Join the adventure www.touratech.co.uk

Transcription

Issue 168
July 2012
WWW.THERIDERSDIGEST.CO.UK
From the editor...
OK, I’m on my scooter
at a red light on the North
Circular, at the spot near
Arnos Grove where the
trunk road swings sharply
east. To my right there’s a
Subaru WRX sitting on ultra
low profile tyres. Next to
him is the pitch-black R1
that had roared past me so
imperiously on a straight
section a few miles back. Its
pilot sits there like the picture
perfect dark knight, with lid,
visor, one-piece leathers and
boots all matching his steed.
As the little green striding
pedestrian disappears to be
replaced by a stationary red
one, the twenty something
driver of the Scooby smiles
at his girl and increases the
rumble from his big bore
exhaust; the man in black
snicks the Yamaha into gear;
and I hit the ‘Sports mode’
button on the Burgman. The
traffic is stationary in every
direction before the amber
light joins the red and it’s like
a starter dropping his flag.
Technically, sitting in
the left-hand lane the way
I was, I should have been
going straight on; but as any
student of the road will tell
you, if you’re negotiating a
right-hander, you want to
enter it from as far across on
the left as you can. It was the
fact that Johnny Cash hadn’t
thought of that that tempted
me into seeing if I could prick
a hole in his ever so obvious
2
arrogance. It was apparent
within the first few yards
that the car wasn’t even in
it, so flipped the scoot to the
right and accelerated hard
towards the point on the
road that I’d chosen to take
me around the outside of
the bike.
I allowed a substantial
margin of error just in case its
rider made the same mistake
as the wanker on the big
KTM a few days earlier, who
completely underestimated
how quickly a scoot can pull
away from the lights and
cut right across my line on
a roundabout causing me
to brake sharply and swerve
to avoid T-boning him! But
there was no danger of that
with the R1 as I was already
right out front before I
reached the apex and he
clearly had no idea how to
stop me riding around him
and accelerating away. OK,
so he shot past me when
it all straightened up but
I’d made my point by then
and to be honest he looked
like he was trying to escape
embarrassment rather than
attempting to emphasise
a misplaced sense of
superiority the way he
had earlier.
It was all very childish
and entirely pointless but
that didn’t detract from the
swirl of amusement and
satisfaction that tickled me
all the way to my mum’s place
in Walthamstow. I couldn’t
help thinking that the only
way I could have shown him
up any more thoroughly,
would have been if I’d done
the same thing two-up!
A few hours later I was
heading home with Wendy
on the pillion after deciding
that the bands at Jim’s
birthday bash were a bit loud
for a couple of oldies like us
(well it was Jim’s 35th!) so
we’d head home and catch a
couple more episodes from
our newly arrived The Wire
box set. The long straight
between Kings Cross and the
Edgeware Road was rammed
but I took full advantage of
the 24/7 bus lane and soon
we were accelerating onto
the A40 elevated.
Why has the speed limit
been lowered to 40mph
on the Westway? It has six
lanes, Armco, and a hard
shoulder, the same as any
motorway, so why doesn’t
the national speed limit
apply? Rather than expend
a whole load of brainpower
pondering the arbitrary
thinking behind that one,
I chose to concentrate
on my roadcraft while I
made progress much as I
always have.
When I pulled up to
push a loose ear bud snugly
back into place, Wendy
wrapped her arms round me
and jiggled affectionately,
which was her way of
letting me know that she
was thoroughly enjoying
our emphatic charge across
town. She couldn’t verbalise
it because with both my
RHA ‘noise isolating’ buds
properly located once again,
I couldn’t hear anything
above the Wombats singing
Let’s Dance To Joy Division
on the soundtrack we were
sharing (courtesy of a 95p
audio splitter). We rolled
rapidly around the one-way
system at Hammersmith
with a Gladys Knight ballad
whispering gently in our
ears, illustrating once again
that the beat of the song
doesn’t necessarily effect
the tempo of the ride; and
from there right through
until I rolled off the throttle
approaching a red light in
Mortlake our tempo was very
much prestissimo.
A black Fazer thou pulled
up alongside and I turned
to give the rider my best
carin’ sharin’ we’re all on
two wheels smile, which
he returned with an everso-slightly
contemptuous
grimace that seemed to
say, “Yeah but mine are just
so much butcher, better
and faster than yours!” I
squeezed Wendy’s left knee
affectionately, clicked the
Suzi into ‘Sports mode’ and
launched it the moment the
lights changed. The chap on
the Yammy was clearly taken
by surprise because he was
way back in my mirrors by
the time I reached a
reasonably outrageous speed
and stopped accelerating.
ISSUE 168 July 2012
He was even further back
after we’d despatched a
smallish roundabout and
was still behind us when
we stopped at a red light at
Richmond Circus.
I was first off the line
again but as I approached the
neat right-left at the other
end of the green a crawling
car baulked me. I didn’t know
how quickly the other bike
would negotiate the kink or
whether he would anticipate
a swift lane change on my
part, so I decided – as I always
do if there’s any uncertainty
– to wait for him to ride past,
which he did; eventually. I
was right alongside him as
we crossed the river, then
slowed for the speed camera
without resorting to braking
before jamming the throttle
on the stop as the road
swung to the right and we
rode around his outside.
At the following roundabout
he was too intent on the lights
to even gaze in our direction
but he ended up with a great
view of the Burgman’s fat
arse-end as we rode around
his outside again before
accelerating hard into the
empty inside lane and away.
There was no problem moving
across to pass a car this time
because I could see him in my
left-hand mirror. Moments
later we were at yet another
roundabout and I backed off
briefly to allow a flurry of cars
to clear from the right. That was
as close as the Fazer got before
I nailed it around the greenery
and left him floundering in our
wake once again.
We were stopped at a
red light waiting to turn
right when he caught up
again and although I turned
to offer him another smile,
he sailed past on our left
without so much as a wave,
which I thought was a tad
unfriendly but there you go,
it takes all sorts I guess.
We rode sedately along
the residential streets from
the A316 back to our place
and were indoors a matter
of minutes later, cuddling
cosily and laughing out loud
at what an exhilarating ride
home it had been.
Later I couldn’t help
wondering if I ride a motorcycle
because I have a bit of a Peter
Pan streak, or if it was that
two wheels and an engine
arrangement that caused the
problem in the first place?
In the end I decided that as
I’ve spent my entire ‘adult’
life riding bikes, it was a bit
pointless trying to separate
the two; that I should simply
accept that at the age of 57 I
am whatever I am and just be
grateful that I have my very
own Wendy Darling to share
such juvenile pleasures with.
Dave Gurman
Catch Dave every Thursday
between 6 and 8pm (GMT) on
www.bikerfm.co.uk
3
Contents...
7. In the Saddle
Shaft drive scuttlebutts and satisfied subscribers
25. The Boy Biker
It’s an L of a life for learners
11. Rider’s Lives
A popular pro
27. Nuts & Bolts
Getting your electrics
into a solid state
12. Image of the Month
Paul Shoesmith does an Evel Knievel
14. Six & the City
A desperately damp drought
17. Return To Cuba
Lyn delivers reading materials to LAMA Cuba
Editor
Dave Gurman
Assistant editor
Peter Martin
Design
Simon Gardner
Web site
Stewart Pettey
4
28. Two Wheels To The End Of The World
Moving through Mexico
57. The Illusion Of Control
Thomas gets all metaphysical
71. Touratech Travel Weekend
The musings of a marshall
71. Panther Pioneer
Sid Wilkinson’s seventy plus years in the saddle
82. Special K
BMW bricks and boxers
94. In The Shadow Of
The Tiger
Blue88 goes for the
low-key option
145. Book Review
Self help books across the ages
157. Bitz
Adventure travel films and something for
the kids
120. Fastest Blez talks to filmmaker Mark Neale
Contributors
Tinks, Lyn Funnell, George Smith, Rod Young,
Paul Browne, Thomas Day, Oldlongdog, Blue88,
Martin Haskell, Paul Blezard, Jonathan Boorstein
Cartoons
Simon Kewer
Photographs
Blue88, Duncan Longden, Lyn Funnell, Paul Browne,
Thomas Day, Peter Martin, Martin Haskell, Paul
Blezard, Grant Gee, Stephen Potter, Azi Farni
Contacts
Editorial
Dave Gurman
+44 (0) 20 8707 0655
+44 (0) 7948 897093
[email protected]
139. Motorcycle Girl Racer
More from Dr Stukoff Kvak’s lab
67. Ask Lampkin
Legal advice
The opinions and comments of contributors
within this magazine do not necessarily reflect the
opinions of the editor.
ISSUE 168 July 2012
Advertising
Peter Martin
+44 (0) 7973 818579
[email protected]
5
In The S addle...
Dear Dave,
Glad that you’re up and
running again, albeit in a
different format.
However, Did the court
wind-up apportion any monies
to those who had just renewed
their subscription & only got
one issue for it?
Best wishes,
Ian Hunter
Hi Ian, I was putting
together the letters pages
at the eleventh hour and I
came across this and realised
that I hadn’t replied to you –
sorry, you got lost in a loaded
mail bag. As I explained in
the message I sent to every
ex-subscriber I had an email
address for, “I want to stress
that the new version of TRD
has nothing whatsoever to
do with the company that
went bust, or any of the
6
ISSUE 168 July 2012
individuals who owned it
at that time. It is an entirely
new initiative starting from
scratch with nothing but the
name (which was free to pick
up) and the great reputation
that goes with it” – Ed
Dear David,
Thank you very much for
your support, words alone
cannot express how grateful
I am, what your help really
means to me, and or how
far it goes in enabling me to
actually continue training…
I am now not only doing this
for myself, but also for you
who has helped me. Thanks
again, and may good fortune
be with you now and for the
rest of your day’s…
Yours gratefully,
Paul Efeyana,
Team GB Paralympian,
South London
My pleasure and honour
Paul; good luck – Ed
Hi Dave,
Glad to see you back in
the hot seat. I guess with
your passion you couldn’t
keep away.
I must say I am really
pleased to see the old style
back with you in the chair.
It was never the same after you
stepped down as editor and
lost its “feel” and “direction”
when Alan Dowds took over
as editor.
Is it my imagination or
have I read the Street Triple
article in issue 166 before?
The only improvement
now is to get it back into print.
I don’t think my company
takes too kindly to printing
150 pages on the colour laser!
Regards
Choke - Kent
7
In The S addle...
Thanks for your kind
words Choke, I can’t tell you
how much I would love to
be able to produce a printed
magazine but that is way
beyond my very limited
financial resources at this
point. As for the Street
Triple, yes indeedy you did.
Although we have plenty of
brand spanking new editorial
arriving every month, I’ve
included
an
occasional
article from the old issues
of TRD I edited when I felt
they helped to balance the
content in a particular issue
– also they’ve all been damn
good articles that I believed
deserved exposure to a wider
international audience – Ed
Hi Dave,
As I’m paging my way
through your June issue, it
becomes obvious to me that
my favorite series comes from
Paul Browne’s trip through
the Americas. I am looking
forward to his experience in
Central and South America.
His writing wasn’t exceptional
at the beginning of his trip,
but his style is evolving and
becoming even more fun to
read as he travels this country.
Thomas Day
Minnesota Motorcycle
Monthly Magazine
www.mnmotorcycle.com
8
Hi Dave,
Those damnable ‘bucking’
BMW’s and Moto Guzzi’s.
Oh dear Tom Stewart
(Somme Explorer TRD 167)
has been talking to some
old wives.
This fallacy comes up in
discussion amongst the more
thoughtful Guzzisti every
decade or so and we laugh at
those silly people who believe
in it.
If you blip the throttle in
neutral at tick over a big block
Guzzi will lurch to the right.
This is flywheel torque
reaction, which disappears
as soon as you move off.
If it is anything to do with
the shaft drive you have a
major mechanical fault on
your hands as it should be
stationary in neutral.
For a good lesson in how
much a chain drive buggers
up a motorbike’s final drive
watch a tank (has two massive
chains on either side called
tracks) or similar accelerating
and braking. Then watch a 40
tonne lorry (shaft drive).
Guess which one is
far smoother.
I must admit that a
number of my friends have
liked the Triumph Tiger and
the lack of shaft drive has
been the only thing putting
them off. Well congratulations
In The S addle...
to Triumph for finally fitting a
true engineering solution to
the final drive.
Perhaps they will have
more success than the
Japanese who have failed to
break through the inherent
conservatism
of
most
motorcyclists.
And
only
eighty years after most car/
lorry manufacturers saw
the truth.
For those who believe
that chain drive is a must in
sports bikes can I suggest you
look at the newly relaunched
British European American
Racing Series. This is being led
by a virtually road spec 1 litre
1990’s Moto Guzzi Le Mans
with Rob Paget riding and
fettled superbly by my good
friend Andy (aged 4) Harris of
Team Muzzi Racing. And this
against some quite high tech
more modern machinery.
The rest of the article
was good though and I
particularly liked the fact
that he felt he could admit
to being over cemetery’d.
You can become quite blasé
about some incredible human
suffering without meaning to
or meaning any offence.
To be honest without that
ability the human race would
have drowned in its own tears
centuries ago.
Ride Safe
An ancient Guzzisti
Ian Dunmore
P.S. I have just discovered
an Arab philosopher Abu
Ala Al-Ma’arri (937-1057)
who I strongly believe you
would like. Amongst his more
memorable saying is “There
are two types of people in
this world, intelligent men
without religion and religious
men without intelligence.”
By which he meant he disliked
all dogma. So in the spirit of
Abu Ala Al-Ma’arri I will say
I found the Harley Davidson
articles interesting.
Hi Dave,
We met at the A.M.O.C
Spring Bash last weekend in
Mitcham and you mentioned
that if I wanted some copies
of the pictures of my bike (the
black “Recycled Panzer” BMW)
to email you.
I would appreciate if
you could, please, send me
the photos when you have
the time and if it is possible.
Thank you.
I hope that you had a
good time last Saturday.
If you are looking to
cover some good motorcycle
events, there will be a very
good Poker Run near Hastings
on the Saturday 09/06/12
organised by the Norsemen
MCC, this is their website:
ISSUE 168 July 2012
www.norsemen-mcc.co.uk
Where you will find
the contact details if you
are interested.
Ride safe,
Bill
Hi Dave,
Great mag, thanks. I have
gone to the archive and
cannot find the last issue, May
2012, # 166.
I have been away and
missed it. Is it possible to
download it.
Many thanks,
Glen
Hi Glen, sorry that issue
wasn’t immediately available
on the archive page, it was
simply an oversight on our
part. I know that you’ve got
the PDF now but I thought
I’d include your message
just in case other readers are
unaware that they can catch
up on any of the digital issues
that they’ve missed entirely
free simply by visiting our
archive page – Ed
internet payments – can I
send you a cheque? If so, to
you personally or TRD?
I do not want to continue
to take a free ride.
Regards
Wyn
West Wales
Thanks for your kind
words and for your donation
(which I received by post)
made out correctly to TRD –
Ed
Dave,
Wonderful that you are
back writing The Rider’s
Digest again, without you
TRD became mainstream
and diluted.
Regret that I’m stone age
on donations as I don’t do
9
Rider ’s Lives
benzina__
Name: Dan Walsh
Benzina
S I C
A S
C L
I T A L I A N
M O
T O R
C Y C
L E S
Issue 7
GIRL ON A (BLOODY FAST) MOTORCYCLE
THE REAL COMEBACK
KID
ORIGINS
BENELLI 500/4
HI-CAM
GENIUS
NIGHT
MOVES
UPSET
MV&MAGNI
IN THE END
HALF BOOK
100% ITALIAN MOTORCYCLES
1 | B e nz ina
Finally something you’ll want to read: (besides the Rider’s Digest - obviously) Benzina is a quarterly
magazine showcasing classic Italian bikes in a high quality format. The 21 x 24 cm landscape layout
shows motorcycles the way they’re meant to be seen. In fact Benzina is more like a book than a
traditional magazine - heavyweight paperstock, 88 ad free pages and nothing that won’t be as
relevant in a couple of years time as it is today, often with ground breaking stories and always with a
love for the planet’s finest motorcycles. For more information and to buy visit teambenzina.co.uk
benzina
C L A S S I C
I TA L I A N
M O T O WWW.THERIDERSDIGEST.CO.UK
R C Y C L E S
10
What was your first
motorcycling experience?
Sixteen, pillion on a
K75 BMW ridden by Ian, my
then-best-girl’s dad, into
the Macclesfield hills. It
felt impossibly, terrifyingly
fast. After ten seconds I was
swallowing screams and
wanting to get off. After ten
minutes I was whooping
hollers and wanting us to go
on, on, on. He encouraged
my giddy teen obsession
with something other than
his daughter’s naked body by
lending us a Honda Camino
that we rode by the railway
line, chasing trains, and then
an oddball, Cagiva-built
Harley SS125 two-stroke that
we couldn’t get further than
the drive without it seizing.
We left anyway.
What is your current bike?
BMW Ex-Off-Road-Skills
G650X that rides better than
that reads. Lack of pillion
provision and abundant
appeal to Hulme joyriders
means it gathers the dust
ISSUE 168 July 2012
it should be kicking up,
marooned in Speed Couriers’
Old Trafford warehouse. Daily
ride’s an XJ600N, nicknamed
‘Shit Bike’ after passing scals
tagged its flank with that
sharpie slur. Fast as anything
across town, comfy enough
for cross-country jaunting
and Spanish sauntering, &
discreet enough for towerblock parking. An older R100/
XJR/Bandit looms.
What bike would you most
like to ride/own?
Best bike I’ve ever ridden
is the astonishingly-capable
Dakar Rally Rep HP2. Best
bike I’ve never ridden is any
HRD Vincent. Following
the Italian Moto Giro on a
900ss, I fell in love with a late
model Black-Something or
other that was being ridden
not hidden, two-up across
Umbria by adventurous Brits.
Unfortunately, Vincents have
become investments for
them, not motorcycles for
us. Instead, a realistic dream
garage would be split across
the world - an Enfield in
Cochin, a Tenere in Seville, an
XR600 in Buenos Aires, and an
airhead Boxer in Manchester
would be perfect.
What was your hairiest
moment on a bike?
I don’t enjoy crashes nor
crash stories. I’ve broken
a leg, punctured a lung,
cracked ribs.
What was your most
memorable ride?
Mountains and coastlines
are glorious, but motorcycling
potentially creates memorable
moments with every ride, and
consequently crushes the
need for nostalgia or ‘what ifs?’
What would be the ideal
soundtrack to the above?
Wind howl and airbox
growl. Thump of a big single
and the tickle of a happy
couple. I don’t listen to
music and ride, but Coltrane
& Mogwai soundtrack the
post-ride films that flicker
round my in-bed head, and
I’m bouncing along to Chin
Loy’s Aquarius Dub while
writing this.
What do you think is
the best thing about
motorcycling?
It’s the closest I’ve
come to lucid dream flying
while awake.
What do you think is
the worst thing about
motorcycling?
Every one of us has lost
friends during this great
escape
Name an improvement
you’d like to see for the
next generation?
Peace, bread & roses for all.
How would you like to be
remembered?
I’d rather be doing the
remembering. I intend to
outlive every other fucker.
11
Photography ©Duncan Longden, all rights reserved
12
ISSUE 168 July 2012
www.duncan-photo.com
13
Six and the City
14
Wednesday
“The rain in Spain falls
mainly on the plain”
Well, that’s all jolly good
for the Spanish, whereas the
rain in England falls mainly,
well, everywhere.
I was looking forward
to finally getting in to my
summer leathers and having
a bit of a pose on the R6
whilst meandering through
the traffic; big black sports
bike, diminutive rider in skin
tight black leather, long hair
streaming out from my girlie
lid with black visor. You get
the picture.
(Actually, I never ride with
my hair loose ‘cos it gets so
tangled up it can take hours
to brush out)
I have as yet to actually get
out of my winter kit. It seems
to be continuously steaming
in the boiler room at work, or
steaming whilst draped over
the boiler at home.
Today was no different.
I made the 60 mile commute
in to work and only
encountered a small light
spattering of the wet stuff. It
was a rather pleasant journey
with light traffic and the
opportunity to make suitable
progress. Boring as hell, mind.
The return journey was quite
the opposite.
Having checked the
live traffic reports (M25 – I
hate filtering for 30 miles!), I
decided to make a move, as it
was currently clear.
ISSUE 168 July 2012
As I walked out to my
bike in the car park, the skies
