>
> "Bear" gmail.com> wrote in message
> news:MPG.23277591c0a82a9a98a1ca@news.individual.de...

>> In article <6i56a6Fp2hv8U1@mid.individual.net>, Viva says...

>>>
>>> "Baz" yahoo.co.uk> wrote in message
>>> news:m1flb4ppmge7ffpkrok7tefpg3jp00r4k6@4ax.com...

>>>> Many happy reruns of the day!
>>>>
>>>>

>>> Oh no I'm late to my 2eggs party! Thanks Baz! And zol and Harry. I had a
>>> great party in Big D...they took me to a Turkish cafe...we sat waaay in
>>> the
>>> back behind heavy velvet drapes and it warn't no baccy in our hookah...I
>>> loved the music and the, whaterever it was we ate.

>>
>> Cool. I'm only just returned from the island, so missed a load of posts
>> ... glad you had a good one :)
>>
>>

> Thanks. Now tell us about 'the island'...what did you do, what did you eat?

> The bike:
>
> 2002 Yamaha R1:
> Harris MotoGP stacked pipes - simply the best pipes ever fitted to a
> modern 4-stroke, 4-cylinder road bike. Rare. Funky. Spastically loud.
>
> Yamaha works BSB Ohlins rear shock. Re-worked by Racing Lines in Derby
> (superb people, love em to bits).
>
> Yamaha WSB works ignition retard box (frankly I think this is bollocks,
> but it seems to check out, oddly).
>
> Ohlins steering damper.
>
> Ohlins fork springs.
>
> Harris rearsets.
>
> Scottoiler (invisible, Lozzo-installed effort, and, after the Harris
> pipes, the mod that most intrigued the crowds when they gathered around
> the bike, and gather they did).
>
> All recent mods by SpeedySpic Engineering: many, many thanks to Lozzo
> for sorting everything. I will be in touch, sir, as I "Have Plans" :)
>
>
> The kit:
> Furygan 2-piece leathers (superb)
>
> "Racer" gloves (at last, a replacement for the Swift PP2000s - thank
> you, Infinity Motorcycles, even if you don't give discount, you well-
> stocked, but mangy cunts)
>
> Daytona Clubman Race boots.
>
> Uvex Wing RS lid (light, aerodynamic, dated, over the hill, now
> thankfully chipped in a "fall off the bike" episode, so I'll get an Arai
> soon).
>
> IXS waterproofs (unused).
>
> Knox back protector (ditto, thank fuck).
>
> Kriega R35 backpack (ok).
>
> Kriega US-20 add-on pack (hopeless, but great as a tailpack).
>
> Oxford Sprint tank bag (superb).
>
>
> The trip:
>
> "The best laid plans of mice and men" ... and, to this, you may add
> "Bears" ... for reasons dull and various (and all bar one not my fault, I
> should add), I left Clapham over 2 hours late for the ferry to the IoM.
> I frankly detest having to travel faster than I might like to on
> motorways, but I had no other option. So, dispatch head on, filter like
> fuck, and ... things get even worse when there are 3 big accidents ahead
> of me on the M1. Why can't these people just shoot themselves quietly
> in their bedrooms? Why do they feel the need to impinge on my
> existence?
>
> So eventually, after many, many, many, many miles of filtering, the M1
> opens up a tad, so I find myself filtering at 130, when the traffic's
> doing 60 ... not the best of situations, but workable, and an interesting
> challenge. Under such circumstances, I tend to pay very little
> attention to what's going on behind me, for the simple reason that
> anyone flashing to overtake at those speeds is probably Rossi, and can
> thus find his own way past, and those wishing to use their lights to
> complain can, frankly, take a ticket and wait in line.
>
> But, out of some misplaced desire to pay lip-service towards getting in
> touch with my fellow man, I occasionally glance behind, in the mirrors.
> Just after a big matrix sign saying "Accident M6 - long delays" (like I
> hadn't had enough of those), I glance back and ... blue lights.
>
> Take a closer look and it's an Accident Investigation Unit Ford Galaxy -
> a lot of forces bought them for this purpose. Ok, so he's got video
> running, and thus has my plate, ergo running is pointless, especially as
> I've just filtered past him in lane 2a at 130 mph ... so slow, pull to
> lane one, look as innocent as possible (a bit of a stretch for me), and
> await the tug ...
>
> ... he comes alongside, after having taken 2 miles to catch up, shakes his
> finger at me in a highly unprofessional manner, receives a "who, sir? Me
> sir?" look in reply, and just as I start to peel into the hard shoulder
> to have my license shredded, fucks off at about 120. Ah. Ok. So that
> accident on the M6 is a biggie then. Cool. Cheers to the Brummies who
