Well, the Harley fetched a good price on eBay and was taken away by a good new owner and his Chick on a trailer up to Yorkshire...... same area the Fantic went the week before. Sad to see her go, looking very vulnerable and alone perched on the trailer going down the roads. I hate selling my mo'sickles, and watching them go always brings a lump to the throat and something in the eye.
Still the bloke that bought her was one of the old brigade, and had bought it as a twenty-first present for his son. Lucky, lucky boy! Hope he deserves it.
The day the H-D went, I fired up Hoover, my 1200 Suzuki Bandit, and the little bitch was running on three cylinders again. It's a long story, but I've been plagued bu a mysterious misfire for way longer than I care to admit. It's turned out to be duff NGK Iridium plugs....... the best money can buy, and take it from me, you wouldn't believe the weird symptoms they've given. It's had me tearing my hair out...... well, if I had any I would've anyway.
She was missing on number three, so I took the plug out..... one of four brand new Iridium NGK's which had cured the misfire, and shoved in an old plug that was ok.
Misfire cured.
Quite unbelievable.
I've put in a new set of standard NGK plugs, and so the old warrior is running fine now. I resent the eighty quid I've spent on two sets of faulty Iridium plugs though. It's a lesson I've learnt before........ NEVER take it for granted that plugs are ok, especially just because they're new.
I dragged the 1976 850T3 Moto Guzzi (Italian bike) out and am going to breathe some life in the old girl........ She's been off the road for eight years now, so I'll let you know how it goes.
I'll try and not leave it so long........ I keep breaking the promises to write to my poor old neglected blog here, don't I?
As always....... more effort required. {:oI
Bye for now.........
Showing posts with label Harley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Harley. Show all posts
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Thursday, 17 September 2009
The wonder of British Plod.........and the IOM Plod's money-crop on Mad Sunday. :o)
Hi Y’all,
Thursday, and another day of my weeks holiday grinds into life, and with some hope of it being a sunny day too. Here I am, reporting in at the writing station, and I must say it’s getting to be the first thing I want to do of a morning………. to write. that bodes well for November's Nanowrimo. :o)
Mostly it’s emails, mostly to prospective New Chicks. Spurred into productivity, I admit, by my having hit a rich and glinting seam over the last couple of months, it’s golden reflections illuminating the digging and hacking away in the candlelit gloom of Kevin’s Mine of Hope and Comfort Sometimes too, I’ve recently been hitting the blog with some thoughts, random and rambling though they may usually be. Occasionally I’ve written stuff no one will ever read. That’ll be the real Wild Stuff then. The stuff no one would most likely understand. The stuff Plod would love to read.
‘Plod’, being a quaint and old-fashioned term for out great police force, and I actually mean that. The last police force in the world you can tell to fuck off, and not get shot for the indiscretion.
Mind you, it’s been a long time since I expressed such an imaginative course of action for our enforcement officers, the last time being way back in ’98 for leaving a thirty-limit on the Isle of Man, at double the limit I must admit, but, in my feeble defence, just before being outside the limit. They had, quite accidentally I’m sure, set the speed trap up thirty feet inside the limit and with the Goforit, or Golf Lima Foxtrot de-restriction black-stripe-on-white plainly in sight. I was quite upset at what I saw as an unfair and dastardly reaping of a abundant crop, there being some 35,000 of we bikers over there for the TT races, and a fair percentage of us being Adrenaline Freaks on a rush of speed.
(Golf Lima Foxtrot??…… There was hell-up amongst the Politically Correct weenies (small ‘w’) a few years ago, when it was disclosed that it was a common police radio instruction amongst traffic cops when chasing speeders…….. and it stands for, if you haven’t worked it out, Go Like Fuck.)
Let me point out that the spot they picked, quite accidentally I now realise after the calming of the years, was at the bottom of a downhill left-handed sweep and in deep and high hedges in the countryside. The last of the village buildings had been passed, and it was "Whoopy-doo" time with the scent of the speed-unlimited roads opening up again.
On the Isle of Man, there are no speed limits outside of the villages and towns. Let me tell you, it is an Adrenalin Freak’s Paradise.
They pulled me over, and, being a man with a strong sense of what is Just and Fair, I was a bit upset at their apparent cunning. Actually, ..........I was fucking livid, and then some. I suggested, quite graphically, that they might explore the pleasures of inserting the hair dryer up their ass (hand-held speed gun), and that they’d missed their vocation by not seeking employment with the IOM Tourist Board. Throwing the skid-lid across the road (I kid you not. I was bleddy mad as hell), I doubted the authenticity of their parentage, and offered to wipe my bottom with the speeding ticket.
