That which does not kill us...

The throttle goes both ways - but only one of them is fun!
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22nd April 1999

Puckering of the anal sphincter...

Last night saw me wending my merry way back to High Wycombe for a MAG meet. As I waited for the proceedings to kick off, Paul (jtheb@cix) was mentioning to me that on his way over from Chinnor he had had a very lairy two-wheeled slide on his lumpy old GS BMW that took him onto the wrong side of the road and loosened his bowels significantly. I mentioned in reply that it had been some time since I had last tested the elasticity of my ringpiece, and that I hoped it stayed that way. I obviously failed to touch wood or something, before I headed for

home...

I decided to cut across country to the M4, and went out through the back of Bourne End towards Clevedon at about midnight last night. As I joined the empty back road which heads up from Cores End past the side gates of said stately pile, a large executive lightshow crested a rise and started closing with me. No problem, it had been raining earlier in the evening but the road was dry by that time in all but a very few patches, and I set off making brisk but sensible progress, expecting that the lightshow would fade further and further into my mirrors. But it didn't. The barge driver was clearly on a mission from god, possibly fuelled by beer, and was very shortly attempting to leave his paint on my topbox, full beams blazing away making a glance in the mirror physically painful. Typical arsehole in a car, you may say, and indeed it's not exactly an unheard of occurrence, but I decided I didn't want him that close, so on the exit to a tight right-hander at the bottom of a steep hill, where a steep descent on approach leads to an ascent on exit, I aimed to open up big distance between us up the hill that he wouldn't be able to close in a car. Bottom of the hill, front suspension nicely compressed, I gave it the gun up the hill - and as I straightlined a little wiggle in the road immediately after the bend, merely hitting a catseye as I crossed the white line caused a lock-to-lock slap. Only one, mind, and nothing that scared me, let alone encouraged me to knock the power off (by the time I could have thought about making such a mistake, it had already unknotted itself) but it very much took me by surprise; I'm sure Fireblades do it every time you give it a handful, and R1's do it standing still, while I won't even mention the TL1000S, but my Trumpet has never even twitched under some pretty grim provocation in the past...

...all of which explains, why the next bit took me by surprise, as I continued to accelerate up the hill leaving execubarge floundering in my wake...

So I'd just had a little telegram from the front end of the bike, telling me I had overstepped some mark or other but not which one, and I continued up the wooded hillside trying to analyze what had led to the moment. Ahead, a gentle left-hand bend approached - not one that I needed to back right off for, though I did roll off very slightly on approach so I could go through on an open throttle. As I approached, the part of my brain which was still dealing with the riding noticed the gravel washed from the woods on the ideal line, but also noticed a perfectly feasible swept area which backup-bonce steered me towards very helpfully. It wasn't until I entered the bend and suddenly found myself doing 60mph+ motorcross impressions using delicate adjustments of throttle position to steer, with the oscillations of the rear of my T5 being shadowed almost perfectly by the rythmic gyrations of the Haylock anal sphincter muscle, that my primary mental faculty, such as it is, had any cause to question the decision-making prowess of backupbonce. The culprit of this unentertainingly wild ride was clear as soon as I looked for it of course - my path between the gravel-strewn areas was lit by my headlight, revealing a nice wide strip of overbanding laid precisely as if to mark out my line, and glistening in a most un-dry way. Under the trees, coldish night, sheltered from the wind, runoff from the woods even after the rain has stopped - yes, you too can experience frictionless properties of wet bitumen!

Amazingly, it all eventually gathered itself together at the end of the overbanding, without planting me in the woods, and I continued on my merry way, while my sphincter reluctantly released it's deathgrip on the saddle...

Chalk one more up in the 'that which does not kill us makes us stronger' column! Another potentially painful and expensive lesson learnt cheaply…

Ken Haylock [T595 + CD200 Rat]

 

 

Copyright © 2003 Ken Haylock. All rights reserved.
Last Revised: June 12, 2003 .