The truth is out there

As many of you will know, Weston's Grand Pier burned down a couple of years ago and the cause of the fire had local people gossiping. Well Carol and Rich found footage of what caused it to happen.

You saw it here first folks. 

WTF! Two wheels, pedals and a sun lounger!

There is a time when art and engineering combine into making a beautiful machine and then there are times when humour and engineering combine to make something that just forces the artists to laugh!

Firstly before we get into this story there are a couple of people I need to mention. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Biker Rock Radio DJ and fabulous Welder, Mr G. It was Mr G who has spent several hours of his time making this ludicrous machine for me. I also owe a debt of thanks to our friend Wayne who made the frame for Death Trap Mark One, a frame that sadly caused me to crash on the first ride!

So ladies and gentlemen, I now present Death Trap Mark Three!

It lives, my creation lives!

It even goes up hill!

The science behind this is simple; a recumbent bicycle is a very efficient way of propelling a human being around under their own power. They are more aerodynamic than a conventional bike and when covered with a full fairing can speed along at some very impressive speeds for a pedal powered machine. However you wont see that many of them in the mainstream for two reasons. Firstly learning how to ride one of these takes some doing and secondly, the officials who run cycle racing banned them from competitive use!

This machine is my attempt to get back into cycling because following some pretty heavy duty medical treatment, I am no longer able to ride my precious mountain bike as much as I would like. Because of this lack of cycling I have been stuck on motorbikes (which I love) or being a pedestrian (which I really do not enjoy).

We still have a couple of small issue to sort out, the front wheel has a speed wobble that makes the whole bike feel terribly unstable on sweeping corners and my cheap trainers slip off the pedals really badly. However, riding it is a riot and had me in fits of giggles. 

Going down hill!

Gareth the builder having a go.

Getting started is the hardest bit.

Death Trap Mark Three is on the road folks, so look out for us!

A list of thanks to the people who have helped by providing old bikes that I can chop up for spares.

Gareth the Welder.

Wayne the Motorcycle engineer.

Alex for giving me his push bike.

Pete at Bicycle Chain.

Steve and Sue at Bridge Motor Works.

Various People who have donated bikes.

Carol for ferrying me about to pick up bits and for bringing the bike home on top of her car.

"This is easy!" Two seconds before she fell off.

If anyone would like any welding work doing, Gareth is available and can weld almost anything. Do get in touch and I can pass his details on.

Bath or Bust (buggered bits permitted)

I am sure that you know this truth for yourselves, there is a point in your life when you have the glorious summer, it is a time in your life that can never be repeated or bettered in terms of the things that you do to excess. 

The summer of 1996 was the summer that would really be the end of my childhood, despite my actually being in my twenties. I had spent the summer holiday pursuing my glorious hobbies of climbing and mountain biking, while also getting to know a group of friends who were about to become so precious to me that even now, I will never ever forget them. By the end of the summer of 1997, my degree had come to an end and I was forced (sulking and swearing) into the adult world and a very poor show I made of it too.

As I sit here at the end of 2012, it feels like a very long time has passed since that glorious summer of 1996 and the spring of 1997. Yet when a link to 1997 suddenly reopened, I could not let it pass by unremarked or unvisited. Looking back at who I was then, I cannot help but feel that I was so terribly young, so blatantly naïve and still so innocent of life. I am not in any way saddened by this, although at a push I may admit that I miss the carefree nature of it all, but where I am now is a life of greater experience and with so much less sadness. So where is this rambling introduction to a curious adventure leading you may well ask?

Ahh, the memories of warm dry days.

From out of no where came the messenger on winged feet who stated boldly that HE was back, my dear old friend, my climbing companion, my tandem stoker and my teacher. The emblematic Dr Livingstone as it were, the man who vanished, the man who taught me about my inner strength and my having the courage to do the things that scared me and not just the dangerous sports. So the chance to meet up with a most dear friend could not simply be missed and Carol and I made our way to see him and enjoy a moment of his delicate company, his witty word play and his compelling stories of daring. After an evening of reminiscing over the old times shared and talk of new and curious adventures undertaken since, we ended our evening and wished each other well and more new exciting adventures to come. As we parted again, I never expected to see my friend again and I truly was somewhat saddened.

A short while later, I was informed that Mr Mysterious was once again in the beautiful hell that is Bath and that he would love to meet us for a coffee and a natter. To do so would mean a trip to Bath via motorcycle though given that Carol was at work during the week and could not take the time from her day to drive me there. So my friend and I agreed on a time to meet on that Thursday morning. Before leaving my warm and comfortable home I swallowed enough pain killers to keep my shoulder suitably mellow, I slowly and rather painfully donned my bike leathers and the water proof outers and then got my precious Sylvie out of the garage. Being the powerful warrior woman that I am, I was going to see my friend no matter what and if things got too nasty, I had my TENS machine in my handbag!

Sadly, Thursday morning dawned with rain, the persistent heavy rain and dark clouds of winter, but at least it was warm. Freezing rain is not great for riding motorcycles whether you are broken or not. So with a full tank of fuel and my engine purring I made my way through the rain on worryingly slippery roads and from deep with in came the sort of smile that only an adventurer can understand. Riding in the rain is not horrible if you are warm. Warm and dry is preferable, but warm and wet will do. Cold and wet though is dangerous and at speed on a bike, the cold wind can quickly suck the heat from your body. I though had the pleasure of not only riding through the rain while staying not only warm and dry, but also of being comfortable and almost pain free.

My first stop was just passed Churchill when I had to pull over for a short rest for a few minutes, fighting the bike along the soaked busy town roads that had the rainbow of spilled diesel across them had made my shoulder ache rather unpleasantly and taking five minutes out helped to ease that pain. What I did not know though was that from Churchill, the roads were about to become somewhat more epic and I can say now that with hindsight, it was an adventure that I will treasure for many years to come.

