The Chapman Zone Dave’s Blog

…to the world around me. Global affairs I mean.

So I wake up this morning, and perform my usual morning ritual:

1. Alarm (mobile phone) 1 goes off at 07:00. I awake to the mellow ambient strains of Equinoxe Part 1 by Jean-Michel Jarre. [Actually, I always seem to be awake before it goes off - does anybody else get that?]

2. Think ‘Bollocks’, turn it off, then go back to sleep. Well - half sleep.

3. Alarm (mobile phone again - it allows me up to eight alarms a day) 2 goes off at 07:30. This time, Steve Hackett tries to persuade me to get up with a rendition of his rather wonderful Spectral Mornings [I opt for songs that start off gently, so as not to jar me from my peaceful slumber too harshly - what a softy!]

4. Half awake this time, I ease myself up into a seated position, and begin to daydream about this woman that I’ve recently developed a horrendous crush on.

5. At 07:45, dad comes up with a cup of tea for me. Bless him. Daydreaming continues, abated only by a bit of small talk with the old man.

6. At 08:00. My third and final alarm goes off. I haven’t gotten round to putting a third song on the phone to wake up to yet, so it’s one of those god-awful stock ringtones that comes with the phone. At this time, romantic scenarios are cascading through my brain, maybes and what ifs, idyllic moments, infinitely preferable to going to work and dealing with the utter f*ck ups that currently prevail. So I continue to daydream.

7. 09:00 rolls around. The blissful daydreams become spiked with the harsh realities of the situation - it’s complicated. My brain starts kicking me in the balls with thoughts like “she’s with someone, stupid”, and “she’s almost certainly not interested in you in the slightest, dummy” and “she’s way out of your league anyway, fool”, “and you can’t tell her anyway jackass, because you might f*ck up what you have with her at the moment”, and numerous other things of that nature. So I snap out of it, and get up. [In case you hadn't guessed by now, I have self-esteem issues, with which I am not going to go into detail on this blog!]

8. Get dressed, go downstairs, put on the kettle and some toast.

9. Go back upstairs while said toast is doing, go to the loo, have a wash, brush my hair, fret at the sheer quantity of hair that ends up on the brush, as opposed to still on my head, ponder getting my hair cut, wonder what the hell to do with it if I did decide to get it cut, go back downstairs.

10. Make toast and a cup of tea, go back upstairs, eat breakfast while watching a bit of telly, or more likely a DVD if I am in the middle of one.

11. Put on leathers, which now actually stay where they’re supposed to now I have a pair of braces attached to them - hooray! Go downstairs, switch on motorbike, come back inside, put rest of kit on, jump on bike, back bike out of garden, pop it into first gear with an almighty ‘clunk’ (which I am still concerned about, even though some people have told me that it’s normal), head to work.

There you go, that’s my usual morning. Well, weekday morning anyway.

Today though, I completed stage 8 as usual, when my dad said:

“So Obama won then…”

………..

“Oh, yeah…..”

Now I would have gone “YESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!”, as I really really wanted him to win, but the truth of the matter was that I had completely forgotten that the election was on.

I got home from Ice Hockey last night (I think I might refer to it that way from now on, so that if I ever get any new visitors that don’t know me, they might mistakenly think that I actually play the game, instead of just standing there in awe of the kids that do, while occasionally remembering to take photos), and got straight on the PC to continue going through the photos from Sunday, and add the ones I just took. Chatted to a couple of people on MSN, then went to bed. No telly.

I used to watch telly every day, sometimes all evening. One of the many blessings that joining 1st Fareham has bestowed upon me is that it broke me of the cycle - I got so busy doing various things (including still trying to have a life!) that I could not ‘commit’ to watching weekly programmes anymore, so rather than watch them occasionally and lose track of what was going on, I stopped watching them altogether. Nowadays, I limit myself to stuff that can be watched as and when, stuff like Family Guy, South Park, cookery programmes (some anyway), Extreme Makeover (Home Edition), although that is getting a bit much for me these days - all that melodrama and sad music, which used to have me in tears, now makes me a bit nauseated, DIY SOS, Match of the day….that’s about it, and I only watch them if they happen to be on when I am channel hopping - I don’t attempt to stay in to watch a particular programme anymore.

I love it! I wonder about how much life I have wasted sitting in front of the telly, just because I couldn’t be arsed to do anything else. But I’m sure I’ve ranted about that in the past, so I won’t go on about it now. I’ll go check the archives one day, to see if I have or not - if not, I feel a good rant coming on, as I haven’t had a proper one in ages!

So anyway, I only occasionally watch the news in the mornings, and after a couple of mornings of it, I get sick of all the bullsh*t, and don’t bother for a few more days. Then I’ll catch another dose one morning the following week.

The election of the first black president of the United States of America fell in between my catch-ups, so once I was informed, I decided to put the news on. Lots of people talking about what this all means for America, the world, the future. Lots of waffle, lots of nonsense.

…I turned the telly off again.

In this age of 24 hour news channels, you can get all the info you need in thirty seconds. Or rather, all you’re going to get that is of any use from them. Obama won, by quite a big margin as it happened, made a great speech, as did Senator McCain who was very gracious in defeat, apparently.