darkened and it started to
rain. I made my way out
onto the M4 in monsoonlike conditions and it wasn’t
until I got onto the motorway
that the folly of my decision
to use my bike really hit me;
the spray off the road had
reduced the visibility to a few
hundred meters, if that.
I was on a black bike,
wearing black (forgot my hiviz) and was nearly invisible
against the dark grey sky
and dark grey road. Although
traffic wasn’t moving as fast
as normal, it was still fast, and
large trucks in particular were
still moving at a rate of knots.
I remained in the inside
lane,
constantly
having
to clear my visor (black –
because I didn’t think to
change it) and I was terrified
that I was about to get wiped
out at any second.
The overhead screen
between J11 and J10 informed
me that my route around
the M25 was at a standstill
(deep joy) and I really had
to get off the motorway as
the riding conditions were
appalling, so I took a gamble
and came off the next
junction and followed my
nose down through some
dual carriageways and on to
the M3.
By now the sun had come
out and I was glad of the
black visor as it was blindingly
bright with the light reflecting
off the wet roads.
On the M3, conditions
had improved and there was
less traffic, however it was
slowing up in front of me
and I had to filter. If you’ve
ever had to filter down the
M3, then you know how bad
the road surface is – the overbanding has crumbled away
leaving pot holes and an
uneven surface which does
really scare me.
Two hours later and I get
home. Hornet Boy opens the
door and takes a quizzical
look at me, “Didn’t you get
wet? ‘Cos you don’t look it”
Yes I feckin’ well did get
wet! Only it’s taken so feckin,
long to get home I’ve almost
dried off!
So, getting back to the rain
in Spain; if it falls mainly on the
plain, then good – cos we’re
off to tour around Andalucía.
BMWmotohirespain,
here
we come and I for one can’t
bloody wait!
What’s the betting it rains?
15
RETURN TO CUBA
Visit The Somme
Battlefields
and stay in the
Best Biker’s Bed & Breakfast in Picardy
L
Martin and Kate Pegler
Orchard Farm
80360 COMBLES, NORTHERN FRANCE
TEL: 00333 22 86 56 72
EMAIL: [email protected]
or visit
www.martinpegler.com
16
ast month I was privileged to be
invited back to Cuba for their annual
FitCuba Fair.
midnight, which was frustrating as the bikers
meet on the seafront beside the Hotel Nacional
every Saturday evening.
It was hosted in Havana last year and that was
where and when I’d first met the Latin American
Motorcycle Association on their immaculate
antique machines (see issue 165).
But they knew that I was coming and on Sunday
morning there they all were to meet me!
It was funny to see them in their biker gear,
parked outside the 5-star Hotel Quinta Avenida
Havana, and they got many a bemused stare
from the arriving and departing guests,
especially when they held up the Union Jack I’d
brought them!
This year it was held on one of Cuba’s beautiful
Atlantic islands, or Cayos as they’re called. And
sadly, Cayo Santa Maria was too far for the bikes
to travel. They’re getting quite old and fragile
now and they are, of course, irreplaceable.
On Saturday, 12th May, we all travelled back to
Havana in our coach. We arrived at our hotel at
ISSUE 168 July 2012
Sunday 13th May was Mother’s Day and a far
more important day than it is here, so it really
was an honour that they’d turned up for my
sake but they were determined to show their
17
18
ISSUE 168 July 2012
19
20
ISSUE 168 July 2012
21
gratitude for my article in April’s edition of TRD.
Aside from the flag, I also presented them
with back issues of the old printed version of
The Rider’s Digest and a copy of the editor’s
book, all of which were gratefully received.
One of their Members, Max Cucchi, is an Italian
photographer who lives and works in Cuba and
owns a 1958 Harley-Davidson Duo-Glide.
As well as the Cuban LAMA group, there’s a
Harley group; the Harlistas Cubanos. They don’t
have many members because, surprisingly,
most of the old bikes are British-made
Everyone knows about the old American cars
in Cuba but the bikes are virtually unknown,
which is a shame as they’re well worth seeing,
22
not to mention helping to preserve and
keep roadworthy.
Varadero is Cuba’s most famous beach and
only 140km away from Havana.
The LAMA bikers are always in need of, among
other things, spark plugs, wing mirrors, and,
most desperate of all now, tyres. Their tyres
have been repaired so many times that they’re
coming to the ‘end of the road’ – literally!
The Presidente of the Cuba LAMA group,
Adolfo Prieto Rosell
www.lamacuba.com
[email protected]
+53 7 8733193
+53 5 2635467
Adolfo speaks perfect English.
Cuba Tourist Board
154 Shaftsesbury Avenue
London WC2H 8HL.
020-7240-6655 & speak to Isabel
www.travel2cuba.co.uk
[email protected]
You’ll meet the bikers there!
www.fitcuba.com
Lyn Funnell
Finally it was time for the bikers to go and
spend the day with their mothers and families.
One by one they said goodbye to me and
roared away – slowly!
Max’s photos can be seen on
www.cubaphotogallery.net
[email protected]
Next year, the 33rd FitCuba is being held in
Varadero, from the 7th-10th May.
Make a note in your diary!
ISSUE 168 July 2012
23
s
ee
No l F
rra
fe
Re
Rider
Accident Suppor t
Freephone
08081
296051
Not
all claims services
are
the same.
Thankfully, you have a choice to
contact us first.
• Specialist motorcycle accident solicitors
• Nationwide network of partner motorcycle dealers
• Complete service from start to finish aimed at handling all
aspects of your claim
• Transfer your case from insurance appointed solicitors
- it’s free and easy to do
• £250 bike accessory vouchers to help get you back on
the road
• £100 bike accessory vouchers when you recommend
a friend
• True no win, no fee - you’ll never see a bill from us
• Customer charter - we look after you and your bike
• No deductions from any settlement, you keep 100% of
whatever amount we recover
Make the right choice
Accident
Claim Service
Bike Recovery
& Storage
Repairs
Vehicle Hire
Replacement
Helmet &
Clothing
british
federation
british motorcyclists
motorcyclists federation
rideraccidentsupport.co.uk
freephone 08081 296051
Lampkin & Co - Motorcycle Accident Solicitors
are proud to be a corporate member of the bmf.
24
The Boy Biker
L-eave it out.
T
here are a lot of noises
to keep an ear out for
when riding a bike.
The tell tale schwosh schwosh,
letting you know you’ve
over adjusted your brakes, or
worse, that your drums are
oval. A slightly revvier and yet
more hollow sounding engine,
time to go on reserve, or if (like
me) you’ve been on reserve a
few days already, time to start
looking for a watering hole,
and quick!
An irritating click or slap on
the outside of your lid, better
stop and do up whatever
undergarment is now wildly
flapping around over your collar
and obstructing your view in
the mirror.
A heart stopping grumble
that you can feel through the
seat of your pants, better get
ready for that skip lorry that’s
bumbling up your outside.
But as a learner, there is a noise
that causes deep aggravation
and can very easily end up
putting you in more trouble
than anything engine or
rider related.
This sound lets you know
it’s time to shell out another 4
quid; this sound lets you know
that the next ‘random stop’ is
probably very soon and lets
you know that once again,
those bastards at ScreenFlow
have let you down.
The sound I am banging
on about is, of course, the
plastic snap and slide.
Your L plate spins wildly
along the road behind you, to
ISSUE 168 July 2012
throw some poor motorcyclist
or cyclist into confusion as they
momentarily lose all traction.
Made even worse if, like me,
you’ve taken to mounting L
plates on sheet metal to at
least TRY and get a week out
of them.
The law states, learner
riders (on a C.B.T) must display
plates on the front AND back of
the bike, not on the mudguard
facing the sky, nor on the back
of your helmet. They must be
B.S (British standard, not Bull
Shit), not modified in anyway,
and I am, according to one
of the Met’s finest, mad for
thinking I could get away with
one printed on photo paper
and mounted on steel plate.
Heavy fines, depending on if
the officer got his doughnuts
that morning or not, and two
points PER MISSING PLATE,
await anyone who dares
ride without, or who doesn’t
immediately stop and replace
the broken article.
Now I’m not the type to
try and flout laws for the sake
of it, or to gain kudos, in fact,
I usually stick to the letter of
the law, especially when it
comes to riding. But after 6
sets of plastic plates, two pulls
and lots of brown-nosing, I’m
getting a little sick of it!
I know this isn’t a new
complaint (so shoot me),
having had many talks with
older riders or mechanics,
but it seems like a decent
solution is as far away as it
was when Fred Flintstone first
started lessons.
Loose fabric type L’s simply
rip to shreds with the first
stone, harder plastic ones are
too brittle to withstand the air
resistance at 60 mph, stiffened
up types generally last a week
or so, until the added weight
causes the licence plate to
snap, after that, the holes you
drill in the mud guard snap,
and any of the above, if your’e
as stupid as me, will rattle
themselves loose if fixed with
the poxy yellow bolts supplied.
The current ‘solution’, and
I use the word tentatively,
is a standard plastic plate,
mounted on chequer-plate
with super-glue AND rivets,
held onto the bike in three,
count ‘em, THREE points by
two bolts, two in the standard
place, just under the letters
of the number plate, two on
support rods attached to
the number plate mounting
bracket itself and then two
at the bottom of the L-plate
on rods attached to the top
mounting. Sounds complex?
it is!
I can almost hear the cries
from here, and I’ve heard them
many times in real life, “Pass
your bloody test then”, and
I’m beginning to think, with
the amount I’m shelling out
on L-plates, that the circa £500
figure for the direct access bike
test would be a worthwhile
investment.
25
I
CLICK TO WEBSITE
just search for your model
of bike you will be surprised
how many parts we have
www.wemoto.com
26
Nuts & Bolts
f you’ve been riding
bikes for any time at all,
you’ll have experienced
some kind of electrical
malfunction. This isn’t really
all that shocking since bike
electrics are generally more
exposed to the elements (like
the British Summer) and a lot
more vibration than you’d get
on a car. Combine rainwater
and electrical current and
you’ve got the makings of a
dodgy connection from day
one, which can manifest itself
in an exasperating variety of
different ways, from a nonfunctioning indicator to a
completely dead bike.
I use two methods to
overcome these kinds of
problems,
so
whenever
I remake an electrical
connection on a bike, it’s
either one or the other,
depending
upon
the
situation. If I own the bike, I
tend to make the connections
permanent. To do this I use a
combination of a soldered
joint and heat shrink to
protect it. This is as close to
a 100% guaranteed solution
for the life of the bike as
you will ever get. The only
disadvantage is that if for
whatever reason you need to
break the connection, you’ll
need to cut the wire and
remake the joint afterwards. If I don’t own the bike, I use
Japanese bullet connectors
(these are the very small type
made from aluminium alloy).
Again, I solder the wire into
ISSUE 168 July 2012
both the male and female
halves, then use the clear
plastic shrouds which are
made specifically to cover
them. These bullet type
connectors are designed
for the wire to be crimped
into place only, but the
solder prevents the crimp
from coming loose and
provides a better electrical
connection. I also apply a small amount
of dielectric grease (ACF50 is
also good) onto the bullets
after soldering, which helps
to keep corrosion at bay.
Both of these methods
may seem like overkill, but
the amount of electrical
problems on bikes that I’ve
seen, which are down to poor
connections, justify the few
extra minutes required to
take these extra measures.
So, how does one go
about soldering? It’s not
difficult and anyone can do it.
You’ll need a soldering iron,
either electric or gas powered
models are available, electric
ones are cheap, gas powered
ones more flexible but dearer.
You’ll need a roll of electrical
solder too of course.
Take the two or more
wires to be connected (if
the wires that you need to
connect are corroded, cut
them back until you find
clean copper) strip back
about 5mm of the insulation
on each using a wire stripping
tool (the cutting edge of
pliers or a knife can be used
but it is slower). Cut a length
of heat shrink, long enough
to cover the whole joint and
about 5mm either side of it,
slip this over one of the wires
and slide it away from where
you will be soldering, as the
heat generated will cause it
to shrink. Twist the two halves
of the wire together firmly,
then you are ready to solder
the joint.
‘Tin’ your hot soldering
iron by applying a small
amount of solder to the end
until it melts and flows onto
the tip. Hold the tinned tip
of the iron onto the wire
joint until it becomes warm
enough, this should only take
seconds. Then introduce the
solder to the joint, it should
flow all over the wire joint
rapidly. Remove the iron and
the check the joint. If all looks
well, slide the heat shrink
over the joint and using the
heat from the soldering iron
(but not the tip) warm the
heat shrink up until it shrinks
down and covers the joint.
For soldering the bullet
connections, crimp as usual,
then solder using the above
method where the wire is
crimped onto the bullet.
If you keep the tip of
your soldering iron clean
and always use fresh solder,
you’ll find this a simple and
effective way of ensuring that
all your electrical joints are far
better from now on.
Happy Spannering!
27
Two Wheels
To The End Of
The World
28
ISSUE 168 July 2012
29
Down
Mexico Way
T
ecate is a small enough place as border
towns go. Formalities are concluded
quickly on the Mexican side where the
guards seem content to let us through with
little more than a cursory search of one of
the bikes.
Mike had told us that if security wanted to
search our bikes we should give them the
keys and leave them to it. His theory was that
while they would be happy to stand over us
and watch us empty our panniers and repack
them all day long, they wouldn’t be bothered
enough to do it themselves. I hand the officer
my keys. He opens one pannier and looks
inside without making any effort to search it.
I’m slightly amazed at how right Mike is.
We collect our tourist card documentation,
rather like an American visa waiver, and travel
into town to find the information centre.
Instead of a building or office this turns out
to be a map of the town with some symbols
pasted to a sign in the main square. The place
is beautiful. The architecture is classic cowboy
movie Mexican; the smell of food being
cooked on stands on the far side of the square
is intoxicating and after a traditional meal of
tacos and tamales, we jump on the bikes and
head out of town.
There is, unfortunately, a certain amount of
confusion as the signage is, perhaps, not as
clear as it could be and our GPS is now showing
only main roads and the larger towns. We
found our way, however, and eventually turned
off the old highway onto a dirt road and start
heading for the interior of the Baja peninsula.
The road is initially quite good with a thin layer
of sand to keep us on our manners. But it soon
deteriorates. Our speed drops and with a pair
of fully laden bikes including a tent, sleeping
bags, air mattresses, cooking stove, extra
petrol, a winter riding suit, medical pack, first
aid kit, tool box, guide
books, spare parts for
our helmets, hiking
boots, flip flops, assorted
clothing, wash bag and
towels weighing us
down, it starts to turn
into a long day.
As the sand gets deeper, I
find it tough to maintain
30
ISSUE 168 July 2012
40kph. The front keeps going light and the
back is stepping out with alarming frequency,
which is particularly hard to predict because of
the extra weight. Today, I think, is going to be
a learning day. And to make matters worse we
haven’t brought enough water with us.
The sand is now in deep washes on either side
of the road with two occasional tracks running
down the centre. Forests of cacti rise up on
either side of the road
and stretch out to the
horizon. We’ve been
on the road for about
two hours and haven’t
seen anyone for ages,
when two quads come
towards us. We’re told
that there may be water
in a small stream fifty
kilometres further, but
31
32
ISSUE 168 July 2012
33
the shallowest part being in the dead centre
of the track, which is where we choose to ride.
While we are negotiating this with Maeve
in front, a small jeep comes up behind me
and seeing that I cannot pull in simply drives
up the embankment of sand without even
slowing down.
I’m just thinking how impressive a piece of
driving this is when I become enveloped in his
cloud of dust. Foolishly, I let off the throttle, the
front digs in and the bike slews lazily across the
track before hitting the deeper sand, coming
to a dead stop and sending me over the bars.
Luckily, I’m not hurt, it’s like falling onto a
mattress and it gives both me and the bike a
soft landing. The big GS lazily settles into the
sand on its left hand side rather than falling
over. It’s completely undamaged. As I lift it back
up I can see the guy in the jeep is reversing
back to me. He stops and jumps out as I get
the bike upright.
the next town is not much more than eighty
kilometres away. Our progress is so slow, it
may as well be on the moon. Continuing,
the road turns and drops and climbs, across
dried riverbeds and through more cactusfilled valleys.
We see grand gateways to ranches but no
farmland or houses. The stream we were told
about has run dry and is now little more than
a mud stain along the road. We ride down a
water run-off. There is no sand here, but the
deep cracks in the earth are two feet wide in
places and need to be negotiated with caution.
All the time the landscape remains amazing.
Mountains climb in the distance and there isn’t
a cloud in the sky.
Riding out of another riverbed we see a house
in the distance. We ride up to it and ask the
man of the house for some water. He seems
34
So there we are, miles from nowhere, my
first ‘off’ in a long time, unable to speak the
language, and not quite lost but not quite sure
where I am, when this guy comes back up the
road to me. He’s a little taller than me and he’s
wearing a pair of old jeans and a Stetson hat.
He’s wears no shoes and no shirt. His skin is the
colour of mahogany. Across his chest, he has a
tattoo of Christ on the cross and on his face he
has a very, very worried look. I introduce myself
in my terrible Spanish and after apologising
profusely he asks me if I need any water or
petrol. I assure him that I don’t and he points
to the bike and the sand. He says something
else that I don’t understand. I assure him that
I’m OK, but he doesn’t head on until after I fire
up the bike.
We continue on, fighting with the sand and our
bikes until we reach the town of Ojos Negros. I
don’t know what you think, but in my opinion,
calling your town ‘Black Eyes’ is pretty cool.
not to mind me butchering his language and
obliges. While the building is a simple affair,
built from local stone and mud, he has a very
expensive looking white supercharged Range
Rover parked outside. I make sure to express
my gratitude as clearly as I can and make a
point of not asking him what he does for a
living. We ride onwards on a raised, sand free
area of road and in the distance I’m heartened
to see a junction with another dirt road with
phone lines running alongside. We must be
near a relatively big town.
As the road drops down to the junction it
becomes clear that it’s completely covered in
deep sand with a light powdery consistency,
rather like talc. When we join it our big bikes
become extremely difficult to ride. The front
ends alternately start to dig in or get light
making the bike unsteerable. The sand sweeps
up on either side forming a huge berm with
ISSUE 168 July 2012
35
36
ISSUE 168 July 2012
37
There doesn’t seem to be much to do here. A
taco stand, a grocery store, a gasoline station,
and a motel are about it. We refill the bikes and
check into the hotel where we shower before
heading out into the night for a taco. Even at
night the heat is impressive. At the taco stand
they have no menu so I mime badly that we
would like some food badly. The waitress says
something in Spanish that I don’t understand.
We try again. We fail again. Eventually the poor
woman gives up and walks off. I’m pleasantly
surprised when she returns a few minutes later
with the most delicious food I have ever tasted.
We eat everything she puts in front of us and
order more. The motel has cost us twenty-five
US dollars for the night and the food cost us
about four. So, feeling flush, we stop off at the
grocery store to get some water.
The store has a TV at the till and the whole family
is watching the ‘Matrix 3’ movie in Spanish. I
38
ISSUE 168 July 2012
stand with them watching the freeway chase
scene, the one with the Ducati. Keanu seems
better in Spanish somehow. I decide to test