The road from Churchill to Bath goes through the Mendips and is surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery that Somerset has to offer, the cloud clung to the hill sides like avenging wraiths, smoky claws dropping down into the gullies. The fields ran with sediment heavy, wood stain brown water, looking more like a winter marsh than the baked grazing land that they had been in 1997. My speed was steady, I was not blasting along, but I was making steadfast progress in a manner that the conditions safely allowed. The tyres on my bike held a constant firm grip on the road no matter what the rising waters could leave behind as their evidential detritus trail of naughtiness. So if you want to try a truly fantastic tyre for all conditions, give some thought to ContiMotions by Continental, they really are very, very impressive.

I passed the turning for Burrington Combe and the road conditions grew even more treacherous, the metal drain covers at the side of the road puked forth thick dark water rather than swallowing it down and a steady river of water was starting to flow down the side of the road. My concentration was held fast as I slipped into that state that experience climbers know well, a stillness of the soul and the absolute awareness of what you are doing. I have only felt this feeling when I have been involved in either complex technical climbing or when painting delicate works of art. For me, the rest of the world vanishes and all that matters is the task being undertaken, it is like a level of deep thought, a place where the brain is so at peace with what is being done that it ignores everything that is not relevant at that moment. It is the complete submersion into the moment and I love that feeling because at that moment, I am not a rider on a motorcycle. I am instead the machine. The engine is my heart and its pulse is my pulse.

The roads conditions continued to deteriorate when a steady trickle of gravel began running down the middle of each lane being carried by the water from the hills above. The streams at the side of the road had become torrents and ahead of me approaching at speed was a large delivery lorry. I saw the wall of water rise up as the truck rushed through the flood with an urgency known only to delivery drivers on a deadline. The water was a foot deep and I approached this ford across the road with trepidation, my speed reduced to a level that I felt comfortable with and yet not so slow that I would stall if the water proved too deep for my nerves. The steam from the sudden emersion of my exhaust pipe and the resultant hiss were most gratifying, but what was more pleasing was the realisation that I was no longer afraid of riding in floods. In 2008, I crashed a training bike while traversing such a flood and have never forgotten the feeling of fear as the bike failed to follow my lead and instead careered almost unguided into the back of my instructor’s bike.

My next flood was even deeper and it covered both sides of the road for some distance, the grin on my face was suddenly and viciously wiped off though when a large van sped through from the other way and the wall of water hit me in the chest with the force of a punch. The impact on my helmet threw my head back and yet my Sylvie just carried on unflinching of such dangers. The road could have held nothing but dry tarmac for her, given the relaxed feeling she gave at the handle bars. My precious Suzuki SV650 just continues to inspire and impress me and for all of her subtle quirks she is a truly magnificent machine.

From that point the road developed into a series of sweeping S bends so deluged that I pondered the need for a jet ski. Yet with every rain soaked and water washed curve, the absolute involvement with the activity grew within me and left me hungry for the next perilous curve until once again I was the morph of woman and machine. My tempered, swift and even relentless little bike swept through every corner as if she were a train on rails, through the floods and muddy puddles that occasionally came up to her engine cases and which would erupt a cloud of violently hissing steam as it ran over the hot exhaust pipe. Finally and with a little sadness that my journey was over, I passed through the village of Corston and then past the entrance to my former place of study, Bath Spa University. From there is was a quick blast down the duel carriage way, a trip I remember doing on a bike once before with another dear friend. I was a pillion upon his recently rebuilt CB750 and what a fine machine it had been.

Sylvie simply and capably danced along the miles, the biggest limitation to her that day had as always been me, crippled as I was by shoulder and other forms of pain. Given how well she handled the bad weather and even how well she handled the snow only a couple of years ago, I would happily say that she is one of the finest road bikes out there, her light weight and impeccable road manners make her a constant joy to live with and yet at a moments notice there comes forth the sharp little demon horns and she lets out the hooligan from with in that furious little heart of an engine. My SV650 is more than just a plain commuter bike, she has soul and passion under that insectile fairing and I can honestly say that I love my bike.

As for Mr Mysterious, well that is a story for another day.

Back in the days before they invented colour.

Today is national Day of the Arse Hole!

Today I shall proclaim to be the “Day of the Arse Hole”, this is why.

My day started in probably the most lovely way, I was snuggled up in bed with my darling wifey Carol and my cat Jasper was snuggled up into me, a perfectly blissful way to start a day if you ask me.

However, I needed to pop out on the bike to get some supplies and pop into the chemist to collect a new nasal spray to combat my dust allergy. Outside it was glorious, the Day Star was bright in the sky, there was not a cloud to be seen. I live at the sea side…

The roads were chock-a-block with traffic, bleached idiots wandered the pavements slowly turning red in the heat, the pavements are swarming with the proles, enjoying the first days of summer. This very time last year, our streets were covered in ice, how the summer continues from here I have no idea!

Once I had safely negotiated the clogged roads and made it to the super market I bought my supplies and headed over to the pharmacy to get my nose spray. From here it got progressively more difficult. I asked for a generic allergy nasal spray, similar to Beckinase. Because I happened to mention that one by brand they refused to sell me the other type, despite it being four pounds cheaper and almost identical. An argument ensued and came about because the woman serving behind the counter at the ASDA Pharmacy did not understand what Generic meant! As I argued, a large Boned (read obese, fat, chubby or grotesque!) woman pushed me, declaring that given that the woman was serving that bloke, meaning me, she wanted to be served too!

I left in disgust… only to find that some Fuck Nugget had pushed a trolley into Sylvie, putting a small scratch on the fairing and another on the clutch cover. At this point I boiled over and shouted to the trolley boy, demanding his immediate attention. I asked him if he had seen anything, but he was not able to say anything of use, a very angry, rather intimidating biker woman dressed in black biker gear and brandishing a trolley of shopping is a scary sight it seems!

The lad lead me to the security station on ASDA where I spoke to the chap behind the counter, only to be told that the security cameras in ASDA Weston Super Mare are blinded by the sun in Summer and are unable to see that side of the car park, so do remember that should any of you wish to practice breaking into cars and removing radios!

