The Northern, Stinkys Grand day out
Posted: Tue Jul 12, 2016 7:56 pm
Stinkys Grand day out
Dawn broke with the usual cacophony of coughing sparrows and Ducks looking for somewhere dry to escape the threat of trench foot – yes, it was raining in wonderful Warwickshire.
Trace, the ever present person of reason and sensibility suggested that maybe I should have listened to the weather forecast and hired a van, however, me being me chose to ignore the Met office and put my faith in my knees – who to be fair, gave no hint of rain/moisture, maybe I need new ones ?
With the memory of my last excursion through my village ringing in my ears and my eyes still stinging from the smoke, I carefully pushed Stinky to the front of the house, delaying the inevitable – and it had stopped raining, result.
Quick check up and down the street, no dogs,cats,rabbits,neighbours, ignition on, choke on, fuel tap to on(all hail Tangoman), kick – nothing. Damn it, not again. Kick again and Stinky fired into life. Rather than be accused of wildlife gassing, I looked over my shoulder, waved cheerio, tried to keep the choke on and triggered the horn, bloody hell, so much for trying to be quiet. Selecting first gear I headed for the safety of open countryside, shaking my head in a show of embarrassment but inwardly laughing maniacally.
With a nod towards the green party I kept things sensible – well for a mile anyway, and then enjoyed the bike in all of its glory, lots of noise, lots of grins. Then a thought crept in – very rare for me – I had 70 odd miles to get to MFN and no plans for refueling – more of that later.
As I approached Brinklow, my fun radar went off and the wildlife hid,I realised that I was approaching Warwickshires only road sporting venue – the “Brinklow straight mile”. As a spotty yoof and every other time I was in the area, this provided somewhere to explore the straight line performance of any vehicle – all within the limits of the law – obviously :wink:
Mirrors – check, couldnt see anything in them anyway, glance over shoulder, nothing there, down two gears and wound the throttle on like a switch – yeehar, the blurry world vanished behind me in a lovely blue fug as I shot down the straight. Halfway along the revs dropped as did my spirits. Going back to my yoof I remembered the two stroke mantra, whip the clutch in – in case its seizing, then drop the clutch and bump start it, bearing in mind if it is seizing you need to have the speed of a gazelle to catch it. Now I am neither young nor fit, so my reaction times are probably measured in yawns as opposed to milliseconds, never the less, I dropped the clutch and it fired – yeeeees, then died – bottom.
I coasted to a halt towards the end of the Mile, so close, yet so far. As I sat in the long grass at the side of the road contemplating my future, I looked at the paper weight that is my phone, rural life equals rural cell phone coverage and was just putting on my best sad eyes look for knocking on doors, when,for some strange reason Duelling Banjos kept going off in my head.
Right, time for some roadside maintenance, fortunately I had had the forethought to ensure a toolkit was stowed in the bum hump and Stinky being a clever Kawasaki had a set of spark plugs secreted under the seat too. Out with the toolkit and time to get the plugs out. The first issue was the fact my skin is not heat resistant and everything was at performance temperatures, no worries, wear gloves. After a few minutes I realized why Lobsters do not do Cross Stitch or micro surgery, despite my swearing and rolling around in the grass in frustration, nothing was going to be easy. Eventually I removed all three plugs – very expensive platinum plugs. At this point a very kind gent pulled up on a Kawasaki ZX10 and asked if I was Ok, “yes thanks” I lied, “Im just doing a plug chop”, after all, nobody admits to their vehicle stopping. He gave me the thumbs up and shot off. Next, as I was burning my arms trying to position the plugs on the heads, my ears became aware of something creeping up on me – bloody hell, Duelling Banjos went off in my head again, checking my attire to make sure I was not attractive to any moonshine swilling cousin marrying slack jaw yokels with an affinity for squealing pigs, I glance over my shoulder. I nearly went Polaris as I jumped in the air, a guy on a moped had crept up on me – now this guy had ridden past me and turned round, you meet the nicest people on a motorcycle.
After a brief conversation and no mentions of canoes/bow and arrows/banjos or Burt Reynolds, he bade me farewell and rode off.