drive my entire Spanish vocabulary. Turning
to the man of the family I quietly suggest,
“Keanau, es un poco pajero, si?” I deem this to
be a success when he throws his head back and
bellows with laughter. “What was that about?”
asks Maeve after we had left. “Nothing” I reply,
“just building on some cultural similarities,
that’s all.”
We head back to the hotel for some welldeserved sleep; it’s not every day that you
meet Jesus on the sandy road to Black Eyes and
we’ve both had it.
The following morning we got up, ate a basic
breakfast from the store and upon reaching
the end of the dusty main street we were
delighted to discover the main road, Mex 1.
39
40
ISSUE 168 July 2012
39
and colourful Mexican buildings,. The most
striking of these is the Mission, a sun blistered
18th century church standing tall over the
surrounding square. A bunch of Mexican
banditos from a Hollywood western wearing
sombreros and gun belts wouldn’t look out
of place here. Our accommodation is a yurt,
which, for the uninitiated, is a Mongolian tent.
This tent, however, is tall enough to stand in,
twenty foot across and furnished with antique
furniture and a hardwood floor. Beside the
door an air conditioner the size of a fridge
silently competes with the midday heat. Our
bikes sit outside, dust covered and tyre-worn
in the shade of a grove of palm trees. The open
panniers half unpacked look as lazy as I feel. It
takes us three days to get going again.
From San Ignacio, we travelled to Mulege
where we stayed in a hotel run by a Mr. Don
Johnson. While I made repeated requests to
meet the great man, the staff were having none
of it. “That’s the guy who was stalking Clint
Eastwood” they would say to each other. “Sorry
It was perfectly paved, lightly trafficked and
wonderfully devoid of any significant straight
bits. As we rode on the heat got hotter and
the landscape more barren. We were running
low on fuel when we came upon a derelict
gas station in the middle of nowhere. Parked
under the remains of the canopy were three
BMW bikes and their riders. Beside them an old
pickup with two twenty five gallon oil drums.
We pulled in.
The riders greeted us in English. They had been
to the MotoGP and were on their way home to
Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific coast of mainland
Mexico. The guys with the pickup were selling
petrol from the barrels. Pumping it out by
hand into a measured jug they filled both
bikes. We paid slightly less than US prices for
the privilege.
42
Amigo, Senor Johnson is unavailable today.”
Nevertheless we met an older gentleman at
the bar who was confirmed to indeed be Elvis.
It is widely acknowledged that he faked his
own death and now spends most of his time in
Baja, from where he runs a fleet of UFOs. This,
thankfully, kept us going on the celebrity front.
The staff roasted an entire pig for dinner and all
the guests in the hotel ate together – delicious!
The following day we rode on the eastern coast
of Baja, the Sea of Cortez side. The road twists
through the hills and climbs and falls through
forests of cacti. We pass countless old pickup
trucks, with most of them carrying people
in the back! We pass Loreto and on to Tripui
where we have read about a campsite. When
we get there however, the campsite is long
gone and has been replaced with an expensive
resort. While we are trying to work out where
to go next the manager, Christian, appears.
We explain that we are looking for a campsite
and we ask him if he can recommend anywhere.
“Don´t worry” he says, ‘’you can camp on the
lawn”. So we do. For three nights. For only seven
We introduced ourselves to the riders, Pepe,
Juan Carlos and Fernando, who were involved
in the hotel industry and suggested that we
come stay with them when we got as far as
their town, which was two days’ ride and one
day’s ferry trip away. We rode with the guys,
their riding style was tight and predictable and
they were easy to share the road with. By the
time we got to San Ignacio in the middle of
the desert the sun had got the better of us and
the three lads, having a schedule to keep, kept
going. We exchanged details and arranged to
meet up in a few days time.
San Ignacio, a small town in the heart of Baja,
is where we find Ignacio Springs, a bed and
breakfast owned and operated by a Canadian
couple. The setting is an oasis in the middle
of the desert surrounded by palm trees
ISSUE 168 July 2012
43
44
ISSUE 168 July 2012
45
US dollars a night and, with the full use of all
the hotels facilities. Meanwhile, the guests in
the hotel have to look at our scabby tent on the
front lawn of their $300 a night hotel.
On day three Christian asks me to give him a
lift into the nearest big town so that he can
lodge the hotel’s takings in the bank. When
we get back we meet one of the gardeners
who has seen a fully grown rattlesnake in the
flowerbeds and suggests we check our tent. I
have of course left everything open inluding
the tent itself. Our boots, roll bags, sleeping
bags and loose clothing all make for a choice
of location for a deadly snake to have a siesta.
We get a broom from the hotel staff and pull
everything out of the tent, giving each item
a good shake before dumping it on the lawn.
Fifteen minutes later we confirn that there is no
snake, but the hotel lawn is looking a little bit
like Dale Farm on a sunny day.
46
ISSUE 168 July 2012
A few days later we ride on to La Paz. Where
after a three days waiting for the ferry, we sail
to Mazatlan on the other side of the Sea of
Cortez. The crossing, while calm, was a long
journey with limited facilities and a nasty smell
of diesel, so we were glad to get off the boat
the following day.
As we leave the port city the countryside opens
into lush green farmland. The further south we
go, the more our surroundings change into
tropical forests full of lush palms and fronds.
For the first time we cross a river with water in
it, not just a dried up riverbed.
Although we are now much more comfortable
with other road users, the need for new tyres
keeps us to a relatively slow pace. Tepic, from
the Nayarit Indian word meaning ‘hard stone’,
is about halfway between Mazatlan and either
inland Guadalajara or coastal Puerto Vallarta.
47
48
ISSUE 168 July 2012
49
Thanks to a combination of heat and lack of
rest from the previous night’s ferry crossing,
we agree to stay the night in Tepic. We book
in to a hotel overlooking the main square and
that night, over dinner, we’re entertained by
a religious procession with accompanying
drums. After breakfast the following morning,
we wander out into the Plaza to look at
the stalls that make up the central market.
Of all Mexico’s indigenous peoples, the
Huichol and Cora Indians from this area are
amongst the least affected by the intrusion
of modern life. These local people dress in
traditional clothes, sell brightly coloured
wall hangings, beaded items and other
handicrafts. After some shopping and a quick
meander through the streets, it is onwards to
Puerto Vallarta.
Trees line the narrow twisty roads, which wind
back and forth through the hills, in and out of
the shade. One very pleasant and easy spin
later and we are back on the Pacific coast just
outside Puerto Vallarta. We ride into the centre
of the old town, where ancient cobbled streets
bring us to Juan Carlos and Fernando’s brother
Victor’s hotel.
Our days in Puerto Vallarta were some of the
most relaxing of any on our adventure so far.
It was almost unbearably hot here during the
day while still managing to be warm at night,
definitely nothing like home. Each time we
called family and friends, they complained
about the wet summer they were having. Every
night we have been here the sky has come
alive after nine or ten in the evening, bright
flashes of lightning illuminate the sea and the
mountains behind the city and everything
is bathed in white light for just a second.
Sometimes it rains with the storm, torrential
rain that makes everyone dash for cover, and
other times it just stays dry, warm, and muggy.
While here we get a chance to reacquaint
50
ourselves with Juan Carlos, to meet his beautiful
wife, Isa and their family. We happily spend
many evenings in their company enjoying local
food and hospitality. These wonderful people
welcome Maeve and I, complete strangers to
them, into their homes and their lives.
Downtown Vallarta is a beautiful warren of old
cobbled streets. In the heart of the old town
at the end of the Malacon is our lodging, the
Hotel Rio, a beautiful building that is one of the
oldest hotels in the town. The Marina and the
high-rise hotels, while within walking distance,
are just far enough away not to be noticeable.
Small taco bars, brilliant restaurants, markets
and locally owned and run art galleries fill the
neighbourhood.
Several days later, accompanied by our friend
Fernando, we leave the town and make for
Guadalajara, the capital of the state of Jalisco
in the heartland of Mexico. This is the region
where Spanish explorers capitalised on the
abundant mineral resources and where they
built their first colonial cities.
Our host very kindly helped to arrange new
tyres for both the bikes. The journey with
Fernando from Puerto Vallarta was hairy
enough on fairly bald knobblies.The downtown
bike shop is called Surti Moto and run by the
charming and efficient Gabriel. In little over an
hour the bikes are re-shod, the luggage bolts
tightened and the bikes washed.
Our pace has slowed dramatically since we
crossed the border into Baja and we both find
ourselves taking a lot more time to speak with
the people we meet and learn a new language.
At Fernando’s insistance he and his girlfriend
Kathia take us to the town of Tapalpa, two
hundred kilometres outside the city. When
we get there on Saturday evening, we are
treated to wonderful Maharachi music in the
town square. The following day we hike for
two hours into a deep jungle gorge where we
find a 105 mwaterfall, before hiking back out
again. I knew this trip would be life changing,
but hiking - me? On Monday morning we’re
back in Guadalajara and saying our goodbyes
to Fernando. We ride out of the city and back to
our adventures.
We had ridden from the small town of Patzcuaro,
through Morelia and had just left Zitacuaro
when the rain started coming down in a slow
lazy drizzle. Drizzle has always been the type of
rain that I dislike most; it’s not dramatic enough
to warrant looking at but wet enough to ruin all
your fun. The road started to climb and we rode
across the top of the mountains on Mex 55, at
times good and at times little more than an old
country road. As it climbed into the mountains
we rode into fog, the surface deteriorated and
we found ourselves riding on loose gravel in
the rain, with very little visibility. This was just
starting to be fun when we rounded a corner
to find a border crossing of sorts.
Mexico is divided into states and on the state
line you sometimes find security personnel.
The state we were entering is called Guerra
and is on the CIA’s ‘don’t go there or you’ll die’
list. As we exited the corner, a strange scene
opened in front of us. The rain was coming
down a little harder at this stage and all the
cops were dressed in black rain ponchos and
carrying M16 rifles. As we were waved on, I
couldn’t help but think that thanks to their dark
ponchos and small stature they look like little
old ladies – that is if little old ladies went out
in the rain with machine guns. The rain, which
has delayed us, is the tail end of Hurricane
Felix and we find ourselves 60km short of our
target as night closes in. After a quick consult
of the map, we decide to press on anyway.
Riding at night is not a good idea. After a long
day on the road, navigating, bad weather and
ISSUE 168 July 2012
usually not enough food, the last thing we
need to be doing is riding around in the dark
trying to find a town we have never been to
before and cannot even pronounce properly. I
think I can speak for both of us when I say we
were relieved to see the street lights on the
mountainside ahead.
Taxco is an old mining town built on the
side of a hill in the heart of the Sierra Madre.
When the Spanish got here, they discovered
large deposits of gold and silver and it still
has a working silver mine today. The streets
are all steep, cobbled, and narrow. The local
government prohibits the construction of
modern buildings and there are no neon lights
in the town as they would destroy its character.
On the main plaza and I walk across to Bordas
café. Van Morrison is playing on the stereo as
the local kids wheelie their mopeds past in a
vain attempt to impress the young girls who
are hanging out in the square. A Coca Cola
truck with an armed guard passes by. The
driver drinks from a Red Bull can as the guard
clad in black fatigues on the back of the rig
adjusts his rifle.
The Volkswagen beetle and VW van were
manufactured in Mexico until about ten years
ago, and you can still see a few about the place.
Taxco, however, is different. VW Beetles and
vans are everywhere. The town’s immaculate
taxis are all white bugs, some even have
the original hubcaps. They all have the front
passenger seats removed but that doesn’t stop
them packing four and sometimes five people
into the back seat. They run about the square
and up and down the side streets at a speed
that seems way too fast and gives the place the
feeling of a mechanical anthill. The vans are all
used as ‘collectivos’ or local minibuses. These
all have the doors removed to better allow
customers with luggage or shopping easier
access. Most of the private cars are also VW
51
52
ISSUE 168 July 2012
53
arrive. A cleaning lady emerges and after some
negotiation we agree a price for the night.
bugs and range from the immaculate originals
to trick, chromed specials and the occasional
over-loved old clunker. If you can imagine
the sound of these old cars multiplied by
twenty as they mill about the place, narrowly
missing each other as they charge up and
down the narrow streets of this beautiful town,
you’ll have some ides of the madness we find
ourselves in.
When in Guadalajara, our friend Fernando had
told us about ‘hotel de paso’ or ‘love hotels’.
These are less family-oriented businesses but a
common sight on the outskirts of any Mexican
town large enough to have a church. They cater
mostly to married men who require the use of a
room for a few hours instead rates are typically
for two hour periods. Two days outside Taxco
we’re tired and hungry and can’t find anywhere
to stay. Another thirty or so kilometres go by
and we come to small town where the only
accomodation is a ‘hotel de paso’.
It has high metal gates at the entrance and
all that is visible from the road is the plain,
windowless back wall of the complex. The
fancy sign on the road reads: “Auto Hotel, La
Tentacion”. The Temptation! A large red neon
apple sits atop the writing. We ride in through
the gate and find that all the rooms are on
the first floor. Heavy curtains, the type you’d
see on the side of a HGV cover the carports
of the rooms all ready in use, the others lie
open, waiting for the next Adam and Eve to
54
ISSUE 168 July 2012
Parking the bikes in the car port, the tarp is
pulled across behind us quickly and we access
the room through a door at the back of the
garage. Discretion appears to be of the utmost
importance for people who come to these
places. A closed garage prevents anyone else
recognising your car, reading the registration
plate and telling your wife/husband or
informing your political enemies.
Locked into our room we take time to have a
look around. Mirrors abound, on the ceiling,
on the walls. I reach for the remote for the
TV, but instead of cable channels, all we have
is a selection of porn. Everything is clean and
tidy and we even have an air conditioning
unit, which is just as well. There are plenty of
clean towels and lots of hot water. The most
interesting item in the room is the room service
list. Coffee, beer and juice, plus a dizzying array
of mechanical devices that people generally
don’t talk about in public. Love potions,
aphrodisiacs and a vast array of other sex
accessories too numerous to mention are
just a quick call to reception away. The staff
will deliver the required items to a hatch in
the garage, which for the sake of complete
anonymity, revolves to prevent the deliverer
from seeing who is in the room.
We both slept soundly that night.
Paul Browne
55
The Illusion Of Control
up the creek...
Devon sun, pubs by the river,
seafood and skinny dips...
Holiday Flat - Kingswear, Dartmouth
Sleeps four, carparking, garden, dogs welcome - 10% off for Digest readers
www.upthecreek-in-kingswear.co.uk 01666 505295
Simon Gardner
Graphic Design
I M A G I N A T I O N
enquiries:
[email protected]
56
A
n old and valued friend described her
brief but brilliant motorcycle ‘career’ in
terms of control; meaning she loved
the feeling of being out of control.
She wrote, “I’ve ridden horses, bulls, bicycles,
dirt bikes, drag bikes, road hogs, boats, jet
boats, jet skis, blades, cars, monster trucks, a
few semi’s, and always dove [scuba] too deep
for way too long, exhaling the last 50 feet up on
empty tanks… everything as hard, fast and as
long as I possibly could (or should have) as, in
the moment I hit the ‘zone’ of maximum mental
and physical capabilities, the illusion of control
evaporated with freedom visible.” She rode past
the edge of comfort and common sense and
clung to the bars as if she had tossed herself
into space and was a spinning quarter waiting
to see if she’d land heads or tails. After a few
semi-serious ‘events,’ she decided motorcycling
was not a healthy activity and gave it up. In
a long and fruitful email conversation, she
argued that none of us are ever in control of
our lives, fates, or even the next moment. We
decided, as we usually do, to agree to disagree
ISSUE 168 July 2012
with more agreement on the reality side and
less on the philosophical.
I can’t disagree that control is an illusion. At any
moment, any one of us can be the subject of
all sorts of catastrophe without a hope in hell
of limiting the damage done. There is no such
thing as ‘control.’ The universe hates us, which
is why the Second Law of Thermodynamics
is, in fact, a Law and is obvious to anyone
who ventures into space to confront the
overwhelming presence of vacuum and
disordered energy. Nature not only does not
‘abhor a vacuum,’ nature busts its vicious little
hump to turn everything into nothing. Soon
enough, the organization that presents itself as
ourselves will devolve into random motion and
we will have absolutely no control over that
non-event. That is where she and I agree, with
no doubt or question.
Where we disagree is in the point of where the
fun ends and fear begins. I thought about this
conversation for two months before I decided
to write about it. My breakthrough came
57
19TH ANNUAL
ACE CAFE
REUNION
RIDE WITH THE ROCKERS
BRIGHTON
BURN-UP
ART
DEP 30
10:
SUNDAY 9
TH
SEPTEMBER 2012
ROUTE: A406•A40•M25•M23•A23•
MADEIRA DRIVE•BRIGHTON SEAFRONT
ACE CAFE LONDON,
Ace Corner, North Circular Road,
Stonebridge, London NW10 7UD
A406, NORTH CIRCULAR ROAD, PARK ROYAL EXIT.
UNDERGROUND - BAKERLOO LINE, STONEBRIDGE PARK
- 200 YARDS FROM EXIT
Te l +4 4( 0 )2 0 8 9 61 10 0 0 Fa x + 44 ( 0) 20 89 6 5 0 16 1
w w w.a ce -c a f e- lo n d on .c o m
58
when my wife and I were remembering our
experiences canoeing the Niobrara River. We
used to take a bunch of friends on an annual
Memorial Day trip to the Niobrara and one of
the highlights was emptying the canoe and
hitting Rocky Ford and a few of the other rapids
as hard and fast as we could to see if we could
safely paddle through those sections. To pull
off this feat, you need to be committed. The
Rocky Ford section required aiming barely
to the right of a large bolder that was usually
submerged this time of the year and hitting
the point as hard and fast as possible to
get the front of the boat in the air as long as
possible. To make that commitment, I had to
believe I would come out of the whirlpool at
the bottom in the boat. My wife tried the trip
as a passenger, once. We didn’t manage to stay
rubber-side-down and she and I and the other
paddler ended up in the whirlpool. No big deal
with a lifejacket, but that was all she wanted
ISSUE 168 July 2012
of the experience. I spent the rest of the day
trying to ‘master’ the waterfall and rapids.
If you have canoed a fast river, you know there
is no ‘mastering’ being done by the paddlers.
The river owns your ass until you’re on the
shore, but you can imagine you’re in control
if you stay beam-down and that was good
enough for me. I was always confident enough
to do the river’s worst rapids with an empty
boat, even by myself in years when no one
else wanted to shoot the rapids. I was never
confident enough to run those rocks with a
loaded canoe. I’m good with chasing the boat
down the river. I’m not interested in donating
my tent, sleeping bag, food supply and clothes
to whoever recovers my dry-bags downstream.
All of this is equally true for my motorcycle
adventures. If I’m planning a trip into a
remote place, I do it alone and packed as
59
light as practical. I carry tools, repair parts,