Now to ponder what it all means….

Wow! A black man is the President of the USA. Not one ounce of sarcasm in that last bit by the way, in case any of you were thinking that - this is big. This needs to sink in. I think the full meaning of this will take a while to reveal itself. I am happy that this happened by the way, as (despite what many of my colleagues at work will tell you) I am not a racist.

And the speech was great by the way - I had a read of it on the web. I haven’t read John McCain’s speech yet, but will probably do that tonight.

Of course, speeches are great, but that doesn’t mean that the reality will match the promises. Will Obama make any real change, or will he be another puppet of the corporations and tycoons? Or will he be assassinated by some redneck white-supremacist before he gets the chance?

Call me naive if you like, but upon reading words like his last night, I feel a small glimmer of hope for the future:

“If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It’s the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voices could be that difference.

It’s the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled - Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.

It’s the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

It’s been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.

……

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to - it belongs to you.

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn’t start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington - it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.

It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give $5 and $10 and $20 to the cause.

It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation’s apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; it grew strength from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organised, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from the Earth.

This is your victory.

I know you didn’t do this just to win an election and I know you didn’t do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime - two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century.

Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us.

There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they’ll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor’s bills, or save enough for their child’s college education. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term, but America - I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you - we as a people will get there.
There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won’t agree with every decision or policy I make as president, and we know that government can’t solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree.

And above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it’s been done in America for 221 years - block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began 21 months ago in the depths of winter cannot end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek - it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice.

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it’s that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers - in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.

Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity.

Those are values that we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours: “We are not enemies, but friends… though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection.”

And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your president too.

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world - our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand.

To those who would tear the world down - we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security - we support you.

And to all those who have wondered if America’s beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope.

For that is the true genius of America - that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that’s on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She’s a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing - Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn’t vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the colour of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that she’s seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can’t, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes, we can.

At a time when women’s voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes, we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes, we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbour and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes, we can.

She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that “we shall overcome”. Yes, we can.

A man touched down on the Moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes, we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment.

This is our time - to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth - that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism and doubt, and those who tell us that we can’t, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: yes, we can.

Thank you, God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America.”

God, I hope he lives up to that speech……

So I’ve just finished work, and walking back to my bike for the ride home - still want to get on it at every opportunity!

I get to my bike, pop the helmet and gloves on the floor, go to the bike, pop the keys in the ignition and…..

….Right, before I get to what happened next, I want to take you back a few weeks. Same scenario, same place, same sort of time…

I go to the bike to turn it on before donning my buff and helmet, switch the key on, hold in the clutch and press the ’start’ button….

…..nothing….

….nada, nowt, zip, squelch, nowterooni….

…..biff!, splat!, newt!, mint!, poooooooooo!, SPONNNNG!!!…..

Oh, sorry - the bike didn’t make those noises - just got lost in my bizzare reverie of peculiar onomatepias……

….aaaaaaaaaanywaaaaaay….. the bike wouldn’t start. Hmmmmm……

As I’m pondering what might have caused this situation, another biker called Andy turned up to go home too. He asked what was wrong, and then tried to help me out by giving me a couple of bump starts. Unfortunately, to no avail.

We came to the conclusion that the battery had died. Not a great stretch of the imagination to work that one out, granted. I had to then go see the caretakers (they’re called ‘Facilities Management’ nowadays) to borrow a screwdriver so I could remove the battery and take it home. I was mildly concerned that the battery was buggered, as opposed to just dead, as I could not figure out what would have caused this de-juicification.

Luckily, dear father was able to come get me and bring me home. That evening I popped round to Tiffy’s, who had kindly offered to pop it on charge overnight.

To cut a long story shor……well, slightly less long, I took the charged battery into work on Monday, hooked it up to the bike and hey presto! it started.

Hooray!

Later that same day, I passed Andy in the corridor, who asked how the bike was, and then mentioned that he had noticed before that the day my battery died, I had left it in ‘park’ all day.

Now, for those who are thinking “huh?”, ‘park’ is the key setting just beyond the steering lock (the key positions on the ignition go ‘on’ ‘off’ ‘lock’ ‘park’). ‘Park’ basically leaves the parking lights on, for when you have to jump off the bike quickly in the dark, say to go post a letter or something, and you don’t want another car hitting it. Unfortunately, when I got in to work that morning, I inadvertently clicked it that extra turn to ‘park’ and strolled into the office, oblivious to the fact that the lights were still on.

Now, you may think me a total dickhead upon reading the above, but in my defence, the click from ‘lock’ to ‘park’ is easily done - too easily I think. When you turn it from ‘off’ to ‘on’, you have to press the key in a bit as well as turn it, but there is no such extra manoeuvre required to put it from ‘lock’ to ‘park’ - why the f*ck not?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! And it’s such a tiny click as well, not as if you have to turn it a whole quarter turn - it’s about two millimeters difference! What bumhole designed that?!?!?!?!?!

Now back to today….

I get to my bike, pop the helmet and gloves on the floor, go to the bike, pop the keys in the ignition and…..

…..you guessed it!

…..nothing….

….nada, nowt, zip…….oh you get the idea!