Why was I so upset about such a thing? Well, see, there were a few reasons. Being whacked out on antidepressants that weren’t working, being over there with no chick, and it having been the wettest TT in living memory all added up to my being mentally right down on the floor. It was also the third time I’d been so sneakily ‘had over’ by the cunning IOM Plod in the last three visits to the Island of Speed, and on every occasion it had cost in excess of £160 in fines. That’s each time, so we’re talking about £500 in total (each being in excess of £160), and I do freely admit I was in considerable excess of the limit, before you point it out. :o)
You see, not unsurprisingly I guess these days, they set these traps up all over the place, and one copper over there told me that on Mad Sunday they gather something like 200 of we poor unsuspecting, safety-conscious, Speed Freaks an hour over the whole island. When you go to pay the fine, you just pay the fine, no licence, insurance, or proof of identity is asked for………. Just pay here, (sir), and sign here, (sir), and thank you for your cooperation in the matter, (sir). :o)
And, whaddya mean you’ve never heard of Mad Sunday??? Where y’all been all your lives??? :o)
Briefly, Mad Sunday is a long-standing tradition of mayhem and an open day for we nutters. It’s one mental day, where the mountain Course of the Isle of Man TT circuit of public roads used for the racing are opened up to one way traffic, and so becoming a race-track as it is on race days. Then let loose to all who dare to ‘ride the mountain’ on Mad Sunday. Many don’t dare, and with good reason. Safety is not a word that goes with the day. It’s the single reason I go over there, and quite secondary to watching the fantastic racing, which makes mainstream track races look like a kindergarten tea party.
Have a look…….. have a taste…..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IRmNZlEXjQ0
Anyway………. the bottom line is, that our police force really is the best in the world. Mad and wild as I was, those two coppers just politely pointed out that maybe I might consider the pleasures of being arrested if I didn’t calm myself (sir). They just completed the paperwork, explaining that should I use it for the purpose I’d suggested, that more paper would not be provided to complete such an undertaking.
No gun was involved at any point, no handcuffs deemed as necessary, and no sudden appearance of any overwhelming ‘backup’ either.
Then they watched, as I cleared the thirty-limit sign a few yards away, and nailed the bike to 140 down the road away from them.
God bless them all. :o)
K.x :o)
Thursday, and another day of my weeks holiday grinds into life, and with some hope of it being a sunny day too. Here I am, reporting in at the writing station, and I must say it’s getting to be the first thing I want to do of a morning………. to write. that bodes well for November's Nanowrimo. :o)
Mostly it’s emails, mostly to prospective New Chicks. Spurred into productivity, I admit, by my having hit a rich and glinting seam over the last couple of months, it’s golden reflections illuminating the digging and hacking away in the candlelit gloom of Kevin’s Mine of Hope and Comfort Sometimes too, I’ve recently been hitting the blog with some thoughts, random and rambling though they may usually be. Occasionally I’ve written stuff no one will ever read. That’ll be the real Wild Stuff then. The stuff no one would most likely understand. The stuff Plod would love to read.
‘Plod’, being a quaint and old-fashioned term for out great police force, and I actually mean that. The last police force in the world you can tell to fuck off, and not get shot for the indiscretion.
Mind you, it’s been a long time since I expressed such an imaginative course of action for our enforcement officers, the last time being way back in ’98 for leaving a thirty-limit on the Isle of Man, at double the limit I must admit, but, in my feeble defence, just before being outside the limit. They had, quite accidentally I’m sure, set the speed trap up thirty feet inside the limit and with the Goforit, or Golf Lima Foxtrot de-restriction black-stripe-on-white plainly in sight. I was quite upset at what I saw as an unfair and dastardly reaping of a abundant crop, there being some 35,000 of we bikers over there for the TT races, and a fair percentage of us being Adrenaline Freaks on a rush of speed.
(Golf Lima Foxtrot??…… There was hell-up amongst the Politically Correct weenies (small ‘w’) a few years ago, when it was disclosed that it was a common police radio instruction amongst traffic cops when chasing speeders…….. and it stands for, if you haven’t worked it out, Go Like Fuck.)
Let me point out that the spot they picked, quite accidentally I now realise after the calming of the years, was at the bottom of a downhill left-handed sweep and in deep and high hedges in the countryside. The last of the village buildings had been passed, and it was "Whoopy-doo" time with the scent of the speed-unlimited roads opening up again.
On the Isle of Man, there are no speed limits outside of the villages and towns. Let me tell you, it is an Adrenalin Freak’s Paradise.
