June 5, 2016

Today’s 135 miles was nothing short of just incredible fun. I took backroads from Alnwick toward the Lake District, and much of it was spent on road B6357. What a blast. Twisty, drops & climbs, through little villages, past lakes and forests. Parts of it demanded attention due to blind, decreasing-radius turns and narrow lanes, but the whole thing was, as they say here, bloody brilliant. In fact, I had so much fun I never stopped to take a photo. Not that there was any place to pull out, mind you.

The past week in Scotland has been the best scenery and roads I’ve ridden in the past eleven months. This whole area is at the top of my list to return and spend more time exploring in the future. With proper planning, including wild camping and staying in the cheaper caravan parks, as well as cooking rather than eating in restaurants, it doesn’t have to be expensive. Fuel is the one thing that I can’t reduce the cost of, other than to ride less. And this place definitely begs you to ride more, not less.

And while I will head directly for the Lake District and the west coast of Scotland again when I visit, I will not pass up the opportunity to ride B6357 again…both directions!

June 6, 2016

The distance between last night’s campsite and tonight’s campsite was 13.2 miles, if I took the most direct route. But why would you do that in a place like this, where the roads are just too good to not go the long way?

So I turned my 13 mile ride into a little over 100 miles today, and I would have been happy to have done triple that here in the Lake District. I’ll just let the photos do the talking…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 7, 2016

Before leaving the Lake District, I stopped in Coniston at a great motor museum that had a nice display of British cars, bikes, and a separate Malcolm and Donald Campbell exhibit.

After leaving the museum, I stopped in Burnsley and left my Klim pants at a repair center that had the correct rubberized waterproof zipper and could properly replace it. For the first time in 11 months, I was on the bike without my riding pants, but just North Face convertible pants. I felt like I was wearing shorts. Odd feeling after all this time. 

Another couple of hours and I arrived at the ferry terminal in Liverpool. I was four hours early, but bikes were already lined up. I checked in and parked in line, then found a spot for a nap. 

The Steam Packet ferry Mannanan is a large catamaran. When it arrived from Douglas, I counted 340 motorcycles getting off, along with about 50 cars. About the same then loaded onto the ferry for the trip back to Douglas. 

 

It was nearly midnight by the time I got to my campsite near Ballaugh, which is about half way around the TT course. Riding the course for the first time at night was a bit of an eye-opening experience — more on that in the next post. 

June 8, 2016

It’s my first visit to the Isle of Man, and I’ve been very lucky again. Not only has the weather continued to be unusually fantastic, with sunny skies and temperatures around 70F, but the campsite I chose randomly has several major benefits:

1. It is about 100 yards from Ballaugh Bridge, one of the famous places you immediate recognize from the TT because the bikes get airborne over the bridge.
2. It is on the inside of the track, and the road in front of the campsite goes up and over the mountain, splitting off in several different directions. This allows me to ride to several different viewing places and even to Douglas, even though the main road is closed for racing. 
3. The campsite is well equipped, with a nice kitchen & showers, and well organized. 

On my first morning, I walk down to Ballaugh Bridge to watch the Superstock race. There I meet Kenny, a course marshal. Kenny is 74 years old, and he’s been a marshal for every TT race since 1958. He lives about three doors down from Ballaugh Bridge, so he walks home for tea between races. 

The morning races are delayed due to mist and fog on the mountain. As I walk back to camp to wait out the delay, I walk past a guy on a Honda CRF with the rear wheel off of it. I ask him if he needs anything.

“I’ve got a flat. My dad had to ride up to Ramsey to find a tube, and now the roads are closed.”

“I have a tube, tire levers, and an air compressor on my bike about 100 yards from here. Bring your wheel down and I’ll change it for you.”

“No freaking way. You’ve got to be kidding”, he says. 

“Nope.”

So while he waits for his dad to find a way back, we change the tube. He’s thrilled, and can’t believe his luck. 