I steamed out of ASDA and packed my shopping into my seat pack and set off to Boots in Worle for my nasal spray. The roads were starting to flow and my pace picked up to almost touching the speed limit and I was starting to enjoy my day again. Yet for every moment of joy there is a moment when a pillock in a car likes to get in the way. While trying to change lanes, my indicators flashing, a git in a car decided that he did not want me in front of him. Well tough luck matey, a blip of the throttle and I was three cars ahead and managed to squeeze in there, before turning into the roundabout for Boots.

Coming off the smaller roundabout, and banked over to enter the car park, a young woman decided to stop dead in front of me. Fortunately I was not going fast, but the bike was leaned over, never a good angle to try braking hard. She had stopped because she had spotted another parked car and she was looking at it. She then drove past it and stopped again behind another parked car. Strangely there were plenty of spaces all around her!

I parked up and wandered into Boots and got my spray, my sneezes were now getting bloody, but that is the downside of a dist allergy. From there it was a simple ride back home, well it should be, but with the Day Star burning so brightly, idiots flock to the coast to wade in the faecal Coliforms, radiation and chemical waste that is the Bristol Channel.

Firstly as I passed by McDonalds, a large bus watched the car in front of me pass by, before pulling out right in front of me! Damn glad that Sylvie’s brakes work so well. The speed limit along there is forty Miles per hour and I was cruising at thirty five. I managed to get past the bus and was then on the open road again, I let out a loud sigh, the road was perfect, the tarmac Sylvie’s tyres were working together like they were for a GP race. Even at Forty, she feels like a poised and delicate hooligan. I love riding my bike.

I turned onto the Toll road, heading back home and up ahead was a large Landrover moving slowly along the road. I pulled over to let him pass and as he did, the Gentleman driving nodded and waved thanks. I started to pull away and had just got my foot back onto the peg when a lad in a green car hurtled around the corner on my side of the road and nearly collided with me and Sylvie. He braked hard and swung over towards to slow moving Landrover that was a few meters behind me. How he did not hit it, I just don’t know. That speed in narrow country lanes is idiocy!

Approaching the Toll road proper, another lad in a pale green car was driving “safely”. He was in a thirty limit driving at seventeen miles per hour and then as I approached him from the rear, he slowed down to fifteen and then stopped to give way to a car in the distance. The approaching car had to speed up to make the gap with out making every one wait for ages, but slid through, our young lad then pulled away and began to trundle onto the Toll road. The speed limit here is twenty five milers per hour, because the road can be treacherous with steep cliffs that people can drive off and die when they hit the bottom or the sea. Driving down here at less than fifteen miles per hour is taking it a little too seriously. Sylvie jumped past as soon as it was safe for us to go and we enjoyed the glorious countryside.

Finally on the home straight, less than two hundred meters from home, a Guy driving a large Range Rover pulls out in front of me, while not even looking. I know this road well and I know that it is rutted and potholed, so I was going steady, but still enough that I could get home with out getting off and pushing! I hooted my horn and the guy looked right at me, giving me the gentle wave of “oops, sorry didn’t see you mate!”.

I parked Sylvie and dismounted, the Range Rover, slid passed and I got another wave.

Today is a day when I should have stayed at home, tucked up in my bed with my darling wife and my lovely cat. Wont be making that mistake again…

Do you remember your first time?

It felt slightly dirty, a little bit taboo and then it made me squeal with ecstasy, the chap who took my cherry chatted to me for a while as the heat of excitement dissipated and then we did it again. 

Yeah, my first ever ride on a bike was with a dear friend of mine on the back of his CB250 Super Dream. The bike was slow, heavy and under powered, but it was a bike and we were free to ride where ever we wanted. We clocked up hundreds of miles and even attended a rally together. That was nearly twenty years ago and I had forgotten about it until very recently.

What reminded me was something that happened to me on Friday, or rather happened to some one else with me. I was working in a small town near Bristol and took a ride over on the SV due to the Yam still being a paper weight in the garage.

The support worker I was teamed with on this day was a young woman called Rosie, just into her twenties and she is lovely, very gentle and brilliant with our lad. However, upon telling her that I was going to offer her a lift home, she squealed and danced around the house, which made our lad smile and laugh, before giving her a hug.

So at the end of our day, having enjoyed some great art and even some cooking, Rosie started to get ready to go. I gave her some spare gear that I had brought with me, which only just fitted her due to me being tall and chubby and her being shorter and a lot thinner, the joy of age and then we were ready to go.

Now I am not averse to nubile young women holding onto me, but I will admit that this was cool for a different reason. She giggled and laughed as she got comfortable on the pillion pad before I pressed the go buttons. I swear to you that she screamed all the way down the drive way and giggled all the way to the first turn. I was being very gentle and was giving her time to get used to how a bike feels. All I could hear was excited giggling as we gently headed up the road.

Our first stop was where she phoned the home of her next client. she told them to look out for her on my bike. The client was not amused, she wanted a go on the bike too! So we headed off into the hills and made our way to the clients house. At one point we entered a section of road that has national speed limit signs and the car in front of us was travelling at barely 40. It just required a little over take and so I nipped out and back in again making progress past the slow moving car. My friend on the back was giggling and whooping as we ambled past.

Finally we arrived at the clients house, a young woman who we both know well and really enjoy working with. Technically I was finished for the day, Rosie was about to start a night shift, but just going back home seemed boring. Our clients was a little jealous of Rosie because she has been desperate for a ride on the bike ever since she first met me, how could I refuse?

Working with adults who have learning difficulties and physical disabilities is both very challenging and very rewarding work, but it is work I really enjoy. My friend and I helped our client put on her bike gear and checked her new helmet before going outside and starting the bike. She climbed on the back and we both made sure that she knew how to tell me to stop if she needed to get off. Then I pulled away and very gently performed a full circle on the road outside her house, thank the town planner for the extra wide vehicle turning area.