There is no current to the ignition, so I’m assuming I have done the same thing again.

What a complete toooooooooool!!!!!!!

Again, fortunately, dear, lovely father was able to come and pick me up, and I am hoping that dear, lovely Tiffy is willing to charge my battery again.

Bizzarre thing is, I have had the bike for, what, two years now? And these are the only times I have done this….unless I did it for short periods before.

Sigh. Come the weekend, I am going to do two things:

1. Go to Barney’s Superbikes, and see if there is any way to deactivate that bloody ‘park’ setting on the bike, so I don’t make the same mistake again.

2. Go and buy a bloody battery charger!!!!

…or discovering that I like it more than I originally thought!

So it was the Junior Great South Run yesterday, and four of my Scouts were taking part - Simon, Paul, Harry and Henry.

…at least I hope it was just four, otherwise I missed one (or more) of them entirely!

I was chatting to Max (that’s Harry’s big brother and one of my ex-scouts) on MSN the other day, and mentioned that I wanted to splash the cash on a pair of leather trousers for the motorbike. I managed to persuade him and Steve (that’s Max’s soon-to-be stepdad, and confirmed motorcycle nutter) to come with me to help me pick out a pair. Actually, it wasn’t really persuasion - I asked and they both said yes…I suspect it does not take much arm-twisting to get them to jump on the bike…

I think on Thursday, I spoke to Max again on MSN. The conversation started like this:

Max: DAVEEEEEEE!

Me: MAAAAAAAAAX!

[this is the standard greeting, or a variation thereof]

Max: You insured to take pillion?

Me: Ummmmmm…..yes, but I’ve never actually taken one before.

Max: Well, that’s gonna change on Saturday…

Turns out that Steve was picking up his son in Portsmouth on the way to the run, so for the better part of the day, Max was going to be my passenger. My pillion experience to that point was ferrying a couple of scouts along a track to a campsite (at about 3 mph, and not both at the same time I hasten to add!) and back when I was 14-15 and snuck the Honda Express out of the shed for a sneaky ride round Tanners Lane with my mates taking turns on the back. On the latter occasion I ended up in a rather deep ditch, but my trepidation at taking pillion was more from my relative lack of experience riding the Bandit at all, even on my own. Often was the time when I stepped out the door on the way to work, walking past the bike thinking to myself “I don’t deserve to have you…” - I underuse that bike so much, riding it only in fits and starts, pretty much when the weather is nice…and I can be bothered.

I was looking forward to it though - I always said to myself that I wanted to learn to take pillion, and when I did, I wanted it to be someone light! This didn’t stop me pooing myself at the prospect of having someone else’s life in my hands though.

So the first part of Saturday morning went pretty much like this: I woke up late (even with a wake up call from Max) and crammed some breakfast down before jumping on the bike and heading round to their place to give Natasha (that’s Max and Harry’s mum) my camera to take in the car while I followed Steve and Max into Portsmouth via Portsdown Hill (presumably just because it’s more fun going that way). I was quite pleased with myself that I was able to keep up, but with hindsight I think Steve was taking it veeeeeery easy for me. I should point out at this stage that he rides a Suzuki GSX-R 1000 - one of those pure evil-looking all-black mothers. Every time I drop a letter off to them I have to pause outside their house and admire it for a few minutes.

We got to Fratton, where he picked up his son, and then Max jumped on my bike for the trip down to Southsea seafront. Like I said, I am not the most experienced (nor confident) rider ever, and when Max got on the back, I felt like I was back doing my Direct Access Course - the bike seemed impossibly heavy and alien to me. I pulled away ok, but when I got to the T-junction at the end of the road and tried to pull away from there, I completely misjudged it and nearly dropped the bike, and Max along with it!

I’m glad I was wearing a helmet, solely because it meant that nobody could see the strong shade of scarlet my face had just gone.

“Sorry!” I shouted back to my passenger. Not the best of starts to my pillion carrying career!

After that initial mishap, the rest of the journey was very uneventful. I was so tense after that, I was riding as if I had an examiner behind me. Every action was done mechanically and with full consciousness - in case that last sentence doesn’t make any sense, I mean that usually, once you’ve gotten used to riding, many of the things you do become automatic, or subconscious. Not for this ride - I was aware of every little thing that I was doing.

So we made it to Southsea seafront and parked the bikes up….phew! First time and only one minor (albeit very embarrassing) mishap.

So we had a nice cup of tea in a little tea hut place, before heading over to the run. I shall post about the run (or preferably, get one of the participants to post about it), but should give a well-done to the lads for taking part. Photos will go up soon. I got the usual ribbing from a couple of people about taking part in the charity mile run that takes place after the Junior run. One day I’m going to actually enter to shut them up. I remember saying the same thing last year though…

So, after finding the Scouts and taking their photo, we went back to the bikes, said goodbye to Harry and Natasha, and headed on up to J&S in Waterlooville to buy some leathers. I was following Steve, and he likes to filter. I don’t usually, but obviously had to to keep up with him, and the traffic was very slow going anyway, so it wasn’t so bad. He was doing it very sensibly too, not like a lot of the twats you see on the road, belting down the gap between cars - this was all very slow and sensible, measured filtering.