Eventually the weather improves and the Superstock race gets off. Fun to watch these guys launch 1000cc bikes over a bridge while transitioning from a left to right turn. At times it looks a bit like cross-rutting up the face of a jump on a large sport bike and landing twisted. But everyone pulls it off. 

 

 

 

In the afternoon the TT Zero race runs. There are very few electric bikes (maybe 8 or 9) and only the top two Mugen bikes ridden by John McGuiness and Bruce Anstey are competitive. 

 

I’ve watched the TT on video and television for years, but it’s hard to understand this place until you’ve ridden around it. 

As a former racer, I’m used to things like race tracks, choosing lines, establishing braking points, turn-in points, etc. Nothing I’ve raced is quite like this. When you walk out and stand in the middle of the racing surface at a place like Daytona, or Willow Springs, etc, the track looks like an airport runway. It’s very wide, and there is little or nothing in the way of obstacles near the track. Of course, the faster you go, the more you get tunnel vision, and the narrower the track seems. 

I can’t imagine that effect here. You are starting with a narrow two-lane road with no shoulders, just curbs. And buildings, and trees, and signposts, and stone walls. At 160mph through these places, it has to be like threading a needle. Mistakes are very, very costly here.

On a racetrack, you establish reference points for shifting, braking, turning, accelerating. Sometimes there are brake marker reference signs (“3-2-1”) as you approach a slow corner from a fast straight. Here, your reference points are fixed objects near the track’s edge. And the track is over 37 miles long. That’s a lot of reference points to remember. There are no signs telling you which direction the next blind corner goes. 

On the racetrack, a moment’s distraction or inattention typically means a missed line, or running wide in a turn or off the track. Here, a moment’s inattention can mean slamming into a wall. This place is brutally unfriendly. 

Also, race tracks are usually very smooth surfaces. These are country roads. Yes, the pavement is in decent condition, for the most part, but it’s rarely not rolling or wavy or bumpy. Suspension setup on a large sport bike, factoring in rough roads, jumps, and fast transitions, has to be a nightmare. 

Months of riding the course, and the week of practice prior to race week, repeated year after year, is the only way to excel here. 

I had a lot of respect for these guys before coming here. Now I’m totally in awe of them. This is a unique place that has to be experienced to be understood. I’ll be back. I need more experience.

June 9, 2016

Thursday was a day off from racing, and I took a ride around the TT course as well as a stop in Douglas to walk through the paddock area, and a visit to a few other places.

Before heading out, Brett and his dad and friend stopped by to repay me with a new inner tube for the one I put in his CRF the day before. I insisted he keep the new tube as a backup. During the fix-a-flat the day before, Brett had commented on my portable air compressor I was carrying with me, and I had mentioned that I didn’t have a backup plan if the compressor failed (originally I had packed a few CO2 cartridges in my fender bag with a spare tube and tire levers, but I had lost the bag on the Paso Roballos crossing in between Chile and Argentina). Unbelievably, Brett handed me a new bicycle hand pump as thanks for helping him out. Totally unexpected. Continuing my interaction with great people along my trip.

 

After fixing his tire, they had headed back up the mountain and while riding the trails, met up with David Knight’s brother (for those unaware, David is a former World Enduro Champion and all-around expert racer). They had a great afternoon riding some challenging trail, but eventually got separated and had a bit of an extra challenge getting themselves out of a precarious situation they had ridden into. As usual, these make for great stories after you’re finally back home safe.

There are at least four motorcycle museums on the Isle of Man, but perhaps the most interesting one, in an odd, eccentric kind of way, is Murray’s.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After Murray’s, I headed a half mile down the road to the Fairy Bridge. This place has always been a place to pay tribute to the “little people”, but it has become a series of memorial tributes to people (mostly riders) lost in the past year.

 

 

Next I headed to the paddock area. Even though it was a day off, the paddock was mostly open and it was interesting to see a very similar setup to US roadracing, with the large transporters and pit area.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later in the day, my friend Alfred from Georgia showed up. This is his third trip to the IoM TT races, and it was great to see him and talk about future TT plans.