My new pillion hugged me tightly from behind and was looking over my right shoulder to see where we were going, I knew that she was a little scared, but she would never show it to her housemate or us support workers. So at gentle pace we set off for a short ride around town. She loved it. As we were coming home and coming across the motorway fly over, we watched a black unmarked Police Car, come racing up the slip way with blue flashing lights and tare off in pursuit of a badly driven Landrover Disco!

Once back home our client jumped off, she was in a completely different mood to the quiet, with drawn mood that we found her in. Her face was all smiles, she was bouncing along and filled with joy, just like my friend Rosie. Two very different women, with very different places in the world, now joined in a common experience of adventure.

Rosie will be having a lift again when we work together next, she loved the bike and maybe one day she will get a bike of her own. Our client though is another story, she will never be allowed to ride her own bike on the roads due to her disability, but I do not see why this should stop her having fun. So once we hit summer and the local bike nights start up again, I will be picking her up and bringing her over, so she can have a proper ride out, she can see lots of other bikes and she can meet other bikers. I know that she wants to do this and I know that she is hugely excited by the idea.

Damn, I love my job and I love riding my bike, I love it even more when the two things are combined. So folks, if any of you happen to bump into me at a bike event and I have a young woman in my care, don't be shy or dismissive of her because of her disability, she is just as much a biker as the rest of us.

Grab your Bra and Run!

We got a message last night from Matt, the local Motag Instructor and good guy to ask if Carol and I were interested in taking part in the Bra Run today. Now this sounded like a lot of fun to us, (before you ask, it is charity motorbike ride out to raise money for Breast Cancer research, not a run along the beach in our underwear!), so we got the bikes ready and I strapped Declan my Cradle of Filth loving teddy bear to back of Sylvie and Carol mounted her camera and a cuddly ape to the back seat of Agnes, before retiring to bed for an early night.

Then bright and early this morning we got up and got ready for a ride out on the bikes, which basically involved putting on some lovely lingerie under our riding kit and grabbing the rucksack I had packed last night. However, when we stopped for fuel on the way to the motorway, I discovered that I had lost my purse and had a fifteen mile round trip back home to find it. It had fallen out of my back pack and was under my desk, not the best start to the day. I also badly needed a wee, so had a quick break once back home before blasting back to Carol at the garage.

Just made it back in time to start!

Once back with Carol, we made our way onto the motorway and headed to Bridgewater, which I cannot describe as a nice place to visit if I am completely honest. I once lived in Bridgewater in 1983 and hated the place so much, I vowed never to return. It is a shit hole. However, once in Bridgewater we had to find the bike shop where the Bra Run was staring from. I had not even parked up when I was off on my own to find a Cash point machine and a toilet, because strangely I was bursting for a wee again, which is most unlike me. Unfortunately, Bridgewater is in the middle of some pretty complicated road works and is currently full of diversions and redirections, which meant that I got horribly lost, but eventually found Morrisons and used both their Cash point and then their toilet! I then had to find my way back to the bike shop and after a series of random turns and blatant disregard for common sense, found myself back on the A38. I pulled up at a traffic light and feeling totally lost, asked a lovely lady driver how to find the bike shop. It turns out I was less than five hundred metres away!

When bike parks 1 and 2 filled up that only left the warehouse!

I made it back just in time for the briefing for the ride out, where the leader promised to keep everyone together and told us the basic idea of the route with involved “going where we went last year!” Oh dear, this was our first time at the event… But with a smile and a spring in our step, we headed to the bikes and geared back up ready for the ride out. This was my first time riding in a pack and I quickly discovered that much to my surprise, I was not the least able rider in the group. I was forced to over take a couple on a sports bike who were travelling much slower than the rest of the group and eventually pulled up behind a blonde lass who was riding a green Kawasaki. Just behind me and grinning in my mirrors was my beautiful Carol riding Agnes, we were on the way and gladly leaving Bridgewater behind. Only I needed a wee again.

The road we took was following the A38, back towards Weston and Cheddar and pretty soon we were blasting along and filling the road way with Bikes. Sylvie felt nimble and light, smooth power flowing her into and out from every corner, she was a delight to ride. In my mirrors was Carol, smiling as she rode along on Agnes, cool purposeful and holding her own with the much bigger sports bikes in the group. She may only be a thirty year old, 400cc cruiser, but Carol is able to ride her like she is a modern sports bike and she flowed along the road like a train on rails. I was starting to really need that wee.

We passed through Churchhil and then on through Burrington Combe, the surroundings were beautiful and wild looking, the road was twisty and filled with bikes as far forward and as far back as I could see. The miles slowly ticked by and we got closer to Cheddar, I was nearly bursting and then at last we entered Cheddar Gorge and began the winding ascent to the pass before the drop down through the gorge. This place is the road that every UK rider should do at least once, it is beautiful and winding and the scenery is spectacular. Climbers worked problems on the crags as we passed by and walkers stood on the road side in awe as hundreds of bikes flowed past. I was teeth clenched and desperate for the toilet stop!

The hill down into Cheddar village is actually quite steep and has the occasionally sharp corner that must be taken carefully, today though, the streets were also filled with people cheering and clapping as hundreds of bikes rode past waving or hooting their horns, it was a wonderful feeling to be a part of it, but thankfully at the bottom of the hill is a public toilet and I was able to make a much needed stop! However once back on the bike, it quickly became apparent that despite the speed we had taken over our brief stop, the pack had left us behind and we had to play catch up to find the way home again. Sadly we were not alone and a small group of us led by Carol made our way back to Bridgewater. It soon became apparent though that the pack had taken a different route to us and we lost them altogether and just blasted along the roads, Carol leading us with her amazing sense of direction. Then just before Bridgewater, we caught the back markers of the group and followed in to the town centre and the bike shop once more.

