Full Power, full speed ahead!

Two years ago this week I passed my Motorcycle test, on Henry my plucky little CG125, resulting in my first real ride of Sylvie, my lovely Suzuki SV650 in her restricted form. Two years on and I have been riding around on a restricted bike, been touring with full panniers and have taken many friends for a blast up the road.

So how is it to ride a full power SV650S with a handle bar conversion?

Can I start the engine now please?

There is only one word that fits Sylvie in her unrestricted form, beautiful! I am however once again back on the learning curve and this time it is a little easier. Well it was, then Carol said those word that involve great power... "Have a go on Noreen!" she said...

Right a bit, left a bit... Eek, too much power!

Riding a full power muscle bike is a revelation, but what really shines out is that there is a sense of menace with a bike this powerful, the sort of menace that lurks deep inside, the sort that wants to twist that throttle hard and sprint down the road at super speed... Me naughty? Never!

A perfect track stand, utterly still, the rider in perfect balance with machine!

So with the full power ECU back in place and the 33BHP unit sat in an envelope ready to post off to a person on the SV forum, it was time for a ride. Shame it was so damn cold.

OK, but I am not riding your bike back home!

Yes, good old Sand Bay here in Weston, a place we came when we brought Sylvie to her new home for the very first time, back in the days when a 125cc Bike scared the life out of me.

Through the mists of time, we can see Jayne in 2008!

I can nearly ride a bike me!

Now with us both on full power bikes at last, Carol no longer has to hang around at the back waiting for me to catch up. Although, in all fairness to the fabulous Sylvie, even restricted she was able to make good time on her trips out. So now I have to start learning again how to ride my bike and as a full power bike she is just awesome. So for a training ride with the wife, we headed out to Blagdon to buy some food for Alby the Barnowl. With two frozen chicks strapped to the back of Noreen, we got ready to ride home and then the heavens opened.

Got there safe, time to buy some Alby dinner.

Here comes the rain

Jayne enjoying British spring time

The ride home was awesome and watching Carol disappear into the distance reminds of just how far I have come and how far I still want to achieve. Learning to ride a bike well is not something that can be rushed with a five day training course, it is about learning skills, building experience and getting through the mistakes. Riding well takes practice and it takes training, so if I had to do my time again, I would still do it the same way. If you are about to start riding a bike, do it my way and really enjoy the learning. Every bike I have ridden so far has been an awesome place to be sat, be it Henry the Honda CG125, Agnes the Yamaha XJ400 or My dear Sylvie the Suzuki SV650S. Maybe one day when my skills are a little more refined I can enjoy the experience of taking Noreen the Kawasaki ZRX1100 for a ride, but that wont happen until I am ready and for that there is no rush.

Thank you Carol for all of your patience, training and advice, all of it was greatly appreciated. 

Sylvie has gone to Motorbike Hospital and Jayne becomes a Vicar!

Sylvie was knocked over and damaged recently while she was parked up outside my place of work. So the Insurance companies have taken over in dealing with the repairs. So far it looks like she is going to be away for a while and I am greatly missing my beautiful girly bike.

While it is hard to take photos that show the damage, we have managed to get a couple.

  

Luckily it was a low speed impact, and damage was minimal, but the lesson learned here is to never rely on just parking sensors alone.

In the mean time, the Insurance company have provided me with a couple of Hire bikes while Sylvie is away. 

The first was another SV, a brand new bike with just enough miles on the clock to justify the first service! She was a beautiful bike, but with the standard clip-ons was murder to ride. Strangely, she felt much smaller than Sylvie, the seat felt lower and the bike actually felt much smaller and lighter. I cannot imagine that there are that many differences between a K3 (Sylvie) and a brand new one (K9), but I did notice an aluminum rear frame. 

Jayne and not Sylvie.