As I was installing the standard plugs, the right hand plug cap appeared to be connected to the coil via an invisible HT lead, brilliant, the plug leads fell off. I screwed the plug cap back into the lead and fitted it to the top of the new plug
A swift lunge on the kickstart saw the plugs roll around on the head but no sight of a spark, a few more kicks and nothing. Right, spare plugs time. Plugs fitted, deep intake of breath and kick, Stinky leapt into life. Damn it, Im not dressed. Jacket on, helmet on – gloves (or welders mitts) on, I was ready. It was then I realized that my genuine Kawasaki H2b toolkit was still spread over the verge, along with the non functioning plugs. Leaping off the bike I tried to gather everything as fast as possible before Stinky stopped. Job done, pockets full of non road friendly screwdrivers, box spanners and pliers, I selected first – nope, that’s neutral, selected first and rode off. The cows in the field behind the ad hoc Kawasaki pit that had been gazing over the fence with a look of pure pity,and, I swear I could hear them cheering as I rode off – didn’t last long though as they disappeared in a cloud of pure two stroke goodness.
Fuel, blast, better get some. The only place I could think of that would have fuel – urgently – was Coventry. I headed towards Coventry and found a Tesco fuel stop, filled up and had a conversation with two different people about my ‘bike. As I pulled out of Tesco, it rained, not just any rain, oh no, this was Biblical, cats and dogs, frogs and locusts, fish and fowl. I turned the headlight on and laughed out loud as I realised the glow of my headlight was making no impact on the gloom – even confused moths would give it a miss. I headed towards Leicestershire to rendezvous with my very good friend and understanding mechanical genius Bruce. I got there, the sun was out and all was rosy. Spirits lifted, waterproofs bungied to the seat we left the rural idyll of Bruces village in no doubt that some two stroke hoodlums were in town. Next was the M1, never have been a big favourite of mine but needs must. A few miles short of the exit we needed for MFN it rained, once again Noah would have been anxious and I was looking at my once very shiny bike in horror. Then we had a technical glitch, pulling over to the side of the road with only five running cylinders between the six that we should have. Stopping on any main road is a risk, on the M1 its bloody terrifying. The rain stopped and weirdly after a bit of plug cap waggling, all six cylinders fired into life, quick, leg it. We turned off the M1 and headed towards where we thought we were going, after a while it dawned on us that we had missed a turning, bum.
We turned off the main road and were obviously looking bewildered as a guy in a very flash Mercedes stopped on the wrong side of the road and asked if we were looking for MFN ?, yes, we chorused. As he started to explain where we had to go, it obviously became apparent by our glazed looks that we had no idea of any geographical points in the area, “no problem, follow me”
With that he took us right to the drive – you meet the nicest people on a motorbike and in a Mercedes.
The main contingent of the Northern Rally had gone off on a white water adventure through the countryside so we settled in for a coffee and to meet some of the members of the club, and very nice they were too. At some point I met Neil the Don at the back of his van, I was just about to ask him “how much?” when Bruce stepped in and informed me that my long suffering Wife had instructed him to deter me “with extreme prejudice” if I went for my wallet or credit card, due in part to my unwavering dedication to buying stuff on a whim – even when people don’t want to sell it me – Pingle fuel tap for instance. I bought Stinky at Stafford after going there to buy some ‘shocks. Crisis avoided, people started rolling back in, wet but happy(ish).
Stinky was parked with the other ‘bikes in rows, there truly are some beautiful ‘bikes in the club, and to my surprise and delight, Stinky won a prize. This was fantastic, the only problem being getting it home, short of using it for a sail, or a wake board given the weather conditions, I was stuck. Enter good Samaritan Pete, who kindly transported my trophy to his home for me to collect later – you meet the nicest people on a ‘bike, in a Mercedes, in a van.
I left the show – after finding out what MFN stands for, after a great day, met some great people and had an adventure or two to boot.