My trip for the day read one hundred and three miles and my back side said a lot more. The strangest sensation though was in my right wrist, since changing the bars over, the front brake lever has been quite firm in its pull and after seventy miles, I found it to be quite hard work to apply the front brake. In the end, I was forced to rely upon the rear brake and careful use of the road until I could ask Carol to have a look at it for me. It turns out that the lever was set all the way out, for some one with much larger hands than me, I had not adjusted it correctly when setting it up, but today was a great day to iron out small issues. I also badly needed a wee again.

The ride back home was wonderful, Carol had adjusted the brake lever for me and it fell perfectly into my hand, it did not hurt to pull the lever and my wrist had also stopped hurting. The same could not be said of my bottom though, but even Carol could not fix that! We pulled up outside the garage and parked the bikes. Today had been a mixed day of silly mistakes, brilliant riding, a numb bum and finding out where every toilet in the local area is. All I have to do now is sow my new patch on to my bike jacket.

Thanks to Matt for bringing the event to our attention, the event raised over £700 for Breast Cancer research and was worth while just for that alone, however as an experience, it was one I am glad that I had. I must say though, thank you to Carol for looking after me, for fixing my bike and being an all round lovely lass, she looked great in her Lingerie, under her leathers! 

Bristol Pride, a day of not being a minority!

I wish that I could tell you that it had been a glorious sunny day, but it wasn’t. I wish I could tell that the day stayed dry and bright, but it did not. I am going to tell you though just how much fun I had at Bristol Pride and watching the wife’s band Oestrogenix rock the stage in the Trans Tent.

The day started for me at about half past seven in the morning. Carol was long gone having to be at the Park for eight with the trailer and kit, so I had a nice lay in and awoke bright and early feeling all excited. Pulling on my favourite Marduk shirt and my bike trousers, I got ready for a fast as fuck trip to Bristol on Sylvie, our loveable Suzuki SV650S.

Traffic was light to start with in Weston, but the M5 was a little clogged with holiday traffic and the going was slow up until I got past Clevedon, from here it was a blast to Avonmouth and the turn off for Bristol. Having taken this road before when I went for the crappy job interview in Bristol with the scam company, I knew where I was going and before long I was blasting past my old playground in Avon Gorge. No climbers today though because the rock was greasy and damp. Carol had kindly produced a map for me for when I got close to Pride, which I only had to consult once and that was only because I was unsure about a junction. Turns out I should have followed my nose, because Pride was just around the corner.

Now in case you do not know and this may be news to some of you, there is a reason why I was going to Bristol Pride. You see, technically, when one woman is in love with another woman, they are called lesbians. Lesbians are a part of the LGBT community. LGBT is the grouping that includes, but is not limited to Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people. Also often known as Dykes, Fags, Poofs and Trannies. However, if you are a part of this spectrum of people, you will know that these words are more often spat with hate rather than spoken to us. Pride is about people like us saying loudly and Proudly, I am Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender and there is nothing bad about it. Fuck it; at Pride it is the straight “ordinary” folk who are in the minority and I have to be honest, given some the straight “normal” folk I have met, I will gladly take a field of dykes any day.

Pride is an important aspect of Homosexual and Transgender life, with out the People who started Pride, there are many of us who would still live in fear, persecuted by the law for simply being what comes naturally to us. I would say with conviction that the Pride movement has given us greater rights and respect from an otherwise judgemental society. For this reason, Pride gets our support.

So I pull up in the bike park and take all of Sylvie’s locks out of my seat pack.

• Yellow Oxford Disklock
• Black D-Lock
• Black Magnum Disklock and Chain

One disk lock for each wheel, a heavy duty armoured chain and a D-lock through the forks, just to make things difficult. Any thief that can get through this lot, the steering lock and the alarm is damn clever and should be employed by the lock companies to show them how it is done. Giving her a see you later pat, I headed off to the still setting up Pride event and to find Carol.

Oestrogenix had been invited to play in the Trans Tent by the Western Boys, a group that offers friendship, support and advice to a group of ordinary men. Men who happen to have been born with the wrong genitals. Trans Men have a tough time of it, they are often short, look soft and gentle despite beards and crew cuts and have to endure some horribly cruel tricks played on them by Mother Nature. Trans women have similar if opposite issues. We are often tall, well built and muscular and fuck me is it painful having a face full of beard burned out with a laser and electrolysis needle. Next time you are out with your mates and you see a trans person, be fucking polite. They have endured more than you will ever know just to be where they are stood at that moment. If you can’t be polite, then shut the fuck up and don’t stare, it is rude and quite often, they already feel self conscious enough with out your input. Trust me, I have been there. Yeah, I am angry, but then I lost a job I loved due to transphobic prejudice. This is why Pride is so important.

The stage in the Trans tent was set and the tent was nicely tidy, with the PA set up and Carol and Lucile looking relaxed and busy. Nikki the sound engineer looked very chilled and I was greeted with a warm welcome from everyone. Carol was tired and still gave me the biggest kiss I had all week. She looked excited and was bubbly in that special way she has when preparing for a performance. Stepping back, I looked at my beautiful girlfriend and I felt a heart full of Pride, just to be with her.

Bristol was about to be inundated with the local and not so local LGBT community and those folks who were friends, family or just believed that every one should be equal. The march started at twelve opposite the Hippodrome and there was a huge crowd, supported by a group of Samba drummers. I had contacted my biking friend (who should by now be familiar to you) Stu about meeting him. He is not Gay, but I am among his gay friends and he as going to come along with another. Sadly Stu was poorly (I suspect freshers flu had got to him, the joys of being a student!), but Nikki his delightful Girlfriend and her friend Pauline were trying to find us. They found us pretty quickly and just as they said hello, me being the bitch that I am pretended to be some one else! The two young women looked confused for a second until I smiled and said hello properly. Some times my sense of humour just misses!

Pauline, Nikki and your author

Let me tell you about Nikki and Pauline, just so you can be jealous. Both of them are very pretty, early twenties students with smiles and hearts that are a credit to them. Stu (Nikki’s fella) is a lucky guy, but we don’t want to embarrass them both too much, do we?