The saddest part of riding her though was not the position, it was the restriction. The SV was restricted via the horrors of a throttle stop, giving the throttle about a third of a turn before it stopped. Just lovely, in a very un-lovely kind of way. If anyone out there wants to restrict their SV, I fully recommend the restricted ECU as opposed to the throttle stop way. The ECU allows full use of the throttle and allows the engine to breath fully, but electronically restricts the bike rev speed. This keeps you legal, but still allows your bike to feel like a big bike. The throttle stop prevents the engine from hitting the power band, so it is always under powered, unless you keep it in lower gears than you would normally use. Then it goes everywhere screaming, which sounds great, but looks pathetic!

The next bike delivered was a Honda CBF600 and I was expecting great things.

Castration is a terrible thing to do to a bike.

The CBF was comfortable, but felt narrow at the bars and overly top heavy. Riding it though revealed that it had been badly castrated by the throttle stop, so badly in fact that it was unable to make it up our local hill, two up, in second gear. 

The ride to Gloucester was a nightmare of struggling to keep up with Carol and Alex on the gorgeous Kawasaki ZRX1100, the Honda was simply outclassed, which is such a shame because I have always held Honda Motorcycles in such high regard. The Honda has a power band starting at about six and a half thousand revolutions of the engine, the throttle stop prevents it getting much past four thousand unless it is again ridden in low gear and thrashed like a loon. Riding the Honda is an experience that in terms of excitement I can only compare with extreme sports such Knitting, embroidery or ironing! For such a good looking bike, it has a terribly bland ride and trying to fit Sylvie's luggage was a disaster because there are so few fitting points. The grab rail is actually a pair of handles that are open ended and do not give a tie down point or easy fitting of a seat pack. Were that not bad enough, while riding it has a disturbing feel to the steering that causes the rider to have to pull the bars back from a turn because it feels like the front wheel wants to fold under the engine. In all, the Honda feels entirely underwhelming and nothing like the Suzuki SV, which is a fire breathing monster in comparison. I miss my dear Sylvie.

So while Sylvie is away I must endure the trials of boredom by Honda and frustration by Insurance Company. Now to be fair, this has very little to do with my Insurance company and I can now fully recommend CIA Insurance (although I am profoundly grateful to not have to be dealing with the incompetent MCE at the moment. God alone knows what kind of a mess they would have made of this!), who have gone out of their way to be helpful with Sylvie. They have passed Sylvie over to a company called Plantec and it is from Plantec that I have had the hire bikes. Now having never heard of Plantec, I was more than a little worried about giving them my bike. Internet feedback seemed poor and advice from trusted people in know like dear old Lozzo from the SV forum made me even more worried. However, armed with good advice from these sources, I was and am still prepared for war. So far though, Plantec have been very good, with regular weekly updates on progress with Sylvie, checking that I am happy with the hire bikes and that I am able to perform pre-ride checks. Their service has so far been very good, I just hope that this remains to be the case and that Sylvie is returned to me very soon, especially as I am not sure that I could survive a long trip on the Honda, I might die of boredom first!

So, that is the ongoing Sylvie story, I feel like I have had a limb removed while she is away, luckily Carol has been a rock and continues to be so. As for my friend who knocked Sylvie over, she continues to be my friend, I just hope that dealings with insurance companies do not mess that up, she was extremely sorry and knowing how much I love my bike, shed a tear or two with me. Bless...

Yes, Bless her. In my newly acquired official capacity as a Reverend, I can bless her, I am just not sure as what Deity, if any, I should choose to bless her with!

Burn, you sinners!

Not being the overly religious type, not really believing in God and not liking religion makes it hard to be a Vicar in this modern world, but I do not see why only men who wear dresses (and possibly harm children) are allowed to perform such duties! After all, I am very well educated woman, I have an excellent vocabulary (although it is littered with filthy words and vile terms!) and I am able to listen to people while providing a kind and sympathetic ear. 