 

 

June 12, 2016

I’m standing near the 31-mile marker on the 37.7 mile TT course, on the mountain, near the Joey Dunlop memorial. The TT races have been over for two days, but the mountain is still one-way traffic only, and there are still lots of motorcycles going by, nearly all in excess of 100 mph; many in excess of 140 mph.

I turn to the policeman standing next to me and ask, “So, is it pretty much just a free-for-all up here?”

He replies, “We prefer not to call it a free-for-all, but there is no speed limit.”

When was the last time a cop told you that? He continues: “We’re not here for enforcement. We’re just here to close the road when the accidents happen. Which is several times a day.” He explains that during the Manx GP in August, the mountain road is open both ways, because apparently there aren’t nearly as many idiots that show up for that.

The Joey Dunlop memorial is quite impressive, and includes stones engraved with each of his 26 TT wins.

 

 

 

Friday’s Sidecar race and Senior TT were great viewing, especially with William Dunlop setting a new lap record.

 

 

 

 

This morning I went for a ride up the mountain behind the campground, and onto some of the trails (“Green Lanes”).

 

 

 

I was reminded of several things as I descended the rutted, root-strewn, loamy, dark, steep downhill:

1. As Sandy and Alfred mentioned earlier, the ISDE has been run on the Isle of Man in the past, and for good reason. Nice trails!
2. I’m alone.
3. I have no idea if there’s a way out at the bottom of this hill.
4. I’m on a very underpowered motorcycle.

Keeping all of that in mind, I eventually managed to get turned around and back up the way I came down. It was another reminder of why I need to come back here, and spend at least a week between the TT races and the off-road riding.

I’m on the very late ferry back to Liverpool, then a few more days roaming England and Wales.

 

June 17, 2016

I was incredibly fortunate. I spent a week riding through Scotland and another 5 days at the Isle of Man, and it didn’t rain once. Until ten minutes after the last race. 

That was a week ago today. And it hasn’t stopped raining for more than about 30 minutes at a time since then. 

When I arrived at Baskerville Hall in Wales, I was already fairly wet. It had been pouring while I sat in a traffic jam in Hereford, the water literally running off my elbows and onto my pants like two waterfalls. Even my Gore-Tex couldn’t put up with the amount of rain I received and eventually I started feeling the wetness. 

The sun came out almost long enough to get the tent pitched. I tossed the rest of my stuff, and my yellow Ortlieb dry bag under the vestibule of the tent and walked into Baskerville Hall to attend a seminar. When I came out, it was a deluge. I walked back to the tent in ankle-deep water (and mud) to find that my tent was basically an island in the middle of a large puddle. The next thing I learned was that there was a hole in the bottom of my “dry” bag, which was now holding about two inches of water. My bluetooth speakers were somewhere in the bottom of the bag; everything else was just camp gear that would dry out. 

The sun came out, I mopped out the tent, the dry bag, and most of my belongings, and hung things on the bike to dry. Then I walked back to the hall for another seminar. 

While in that seminar, it poured rain again. Of course everything I had laid on the bike in the sun was now in the rain. I came back to things even more wet than before. 

It rained overnight so I put everything in the dry bag and propped it up so the hole was out of the water. In the morning, I hung everything on the bike again. And of course, it rained again. 

More sun. More rain. More sun. More rain. A seemingly endless cycle of one extreme to the other every hour or so. By this time it had become a real slog to get from the tent to the hall, and my only pair of shoes and two pair of socks were soaking wet, so I went back to wearing the boots. 

I guess I can’t complain too much, considering how great the weather was in Scotland and Isle of Man. And Africa. And most of South America. Come to think of it, I’ve been very fortunate nearly the entire trip. So a little rain now really is nothing to complain about. It’s just typical English weather.

 

June 16, 2016

During World War II, the United States operated bombing missions out of airfields across England. RAF fields were used to carry bombs to Germany, the planes often returning with little or no fuel.