The March started and the whistles and cheers were deafening. Traffic ground to a halt and some wicked looking Drag Queens, in heels that frankly would have scared me, tottered along ahead of us. I was in my combat patterned Bike trousers, my Marduk shirt and boots so big, I was two inches taller.

Hello Mum! I am at Pride and it is great!

I was filled with the spirit of Pride, even if I could not hear it! The March went right passed Bristol Bike show and we got cheers and support from the bikers too. It was great thing to feel and Carol walked along either holding my hand or taking the photos you can now see. Oh yes, Pride means a lot.

The march ended back at the park and we headed back up to the arena and they got ready for the first act of the day, Kris, the guy who had worked so hard to organise the Trans tent. 

Although he looked like a super hero in his Pride outfit of the day. Kris was also in charge of making badges and he kindly helped me to make a couple.

My first was a rainbow with the legend:

Trans Biker

While the second, suitably enough for me, read:

Trans Hooligan

Oh yes, I am that woman that your Mother warned you about when you young!

The acts that played in the Trans Tent were either inspirational or emotive. However the Trans Man Stand Up Comedian and recent father of a bouncing baby boy was so brilliantly talented, that I actually thought I was going to cry. I wish that I could remember his name, because I would tell you to go and find him and listen to him perform.

Nikki the sound tech has a daughter called Lou and she teamed up with our good friend Zed (who had even brought her beautiful son Pipin with her) and also took to the stage. 

Zed has a rich quality to her singing voice that is just beautiful, however when you realise what the words are that she is singing you realise that her mind and wit are as sharp as an assassin’s blade. Lou played her guitar with perfection given that she was asked to perform only minutes before and seeing them both performing this fantastic number together will go down in my life as one of the glad I saw it events. It was brilliant and they received a justified round of applause.

Finally Carol and the girls took to the stage, just as the heavens opened. The stage flooded and Carol’s drum pedal started to so slip and float away as the rain water flooded in through the gaps in the tent covers. A brief stop so that she could get her pedal back and they were back on and once again performing with their usual professional approach. They do not play like a small band that practices in our hallway, Lucile has the stage presence that you would expect from a big name band, she sings with passion and with her heart in the performance, Carol is intense when she is drumming, focussed and calm and the mystery bassist is there with her unknown face, hidden in the shadows of her secret identity. Will we ever know who she is?

Pride slowly came to an end and with the kit all packed away, I faced the ride home in pouring rain. However, being warm rain made it bearable and the road took me back through the gorge and onto the Motorway. A quick stop for a waking hot drink was needed after such a long hard day, but I was soon back in the saddle and blasting back down the motorway and home. On the SV forum I often read of SV’s that suffer with wet plug, a condition that causes the front cylinder to fail and for a huge power loss as soon as the weather gets damp. Sylvie though is a trooper and all she wants to do skip in puddles, dance in the gutter and flutter her umbrella about her in true Singing in the rain style. Her road manners are impeccable and she rides as smoothly in the rain as she does in the cool summer evenings. Finally as we got home and parked up outside the garage, the rain stopped and as she cooled and ticked, I exhaustedly removed my wet bike gear and thanked her for another fantastic ride. I sprayed her up with GT85 before retiring her to bed and locking her back up with all of her locks.

Pride, what a totally brilliant day. A huge thank you to Oestrogenix for making it a great day out and to the other performers who gave it everything to make the day a success. See you all next year. 

I looked at him as he looked at me and it was awesome!

Busy day today, started off with a bang too! My lovely hand built desk top computer farted and died today, shutting down and staying shut down, no matter how many time I impotently prodded the big black ON button. The power supply had failed, or more accurately, the cooling fan in the power supply had failed, quickly followed by the rest of the unit!

Luckily for me, my fair lady wife to be, Carol has a real interest in IT and Computers that has also included building her own PCs and she still had some stuff left over, including a battered and rusty looking PSU. After much faffing and a considerable amount of swearing, the old PSU was removed and the new one installed. It was only after the case was back together and everything wired back up that I noticed that I had lost my engagement ring! Luckily it had come off while looting the computer store cupboard and was sat under said cupboard, in the dust. However it took thirty minutes of my frantic searching before I found this to be the case.

So after fixing the computer, finding my precious ring I then settling down to listen to Total Biker FM, a really cool internet radio station that Carol found recently that has even played some of her music on air, to great critical acclaim. This peace and quiet was to be short lived because Carol phoned and offered to meet me for a picnic in Bristol. So, pulling on the bike gear, I shut down the newly fixed computer and headed over to garage to get my second favourite girl, Sylvie out for a blast to Bristol.

The ride to Bristol was lovely, all A roads and before I knew it, I was in the city centre, heading towards Clifton and my Darling wife. I thought I was doing well, I had last ridden a bike here in 2001, but had been a mountain bike and yet I still managed to get to where I wanted to be today. Over looking Sea Walls, on Clifton Down.

Carol pulled up with in seconds of my parking up and we shared a quick kiss. I think that I am lucky, I am engaged to a beautiful woman who positively encourages me to ride motorbikes. Our picnic consisted of a ham roll and a bag of onion rings, while a large blue shark swam by in the sky above us!

Yes, you did read that right and no, we had not taken drugs! As we sat on the grass enjoying our food and just basking in each others company, a large kite in the shape of a shark took to the air behind us and proceeded to swim in the breeze. It was a beautiful thing to see and it looked like a real shark in its movements as well as its shape and colour. To put it simply, what a fantastic kite.

As quickly as we had met, it was time to go and Carol and I parted ways once more, as I headed over to Filton and the UWE campus to meet my friend Stu. Regular readers may well remember Stu, the young gentleman with a similar bike to me, albeit with a noisy exhaust and a dark blue paint job. Stu very kindly agreed to meet me and we headed back to his for a cool drink and a chat, before the real fun started, fun that has left me with a decidedly sore bottom!