I was worried, before I left the house, about stopping the bike with a pillion - the added weight being a problem when I am holding the bike up at a stop. No problem at all - Max had been on many a bike trip as pillion, and obviously knew what he was doing, and there was no extra effort required to hold the bike up. After a while, once we were moving, I could have forgotten he was there, and I’d simply put on 9 stone in weight.

We took the motorway route up, and it was very choppy, so I held back (more than usual) and lost Steve before we’d left the M275. Actually, I could still see him as he took the eastbound exit, but he was a very small dot, and by the time I got onto the M27, he was gone…

He was nice to enough to wait for me once he’d gotten off the A3(M) though, which was handy, as I’d completely forgotten where J&S was!

I’ve been wanting to buy some more protective trousers for a while now, as I normally ride in jeans, and as soon as I get over a certain speed, I start to fixate upon the fact that my legs are seriously unprotected in the event of an off. I own a pair of armoured waterproof overtrousers, but they are so bulky I can hardly move in them. I wanted leather too, solely because it’s cool (not temperature cool - Fonzy cool), and mainly black. I didn’t want anything too racing-oriented, as I ride a rather sedate Bandit 600, and it would have looked silly. I ended up with a nice pair of Frank Thomas leather trousers for £89. I now need to buy some braces to keep the damn things up! Which reminds me, I must go have a look on ebay to see how my bid is doing…

….still winning, with a day and 4 hours to go - cool!

So, job done, mission accomplished, and a set of love handles purchased as well for good measure. Where to now? I wasn’t sure if Steve was intending to go for a ride or not, but he did as it turns out. This suited me fine, as I was starting to relax and get used to riding with Max on the back, and wanted to get a bit more experience. I think the default position of those guys is to squeeze the most out of every ride they go on, judging by the way they talked - it was not a case of “shall we go for a ride before going home?” but rather “where shall we go for a ride?”.

First port of call was Monster Micks at the top of Portsdown Hill for a burger and a cup of tea.

Now, if there’s one place in the area where you say to yourself “don’t stall, don’t stall, don’t stall” over and over again, its at Micks - it’s where all the bikers go for a cup of tea, and there are some serious machines up there, and some serious bikers.

So what do I go and do, while trying to manouevre the bike into a space?

You guessed it!

Twice!!!

…what a complete tool. As it turned out, I was in second gear as I edged it forward, which was why I stalled - not because I’m utterly useless! Well, not realising you’re in second is pretty useless…

So, cup of tea and a burger later, and its up to Loomies. This is another bikers haunt on the crossroads of the A32 and A272, two very popular biking roads (bendy). I’ve never been there before, but I suspect I shall be going there again more often. The trip up was basically me trying to keep up with Steve, failing as he nips past a car in front then opens up to disappear on the forward horizon, sighting him again as he slows down to let me catch up, even pass him at one point. The passing thing was just so he could follow it up by whizzing past me, popping a wheelie as he goes.

Nutter.

All this time I was still getting a feel for riding with pillion. It’s quite logical really I suppose - the extra weight means that you accelerate and brake more slowly (which means you need to leave more response time), but also, the extra weight (and probably because the weight is so high on the bike) causes you to turn more slowly as well, or requires more effort to lean it into a turn (inertia and all that). I don’t know if I’m talking crap or not, but once I started getting used to it, I noticed that riding with pillion makes for a smoother ride than when you’re alone.

The ride up to Loomie’s was a great experience, by the time I got near, I already felt 1000% more comfortable with Max on the back than I did when I started.

That was to be the end of my pillion practise though. While at Loomie’s, watching a disturbing compilation of motorcycle, car, then skiing crashes on Eurosport, Steve phoned up Natasha, and she came up to join us (Harry was at his dads by now).

While we were waiting, I experienced another new one…trying to go to the loo in leathers.

Not easy! *shhhh - number 2*

Ahem. Anyway, Max (bless him) couldn’t see bugger all on the back of my bike except for the back of my head. You see, the pillion seat on my Bandit is only about an inch or two higher than the front seat, whereas on a Gixxer (Natasha has a GSX-R 750) the difference is more like eight to ten inches. Added to which Natasha is shorter than Max and I am a bit taller, so he decided to abandon his embargo on going on the back of his mums bike (forgot the reasons for that one), and actually enjoy a view for the remainder of the rideout. I think also that I was a bit slow for his tastes…

As it happened, this turned out to be a good thing for all concerned, including me. Don’t misunderstand me, I was more than happy to take Max on the back of mine, but getting the bike back to myself at that particular moment was a real eye opener. Because I’d gotten used to the slower action of the bike with a passenger on it, once that weight was lifted from the bike, I found my performance went up several notches. I felt more confident to try to keep up with the other two (no easier to do now - Natasha is as much of a loon as Steve!….well, maybe not quite as much, going by some of the stories they have told me), keeping more speed on bends, leaning it over more, going past cars when I would have held back previously. Everything was faster than I had previously gone - it was seriously cool!

