Lush

It's easy to be a critic and I think if, like me, you've never built a bike from the ground up you should keep your opinion to yourself. So was it at Stormin The Castles custom bike show. In truth I never expect a great deal and over the years I've been pleasantly surprised. Mostly with tidy classics or understated choppers.

This year I perused a new crop of bikes and, at first, wasn't much taken with any of them. A race replica 750/4 was my first choice, a classic Chinese bike that looked like it had a copy of a Harley XA engine caught my eye, a brightly coloured chopper lured me in but eventually disappointed, chopped down race bikes left me a bit cold, and a custom paint job made me down-right angry. (The only other motorcycle that has ever actually made me angry was the one featured on a picture thread of the Jockey Journal where the ape-hangers go all the way up just to come straight back down leaving the rider in just about factory standard riding position. Still to this day I can't look at that picture without laughing at myself because my piss is starting to boil.)

And then I stumbled upon Urban Surfer. At first glance it was right and the more I looked at it the more right it got. Once I'd given it a good look over I turned to the next bike and then turned right back. This bike was lush! Someone at this rally has a very good eye indeed. I used to say to Johnny that some bikes were built in too small a shed; so you couldn't really stand back and take a look at the overall bike. This bike had the sweet scent of time and space about it. Time and space well spent gathering, arranging and then standing back to ponder. I was gonna shake this man by the hand if I met him. Imagine my surprise when I find myself shaking the hand of a man I already have the pleasure of knowing- Spindle. I shook it twice. Once to say hello, and once to congratulate him on winning best custom. Nice work mate. He duly praised the ever talented Boneshakers Benny and Zip for making his vision come to life.

Other things to report: I finally met a man who truly did not look like he gave a fuck, our favourite music tent is no longer a closely guarded secret, and Evel Kinevel once again crashed. Always a blast.
Spindle

Identity parade

Yes, I like Stone Temple Pilots. No, this is not their merchandise. Yes, it is the engine treatment product. No, I don't actually use it.

It's been a long time since I retired a t-shirt. That's how long it takes. I've just had a massive t-shirt folding session to get them off the floor and came across this old favourite... again. Every time we meet I know I will never wear it again. It's completely yellow and not in a good way. Looks really grimy. Be brave fella, take it out to the shed and consign it to the t-shirt graveyard.

ISDT

I didn't sign up for the ISDT Centenary ride in the end, I just didn't have the spare cash at the time. I had visions of riding my Harley off-road for a good distance but I think, in the end, it was only the enduro bikes that did that. All others went on tarmac swathed in cloaks of hi-visibility. Information was a bit sketchy both before and during the event; even the riders didn't seem to know any information beyond their own class. But they all looked like they were having a hoot.

We got to the Filling Station at around noon, expecting the first riders to turn up shortly but, as always with older machines, time is a relative thing. As you would expect from the ISDT a fairly steady stream of mostly enduro machine arrived and settled in to a pasty and chip lunch. Once lunch had settled they were quickly off again to go around Lorton and Buttermere. Fortunately I had the pleasure of riding that loop two weeks ago albeit with a stinking hang-over after the Iron Ore Rally. On the way home we had our own little ISDT; taking the long route through the Caldbeck and Mungrisedale commons. Andy flings his little AJS around like its an RD250.

I was down at the sun-drenched Ace Cafe the week previously for a classics day and I have to say that we had more classics at the Filling Station and we weren't far adrift of the total amount of bikes present. The food is still of the highest standard and the crack is always good. It is a source of great pleasure to me to have such a great biker specific cafe on my doorstep and to know that it is not only surviving but thriving. Keep up the good work.

Stolen bike in a small world.

The old Harley world is a very small world so this is likely to turn up sooner or later. Direct repost from Benny Boneshaker:

Some scumbag has just stolen my mates ironhead chopper, It was taken some time today from Port Dundas in Glasgow, Scotland, it's a 79 sporty with a weld on hardtail, repop springers, please can you repost this where ever you are, even if you are not in the U.K people here still read your blogs, if you get offered this bike or any part of it please contact me on 07913325297. We want it back

Midnight

Summer streets at night,
After the haze of a band,
My shit is perfect.

Songs in the key of beer

Last night as we played some excellent old-timey music my Closedmondays bottle opener had its first use as I'd forgotten my bottle opener comb and Leatherman micro multi-tool. I thought I had too many bottle openers til I saw my mates flip-flip bottle opener- I kid you not, flip-flops with a bottle opener in the middle of the sole. It's a neat gimmick but I prefer mine attached to my keys for hygiene reasons. I'm looking forward to my new wallet once I've saved up enough pocket money. Get stitching Gav.

Cake

I don't generally 'bro' people easily so when I say these people are family it means that they are some of the best people I know, not just ride with. So much so that I scraped myself off my sick-bed and drove 5 hours to London, endured the cheery banter of the multicultural Underground system to go to Jake and Dixies joint birthday. Joint with Ian who it was a pleasure to meet for the first time. The hugs turned to chatter which turned to drinking which turned to dancing which ended in lunacy.

It was nice that they personalised the toilet doors for the Mean Fuckers. Either that or it was a vague reference to gender.

The cake was amazing and the beer was copious- even at Camden prices. I didn't feel too bad til the next day, sat in the Ace Cafe feeling woozy. I took a very abstract photo of the shadow of the back wheel of a lovely Indian. Lets face it, in a shit way, it's quite good.