What I Did On My Holidays (Pt 1)

My First Motorcycle Holiday

Do your own thing. Paddle your own canoe.

What? No motorcycle analogies...?

As Freddie put it: 

I've gotta be cool, relax

Get hip, get on my tracks

Take a back seat

Hitch hike

Take a long ride on my motorbike

(Ready, Freddie...)

Back in March, if you recall, I had finally achieved a long standing ambition and was the proud possesser of a full motorcycle licence along with my peronal Starship Enterprise, a 2016 Suzuki Burgman 650 in white. (Poser - ed)

Easing into Spring we had done some longish day rides. A day trip to Llandudno, up to Northallerton for lunch with a good friend and even a run to Hull and back (didn't rain this time tho') to assist at an Audax control. (Long distance cycling - don't ask) Mostly motorways and dual carriageway stuff, getting used to the bike, being out in the open and building endurance as I had plans.

As luck would have it getting back on two wheels coincided with the 75th anniversary of Operation Overlord, otherwise known as D-Day. 6th June 1944. Something I'd been interested in since my teens. I'd heard of Daks Over Normandy and had been following the movement to bring a large formation of Dakotas (otherwise known as DC3s or C47s, Skytrains etc.) to England with the intention of dropping paratroops in Normandy as a tribute to the veterans. Realising that this was a once in a lifetime thing, I didn't want to miss it.

By the end of May everything was in place. Accommodation, route, ferry, the works. Set off on a Friday morning with an eye on the weather but realised that whatever the day brought I had to be in Newhaven for a midnight ferry. The journey seemed mostly uneventful, Manchester to Leeds smartly despatched. Then I ran into traffic. Leeds to Castleford was chocka - filtering (lane-splitting) was the only option. On to the A1 and the traffic was heavier but moving. More filtering but this time at around 50mph. You know the feeling that you mght be pushing your luck? That. For 50 miles. Was very happy to reach the diner at New Fox unscathed but I was way behind schedule, not for the ferry but for an important (to me, at least) rendezvous, meeting the most excellent @hardtailchop. (If you haven't heard of Charlotte before then please head over to YouTube and check out her adventures) Engineer, feminist, mother, experienced blood biker and all round damn' good egg. We'd arranged to meet at The Bike Shed and I was now worried it was all going to go wrong. Stopped for fuel at the services on the M11 next to Stanstead and it took around 40 minutes to get out again. Nearly dropped the bike, too. Gods I was late!

When you get to The Bike Shed it can be a little intimidating. For those who don't know it's a railway arch in Hackney and when you turn in off the street you ride straight into an outdoor cafe. The parking is beyond the tables but everyone's cool about it, they're expecting bikes to ride through. Nervously I weaved between the tables. Thankfully nobody moved! Parked up the bike and was met by a cry of "Shitting hell! It's enormous!" (No smut thank you very much! The Burgman is a scooter - of sorts - but it's as big as an early Gold Wing and weighs the same as a Pan European. Like I said, it's my personal Starship Enterprise and I still get a tingle every time I open the garage door.)

A very pleasant half hour in the sun catching up with a friend. Coffee, company and motorcycles in an achingly cool hangout. What more could you want? But this was just a diversion, the main event was still to come. I now had to get to Newhaven. If you look at it on a map, Newhaven is pretty much due South of where I was but crossing the Capital on a Friday evening? No, thanks! I took the coward's way out and headed for Dartford and the M25. It turned out to be a good move as you can ride a motorcycle in most of London's bus lanes and before too long I was out of the hazardous traffic, heading for the QE2 bridge. A fuel and food stop completed my longest ever ride at just under 350 miles for the day. All that remained was to board the ferry to Dieppe. There were quite a few motorcycles and plenty of cyclists, too but the most unusual vehicle was a velomobile. The engine seemed to be fuelled by crisps and chocolate...

I can never sleep on a ferry. Completely buzzed after a long day's ride and the excitement of solo travel, this was no different. Seeing the sun come up over La Cote d'Opale was a unique experience but the comedown was being biffed out on the dockside at 05:30 and queueing for passport control. We don't realise how lucky we are in the UK. Need a snack at 2:30 in the morning? There's any number of late night kebab and pizza outlets, there's McDonalds for coffee and 24 hour service stations if you need fuel or tobacco. France is a different story. I had around 8 hours to kill until the gite I'd rented would be available and it was at the most 2 hours ride away. Having been told that many bars & cafes open early in France, I headed to Rouen in the hopes that I could find a little Bar Tabac, get a coffee and some breakfast. Buttons pressed on the satnav off I went, sticking to the D & N roads. Even dawdling along - and I'll admit I was tired and flagging by now - I was outside Rouen cathedral by 7am but couldn't find anywhere open so I pressed on towards Honfleur and ultimately, Villers-sur-Mer. The sun rose and it began to get warmer, the promise of a beautiful day. Around 8 o'clock I rode past a restaurant in Toutainville and it was open. Breakfast! 

Several coffees later it was time to complete the journey. I found the gite and explained in halting (shattered) French that I was sorry for arriving early but needed to rest. Luckily they were ready. I made a brew and closed my eyes for a minute... 

To be continued...

Why Do We Do This...?

11 Minutes Of Sheer Terror

 

It's getting to be a habit, this blog...

Last time, if you remember, I'd made a return to motorcycling in a small way. An epic - for me - journey to collect a bike in some of the worst weather I'd ever experienced on 2 wheels or 4.