enough food and water for at least three
days of isolation, and as little else as I can get
by without and I maintain the motorcycle as
thoroughly as my skills allow before I leave. If
it’s a long trip, I might ship replacement tires
and other supplies to a convenient cache. If
I’m going to take on some extreme challenge,
just for the challenge, I set aside my gear, walk
60
ISSUE 168 July 2012
the territory, ride it, come back to the gear,
load up, and travel on. I travel alone because
that only leaves me with one foolish mind
to mismanage. I do not ride a motorcycle for
companionship. That’s what cars are for. I do
not want to be rescued or be a rescuer.
Anyone with a lick of sense knows there are all
kinds of flaws in my logic and tactics. However,
61
62
ISSUE 168 July 2012
63
64
those habits give me the pleasant illusion of
control and that is a big part of why I ride a
motorcycle. The downside of my approach is
that it does not provide a competitive edge.
Almost all champions possess the trait of
being able to toss their fate somewhat-tooentirely into the winds. Part of that is due to
the ignorance and innocence of youth. I was far
more able to assume the best outcome when I
was 19 (or when I was 30, 40, or 50) than I can
today. With every decade, I have become more
conservative; more timid, more fragile, less able
to believe I will recover from large mistakes.
The illusion of control is slipping away.
go; if I had any. Worse, I discovered too late the
activities that I would play at for most of my
life. So, my lifelong tactic has been to do what
it takes to get to play without a lot of concern
toward winning. Playing beach basketball in
California meant doing the crap jobs so that
my team would stay on the court (if you lose,
you sit). On a motorcycle, that directive meant
keeping myself and my machine capable
enough to finish the race without major
embarrassment. As usual, that strategy allows
me to support the illusion of control and since
this is my world I’m writing about, I’m sticking
with my illusions until reality overtakes me.
To my disadvantage I had and have none of
the qualities of a great athlete; physically or
mentally. If I were inclined to trust fate and
physics, I would still have a big empty place
on my fireplace mantel where trophies would
Thomas Day
ISSUE 168 July 2012
www.mnmotorcycle.com
http://geezerwithagrudge.blogspot.co.uk
All Rights Reserved © 2012 Thomas W. Day
65
ASK LAMPKIN
www.lampkins.co.uk
We are very pleased to
welcome Mark Lampkin back
to The Rider’s Digest. Mark
is a personal injury lawyer
specialising in motorcycle
accident claims and is not only
a biker himself but also a
Deputy District Judge.
He has written a number of
very illuminating legal articles
for TRD in the past and now his
company has agreed to sponsor
a regular advice section dealing
with all matters bike legal from
small number plates to major
accident scams, loud exhausts
to euro-regulations, so we can
include them in future editions.
You can contact him by clicking
on the Ask Lampkin link at the
bottom of this article.
Claims Gravy-trains
and Automobiles!
So what’s been happening in
the legal world over the last
year or so. Well The Daily Fail has
been awash with the clamour
to stop fat cat lawyers and their
fraudulent whiplash clients
driving up the cost of insurance
premiums for all concerned
branding us as worse than those
pesky asylum seekers whose
constant theft of stale bread
from supermarket bins has
obviously lead to the present
financial crisis. Not those lovely
bankers (who are only one
letter different than what they
actually are).
I digress but hang on a
minute, do you really know
what lies behind those
headlines and do you realise
how as a ‘vulnerable’ road user
66
ISSUE 168 July 2012
(particularly if you are not a
greedy banker) you will lose
out if the system changes, or for
that matter if you don’t know
enough about the present legal
system should you ever need it
when a blind banker knocks you
off. Forewarned is forearmed so
read on then spread the word.
Insurance is a necessary evil.
It is compulsory and when the
Government introduced it in
1930 it created the monster that
now sings opera to you every
single ad break. Not only that but
the insurers, by contributing to
the Motor Insurers Bureau, also
pick up the tab for uninsured
and untraced motorists. Fine, I’ll
accept they have to pay out a lot
but as there are some 33 million
drivers that’s a lot of premiums
to collect.
So they have a captive
market to get a lot of money in
but they complain constantly
that they pay out £123 for every
£100 collected, and haven’t
made a profit for 16 or more, yet
all we see is an ever increasing
rise in premiums of up to 40%
- or more if you are young. So
what’s going on with Brewster’s
millions? Well let’s look at The
Daily Wail explanations one
by one.
Personal injury lawyers
and their fees. Yes people need
looking after by lawyers who
earn their bacon by winning
cases (they get nowt if they
lose) and getting rightful
victims what we as a civilised
society have decided they
should get if they are Volvo’d.
But do you know the lawyer’s
costs are strictly controlled by
Judges scrutinising their bills
and only allowing reasonable
reimbursement for the time they
have spent on the case. Sitting
as a Deputy District Judge but
also being an insurance payer, I
get exasperated when the legal
costs I have to award to lawyers
are huge purely because
the insurers have had some
overworked numpty not deal
with the victims lawyers, forcing
them to incur lottery winning
cost amounts. It ain’t rocket
science Mr Aviva, if you don’t
want to pay them then settle
the right cases early or fight
the ones where you can avoid
paying at all.
Spurious whiplash claims is
another area where the insurers
say their shareholders have
to lose out on champagne at
the annual meeting. Really?
Have you ever had whiplash?
Well I have and it hurts like hell,
restricts even the simplest tasks
and is just a downright pain in
the… neck! If their dozy banker
driver can’t see that biker with
his brake lights directly in
front then they should pay for
his pain.
The insurers claim that
people are now being
encouraged to claim by the
adverts on telly but one man’s
encouragement is another
man being informed of his
legal rights. Don’t be fooled; the
more the insurers can take out
full page spreads in The Daily
Entrail in return for shock-journo
diatribe making genuinely
injured bikers feel dirty if they
67
ASK LAMPKIN
ASK LAMPKIN
www.lampkins.co.uk
even consider claiming, the
more Dom Perignon there
will be.
The government, spurred
on by supposed working man’s
champion Jack Straw (now
there’s an unlikely alliance) have
suggested that they need to
raise the threshold for whiplash
before it reaches a point where
compensation should be paid.
The present proposals, which
follow on from very boring
cases where mathematicians
have duelled on vectors and
momentum in court, suggest
that no compensation for
whiplash can be awarded where
the relative collision speed is less
than 15 miles per hour. So you
are allowed to injure somebody
for free but just a bit. Well why
don’t we go the whole hog and
have kids sweeping chimneys
but just a bit.
Here’s where you should
wake up, there is no proposed
exception for motorcyclists.
So if you are on your trusty
steed wearing a heavy helmet
on your heavy head and
get rear ended by an artic
driven by a vodka fuelled east
European in his eighteenth
hour of driving and doing 14.5
mph, it will be presumed you
can’t get whiplash. Now I’m
no Vorderman (ooh, lovely)
but even I can work out that
mathematically that is loopy.
Fraud always get wheeled
out as another reason cost
are supposedly spiralling. I
applaud insurers rooting out
any fraudsters and again in my
work as a Judge of these cases I
have ‘facebook defences’ come
across my bench daily. Seventy
pages of how the passenger in
one vehicle hired by somebody
who has been unemployed for
years is ‘in a relationship’ with
the driver of another car bought
that day and insured two hours
before the collision at sixty
miles an hour in a cul-de-sac
fifty yards long. Believe me all
the above is real, I’ve seen it and
the insurers are thankfully and
belatedly getting to grips with it.
What may surprise you though
is how often insurers just pay
up rather than carry out the
most casual investigation.
They even go round to houses
with chequebooks to pay out
everyone involved rather than
incur the costs of fighting. Surely
it would be better to at least try
to protect the coffers rather than
play Father Christmas 24/7/365.
Fraud
does
happen
but all involved, insurers,
lawyers and Judges must pull
together on this one and share
information. The insurers have
vast commercial databases yet
refuse to allow claimant lawyers
access to it so they could suss out
claims on day one. Togetherness
will bring happiness on this one.
Another area where insurers
can avoid being authors of
their own misfortune is in the
area of uninsured motorists.
Since 1945 insurers have had
various agreements with the
government to pay out victims
of uninsured and untraced
motorists. They all contribute
according to their market
share. Basically this is a quid
pro quo or payback for them
having a market created by
the government maintaining a
compulsory insurance law.
But the evil with this is that
you and I have to pay £30 more
on our premiums to pay for this.
I actually believe the figure is
vastly more than this because
this only relates to the payouts
for claims but does not include
the premiums that would be
collected from these previously
1.5 but now 1.2 million
uninsured drivers annually.
So the figures are falling
but surely in this day and age
with automatic number plate
recognition systems and the
coppers looking for any private
finance since they stopped
doing the Policeman’s Ball
thing, the insurers could benefit
enormously
by
financing
detection initiatives. The Mersey
Tunnel in my neck of the woods
regularly has such operations in
that bottleneck. Whilst I am anti
big brother I do think we need
to consider finding uninsured
motorists and making them
pay and the insurers can do a lot
more to help.
People in glass houses and
all that, goes further when you
consider the regular whinge
of the insurers that referral
fees for personal injury claims
have lead to increased cost and
premiums. Actually I agree on
this one as I have long been a
campaigner against anyone,
be it a claims company, back
street garage, union or recovery
driver selling accident victim’s
details to solicitors for filthy
www.lampkins.co.uk
lucre. There is even one claims
company fronted by a well
known consumer’s champion
which charges the solicitors a
referral fee and then takes the
same amount from the client’s
hard earned damages as well!
Google it or ask me for details
if you don’t believe me, and
believe me you won’t believe
who it is when you find out by
reading on.
But yet again despite the
plea that referral fees are fuelling
the fire and who do you think
are the biggest chargers of such
fees? See it’s not rocket science
Mr Insurer, if you don’t agree
with referral fees don’t charge
them. Most, if not all, insurers sell
details of injured clients to their
own lapdog solicitors for fees
of around £8-900. Worse still they
actually get away with charging
their poor sap premium
payers fifteen, twenty or up
to forty pounds for the dubious
privilege of this sell-on system
dressed up as ‘legal expenses’
insurance. Thankfully the
government have found some
time (in amongst propping
up the banks) to bring in a
law with effect from next
April banning this scurrilous
practice. Hopefully that will
see an end to the constant
stream of adverts showing
people slipping on banana
skins during daytime telly
as the business model of
those
claims
companies
who advertise this way will
evaporate. Ah well Esther,
That’s Life! (I said you wouldn’t
believe me).
As a bike lawyer I have
a great perspective on the
whole claim game and will be
the first to accept that we have
allowed a great profession to
be invaded by metaphorical
pimps who have become huge
and unnecessary industries.
I entered the profession
in the eighties and one of
the first cases I worked on
was a claim for some visitors
on the opening day of a
water treatment plant being
literally blown up. Seeing
how their lives were secured
by our action in fighting a
complicated legal battle was
soul fulfilling. Now, to continue
the metaphor, I see dealers,
users, pimps and prostitutes
trading cases in back alleys
with cash in brown envelopes
and see the money from your
premiums being spent on
referral fees to irrelevant claims
companies and given to credit
hire firms.
And there’s another thing
- credit hire, where you get a
replacement car or bike on hire
terms that is included in the
claim. Whilst I accept that you
need replacement transport,
which can be an essential
element of a claim, I could make
your eyes water if you saw some
of the hire accounts I have seen. A recent case involving
Darren Bent, who was supplied
a DB9 on credit hire terms
following a non fault accident,
lead to an award in excess of
£70,000 in hire charges despite
the fact that he had a garage full
of bling. Some say he only took
it as he fancied a car with his
initials and shirt number. He did
nothing wrong but partly the
system and partly the insurers
were to blame for dealing with it
the wrong way. Still it all goes on
our premiums.
So the system has faults and
needs tidying up for sure. But
let’s not allow the hyperbole to
stop vulnerable bikers claiming
when they are honestly hurt and
damaged, leaving the insurers
and claims companies to cream
off referral fees and credit
hire firm owners to entertain
hordes of Russian beauties on
their yachts in Puerto Banus,
funded by our ever increasing
premiums.
Back to basics? Oh no, even
I’m turning into The Daily Tale.
But why not just honest, strictly
regulated, fully qualified lawyers
and honest, faultless, injured
victims and nobody else? Surely
this would strip millions from
the loss side of the insurer’s
accounts. Trouble is, what do
you reckon, reduced premiums
or more Moet?
If you have any legal
issue you would like Mark to
address in a future edition of
The Rider’s Digest click here:
Ask Lampkin
Ask Lampkin is sponsored by Lampkin & Co Solicitors
Motorcycle Accident Specialists
Aled House, Lakeside Village, St Davids Park
Ewloe, Deeside, CH5 3XA.
Telephone: 01244 525725
www.lampkins.co.uk
68
ISSUE 168 July 2012
69
Touratech’s Compañero is one
of the newest textile suits on the
market. Compañero fans
include the British actor
Charley Boorman (“Long Way
Round”, “Race to Dakar”), and
seasoned motorbike
adventurers Simon/Lisa
Thomas and Nick Sanders.
COME TO US
FOR BIG BRAND
NAMES LIKE:
Tank Bags
DESIERTO 3 - Top fairing for your BMW
The Touratech Adventure
Shock by Tractive is now
available for the top-selling
BMW R 1200 GS / Adventure
and F 800 GS, in three
different versions: Level 1,
High End and Extreme.
Xenon and fog lights
Zega Pro Panniers
US TOO...
COME AND VISIT
Visit our new branch now open in Chester...
Touratech Chester, Stanney Mill Lane, Little Stanney, Chester, Cheshire, CH2 4HY
Visit our webshop www.touratech.co.uk
Touratech UK, Unit 14 Woodlands Business Park, Ystradgynlais, Swansea, SA9
SA9 1JW
1JW
Tel: (01639) 841765 | Email: [email protected]
70
W
PANTHER
PIONEER
e often take our
fathers for granted
but seldom our
fathers-in-law. I have mentioned
mine in these pages before,
referring to him as ‘the legendary
Panther owner’ Sid Wilkinson
and, following that brief moment
in the limelight, it occurred to
me that in the thirty years I’ve
known him, I have done exactly
that – taken him for granted. I
don’t mean that as a bad thing,
only as a way of saying that our
relationship has always been
uncommonly easy-going and
lots of fun. Sid is kind, quiet
and very interesting. As sonin-laws go I’m one of the very
lucky ones but it also struck
me just how important men
like Sid are to the world of
biking we all know and love.
ISSUE 168 July 2012
Last weekend I asked Sid
if I could interview him for
the Digest and, somewhat
surprised he agreed, asking
only that I don’t write anything
embarrassing! In the end we
chatted for hours and there
isn’t room here for everything
he told me, so I’ve decided to
make this part article and part
interview. I’ll leave it to you to
decide whether it’s an ‘inticle’
or an ‘artiview’…
rural Buckinghamshire, which
imbues him straight away
with the charm of a character
from an H. E. Bates novel.
His early life seems to have
been one of happy bucolic
pastimes involving cricket,
football, ferrets and potting
rabbits with a .410 shotgun.
Sid was born in 1925 at
Flowers Bottom near Speen in
Sid - He did, yes; before
the war but he didn’t come
into motorbikes until he was
quite old, about forty-five or
thereabouts. But he never
really mastered it, you know.
He could drive it and tie it up
with wire if anything ever fell
off, but that was about his
Me - What was your earliest
memory of motorbikes? Did
your Dad have one?
71
limit. It was good enough for
the journeys he did, they were
all local.
Me - Did he take your
mum on the back?
Sid - No, it was a sidecar
outfit, an 1929 Ariel I think.
My older brother Jack started
it off, he had one bike after
another, changed them all
the time for better ones. I
remember one time he came
home with an ABC. It didn’t
go but it only cost him fifty
shillings. He was a bit miffed
when dad sold it for a pound.
Not long after that Sid got
a job at a country garage in
Naphill, selling petrol and
doing small maintenance and
repair jobs. In those days there
was no distinction between
cars and bikes, they were all
just forms of transport that
needed to be kept going.
Petrol was ‘one and fourpence
ha’penny’ a gallon.
Sid - One day my boss
gave me a 250 BSA to ride
about on. I was only fourteen
72
at the time but I think he
thought it would improve my
time keeping getting to work.
Me - Were you allowed to
ride it legally? Was it common
for fourteen year olds to be
riding bikes on the road?
Sid - No, we weren’t
allowed to until we were
sixteen but I never got
stopped by anyone. Funnily
enough, the day I was sixteen
- I’d got an Ariel 350 by then
- I was on my way down to
see a chap who used to muck
about with bikes and do them
up. One of his customers was
a policeman who happened
to be there at the time and
wanted to see my licence.
Me - Didn’t he suspect
anything? I mean, you must
have looked pretty handy on
a bike by then?
Sid - Well he didn’t say
anything. It was all pretty rural
back then. I didn’t know who
he was but I knew our local
policeman.
in High Wycombe making
compressors, which were used
throughout the war effort,
particularly for servicing
aircraft.
Personal
petrol
allowances were stopped
completely for most of this
time and Sid had to get to
work by bicycle like everyone
else. Only those living in very
remote places were allowed
motor transport. The few
private cars that were around
got laid up on bricks for the
duration but occasionally
a little petrol ‘leaked out’
of the tightly controlled
rationing system.
Sid - The tanker used
to come and they had this
dip-stick which showed 200
gallons, and of course there
was always a bit over the
mark, so the boss used to give
the driver a good tip and we
had a bit extra. Mostly it went
to the baker, though.
reunited with his 1933 350
Douglas in-line twin, which he
kept for five years.
Me - So this was your only
form of transport?
Sid - Yes, mostly it was
for getting to work as petrol
was more available by then
but I used it for everything courting, cricket and ferreting!
Me - And I suppose
everybody
else
had
motorbikes at that time?
Sid - No, not really.
I had one because I was
mechanically involved with
things at work and had
worked at a garage. I could
cope with it if it went wrong
but there weren’t many
people who had them, mostly
they went to work on the bus.
All the motorbikes that were
around then were pre-war,
the new post-war machines
didn’t appear until about
1948-49. There were heaps of
bicycles about, it was quite a
It was around this time that
Sid started to do something
which was very unusual at
the time but which we bikers
now take as a normal part of
our lives. Perhaps inspired
by his travels in the army he
set off on some adventurous
trips abroad.
Sid - I had a Triumph by
that time and went to the
south of France with Arthur
Slater, he had a Triumph as
well. They had unlimited
petrol over there and all sorts
of ‘Super Carburant’ and such
like, it was great being able
to fill up whenever you liked
and choose what petrol you
wanted. Back home there
was just ‘pool petrol’.
The following year Arthur
got married so Sid went
off to Spain on his own
on another 350 Douglas
but this time it was a
transverse twin.
Soon after that Sid had
acquired for himself not
only a wife but also a string
of other vehicles including
three
Morgan
threewheelers, a Wolseley Hornet,
a Ford Eight and later on a
Lagonda, which Sid made a
supercharger for in his lunch
breaks at work. He cast the
housings himself under the
supervision of the foreman,
who regarded this kind
of enterprise as excellent
training for work.