To put this in context, I have not turned into a competent speed star or anything - I’m quite sure they were both going slower than usual so I could keep up, and I still got left behind a few times (although they always let me catch up again, bless them). I’m quite lucky in that I don’t suffer from pridefulness like that - they would get past a couple of cars on a long straight, and my first response is not to keep up with them at all costs, but rather to gauge the distance and risk, and choose for myself whether to go or to wait. Another one of those lessons from Andy at Paragon (where I learned to ride) - “always ride for yourself”, meaning never assume that the guy in front of you has considered if you can get through the gap with him when he goes.

Besides, there really is no point getting involved in a pissing contest with a pair of Gixxers when your on a Bandit!

Ooops - I neglected to mention where we went from Loomie’s - sorry!

We took the west bound stretch of the A272 towards Winchester, then down one junction of the M3 and along the Twyford / Bishops Waltham road, through Wickham and along the A32 towards Fareham. Strangely (I thought at the time) we got back on the M27 at Junction 10, and off again at J11, but when we got to the traffic lights at J11, Steve shouted “CUP OF TEA UP THE HILL?” at me. Quick thumbs up in response!

So, quick cup of tea later, and we heading home. Not straight home of course (love it!), but down the back of the hill and along the A32 again. Back to their place for my camera, which I manage to stuff down the front of my jacket along with my jeans, and then home. It was approaching 19:00 by this point (I think - I completely lost track of time!), so 10 hours and 100 miles later, the days riding was done.

What a great day! Thanks to my riding companions, from whom I learned a hell of a lot trying to keep up with, and especially to Max, for trusting me to take him on the back of my bike. I feel like my riding has taken a big step forward because of this day, bigger probably than any time since I passed my DAS. And the enjoyment factor has skyrocketed again. Since Collin stopped riding I have not had a regular riding companion (and we never went out a great deal when he was riding unfortunately, except for maybe in the first year), so it has been a means to an end for the past x months, not a source of enjoyment. This day’s riding has changed my perspective, and I now look forward to getting on it again. I hope this feeling lasts now - the winter is looming, and I’m a complete pussy when it comes to the cold…

So, in one day I top my previous speed record (on A Roads, anyway - my speedo was out of whack when I bought the bike, and Collin maintains I was doing 90 down the motorway), filter past more traffic and overtake more moving cars than I have in my whole life previously…and had a whole load of fun doing it.

I look forward to the next rideout, and hope I wasn’t too slow to be invited out again!

Actually, Natasha did mention a possible rideout during half term week, depending on the weather, so I sweet-talked my boss last week, and am now keeping m fingers crossed for some sunshine.

Oh, and this morning……took my bike to work…

Well, I have spent the day off sick, having spent the previous four days coughing incessantly - guess I picked up a chest infection or a bit of a cold. I went into work yesterday feeling like poo, and when I had taken care of the essential bits of work that couldn’t wait, I came home again. It seemed to get worse last night, but was a bit better by lunchtime today.

I put it down to a combination of things. Firstly, I developed a bit of a sniffle on Wednesday anyway, but then spent the majority of Thursday at Alton Towers, screaming at the top of my voice. I hasten to add that the screams were solely for comedic effect, and not out of terror or anything like that - it was all put on…..except for a couple on Spinball Whizzer.

So I came back hoarse as…..well, a horse, and Saturday night was spent out in the New Forest, awake until 4am on a very damp and misty night, waiting for Scouts to turn up so we could beat them up on a Gladiators-style bouncy castle joust thingy. This was, of course for the District Acorn nighthike competition, which was a total and utter cock up. Apart from being undermanned and underplanned (in the absence of an Assistant District Commisioner for Scouts, the Explorers run it, and don’t seem to want to get the Scout Section involved in any planning, and only ask for them to run bases if there are not enough Explorers to do it), one of the bases set up at the wrong car park, which I suspect was a contributing factor in at least one of my teams getting lost on route to base 4, and skipping that base entirely. As it turned out, not one team actually finished the entire route, and only two teams managed to attempt all the bases. Fortunately the other team from my Troop was one of those two, and picked up second place. So that’s a trophy every event since I started (alternating first and second place since 2001). I’m sure there are posts from previous comps on here….

So, being stuck on a base until 4am didn’t help the cough, and I spent the next three days with it worsening. Fortunately, it limited itself to a cough and bungedupded-ness - no fever to speak of, no grotty aches and pains (touch wood), and a headache from all the bouncing around of my brain each time I coughed…oh, and sore ribs for the same reason. Could have been worse…

Anyway, like I said, I started to feel better late this morning, and spent the morning in bed eating toast and watching the Princess Bride - seems to have become a recuperation DVD that one - ‘not just your basic, average, everyday, ordinary, run-of-the-mill, ho-hum fairy tale. Anyway, I’m a great believer that once you start to get over the worst of a cold, fresh air is the best thing for it - especially when the sun is shining. Much better than sitting in the stale, germ-infested air you’ve been breathing for the last twenty four hours.

So I washed my bike.

For the first time this year……

Nice day for it though!

Well, not all of them. I mean, I’m a car driver, and so are most of my friends.

