....then ****ed by a Ford Fiesta.
Somewhere in North Wales........blatting through the countryside heading for the Ponderossa I see bike lights in my mirror. He’s gaining but it’s an infamous area as the Chief Constable enforces the speed limits with something approaching religious zeal, and this could be an unmarked bike Cop. I wait until I get around the next bend and gun it to see if he’s really going for it. If it’s a cop he’ll not be gaining by the time he emerges from the bend I just apexed. At the end of the next straight is a set of tight S bends and as I back off I see him closing in like an unwanted Exocet. He’s not hanging about. As I approach the esses he’s almost on me so I get round them as quick as possible while trying to make me and the bike even wider than we already are. The exit is an uphill half mile climb to the moors, as I change from second to third he eases past and continues to pull away. He’s ten bike lengths ahead as we hit the brakes for the first of half a dozen bends varying from 60 to 90mph. By the time I exit the first he’s hanging of it approaching the next lefthander. This is when I realise I’m going to have to settle for trying to stay with him and hope for traffic to impede him and give me a break. This is when it dawns on me that I’ve been meaning to swap my Prog 440s off the old bike. Bollocks! The moors road is sprinkled with challenging bends, on and off camber, and the surfaces are not ideal on most. I didn’t have much of a chance before and I’m feeling like I have even less hope now. As he slowly disappears into the distance I resign myself to trying to keep him in sight when an R1, two up, passes me on the brakes on the way in to a nice tight right-hander. I really should have been glancing in my mirrors occasionally. If I can’t keep up with him I’ll have to go home and swap the shocks right now, either that or fall on my sword in shame. He’s still able to carry a bit more speed mid corner but I’m beginning to get used to using the raised rev limits to my advantage on the straights. On a standard Rocket there’s not much to be gained from wringing its neck before changing up, but this thing pulls like an express train right up to the limiter, if you dare. After a few more bends a set of lights brings a short respite as we cruise t a halt to join the ZX9.
I make a concerted effort to keep up on the next section. They’re both on a mission and again the ZX gradually pulls away with me trailing a short distance behind the R1. At the next roundabout they both turn left, meaning they too are headed for a much needed cuppa at the Ponderossa. I regain a small measure of self respect by pulling in a second or two behind the R1. I really must change those shocks when I get back.
The journey home was fun, but uneventful, until, half a mile from home, I’m just following a Ford Fiesta around a blind right hander on a country lane, lining him up for a pass on the next straight when ****!!!!
The car in front is presented with an oncoming Nissan on our side of the road, he slams on and stops, I have nowhere to go. There’s a steep bank on my left, an oncoming Nissan on my right and a stationary Ford in front. I hit the brakes and try not to lose the front. I brace for impact. I’d managed to scrub most of the speed off but the impact resulted in me forcing the bars through about 90 degrees and trashing the right rear set with my foot. I smack my head on the fly screen and am sliding up the tank heading for his rear window. Oh BOLLOCKS.
I am relieved to find I am now sliding back down the tank and land with my feet either side of the bike. It’s dropping to the right and I all I can think is “get that bloody supercharger away from the ground you pillock”. Using the kind of strength one only has in these situations I slowly pull the bike vertical and try to remember which side the stand is on so I can get off and light a ciggy. The Nissan eases through the gap as this is happening and pisses off. Good job too or I’d be writing this from a cell. The Fiesta is driven by a student who is out of his car phoning his dad before I’ve even got the bike on the stand. I intimate that he would be better served by going back around the corner and slowing traffic down before someone comes around it and pushes my bike through the back of his car. This he does, as I seem to have a fairly serious demeanour.
Result:
Little, if any, damage to the Ford
One slightly bruised ego
Numerous aches and pains but nothing serious
A cracked front mudguard with bent brackets, clocks slightly dislodged but functioning, a trashed right rear set, and oil leaking from the supercharger.
Ah well, look on the bright side. I never did get on with the rear sets and was going to try Richard’s new ones anyway, and Nev’s clutch is on its way so it was going to be off the road for a few days for that. The supercharger can be checked out at the same time, and the forks are OK, which is a relief.