They pulled me over, and, being a man with a strong sense of what is Just and Fair, I was a bit upset at their apparent cunning. Actually, ..........I was fucking livid, and then some. I suggested, quite graphically, that they might explore the pleasures of inserting the hair dryer up their ass (hand-held speed gun), and that they’d missed their vocation by not seeking employment with the IOM Tourist Board. Throwing the skid-lid across the road (I kid you not. I was bleddy mad as hell), I doubted the authenticity of their parentage, and offered to wipe my bottom with the speeding ticket.
Why was I so upset about such a thing? Well, see, there were a few reasons. Being whacked out on antidepressants that weren’t working, being over there with no chick, and it having been the wettest TT in living memory all added up to my being mentally right down on the floor. It was also the third time I’d been so sneakily ‘had over’ by the cunning IOM Plod in the last three visits to the Island of Speed, and on every occasion it had cost in excess of £160 in fines. That’s each time, so we’re talking about £500 in total (each being in excess of £160), and I do freely admit I was in considerable excess of the limit, before you point it out. :o)
You see, not unsurprisingly I guess these days, they set these traps up all over the place, and one copper over there told me that on Mad Sunday they gather something like 200 of we poor unsuspecting, safety-conscious, Speed Freaks an hour over the whole island. When you go to pay the fine, you just pay the fine, no licence, insurance, or proof of identity is asked for………. Just pay here, (sir), and sign here, (sir), and thank you for your cooperation in the matter, (sir). :o)
And, whaddya mean you’ve never heard of Mad Sunday??? Where y’all been all your lives??? :o)
Briefly, Mad Sunday is a long-standing tradition of mayhem and an open day for we nutters. It’s one mental day, where the mountain Course of the Isle of Man TT circuit of public roads used for the racing are opened up to one way traffic, and so becoming a race-track as it is on race days. Then let loose to all who dare to ‘ride the mountain’ on Mad Sunday. Many don’t dare, and with good reason. Safety is not a word that goes with the day. It’s the single reason I go over there, and quite secondary to watching the fantastic racing, which makes mainstream track races look like a kindergarten tea party.
Have a look…….. have a taste…..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IRmNZlEXjQ0
Anyway………. the bottom line is, that our police force really is the best in the world. Mad and wild as I was, those two coppers just politely pointed out that maybe I might consider the pleasures of being arrested if I didn’t calm myself (sir). They just completed the paperwork, explaining that should I use it for the purpose I’d suggested, that more paper would not be provided to complete such an undertaking.
No gun was involved at any point, no handcuffs deemed as necessary, and no sudden appearance of any overwhelming ‘backup’ either.
Then they watched, as I cleared the thirty-limit sign a few yards away, and nailed the bike to 140 down the road away from them.
God bless them all. :o)
K.x :o)
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Back-Patch Biker Club party, and Other Thoughts that get sparked off............. as they do. :o)
Not a lot been happening. Had a couple of good days at work, despite them being very busy. Good-humoured, and hard working staff makes all the difference in this job, same as in most I would think, and I feel very sorry for those who have to do without it around them as they work. Most times it’s the only thing that makes it bearable.
No-Problem-Pete dragged me off on our bikes to a Back-Patch Club party at their clubhouse a few miles away on Saturday night. It was real good, largely because, as I was talking about the other day here, these are the Real Thing, and it showed in the genuinely friendly, and unpretentious atmosphere. Many who are outside of the biking world would be amazed at how unintimidating it was too.
Motorcycling in this country is traditionally a dirty word, for many reasons, not the least of which it being the traditional interest (at one time!) of the young, and the lower classes, and traditionally perceived as being so 'dangerous' as well. I'ts more acceptable now our wealthier middle class forty-something’s are embracing it as a lifestyle accessory, although it certainly still retains that second-class citizen feel . If you ever want to feel your life is worth nothing more than dried spit on the pavement, look into the eyes of a motorist as they access your worth, and risk to themselves, just before they look away and pull right out in front of you. It happens often; pretty much daily, if you ride a lot.
It’s more often not a case of “I didn’t see you mate” than a case, of “I did, but I couldn’t care less if you live or die” You don’t believe me? Let me take you for a spin and open your eyes a bit.
In fact we as a group cause very little of the perceived trouble to any community. There were some troubles back in the sixties and early seventies, but that was a result of having those upstart weirdo mods, and skinheads about the place, who insisted on using poxy little scooters to display their ‘masculinity’. I mean, who, if they were of any genetically sound ancestry worthy of preservation, would ever use a scooter, an excellent vehicle to shop and commute locally on, as something with which to attract the Chicks? I ask you, I mean, c’mon?