Yay... It was ride out time and Stu had a wicked ride in mind. a quick blast up the M4 towards the A46 was just enough to get us in the mood for a play on the roads. We followed to the A46 away from Bath and along some pretty amazing roads, eating up the miles as the fast roads allowed, sweeping corners, blinding bends and awesome straights that allowed great views to over take slower moving cars and tractors. As always, Stu was a real gentleman and always made sure that I could keep up, pulling in to allow me to catch up if we got separated by traffic. We followed the road for miles, passing through villages until eventually we reached a large town and finally Stu's Mum's house.

Now I am not sure what Stu's Mum made of me, I am after all a rather tall, slightly odd, motorcycling lesbian, dressed in Combat trousers with a pink and black Bike jacket. Hardly the sort of person you want your baby boy bringing home to meet the folks, but she was very friendly and was soon chatting. Stu is the apple of his Mum's eye and she is obviously proud of her boy, which is a really lovely thing to see, especially when he is a black metal loving, motorcycling monster! Just like me in fact...

The ride back home was quick and great fun. Dropping on to the motorway and blasting up the almost empty road was a wonderful life affirming experience that I will never forget, riding a restricted V-Twin means that I will never get the silly speeds that an equivalent sized In-Line Four engine produces, but this was not about speed, this was about companionship and enjoying a moment with a mate. I pulled ahead slightly for a moment and took a turn off so that I could adjust my hair and sort out my music player. At that moment an old guy, with a beard down to his groin, pulled up on his Harley. Seeing two bikers stopped in a layby was enough for him to check that we were OK and our enthusiastic smiles and welcome reassured him that we were fine. Not two minutes passed before chap in a Landrover pulled over to check that we were OK and once again we laughed and told him that we were just taking a rest. There is something wonderful about the biker community that makes complete strangers care for each other just because we share a common passion, a love of motorcycles.

The final blast together was what I can only describe as one of life's beautiful moments, I was in the middle lane and pushing motorway speed, Stu was just behind and then he pulled out and drew up next to me on the nearly empty road. Riding along like that, looking over and seeing my friend was a moment that will stay with me forever. Our wheels were a blur on the road, our engines were singing with a V-Twin harmony and our dark visors kept out the perfect evening sunshine. Human beings and machines, fused into a living, breathing, dancing symbiosis. It truly was a beautiful moment and one that I am thankful to my young friend for sharing with me. We rode like that for a couple of miles, over taking the slow moving heavy goods vehicles and the occasional car. I looked at him just as he looked at me and it was awesome! It was not the speed of it, but the harmony of moving together, the shared moment of our passion of riding motor bikes. It was a moment I will treasure, along with many others from my motorcycling adventures.

However upon getting home, the ache in my bottom from that saddle was enough to have me walking like John Wayne after a gallop across the desert. Note to self, must buy a new saddle and soon!

Thanks to Carol and Stu for making an otherwise humdrum day into a day that I shall always remember, for a picnic with a beautiful woman and a ride with a good friend. Today I was blessed.

Bike Night with Carley

Where to begin with this new entry to our world of Blogging.

Well first of all, welcome dear readers, thank you for showing interest in our little lives and do please leave comments on our blog if you want to, nice ones will be cherished and if any one compares us to Hitler, well we can live with that too. We are big and hard after all.

Two adventures for you this month, one by Bike and one by Car.

Weston Bike night again this week and sadly Carol was working and I was stuck at home packing for our Devon trip. However, a new friend to us, the delightful Carley, has recently been very poorly and has spent some time in Hospital, luckily she is mending now and is almost ready to get back on her bike and get on with passing her big bike test. Carley is also quite brave and agreed to a trip out on the back of Sylvie before pulling up on the sea front for Bike night. Now as you can imagine, with me on the front and Carol in work, this was going to be an interesting trip.

Getting her ready

The first thing to do was find her and we agreed a pick up point close to somewhere I could actually find. Sure enough, she was there and I got a little lost and then stuck in traffic. However, the engine roar was appreciated as we pulled up and Carley and Sylvie got to know each other. Once geared up and with the bike intercom in place, we set off and I promptly took a wrong turn and ended up in the Car park for McDonalds! I quickly found a way out and headed the right way and towards the motorway.

Carley had not been on the motorway before and also going on the back of the SV for the first time was a bit of a new experience too. Unfortunately the cross winds were horrible and on one occasion the gust was so strong it blew us across our lane and almost in the next. It was only the use of counter steering and black magic that stopped us, the black magic being the grip from out excellent tyres on the road.

We took the exit for Brent Knoll and turned on to the main road to head back towards Weston, slowing some what for the heavy traffic. The whole journey felt to me to be slow and stop start traffic, we managed to filter past some slow moving cars and eventually made it to the faster sections of road before taking the roundabout turning onto the A370 to Weston. Here the road speeds up for about two hundred metres before dropping back to a forty zone. The Speed camera has finally been removed, but road conditions were making it a slow twenty five to thirty miles per hour speed limit. Once the road opened up, we blasted out and past a line of slow moving cars to catch up the one that was going thirty in a national speed limit (if that was you driving like that, you are rude and dangerous) and shot past into a nice big gap, closely followed by a 900 Hornet.

A quick blast at sixty brought us close to home again and sadly the traffic started to bunch up again as we enter a fifty zone, the Hornet behind us was trying to get past us, but we in turn we stopped by oncoming cars and trucks. Eventually he saw a gap that his bike could make, but Sylvie in restricted two up mode would struggle with. He shot past and pulled in three cars ahead to avoid a truck, before slowly skipping one car at a time homewards.

I throttled off a little and just enjoyed a pootle, although the wind gusts were so strong that I had to keep on correcting our road position. Finally we passed the Weston sign and the Blue Hornet was still in sight just ahead. It looked like he too was heading to Bike night. Cruising down the sea front with a laughing Carley on the back is one of the coolest things I have ever done, giving some one else the ability to enjoy bikes just by taking them for a ride out is a brilliant thing to do.