Now I feel that I have to explain my actions a little, after all I would not want you thinking that I am something of a hypocrite. I have a very strong and profound belief in something very dear. It is not in a deity, for in truth I am not sure that there is room in our universe for such a being, however my faith if you want to call it that is in something far more tangible. My faith dear reader is in you. I have faith that you as a human being are capable of many great things and many great acts of kindness and courage. If you take away the spooky stuff from religion, you are left with a moral code, if you remove the political nastiness from that moral code, you are left with some pretty basic good stuff. Be nice to each other, don't murder each other and enjoy life.

So ladies and gentlemen of my flock, this is my sermon to you.

Go forth and enjoy your lives, show kindness to those about you, hug those you care for, do something that promotes human rights and most of all, watch out when reversing your car near my bike!

Bless you, now go and have some great sex with someone of the same or opposite gender to yourself!

Love each other and listen to lots of brutal black metal!

A Curious Adventure to the Bulldog Bash

Yeah, we went to the Bulldog Bash. We loaded our bikes up, we rode to Stratford Upon Avon and we camped for three days in a field of bikers. Well field does not even come close, it was a town made up of Bikers, fifty thousand Bikers. That is more people than live and work in some towns. We camped in a field that was populated by bikers, organised by Bikers and Policed by Bikers. In some respects what happens here is a new state and the UK is left at the front gate, in there you are under Biker Law and some times you can feel it.

Loaded up and ready to go.

The twenty fifth Bulldog Bash was a fantastic event, as a complete virgin of the event I was a little apprehensive of what to expect. I had heard stories of who it was organised by and having read a little into it, I was just a bit worried when we set off. Our bikes were loaded with tents, bedding, stoves and one plastic kitchen sink. My panniers were full to literally bursting point (I am still to have that seam fixed!) and everything we could squeeze in was packed in water proof bags!

My MP3 player was playing some very nice chilled out Black Metal as we headed onto the Motorway and we made our way through heavy traffic. Sadly the other carriageway was blocked due to a nasty accident and as we drew level with it, emergency crews were helping people from crumpled vehicles. Having heard the stories of Carol’s late father, himself a Paramedic and Ambulance man, I wished all of those hurt a fast and painless recovery, but doubted that it would be the case for all of them.

Leaving the Motorway and turning onto the A46 was a time to relax, the road here is lovely and riding a fully loaded bike was a pure joy. Carol was leading the way still and we were making easy progress. The excitement was starting build, my first Bulldog Bash. Butterflies flapped in my tummy with excited apprehension. 

Seemed like a nice place to stop!

Getting there is an adventure, after some brief stops for a rest and a slight deviation we approached the main gate, from here things were to get very interesting. The first sight of the event is a broken old aeroplane on the approach to the site; a gravel road leads to the main gate and series of scary looking, but very polite bikers who issued us with our bright orange wrist bands. From here on in, we were under a new kind of freedom, I could feel it in the air and on my skin.

Carol and I bought a new tent for this trip, a Vango Orchy 400, a tent big enough to sleep a football team. Well OK, maybe that is an exaggeration. We chose the tent especially because it is big enough to fix a motorbike in the porch. Technically, we could fit both motorbikes and both of us with all of our gear in our tent. It is for this reason that we chose it, after all who wants to be sat on a rainy campsite trying to fix a broken down bike while getting cold, wet and covered in mud? Not us.

Home sweet home!

Our tent did not go with out comment, but for us it was perfect. Once pitched, out came our air bed which was inflated thanks to Sylvie’s battery. With home made and the furniture set out, we went exploring, orange wrist bands giving us freedom of the town. Some of what I saw appalled me, some of what I saw amazed me and some of what I saw was more fun than anything I have done before.

There was one aspect of the Bulldog that I found very difficult to deal with and technically it was nothing to do with the event. One of the stores who shall remain nameless had several flags flying above its tent, flags of a seriously dubious nature baring Swastikas and the double lightening strike lettering of the SS. As a member of Amnesty International, as a free thinking human being and as firm anti fascist believer, I found these flags to be very offensive to my very heart and soul. The stall itself was selling BB Guns, knives, cross bows, catapults and seriously dodgy looking porn. Maybe it was innocent, but it made me feel very uncomfortable being on a site with company that was flying eight large and different Nazi flags.