Thanks a lot to everyone who organised it and all the people who turned up and I had the pleasure to meet, see you all again soon hopefully
Rich – RacerRB159
Dawn broke with the usual cacophony of coughing sparrows and Ducks looking for somewhere dry to escape the threat of trench foot – yes, it was raining in wonderful Warwickshire.
Trace, the ever present person of reason and sensibility suggested that maybe I should have listened to the weather forecast and hired a van, however, me being me chose to ignore the Met office and put my faith in my knees – who to be fair, gave no hint of rain/moisture, maybe I need new ones ?
With the memory of my last excursion through my village ringing in my ears and my eyes still stinging from the smoke, I carefully pushed Stinky to the front of the house, delaying the inevitable – and it had stopped raining, result.
Quick check up and down the street, no dogs,cats,rabbits,neighbours, ignition on, choke on, fuel tap to on(all hail Tangoman), kick – nothing. Damn it, not again. Kick again and Stinky fired into life. Rather than be accused of wildlife gassing, I looked over my shoulder, waved cheerio, tried to keep the choke on and triggered the horn, bloody hell, so much for trying to be quiet. Selecting first gear I headed for the safety of open countryside, shaking my head in a show of embarrassment but inwardly laughing maniacally.
With a nod towards the green party I kept things sensible – well for a mile anyway, and then enjoyed the bike in all of its glory, lots of noise, lots of grins. Then a thought crept in – very rare for me – I had 70 odd miles to get to MFN and no plans for refueling – more of that later.
As I approached Brinklow, my fun radar went off and the wildlife hid,I realised that I was approaching Warwickshires only road sporting venue – the “Brinklow straight mile”. As a spotty yoof and every other time I was in the area, this provided somewhere to explore the straight line performance of any vehicle – all within the limits of the law – obviously :wink:
Mirrors – check, couldnt see anything in them anyway, glance over shoulder, nothing there, down two gears and wound the throttle on like a switch – yeehar, the blurry world vanished behind me in a lovely blue fug as I shot down the straight. Halfway along the revs dropped as did my spirits. Going back to my yoof I remembered the two stroke mantra, whip the clutch in – in case its seizing, then drop the clutch and bump start it, bearing in mind if it is seizing you need to have the speed of a gazelle to catch it. Now I am neither young nor fit, so my reaction times are probably measured in yawns as opposed to milliseconds, never the less, I dropped the clutch and it fired – yeeeees, then died – bottom.
I coasted to a halt towards the end of the Mile, so close, yet so far. As I sat in the long grass at the side of the road contemplating my future, I looked at the paper weight that is my phone, rural life equals rural cell phone coverage and was just putting on my best sad eyes look for knocking on doors, when,for some strange reason Duelling Banjos kept going off in my head.
Right, time for some roadside maintenance, fortunately I had had the forethought to ensure a toolkit was stowed in the bum hump and Stinky being a clever Kawasaki had a set of spark plugs secreted under the seat too. Out with the toolkit and time to get the plugs out. The first issue was the fact my skin is not heat resistant and everything was at performance temperatures, no worries, wear gloves. After a few minutes I realized why Lobsters do not do Cross Stitch or micro surgery, despite my swearing and rolling around in the grass in frustration, nothing was going to be easy. Eventually I removed all three plugs – very expensive platinum plugs. At this point a very kind gent pulled up on a Kawasaki ZX10 and asked if I was Ok, “yes thanks” I lied, “Im just doing a plug chop”, after all, nobody admits to their vehicle stopping. He gave me the thumbs up and shot off. Next, as I was burning my arms trying to position the plugs on the heads, my ears became aware of something creeping up on me – bloody hell, Duelling Banjos went off in my head again, checking my attire to make sure I was not attractive to any moonshine swilling cousin marrying slack jaw yokels with an affinity for squealing pigs, I glance over my shoulder. I nearly went Polaris as I jumped in the air, a guy on a moped had crept up on me – now this guy had ridden past me and turned round, you meet the nicest people on a motorcycle.
After a brief conversation and no mentions of canoes/bow and arrows/banjos or Burt Reynolds, he bade me farewell and rode off.