Somewhere in North Wales........blatting through the countryside heading for the Ponderossa I see bike lights in my mirror. He’s gaining but it’s an infamous area as the Chief Constable enforces the speed limits with something approaching religious zeal, and this could be an unmarked bike Cop. I wait until I get around the next bend and gun it to see if he’s really going for it. If it’s a cop he’ll not be gaining by the time he emerges from the bend I just apexed. At the end of the next straight is a set of tight S bends and as I back off I see him closing in like an unwanted Exocet. He’s not hanging about. As I approach the esses he’s almost on me so I get round them as quick as possible while trying to make me and the bike even wider than we already are. The exit is an uphill half mile climb to the moors, as I change from second to third he eases past and continues to pull away. He’s ten bike lengths ahead as we hit the brakes for the first of half a dozen bends varying from 60 to 90mph. By the time I exit the first he’s hanging of it approaching the next lefthander. This is when I realise I’m going to have to settle for trying to stay with him and hope for traffic to impede him and give me a break. This is when it dawns on me that I’ve been meaning to swap my Prog 440s off the old bike. Bollocks! The moors road is sprinkled with challenging bends, on and off camber, and the surfaces are not ideal on most. I didn’t have much of a chance before and I’m feeling like I have even less hope now. As he slowly disappears into the distance I resign myself to trying to keep him in sight when an R1, two up, passes me on the brakes on the way in to a nice tight right-hander. I really should have been glancing in my mirrors occasionally. If I can’t keep up with him I’ll have to go home and swap the shocks right now, either that or fall on my sword in shame. He’s still able to carry a bit more speed mid corner but I’m beginning to get used to using the raised rev limits to my advantage on the straights. On a standard Rocket there’s not much to be gained from wringing its neck before changing up, but this thing pulls like an express train right up to the limiter, if you dare. After a few more bends a set of lights brings a short respite as we cruise t a halt to join the ZX9.
I make a concerted effort to keep up on the next section. They’re both on a mission and again the ZX gradually pulls away with me trailing a short distance behind the R1. At the next roundabout they both turn left, meaning they too are headed for a much needed cuppa at the Ponderossa. I regain a small measure of self respect by pulling in a second or two behind the R1. I really must change those shocks when I get back.
The journey home was fun, but uneventful, until, half a mile from home, I’m just following a Ford Fiesta around a blind right hander on a country lane, lining him up for a pass on the next straight when ****!!!!
The car in front is presented with an oncoming Nissan on our side of the road, he slams on and stops, I have nowhere to go. There’s a steep bank on my left, an oncoming Nissan on my right and a stationary Ford in front. I hit the brakes and try not to lose the front. I brace for impact. I’d managed to scrub most of the speed off but the impact resulted in me forcing the bars through about 90 degrees and trashing the right rear set with my foot. I smack my head on the fly screen and am sliding up the tank heading for his rear window. Oh BOLLOCKS.
I am relieved to find I am now sliding back down the tank and land with my feet either side of the bike. It’s dropping to the right and I all I can think is “get that bloody supercharger away from the ground you pillock”. Using the kind of strength one only has in these situations I slowly pull the bike vertical and try to remember which side the stand is on so I can get off and light a ciggy. The Nissan eases through the gap as this is happening and pisses off. Good job too or I’d be writing this from a cell. The Fiesta is driven by a student who is out of his car phoning his dad before I’ve even got the bike on the stand. I intimate that he would be better served by going back around the corner and slowing traffic down before someone comes around it and pushes my bike through the back of his car. This he does, as I seem to have a fairly serious demeanour.
Result:
Little, if any, damage to the Ford
One slightly bruised ego
Numerous aches and pains but nothing serious
A cracked front mudguard with bent brackets, clocks slightly dislodged but functioning, a trashed right rear set, and oil leaking from the supercharger.
Ah well, look on the bright side. I never did get on with the rear sets and was going to try Richard’s new ones anyway, and Nev’s clutch is on its way so it was going to be off the road for a few days for that. The supercharger can be checked out at the same time, and the forks are OK, which is a relief.