On a more positive note, there were many things that amazed me, the biggest if which was the numbers of friendly, happy people. With a campsite the size of a town, I expected some disturbances and yet we only got disturbed by the sound of the drag strip opening at Nine in the morning! I slept better at the Bulldog, in our double sleeping bag, on our soft airbed than I do at home. I don’t think that anyone said an unkind word to us at any point of the weekend. Many towns have far worse behaviour on a Friday night that I saw at the whole of the Bulldog Bash. It is interesting to reflect on why that was and at one point while stood in the early hours of the morning, outside a toilet block waiting for Carol to come out, I realised that I felt safer stood there among all of those strangers than I did in my home town on a Saturday afternoon. Everywhere I looked were big burly and friendly bikers, who were having fun, enjoying a relaxed weekend and just keeping themselves to themselves. Our towns could learn a thing or two.

The Biker Town at night, peaceful and calm.

My introduction to the drag strip was frankly brilliant. As I sat there bike after bike roared up that strip recording speeds and times that just got better and better. The track glistened like wet leather in the hot sunshine, perfect Tarmac, smooth and dark and needle straight. What made my day was watching a rider on a bike that had a wire basket on the back blast up that track, front wheel arcing through the air with the engine screaming. Eleven seconds from start to the gate and not once did that rider lose control of that bike. The dark blue Suzuki SV650S with the loud can that recorded time after time after time up the track and just kept going gave me the seed of an idea, maybe one day I could blast my precious Sylvie up that track too? Carol and I talked about her sending Noreen down the track, but we chose against it in the end preferring to sit and watch as race after race took place. Yet as I sat there on the top row of the stands, looking down through the rickety structure, stomach slightly tense due to my fear of heights, I could not help but smile as the smell of burned rubber and exhaust gasses passed by me on the breeze.

It is pretty high up there!

 Then came the serious stuff, the bikes with huge engines, burning special fuel, spinning huge rear tyres that sat in long extended frames. A sense of urgency appeared on the track for the first time as these bikes sat there rumbling like old diesel trucks, turbos occasionally blowing off unwanted pressure. Burnouts sent plumes of smoke up into the air, the smell like exotic perfume to my gentle virgin nose. Then came the noise as each bike sprinted like shooting stars along that quarter mile straight line of perfect black. Something in my heart went click and I knew that I had found something very, very special. Those bikes, the incredibly determined riders upon them hit speeds I can only dream of on my precious SV. I saw the first bike blast through the gate in a fraction over nine seconds. Then came one that scored an eight second run.

Now that is a bike for fun only!

The jet car, Fire Force, deserves a special mention here. Nothing can prepare you for that thing. Having seen that thing run I can rest easy knowing that out there some where is a man called Martin who is an absolute speed demon. Starting the engine, a former Pratt and Whitney Helicopter engine, takes a special set of kit that is held in a van. The engine starts with a whine that can be heard all over the site, then a blast as fuel in injected, the engine speed picks up, the whine increased in pitch and then another blast of more fuel. The wall behind the car was visibly shaking as the thrust from that engine blasted into it. It takes about fifteen minutes to get the car ready, they play with the smoke by dumping diesel into the combustion chamber and the cloud hides the final seconds as the car is made ready before gently creeping to the line. Then some one takes a hammer to your ear drums! It truly felt like some one had hit me in the centre of my ears as that car fled past where we sat. A speed of nearly three hundred Miles per hour, a quarter mile of track covered in five seconds. I left the stands in a daze, I had just seen something impossibly dangerous and it changed the feel of my blood in my veins. One day, I am going to ride my bike down that track as furiously fast as I am able.

The Jet car ambles past at close to 300MPH!

Coming back again.