Weather was almost always a factor, and made “assembly” — the act of getting into formation — harrowing. The low clouds and fog that settles over England frequently caused mission delays and cancellations. It was not uncommon for a group to depart, climb to altitude in the clouds in order to assemble, but cancel the mission due to bad weather and return to the field. With dozens, sometimes even hundreds, of planes flying blind in the clouds prior to formation, it was a very dangerous situation. Accidents happened frequently as one plane suddenly appeared above or below another.

On April 21, 1944, at 1:30pm, twenty eight planes from the 392nd Bomber Group took off from Wendling Airfield in the rural farmlands of Norfolk, near the east coast of England. Their target that day was to be an aircraft repair facility in Zwickau, Germany. Among the planes was a B24J, the latest model of Liberator, flown by 2nd Lieutenant Louis F Bass, and co-pilot 2nd Lieutenant Kenneth Gahm. Their plane, #42-99979, had flown just eight missions prior to this day, although just the act of returning to base eight times is more than many planes and crews completed. In addition to the pilot and co-pilot, they carried a crew of eight, including 2nd Lieutenant Wayne Steel, navigator; 2nd Lieutenant Arthur Stover Jr., bombardier; Technical Sergeant James Thomas, aerial gunner; Sergeant Walter Reeves, waist gunner; Sergeant John Brzostowski, waist gunner; Sergeant Warren Burnett, ball turret gunner; Staff Sergeant Robert Norrell, tail gunner, and Staff Sergeant Gerald Knettel, engineer.

Whether it was due to contact with another aircraft, or some other reason, 979 suffered a catastrophic wing separation while assembling for the mission. There was a tremendous noise as a portion of the left wing broke off. The plane rolled and yawed violently, and Knettel and Brzostowski were thrown from the fuselage. Their parachutes deployed, and they managed to survive, although Knettel suffered severe injuries. The rest of the crew died that day in a field near North Tuddenham.

The pilot, Louis Bass, was 27 years old at the time of the crash. His younger brother, at just 21, was Lloyd Bass, my former father-in-law. At the time, Lloyd was in the V-12 Navy College Training Program, completing his officer training.

Around 2010, the small village of North Tuddenham constructed and placed a memorial to the crew of the B24 that crashed in a field near their town on April 21, 1944.

Lloyd died in 2005, before this memorial to his brother and the crew of B24 #979 was erected.

This is as close as I can come to getting Lloyd and Louis together again.

June 18, 2016

I attended  my first Horizons Unlimited meet in British Columbia in 2014. Since I was already planning this trip, it was a worthwhile experience. While most of the attendees are motorcyclists who only dream of a trip like this, many have already done it, and the presenters at the various seminars offered a wealth of information about things like what to pack, border crossing etiquette, things to see in different countries, etc. 

Two years later, I am attending my second HUBB meeting, this time in Wales. The clientele is much the same, although obviously most are British. The seminars are the same, but I see them in a different light now; they tend to sound more like “what I did on my summer vacation”. There seems to be less good information and more braggadocio, but I’m sure a lot of that is just my perspective having just come from South America and Africa and no longer feeling like a “newbie”. 

Europe and North Africa are fairly easily accessed from here, so there are more people who have traveled through many countries. For the Brits, Morocco seems to be the equivalent of a trip to Mexico for those from the States: exotic but close enough to home to be done on a normal vacation schedule.

Out of curiosity, I attended a seminar on South America, presented by a gentleman who was there just six months ago (the same time I was). Mostly I wanted to see if I could gain any insights on what I might have missed, so I could add it to my notes for “Lap 2”. 

The presenter and his friend had shipped their bikes from London to Buenos Aires, with the intent of “following the Dakar route”. One of the first slides that came up was on bike choice. The slide read “BMW 1200GS. What else?”

The rest of the hour was mostly a slideshow of BMWs lying on their side, and a discussion of “we thought the road was going to be paved, but it turned out to be dirt. It was hard!”, and “then we got to a steep hill, and fell over” and “This was much more difficult than we thought.” 

