It was a bright and sunny day as i wrestled Stinky out of hibernation from the heated palatial surroundings of 3a - The Man Cave, a perfect opportunity to gain an MOT on my latest acquisition – ive had it about a year !!
Wheeling the bike through the garden, I was struck by its light weight, compared to my usual bike, a BMW R1150Gs, a vehicle that doesnt so much ride over surfaces, but bludgeons them into submission by account of its weight being measured on a planetary scale.
My long suffering Wife was there as morale support for the start of my perilous adventure on a ‘bike that has, to be honest, a rather tarnished reputation for damaging everything, from the environment to its hapless pilot.
With the ignition on, nice shiny green light on the dash, the choke lever pushed all the way round, I gave it a hefty kick – nothing, once again, and again, and again – hmm, Trace withdrew into the safety of the porch as she could see that the impending explosion, from either me or Stinky, was going to be spectacular. After turning off the choke, a few repeated kicks and it fired – hurrah – then died, damn. Choke back on, kick, and there appeared to be a rumbling from beneath me that gathered in speed and noise – fantastic. Then, the world disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke that hung over the drive and street like the smog of yesteryear – bloody hell. I gave the bike a few blips of the throttle and the smoke started to clear. Watching the dense cloud drift down the street was quite amusing – well for me anyway.
Remembering to lift up for first, it clunked into gear, flip sidestand up, slip clutch and pull off. At a very low speed the cloud behind me was mighty impressive. Gently accelerating I just added to the cloud but the mirrors that were clear, had turned into some form of Virtual Reality random image generators as everything was a blur. Oh well, out into the National limit, throttle twisted to the fun zone of the barrel, bloody brilliant !!
Shot down the road accompanied by a blue cloud of performance and a soundtrack that is magical. Then came the first reality check. A rabbit, one of those fluffy cute little creatures decided to investigate the action on the road, not wishing to run into it, I applied the front brake – the forks dipped reassuringly, and I sailed past the stationary/surprised rabbit at a very similar speed to when I applied the brake. The conclusion I have come to is that the front disk is really only there as an adornment to the front, more of a comforter than a life saver. The rabbit survived, my eyeballs that were now glued to the visor are still wide and staring now. Then theres the vibes !!, I know im old/infirm/twisted etc, but, bloody hell. The tingles are epic and im sure go some way to explaining why some motorcyclists of yore have “whitefinger” . Short of lead lining everything Ive just got to get used to it. The engine at tickover rumbles like distant thunder,ignoring the obligatory rattles from the engine and in an age of drive by noise testing and anti social policing, I think I will soon be the subject of an ASBO in my village of decidedly reserved inhabitants. Pulling the clutch in alleviates that by quite a lot, I don’t know if “they all do that Sir”, but im happy with it. Get to the next village, snick down through the ‘box for a junction, annnnnnnd – nothing. Id gone down into neutral and watched in amusement as the rev counter needle shot round the clock face, bugger. Up into first and then arrive at the MOT station, glancing over my shoulder, I was relieved to see that there wasn’t a blue smog trailing me. Dropped the keys off and whilst in the office, chuckled as the tester obviously couldn’t engage first gear – I shot out of the office shouting “Up, up” as I couldn’t see him due to an unexpected drop in cloud cover that seemed to engulf the area where my ‘bike was !!
MOT passed, along with comments about how nice the bike was, I set off on a bit of a trundle round Warwickshire. I tried cruising, then got into a routine of up a gear, down a gear – accelerating wildly and laughing like a drain, then cruising as the Angel on my shoulder reprimanded me for being irresponsible, needless to say, once drowned out by that wonderful noise, that didn’t last long and I left Warwickshire in no doubt that an anti social hooligan ‘bike had arrived. The handling is “interesting”, there appears to be a disconnect between front and rear, the hinge that I have read about does indeed exist. Pulling up outside the house, Stinky ticking over almost nicely, a chap came legging it down the street with a apprehensive/puzzled look on his face, maybe its wind I thought, oh my God, maybe it was his rabbit, had I gassed his dog/horse/Wife ? No, he wanted to talk to me about my ‘bike. He had heard me leave in the morning and ran out of the house to see me – or rather the smoke – go up the road. Turns out this is another benefit of triples ownership – people always want to talk to you about them.
Has any of this put me off – HELL NO, Ive bought another one, I can honestly say I have caught the bug big time and have reassured Trace that being a financial derelict but in possession of a triple is a worthwhile sacrifice to make. If anybody has space in their garage for a camping bed and five bikes, I may well need to ask a favour, lol
Rich
