Supliments - letter to Motorcycle Sport and Leisure

Interesting, your opening lines in January's ussue, especially when you said that no one really wants to be average. I don't think a statement has ever been more true when it comes to motorcyclists - just look at their machines. Almost every bike I see has some sort of addition or alteration from the stock item; even my V-Strom, changed in appearence with a few Suzuki extas of personal choice, has the number 7 stuck on the windscreen in homage to Barry Sheene.

Back when all the major manufacturers produced a limited range of models, customization was rife, often cheaply done at home, and mostly pretty obvious to all. Now, every bike maker produces everything, for everyone. Within a specific type, whether it be sports, naked, classic or adventure, there's a plethora of extras, all meaning that no two bikes within 100 miles (I'm guessing) of each other need look the same. Now, there's no need to imagine or invent in order to be different, but simply to choose.

I'm all for electronic aids. I think any feature that enhances safety can only be good and that the significance of an algorithm designed to assist a rider, even improving the riding experience, should never be underestimated or seen as anything other than enhancement. To me, they do not detract from motorcycling; they are not replacing skill but simply supplimenting it. The thing that has changed motorcycling is bike makers swamping each of their models with those possible extras. Good or bad  I'm not sure, but it does take away something of the creativity we onced enjoyed. 

I  admit that my old Norton Dominator had a Dresda tank and seat which I chose from a magazine advert, but my mate's Dommie had a different type. And we both chopped the mudguards differently; our clip-ons and rear-sets came from seperate suppliers. We scoured breakers for bits to make our bikes not only less average, but often truly unique.  

You mentioned Deep Blue, which I remember as a chess playing computer that apparently won a match against a reigning champion of the time. I would argue that played on a conventional board the average person could beat it: a computer is a pastic box and although it might have a lot of flashing lights, one thing it can't do is move the peices.

    

  

Imagine - Letter sent to Motorcycle Sport and Leisure

Dave, I wanted to send this to you in an envelope addressed using green ink, but I couldn't find a green pen, or an envelope, and stamps cost money - imagine having to pay to send someone a message. In fact, imagine having to write with a pen, without spell checker, and not being able to copy and paste, or drag. Imagine having to visit the library every time a particular subject caught your interest, or some question popped into your head. I can't. I can read and write, but all I can see without modern information technology is restriction.

Imagine a motorcycle without ABS, the most significant safety feature since the introduction of the crash helmet. Imagine being able to pump individual brakes 20 times a second, while deciding which brake, front or rear, should receive the greater force. Imagine being able to optimise this cycle rate when cornering. I can't. I've been riding motorcycles year in year out for nearly fifty years, and I've had advanced training along the way, but all I see without this incredible technology is limitation.

Imagine a mum's face when her offspring says they're getting a motorcycle. I can, I see it as if it were only yesterday. But imagine how she might have felt with the knowledge that the machine had a capability beyond that of any rider, and that it would do its utmost to remain upright and out of trouble.

I own a number of bikes, of all ages, and with technology that ranges between acetylene lighting and multi mode intelligent ride assistance. I ride them to the best of my ability, wearing proper boots, armoured leggings and jacket, a smart vest, and a crash helmet, all of which I hope I have the skills never to test.

Cave Man

Back in the 1970s, I worked as a fitter in a commercial vehicle workshop. It was a dirty job in a cold, oily space, where everything had to be finished yesterday, and where I often laboured through breaks. I rode to work each day on a XT500 and at night parked the bike in the street outside a grim little bedsit. I dreamt of a proper home, a garage, and multi-bike heaven.

And of a cave I could retreat into; my space, where everything would be done at my pace. It came, thankfully, eventually. Gradually. A flat sold for a small house that in turn became a larger one with a garage. Then retirement and a move to a place with enough land to build a workshop and garage, somewhere I can’t ever imagine moving from. The building is fully insulated with cavity walls and a galleried ceiling. There’s also a mezzanine deck used for storing bits – frames, tanks, tin wear etc - and Velux windows above a workshop area.

 I’ve owned and ridden motorcycles since my first moped at 16 years-of-age, back in a time that saw frustration with British manufacturing compete in equal measure with an admiration for Japanese engineering. It was about the same period that Scandinavian truck manufacturers were showing British lorry drivers just how good a wagon could be. Despite all that, I do have a soft spot for both British bikes and trucks, driven, it must be said, by rose tinted glasses and a hankering for lost youth. Now I spanner, service and tinker, sit at my desk and read manuals, look at maps plotting trips to bike meets and motor museums, and think about restoration projects either under way or planned. But whatever I do, I do it when I want to and because I want to.

