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650 mile round trip on a 1943 750cc side-valve. 45s rock!

Pit stop

Bike willing but body weak. 200 miles done and 100 to go but couldn't face it so stopped off at Jasons overnight.

Linkert

Man, now I really am ragged.

It's been two days since Linkert Attacks UK and I'm still not fully recovered. My tongue is lolling heavily in my mouth and refuses to connect words into coherent sentences and my brain is lagging slightly behind that. Let's face it, I'm a mess. I'm starting to piece things together slowly, very slowly. The dv cam footage might shed some light. I'm pretty sure The Dook is to blame, so really it's Stevie and Leedog who have raped my sanity and frankly it's Renshaw who masterminded the whole shebang with the help of Tim, Red, Gav, Steph, Shu, Mike, Con, Guy, Bedwar, Keith, Ed, Mother, Jimmy and probably others I have forgotten.
To be honest I was complicit but I won't mention that to my lawyer who keeps texting me that I'm due £3,800 for something I haven't yet claimed for; it must be this.
It has been the best party I have ever been to despite AND including the amount of work put into it. I had to split early for family stuff which left me feeling guilty that I left the clean-up to the others but me and Johnny the Wasp were litter picking at 6am Sunday morning til there was nothing left to pick, I swear.

Help

It's mental.

Loveless

Man, I was what you'd call ragged. Way beyond torn up....

Linkert here I come.

Love

"Never fall in love with a vehicle" or words to that effect was some sage advice given to me by my dear departed dad. "not likely" was probably my headstrong teenage response as I messed about with a string of Japanese bike wrecks. Those wrecks taught me a lot. I spannered them to get them going, to keep them going and make them go as fast as was possible- not performance tuning, more like getting them to go as fast as they should go. I fell off them and got knocked off them but got back on again, slowly learning mechanics and sense as I went. There was no chance of me falling in love with a machine, I mean, what a ridiculous notion.
Eventually I horse traded my bikes to an impasse and agonised over my next purchase. Was it going to be a long-mile superbike or a london-sensible trailie? I pondered long and hard and then surprised myself by opting to go for a classic bike. I had by then helped my sister learn to ride and she rapidly hung up jap bikes for her beloved BSA so I thought if she could do it then why couldn't I? The choice of bike was a bit of a no-brainer as I'd seen a few late 70s T140s about, notably Conrads street tracker- at the time the bike had an ally sporty-style tank and brown grips and it turned me on something rotten. Sensibly it had disc brakes and a single carb so I saw it as a practical classic if such a thing even exists. Shortly after my dad died I dug one up on Loot (a newspaper version of ebay) I took my helmet on the train and returned with the bike. Let's face it I was always going to buy it. Engine sounded nice, bike looked shit. The original US spec tank and western bars went on, rear-sets off and presto- it was close enough to what I wanted. Steadily I changed a few bits and bobs til it is the bike you see now. Every single part that bike has been through my fingers. I puffed my pipe, rivet-counter style, into the deepest recesses of the engine until finally she returned to life from a mid life malady. I mixed my blood with her oil and together, through frustration and heartache, we bonded. The sort of love you can only understand if it has been tested over thousands upon thousands of miles. The grips fit my hands so perfectly that they feel like they should always be there, the song of the engine vibrates at at long-remembered frequency that sets chemical reactions cascading within my body.
I can exist without her for long periods but going out for a blast on her reminds me how we are inextricably linked. I would hope that my dad would understand my love for this vehicle as this bike reminds me so much of my dad; a man who lives on in me as the man he helped build.

Free gift

Yep, finally a gift to all my many avid subscribers and the best thing about it is that it's totally free, yep, that's right- it won't cost me a penny. All you have to do is find 2 of your old 9/16th nuts and tie them up to look a bit like a cock and balls and presto- your free gift. Wear it with pride. You never know, they might come in handy one day; if not the nuts then the shoe lace.

Shed picture #2

Teach you to mess with me motherfucker.

Chicken

Chicken dance like elastic band.

Pay-up

Not coming?
Too bad.
May be you weren't invited- really sad.
Got an invite and just sitting on it thinking something better might happen- not likely.
Changed your mind?
Pay up sucka!

Dawn

Drinking til the early hours of the morning is never a good start for a day that you know will end with drinking til the early hours of the morning. But those were the cards that were dealt and the hand I had to play. Saturday night was a clubhouse type of affair with a bunch of cool guys 20 miles away and was a landmark journey for Ol Blue the camper van. She buzzed along nicely there and back and mostly protected us from rain over night. She's got a lot of work that needs doing but she's mobile and legal right now and that is good enough for me as I've got a couple of overnight gigs shortly and she will be my home from home.

I hadn't realised how rough I felt til the adrenaline from the return journey had worn off; good call to stick to back roads I think. After a little time spent getting our heads together we packed and set off for Hesket Newmarket which is the the first big event of the new riding season. The turnout of vintage machines was lower than usual presumably because it had rained horribly for a couple of days and when you have exposed tappets or a leather drive belt i'm not at all surprised. The procession of well used vintage bikes came and went as the sun slowly set and the beer started to go down easier. Before I knew it last orders had been called both for beer and conversation. We covered some really interesting topics and it was nice to talk to people with common interests and similar problems. New friends made, old friends remembered and allegiances forged. Drifting back to the campsite we made yet more new friends around the campfire and sang all the campfire songs we knew until we had to make some up. As usual it was dawn as we went to bed. It has been said that one should watch a sunrise at least once a year. After a bad start to the year it felt wholesome.