Firstly, please be mindful of the fact that I sell copious amounts of alcohol for a living and, even recreationally, can barely tell the difference between a socket wrench and an Allen key.
Secondly, I'm an idiot. I had calculated the route to TTS on Autoroute and had thought it said 2h 5min, on the day I realised it was 2h 55min. Dave, who I'd met briefly once or twice at UK Owners Club runs, offered to give me a lift down. He was due to be at mine at 1pm. After visiting Leigh (yes mate, I blame you) he duly arrived about 2.15. Edd had decided to join us (another co-conspirator from the UK Owners Club) along with his Sat Nav. They informed me we would be met by Steve (ditto UKOC) at the last services on the M1 before we reached TTS. In all the rush I had neglected to calculate (coz I'm an idiot) what time I'd be riding back. So we set of with me wearing a T shirt, decent gloves, leather Flying Jacket (bought in NY on my last visit) and jeans. No leather trousers, no over-trousers, no thermals and obviously no brains. Did I mention I'm an idiot?
Thirdly, I'm a stupid idiot. I'd also neglected to realise that I'm a twenty one stone (294lbs), 5'10" fat fecker with a 33 inch inside leg, who's never been on the back of a Rocket (or anything else for twenty five years). Half way down I'm getting uncomfortable. I'm cold and cramped. I desperately need a fag (that's a cigarette before you lot even start) and after three abortive attempts to light one in traffic passing Birmingham on the M6, I give up and resign myself to waiting until we reach Watford Gap (infamous services on the M1 where we're meeting Steve). Here we meet Steve and I have two cigs, Dave takes a leak and comes back with a bag of crisps for each of us (don't tell the R3OC we don't know how to live it up). I ring Richard to tell him where we are, he says we're half an hour from him but he has to leave work at 5.50pm and it's now approaching 5pm. So Edd punches Richard's Post Code (that's ZIP Code to our colonial cousins) into his Sat Nav and we set off, missing the first junction we come to coz it confuses Edd by having a service area in addition to a junction. So we go to the next junction and turn around and get off at the right junction. We eventually get to Richard's at 5.45pm. after getting lost one more time, which wasn't Edd's fault this time.
Richard greets us with the immortal words "well you got 'ere then". Richard and I then have a deep discussion about MAP and O2 sensors, fuelling, dyno results and Hombre's experiences, whereupon I try to make all the right noises and avoid sounding like the complete numpty I so obviously am. Whilst I'm upstairs signing the necessary the enterage are having their photos taken on me bike.
So I picked the bike up the bike at 6pm and rode 2 minutes before running out of fuel. I centred myself (I ignored my inner child, who wanted to kill something) before ringing Richard to inform him of my situation. We all remained calm and thanked our lucky stars that Leigh had not joined us, as he would undoubtedly have been baying for blood at this point. A short while later Richard appeared with the necessary, obviously blaming an employee. Just like I would, given the circumstances. You really don't want to take the blame when stuck on a lonely country road with a bunch of northerners.
So we trundled off and filled up at the recommended filling station and headed up the M1. My partners in crime were off to Yorkshire and the surrounding environs, so I dutifully passed Edd like he was standing still and headed Northwest.
After an hour I was on the M6 Toll road and freezing my nuts off. I stopped for a hot meal and a cuppa. Once my brain had recovered its temperature I realised the only way I could get home in one piece was to buy a pair of tights and a newspaper. I used said additions in the way God intended, i. e. I put the tights on and used the newspaper to insulate meself.
Anyway, I was supposed to be reporting on how the bike was........
I was prepared for this thing to be fast, I wasn't prepared for it to be so well mannered when you need to take it easy in crap conditions. It is less snatchy when coming on and off the throttle at low revs than my standard one with just CAT delete and ToRs. It's so smooooooth. No drama, no temperamental, prima donna type "I'm highly strung and you'll have to pay for it" nonsense. It may seem faintly ridiculous to buy a bike like this and rave about how easy it is to ride carefully, but we don't all live in Florida and So Cal. Sometimes it pays to take it easy. Then I got a stretch of clear motorway. Opening the throttle at 90mph in top it took off like it was in first away from the lights. Man that was fun. I've never experienced anything with the power this thing has. Backed off again and pottered home at 90.
