a song that], hit the via-gellia, empty, signs warn me of road work's and road closures, i pass the third set of sign's and the penny drops', 'between the hours of 0930hours and 1800 hours', bloody hell, there's nothing on the road, it's mine, damp patches, debris spilled from the quarry-lorries, little, pea sized stones, like ball bearing's, spread across the road, damp patches under the trees, wet leaves and that white, dusty stuff that i know is limestone all over the road, suddenly, i'm guy martin at the tt, i'm on a thirty year old bmw, i'm bought back to reality as i round a bend and have to apply the brembo's big time to avoid kissing an unlit trailer being towed by a tractor, knock it off and slow it down, i pull up to watch the sun setting, i'm joined by a herd of young cow's who crowd over to check me out over the gate, non-fiction.......

sunday see's dangerous and me heading off early door's to the final round of the british historic racing club meeting at cadwell park in lincolnshire, it's raining heavily as we set off but by the time we get to newark the sky is starting to clear and the sun breaks through, it's around ninety miles to cadwell from belper and we resist the urge to pull over for a brew and pull into the 'park around eleven-in-the-am, it's really busy, busier than i thought for a classic bike meeting, we get a tea and wander down to old hall bends to watch some action, all the races are four-lapper's and it's seriously fast racing, sidecar's, morgan's, scooter's, ridgid framed vintage bikes, ducati singles, i bump in to ron maul the bmw racer, he's won the over 50 class and over 500cc championship, all on a deceptively fast home-brewed r750 based special, great day out and to top it off i picked up a fairing for the project off ken inwood, ken's a legend, i can't remember a time when he hasn't been in the paddock at race meeting's all around the country, changing tyres, selling two-stroke oil and all the other sundries that a club racer need's in a weekend, got an avon half fairing, screen and front 'guard, that's it then, game on.........

friday, day off, well, i say day off, up at 0500hrs, tea, drop jack off at work, an hour and a half goes, unpaid, just sorting shit out, i'm home at 0730hrs, jess is off to lincoln to see her boyfriend this weekend, mrs b, the dog's and me head out to carsington water, park up at sheepwash and take the 'strenous', eight mile walk, it's one of those beautiful autumn day's, sunny and calm, there is a light that never goes out......