After a brief posting to
Palestine with the REME (Royal
Electrical and Mechanical
Engineers)
Sid
returned
home to his old job making
compressors at BroomWade,
life slowly improving despite
the post-war austerity. He was
By 1943 Sid was working 84
hours a week for BroomWade
job to get to work because
you had to dodge round
them all. You could pass
hundreds of them on your
way in.
ISSUE 168 July 2012
73
74
ISSUE 168 July 2012
75
Me - So were you drifting
away from bikes?
Sid - No, I used the bikes
for getting to work and the
cars mainly at the weekend.
Me - And did Hazel (my
mother-in-law) like coming
out on the bikes?
Sid - Yes, she loved it.
She’d always wanted to go to
France with me but her Dad
and Mum wouldn’t let her
until she was married!
When they finally got to go
to the continent together, Sid
and Hazel did it in style on a
Vincent Black Shadow. They
set off to France on the Silver
City transporter plane, rode
round Normandy, down to
Paris and back home again.
And from there followed a
wonderful period in their
lives where, without ever
being conscious of it, they
were opening up the world
of biking into which we all
followed. They weren’t the
only ones and certainly not
the first, but it was perhaps
the dawn of ordinary working
people owning cars and bikes,
and starting to go abroad for
holidays and to explore. Prior
to this you had to be part of
a rich elite to do that sort
of thing. But you had to be
mechanically skilled to keep
things on the road.
Sid - We had endless
breakdowns but nothing we
couldn’t sort out straight away.
In 1963 came their little
girl Tina and the fun simply
continued, with father and
daughter taking trips to
France (when she was big
enough) in Sid’s Phelon &
Moore Model 120 Panther
with Steib sidecar, an outfit
he has to this day and
regularly turns up at our
house on!
Me - So, fast-forwarding
to when I first met you in
1982-83, you had a garage
76
ISSUE 168 July 2012
literally stuffed with classic
P&Ms. How did that happen?
Sid - Well, back in the
50s and 60s bikes were just
transport. They were cheap
enough and we rode them
and fixed them up to keep
them going. After a while
motorcycling went in to
decline, the bike shops were
closing and our industry was
going downhill. Back then
Motorcycle News was more
informal and old bikes started
to appear in it. People started
to see bikes as a fun thing
rather than just a means of
getting to work.
Another innovation was that
single-marque
motorcycle
clubs began to be formed
and as he already had a P&M
Sid went along to the first
ever meeting of the Panther
Owner’s Club.
Sid - It was really useful,
as when you got together
with lots of other owners
77
“Funny But Thoughtful”
“Dave Gurman is the thinking motorcyclist’s Jezza.
He’s deeper, balder, funnier and infinitely less irritating - and he’s had
a lifelong passion for bikes!”
“Dave Gurman makes you glad that you’re riding and glad that you’re reading” – Austin Vince
“Dave’s ability to capture segments of life and express them in a personal and uplifting manner
creates many a snigger through to full on laugh out loud moments.” – Neil ‘Nelly’ Hudd
“I have three words for Dave Gurman’s Book I LOVE IT!” – Harriet Ridley
Only
£5.99
everybody knew what part
fitted what, or what you
could use instead to fix up
your own bike. It started me
off collecting all sorts of old
Panthers, mostly from the 30’s
at first, but later on I started
to get interested in the really
old stuff. I had a 1917 P&M
RFC combination for a while
and later on a 1913 P&M.
Eventually I was the machine
registrar for the club.
Can be ordered from any
good bookshop available ex-stock from:
The Ace Cafe, London
The Shop in the Clouds
(Ponderosa) Horseshoe Pass,
Llangollen
www.amazon.co.uk
www.mapsman.com
www.traveldriplus.com
www.wemoto.com
brother Bernard (another avid
collector of old bikes). They
seemed to know everybody
and everybody seemed to
know them.
And the motorbikes continue
to come and go. They are a
little less heavy now as Sid has
pursued his interest in bikes
with Granville Bradshaw’s
little oil/air cooled 350 single
At this point I could fill the
whole magazine with a list
of bikes Sid has had but I
want to paint a portrait of
the man rather than a dry
list of machines. As he said to
me “They all came and went
eventually but they’re all still
out there somewhere.” From
then on his history and mine
are intertwined; my memories
Or by post from: Dave Gurman, 48
Argyle Avenue, Hounslow, TW3 2LF –
cheque for £7.99 (£2 p&p)
78
are of going to summer
shows and steam rallies, all
as a family with a feral tribe
of whippets curled up on the
seats of various campervans,
warming their soft, hairless
bellies in the sun. When he
retired Sid got busier and
busier, he and Hazel attended
shows almost every week
in the summer and nearly
always with his younger
ISSUE 168 July 2012
79
seem to be able to do it, they
get it all wrong and cause
terrible backfires…
in them. These are OKs, DOTs
and Matadors rather than
Panthers. Bradshaw also
designed the original P&M
Model 100 engine and the
mercurial 250 V-twin in the
Panthette, which was too
clever for the materials of
the day and never sold well.
Until recently Sid had the
only road-going one in the
world but that’s the kind of
man he is. It was the same
with his 1923 P&M sloper.
He’s also the kind of man who
can peer into a tatty box of bits
at an auto-jumble and know
exactly what he’s looking at.
He doesn’t wait for the AA if
he breaks down, because if
he can fix it by stripping out
the clutch plates at the side of
the road then he will. I know,
I’ve seen him do it and not
that long ago, either. He still
goes to all the rallies he can
and is disappointed if they are
cancelled because of a little
thing like rain. Every year we
80
ISSUE 168 July 2012
attend the Boxing day run to
the Tipputts Inn on the A46
near Nailsworth, whether it’s
sunny or snowing. This last
scenario bothers me a lot but
is ‘water off a duck’s back’ to
him. “Back in the old days we
had to get to work whatever
the weather - we just got used
to it. We slipped about a bit but
nothing bad ever happened.”
Near the end of our chat I ask
him, “What do you think of
modern bikes? Have you ever
fancied one?”
Sid - No, not at all. I couldn’t
get on with all that electronic
stuff and fuel injection. I like a
carburettor that I can flood…
The one thing I would want
from a modern bike is an
electric starter, though.
Me - But you can still kickstart your 650 single-cylinder
M120 Panther!
Sid [smiling] - Yes, well
there’s a knack to it. Even some
of the younger chaps don’t
Sid Wilkinson has lived a
biking life most of us can only
dream of but please don’t
imagine that being eightyseven will put a stop to it. He
is an enduring pioneer of the
British biking scene, the very
life-blood of what we all do and
hope to do in the future. There
is nothing embarrassing about
him to tell and my only regret
is that I haven’t been able
to share more of it with you.
If you’re thinking of giving
up motorbikes because of
your age then Sid’s message is
a simple one - you don’t
have to.
So when you set out on your
next trip to France or Spain or
wherever you’re going on your
bike, you should remember
that Sid Wilkinson has been
there before you, and knowing
him he may well be right
behind you too!
Oldlongdog
81
Special K
82
ISSUE 168 July 2012
83
the aerodynamic fairing, panniers and heated
grips it sat nicely within my meagre budget. It
seemed too good to be true.
It even had an unusual sideways mounted
kickstart and a four-speed gearbox. Being
new to the marque I didn’t think anything of
it, until a few weeks later, when it was getting
hard to disengage the heavy clutch enough
to engage or change gear. Sure enough I’d
bought a pup. The seller wasn’t interested
and it seemed that the bloody thing would
be sitting outside my flat until I’d saved up
enough cash to get it sorted.
A friend who worked somewhere where
they had lots of white R100RTs, managed
to get hold of a second-hand five-speed
gearbox that needed a new layshaft, or even
better, a brand new one. He brought me
the oily components covered with a sack
‘for a drink’ and after borrowing the work’s
M
ost old farts like me (i.e. early 50s)
will have cut their teeth on Japanese
motorcycles in the mid to late
70s. Bikes that looked good and went well,
but were a little lacking when it came to
handling, brakes, tyres, lights, screw heads
and even paintwork.
After the frustration of owning a number
of these machines I decided enough was
enough and started to consider European
manufacturers.
Having developed a loathing for cleaning
chain goo off everything south of the gearbox
sprocket I reasoned that shaft drive was
the way forward, which ruled out some of
84
van I transported the bike and all the bits to
a BMW specialist in Erith; who over several
weeks rebuilt it for exactly the price difference
between the tasty black boxer at Mottingham
and the streamlined blue nail that I’d bought
instead. Bugger.
Once I’d got ‘Boris’ back I did enjoy many miles
of trouble free riding. Trouble free that is once
I’d got the hang of sliding back a little on the
seat to free my knobbly knees from inside the
fairing when I felt the need to put my feet
down. I never actually dropped it, but I came
close once or twice.
It certainly delivered the miles in supreme
comfort. My flat mate Jill’s parents lived near
Barnstaple and on the odd summer weekend
we’d leave Gravesend after I finished work on
a Friday and ride 250 miles into the sunset to
spend a couple of days in North Devon. But
all good things come to an end, and by the
the more exotic Italian thoroughbreds and
despite my affinity with Massey Fergusons
and John Deeres I was never really sold on
the Moto Guzzi, so I looked to Bavaria for my
inspiration. I decided that what I wanted was
a BMW R100.
I’d spotted a beautiful black R100 at
Mottingham Motorcycles, low mileage,
excellent condition, but about £600 over my
budget. I tried haggling, which might work in
2012 but in 1984 the salesman looked at me
as though I’d lost my marbles.
And maybe I had, because I ended up with
a well used R100RS that I’d seen in MCN’s
classifieds; even with the added bonuses of
ISSUE 168 July 2012
85
86
ISSUE 168 July 2012
87
the biking one for a few more years until one
day in 1998 when my wife returned from a
residential art course and announced that
it was time I got another bike. Maybe the
fumes from the watercolours had got to her
or something.
And so it was that I went out searching
for another Teutonic beast. Despite the
hiccups with Boris I had been impressed
with the general build quality of BMWs, so I
started looking for a K100RS. However, after
viewing several around London it appeared
the couriers (sorry Mr Editor!) had got there
first, and without exception they were in
terrible condition.
time Jill and I met our respective spouses, the
boxer’s timing had slipped, causing one of
the header pipes to overheat and blister the
paint on the fairing. Then the horn stopped
working; followed by the electric clock; and
then the fork seals started weeping. It was
time to say goodbye.
a detailed breakdown of all the problems
I knew about, as well as a couple I didn’t. In
spite of this he obviously saw something he
liked in Boris, or maybe he had more money
than sense because he agreed to pay me the
asking price providing I delivered the bike to
an address in Wimbledon.
At the time I was renting a house on a busy ‘A’
road, so I put Boris outside with one of those
undignified ‘for sale’ boards leaning against
him. Various time wasters came and went,
until eventually a middle-aged couple on
holiday from New Zealand called. After giving
the fork legs a quick wipe I fed him all the
usual spiel, excusing the various problems as
‘character’ – “They all do that mate.” I was left
standing in the front garden with cash in my
hand while the guy took it for a test ride.
Persuaded against buying another bike by
my fiancée, I too began an extended journey
where I mostly spent my money on things
like wedding rings, mortgages and bringing
up children.
Inside the house his wife was telling my other
half what an ingenious engineer her husband
was and how was one of the most respected
bike builders in the Antipodes; which became
clear to me when he returned and gave me
88
Deflated, I got in the car and headed for home
along the Old Kent Road; but as I reached St
James’s Road the familiar roundel sign outside
‘Bracken BMW’ caught my eye, so I turned left
and wandered into their yard.
In the middle of a sea of BMWs stood an
immaculate unfaired K100. Remembering
my experience from years before I tentatively
enquired after the price of the bike, thinking
that once again the shiny black Beemer would
be beyond my reach. This time I was in luck.
The bike was a 1985 US spec model that had
been owned by a BBC correspondent in The
States, and had recently been shipped to the
UK where he traded it for a newer model.
As Leslie Crowther used to say, the price
was right.
Money changed hands, the V5 was filled
in and a call made to Carol Nash. In a matter
of days I was heading home on the oldest
bike I’d ever owned and the only one with
four cylinder. The bike took up residence
in my shed amongst lawn mowers, Little
Tykes cars and bicycles with stabilisers. It was
covered up with a sheet and plugged into
I had a Yamaha XS650 Custom for a while. Then
there was a spell where due to ‘not seeing
eye to eye’ with my employers I had to return
the company car and needed transport to
get to work. So my good friend Keith loaned
me his rather tired Suzuki SP400, which was
largely faithful and reliable, except when the
swinging arm spindle snapped in the middle
lane of the M20!
After normal service had been resumed on
the employment front, it was all quiet on
ISSUE 168 July 2012
89
to which my trouble and strife would say
something like, “But you’ve got a bike…”
For years I continued to live the lie with my
K100, kidding myself that I was happy with
it, until one day in 2007 my son mentioned
there was a 2003 R1100S on Ebay at a low
price. I asked my wife if I could place a bid
and once again I was reminded that I already
had a bike. But my persistence paid off, and
it was eventually agreed that I could place
a maximum bid of £2,850, which was never
going to be enough.
The auction ended at about half seven on a
Sunday evening. I was sitting in the garden
with a beer when my son announced that
he had some bad news for me. I’d guessed
as much, the bike was worth a lot more than
I’d bid. The bad news he had was that I’d won
an Optimate, and came out for quick runs,
the odd commute, trips to the coast,
weekends away and the odd holiday. And
that was that really – the start of a long and
happy relationship.
Various mods and improvements were carried
out over the following fourteen years; the big
square drainpipe exhaust was binned and
replaced by a Remus can; a touring screen was
fitted and later replaced by an ultra rare K75C
fairing; the Corbin saddle was re-finished
and the bike was polished, tinkered with and
fettled like most cherished mounts. It seemed
like we would be partners for life, me and my
special K.
Then one day I was invited to the launch of
a new model at the local BMW dealer, I think
it may have been the R1200GS. The detail
escapes me, as I was busy falling in love. Every
available GS was booked up, so I was asked if
90
the auction; and he was right, o say that my
wife wasn’t happy about it would be an
understatement. I quietly made arrangements
to borrow a trailer the following weekend and
head over to Windsor to pick the bike up, it was
taxed and MOT’d but I wasn’t sure how well it
had been maintained, and as the weather was
filthy I decided not to risk riding it.
Under cover of darkness it went straight
into the garage, like a mistress smuggled
in through the back door. The bodywork
came off, the wheels came out, and over the
next few weeks I systematically cleaned and
serviced the bike, and even managed to sneak
a new pair of tyres under the radar.
Then one fine spring day the R1100S broke
cover, and was released into the fresh air
like a butterfly. It was an absolute delight to
ride, every bit as good as the brazen hussy I’d
I would like to try something else. A K1200RS
maybe? Or how about this R1100S?
Ah, yes, the R1100S. Beautiful. Yes please.
This was a mistake, a flirtation, a seedy onenight stand. I instantly bonded with the curvy
saucepot who took me swooping around the
country lanes. She held me back from the test
convoy and then encouraged me to enjoy
her vivacious curves and confident handling
as we caught up with the pack, which left
me wondering how far I’d get if I just took off
with her.
I returned to the shop and reluctantly handed
back the keys, then felt ashamed as I wandered
back to my faithful old K100. I couldn’t look it
in the headlight. It was never the same after
that day.
I didn’t mention the R1100S to my wife. She
wouldn’t have understood. But I couldn’t
help commenting if we saw one in the street,
ISSUE 168 July 2012
91
As each MOT test came and went, the
difference in mileage from the previous year
became less and less, until last year, when
I didn’t even bother to tax it. The K was still
quick and reliable, but compared to the sporty
boxer it just felt so staid and upright.
So when even my long suffering wife
eventually admitted to a sneaking admiration
for the R1100S (although at time of writing
she still hasn’t been on the back of it), after a
lot of soul searching I decided to sell it.
tangoed with at the BMW dealers a few years
earlier, but this one wasn’t a brief encounter,
it was all mine.
The K100 still held a special place in my heart,
rather like a faithful old Labrador. It was
lovingly polished and maintained, and sailed
through its annual MOT test. On turning 25
years old it qualified as a vintage bike, and I
was able to join the International West Kent
Run, along with 349 other riders of slightly
more vintage machines. The owners of ancient
Ariels, Rudges and Franny Barnetts were all
talking about advancing timing, pushrods
and valve collets. I just turned the key and
pressed the button. I felt every bit the fraud.
It attracted a lot of attention on Ebay and sold
immediately, for a good price too. I felt guilty
after so many years of ownership as I betrayed
my longest serving bike and rode it for the
last time to its new home in Oxfordshire,
shamefully handing over the keys in exchange
for a bundle of used notes.
I didn’t say much as I was driven home. I was
thinking of the good times we’d had together,
from that initial blast of freedom down
the M20 after the congestion of the South
Circular, the early morning ride down the
A303 to The Eden Project, and fish and chips
on the quayside in Weymouth.
So I’ve got a bit of space in the garage now,
and just under a grand left in my slush fund
after spending a bit of the money from the
K100 on the R1100S (does my duplicity know
no bounds?) and I’m thinking that I’d like a
trail bike, maybe 250 or 400cc, and I’m casually
looking through the classifieds.
My dear wife of course doesn’t want me
to get one, and I have the nagging suspicion
that if I do I might end up enjoying it more
than the 1100, and we all know where that
could lead…
Martin Haskell
92
ISSUE 168 July 2012
93
In The
Shadow Of
The Tiger
94
ISSUE 168 July 2012
95
R
olling into remote Asian villages aboard
the Triumph Tiger 955i, I tended to
get noticed. Shoulders back and head
held high, the Tiger growled and the people
smiled and waved.
I’d pull to a dusty halt, kill the engine and
become the focus of all attention. A hundred
familiar questions would greet my arrival:
‘How fast?’ ‘How big?’ ‘How far?’ ‘How much?’
Cameras had clicked as adults posed for
photographs and every kid in every village had
looked longingly towards the Tiger’s empty
pillion seat. Along with the genuine warmth and
hospitality I’d quite enjoyed the attention,
but as the miles had increased I’d realised
that something important had been missing.
The people passing fleetingly through my life
had probably learned a great deal about my
96
ISSUE 168 July 2012
nomadic existence aboard the Triumph Tiger,
but their understanding of ‘Me’ had come at
the expense of my understanding of ‘Them’. Four years ago in London, my journey had
started as little more than a self-indulgent
jolly, a magical remedy for midlife mediocrity,
a low-rent Long Way Round that owed far
more to Pooratech than Touratech. However,
somewhere along those dusty roads heading
east, the nature of the journey had changed.
I don’t remember a particular milestone on
the road nor a precise moment in time, but
what had started life as a ‘Motorcycle Journey’
had somehow transformed into a ‘Journey
by Motorcycle’. I was beginning to understand that what I
was witnessing along the way wasn’t a true
reflection of life, but a performance of life
staged purely for the benefit of the foreigner
97
with the big shiny motorcycle. In every home
that I’d been invited to enter, of which there
were many, there’d always been a metaphorical
elephant that I’d wanted to learn much more
about; poverty, politics, inequality. But, in every
home and village those elephants had been