 After that show, nothing else can compare. We chatted to other bikers, we shared stories of silliness and lonely breakdowns and we shared in a community spirit that I rarely see else where. Children were rare, but those present were polite and well behaved. The food court had more choice than we could try in one weekend and cost more than we could earn in one month. The stalls on the main shopping area had everything from Army Surplus to Exotic leather goods. Carol managed to persuade me try on a Leather waist coat and to be honest I fell in love with it. With my badges attached and two little patches sown onto the back, she looked at and approved. I was now a proper biker.

Packed and ready to head for home again.

Packing everything back down and back onto our bikes was a sad affair. If I am honest I did not wish to go home, back to the humdrum of work and paying Council Tax and washing dishes in a dish washer. I was happy on the road, packing what I needed onto my bike wearing little and washing when I could. The sun was kind to us and the rain clouds kinder, the ground was warm and dry for leaving the field. Three gentlemen camped opposite proved that the old school and the new generation could ride together and enjoy it just the same. The family next to us, the children grown up and riding their own bikes, spoke only in kind words and good humour. After a weekend like that, why would anyone want to return home to the normality of a street where people stare because you ride a dirty great big motorcycle?

George, Mark and Henry. Teacher and former pupils enjoying bikes as friends.

The Bulldog Bash for me was not a bike rally, it was a visit to a town populated by bikers who no matter what all do something with as much joy and passion as I do, they live for that moment when riding the bike fills the heart with joy. It did not matter if they were a teenage Dance music fan or pension paid grandma, they were there for the same reason I was, because they loved bikes.

Stopping for breakfast on the way home.

MCE Motorcycle Insurance, Lying cheating scumbags!

So any of you out there in Internet land ride bikes on the public Highway?

Any of you do so safe and secure in the knowledge that your motorcycle Insurance Policy is up to date?

Well if you are insured with MCE Insurance, think again.

It is my view that MCE are Corrupt, lying, dishonest and incompetent!

Let me lay a nice story for you, starting last spring when my old insurance policy came to an end. Carol and I decided that we wanted to ride together on our bikes, after all this is the first summer of us both being able to ride long journeys on big bikes. Rosie the GTR is slowly being rebuilt and it is still our aim to make her road worthy. However when we took the policy out, it was our aim to get both bikes on the road and riding in time for the Bull Dog Bash in August.

So away we go and get checking, sure enough the joys of the internet bring us the prices for two bikes with two riders. Three hundred pounds for us both, fully comprehensive. Then we get a phone call from MCE and they offer us a slightly cheaper deal. Thinking I had struck lucky, I spoke to Carol and we agreed to go for it. From there on it went down hill rapidly.

It is my view that MCE are Corrupt, lying, dishonest and incompetent!

The Policy for Both Carol and I to ride our bikes does not exist. The Sales woman who sold it to us lied through her filthy lying teeth, to make us buy it.

I stated very clearly that the insurance I required was for both Carol and myself, to cover us on our motorcycles. When the document arrived it was not even close in it’s cover from to that of the policy that I purchased from the MCE Sales Woman. I phoned MCE to complain and was told that a policy I described could not exist. The Team at MCE were extremely unhelpful and were rude to me on the telephone, stating that I had not asked for the cover I was now rudely demanding. I was finally put through to a manager and my policy was changed, but I was charged for this change because they claimed that I had not told them that I wanted cover for me to ride my bike!

I made a formal complaint to MCE because I did not feel that it was right for me to be charged and because due to their incompetence I had unwittingly ridden my motorcycle with out insurance, which is a Criminal Offence. MCE never replied to my Complaint. Their only comment was to ask me if I had had an accident. When I said no, they said not to worry about it then! There is a reason for this and that reason is

It is my view that MCE are Corrupt, lying, dishonest and incompetent!

Eight weeks later Noreen the Kawasaki ZRX1100 arrived in the stable. The Gentleman that I spoke to at MCE informed me that there was no record of me making a complaint against MCE and he flagged it up for his supervisor to investigate. I heard nothing from them for a week.

