Scottish Trials

Every year for the last few years, a bunch of friends and I get together on trials bikes and muck about in the Scottish wilderness for a few days. Last weekend was our latest Scottish Trials adventure.

Autumn colors in Scotland

Mike, Ant and I started off with a wee warm-up for a few hours in a local bing quarry. At first, I was pretty wobbly and a bit hesitant about those massive hills and drop offs. Within 15 minutes I was back into it and attacking most things in third or fourth gear. Braaaaaaaap-braaaaaap!

One o'clock in the morning the night before... bike prep

We charged the big climbs fast and finessed the more technical rocks slow, we laughed, we cried (with laughter) and had a few offs. Just three mates cutting about an abandoned quarry on trials bikes, hugely entertaining - as always. After - a super-tasty meal at Mike's mum's and a few drinks in town we get a good night's rest (thanks Liz!).

Alan joined us for the next leg of the trials weekend... heading out into the wilderness. We normally do a day out in the forests, starting early and returning late. This time we loaded a few backpacks with some tents, a few bits of equipment, some food, whiskey and fuel then headed out to our camp spot for the night.

Coming up with creative ideas for a broken chain guide over a bottle of Scotch

After an hour and a half of cutting through the forest, around fields, over hills and some forestry roads, Al guided us to an ideal spot that he and Mike had discovered a few weeks earlier. We struck camp then headed out to play on the bikes until dark.

Through muddy ravines, wee burns (streams), pine needle blanketed forests, single tracks, heather covered hills and gravel roads. Every clearing used by the forestry industry becomes a playground. Huge arcs up massive embankments - challenging each other to ride higher. Jumps over piles of rocks and the classic trials route over a stack of huge concrete pipes for those with great skill (those like Al).

High up onto the windblown hill-summits where hail lashed us like being roosted on an MX track and down into the heather-covered dale . Traversing a massive hill that has just been stripped of all the trees by machines of destruction. Uber-gnarly terrain with the only passage through the huge Caterpillar tracks ripped into the earth. Even those were tough going on the little bikes. It's like being in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Eerie.

Al sizing up a stream crossing...

... made it!

Back at camp by nightfall and with a bit of coaxing we get a good fire going with wet wood. Chunks of beef roasted like marshmallows and the tastiest lamb-steak burgers washed down with Laphroaig. Warming by the fire, drying wet socks, gloves and jackets. Smoke in eyes, chatting, more whiskey, laughing, snoozing and just chilling. Drunken midnight rides through the forest with a few get-offs onto the soft, wet pine matress. Laughter and more laughter.

Hazy, uncomfortable sleep. Damn, the ground is bloody cold without a proper ground-mat. My motocross trousers providing some relief from the cold despite the uncomfortable armor panels and buckles. After a few hours we stir from the clear, warm night to the sound of rain on the tents. The trees provide good cover though and we get the fire going again for breakfast. We're parched.

Sausages - flat and square (a Scottish thing) as well as traditional long and round ones. Scrumptious! We pack, get back on the bikes with lighter backpacks and emerge from the forest to driving rain. It only lasts an hour as we go to play again. We find an old disused forestry road and have races down it. Inevitably I crash, hard. Twice! Sprain my wrist but it's a lot funnier than painful.

Luchtime snack and it's another hour's weary trek back to the van. Soon we're back at Al's - knackered. We unpack the gear, clean the bikes, help stack some logs and have an afternoon fry-up finished off with some fantastic lemon-drizzle cake and chocolate muffin made by Al's good wife (thank you Sam!). Late afternoon farewells then Mike, Ant and I are heading back down to London.

I am in my bed after midnight absolutely cream-crackered. I sleep. Another fantastic Scottish Trials with friends and memories to cherish. It was awesome. Thanks guys!

Moto Guzzi Cafe Racer

I have a soft spot for minimalist Cafe Racer Guzzis...

Thanks Cafe Racer Culture for the pics.

Ducati Monster SR2 Cafe Racer

Ducati Cafe Racer based on Ducati Monster SR2 built by mechanical engineer John Grainge. Custom Cafe racer seat by Radical Ducati, sub-frame was rebuilt, Custom fuel tank mounting and rear set was machined by john. Fuel tank was borroed from Ducati 749 and customized, Ohlins front suspension and disc brakes from Ducati 848, Ohlins rear suspension from Ducati 999, Ducati Hypermotard 1100S Marchesini magnesium wheels, Harley-Davidson V-Rod headlamp, Custom Exhaust system, custom Paint job by Alan Stanley, electrical Redesigned. Ducati Monster SR2 Cafe Racer is unique and is an assemble of best parts from all Ducati motorcycles.

from Grease n Gasoline

Dirttrack National Championship - Round 6 - Rye House

Sunday was the last round of the DTRA National Dirttrack Championships at Rye House, just north of London. With more riders than ever entered, a split event was run with the Pro, Restricted and Thunderbike heats and finals in the afternoon and all the other classes in the morning. This meant I could sleep in :-)

Thunderbike Final start line

Thanks Ian Roxburgh for the pic

Unloaded, signed on, changed and by lunchtime we were out on track. Heat 1 - a good start... 4th from the back row. Then my first Pro heat... front row start... held onto 2nd for half a lap and then went backwards. Next Thunderbike heat and I could only get 5th from a second row start - I was struggling to get into it.