hiding in the shadow of the ever dominant
Tiger. My European motorcycle had certainly
opened the gates to remote communities in
the middle of everywhere, but it had done so
with the subtlety of a battering ram. In order
to break down the barriers between myself and
the communities that lay ahead of me, I needed
to replace that battering ram with a much
more sensitive key. In order to understand
more about the real lives of those I was yet to
meet, I realised that I needed to slow down
the pace, become more anonymous and to
start passing through the lives of others rather
98
ISSUE 168 July 2012
than simply allowing others to pass fleetingly
through mine. The Triumph Tiger 955i was an amazing
motorcycle, but it was just a little too rude
and conspicuous for my changing needs.
There was no alternative, it had to go, but
parting certainly wouldn’t come easily.. Back
in 2008 I’d explained my initial travel plans to
the good people at Triumph Motorcycles, and
they’d offered me some quite unusual advice:
“The Triumph Tiger won’t make it around the
world because it’s just a street bike dressed
in an adventure frock, so we advise you to
buy a BMW.” Fifty thousand miles and thirtyfive countries later, having witnessed modern
BMW’s and KTM’s expensively self-destructing
across the wilds of Siberia, while my only
mechanical failure had been a blown headlight
99
100
ISSUE 168 July 2012
101
Join www.bikerdatinguk.com today!
Find your perfect partner.
Riders Digest Readers receive their 1st months
full membership for £1.00
when they enter promotional code: riders1
This oﬀer is valid until 15th July.
Visit our website and nd out what we’re all about,
you can join and browse our members for FREE!
www.bikerdatinguk.com
102
bulb in Vladivostok. Not too shabby for a tarted
up street bike, but the time had come to start
shopping for a more appropriate ride. What
I needed was a simple and reasonably priced
motorcycle, something that would blend
into the vast Asian landscape and hopefully
go unnoticed. Exactly four years after setting out from
London on the Triumph, I’m now riding
through the chaotic streets of Bangkok aboard
a brand new red and white motorcycle. I’m
five hundred pounds poorer, but I’m riding the
most amazing motorcycle the world has ever
seen. It’s certainly the most highly produced
vehicle in history, and therefore I hope the
most anonymous. It’s the motorcycle that quite
literally changed the world, the motorcycle
upon which you’ll meet the nicest people, the
iconic Honda Super Cub.
ISSUE 168 July 2012
Except that I’ve just bought the little red Super
Cub in Bangkok, an absolutely amazing city,
but a city where as the Ladyboys attest, things
are seldom what they first appear to be. Despite
the fact that I bought the motorcycle from
one of Bangkok’s premier Honda dealerships,
it’s not actually a Super Cub, in fact, it’s not
even a Honda. I’ve just purchased a Tiger
Retro 110, a Thai manufactured copy of the
1960’s Super Cub, or as the Tiger Motorcycle
Company of Thailand prefer to call it, ‘a faithful
reproduction’. However you’d like to describe
it, and I’m sure that Honda purists have some
colourful descriptions of their own, it’s time to
see if this motorcycle is the subtle key that I’d
hoped for.
It’s the second week of April and the beginning
of Thailand’s Song Kran Festival, the festival that
marks the end of the dry season and the coming
103
104
ISSUE 168 July 2012
105
The Perfect Biker’s Backpack...
Pro-Sports 30Ltr
£57.49
Roll-top 100% waterproof
rucksack (Class 3) Protects
contents from dust, sand, dirt
and water ‘High Frequency’
welded construction Internal
zip pocket Two-way sealing
system (top or side) Padded
shoulder straps and lumbar
support Comfortable back
panel with air-flow design Super reflective strips on the
bag and both shoulder straps Adjustable sternum strap and
waist belt Large elasticated mesh
side pocket and a top carry handle
Large front mesh zip pocket
Full range of dry-bags, backpacks
and waterproof cases for cameras,
phones and iPads at
www.overboard.com
OFF ers
%
5
1
ad
st re
ige
12*
for D il 31/07/20
unt
Discount Code:
OBRIDERSDIGEST05
A few kilometres into my first journey on the
smile inducing Tiger Retro 110, I turn off the
main highway and steer gingerly into the
temple at Lak Si. Thai’s are very fortunate, as
Buddhist’s they can look forward to enjoying
*Full-priced items only. Code valid for one
purchase, including for multiple items.
106
of the monsoon rains. Traditionally this was the
time when rice farming villagers in the North
would take the remainder of their precious
water to the temples and use it to cleanse the
images of Buddha. In return for their offerings,
they’d hope to receive good rains and good
fortune for the coming year. Traditions such as
these are often the earliest victims of progress,
and in recent years Thailand’s economic and
structural development has been remarkable,
but when it comes to fitting square pegs into
round holes, the Thai’s have an uncanny knack
of making such unions seem quite natural.
It was time for me to start finding out if
Thailand’s progress had been kind to its culture. WWW.THERIDERSDIGEST.CO.UK
ISSUE 168 July 2012
many lives, but as an atheist I’m well aware of
my own mortality and would be happy to see
my one and only life last just a little bit longer.
‘A faithful reproduction’ is probably a fair and
accurate description of the Retro, because the
Tiger Motor Company seems to have captured
the warts of the original Honda Super Cub
superbly well. With 1960’s leading link front
suspension, rear suspension that prefers
shocking to absorbing and drum brakes
seemingly hewn from cheese, I discard my
atheist leanings for a while and seek a helpful
blessing from the monks.
If I’d arrived here on the Triumph there’d be
great ceremony now; tables laden with food
and drink, beating drums and ringing bells,
strings of fragrant orchids and the Abbot
Monk at centre stage wearing his finest
saffron robes. Today, the three novice monks
finish contemplating the sports pages of their
107
108
ISSUE 168 July 2012
109
OTHER ADVENTURE TRAVEL BOOKS
repairing them, were drowning beneath
several metres of putrid floodwater. But why
should they know and why should they care?
Thai’s recover quickly, it’s in their nature, they
just seem to get over things and get on with
things far more easily than we ever could in
the West.
COM
BY SAM MANI
'A captivating book for all,
this is the story of an
enlightening, yet daunting
journey across fourteen
African countries by
motorcycle.’ Aerostich
'This is a great adventure
and a really enjoyable read.'
Johnnie Walker - BBC
Radio Two ‘Drive Time’
'In the range of Motorcycle
Travel Books out there, this
one pulls no punches. In the
gritty bits, you can feel the
grit. I liked it a lot.'
Motorcycle.co.uk
'The word-pictures that bring
a good travel book to life are
all here.’ The Road
'Sam has the skills of the
story teller and this book
easily transports you into
three years of journey across
Asia. He manages to bring
the sounds, scents and heat
of Asia to life without wordy
overkill.’ Horizons Unlimited
'This is one helluvan
adventure!'
Canyonchasers.com
‘The thing I most enjoyed
about this book was the
feeling that I was there with
him as he went through
everything.’ London
Bikers.com
‘A unique and wonderful
adventure.’ Ted Simon
author of Jupiter’s Travels
This is a great story which
reads with the ease of a
novel. Distant Suns has it all:
love, good guys, bad guys,
beauty, danger, history,
geography and last but not
least-bikes! A fast, easy and
thoroughly enjoyable read.'
webbikeworld
‘Distant Suns doesn't just
document the journey
through Southern Africa and
South America, Sam also
describes cultural
differences, traditions and
lifestyles of the various
countries they cross, whilst
painting a vivid picture of the
terrain they cross. A truly
involving and enthralling
read.' TBM - Trail Bike
Magazine
get your copies from:
www.sam-manicom.com
‘where every day is an adventure’
or
‘quality kit for serious fun’
110
newspaper, take the final draws from their
cigarettes and only then, rise to assist me. ‘Namo ta-sa, pa-ka ra- toe, ah-rah ha-toe, sam-ma,
sam-pud ta-sah’. Three times they repeat the
traditional Buddhist blessing before sprinkling
the Retro with water and tying a simple white
string loosely around its throttle. The Tiger
Retro has passed its first test. It’s been blessed
as any normal Thai scooter would be and
our future happiness and safety is assured.
The road heading north looks a little more
promising now.
A solitary monk stands silently beside me,
watching the same group of people and
gently nodding his head. He’s probably also
wondering why so many fortunate people
travel only to complain, but as a monk he keeps
those thoughts to himself. He glances into my
open notebook and then points towards the
Retro, ‘Super Cub, it looks like new’. I tell him
that it is new, but that it’s not a Super Cub, and
that’s the end of the motorcycle conversation.
We talk for an hour about his new life as a
monk, and about his previous life as a wayward
husband and absent father. The temple had
been his saviour, taking him in and turning
him around when life had seemed to have
abandoned him. I’ve never before talked so
openly or candidly with a monk, nor any other
man of religion, but his duties at the temple are
calling and we go our separate ways.
I reach Ayutthaya, the ancient moated capital
of Siam with its magnificent temples and
countless images of Buddha. The recent flood
waters have subsided and restoration work
is well underway. High on ancient bamboo
scaffolds, Thai workers toil beneath the
burning sun, executing ancient skills with the
most modern of cordless power tools. Below
them, the early morning tourists are looking
uncomfortably hot, sweating, wiping brows,
complaining about the smell, the noise, the
bugs and the heat. They seem oblivious to the
fact that just a few weeks earlier these amazing
structures, and no doubt the homes of those
ISSUE 168 July 2012
111
112
ISSUE 168 July 2012
113
pp121 TRD138
07/04/09
11:14 AM
Page 1
Proven
recommended
and expert
in rider
claims
The vast Central Plains of Thailand are
absolutely flat, perfect for the 110ccs of the
Retro but I suspect not so effective when it
come to draining away unwanted floodwaters.
I’ve ridden north from Bangkok for seven
hours and the only hills that I’ve climbed have
all been made by man. The Gulf of Thailand
is at least three hundred kilometres to the
south and probably less than a metre lower
than where I’m standing now. I’ve stopped in
a small village to replenish the Retro’s 3L fuel
tank and chat idly with the attendant. I point
to the traditional wooden houses built high on
stilts, and then across the road to the modern
Western style bungalows with concrete walls
and front yards that are littered with flood
damaged furniture and white goods. The
attendant shrugs his shoulders, replaces the
nozzle and begins to explain. He lives in the
wooden house, the house that was built by his
father, high from the ground, cool in summer
and well above any floodwaters. His daughter
What our clients say:
"Special thanks to Michael Wheatley at RSS for all his support,
good counsel, and all the little ways he went above and beyond."
"It has only been 8mths and it’s all done and dusted. As well as
being great solicitors they are also very friendly and understanding. Everything has been explained to me and they kept me up to
date during this period."
Helping motorcyclists
since 1994
If you have been involved
in an accident and would
like our help call us
0208 246 4900
114
ISSUE 168 July 2012
lives in one of the many modern bungalows,
expensively air conditioned in summer and
clearly susceptible to flooding. He doesn’t
blame anybody for these errors of progress,
or even suggest that they should return to the
old ways of building houses, he just shrugs his
weary shoulders again and mutters the Thai
equivalent of ‘whatever’; ‘mai pen rai kap’.
A little further north, I enter the town of Phi Chit
where the local kids are waiting to greet me.
Passing every humble home, cafe or market,
buckets of water are thrown over me and if I
dare to stop, my cheeks are lovingly plastered
with a white menthol powder. I haven’t been
singled out for such refreshing attention, in
fact unless I lift my visor then they’ve no idea
that I’m not Thai, but it’s clear that they don’t
discriminate. It seems that everybody, even the
passing motorcycle policeman, is a legitimate
target in these parts. The Thai tradition of
cleansing the images of Buddha at Son Kran
115
116
ISSUE 168 July 2012
117
ADVENTURE TRAVEL BOOKS
Bright orange tractors have replaced the
‘tak-taks’ and buffalo that used to work the
rice fields, everybody has a phone that’s far
smarter than mine, every wooden shack has
its own large satellite dish and nobody drives
a car that’s less fashionable than the designer
labels that they wear. Suddenly, I feel like the
poorest guy in the village, but I’m not, I just
don’t have as many credit cards. Asian, African,
European, American, between us we have
many differences, but it seems that we’re all
swimming in exactly the same dream pool.
COM
BY SAM MANI
Into Africa - Under Asian Skies - Distant Suns - and now...
TORTILLAS to TOTEMS
Sam Manicom’s latest travel book takes you on a gripping rollercoaster of a two-wheeled
journey across the dramatic landscapes of Mexico, the USA and Canada.
There are canyons, cowboys, idyllic beaches, bears, mountains, Californian vineyards,
gun-toting policemen with grudges, glaciers, exploding volcanoes, dodgy border crossings
and some of the most stunning open roads that a traveller could ever wish to see.
What do the reviewers say about Sam Manicom’s books?
'One of the best story tellers of
adventure in the world today.'
Side Stand Up Radio - USA
World of BMW - ‘Inspirational
Reading’
Motorcycle Monthly - ‘Sam
Manicom’s books
are highly recommended’
London Bikers - ‘Compelling Reading’
Moto Guzzi Club - ‘Sam has the gift to describe
people and places!’
Honda Trail Bike Riders - ‘Completely engaging’
BM Riders Club - ‘Superbly entertaining’
The Road Magazine - ‘Masterful writing’
TBM – Trail Bike Magazine - ‘Truly involving
and enthralling’
The Riders Digest - ‘Technicolour descriptions’
City Bike Magazine USA - ‘Clear and unpretentious’
Motorcycle Sport and Leisure - ‘One of the world’s leading
motorcycle authors’
ISBN: 978-0955657337
from
‘Few travel writers can conjure up sights
and smells so provocatively as Sam’
The Daily Record
TORTILLAS to TOTEMS
SIDETRACKED BY THE UNEXPECTED
118
www.sam-manicom.com
has progressed, and it appears that Northern
Thailand is currently engaged in the world’s
largest ever water fight. It’s fun and their
enthusiasm is addictive, so I park the Retro,
grab myself a water scoop and join them until
darkness dictates that we stop. I’m spending the night at the family home of
my good friend Nongnoo in the small village
of Noen Kum. I sit down to eat dinner with
grandparents, young nursing mothers and
children of all ages. Aside from my friend
Nongnoo and her nursing sisters, there’s
nobody of working-age at the table, an entire
generation seems to be missing. In fact, I don’t
really recall seeing many people of workingage all day, aside that is from those who I’d
actually seen working. I pose the question
and the answer isn’t quite what I’d expected.
I’m told that those who are able to work will
be working throughout the whole of the
Song Kran holiday. Apparently it didn’t used
to be this way, entire families always came
together for the festival, but in these days of
easy credit and minimum monthly payments,
the aspirations of parents have become the
expectations of their children. Isuzu D-Max
trucks, iPhones, plasma TV’s and scooters all
cost money, money that’s readily available via
Mastercard and Visa, so the workers work in
order to keep up with their payments. Looking
around me I can see exactly what they mean.
ISSUE 168 July 2012
Rolling into remote Asian villages aboard the
Tiger Retro 110, I tend not to get noticed.
Shoulders back and head held high, the Retro
buzzes and the people simply ignore me and
carry on with their everyday lives. I pull to
a dusty halt, kill the engine and absolutely
nothing unusual happens. Aboard the little
scooter I’m blending in, an invisible part of the
massive cultural scenery and able to observe
without being observed. Of course, once I park
and dismount the people realise that I’m not
local and ask questions, but the nature of their
questions has changed. Unlike the Triumph
Tiger 955i the Tiger Retro 110 isn’t important
or special to anybody, it casts no unwanted
shadows. A barrier between us had been
removed and our conversations are now about
the most important things in all of our lives:
People and Life.
Blue88
Photographs by Blue88
& Nongnoo Chachawna
119
FastesT
D
ocumentary film maker Mark Neale
once worked as a motorcycle despatch
rider in London, which makes him a
thoroughly fitting subject for a magazine
that started life as reading matter for the
capital’s bike-borne couriers. He’s come
a long way since he worked for Security
Despatch though…
If you haven’t heard of Mark you should at least
have heard of his most recent and much-lauded
film Fastest. But if even that has passed you by,
I’ll start by saying that I can highly recommend
a viewing. The film gives a fascinating insight
into what makes the gods of MotoGP tick, with
the riders and their closest supporters talking
frankly to Mark, intercut with some of the most
memorable racing highlights of recent seasons.
But it’s been a long and convoluted route from
London DR to L.A.-based filmmaker…
His early films were connected with rock music,
ranging from Jimi Hendrix to U2, before making
a quirky but very well received documentary,
No Maps For These Territories about William
Gibson, author of the groundbreaking sci-fi
120
ISSUE 168 July 2012
novel Neuromancer and the man who coined
the term ‘cyberspace’.
Neale’s first film about motorcycle racing was
released in 2002. Faster could be described
as the ‘pre-quel’ to Fastest since it too was all
about the premier class of road racing, in the
era when Rossi was the newly-crowned king
on a Honda, having wrested it from Suzukimounted Kenny Roberts Jnr. His other main
rival was Yamaha-mounted Max Biaggi along
with the likes of Gary McCoy, Alex Barros and
Sete Gibernau (remember them?). I haven’t
seen Faster, but would certainly like to, since
I’ve been a fan of bike racing since Phil Read
and Giacomo Agostini were still winning on
MVs, the Isle of Man Senior TT was still the
British Grand Prix and Barry Sheene was the
new kid on the block.
One quirk of fate which helped Mark Neale
in his quest to make Faster is that as a former
resident of Barcelona he not only spoke
Spanish but also the local Catalan lingo, and
MotoGP is run by an outfit called Dorna who
are essentially a bunch of Catalunyans. (The
121
Jorge Lorenzo
122
ISSUE 168 July 2012
123
Cal Crutchlow speaks after the London Premier of Fastest
nearest Brit analogy I can think of would be if
they were Glasgow-based and he could speak
Glaswegian like Rab C. Nesbitt). Mark told me
that he moved to Barcelona in the early eighties
after his stretch as a despatch rider, “Because I
wanted to travel, and live somewhere warm
and sunny. I was so pissed off with riding my
bike in the rain.”
At the time, Mark owned, “A terrible Yamaha
XS750 with a Pantera fairing. It was a pig and I
crashed it about six times, but it wasconsidered
super exotic and cool in Spain because they
did not have them – more exotic than the
Guzzi Le Mans and Laverda Jotas that they did
have, and which I craved.” Mark taught English
in Barcelona and also worked with classical
concert promoters. Bike-wise, he moved on
to that old despatch-rider’s favourite, the
Honda CX500.
Another thing that helped Mark get Faster
made was that he had the chutzpah to tell
everyone that Ewan McGregor was going to be
doing the voice-over when he’d never actually
met the Scottish film star. Mark told me the
story of how Mr McGregor finally did get
involved. “I’d tried getting in touch with him
through agents and other ways for months to
no avail, but through a friend of a friend I finally
managed to get a rough cut of the film to him
when he was making Big Fish in Alabama in
Having done the voice-over, Ewan also helped
to promote the finished film at the Cannes
film festival, when he joined a whole posse of
MotoGP stars, including Rossi, on a mixture of
road and race bikes for a barely-legal ride along
the famous Croisette, culminating in a series of
burn-outs outside the cinema. There’s a great
three minute video of this unofficial ‘Cannes
Grand Prix’ on YouTube. http://www.youtube.
com/watch?v=nADH_o0Nk48
Mark recalls, “Ewan also did the voice-over
for the second disc in the DVD box, about
the 2003/4 season. We recorded it in Alaska,
where it was still light at midnight, when
he was in the middle of riding The Long
Way Round.” And if you imagined that Mr
McGregor required a large fee for his valuable
services, you’d be wrong… Neale sums up
simply, “Ewan has been a totally solid friend
and trooper.”