My New Insurance Document arrived and the motorcycles now present on the Insurance cover were the Sylvie and Noreen. However one of the riders had been removed from the cover slip. This rider was me and once again, I had been riding my motorcycle with out Insurance thanks to MCE making serious errors despite my very best efforts to comply with highway use. This time they did not even bother to talk to me and just said that MCE do not have such a policy. This would be because

It is my view that MCE are Corrupt, lying, dishonest and incompetent!

I once again phoned MCE and was spoken to again rather rudely and informed that it was impossible that I could have been insured because MCE do not offer multi rider policies. I had in my hand at that time my previous policy that showed the GTR1000 and the SV650S insured for two riders, Carol Sexy Bum and Jayne Grumpy Bitch. The Assistant told me that there was no one who could help me at that time and informed me that a Manager would phone me back.

I called back ten minutes later and spoke this time to a gentleman called Trevor Murphy. I explained that I was extremely unhappy with MCE and that I wished to cancel my Policy that I had been mis-sold in April and that I wanted a full refund from MCE for failure to provide what they had contractually agreed to. Mr Murphy informed me that he was unable to comply with my request and told me that all he could do was charge me a large sum to cancel my policy. He assured me that he would personally pass the case onto his manager the following day and that I would receive a phone call from them.

My complaints started on the first working day of May and have not been resolved. MCE do not uphold their promise to call back and they charge for a long wait on the telephone. Their customer service is appalling and they have lied to me several times about the service they offer. When I have requested the policy be cancelled, they have argued and have been dishonest. This is because

It is my view that MCE are Corrupt, lying, dishonest and incompetent!

From the very beginning all I have wanted to do is insure my motorcycles so that my Darling Carol and I can ride our bikes together, I can commute to work and together we can enjoy our hobby. MCE have prevented this from happening and have been nothing but unhelpful and dishonest. You know why that is though, maybe something to do with this…

It is my view that MCE are Corrupt, lying, dishonest and incompetent!

Meet Noreen, the ZRX1100.

With the sad passing of Carol's Gran, Noreen, we named a bike after her so that we will always remember her. This is a video blog of our day out to collect Noreen, the Kawasaki ZRX1100.

Sorry about the bad jokes and poo comments! Also, if you know that cats can swim, do please leave a comment below. Actually, why not leave us a comment anyway? Love from us XXX

Time to remember

Sad news this month, June 2011 sees the passing of Nanny Noreen, Carol's Nan and a woman who has shown me considerable kindness. I know that Carol was deeply upset, Nan might have been approaching her nineties, but she was never an old woman and she kept her dignity right to the end. She also kept her faith in humanity right to the end and passed away still a confirmed atheist. Her funeral was a gentle affair and we listened to some of her music as we walked in and I was asked to make a reading of a poem that I had found for her.

If I should die before the rest of you 
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone 
Nor, when I'm gone, speak in a Sunday voice, 
But be the usual selves that I have known. 
Weep if you must 
Parting is hell. 
But life goes on. 
So sing as well.

Joyce Grenfell

Her funeral was not meant to be a sad time, she was always a strong and graceful woman, who stayed strong willed and dignified right to the end. So it seems fitting that we should live on as she would want, being brave, being strong and most of all being ourselves.

When I passed my bike test I was very pleased with myself and I am sure that I blogged here that the first place we went on my first road ride on Sylvie, the massively huge and powerful bike that she felt back then was to see Nanny Noreen. I actually fell off Sylvie in the car park right outside her flat, but she never teased me or made me feel small for my mistake.

So in her honour we present a new friend to the fold. In this way, Our Nan will always be with us, not just in our hearts and our memories, but in tribute too. I present Noreen, the Kawasaki ZRX1100.

Named in honour of a dear old lady, much loved and much admired. We will be collecting her on Saturday and introducing her to the girls in the garage. 

Take care out there folks and if you too have an elderly Nan you have not seen for a while, but love dearly, pop round for a cuppa. You never know when you will see her next.