The reason for my statement was my ride into work this morning. Now that I seem to have shaken off this cold that has been lingering (except for the bloody cough), I though I ought to get back on the bike. I don’t want to be accused of being a fair weather biker, you see…

So I turn onto the A27, and see a massive line of traffic at a standstill going all the way up the hill. Fortunately, the traffic actually stopped just after the turn of for Mill Lane, so I thought I would be clever and take the back roads into work.

Big mistake. As soon as I rounded the first bend, the traffic ground to a halt again.

B*ll*cks.

I have been riding for over a year now, and have had my DAS for six months of that, so I am becoming more confident on the bike. I decided to do a bit of filtering. Filtering, for the uninitiated, is when you mosey on past the stationary traffic, pulling into a gap when there in oncoming traffic, and then continuing to sneak through the queue a few cars at a time.

Mill Lane isn’t exactly wide, but I’m not an idiot on the bike. I don’t take unnecessary risks, and only filtered when I could see what was coming. I did not hammer past the cars, I merely pootled up a few cars at a time then pulled in.

Of course, that did not stop about half a dozen complete t*ssers either honk at me, shout abuse through their windows at me, or deliberately try to cut off my way back into the correct lane, or even force me out onto the other lane.

What the f*** is your problem? You’re already stuck, and it’s not as if my sneaking past you is inconveniencing you in any way. Are you jealous? Aw diddums….

Actually, I should state that for every prat on my way to work today, there were at least two that let me in, and even pulled over a bit to invite me to get past.

I think the majority of people are pretty decent, even though I do rant to the contrary. There are of course too many idiots out there, in all walks of life, but the majority are OK. I think maybe the problem is that we have had our sense of society systematically destroyed by the government (nice one Mrs Thatcher - hope you’re pleased with yourself) and big business, we generally keep ourselves to ourselves, mixing with our own circle of friends and family members and pretty much shutting the rest of the world out. Even at work, we tend to socialise less, mainly due to constant cutbacks and tightening of belts ridding the office of social functions (remember the days when the company paid for the works Christmas lunch?). What I’m getting at is that we have less opportunity to see the good in people, because the ‘proper’ way to behave these days is to keep yourself to yourself. It’s a lot easier to notice that someone is an *rsehole because their actions generally illustrate that fact. Random acts of kindness generally don’t get noticed, because they don’t leave the mark that, say, vandalism does.

It’s a shame, nice actions are often missed, and we tend only to remember the unkind things that are done to us. Back to a motoring context, we tend not to remember when someone waves us out at a junction, although it happens quite a lot. No, we rememeber that tw*t in the BMW that cut us up, or the imbecile in the souped up Saxo that overtook us on a blind bend at 80mph.

I’ve decided to laugh it off now and in the future when filtering. A quick hand gesture at them and a gloating laugh to myself as I leave them behind.

(P.S. I’m ranting about the nature of the human condition all the time, and I spend most of my free time surrounded by people who remind you of the good in people, that is, adults who give of their time for a greater cause, with no thought of reward, and the Scouts and Cubs themselves, as yet uncorrupted by the corporate machine - they really do restore my faith in people. Maybe that’s why I rant so much, because I see the good in people on an almost daily basis, and rail against that which would destroy that in us.

Oooh, rambling again. My point is, I see good in people all the time, and yet I still despair of society sometimes. I dread to think what everyone thinks, not having this validation in their lives…)

I went down to Paragon (where I was taught to ride a motorbike) to drop off an advert - I’m looking to swap the lowered seat on my Bandit for a regular one. I also went in to pay off an old debt. They have a rule there that if you sell your bike as a result of an ad placed on their notice board, their commission is a packet of chocolate covered hob-nobs. Since I actually sold the bike to them, I figured it still applied.

“So how is the bike doing, anyway?” I casually asked.

“Not good I’m afraid” says Baggers (the boss).

Oh crap, I thought. I wonder if the thing broke down just after they bought it from me?

“No, one of our trainees rode it into a brick wall” he says.

“Well…..up a brick wall would be more accurate” says Big Dave.

Apparently, while riding round the playground at Leesland School, the trainee forgot where the brakes were, and ploughed straight into the school building.

I decided not to ask to look at it, as it would have been too painful! Judging by the description given “the handlebars were up here, while the front wheel was over there”, I wonder if the bike will ever see the road again…

I may put up a picture in memoriam soon.

I took a trip up to look at the campsite we will be spending Scout Summer Camp at this year. We go to the same place every year, but I like to check on the place to make sure nothing drastic has changed that might b*gger up the programme.

Anyway, it was a nice day, so I decided to take the bike. On the way up, I was buffetted all over the place by wind on the M27 and A3(M), so I decided to take a more leisurely and picturesque route back along the A272 and A32.

Funnily enough, this was the route I took back when I bought the bike.

So I am going along the A272, stuck behind about twenty or thirty cars going at thirty miles per hour, and even slower round the bends. Now, I am not speed freak, especially on the bike, but being stuck at thirty was torture. The Bandit does not like crawling along, and gets a bit juddery and bad-tempered.

I get to West Meon Hut, and turn left onto the A32. Hooray!  There is open road in front of me…for about 500 metres, then I get stuck behind not one, but two horse boxes going at between twenty and thirty miles per hour, with two more cars stuck behind them. Beign a quite twisty road, there is no chance whatsoever of overtaking four vehicles, even if they are going that slowly.