In my garage there are bikes I’ve done, some I’m doing, and some awaiting attention. The Matchless G2 CSR was a project from a few years back, the G12 CSR, a recent recommission. There’s a Laverda 3C that’s on, and on, and on… going. I’ve also got quite a bit of AMC stuff waiting in the wings, and a TTR 600 and BMW 1150 that require a bit of light fiddling. And yes, I have ripped the ABS out of the BM. My other bikes are all current and in use, rotated on a yearly basis.

I think the key to a happy partnership is equality and balance and my wife has interests that occupy her time. She has her own office in the house, where she organises her passion in the same way I do mine in my garage. We spend most days together, but many apart, doing our own thing. And it seems to work. I feel very fortunate, not least because of my garage, but the size, construction, and even content of the space is ultimately not important. The most significant thing is that it’s mine, containing my stuff, and whether there’s one, ten, or twenty bikes in there, it’s of no real matter. What is, is that whatever the machine, it’s kept by me. At a push, a dirty, cold, oily shed would do, so long as it was my space, where I did my stuff, at my pace. 

A Triumph

I smile every time I look at my new T120 Bonneville, I nod when I read about it being such a great bike, and I do an impersonation of Sid James laughing when I think of how it has out retro’d the latest incarnation of the very bike that kicked its predecessors into touch all those years ago. The Kawasaki Z900rs is a great bike, but it's not the greatest at being what it's supposed to be, not now. After 50 years, that title must surely go back to Triumph. 

Letter to Bike magazine

 

I popped out earlier to pick up this month’s Bike, a nice little ride to my nearest WH Smith and just far enough to justify a coffee while having an initial flick through. I know for the sake of the planet I should have it posted or better still, read an electronic version, but I’ve always got the magazine while out on the bike, it just seems right somehow. Anyway, this morning, sitting at a table outside Costa, I couldn’t help but notice a nearby pelican crossing, not least because of the beeping when the lights went to red. I reckon every other person using it didn’t look at the road before pressing the button, and with no thought whatsoever,  every last one of them pressed the button regardless of any approaching traffic. None waited for heavy lorries to pass; many crossed an empty road the lights having turned red for no reason. Some, seeing that no vehicles were approaching, crossed before the lights changed, which, of course, they eventually did, forcing vehicles coming along moments later to brake to a standstill for a crossing devoid of any pedestrian. The lights changing, the beeper beeping, and all those vehicles having to overcome God knows how much friction in order to get going again and accelerate to their original speed. What a waist of precious energy.

I got back on my Strom and rode home, something I’ll do till it dies and I can justify the energy deficit needed to produce a new electric bike.

Furka Pass, Susten Pass, Grimsel Pass

A big GS blasted by, cranked so far over that I wondered how the hell it would recover. A second followed, the rider’s long blond plaited ponytail acting as swingometer, as both bikes heaved one way then the other through the tight hairpin bends. I glanced in my mirror and saw the batwing fairing of a Harley hard on my tail, before looking forward again to see the BMWs disappear around the next bend. The Glide went through too, leaving me with shame and admiration in equal measure. I tried to console myself with the fact the big cruiser wasn’t two-up, but it didn’t help.

All roads led to the mountains from Crans-Montana, my base for the few days I would spend in Switzerland, and it was from there with my lightened, luggage free, Suzuki DL 1050XT, that I sped east along autoroute 9 (or autobahn or autostrada, depending on which part of the country you are in) towards Brig, intent on a day riding three of the most iconic passes in the Swiss Alps: Furka Pass, Susten Pass and Grimsel Pass. I was soon off the motorway and on picturesque route 19 climbing the Rhône valley, following my Beeline as it sent me ever upwards towards Obergom. The road was quiet, open, and perfectly smooth; the land on each side dropping to scrub grass and meadows before rising rapidly to conifers and towering snow-capped rock. I passed through villages with churches that had onion shaped spires, and tall roadside chalets made of a dark heavy wood that looked as if in winter they would be capable of supporting a ton of snow, while rising above any drift blown their way.

The climbs became less gradual, but the bends still swept rather than doubling back on themselves, something I knew was soon to come. It was very hot and when a tunnel appeared I welcomed the cool darkness. The road weaved below sheer rock faces protected by sturdy canopies. I looked down into valleys covered in trees. The real climbs of Furka Pass started in Obergom, with steep switchbacks that between each sharp turn had me craning my neck up and to the side, where the road I was following could be seen running parallel above. After a couple of hairpins, I’d settled and sorted my approach, line through and exit. The tall Suzuki, with enough speed, didn’t falter in second gear and ran smoothly, confidently holding its path through every 180 degree turn.  The now abandoned Belvedere Hotel stood on the inside of one tight bend, as the road climbed sharply past the Rhone Glacier. Famous for its appearance in the 1964 Bond film, Goldfinger, the hotel was an obvious draw, but it was the car park and café opposite that provided a place to stop, look at the spectacular mountain vistas and generally take it all in.  The Beeline’s next waypoint was Wassen, which took me through Hospental and Andermatt, from where I joined route 2 and headed north.