We pulled up and paid our pound towards the Royal British Legion, a charity that cares for ex British forces troops, so it is a pound well spent. The Sea front was filling up rapidly with bikes and we weaved our way through the crowd to a parking spot, before stripping off the hot and humid bike gear and going for a wander to see who had turned up.

Bikes continued to pour into the parking area and it looked like there were hundreds, if not thousands of bikers and bikes. As we wandered a local Council worker tried in vain to communicate with us, but being a local and having several missing teeth, she found using language a bit of a struggle. As it turned out she was concerned about why there were a lot of bikes turning up and parking on the Sea Front, so we just smiled and left her to her cursing.

After a while the wind dropped and the heat started to disperse, leaving Carley and I with a wish to sit down and watch the world of bikes pass us by. Carley kindly bought me a cuppa and we sat and talked bikes for a while before going for one last wander around. By this time, the line of bikes was three time longer than it had been on our arrival and it was also parked up in four rows. This was a lot of bikes and even a few trikes. As always, the unbaffled exhausts of the Harleys sounded mean and aggressive, but just managed to “put put” through the crowd to the road way and river barge turn onto the road. It saddens me that a bike with three or more times the capacity of my little Sylvie can actually produce only slightly more that her restricted engine.

We geared up and Carley started Sylvie who purred into life, a passer by remarked that she was “just an old SV”, yet he was a passer by who did not know her well. She may well be the first of the pointies, but she has the heart and soul of a lioness, proud and ferocious. Even with her quiet pipe, she sounds lovely and that is how I want to keep her for now.

We weaved through the crowd towards the road, people stepping out of our way as I practiced my slow control, only one guy failed to notice us, but the small child he was pushing into our path sure did. Come on parents, if you are a holiday maker and you are walking through a crowd of bikers, don’t push you kids about with out looking, they might get squashed!

The road to Kewstoke takes in the Sea front and it is finally open, at last. We blasted along and looked so cool, the gentle sea breeze now nothing more aggressive than the occasional gentle gust and we entered the Toll Road. The sweeping curves would be awesome at speed, but the signs tell us that a lot of folks have had horrible, horrible accidents along there, so the limit is reduced to a snail like twenty five. Even at this speed Sylvie feels lovely though.

Passing through Kewstoke we were moving at a steady twenty five when a car pulled up to a junction, I watched the young girl driver look to her left and just pull out as we approached. She crossed our path and turned right, heading to where we had come. I pulled my brakes hard and Sylvie’s nose dived, her new repositioned horn let the girl know that we were not pleased at her dangerous move and I was livid. As she passed us by the girl looked at us and laughed. I despair at the state of the world when a driver can nearly cause an accident and think it is funny.

I dropped Carley off and turned Sylvie around, before opening her up and slipping the clutch slightly to get her roaring as I pulled away waving, Carley now safely home and ready for a restful evening.

The following morning was the next big adventure, a trip to North Devon and Hazel and Dom’s wedding…

To be continued.

Weston Bike Night on the Sea Front in glorious errr... over cast skies.

I spent two hours cleaning and waxing Sylvie, I even got out the chrome polish and gave the exhaust a good going over and when I was finished she was shiny, looked as good as new and her paint was silky smooth to the touch. She would gleam in the sun shine, if there were some.

Why did I do this I hear you ask?

"Because you are an bloody idiot Jayne!" is the wrong answer from you at the back!

I did this for the First Weston Bike Night of 2010, a weekly event that is in place to raise Money for the Royal British Legion. All I had to do was wait for Carol to get home from work and get changed into her bike gear, for those of you who know Carol well, you will know that she cannot function unless she has a cup of tea in her hand, white, one and half sugars and not too strong. She knows how she likes her tea and it is almost certainly PG Tips. Anyway, as soon as she was through the door, I pushed her tea into her hand and she went and got changed. I checked Henry's oil level, knowing that he burns oil because he is old, worn and a bit of a banger.

Carol rode Sylvie down and I took Henry, well as a senior Instructor, she has a lot of credibility to uphold and no one cares if I ride a crappy old 125. Well, nearly no one. Just before my part one test, we hired a local Instructor called Matt to train me up in the new test procedures. Matt is a brilliant instructor, working for Motag and with his good natured instruction, I passed first time. Well, when Matt saw me still on the 125, he had a word.

"I trained you up to ride that bike over there (Sylvie), not that crappy 125. You should make Carol ride that one!"

When Matt was a learner rider, his Instructor was a hard nosed local with a lot of years under her belt. Yes, he was Carol's former student and he was now doing her old job. His comments were taken as they were meant and Carol had a good laugh.

So the time passed and more and more bikes turned up, but there was little sign of fellow Orger (a member of the web forum sv650.org) Nemesis, a nice young man who brought his bike over a while ago for us to repair and service. Finally his line of friends pulled in and found a place to park at the far end of the huge amount of bikes parked up. His face was not that of a happy chap, in fact none of the lads looked particularly happy, but then being pulled for speeding is never a happy occasion.

Big commiserations to you guys, but three points and a sixty quid fine is not so bad when one is cruising at those hero speeds. Cue much stamping of feet and groaning. I do believe though, that I heard a muttering of an offer to pay Nemesis's fine by his kind and considerate cousin. Now that was rather thoughtful of him in my opinion and that instantly puts him up to the level of "Jolly decent chap" in the Jayne book of chaps!

After a nice cuppa and a few more chats with various bikers, maniacs and patch club locals we all decided that the cold spring air was about to send us all home to our warm beds and blankets. Henry started again, with out the difficulty experienced earlier that evening and as always Sylvie purred into life. A final wave to Matt and we headed home for a nice bath and a pot of strawberry bio yogurt. Yes folks, I can reveal that while sat in a magma hot bath, there is nothing quite as soothing as sharing a chilled pot of yogurt with a beautiful naked woman.