I have nothing against horse boxes going slow - of course, they have to, to keep the horses safe and happy. I was getting worked up nonetheless.

This carries on for a few more miles. Then, past Warnford, there is a roundabout, the left turning continuing along the A32 towards Fareham. I hope and hope and will the horse box to turn right…

The first horse box indicates right…yessss! Then the second horse box.

Then the two cars behind it. Nice!

I indicate left and open up the throttle a little. The car behind me must have had a slow driver behind the wheel, because after a few seconds I cannot see them in my mirrors. The horse boxes must have been on the A32 for a long time, because there was nothing in front of me at all.

For about six miles, the road was mine. All mine.

Nobody was on the road at all (there were cars coming the other way, but that didn’t matter). There was nobody in front of me to slow me down, and there was nobody behind me to pressure me to go faster. For six whole miles, I rode my way, with nobody to see and nothing in my way.

For the first time since getting into motorbiking, I felt a true feeling of utter freedom.

Hectic start, fun finish.

There is the short version. Now for the slightly extended version.

I woke up on Saturday morning with a plan: Take the bike to Scooter Loopy for its MOT at about 10:15 (the MOT was booked in for 11:00), then come home and go straight to my acupuncture session for an 11:00 appointment.

I had the dosh for the acupuncture, but needed to draw some money out of the wall to pay for the MOT. No problem, as I had the money in the bank. Problem was, I couldn’t find my wallet. Anywhere. I looked high and low but it was nowhere to be seen.

While I was searching for the wallet, I got my bike keys out and unlocked it. Somehow, without realising I had done it, I had put the bike keys down inthe back seat of my car, while looking for the wallet. Being on the back seat of my car, the keys invariably ended up under a pile of cr*p, and so after resigning myself to not finding my wallet in time, and asking my father if he would lend me thirty quid till I find it, I got my bike stuff on, walked out to my bike……”OK, what have I done with my keys?”…

Normally by this time I would be shouting and kicking things and frothing at the mouth at the pure evil that are inanimate objects, and that they are not inanimate at all, but rather cruel and calculating beings that live to torture human beings by either hiding when really needed, or moving themselves an inch at the last second so that you stub your toe on them. Not today though. God knows why, but I decided to remain calm, somehow knowing that it would all sort itself out.

I took the bike down to Scooter Loopy, gave the keys to the man, and then Dad took me back home. I left for the car, just as Brian and his new girlfriend, Jan, showed up outside, so I made my apologies and shot off to the acupuncturist. I got there and sat for ten minutes (I was already a minute lat ewhen I showed up, but I could hear him in the room finishing off with his previous patient). While I was waiting another guy showed up in the waiting room. He seemed convinced that he had the 11:00 slot, and when David came out, he confirmed that I was booked in for 12:00. He definitely told me 11:00 at the last session, but I did not huff and puff (at least not until I got out to the car anyway).

It worked out OK, anyway, as on the way home I passed Brian talking to Emma outside her house, so I stopped and joined in while I was waiting to go back to the acupuncturist. I used Brian’s phone to call Dad and ths MOT place to tell them that I was running a little late.

You know how I was convinced earlier that everything would work out OK? Well, when I phoned my dad, he informed me that he had found my wallet in a pair of trousers he was just about to wash, and when I phoned the MOT place, they told me it had passed with no problems.

It’s nice when the calm approach pays off!

Went back to David at 12:00, where he told me off for drinking chilled water (apparently it can be very bad for the digestive system), and worked on some psychological issues. I realise now that he is taking a holistic approach, and trying to fix all the little problems I am having, believing that they are all relavent to my condition. Although I am running out of money, I am still willing to see what he can do. Today, I discovered that much of my inner stress was basedupon the facts that 1: “I want to be appreciated”, and 2: “I need attention” - he made me say these two statements over and over in my head while he pressed certain stress points on my head. It was not unlike being held in a Vulcan mind meld! One very unsual thing did occur though. While he was performing this treatment, my vision was going a bit funny - I was string at the ceiling, and these waves of faint colour washed upwards over my vision, over and over again, regularly and not at the same time as my pulse. When he stopped the treatment, the waves slowed and quickly stopped altogether. When I mentioned this to him he said it was to do with the chakras releasing the energy, or something of that nature.

I currently also have a mustard seed stuck inside each ear, which I have to massage for twenty seconds three times a day - they are placed on a stress-relieving point. I also got some ‘white foxglove’ dripped under my tongue for something - I think he said it helps you feel safe. I did get some more actual acupuncture done today as well, so overall it was quite an eventful session.

I spent the rest of the afternoon chopping up, marinating and skewering chicken breasts, as I was going to a barbecue round Pam and Ants. It was to celebrate Rach’s 30th birthday (Happy Birthday Rach!), and it was good fun. Brian had come down for this especially, and we also saw Rich and Kirsty (whom I don’t see much these days), and Melissa (always a pleasure!) and her new (ish) husband Len. Brian’s new girlfriend Jan, and Pam got into a drinking contest of sorts by the end of the evening, and Jan got a little loud and affectionate (in a friendly way). I spent about twenty minutes listening to how wonderful she thought I was (and all of us were), trying not to laugh.