My first thought in looking at the photos was that this was obviously not where the Dakar race goes. It was mostly highway, or well groomed dirt and gravel roads, and towns. My second and more obvious thought was “why did you take a 1200 to do this? None of this is difficult terrain on a smaller bike. There is no reason to fall over here, except that you are carrying too much weight.”

It didn’t help that they had spare tires strapped to the bikes in addition to a huge amount of gear. I wanted to scream “Why??!?” 

It seemed clear to me that at no time did the thought ever cross their minds that they might not have fallen over so much on a smaller motorcycle, and it might not have been difficult at all. For what it cost them to ship the 1200s to South America and back, they could have bought two Honda XR250s, ridden them for six weeks, sold them again, and had money left over.  

On the other hand, I will again say that everyone’s trip is different, and as Sjaak Lucassen (who rode an R1 around the world, through some really nasty terrain) says, “It’s most important that your heart is in what you ride.” There really is no reason you can’t ride a 1200 anywhere, if that is what you want to do. I suppose I’m just getting old enough that I don’t enjoy the thought of picking up an 800 pound motorcycle multiple times a day, or having to bring someone else along to help me pick it up.

In the past year I have become more of an advocate for small bikes than I was when I left on this trip. Certainly spending the last year on a 250 has changed my outlook considerably. I still believe there is a place for the 1200, but that place is becoming a smaller niche all the time. 

And I believe the overall attendance at these shows is proving that point as well. As I walked around the campground, I saw many 125, 225, 250 and 400cc bikes. The vendors mostly had 500 and 700cc bikes in their booths. 

I had many people approach me and ask about my travels on the 250. Many of them said “I had a 1200, but it was too heavy. I sold it and bought an 800, but it’s still too big.” It seems like, at least at an event like this, when people finally shift their thinking from highway-only to real utilitarian on and off-road use, the light comes on, and they realize that bigger is definitely not better.

In the past year I’ve been asked many times what my “ideal bike” would be for this trip. Since the beginning, my response has been the same: it depends on what trip you’re going to take. A two-up trip on mostly paved highways may call for a different bike than solo on backroads and trails. For the type of trip of I’m taking, my ideal bike has always been and still is a 450cc dual-sport bike. But I’ve argued that nobody makes my ideal bike. Most 450cc-range bikes are tailored to off-road trail and competition use, like the WR450 and the KTMs, and thus tend to be designed more for ultimate power output and less for long-range durability or hours of riding at 50mph day in and day out. Or else they are older, overweight models that are more street-oriented, like the DR-Z400.

But things are changing, if slowly. At the HUBB UK meet, I saw a dozen CCM 450 Adventure models. This bike has true possibilities. 

Keith, the guy camped next to me, had Metal Mule aluminum panniers on his CCM, and I’m pretty sure I would have ridden off on it towards Russia today. 

I met Darren Soothill of CCM at the meet, and he was kind enough to let me take a ride on his 450. Darren is a former Isle of Man TT competitor, road racer and off-road racer. And a genuinely nice guy. I enjoyed chatting with him, and riding his bike.

For now, the CCM GP450 is not being sold in the US, but they recently shipped their first batch to Canada, so it’s getting closer.

The HUBB UK meet was three days of jam-packed events,  and there were seminars on border crossing etiquette, trip planning, tire changing, bike setup, etc. All of the things a person planning a trip like this might want to hear. There was even an off-road riding school, featuring multi-time World Enduro Champion David Knight himself. And if nothing else, just walking the campground and looking at how and what others pack is a great learning experience. Would I attend another Horizons Unlimited meet? Absolutely. Especially the UK meet. It’s a great experience. 

 

 

 

June 19, 2016

Last night, as I was opening my bottle of Orgasmic Cider…

 

my Shiner bottle opener that I have mounted on my left pannier broke.

 

 

I’m hoping Shiner sees the problem with a failure like this on a long road-trip and offers to replace my bottle opener under warranty. I’d hate to have to replace it with a Lone Star brand opener…

On a good note, at least the cap came off the bottle of cider before the opener failed.  🙂