|
Tales from a Motorcycle Saddle.
|
Sunday 15th July 2001 Day 1 |
|
|
The Off |
A story of a motorcycle trip to North Cape in Norway, the most northerly tip of Europe, for a mid Essex charity |
||
|
08.00. 220C. I wheeled the heavily laden bike from my shed onto the road. After locking up, I returned to the bike to see my Aunt and Uncle standing there. Margaret remarked that it was a lovely day. In truth, I hadn’t noticed. I did not want to go. I felt over dressed with all the motor cycle gear, my full-face helmet felt claustrophobic compared with my open face one and the thought of riding my annual mileage in two weeks was not appealing. Tony did his usual encouraging bit and I was away. Norge, Polarsirkelen, Nordkapp, here I come! |
 |
||
|
The first stage of the journey was to my cousin’s, a few miles from Scotch Corner in North Yorkshire. The next afternoon would see me sailing from Newcastle across the North Sea to Kristiansand in southern Norway. I felt impatient as I travelled along from Braintree to the M11. I just wanted to get a move on. Once on the M11 I was able to. I noticed that the bike appeared to need more throttle to get up hills at a good speed, but I put it down to the extra weight I was carrying. At long last I saw the road sign I had been waiting for: The North. After many years of having this dream, I was on my way to achieving it. The North. In my mid teens I read an advertisement for thermal underwear. The wearer had been grabbed by the vision of the North as these signs provocatively beckoned along the A1. He rode his BMW to the Arctic Circle in Norway in winter, singing praises of Damart all the way. |
|||
 |
In July 1991 I did a trip on a little LE Velocette, loaded with camping gear, from Chelmsford to John O’Groats, then to Land’s End and back to Chelmsford. This little jaunt of 2118 miles took eight days at an average speed of 33 mph and raised nearly £1500 for a children’s charity. If you want to read about “One Man and His Velo”, go to www.Boringbiker.org or contact me at Tim@Boringbiker.org and I’ll send a hard copy. This motorbike, built in 1961, was released in 1948 to the press as an “everyman’s motor cycle”. They were reliable, light, gave good mpg (100+) but poor mph (up to 55 mph) down hill but half that up hill! It had a twin cylinder, water cooled, side valve engine and shaft drive. Not a chain used anywhere (I HATE chains as you will find out later). |
||
|
After
ten years of ownership and over 30,000 miles, I could not cope with its
miserly 7 bhp anymore, so
I sold it and looked for a Honda Silverwing.
Why? Because I wanted a bigger, but not huge bike, with a big
fairing, panniers, shaft drive and a “sit up” riding position. A small
budget dictated Silver, not Goldwing. I found one, in good condition in
Rugby, with two previous owners and only 20,000 miles covered in 16 years.
Ridden gently, at up to 5-6,000 rpm, it gave 70 mpg.
At motorway speeds (6,500+ rpm), it returned 60 mpg.
It looked smart, was built like an ox and I was pleased.
I fitted new tyres, clutch, screen and a top box and was ready for
the North. |
 |
||
|
As I reread Pape’s story, a line jumped from the page that I had missed before. “In love, in war, in life, in business and in adventuring, top level enthusiasm is a vital factor towards success.” I agree totally and have great admiration for such people. My dreaming along the surprisingly empty A1 was shattered when the bike
hesitated, then slowed up. A
few seconds later, it picked up as I switched over to reserve.
I had not covered my usual 180 miles, only 150.
This equated with an alarming 47 mpg, 10% less than my car would have achieved, and way down from the usual 60mpg. I had estimated the costs of my trip based on 65 mpg, knowing
that Norway’s speed limits would keep my speed down. Here I was, still in England, achieving only 47 mpg.
I rode more slowly to Juliet’s, discovering that to get over 5,500
rpm (60 mph in top gear) took a large handful of throttle. I
had lunch with my cousin Juliet and her husband Dennis, visited a garden
centre with them and, after a delicious evening meal, I retired to bed at
9.30 in the refrigerator, a room so called because of its three solid brick,
outside walls. As I lay there, I realised I still was not looking forward to
the trip, but I could not define why. As I recalled this morning’s Bible
reading, I knew that any hardship or worry would only be one tiny fraction
of what the Apostle Paul had to endure. Mind you, he was shipwrecked more than once ... With that
encouraging thought, I drifted off to sleep very quickly as for some reason,
I was exceedingly tired. |
|||