> gave their lives so that my license might live.
>
> So I tuck in behind. Look, I'm late, ok? By this stage I'm annoyed by
> a) the fact no car driver in Britain appears to be able to drive further
> than 50 metres on a motorway without crashing into someone else and b)
> my Kriega is chafing my throat ... adjustment on these things turns out to
> be paramount, and on the way out I didn't get it right ... it's like
> having the Boston Strangler on your back, although later experiments
> proved that careful adjustment can improve matters, but (as well made as
> the Kriega is), I still prefer my 15 year-old Berghaus Dart 35. If
> anyone wants mine at a discount price (£80), get in touch, else it's
> going on eBay. Same goes for the US-20 add-on pack - £50 retail, yours
> for £40.
>
> But what of the bike? Grunt, is the main thing. In the absence of
> corners, grunt. Lots and lots of grunt. Stupid amounts, in fact. Prod
> twistgrip, stuff happens. Instantly. It's a four that wants to be a
> twin.
>
> Arriving at ferry only 45 mins late, having taken mental risks, I find
> that it has been delayed by 1.5 hours. Super.
>
> And now, a word about Steam Packet. Yes, I know it's all been said
> before, but yes, they are truly the most cack-handed, brainless, ill-
> organised bunch of twats imaginable. I truly, honestly, don't mind
> paying their spastically inflated fares. No really, I don't. It's a
> marginal service, ergo one must pay to subsidise the rest of the year.
> But FFS, if the French can make their end of the Channel Tunnel work on
> time, how in the name of holy fuck can Steam Packet be so utterly shite
> at getting a boat off on time? Oh look, there's a minibus that's had
> its under-slung tank ruptured by the gangway ... might it possibly have
> been a good idea to paint a box junction over said gangway, as it moves
> up and down a lot? No, that's fine lads, you just continue as you have
> for the last god knows how many decades - we'll take whatever you give
> us, coz there's no alternative, and wait while you sponge up the 50
> gallons of diesel. You might possibly want to leave a 2 foot gap
> between the cars when you load them, as this would prevent bikers
> getting hassled by distraught car owners as they pick their kit-hampered
> way past ... but no, that's fine, you just jam everyone in like sardines.
>
> By the time their diesel spill has been cleared up we're 2 hours late.
> And then they add another hour onto the journey because there's "a
> headwind" ... funny that: there tends to be one every time you travel east
> to west across the Irish sea, and it couldn't possibly have anything to
> do with the fact that the unsafe tub we're sailing on is running on half
> its complement of engines, to save fuel, and thus money. No. Course
> not. Cunts.
>
> As always, none of the above matters once you hit the Island. Ferry
> port, loads of bikes, no-one's filtering except me, Douglas seafront,
> beans, coast road, more beans, and suddenly I'm in danger of changing my
> mind - something I detest. The Diablo Corsas I've previously not really
> liked that much come into their own. I lean on them more, they respond.
> I test them in the dark on greasy roads, they pass with flying colours.
> I take the piss exiting corners, they spin up, but grip and turn, turn,
> turn, every greasy corner. I try not to like them. I fail. Fair play.
>
> Reach my place of residence for the duration. "A" is wonderful, as
> always. Northerners staying in the living room (I have the spare
> bedroom) are ... northern, but fun. As always.
>
> Sleep.
>
> Wake. Back is fucked. As always. Painkillers. Lots of painkillers.
> Gorgeous cooked breakfast by A. Kit up. Ride. In the first of over
> 600 miles of the Island I'll put in on this trip, I'm amazed that the R1
> seems to have more grunt than almost anything else. The only thing
> that exceeds it are newer gixer thous, in a straight line, and they
> can't match the handling. In the entire 10 days, only 2 bikes come
> past; both 600s, both on the mountain. Congrats to the owners of the
> CBR600RR and 6R that dusted me: you chaps have big skills, big balls,
> and no sense whatsoever, and I applaud you for it. I simply can't enter
> corners with that degree of blind faith in what lies around the other
> side.
>
> Everything else gets destroyed: gixer thous (including a local on Manx