Being a simple ‘turn by turn’ device the Beeline has no map detail on its dash mounted display, so I don’t always get it right. There was a confusion of roads and roadworks in Andermatt, which had me flummoxed for a while, but sometimes with the Beeline you just have to stop and check with Google maps. The road was now running close to autoroute 2, which cut its own straight path through the rocky slopes, as we continued turning this way and that, sweeping now through the lower tree lined slopes of mountains ahead. The Vstrom glided along, the motor sweet. I have everything concerning the bike’s electronics set to maximum intrusion – engine management at its softest, ABS at its most aggressive, ditto traction control – and I suppose I could have given the throttle a bit more umph, but I’m used to it now, so I left as is and continued winding my right wrist through angles in harmony with the twists of the road.

From Wassen, the next destination for the Beeline was Innerkirchen, which would come after a near 30 mile run on route 11 across Susten Pass and some of the most spectacular, iconically alpine views of the day. There would be 26 bridges and tunnels through the rock massive and countless viewpoints. The Eiger wasn’t too far off, although admittedly not in view, but if it were, I wouldn’t have been surprised such was the grandeur of those snow-covered mountains. We were heading for over 2000 metres above sea level on a road that can only be described as glorious, panoramic and breathtaking. Between the switch backs there were miles of sweeping bends, sheer drops, tunnels and more of the awesome scenery I’d come all that way to enjoy.     

It cooled as we climbed and unsurprisingly on such a sunny Saturday there were hundreds of motorcycles out. The supermotos were obviously built with switchbacks in mind, the big adventure bikes were giving it their all, sports bikes screamed through, and even the cruisers held up their end; but they all had two things in common: Swiss number plates and the ability to pass me. Surrounded by the snow-covered peaks and climbing higher and higher it became obvious why the Bond filmmakers had come, why companies like Porsche used the backdrop for promotion videos, and why this was surely motorcycling paradise.

I had another café stop before turning south on route 6 and heading back to Obergoms and the road to Crans-Montana. Grimsel Pass continued through the pristine mountain landscape, but the road felt a little straighter, with fewer hairpins and longer sweeps between rock faces on one side and Armco barrier above steep tree covered slopes on the other. Quaint Swiss villages came, and close to Gletsch, a lake with a large dam and hydroelectric plant. Then it was a long series of hairpins again before I was finally back on route 19 and riding to Brig and Crans-Montana. I filled up – fuel stations in the Rhone valley came every few kilometers – and soon joined the autoroute, not forgetting to display the motorway vignette I’d bought at the border with France on arrival a few days earlier. There were just a couple of other motorcycles on the road - both seemingly happy to sit a few cars back. 

 

Built in India - letter to Motorcycle Sport & Leisure

 

What a great article that was about the Norton Commando 961 in July's MSL. And what a great bike the Norton is. And how great is the whole retro bike scene, allowing as it does the style and feel of those old bikes without the reality of true authenticity. ABS, electric start, oil tight and reliable, what’s not to like?

There are plenty of people like me out there ready to buy them, these new old bikes – except that I won’t be. Well, not one made by an Indian company. And sadly, that means no new Norton me. Why, because it’s not British? Certainly not, Norton's Indian owners are preserving an iconic name in motorcycling, for which we should be very grateful. Because there are yellow upside down forks with orange reflectors stuck on them? Nope, that’s just a sign of the times, and they are there for the simple reason the bike must exist in the now.

It's because I absolutely refuse to do anything that supports the Russian economy. The longer the war in Ukraine goes on, the more we will suffer. The quicker sanctions work, the quicker we can get back to some sort of normality. By importing Russian crude, India is funding Putin’s war, prolonging the agony of Ukraine and threatening life in the West. I know it’s complicated, and I am fully prepared to except that I have little if no understanding of energy markets. But the principle stands – give nothing to Russia other than that which is absolutely necessary. India can source oil elsewhere, as it has in the past, it should continue to do so now. I also appreciate that this might not be the sort of material for a magazine dedicated to the true enjoyment of motorcycling. But these are difficult times, and not just for Europe - we all should be aware of the importance and consequences of the choices we make, and what is ultimately at stake.

So, there won’t be a new Norton in my garage, or a Royal Enfield Continental GT 650, the other modern classic on my ‘must have’ list. Maybe they’ll be sold to someone in Moscow instead. It’ll have to be the Gold Star, on the basis that it’s another iconic classic British motorcycle available for us to buy - Oh, hang on... .