So what's different? Almost everything. For a start there's shitloads more traffic. Like I said before, you need eyes up your backside. The gear is different too. 30 years ago we had only just come out of the era of waxed cotton. (If you're not an experienced biker you may not be familiar with early 20th century 'waterproofing'. Heavy, cumbersome clothing made of a cotton fabric impregnated with a black wax compound. If regularly reproofed it kept most of the water out at the expense of the wax rubbing off at the collar and cuffs. You could tell a biker, they all had tide marks around their necks.) Modern fabrics are a revelation by comparison. It is possible to stay warm and dry on the longest journey but I digress... 

Having got mobile it was now time to make progress. Over the back end of the year there was little opportunity to get out and ride but in December a mate invited me to join a 'Toy Run' in aid of a childrens hospice in Chorley. A cold but dry Sunday, very enjoyable. Being part of a convoy of 150 or more bikers is a great experience and feels worthwhile - as opposed to just going out and spanking it for the crack.

*A small diversion - please indulge me.* The problem with pastimes such as cycling, golf, motorbikes, etc. is how selfish they are. When you work 5 or 6 days a week there's very little time left for hobbies. Doubly so between October and March. You definitely can't play golf in the dark, cycling is hazardous and motorbikes doubly so. I've already admitted the desire for a motorbike never went away, I'd merely suppressed it but a major factor was guilt at how self centred such a hobby is. It's a hangover from childhood, my dad always seemed to be on the golf course, mum always seemed to be moaning about him being on the golf course. It's difficult to shake the guilt of going out and enjoying yourself.

Back to the main thread, the whole point of doing this was to be able to ride bigger bikes. I'd had enough of messing around, it was time to take it seriously. To explain how this works, you need several things to happen in order:

CBT - Compulsory Basic Training. An instructor shows you how it's done, you do it, the instructor accompanies you on a road ride and certifies that you're unlikely to kill yourself. Usually a day course, after which you can zoom around on L-plates on a 125 or less for up to 2 years.

To progress further you need to take a 'Theory Test' which is a distinctly uncomfortable experience. You book online and pay the fee (There's ALWAYS a fee), pick a venue, date & time. Turn up about 15 minutes early and somebody checks your identity. You are then required to remove everything personal - watches, rings, wallet, mobile etc. - and put it all in a locker for the duration of the test. In my case the receptionist wanted to check my specs to make sure there were no hidden cameras too. (All this is done with the kind of casual indifference and lack of empathy that I have never been able to achieve and consequently totally incapable of working for a government department.) Suitably devoid of any opportunity to cheat you are seated in a cubicle  in front of a blank computer screen. There are a few minutes of 'how the test works' and clicking a mouse to demonstrate how a ccomputer works, then you begin. 50 questions, multiple choice, followed by 'hazard perception' videos. When you see a hazard develop then click the mouse. the quicker you spot it the more points you get. It's supposed to last an hour, about 35 minutes later I'm done. Back to reception,
'How did I do?' I asked, cheerily.
'It's printing off, now' she said, drearily.
Fucking hell! And you get PAID for this?
Anyway it was a pass, so that's a major hurdle done.

Next it was back to the bike dealership where I'd put a deposit on my personal Starship Enterprise just before Xmas. Having possession of a Theory Test certificate I could enroll (for a fee, obviously) on the Direct Access training course. Essentially, you learn to ride a big bike by training on a big bike. 'Oh! and would you mind paying the balance of your own bike, seeing as you're here...?' Cut a long story short, there's four days of fairly intensive training to pass a test interspersed with some observed road riding with an instructor barking in your ear'ole. 'Middle of yer lane. MIDDLE! Yer not drivin' yer car!' By the afternoon of the fourth day I was knackered. The concentration and sheer physical effort of riding slowly, slalom, figure eight, u-turn etc. left me a gibbering wreck but it led me to the Module 1 test the next morning. Four days of effort followed by 11 minutes of sheer terror. Worth it though, seeing as I passed.

That was back in February, the weekend of the 'heatwave', There was me, togged up in a Winter suit, thermals underneath, sweating buckets, knackered but happy. One down - one to go.

A month and several riding lessons later  I'm back with Martin, my instructor, at the DVSA site in Stockport. Thursday, 8AM for Module 2 - Practical Riding Test. 40 minutes of stop/start, rush hour traffic. How the fuck anyone can assess your bike handling skills in that situation is beyond me. Make progress? Well, left to my own devices, I would've done but unfortunately there's a civil servant sat on a BMW GS 10 yards behind me and he isn't going to be impressed with my 'bollocks to it, I'm not sitting in this all day' tactics. So I had to behave. Eventually he asked me to return to the test centre, I had a bad feeling he'd seen enough. As I walked in to the office Martin looked up at me and I shook my head. 'Bottled it' was all I could say. Ten minutes later my examiner tells me that I've passed and should consider some advanced training sessions. Christ! They'll obviously pass anyone... Martin's all business, a quick congratulation and a photo with the bike then we're off back to Rochdale. Only this time we're not going the slow way but directly via the M60. A journey that took the best part of an hour on the way out is over less than half that on the return.

It's beginning to sink in. I'm 3 months off my 57th birthday and I've passed my test! That means I can ride my bike. The one that's been sitting in the showroom since December. For real? For real. an hour or so later I'm doing just that. That feeling of joy is still the same, the freedom. Work can sod off for the day, I'm off out on my bike.

This is why we do this.

luv'n'stuff

John