Anyway, I digress……… we’re all friends now, so they tell me. :o)
No, get any amount of us together and you won’t find any trouble……… unlike some other more socially acceptable pastimes, like football f’rinstance. Ask yourself………. If biking events cost a fraction of what football costs to police, and has such a history of violence at their venues, would it not be banned pretty quickly? I rather think so!
Y’all may not be aware of this, but in 2008 there were several traditional biking rallies and activities effectively banned by some pretty sly police and ‘establishment’ goings-on. This was despite there having never been any trouble in years gone by.
It's evidence of the creeping cancer in our society of the weenies (small ‘w’) at work. They are, cold wet slimy drip, by cold wet slimy drip, destroying out country, and they are sneakily doing it by effectvely trying to outlaw the minority interests first. By the time the majority take notice it will be too late. It actually already is
If you want evidence that we bikers, as a group, cause little trouble to the society we live in, just go to the Isle of Man during TT race week (Fortnight if you include Practice Week, and you should really). There, something like 35,000 bikers land on this tiny little island for a week of pure speed, and love of two wheeled (And a few three wheeled) machinery. Ask any of the police over there just how much trouble they have to deal with, and you’ll find they will say none at all. Any night that week there are just a relatively few coppers patrolling Douglas (The capital of the I.O.M.), despite the streets and pubs absolutely CRAMMED with thousands of bikers, and the main drag three-deep with thousands of bikes parked up in rows as far as you can see. I really is quite a sight.
I was talking to a copper over there one year, and he said that the reason bikers were no trouble is because we are what we are from our love of the bikes. We don’t need to kick somebody’s head in to get our kicks (Did you see what I did there?), because we get those kicks from the bikes. That’s right on the button.
Yup, and so take it from me, the I.O.M., during TT week anyway, would be the safest place you could wander alone at night. Ask any I.O.M resident too……….. they absolutely love us. The ones who don’t are the few super-rich who don’t like their little tax-haven boat rocked, but they aren’t the indigenous people, not by a long chalk. However, their influence is slowly (cold wet slimy drip, by cold wet slimy drip) diluting the event, and I fear for it’s future once my generation has slipped it’s mooring from this mortal coil.
Anyway……. yup, it was a great party, and the bikes outside were a good mix of styles and modifications. It was good to be amongst a group where not one was a bullshitter. These boys were all time served troops. :o)
As an aside……….. someone told me that the locality used to get swamped every year with a certain travelling fraternity, but after this back-patch club moved in and sorted out their clubhouse, they strangely visited just the once. There was no intimidation, it was only the knowledge that there were a group of hard-core bikers established there, and so this particular group of ‘travelling people’ suddenly chose to make a mess, and plant themselves for free, somewhere else.
Funny that, don’t you think?
Makes me wonder what would happen if other people got together and refused to stand for any shit from those who think they can do as they please. Maybe one day we will all get so pissed-off with being the victims being trampled on, and the scum openly laughing at the majority, that we will get our shit together, but I fear the opportunity is fast diminishing.
We pay the police to do it for us, but they are so roped in by political correctness, bullshit, and self-serving politicians, that they can’t be effective any more. I fear their numbers are also weakened by an infiltration of weenies in their ranks. They’d be the ones fast-tracked for promotion then.
If we don’t watch it, fascism will take a hold……… history should warn us of that. I for one get tempted to vote for the BNP quite often……… not because I’m racist, nor because I want them in power for one second, but because our thieving, skiving, dishonest two-faced weenie politicians need a big wake-up call!
Sooner the better!
Sorry……….. ranting again. :oI
How’d I get to that point?
It’s The Rambling that does it y’know. :o)
Y’all have a good day out there, wherever you are……… and thank God for at least one thing today, and every day. I’m into my sixth (I think?) “Thankyou God” day, and am still hanging in there.
Mind you, I started to ship some water yesterday morning, but managed to bale it dry by the afternoon :o)
Remember what Churchill said………. “Never, EVER, give up!” :o)
Thankyou God, that I haven’t.
K. x :o)
No-Problem-Pete dragged me off on our bikes to a Back-Patch Club party at their clubhouse a few miles away on Saturday night. It was real good, largely because, as I was talking about the other day here, these are the Real Thing, and it showed in the genuinely friendly, and unpretentious atmosphere. Many who are outside of the biking world would be amazed at how unintimidating it was too.
Motorcycling in this country is traditionally a dirty word, for many reasons, not the least of which it being the traditional interest (at one time!) of the young, and the lower classes, and traditionally perceived as being so 'dangerous' as well. I'ts more acceptable now our wealthier middle class forty-something’s are embracing it as a lifestyle accessory, although it certainly still retains that second-class citizen feel . If you ever want to feel your life is worth nothing more than dried spit on the pavement, look into the eyes of a motorist as they access your worth, and risk to themselves, just before they look away and pull right out in front of you. It happens often; pretty much daily, if you ride a lot.
