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IAM: Inevitable and Absolute Mayhem

Now fast-forward to the day itself. [By this device I conveniently gloss over my hurling of toys from the group pram on the ride up — sorry, but 120 miles in four hours through 30/40mph limits on a 748 is going to do in anyone’s head (and in my case, their back). The journey improved though – the second, solo, 120 miles was over clear and wonderful roads and took an hour-and-a-half. Antisocial git that I am.]

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999!

There have already been more words written and opinions expressed on the Ducati 999 than on most machines of recent years — replacing something as iconic as the 916 design was never going to be less than contentious. Over the next few months we’ll all no doubt be reading test reports and comparisons on the 999 until terminal boredom sets in. We’ll see it being wheelied, stoppied, ridden knee down, elbow down and occasionally arse up, by road testers whose behaviour is entirely untempered by the need to pay for maintenance, tyres and damage. Good for them — we’ll enjoy the vicarious carnage.

Me, I’m neither particularly fast nor painfully slow, moderately competent on a good day and prone to the occasional braindead moment — pretty much like most of us, then. So this is the everyman opinion, albeit concocted over the course of a single hour-and-a-bit’s test ride. This test ride has been occasioned by the decision to change bikes — time to pension off the faithful 748 for something a little newer, perhaps a little quicker and possibly a little more comfortable — the old injuries are playing up.

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Mild in the Country

I am not tired. I went beyond tired about four hours ago, on the other side of the English Channel and 200 miles away. I am however home. My motorcycle is also home and is shiny-side up. Strictly, most of my motorcycle is home — the clutch went functionally AWOL somewhere mid-Normandy. That was interesting, and bloody ungrateful of it — I’d spent the weekend praising its 15,000 mile reliability to the skies — the one other Ducati on the trip having come home on a trailer.
So my hall now contains a strewn trail of oversuit, leathers, gloves, boots, rucksack and helmet, the trail leading directly to the wine cupboard. All bar the wine are steaming gently as the microclimate of a long, damp ride slowly clears itself. The cats have sensitive noses. They look appalled.

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Been a While…

Indeed it has — sixteen months since the last update. In mitigation, m’lud, I have managed a few updates on the project pages, albeit more out of duty rather than enthusiasm. The management, what there is left of it, wish to apologies for a service interrupted by the overdue/untimely* collapse of the tech/new media sector, fallout therefrom and assorted other traumas which have no place in a site about motorcycling. I do still have the 748, despite having done depressingly little riding for some time. Time to do something about that. I’ve also registered and moved the site here, to www.ducati.info, so have rather painted myself into a corner if I want to buy anything else…

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Maxing Madly…

England leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve been away. I get back. Drive home from the airport. On the way, decide to fill car up – head for my local gas station, only to find a queue of vehicles heading off into the middle distance. I decide that civilisation has in fact collapsed in my absence, something I always suspected would happen. Turn radio on to discover that the English have finally learnt something from the French and blockaded the oil refineries as a protest against high fuel prices. Continue reading

This Little Piggy Went to Dorking…

…and hung around to hassle innocent motorcyclists.
As the weather forecast for Sunday morning was good (being England, this simply meant it wasn’t actually raining), there was a early rideout to the new Ducati Owner’s Club venue — the Punchbowl Inn, at Oakwoodhill near Ockley in Surrey. The early bit was dedicated to the production and consumption of large volumes of strong coffee, before everyone felt sufficiently aware to survive the ride down via breakfast cholesterol at Box Hill. That was the good bit of the day — things went rather pear-shaped thereafter.

