Small World

The throttle goes both ways - but only one of them is fun!
Back Home Up Next

 

17th March 1997

Small world... bloody small world...

So there I am, desperately trying to wear out my new BT56's on my way home from work down the old A40, when - as I flash past - I espy two old nail's and a pristine T595 in gentle repose on a petrol station forecourt. Applying full emergency braking, I stop a mere half mile after the petrol station, and as soon as the huge cloud of brake dust dissipates, and the disks stop glowing white, I do a quick U-turn and head back to bore the arse off the rider by asking him about his new toy. However, as I come to a halt directly behind the least salubrious of the two sheds (the other being ridden by a toothless, decrepit, grinning old geezer in a 1970's issue open-face helmet), I realise that I am in fact face to back with a familiar (and large) rear elevation... which, when it turns around, appears to belong to... Jezza [who is an entirely different toothless,

decrepit old geezer]. Also present was Henrik [Yet a third different toothless... etc etc..], who helpfully pointed out to said original toothless old geezer that the sidestand was down on his shite-and rust covered heap [not kidding, you could have grown spuds on the engine] as he rode off, thus saving him from the imminent discovery that 25-year old helmets don't work very well. His response? 'Hur hur... thort you were trying to tell me that the front brake's bust but I know about that.. hur hur... [dribble]', and he phut-phutted off up the road....

It seems that Henrik had been lumbered by that bastard Beveridge with the onerous task of running in his T595 for him. Honestly, talk about taking advantage - I only hope he's truly appreciative. All things considered, Henrik was bearing up well under the strain of course - I guess military men like him just sneer in the face of such adversity.

We resolved to partake of a warm beverage [err... no, AGE not IDGE... smutty minded lot], and so anxious to experience antique motorcycling, I swapped keys with Jezza and we set off up the road to a proximate vendor of same. Well, we did once I had discovered how to operate the antediluvian interface that BMW claim are controls, anyway. Next problem was getting the thing off it's centre-stand, not a trivial operation since it required use of a third lower appendage (does Jezza have a prehensile penis I wonder?) to pull it up and stop it dragging on the ground. Next problem is finding the gear lever, which seems to be a huge and vague device buried somewhere under the left-hand cylinder head. I didn't push my luck even _looking_ for the rear brake - knowing BMW it is probably operated by clenching the cheeks of your arse or something. After all that, actually _riding_ it was the least of my problems - especially since I had some experience of driving dumper trucks in my youth. Of course once we were off the forecourt, two tail lights disappeared off into the remote distance at incredible speed, as I tried to pedal after them on the bizarre device. I have to say that if, as Andy claims, Jezza makes that thing go fast, he is clearly a minor motorcycling deity. Luckily the chosen hostelry was but a few short miles away...

Anyway, the upshot was that Jezza decided he quite liked the VFR, and I decided that I am probably - on balance - not in the market for a BMW R100. We settled down for tea, coffee (and the obligatory live chicken) and had a pleasant and convivial chat for a mere two hours or so before heading our separate ways...

Good to see you guys! And I have to say, a DAMNED small world!

Ken Haylock [VFR750FL]

 

 

Copyright 2003 Ken Haylock. All rights reserved.
Last Revised: April 27, 2004 .