It’s more often not a case of “I didn’t see you mate” than a case, of “I did, but I couldn’t care less if you live or die” You don’t believe me? Let me take you for a spin and open your eyes a bit.
In fact we as a group cause very little of the perceived trouble to any community. There were some troubles back in the sixties and early seventies, but that was a result of having those upstart weirdo mods, and skinheads about the place, who insisted on using poxy little scooters to display their ‘masculinity’. I mean, who, if they were of any genetically sound ancestry worthy of preservation, would ever use a scooter, an excellent vehicle to shop and commute locally on, as something with which to attract the Chicks? I ask you, I mean, c’mon?
Anyway, I digress……… we’re all friends now, so they tell me. :o)
No, get any amount of us together and you won’t find any trouble……… unlike some other more socially acceptable pastimes, like football f’rinstance. Ask yourself………. If biking events cost a fraction of what football costs to police, and has such a history of violence at their venues, would it not be banned pretty quickly? I rather think so!
Y’all may not be aware of this, but in 2008 there were several traditional biking rallies and activities effectively banned by some pretty sly police and ‘establishment’ goings-on. This was despite there having never been any trouble in years gone by.
It's evidence of the creeping cancer in our society of the weenies (small ‘w’) at work. They are, cold wet slimy drip, by cold wet slimy drip, destroying out country, and they are sneakily doing it by effectvely trying to outlaw the minority interests first. By the time the majority take notice it will be too late. It actually already is
If you want evidence that we bikers, as a group, cause little trouble to the society we live in, just go to the Isle of Man during TT race week (Fortnight if you include Practice Week, and you should really). There, something like 35,000 bikers land on this tiny little island for a week of pure speed, and love of two wheeled (And a few three wheeled) machinery. Ask any of the police over there just how much trouble they have to deal with, and you’ll find they will say none at all. Any night that week there are just a relatively few coppers patrolling Douglas (The capital of the I.O.M.), despite the streets and pubs absolutely CRAMMED with thousands of bikers, and the main drag three-deep with thousands of bikes parked up in rows as far as you can see. I really is quite a sight.
I was talking to a copper over there one year, and he said that the reason bikers were no trouble is because we are what we are from our love of the bikes. We don’t need to kick somebody’s head in to get our kicks (Did you see what I did there?), because we get those kicks from the bikes. That’s right on the button.
Yup, and so take it from me, the I.O.M., during TT week anyway, would be the safest place you could wander alone at night. Ask any I.O.M resident too……….. they absolutely love us. The ones who don’t are the few super-rich who don’t like their little tax-haven boat rocked, but they aren’t the indigenous people, not by a long chalk. However, their influence is slowly (cold wet slimy drip, by cold wet slimy drip) diluting the event, and I fear for it’s future once my generation has slipped it’s mooring from this mortal coil.
Anyway……. yup, it was a great party, and the bikes outside were a good mix of styles and modifications. It was good to be amongst a group where not one was a bullshitter. These boys were all time served troops. :o)
As an aside……….. someone told me that the locality used to get swamped every year with a certain travelling fraternity, but after this back-patch club moved in and sorted out their clubhouse, they strangely visited just the once. There was no intimidation, it was only the knowledge that there were a group of hard-core bikers established there, and so this particular group of ‘travelling people’ suddenly chose to make a mess, and plant themselves for free, somewhere else.
Funny that, don’t you think?
Makes me wonder what would happen if other people got together and refused to stand for any shit from those who think they can do as they please. Maybe one day we will all get so pissed-off with being the victims being trampled on, and the scum openly laughing at the majority, that we will get our shit together, but I fear the opportunity is fast diminishing.
We pay the police to do it for us, but they are so roped in by political correctness, bullshit, and self-serving politicians, that they can’t be effective any more. I fear their numbers are also weakened by an infiltration of weenies in their ranks. They’d be the ones fast-tracked for promotion then.
If we don’t watch it, fascism will take a hold……… history should warn us of that. I for one get tempted to vote for the BNP quite often……… not because I’m racist, nor because I want them in power for one second, but because our thieving, skiving, dishonest two-faced weenie politicians need a big wake-up call!
Sooner the better!
Sorry……….. ranting again. :oI
How’d I get to that point?
It’s The Rambling that does it y’know. :o)
Y’all have a good day out there, wherever you are……… and thank God for at least one thing today, and every day. I’m into my sixth (I think?) “Thankyou God” day, and am still hanging in there.