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“My Fellow Amphibians…”

OK, so it wasn’t actually snowing this time. Which is about all that could be said for the California (hah!) Superbike School Level 1 course at Cadwell Park. This time, I’d taken no chances and had ridden up the previous day, staying at a B&B near the circuit. However, come 7am and scrutineering, the local ducks were waterskiing on the Cadwell hairpin. So we all trooped into the first classroom session feeling a tad dispirited, and waited for the whole thing to be cancelled. Not a bit of it: “It’s wet out there, but that’ll focus you all on riding smoothly, won’t it?” Guess so – in fact only one person binned it, and that in the dry at the end of the day. Format? Simple – five track sessions, interspersed with classroom lessons, each adding another element to the mix of things to try. The order went something like:
Throttle control and no brakes drill – fourth gear only: lap times in the 2’15” range. In fact the ‘one gear, no brakes’ bit was something of a theme for the day. Then Turn Points – bloke standing at edge of track pointing to bit of tarmac at which to turn in. Ah, that late? Lap times down to around 2’03”, just by concentrating on turn-in. Next, Quick Turns: in late and use scarily heavy counter-steering to take bike to desired lean angle as quickly as possible. Lap times around 1’58”. Rider Input — better use of information, camber and track reading. Another 6 seconds off the lap time. And, finally, the Two Step — putting everything together with greater anticipation of the stages of the corner. Final result: lap times around 1’49”. OK, so some people could run around the Cadwell short circuit faster, but that wasn’t the point – it was all about technique, being smooth and thinking ahead. Definitely felt like I’d achieved something.

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England: Weather, Not Climate

Let’s see: Friday through Monday — cloudless skies, warm breezes and everyone wandering around in shorts and T-shirts. Tuesday: Wet, windy and ‘orrible. Wednesday: The day I’ve booked myself on Keith Code’s California Superbike School’s training day at Brands Hatch. Wonder what the weather’s going to be like?
Scrutineering for the day is at 7am and I live about 65 miles from Brands Hatch, so it’san early start, with everything (including waterproofs) laid out the night before, ready for a quick start. By 5:15am (when?!) I’m kitted up and ready to go, so it’s time to fling back the curtains and see whether I should put my waterproofs on. White. Very white. Nothing but bloody white. Total blizzard conditions. Thanks a bundle — it’s hard not to take this sort of thing personally. So layer up with full skigear and waddle out to the garage. Start the bike (with unspoken apologies to the neighbours for warming up a race-piped Duke at 5:30am). Onto the bike and slither backwards down the drive, both wheels locked, until I reach the road. Ice, slush and a delicate snow topping. Yum. Comfort myself with the thought that, with our village’s local microclimate, it’ll be fine a couple of miles down the road. Optimist. Thirty minutes later, I’m ten miles away in Milford and things are, if anything, worse — riding through ridged slush, with wet sleet freezing solid on my visor. Visibility zero — can’t even see the damned instruments. It’s a silly game and I don’t want to play any more.

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Gratuitous Nostalgia

Now I’m sure that I said somwhere in these ramblings that I wasn’t getting back into biking to recapture any notional lost youth — I ‘m well rid of most of that part of my life. Bikes are about the now and the appreciation of the performance that the finest modern engineering can deliver. No intention of staggering around the countryside on any under-tyred, flexi-framed nostalgia special. Absolutely not. Right?

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Making Progress

So I passed my Advanced Motorcycling Test. Just what does that really mean? Not a lot, really — I’d regard the IAM test as the minimum starting point for being able to demonstrate control of a motor vehicle in good conditions with a favourable wind. Where then do I go from here?
In my earlier biking incarnation, I’d been an instructor with the old RAC/ACU training scheme in Edinburgh and later with Cambridge’s CAMrider Rider training scheme. That was around the time that compulsory basic training (CBT) came along and moved the whole teaching thing onto a professional basis, thereby rather taking the fun out of it for us enthusiastic amateurs.
What we have now of course is organisations like the WVAM, where enthusiasts give their time to help train people up to and beyond the Advanced Test standard. I like the idea of doing that — of keeping the cycle of learning going and having a good time with people whose riding you can trust — that and going ballistic down a wide assortment of twisty country roads.
So I put myself down for assessment as a candidate for Group Observer training with WVAM. Which is how I came to be standing in Box Hill car park at some ungodly hour last Saturday morning, stuffing coffee and a Ryka’s bacon butty into my face while our little company of five assembled — three potential trainees and two of the groups most experienced Observers. This was a 3-4 hour assessment ride, to work out if each of us was up to the required standard to go into Observer training. Rather than a prescriptive ride to arbitrary road rules,it was to be all about how we did (or didn’t) demonstrate the hallowed combination of Progress with Restraint — making the first while demonstrating the second.

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