> plates through Quarry Bends), 10Rs, Blades, 999s (also at Quarry Bends,
> my new "Fave Place" on the course), the lot. The R1 lacks outright
> power (my seat of the pants dyno says 135 bhp, which we'll test later),
> but the Ohlins-inspired suspension and handling is just so right, and it
> delivers the lot from just above tickover til the limiter chimes in ...
> it's alive in my hands, and yet it seems to want to go where I send it.
> It's trying to help me, not kill me. I'm not this good, I know it's the
> bike. I am in love.
>
> The Ohlins damper is a revelation: I've never ridden anything so
> equipped for long, and it's like bolting another 10 grand of suspension
> on; instead of the shake and bake handling I'm used to, everything
> happens as you want it to; see there, eyes there, go there. Greasy
> road? Don't worry: eyes there, roll-on, done.
>
> The linear throttle works the same way; no worries over highsiding for
> the cack-handed (me, in case you didn't realise); just roll-on fast and
> smooth and it just "does stuff".
>
> Mountain run after mountain run (stopping at the Creg and going back via
> Laxey to avoid doing an entire lap), nothing changes; always the same,
> predictable, solid as a rock handling. And the grunt of the motor
> carries you along on a tidal wave.
>
> Lessons learned: when the Mountain's (and it deserves a capital letter)
> flashing sign says "WARNING! HIGH WINDS AND SEVERE FOG!" on the
> mountain, don't think "ooh! That sounds like an experience!" and go up
> there, at least not if you don't want to hang a white stick out the
> front of the bike in order to find your way round ... I swear this is
> true; I almost crashed at the Creg, on account of not being able to see
> the turn, even when I was actually in it - despite having exited Kates
> and knowing it was there ... somewhere ...
>
> Do the Ramsey Sprint: 5 runs within 3 tenths of each other (best of
> 7.32, not a patch on the tuned gixer thou that spanked me with a 6.96),
> and one run ("I'll try more revs off the line! That'll work!") that
> resulted in a 1st gear loft, then (as I felt safe having changed to 2nd)
> a second gear loft as well. I'm told Pete Fisher has footage.
>
> Meet lots of nice people. Drink with lots of nice people. Marvel at
> how an entire tourist experience seems almost devoid of affordable
> quality food. Cease to care. Smoke less than a third of what you
> normally do, on account of being out on the bike so much. Drink less
> than a tenth of same, on account of wanting to be sharper. Talk to each
> and every biker you meet. Have fun. Get used to people asking you
> about your bike, and why it's that loud, and what shock is that, and
> what's that tiny, inch-long pipe on the rear sprocket? Feel proud and
> happy as crowds gather every time you park up.
>
> Feel free to spank past every bike once the roads re-open after the
> racing, in greasy conditions, despite having given them 60 seconds head
> start. When you run out of competition, do the same to a couple of
> travelling marshals. Fail to realise that the car you're about to put a
> move on is the Roads Open car. Tuck in behind. Feel ashamed. Feel
> lucky to avoid jail.
>
> Do the course umpteen times. Do the Mountain many more times. Then
> forget about them, and try the other, even twistier roads. Marvel at the
> feedback from the R1's suspension. Wish Kawasaki made a bike like this,
> this easy to use, except green and more powerful. Cease to care.
>
> Go to Jeremy Clarkson's house. Hold the throttle against the stop for a
> full 10 seconds. Fuck off fast.
>
> Go to the pub. Go to the pub again. Have back problems. Accept a lift
> from the always splendid local plod when they see you limping home.
>
> Wheelie. Wheelie some more. Wheelie some more after that. Be polite
> to locals. Have them be polite to you. Meet new friends, have a drink.
> Meet older ones, find out they've had a quad bypass since you last saw
> them in June at the TT, but are happier as a result. Laugh. A lot.
>
> No, seriously, a lot.
>
> Watch old snotters drop oil on a perfectly good race circuit. Wonder
> why anyone bothers racing stuff that should have been pensioned off
> decades ago. Look at old stuff. Appreciate their sights and sounds.
> Still wonder why anyone bothers to race such utter shite.
>
> Choose life. Choose speed. Choose handling. Choose adrenaline.
>
> Choose bikes.