Mind you, I started to ship some water yesterday morning, but managed to bale it dry by the afternoon :o)
Remember what Churchill said………. “Never, EVER, give up!” :o)
Thankyou God, that I haven’t.
K. x :o)
Monday, 16 March 2009
Serving time......... and learning to walk first
Sunday, and the sun is shining. The day stretches before me, and what will I do with it? Something good…….. something useful, or will I ‘waste’ it like I seem to do so many these days. I dunno. Maybe I’ll take the Harley for a gallop. (I use the word ‘gallop’ very loosely……… in much the same way you would with a tractor.) :o)
Too nice a day not to I guess, but the trouble is I just don’t have the inspiration to point it anywhere in particular these days. A woman would help, one who likes to ride pillion on these machines. I’ve known four who loved it……….. two for years, and two for a shorter time, but it made all the difference. Doing things on your own all the time sure leaves the paint of life looking faded and dull.
Still no sign of Lomax. I dreamt he came back last night. I was in the lounge (in the dream), and he came out of one of the polythene shopping bags he used to play with as a kitten, and that still lie on the floor. He was thin, bedraggled, could hardly stand, and was beside himself to see me. It felt so good to have him rubbing up against me, butting heads, feel his warm little body on my chest, and hear his purr. I knew it was a dream as I was dreaming it, and tried to keep with it, but woke before I wanted to. I woke up pretty upset
God, I miss that little chap. He was quite something, and really got under my skin. I guess it’s the result of living alone, having very, very few friends to do things with, and especially no woman.
One minute women were no problem, the next it’s all over, and I’m reduced to loving a little pussy cat. How’d that ever happen without me noticing the shift?
Some hard biker, eh?
Some Sad Old Greaser, more like.
One thing’s for sure-certain……….. no woman’s going to want to rub up against me, unless I get my Shit Together a good bit better than this. Mind you, at fifty-four-and-a-bleddy-half they don’t want to know, Shit Together or not. It’s real hard to get my head around the fact that the party’s over. Sooner I do that, the better, but I guess it takes a while to make the transitions through the stages of your life. Hell, I never made the jump to ‘adult’, let alone ‘old’. Maybe that’s the whole problem. The friends my age all seem to be just fine with gracefully accepting the counsel of the years, ………..but not me, ……….oh no, ……….I gotta do it the hard way.
Always have, and always will. (Sigh)
I took the Harley into town to feed my magazine habit, and then followed a couple of newby bikers on sports bikes out of town. God it’s frightening to see them trying to run before they can walk, it really is. Even more so, because there are soooooo many of them. For pity’s sake, pass your test, and don’t buy something that’s always going to be trying to get away from you. Get a modestly performing bike, and when you can throw that about and are bored with it’s limitations, then get something a bit hotter, and work your way up. That way you won’t always be way ’behind’ a bike that’s always getting away from you, and leading you into situations you can’t handle. Being afraid of what you’re riding, for more than a short time, is a real bad thing. You’ll also do it more like the rest of us did in the old days. Oh yes we did………. Most of us were young and broke, and anyway, the quickest and fastest (There is a difference!) thing you could get back then was like a bicycle compared to what is so easily available nowadays.
Why does no-one want to serve any apprenticeship in anything these days???? The trouble with bikes, running before you can walk is a killer. Worse still, wifey/ partner/ girlfriend/ whoever, so often believes all the bullshit from her big brave man, gets matching leathers and helmet, and faithfully climbs on the back. Oh dear.
Gives me a nice ass to look at whilst I’m lining up for the optimally demoralising overtaking manoeuvre though. Sometimes, though, she looks so good I’m happy to plod along behind for a good few miles. Sometimes it’s kinda restful and therapeutic to ease up for a bit. :o)
I once advised a couple I met in a big dealership looking at bikes, and just day dreaming. It was mostly wifey actually……. Hubby came along to hear the advice, way too late to steer her away from listening to the Old Greaser, and he was quietly bloody furious. I had started to chat to her, as she was wandering about on her own, and she, on the other hand, was very interested in what someone with thirty-odd years in the saddle had to say. They had big plans to take their two kids around Europe on the back of their brand new two big Triumph Tiger bikes. (Big trail bikes, but tall and ungainly, and plenty fast enough to get you into trouble at the same time) They had passed their tests together two months ago, after some sort of quick access training, and certainly hadn’t been riding long at all. It was obvious hubby had convinced her all would be well.
Yeah, right.
I said, ok, great idea, ………….but definitely not with the kids on the back. Told them they weren’t anything like good enough yet, and there was a fair to even chance they’d live to regret it. They had money, looked very confident and successful, him in particular, and boy did he hate being told he wasn’t good at something, especially from what he obviously regarded as a low-life. Why do men in particular have soooooo much trouble hearing they’re not up to something, especially when it should be bloody obvious???? Their ego has killed a whole lot of them.
