Early Learner
My first motorcycling experiences date from way back when
I was 10 years old, I was down by the canal one day and
saw a scooter whizzing round it emblazoned with the letters
"RS", which actually stands for Rob Simmonds, my best friend.
Time Flies
Time flew by and at the tender age of 11 years I became
the proud owner of my very own scooter a Triumph Tina 125
automatic and ever since that day I have had an ongoing
love affair with motorbikes. On reaching the road legal
age of 16 I bought my first moped a Gireli Tiger Cross TPF942R....
gosh I always wondered who actually bought those Ed.!, although
the thing turned out to be really quick, getting it started
proved to be a real problem. Chris takes a trip Many years
ago on one of my first long trips I went to Scotland and
it seemed to take forever and a day I went up there on a
Suzuki 550GT Triple, I was accompanied on that trip by a
pillion who was built for comfort rather than speed and
was warm in the winter and gave good shade in the summer
(I think we get the picture Chris! Ed.).
We managed to get all the way up to Scotland on the 550
without incident but unfortunately got a puncture when we
arrived at the Ben Nevis camp site and as I studied the
wheel I noticed that it also had a broken spoke, so off
to the local bike shop, got a new inner tube and carried
on with the journey, the next day on the way to the Isle
of Skye and camped there.
Unwanted company The funny thing was that everywhere else
we had stayed in Scotland had charged us £1 for the bike,
£1 per person and £1 for the tent, but at this site the
woman who ran it only charged us £2 as she said that she
had not cut the grass, anyway we discovered the next morning
why she may have been reluctant to cut the grass as at about
3am we found that the entire insect population of this Scottish
Isle was living in this patch of grass and intent on eating
us alive.
Time to move
We decided that no matter how cheap this was we just could
not stand another night being eaten alive, so we went off
round the Island to look for another campsite, as we were
whizzing round the roads my bike started to waver a bit
and all of a sudden the back wheel collapsed and managed
to snap every spoke in the rear wheel.
No really a relay
We were now 500 miles home on a bike that wouldn't travel
another yard, we ended up being relayed all the way home
by a wild Scotsman. Chris goes continental Despite my experiences
in Scotland I decided to cast my net farther affield with
a trip into Europe, leaving Leicester in the early hours
we made our way down to Portsmouth, the four of us (Rob,
Irene, Colleen, and me) then waited round for the ferry
which was an overnight crossing landing at 5am, we were
all looking forward to a great holiday and celebrated this
on the boat steadily attempting to drink the bar dry, we
decided that 3am seemed a reasonable time to leave the bar
looking forward to a solid 2 hours worth of kip, unfortunately
we had not accounted for the time difference which meant
we only had one hour to sleep, we were all very much worse
the wear at this time.
I wonder what was wrong with the bikes!
When we landed we were all convinced that there was something
wrong with the bikes as the steering seemed to be out, the
more likely explanations was that the bikes were fine and
the riders were somewhat substandard at this time.
Best laid plans
Off we set into continental Europe determined to cover 250
miles a day on this trip heading for Spain, well that was
the plan...didn't seem to turn out that way though. The
first day we actually managed to cover 50 miles and ended
up staying in a decapitated pension in Le Mans, the rest
of the holiday continued the same way we got up in the morning
and headed out into the rain and normally managed to cover
between 40 to 50 miles before we gave up for the day and
retire to a bar to drown our sorrows.
Slow progress
The regularity of fuels stops for Rob’s bike didn’t help
as the Kawasaki 900 Eliminator or as it was more affectionately
known “The Pit Bull” needed refuelling every 50 miles, at
top speed it could manage a huge 18 minutes on a tank full.
Obviously every time we stopped it was also an opportunity
for a fag and a cuppa and an obligatory argument about where
we were and what direction we should take!
We roll on This continued to be our mode
of travel until we reached San Sebastian, as it continued
to rain we went on our way until we found somewhere to stay
in a small village called Santa Ursula we stayed there for
a night in a British pub! (Chris has a nose for these things
Ed.) called the Ship Inn, which claimed to serve British
food, so to test the Spanish owner I asked for “4 pints
of Old Bollocks”, 30 seconds later he replied “what sort
of Old Bollocks do you want I haven't spoken English in
nine months”. Time to go After our nights stay we caught
the ferry home into Cornwall and managed to drop my bike,
we had a great time there saw a couple of Blues Bands and
made our way back home. 0rdo