In 2005 Neale made a film about the return of
motorcycle grand prix racing to the USA based
around the MotoGP at Laguna Seca called The
Doctor, The Tornado and The Kentucky Kid but
then he had a life-changing experience. He had
a skateboard accident, which, paradoxically,
probably saved his life. It resulted in him
having a brain scan, which revealed that he
had no fewer than three aneurisms. Bizarrely,
it turned out they were the result of a car crash
he’d suffered decades earlier when he was
only five years old and he’d been through the
windscreen. In 2007 Mark underwent major
brain surgery during which the surgeons were
in and out of his brain no fewer than six times!
Ewan McGregor & Mark Neale at Cannes in 2003
Photo: © Grant Gee
Texan Ben Spies on the Tech3 Satellite Yamaha in 2010
124
February of 2003. He called back within four
hours and left a message on my answerphone
speaking in a mock Valentino Rossi accent!”
ISSUE 168 July 2012
125
Casey Stoner on the 800 Ducati
126
ISSUE 168 July 2012
127
recommend. (A shortened, one-hour version
is included in the DVD set of TT3D: Closer to
the Edge).
Traveldri-Plus
Quality Kit For Serious Fun!
Mark Neale shooting a bunny at Silverstone in 2010
Photo: © Stephen Hopper
All I can say is that you’d never know it to meet
him and, as he wrote to me in an email, “That
was five years ago and the glue’s still holding.”
Not content with merely surviving brain
surgery with all his ‘marbles’ Mark undertook
not one but two motorcycle film projects pretty
much simultaneously. The first would become
Fastest while the other would become Charge,
about the first two zero emissions races on the
Isle of Man (which is how I first came to meet
him during the 2009 TT). The story of Charge
is well worth an article to itself; suffice it to say
that it was an extremely difficult film to make
for a whole variety of reasons, but that it ended
up being a really great movie, which I highly
The making of Fastest did not exactly run
smoothly either. As Mark explained in the
Q&A session which I saw him give after a
screening of the film in LA (as mentioned
in TRD 165) it was not a big-budget movie.
$850,000 counts as pretty small beer these
days, even for a documentary, and he
produced much of it operating as a ‘one man
band’. When he went to Rossi’s home town
of Tavullia, for example, where ‘bikes are
more important than football’ and he got
some great interviews with fervent long time
Rossi supporters, he was completely on his
own, doing his best to understand their local
Italian and to make himself understood with
a mixture of French and Catalan… Mark even
did most of the subtitling for the film himself,
with the help of Tita Rosenthal a Professor
of Renaissance studies at the University of
Southern California.
Mail Order Hotline
01647 24523
128
ISSUE 168 July 2012
129
Rossi leads Lorenzo at Le Mans
130
ISSUE 168 July 2012
131
In Fastest, not only do we see the great footage
of Rossi’s almost unbelievable overtake of
Stoner in the dirt of the vertiginous Corkscrew
at Laguna Seca in 2008, but we also hear both
men talking about it, separately. Stoner says,
“It’s not a contact sport” while Rossi says “I
never touched him” but it’s clear from the
footage that if Stoner hadn’t taken evasive
action Rossi would almost certainly have
had them both off. Stoner adds thoughtfully,
“Sometimes he’s clean as a whistle, sometimes
Vale leaves his brain out” and then adds,
somewhat presciently, “What goes around
comes around!”
Mark Neale in Sepang, Jan. 2011 with
Valentino Rossi’s new Ducati leathers
Photo: ©Azi Farni
Fastest undoubtedly revolves around Valentino
Rossi, and some people have criticised it for
this, as Mark is well aware, but he’s happy to
defend the story that his film tells. After all,
it’s worth remembering that between 2001
and 2009, Rossi won all but two of the nine
MotoGP championships, despite switching
from Honda to the unfancied Yamaha in 2004.
(Nicky Hayden would be the first to admit that
he was extremely lucky to pip Rossi to the
championship in 2006 and Stoner was much
assisted by the switch to 800cc in 2007). Even by
2009 Valentino had won more grand prix than
any rider except Giacomo Agostini who, great
rider though he was, had superior machinery to
his rivals for most of his career. Not for nothing
was Rossi nick-named ‘The Goat’ – The Greatest
Of All Time. And besides, one of the fascinating
things about Fastest is the way it shows Rossi’s
crown slipping as he battles with both injury
and the impressive skills of Stoner, Pedrosa and
above all, Jorge Lorenzo.
132
Lorenzo is like a young wolf challenging
the leader of the pack. At one point he says
memorably, ‘Valentino is not a god. You can
beat him’. And while the film starts with one
of Rossi’s most impressive overtakes ever, in
the final corner, to win the 2009 Catalan Grand
Prix, it also shows that Lorenzo learns from
that chastening experience and has the skills
to beat even Rossi at his best, later in the year,
and above all, in 2010. It also shows that Casey
Stoner is a different kind of rider altogether,
quite possibly the only one in the paddock
who would have packed up and gone home,
mid-season, to sort out his mysterious malady
(which turned out to be lactose intolerance)
only to come back keener than ever to win at
home in Oz. The film ends before the start of
Rossi’s disastrous 2011 season with Ducati, but
in the light of what happened last year you
can’t help having huge respect for what Stoner
achieved on the difficult-to-ride Ducati in the
previous four years.
Stoner is clearly the complete opposite of a
‘do or die’ rider like Marco Simoncelli and I use
the phrase advisedly since of course Simoncelli
was tragically killed at the Malaysian Grand
Prix in 2011, only a few weeks after Fastest
was released. When I first saw the film at its
Leicester Square premier in September last
year, Simoncelli was still alive so it added a
terrible poignancy when I saw the film in L.A.
last December to know that he’d been killed as
a result of crashing under the wheels of Colin
Edwards and Rossi himself. Rossi (who was
great friends with Marco) even describes the
time he put Sete Gibernau into the dirt at the
final corner of the 2005 Spanish Grand Prix as ‘a
Simoncelli move’.
Mike Scott, who’s been reporting on Grand Prix
for decades, says of Rossi, “He’s a charmer, but
he’s also a ruthless killer.” On the commentary,
Ewan McGregor reminds us that Gibernau
never won another race, much like Biaggi, who
was an earlier victim of the Rossi psych-out
treatment.
Neale says of Fastest’s storyline, “I knew I
wanted to go back to the point where Rossi
Rossi breaks his leg at Mugello
ISSUE 168 July 2012
133
Mark Neale shoots Casy Stoner at Slverstone, 2010
Photo: © Stephen Potter
Mark Neale and camera at Silverstone in 2010
Photo: © Stephen Hopper
134
ISSUE 168 July 2012
135
50-51booksdvds_Layout 1 22/05/2012 11:41 Page 1
Ben Spies and his Yamaha hit the tarmac in 2010
left Honda at the end of 2003 and include
the greatest moments from all the years
in between. But when he broke his leg at
Mugello (in June 2010), the investors got cold
feet especially after Kevin Schwantz said he
thought Rossi might retire. The rest of the film
is about his comeback… but with the other
riders weaved in.”
The film certainly shows the highs and lows of
MotoGP. I’ve followed it pretty keenly over the
period the film covers, but I still learnt plenty
of new and interesting things from watching it.
For example, I didn’t realise that Rossi’s Mugello
crash meant that he missed a GP for the very
first time in fifteen seasons of racing. I knew that
he’d hurt his shoulder crashing on a motocross
circuit in the off season (and there’s some great
footage showing that Rossi is no slouch on a
motocrosser), but I didn’t know that his dad
Graziano had warned him against doing it.
Nor did I know that Rossi senior actually ‘died’
for a few minutes when he was riding in GPs,
only to be revived by Dr Costa and his ‘clinica
mobile’. Costa talks about the improvements
in rider safety in the intervening thirty years,
pointing out that the combination of much
larger run-off areas and vastly improved riding
gear means that most injuries these days are to
the riders’ hands, feet, ankles and collar bones.
Cue lots of scary highsides to remind us of just
how those injuries come about; it’s actually
pretty amazing how many the riders manage
to walk away from.
136
Talking of ankles, I knew that in his first
year in MotoGP, Jorge Lorenzo had, almost
unbelievably, finished second at Le Mans
despite riding with two broken ankles suffered
at the previous race in Japan, but I didn’t know
that he’d been far more shaken by another
crash which had left him concussed and
perhaps paradoxically, finally aware of his
own mortality. Colin Edwards talks memorably
about the multiple pile-up in which he thought
Marco Melandri had died right in front of him.
Some of the best bits of the film are actually
the least spectacular, when the top men are
simply talking one to one with Mark while
driving a car gently around a deserted circuit.
This is a technique which Neale first used
when he made the film with and about William
Gibson, but it works perfectly here because, as
Mark told me, “It’s much quieter than filming in
the paddock and there are no handlers or PR
people to interrupt!”
There’s technical analysis in the film too from
the likes of Rossi’s long time crew chief Jerry
Burgess and Eurosport’s tech-expert Neil
Spalding. It’s explained why bike frames have
to be able to ‘bend like a tree’ in order for their
suspension to work while cranked beyond 50
degrees and we discover that when Lorenzo
says “If you improve the brakes I will lap three
tenths of a second faster” that’s exactly what he
will then do. We’re also reminded that MotoGP
whether you’re a Rossi, Lorenzo, Stoner or
indeed a Crutchlow supporter, I suspect you
won’t be disappointed if you splash out some
books&DVDsbooks&DVDsbooks&DVDsbooks&DVDsbooks
of your hard-earned on the DVD. In fact Cal
Fastest ends with Rossi’s near-miraculous
was at that Leicester Square premier and said
return to winning form after breaking his
how much he’d enjoyed it, and how well he
leg, and the young Lion Lorenzo stealing
thought it portrayed the off-track aspects of
his crown. I don’t think many people would
cares to remember! He made the
takes you back to when British
Ken Sprayson – hero of
the MotoGP
Here’s hoping that the sequel
have
predicted
Rossi’s
apparently
insoluble
first Norton featherbed
industry
led the worldlife.
and British
the IoM TT with the TT
production
frame,
helped
design
bikes
were
setting
the
pace.
shows
Cructhlow’s
rise to MotoGP glory as the
problems
at
Ducati
since,
Stoner’s
domination
Welding service!
Ken’s book will be launched at
and produce the Dragonfly
first
British
champion
in the premier class of
of
the
2011
season
back
with
Honda,
or
indeed
the International Classic Bike
frame, developed the Earles fork
Every year for 50 years, from
into the legendary Reynolds
Show at Stafford, April 28-29
1958 young
to 2008, Ken,
welding torch declaration
road
racing
since
Barry
Sheene in 1977!
the
Australian’s
that
he
will
Racing fork, made innovative
where Ken will be a guest of
in hand, repaired the damage
honour
surrounded
by
some
of
and
successful
racing
frames
for
retire
at
the
end
of
2012
while
still
at
the
peak
wrought by these infamous roads
the many racing specials for
Geoff Duke, Jeff Smith, Mike
on racing frames.
of
his powers.
Paul
Blezard
Hailwood, and John Surtees and
which
he designed
and built the
He ran a completely free
bikes are faster on both acceleration and top
speed than F1 cars.
Ken Sprayson the frame man
welding service for novices and
world champions alike, giving
many others.
At Reynolds he became the
of making
light but
strong
Will
there
be aforsequel
tomaster
Fastest?
Mark
Neale
his time
and expertise
no
welded frames from Reynolds
reward and always a perfect job
certainly
hopes
so,
and
so
do
I,
but
he
says,
531 tubing. He was so good “It’s
he
done with a smile! To racers with
even made the frame for Thrust 2
broken
Kendeal.
was little
not
a bikes
done
” Inshort
the meantime
I will
happily
the
British
World
Land
Speed
of a saint.
car propelled
by
watch
foramong
a fourthrecord
timebreaking
and hope
some
Ken hasFastest
been a legend
a jet engine.
motorcycle
racers
enthusiasts
of
you will
atand
least
feel moved
to
have
a
gander
This is a fantastic book which
for more years than he probably
at the trailer. If you’re already a MotoGP fan,
It’s
a
l
a
ste
frames.
Publication:
April
The DVD
is 2012.
£9.99 while the Blue-ray is £15.99
Recommended price £14.95
(includes UK p&p when
ISBN 978-0-9564975-6-7
ordered
from Panther
Panther Publishing Ltd.
www.fastestthemovie.com
Publishing)
[email protected]
229 pages, 234 x 176mm,
panther-publishing.com
softback, 170 photos and
Foreword by Malc Wheeler of
www.chargemovie.comClassic Racer
illustrations.
All 5 for
£36
inc P&P!
By Ian Mutch
www.mutchmotorcyclebooks.com
Low Rider
Harley to Mali
£7.99
£7.99
plus £1.50 P&P plus £1.50 P&P
Marco Simoncelli leads Toni Elias at Sachenring in 2011
Photo: © Paul Blezard
Looking For
America
£7.99
plus £1.50 P&P
Riding with the
Beast
£7.99
plus £1.50 P&P
Picture book A4
Motorcycles
Forever
£12.99
plus £1.50 P&P
If these books donʼt make you
smile, seek medical help
Twitter
@IanMutch
50 The ROAD
ISSUE
168 July 2012
For payment details emaikl me: [email protected]
cheques or paypal at present no cards, sorry
137
Recession? What Recession!
The Riderʼs Digest is going from strength
to strength so if you want to put your
product or service in front of over 10,000
of the most dedicated biking enthusiasts
then contact us to place your advert
right where this one is...
Call Peter Martin on:
01666 505295
138
Email: [email protected]
ISSUE 168 July 2012
139
140
ISSUE 168 July 2012
141
142
ISSUE 168 July 2012
143
A Hero.
Today, like before.
Sportsuite Race-Evo
Art. 5212
£ 1,199.99
Boots Thunder Sport
Art. 8060
£ 164.99
Gloves RS-1000
Art. 2224
£ 164.99
Telephone: 01423 790 121 //
144
www.facebook.com/heldriderequipment
Riders and Roadcraft (Part 1)
by Jonathan Boorstein
O
ne of the great
pleasures of collecting
and reading old
motorcycling books are the
glimpses into riding in years,
if not decades, gone by.
The Rudge Book of the Road,
for example, was published
by Rudge Whitworth Ltd in
Coventry between the wars
to help buyers of Rudge
motorcycles better enjoy
their new vehicles.
“In presenting this book to
you, we hope we shall add
still further to the endless
fascination and satisfaction of
owning a Rudge motor-cycle,”
writes John V. Pugh, Rudge
Whitworth’s chairman in the
Introduction. He goes on to
say, “And because most of us
are motor-cyclists ourselves
and know and love the old
romance of the road, we have
talked of that also.”
Helmet Brave
Art. 7140
starting at £ 124.99
Held celebrates its anniversary; 66 years
of experience and continuous development let a
simple product become a Hero. Globally renowned
quality and innovation for 66 years, produced
with passion and real world function, phenomenal
comfort and safety come as standard.
A Hero – today, like before.
BOOK REVIEW:
since 1946
www.held-uk.co.uk
The book charms before the
modern reader gets that far.
Bound in cheap buff leather,
it could be held safe and
closed by a tab and snap
while riding those romantic
roads, The Rudge Book sold
for an extravagant 2/6 (that’s
two shillings and sixpence or
ISSUE 168 July 2012
12.5p – Ed). The end papers
are decorated with a repeated
motif of a rider hunched over
his motorcycle, a setting sun,
and a tree that looks like
a leaf.
There are line drawings
and old photographs as
illustrations, including one
of a Rudge with a sidecar
as well as pulling a caravan.
My favorite is a gentleman
in plus-fours servicing his
Rudge. Oil and grease? What
oil and grease?
The heart of the book –
beyond the ongoing salespitch about the wonders of
the wonderful Rudge – is
how to enjoy and care for
the motorcycle (or motorcycle); what laws the rider
has to obey; how to tour
Britain; and the like. Chapter
Six offers “Weather Wisdom
on the Road”: how to identify
clouds and what each type
of cloud means in terms
of weather conditions. “By
Sun and Signpost” provides
instructions about how to
tell direction using trees and
watches (wrist as well as
pocket; this is after the Great
War, as it is called here). The
chapter also recommends
20mph as a comfortable
touring speed; 30 is strictly for
the young and the vigorous.
Another chapter is virtually
a field guide to British
architecture in general and church
architecture in particular. (My
academic field is architectural
history; this chapter is a rather
good quick-start.) There’s a
chart of ferry fees, both with
and without sidecar. Crossing
the Thames from Woolwich
to North Woolwich was free
in the 1920s (and is still free
today – Ed), but crossing from
Tilbury to Gravesend was 7d;
10d if there was a sidecar. A
“lamplighter’s guide” would
keep the rider compliant with a
law that required license plates
be illuminated within half an
hour after sunset: roughly 8.50
p.m. on 1 July, but 8.35 on 20
July. Maps are in the back.
“Taking your Rudge abroad”
urges the rider to “Visit your
145
FATMAGGOT.COM
Custom Printing for Bike Clubs Shops & Events
war time haunts”. France’s
Routes Nationales are touted
as “The safest speedways this
side of the Statue of Liberty”.
Later the reader is warned
that French for petrol is
essence. “Petrole over there
means paraffin, and even a
Rudge grudges to run on such
a fuel.”
Other chapters cover the
law, regular maintenance,
and troubleshooting. There
are two on racing, one in
general and the other on the
T.T. A later chapter includes
a bibliography for further
reading, including a section
called “The Spirit of the Open”,
which is a list of books about
traveling that open and
romantic road. Authors whose
works are cited include Hilaire
Belloc, E.V. Lucas, and G.K.
Chesterton, none of whose
travel pieces are read today.
Biker Gifts
Very Rude T Shirts
Full onsite setup for printing at rallies/shows
Of course how-to books are
nothing new. The oldest one I
clothing - mugs - promotional items
07905 440970 / [email protected]
146
can think of off the top of my
head is Aristotle’s Poetics, or
how to write a play. Whether
Aristotle ever wrote one
himself remains an open
question.
Baldassare Castiglione’s Book
of the Courtier – or How to Win
Friends and Influence People
for the English Renaissance
set – set the standard for the
perfect British gentleman
back in the 16th century, a
model that continued well
into the 20th. Castiglione’s
ideal of sprezzatura (the easy
grace that conceals – as much
as it is the result of – practice
and hard work) nevertheless
lingers, though mostly as
attitude in the worlds of
art, fashion, entertainment,
and sports.
Not all how-to books have
the shelf life of Aristotle
or Castiglione. The first
editions of Mrs Beeton’s
Book
of
Household
Management (1861) are
read today for its insights
and
information
about
domestic arrangements and
management in the Victorian
Age (if not laughs) than it is
as guide for contemporary
“household management”.
Old motorcycling manuals –
as well as new ones – cover
such necessary skills and
background knowledge as: how
motorcycles work; how to ride
ISSUE 168 July 2012
one, from basic handling to
rules of the road; how to dress
and prepare for a ride; what to
do after a license is obtained,
from racing to touring; and
how to connect to the wider
biking community, from
media to organizations. But
once the up-to-the-minute
information has gone past its
due date, the book becomes a
quaint and amusing piece of
time, petrified in print.
In The Motorcycle Handbook
(1975), Bob Clampett not
only introduces the new
rider to the two-stroke and
four-stroke
motors,
but
also the then radically new
rotary that Suzuki had just
introduced to the market.
Other topical references
include calling tourers “easy
riders” from the film released
a few years earlier as well
as a final chapter entitled
“And Then Came You”,
which recalls a shortlived TV program, Then
147
The British Complete Motorcyclist’s
Handbook (1981) doesn’t age
that much better despite the
best efforts of its editor, David
Minton, and such contributors
as Peter Bickerstaff, then
the Technical Officer of the
Vincent Owners Club, and
Mike Hailwood, the famous
motorcycle racer who was
killed in a car accident shortly
after completing his pieces
for the book.
Less twee are instructions
for bump starting and basic
maintenance,
the
latter
illustrated with a bearded
and shaggy model already
anachronistic in the then
ascendancy of the yuppies.
Minton
confronts
and
confounds the new rider
with
such
motorcycle
categories as “megacycles”
and
“paradoxycles”.
The
former is defined as bikes for
which quantity tops quality
and size trumps performance.
He cites Harley-Davidson as
an example. Paradoxycles
are concept bikes with
unresolved elements. MZ and
BSA are among the marques
of
motorcycles
Minton
discusses more seriously.
Bennett notes that the rotary
engine is now dead, adding
Came Bronson, featuring
a motorcyclist in search of
himself and decent ratings,