As I was installing the standard plugs, the right hand plug cap appeared to be connected to the coil via an invisible HT lead, brilliant, the plug leads fell off. I screwed the plug cap back into the lead and fitted it to the top of the new plug
A swift lunge on the kickstart saw the plugs roll around on the head but no sight of a spark, a few more kicks and nothing. Right, spare plugs time. Plugs fitted, deep intake of breath and kick, Stinky leapt into life. Damn it, Im not dressed. Jacket on, helmet on – gloves (or welders mitts) on, I was ready. It was then I realized that my genuine Kawasaki H2b toolkit was still spread over the verge, along with the non functioning plugs. Leaping off the bike I tried to gather everything as fast as possible before Stinky stopped. Job done, pockets full of non road friendly screwdrivers, box spanners and pliers, I selected first – nope, that’s neutral, selected first and rode off. The cows in the field behind the ad hoc Kawasaki pit that had been gazing over the fence with a look of pure pity,and, I swear I could hear them cheering as I rode off – didn’t last long though as they disappeared in a cloud of pure two stroke goodness.
Fuel, blast, better get some. The only place I could think of that would have fuel – urgently – was Coventry. I headed towards Coventry and found a Tesco fuel stop, filled up and had a conversation with two different people about my ‘bike. As I pulled out of Tesco, it rained, not just any rain, oh no, this was Biblical, cats and dogs, frogs and locusts, fish and fowl. I turned the headlight on and laughed out loud as I realised the glow of my headlight was making no impact on the gloom – even confused moths would give it a miss. I headed towards Leicestershire to rendezvous with my very good friend and understanding mechanical genius Bruce. I got there, the sun was out and all was rosy. Spirits lifted, waterproofs bungied to the seat we left the rural idyll of Bruces village in no doubt that some two stroke hoodlums were in town. Next was the M1, never have been a big favourite of mine but needs must. A few miles short of the exit we needed for MFN it rained, once again Noah would have been anxious and I was looking at my once very shiny bike in horror. Then we had a technical glitch, pulling over to the side of the road with only five running cylinders between the six that we should have. Stopping on any main road is a risk, on the M1 its bloody terrifying. The rain stopped and weirdly after a bit of plug cap waggling, all six cylinders fired into life, quick, leg it. We turned off the M1 and headed towards where we thought we were going, after a while it dawned on us that we had missed a turning, bum.
We turned off the main road and were obviously looking bewildered as a guy in a very flash Mercedes stopped on the wrong side of the road and asked if we were looking for MFN ?, yes, we chorused. As he started to explain where we had to go, it obviously became apparent by our glazed looks that we had no idea of any geographical points in the area, “no problem, follow me”
With that he took us right to the drive – you meet the nicest people on a motorbike and in a Mercedes.
The main contingent of the Northern Rally had gone off on a white water adventure through the countryside so we settled in for a coffee and to meet some of the members of the club, and very nice they were too. At some point I met Neil the Don at the back of his van, I was just about to ask him “how much?” when Bruce stepped in and informed me that my long suffering Wife had instructed him to deter me “with extreme prejudice” if I went for my wallet or credit card, due in part to my unwavering dedication to buying stuff on a whim – even when people don’t want to sell it me – Pingle fuel tap for instance. I bought Stinky at Stafford after going there to buy some ‘shocks. Crisis avoided, people started rolling back in, wet but happy(ish).
Stinky was parked with the other ‘bikes in rows, there truly are some beautiful ‘bikes in the club, and to my surprise and delight, Stinky won a prize. This was fantastic, the only problem being getting it home, short of using it for a sail, or a wake board given the weather conditions, I was stuck. Enter good Samaritan Pete, who kindly transported my trophy to his home for me to collect later – you meet the nicest people on a ‘bike, in a Mercedes, in a van.
I left the show – after finding out what MFN stands for, after a great day, met some great people and had an adventure or two to boot.
Thanks a lot to everyone who organised it and all the people who turned up and I had the pleasure to meet, see you all again soon hopefully
Rich – RacerRB159
see you at the next one 
.
, so to stay within the limits of the law and to maintain my tenuous grip on reality I have stuck with Stinky 