I believe in starting at the bottom and working your way upwards in life. Our generation was brought up that way, so it’s no surprise that I look at life that way. Ok, I’m not saying I don’t ever try to run before I can walk, because that’s one of my faults in life……… overreaching myself. BUT, because I was brought up to respect my elders, which goes hand in hand to respecting those who know more than me, whether older or younger, I will take advice, and criticism, and try and learn from it. It’s the fastest way I know of being able to run. I also know there are no short cuts around time too, and sometimes you just have to serve the apprenticeship.
An example………….
I took up scuba diving back in about ’85 or so, did the diving course here in Taunton, and soon got the basic Sport Diver qualification. Right after qualifying as safe to dive, I was encouraged,……… pushed actually, along with Alan, another ‘newby’ diver I used to buddy up with a lot, to go straight on to taking the Dive Leader qualification. It meant you would be qualified to organise, and take responsibility for, a group of qualified divers on a dive of any sort, anywhere,……. beach, boat, wreck or whatever.
I pretty much refused at first, because as far as I was concerned, I had only about a year’s experience, and no way was I good enough for others to put, effectively, their lives in my hands. I did it in the end, but purely to snub a couple of real wankers who only had six months more experience than Alan and I following in the training group behind them. They swaggered around, and bullshitted like they were Jacques Cousteau. Worse, actually…….. I doubt he swaggered and bullshitted around a whole lot. He wouldn’t feel the need to do that, for sure-certain. They always got right up my nose.
Anyway, Alan and I both did the course, and, because I wanted to beat these two twats, for once in my life I really swotted up on it all. I passed the examination with something like 98%.
Blimey!!!!
Waaaaay better than Le Wankeurs, which was the whole point of the exercise. Alan got a slightly lower mark, but easily beat them too……… they had only just scraped through, and were both a good bit quieter afterwards when we were around. Although Alan got a lower mark, he was actually a better diver than me, if only at the very least because he was a whole lot fitter than I ever was.
The purpose of telling you this isn’t to illustrate how brilliant I am, but, by saying that I never used the qualification to lead any dives, nor ‘lorded’ it over anyone else, that I believe in being time-served, and doing the miles so to speak, before walking the walk.
You only look stoopid when you try to walk the walk too early, and you rarely fool those who can.
As my dear old daddy used to say, quite often to me when I was trying to fool him with my youthful I-Know-It-All blab……….
“You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time.”
How true.
K.
Too nice a day not to I guess, but the trouble is I just don’t have the inspiration to point it anywhere in particular these days. A woman would help, one who likes to ride pillion on these machines. I’ve known four who loved it……….. two for years, and two for a shorter time, but it made all the difference. Doing things on your own all the time sure leaves the paint of life looking faded and dull.
Still no sign of Lomax. I dreamt he came back last night. I was in the lounge (in the dream), and he came out of one of the polythene shopping bags he used to play with as a kitten, and that still lie on the floor. He was thin, bedraggled, could hardly stand, and was beside himself to see me. It felt so good to have him rubbing up against me, butting heads, feel his warm little body on my chest, and hear his purr. I knew it was a dream as I was dreaming it, and tried to keep with it, but woke before I wanted to. I woke up pretty upset
God, I miss that little chap. He was quite something, and really got under my skin. I guess it’s the result of living alone, having very, very few friends to do things with, and especially no woman.
One minute women were no problem, the next it’s all over, and I’m reduced to loving a little pussy cat. How’d that ever happen without me noticing the shift?
Some hard biker, eh?
Some Sad Old Greaser, more like.
One thing’s for sure-certain……….. no woman’s going to want to rub up against me, unless I get my Shit Together a good bit better than this. Mind you, at fifty-four-and-a-bleddy-half they don’t want to know, Shit Together or not. It’s real hard to get my head around the fact that the party’s over. Sooner I do that, the better, but I guess it takes a while to make the transitions through the stages of your life. Hell, I never made the jump to ‘adult’, let alone ‘old’. Maybe that’s the whole problem. The friends my age all seem to be just fine with gracefully accepting the counsel of the years, ………..but not me, ……….oh no, ……….I gotta do it the hard way.