ultimately finding neither.
The chapter on “Learning to
Ride” recommends Yamaha’s
“Learn to Ride Safely”
launched in 1973, the same
year as the Motorcycle Safety
Foundation (MSF) began
its programs. Clampett also
suggests that the new rider
insist on instruction from
the dealership as a condition
for buying a motorcycle.
The checklist to start a bike
includes: “Keeping your
weight on your left leg, pull
up the side kickstand. Place
the ball of your right foot
on the kick-starter, and kick
it through, firmly, all in one
movement. If it doesn’t start,
release the throttle, open it
again to about one-quarter,
and try again. It should
start.” Right.
148
ISSUE 168 July 2012
More than a decade later,
Jim Bennett attempts humor
in The Complete Motorcycle
Book (1995) when he starts
his how-to manual by
recommending that parents
don’t “Just Say No” when their
14-year-old son informs them
he wants to ride a motorcycle.
It isn’t until the end of
the chapter that Bennett
acknowledges that the reader
of the book may not in fact
be a parent facing a stubborn
child, but someone who
wants to ride himself. It isn’t
until the end of the book that
Bennett acknowledges that
the reader may not in fact be
male, but female.
149
vehicles. But the mechanics
of learning to ride, riding,
and maintaining a bike are
completely recognizable.
that its “last producer, Norton,
fell victim to Thatcherism, the
leveraged buy-out greed of
the ‘80s, and Reagonomics”.
He feels that only the fourstroke is the proven winner,
but does explain all three
engine types. By the 90s,
the café racer has made
enough of a comeback that
Bennett feels obligated to
warn readers that such bikes
are not for everyone. He
determines that the annual
cost for the first year a rider
has a new motorcycle is
$5,292. Bennett even tosses in
his three golden rules for safe
riding: wear a helmet; don’t
drink and drive; and take a
motorcycle safety course.
“Discover your inner biker!”
touts the cover of The
Everything Motorcycle Book
by
A.J.
Drew
(2002).
Presumably Drew, whose
expertise is in HarleyDavidsons, is not responsible
for that dated comment.
A decade is a long time
with both vernacular and
150
Furthermore, Drew goes
beyond what the earlier howto manuals covered, going
deeper into insurance issues
and including a chapter
about “When You Have to Hit
Something”. Usually when
bikers hit something, it’s an
accident; but then again,
most bikers don’t ride a
Hog. He even covers “Biker
Fashion Faux Pas”: no chains
connecting the wallet to
the belt; no fringe on the
leathers; no studs or spurs – as
dangerous in a crash as they
are to chrome and metal; and
no long hair worn loose.
Drew ’s recommendation
that riders “Pack a cell phone
even if you don’t plan to use
it” in case of emergencies
is hysterical a decade later,
but not in a good way. As
for actually learning to ride,
while he doesn’t stint on
written instructions, he tows
the official line about the
(very real) benefits of MSF
beginning riding classes:
an automatic license upon
successful completion of the
course in some states and
reduced insurance rates.
The Motorcycle Book by Alan
Seeley. This how-to manual
has lots of color pictures, four
logical sections, and all but
ignores the existence of any
engine but the four-stroke.
The two-stroke is noted in
glorified passing, while the
rotary goes unmentioned.
We are now in the age of the
“contemporary” how to ride
a motorcycle book. Or rather
books. Currently available to
the aspiring rider are Let’s
Ride: Sonny Barger’s Guide
to Motorcycling (2010); the
fifth edition of The Complete
Idiot’s Guide to Motorcycles
(2011); and Shifting Gears at
50: A Motorcycling Guide for
New and Returning Riders
(2012). The Idiot’s Guide also
carries the endorsement of
Motorcyclist magazine, while
Shifting Gears is associated
with Rider magazine. Darwin
Holmstrom is listed as the
name author on the previous
four editions of the Idiot’s
Guides and as co-author of
Let’s Ride. That’s five how-
to-ride books in the last
fourteen years.
Let’s start with Let’s Ride, which
is both the most interesting
and most entertaining of
the three. Since I don’t know
how well-known Barger is
outside the U.S., I’ll give him
a brief introduction. Barger
organized and built the Hells
Angels into an international
organization,
not
only
becoming one of its more
visible members, but also
one of its more notorious. He
wound up serving a couple
of sentences in jail, whether
justifiably or not depends
upon whom you ask, the day
of the week, and the phase of
the moon.
A seventy-something cancer
survivor, his current causes
include motorcycle safety and
branding himself. Let’s Ride
is a good example of the
Only a year younger and
effectively immune to the
humor of 20/20 hindsight is
ISSUE 168 July 2012
former; peddling logo tee
shirts, baseball caps, wine,
and even hot sauce (Sonny
Barger’s Hellfire Sauces!)
among other items on his
website (www.sonnybarger.
com) the latter. He also has a
Facebook page and a Twitter
account (@sonny_barger).
Don’t laugh: he successfully
branded the Hells Angels and
is well on the way to success
with his current project. He
is one one-percenter who
seems determined to become
a member of the other
one percent.
The
book
covers
the
expected: what a motorcycle
is (only the four-stroke is
discussed); what to ride; how
to ride (basic and advanced);
buying a bike (new or used);
how to care for a bike; as well
as clubs, organization, and
other resources for new and
experienced riders. The sauce
for the meat, however, is
Barger himself who turns out
to be chatty and entertaining.
It is always a mistake to try
to guess who did what (and,
in some cases, to whom) in
any form of collaboration,
but I would venture to say
Holmstrom goes beyond just
translating Barger thoughts
and experience to the
printed page. He provides
why someone should read
the book while Barger’s
personality makes it fun
to read.
Barger lives to ride, not
wrench, and so spurns custom
and vintage motorcycles. He
also spurns Harleys in favor
of Victories, an increasingly
common choice among
the “Buy American” crowd
and something The Motor
Company should think about.
He favors helmets, not just
because of safety, but also
because he can’t ride without
them. A laryngectomy makes
it impossible for him to
breathe while riding without
a full-face helmet. (This is also
true for riders with respiratory
problems from less extreme
causes than throat cancer.)
The book comes alive when
Barger gets personal or goes
on a rant. In some places, it
sounds almost maternal: “Do
whatever it takes to clear
your head including going
to the bathroom”; in others,
paranoid: “When riding on
public highways, I recommend
adopting the attitude that
every single person on the
road is a sociopathic serial
killer who has just escaped
from an asylum for the
criminally insane… whose
sole purpose is to kill you”. In
not quite the same breath, he
blames the use of cell phones
by motorists while driving
for the rising number of road
accidents in general and
those killing motorcyclists in
particular. And then of course
there’s the do-what-I-say151
and-not-what-I-do advice. He
recommends bikes in bright
colors for visibility, adding
that he’ll only ride black bikes.
Holmstrom, a professional
writer, provides the scaffolding
for all that opinion. Here is the
pitch for the MSF as well as
its T-CLOCK list of things to
check on a motorcycle before
each ride (Tires & wheels,
Controls, Lights, Oil, Chassis,
and Kickstand). There is the
clunker only a ghostwriter
would use, “purpose-built
race bike” (page 86). Purposebuilt is a reading phrase
not a speaking phrase
and breaks the illusion of
Barger talking directly to the
reader. Later commenting
on a bit of legislation,
there is “[p]rotecting fools
from themselves seems a
futile activity to me, but I
digress”. The attitude sounds
like Barger; the phrasing,
Holmstrom.
Holmstrom was also responsible
for the first four editions of The
Complete Idiot’s Guide to
Motorcycles.The fifth edition
was taken over by another
professional word slinger,
John L. Stein. While it is
unlikely that anyone in his
or her right mind would ever
read -- or need -- the earlier
editions,
some
changes
are worth noting. The first
edition included a reference
card of state motorcycle
requirements, screwy little
152
drawings accompanying asides,
definitions, or call-out quotes,
as well as a dry, but delicious,
forward by television personality
Jay
Leno.
“Motorcyclogy”
features tips and tidbits
illustrated by a police officer;
“Cycle Babble”, definitions of
technical and sub-cultural
terms, a cartoon motorcycle
with a head for a headlight;
and “Steer Clear”, what not to
do, a road sign proclaiming
“slippery when wet”. By the
current edition, the cartoons
have been replaced by a
light bulb, an open book,
and a step ladder with a stick
figure respectively. Instead of
being placed in highlighted
boxes these elements are just
indented blocks of type. Leno’s
forward has disappeared, but
his cover endorsement quote
remains: “As both an idiot and
a motorcyclist, I found this
book very helpful”.
Most people do find Idiot’s
Guides helpful. A popular and
successful series each volume
uses humor and trivia to make
ostensibly difficult subjects
easy. A modular formula that
is consistent from how-to
book to how-to book helps
as well. Someone who found
one book in the series helpful
would probably find another
helpful as well. The humor
and personalization can
create problems as revised
editions are released. Both
Holmstrom’s fourth edition
and Stein’s fifth edition
begin with an introduction
about the presumed author’s
grandfather,
a
serious
motorcyclist, who worked
for Norton. Does that mean
if I were to revise The Idiot’s
Guide for the sixth edition I
could have a grandfather who
worked for Norton as well?
Other attempts to revise
the guide do not fare much
better. In a discussion
about the reliability of midcentury British motorcycles,
Holmstrom originally wrote:
“More than one rider saw
pistons, valves, and connecting
rods flying from their engines
as they exploded like grenades
between the riders’ legs”. By
the fourth edition, this has
been revised to: “more than
one rider saw pistons, valves,
and connecting rods flying
from their engines as the
exploded like oily grenades
just below their baby-making
equipment”. There was no
need for revision and, since it
is clear Holmstrom is thinking
of the male rider, it would
have been less vulgar to have
said crotch or balls.
From the first edition, the
series has always focused on
the four-stroke, affectionately
dismissing the two-stroke
in a handful of paragraphs
and the note: “Two-strokes
tend to have power-delivery
characteristics best suited for
experienced, slightly insane
motorcyclists”. If it matters,
Holmstrom’s “purpose-built”
appears on page 38 of the
first edition; had migrated to
page 42 of the fourth; and
settled, for now, on page 43 in
the fifth.
More reasonable revisions
include up to date information
on current motorcycle models
and an excellent chapter
about trikes, sidecars, and
electric bikes. Earlier editions
had all but overlooked trikes
and sidecars, even though
they have been around for
about as long as motorcycles.
Stein treats electric bikes
as exciting new technology,
much as Clampett discussed
the potential of the rotary
engine. It would have
been nice, though, if Stein
had skipped the extension
cord joke.
Unlike Barger and The Idiot’s
Guide, which address anyone
who’s interested in starting
ISSUE 168 July 2012
to ride, Shifting Gears targets
older riders: new or returning,
some as young as 40, some
as old as 60. It’s a growing,
but still undefined market. In
his introduction to Shifting
Gears, David L. Hough notes
that the average age for a
rider in the U.S. is 50. AARP,
an organization representing
the rights and interests of
older Americans – you have
to be over 50 to join – offers
its members special rates on
motorcycle insurance. The
MSF, always eager to extend
its brand and expand its
business, started a special
course for returning riders in
2011. There are even clubs
and organizations for senior
riders. Stein cites the Older
Bikers Riding Club and the
Retreads Motorcycle Club
International, Inc. as two
such examples. An unrelated
Google flushed out Old Coots
on Scoots.
In short, what Shifting
Gears at 50’s author, Philip
Buonpastore, has here is a
great concept and a virtually
untapped niche. It even
makes the jacket copy,
“Recommended for Riders
Ages 40 & Up”, almost
forgivable. Since Buonpastore
didn’t buy his first motorcycle
until he was 40, it might
have been a good idea to
have diddled the title in
that direction.
What we have here is
a
bungled
opportunity.
Buonpastore tries to do two
things in one volume: provide
basic instructions for riding
specifically tailored to the
needs of older people as
well as a selection of articles
about places he’s visited as
an older rider – all reprints
of pieces he published in
various magazines. Either
done right would have made
a good book.
At least the how-to guide
isn’t bad on the usual basics
and even has moments
of
intentional
quality.
Contributor Walt
Fulton
suggests that older riders
will be more successful
riders if they can ride a
bicycle and can drive a
motorcar with a manual
transmission. Sidebars feature
the experiences of older or
returning riders. Buonpastore
himself tackles the critical
question as to whether
older riders have diminished
153
reaction times. The answer
is yes, but no. It may well be
that younger riders are using
their faster reaction times to
overcompensate for their lack
of maturity and experience.
YOUR AD COULD BE HERE
REACH THOUSANDS OF POTENTIAL
CUSTOMERS EACH MONTH
GREAT RATES
FULLY INTERACTIVE LINKS TO
YOUR COMPANY WEBSITE & EMAIL
CONTACT
PETER MARTIN
[email protected]
154
Buonpastore goes wrong in
the second half of the book.
His travel articles that he has
selected to reprint here are all
fine in and of themselves. The
photographs are certainly
lovely. What was needed here
was one longer piece about
his journey to becoming a
motorcyclist who took such
journeys. It is mentioned in
passing, but then it’s off to
the next topic. But that would
have taken the book from
ordinary to extraordinary;
that would have fulfilled the
promise of the title: and that
would have made the book
more than just another howto guide.
How these three books will
read in another 10 or 15 years
is anyone’s guess. Certainly
ISSUE 168 July 2012
not mine. One of the best
ways to make yourself foolish
is to try to predict the future.
Nevertheless, Let’s Ride has
the best shot. It gets four
wheelies out of a possible
five for solid information and
five for character. The fun and
flavor of Barger’s personality
should read as well in 2022 as
it does today. How the more
technical sections on the fourstroke will read when we’re all
riding solarcycles is unknown.
The Idiot’s Guide gets a full
five wheelies for information.
It’s about as complete and
up-to-date as such things can
be. That means, of course,
that it will date faster. The fake
character of the narrative voice
– for example, that profligate, if
not purpose-built, grandfather
– is getting old fast and
undermines the credibility of
the book somehow for me. I’ll
give it three wheelies instead
of two since the likelihood of
anyone reading more than one
edition is rather small.
Also, for British readers
interested in motorcycling in
the States, Let’s Ride would be
the better choice; The Idiot’s
Guide would have the effect
of “too much information”. I’m
not sure even I need to know
there is a riding club in Santa
Cruz for vampires.
Shifting Gears is most like
to wind up in the book-fora-pound bin in front of the
local used and second hand
book shop by the end of
next year. The first part of
the book manages four and
three wheelies easily enough,
but the second half manages
none, halving the total.
On the other hand, for the
moment it is the only book
that does address the issues
facing the older rider. All three
books are available through
Amazon, as are most of the
out-of-print volumes.
Jonathan Boorstein
155
Bitz
Lids For Kids
Caberg distributors Feridax
released details of their new
V-KID helmets just a little too
late to make it into the June
edition, but they sound like
such a good idea we decided
we’d make space to tell you all
about them this month.
The V-KID has been
designed specifically for
junior riders, which is to say
that it isn’t simply an adult
helmet available in small sizes.
Caberg say that its smaller
shell has been specially
developed for the younger
rider and it comes with all the
features and protection you
would expect from one of
their adult helmets including:
Anti-scratch Visor
Double Anti-turbulence
Shield
Removable Inner Liner
Quick Release System
Internal Air Circulation
The V-Kid comes in sizes:
XXX Small – Small
and has an SRP £74.99
Visit the Feridax web site for
further details
www.feridax.com
156
ISSUE 168 July 2012
157
Bitz
UK Adventure Travel
Film Festival
17-20 August 2012
Ever
fancied
filming
your own adventures? Got a
video camera but don’t know
where to start? Well, how
about going to Sherborne
Girls School (settle down,
gentlemen; all the girls will be
on holiday) on 17-20 August
for the 2012 Adventure Travel
Film Festival hosted by Austin
Vince and Lois Pryce. The
festival officially starts on
the morning of Saturday
18th and ends at lunchtime
on Monday 20th August,
but campers can turn up on
Friday for a relaxed warmup to the main event.
The organiser’s mission
is to create a new generation
of
competent
amateur
filmmakers who, in the
fullness of time, will have
158
their work shown at future
versions this festival. The
workshops were a big hit at
the 2011 festival and they’ll
be running similar ones again
this time, taught by industry
professionals. These will be…
1. Camera work- Ten simple
rules to raise your game.
2. Cameras Galore –
Sooooo
many
makes,
which one to choose?
We know, we’ll tell you!
3. Sound – Always overlooked
by amateurs, ten more simple
Bitz
The Jolenes
rules to help turn you pro!
4. Directing – Produce
documentaries not home
movies, it’s simple when
you
know ‘the
code’.
5. Shooting an interview
– Three steps to perfectly
capturing that local character.
6. Super 8 – Underrated and under used,
everything a money shot!
7. Editing – If you can
edit, you can direct and
shoot.
Vital
session!
8. Narrative – Taking your
film to the next level.
Each session is an hourand-a-half and costs £20
per person. All equipment is
provided and groups will be
no bigger than ten students.
For those who would
rather watch what other
people have filmed there will
be an amazing range of films
which the organisers have
dug up for you this year. WWW.THERIDERSDIGEST.CO.UK
They’ve spent the last
twelve months unearthing
yet more rare gems from
the archives and tracking
down the best adventure
film-making talent in the
world today. Not only that,
there’s a great programme of
inspiring speakers including
Tristan Gooley and Alastair
Humphreys. Danny Roadkill is
also back by popular demand
to cook up some tasty, if not
flattened, morsels, as is Kev
Palmer with his bushcraftery
and foraging walks. And,
budding field chefs can also
enter Nick Smith’s Campfire
Cooking Competition!
Join The Jolenes for a
hoe-down! Appearing for
the first time at the festival,
and featuring Lois Pryce on
the banjo, these gals are
guaranteed to get you in the
party mood on the Saturday
night. With their signature red
frocks and an ozone-troubling
amount of hairspray, The
Jolenes have been busy
thrilling
audiences
(and
prison inmates) throughout
the UK and Europe with their
down-home blend of redhot rockin’ bluegrass and
old-time country.
The UK Adventure Travel
Film Festival takes place
at Sherborne Girls School,
Bradford Road, Sherborne,
Dorset DT9 3QN from Friday
17th August – Monday 20th
August 2012.
Tickets cost £75 for the
full weekend without meals
or £111 including halfboard (Breakfast on Sat, Sun
& Mon morning and evening
meals on Sat and Sun).
Children under 12 get in free.
More details at:
www.
adventuretravelfilmfestival.
com
ISSUE 168 July 2012
159
Join the adventure
Fre
eC
vis ata
we it o logu
e
bs ur
ite
Touratech travel equipment:  Luggage Systems
Maximise your travel experience.  Seats
 Lighting
We have all the right equipment  Screens/Rallye Fairings
for you and your machine, whether  GPS and Navigation
you’re travelling through Tibet or  Crash bars
 Long range fuel tanks
touring through Treorchy.
 Handguards
 Bash Plates
 Camping/outdoor kit
Touratech are now
approved dealers for
Husqvarna off-road
motorcycles, drop in for a
test-ride!
o.uk,
c
.
h
c
e
ark
ourat
iness P
s
t
wwwn.it 14 WoodlandwsanBsuea. SA9 1JW
65
U
S
417
ynlais,
639) 8
Ystradg
Tel: (01 tech.co.uk
ra
fo@tou
in
:
il
a
Em

Join the adventure www.touratech.co.uk

Transcription

Similar documents

the electric exoskeleton motorcycle

here.

Henderson Motorcycles

24th Annual - Toronto Motorcycle SPRINGSHOW

BackRoads Magazine

Visit a Navy AutoSource Representative on-board

our product portfolio in PDF format

WHAT: 4th Annual GEICO Motorcycle HOT BIKE TOUR ®

Fast Facts

Rider Magazine, February 2011 - Table of Contents