More details to follow when conditions improve and I've had a chance to go out and play silly beggars with the local squids.
Secondly, I'm an idiot. I had calculated the route to TTS on Autoroute and had thought it said 2h 5min, on the day I realised it was 2h 55min. Dave, who I'd met briefly once or twice at UK Owners Club runs, offered to give me a lift down. He was due to be at mine at 1pm. After visiting Leigh (yes mate, I blame you) he duly arrived about 2.15. Edd had decided to join us (another co-conspirator from the UK Owners Club) along with his Sat Nav. They informed me we would be met by Steve (ditto UKOC) at the last services on the M1 before we reached TTS. In all the rush I had neglected to calculate (coz I'm an idiot) what time I'd be riding back. So we set of with me wearing a T shirt, decent gloves, leather Flying Jacket (bought in NY on my last visit) and jeans. No leather trousers, no over-trousers, no thermals and obviously no brains. Did I mention I'm an idiot?
Thirdly, I'm a stupid idiot. I'd also neglected to realise that I'm a twenty one stone (294lbs), 5'10" fat fecker with a 33 inch inside leg, who's never been on the back of a Rocket (or anything else for twenty five years). Half way down I'm getting uncomfortable. I'm cold and cramped. I desperately need a fag (that's a cigarette before you lot even start) and after three abortive attempts to light one in traffic passing Birmingham on the M6, I give up and resign myself to waiting until we reach Watford Gap (infamous services on the M1 where we're meeting Steve). Here we meet Steve and I have two cigs, Dave takes a leak and comes back with a bag of crisps for each of us (don't tell the R3OC we don't know how to live it up). I ring Richard to tell him where we are, he says we're half an hour from him but he has to leave work at 5.50pm and it's now approaching 5pm. So Edd punches Richard's Post Code (that's ZIP Code to our colonial cousins) into his Sat Nav and we set off, missing the first junction we come to coz it confuses Edd by having a service area in addition to a junction. So we go to the next junction and turn around and get off at the right junction. We eventually get to Richard's at 5.45pm. after getting lost one more time, which wasn't Edd's fault this time.
Richard greets us with the immortal words "well you got 'ere then". Richard and I then have a deep discussion about MAP and O2 sensors, fuelling, dyno results and Hombre's experiences, whereupon I try to make all the right noises and avoid sounding like the complete numpty I so obviously am. Whilst I'm upstairs signing the necessary the enterage are having their photos taken on me bike.
So I picked the bike up the bike at 6pm and rode 2 minutes before running out of fuel. I centred myself (I ignored my inner child, who wanted to kill something) before ringing Richard to inform him of my situation. We all remained calm and thanked our lucky stars that Leigh had not joined us, as he would undoubtedly have been baying for blood at this point. A short while later Richard appeared with the necessary, obviously blaming an employee. Just like I would, given the circumstances. You really don't want to take the blame when stuck on a lonely country road with a bunch of northerners.
So we trundled off and filled up at the recommended filling station and headed up the M1. My partners in crime were off to Yorkshire and the surrounding environs, so I dutifully passed Edd like he was standing still and headed Northwest.
After an hour I was on the M6 Toll road and freezing my nuts off. I stopped for a hot meal and a cuppa. Once my brain had recovered its temperature I realised the only way I could get home in one piece was to buy a pair of tights and a newspaper. I used said additions in the way God intended, i. e. I put the tights on and used the newspaper to insulate meself.
Anyway, I was supposed to be reporting on how the bike was........
I was prepared for this thing to be fast, I wasn't prepared for it to be so well mannered when you need to take it easy in crap conditions. It is less snatchy when coming on and off the throttle at low revs than my standard one with just CAT delete and ToRs. It's so smooooooth. No drama, no temperamental, prima donna type "I'm highly strung and you'll have to pay for it" nonsense. It may seem faintly ridiculous to buy a bike like this and rave about how easy it is to ride carefully, but we don't all live in Florida and So Cal. Sometimes it pays to take it easy. Then I got a stretch of clear motorway. Opening the throttle at 90mph in top it took off like it was in first away from the lights. Man that was fun. I've never experienced anything with the power this thing has. Backed off again and pottered home at 90.
More details to follow when conditions improve and I've had a chance to go out and play silly beggars with the local squids.