Always have, and always will. (Sigh)
I took the Harley into town to feed my magazine habit, and then followed a couple of newby bikers on sports bikes out of town. God it’s frightening to see them trying to run before they can walk, it really is. Even more so, because there are soooooo many of them. For pity’s sake, pass your test, and don’t buy something that’s always going to be trying to get away from you. Get a modestly performing bike, and when you can throw that about and are bored with it’s limitations, then get something a bit hotter, and work your way up. That way you won’t always be way ’behind’ a bike that’s always getting away from you, and leading you into situations you can’t handle. Being afraid of what you’re riding, for more than a short time, is a real bad thing. You’ll also do it more like the rest of us did in the old days. Oh yes we did………. Most of us were young and broke, and anyway, the quickest and fastest (There is a difference!) thing you could get back then was like a bicycle compared to what is so easily available nowadays.
Why does no-one want to serve any apprenticeship in anything these days???? The trouble with bikes, running before you can walk is a killer. Worse still, wifey/ partner/ girlfriend/ whoever, so often believes all the bullshit from her big brave man, gets matching leathers and helmet, and faithfully climbs on the back. Oh dear.
Gives me a nice ass to look at whilst I’m lining up for the optimally demoralising overtaking manoeuvre though. Sometimes, though, she looks so good I’m happy to plod along behind for a good few miles. Sometimes it’s kinda restful and therapeutic to ease up for a bit. :o)
I once advised a couple I met in a big dealership looking at bikes, and just day dreaming. It was mostly wifey actually……. Hubby came along to hear the advice, way too late to steer her away from listening to the Old Greaser, and he was quietly bloody furious. I had started to chat to her, as she was wandering about on her own, and she, on the other hand, was very interested in what someone with thirty-odd years in the saddle had to say. They had big plans to take their two kids around Europe on the back of their brand new two big Triumph Tiger bikes. (Big trail bikes, but tall and ungainly, and plenty fast enough to get you into trouble at the same time) They had passed their tests together two months ago, after some sort of quick access training, and certainly hadn’t been riding long at all. It was obvious hubby had convinced her all would be well.
Yeah, right.
I said, ok, great idea, ………….but definitely not with the kids on the back. Told them they weren’t anything like good enough yet, and there was a fair to even chance they’d live to regret it. They had money, looked very confident and successful, him in particular, and boy did he hate being told he wasn’t good at something, especially from what he obviously regarded as a low-life. Why do men in particular have soooooo much trouble hearing they’re not up to something, especially when it should be bloody obvious???? Their ego has killed a whole lot of them.
I believe in starting at the bottom and working your way upwards in life. Our generation was brought up that way, so it’s no surprise that I look at life that way. Ok, I’m not saying I don’t ever try to run before I can walk, because that’s one of my faults in life……… overreaching myself. BUT, because I was brought up to respect my elders, which goes hand in hand to respecting those who know more than me, whether older or younger, I will take advice, and criticism, and try and learn from it. It’s the fastest way I know of being able to run. I also know there are no short cuts around time too, and sometimes you just have to serve the apprenticeship.
An example………….
I took up scuba diving back in about ’85 or so, did the diving course here in Taunton, and soon got the basic Sport Diver qualification. Right after qualifying as safe to dive, I was encouraged,……… pushed actually, along with Alan, another ‘newby’ diver I used to buddy up with a lot, to go straight on to taking the Dive Leader qualification. It meant you would be qualified to organise, and take responsibility for, a group of qualified divers on a dive of any sort, anywhere,……. beach, boat, wreck or whatever.
I pretty much refused at first, because as far as I was concerned, I had only about a year’s experience, and no way was I good enough for others to put, effectively, their lives in my hands. I did it in the end, but purely to snub a couple of real wankers who only had six months more experience than Alan and I following in the training group behind them. They swaggered around, and bullshitted like they were Jacques Cousteau. Worse, actually…….. I doubt he swaggered and bullshitted around a whole lot. He wouldn’t feel the need to do that, for sure-certain. They always got right up my nose.
Anyway, Alan and I both did the course, and, because I wanted to beat these two twats, for once in my life I really swotted up on it all. I passed the examination with something like 98%.
Blimey!!!!
Waaaaay better than Le Wankeurs, which was the whole point of the exercise. Alan got a slightly lower mark, but easily beat them too……… they had only just scraped through, and were both a good bit quieter afterwards when we were around. Although Alan got a lower mark, he was actually a better diver than me, if only at the very least because he was a whole lot fitter than I ever was.
The purpose of telling you this isn’t to illustrate how brilliant I am, but, by saying that I never used the qualification to lead any dives, nor ‘lorded’ it over anyone else, that I believe in being time-served, and doing the miles so to speak, before walking the walk.
You only look stoopid when you try to walk the walk too early, and you rarely fool those who can.
As my dear old daddy used to say, quite often to me when I was trying to fool him with my youthful I-Know-It-All blab……….
“You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time.”
How true.
K.
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