Poor old Brian was cringing in the corner for a large portion…

So I was riding home from work on Friday. I thought I’d leave a little early so I could get sorted out for Scouts that night. I was close to running out of petrol, but I wanted to see how much mileage I could get out of a tank before refilling.

Coming down Titchfield Hill the bike started to lose power. I didn’t really notice it fully, until it cut out on me halfway up the other side of the hill. So there I was - stuck halfway up the hill. No problem, I thought - I’ll just flick the tank selector switch onto ‘Reserve’ and make my way to a garage. I turn it to Reserve, turn the engine over……nothing. Try again….nothing…..balls.

It was then that it occured to me that the Selector switch (before I moved it) was set to ‘Pri’, not ‘On’. I remember overhearing a conversation at Paragon, that involved the use of this term, and it was to do with starting a bike that had been sitting idle for a long period. Further investigation after the fact (I asked Tiffy) revealed that when set to Prime, the fuel bypasses a certain part of the carburettor, and can in fact (if left on this setting for a long period), get into the oil, and that I should replace the oil as soon as convenient. What I had therefore done, is exhaust both my main tank and reserve.

Now, for those that don’t know Fareham, it’s a pretty flat place, with the odd rise or dip as you travel around. Titchfield Hill is (apart from the roads around Portsdown Hill) the steepest and longest stretch of hill in town. I started to try to push the bike up the hill, but found myself stopping every ten metres or so, because I was knackered. I can’t leave it on the road, because it is a busy dual carriageway. I can’t get it off the road, because the nearest drop kerb is at the top of the hill. So I persevere with it for a few more spells, then take a break (I should mention at this point that it is a stonkingly hot day, and I am wearing a motorcycle jacket.

I’m sitting there taking a rest, thinking “Sh*t, this is going to take all day and probably kill me, when a Kawasaki Ninja pulled up just in front of me.

“Are you alright mate?” came a voice from within the helmet.

I explained the situation, and asked if he had a mobile phone that I could borrow.

“Fraid not mate - the batteries dead. Do you want some help getting it off the road, then I can give you a lift somewhere if you like?”

Fantastic! He helped me shove the bike up the kerb, and then I hopped on the back of his bike. Now, I’m not criticising, because he really helped me out, but I thought I was going to fall off the back of his bike a few times! He rode a Ninja, so I guess you develop a certain style of riding - bloody fast! Anyway, he was going to Lee, so I asked him to drop me off at the Peak Lane roundabout.

I thought there was a pay phone nearby, but couldn’t see one, so I wandered up to Tom’s house (just round the corner) - no answer. So then I knocked on Limpet’s door - again, no answer. Bugger. As I walked back down the road to find another phone box, Tom comes walking up the road. I used his phone and phoned Dad to pick me up with a fuel can. I was lucky to catch him, and as I walked out the door to meet my Dad, his driving instructor pulled up to take him on a lesson.

Dad picked me up, called me a few choice names (I think ‘tosspot’ was the preffered insult), and took me to the garage, then dropped me off at the top of the hill to walk down to the bike. Put the petrol in the bike (why is it that I can never get the pour to go straight into the hole at first attempt?), set the fuel tank selector to ‘On’ and off I went. Well, I went after waiting half an hour waiting for a decent gap in traffic to allow me to get off the grass and onto the road.

The more experienced (and observant) bikers among you should be able to predict what I’m about to say next.

That’s right, the fuel I had put into the tank was just sufficient to fill the reserve, and a tiny bit more. I pulled away fine, and got most of the way home, but at the corner of my street……….it cut out again!

This time though, it occurred to me straight away to turn it to reserve, and the bike started up fine.

So that was a charming little interlude to my afternoon! I just want to say a big thank you to Dad for helping me out (again), and particularly to Ninja Dude (whatever your name is) for helping out a total stranger.

While I was at Cub Camp, I had spoken to Tom’s parents, and had agreed to sell his mum the bike for £200 per month. The only condition on this was that it would only go ahead if I heard nothing in the way of other offers by the end of camp.

On Thursday (I think), I got a phone call:

“Hello?”

“Hi, is that Dave?”

“Yep. Who’s this?”

“It’s Dave Baglee from Paragon. Do you still have the GN125 for sale?”

“Certainly do. Has someone expressed an interest?”

“Yes, me. I have got so many people booking in for CBTs that I need another 125.”

“Cool!”

“So that £995, how much can you knock off it?”

“Errrr……well, how much would you be willing to pay for it?”

“Well….[pause]”

“I suppose I could knock the 95 off the price tag, seeing as it’s you”

“Sold!”

So there you have it. Dave popped round to Cornell’s on Tuesday afternoon, picked up the bike gave me a big wadge of cash. We signed the appropriate docs and off he went.

It is a tremendous weight off my mind. I was beginning to despair of anyone buying the bike off me. I would have sold the bike to Tom’s mum, but I was not overly keen on the whole instalments arrangement.

So….phew! Gave my dad a big wadge of cash along with the rent money this month. Still owe him £600 though. I have a few things to get onto e-bay if I ever get round to it…