I kept plugging away, thinking about where I could improve, what I was doing wrong. I wasn't really enjoying it and it was pretty hard work with just 3 classes being run back-to-back. Fortunately, I still had a bit of fitness left in my bones from the ManxGP/Classic TT so I was recovering quickly between heats and never felt tired while out on track. My calf was battered and bruised from Saturdays lie in the dirt but only bothered me in the paddock - on track it was the last thing on my mind.

Geoff getting it tight

Thanks James Boddy for the pic

The heats done... I was surprised to see that I'd qualified 5th in the Thunderbike Final with my mediocre riding. I just missed the Grand Final by one place, qualifying 13th. That cheered me up a lot. Okay.. just two races to go... let's give it all we got!

Thunderbike Final - Revvs up. The light flicks on and we're away. The bike hooks up so well on the race line that she pulls into a big wheelie. Well... it felt big... but was probably just 6 inches. I knock the throttle a little to get her back on the ground, hook third gear and run her into the turn 1 melee.

There's a bit of barging and contact around me.. I manage to keep out of trouble and sling the big KTM out of turn 2 behind in 4th place, behind Geoff Cain. Nice!

Thanks James Boddy for the pic

I quickly settle into the race. Dave Chadburn is at the front and pulling away. I'm in the queue behind Guy Sutherland and Geoff. We're all real close... lap after lap. There is kind of a blue groove (it was a groove, but wasn't blue) and it's almost impossible to make a pass without someone making a mistake or having a bit of contact. I find myself running into the back of Geoff mid-turn but his yellow Co-Built is always in my way so I have to back off. He starts cutting the turns tight. Turn 1 and there seems to be some room on his outside... this time I carry my speed and go have a look...

Shhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrr. The bike goes into a two wheel slide. Shit! I'm losing the front... I try keep her up on my steel-shoed left foot. Ghhhhhhrrrrrrrrr... the swish of tyres sliding across dirt fades into a nauseating grinding sound. Shit! I'm loooooosssssssing heeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr. My left side gets ground into the hard-packed dirt. My left foot getting caught between the front wheel and the bottom of the headstock, graunching my leg in a carbon copy of Saturday's off.

Fuck! The expectation of the impact of another bike on my trapped body goes through my mind before I've stopped sliding. Makes no difference if I'm waiting for it.. or trying to get back in the race. So I'm scrambling to get my leg out form under the bike amidst an angry swarm of Thunderbikes. I have to roll on my side and do a prone dance and wiggle free. I'm out, I'm up.

Queueing up!

Thanks James Boddy for the pic

Get bike up. Need to race! I try lift her... wrong angle and she just slides along the gravel. I adjust my position and hoik her up as the pack comes swarming around again. I hold the bike and watch over my shoulder as the other bikes dodge me. At least if I'm watching I have a tiny chance of lessening any impact. I'm missed by inches - these guys are good riders!

Clutch in and I roll the bike to the sanctity of the grass infield where I get her started again. Wait for the bikes to pass for the last time before tagging onto the back and finishing the race on two wheels. Well... I was was doing well there... and then I fucked it up. A bit annoyed with myself... but happy at the same time that I had the pace to be up there after I felt like the slowest rider out there during the heats.

Jetwash time

My leg got mangled in the same place as the day before and hurts like a bastard. 10 minutes later and I'm lining up with Guy and Paul Sheldon for the Pro 'B' final. There are still points on offer for the Championship. Oh yes... this year I have no Championship. Ah - fuck it... it's still a race! Let's go for it!

Guy manages to gap me in my over cautiousness with battered bike and body. I roll the bike home in 14th place for the Pro class - probably my last race of 2014. Would have been nice to carry the high from the Isle of Man through to the last race. Oh well.

It hurt then, it hurt more on Monday, it hurt a little less on Tuesday, it hurt less yesterday and less again today. The body forgets pain... that's why we keep racing.

Post-season sparkly clean, some WD40 and tucked away in the garage for the winter

Dirttrackin' Tomorrow

Tomorrow is the final round of the DTRA National Dirttrack Championships at Rye House (Hoddeston - just norf of London). I was lying 2nd in the Thunderbike class after two rounds - but then I missed the next three rounds due to my wedding and travel for work. I'm pretty far down in the Championship standings now. Oh well... I'll be there to have some fun.

I haven't ridden the Dirttracker for more than 4 months... so took the opportunity for some practice at Rye House this morning because there are no practice sessions scheduled before tomorrow's racing... and just because it's fun :-)

Early morning rain delayed the start and I waited till the track had dried out a bit. Focusing on some of the things I picked up from Kenny Noyes at the beginning of the season, I was back into it by the second session. I also experimented with tyre pressures... until the front-end disappeared mid-turn and I was slam-dunked into the dirt. I got my leg trapped between the front wheel and forks and another rider had to lift my bike before I could get free.

No major damage... bent gear-change lever... a few more scrapes. My calf took a good smack. It's hurtin' now... It's gonna hurt more tomorrow. My learning: the rear isn't so sensitive to tyre pressure... but the front is.

Also burned my hand on the rear brake disc while doing the tyre pressures

Got the bike a bit cleaned up, fitted a new/used gear-change lever and made some fresh cuts to the tyres this evening. Looking forward to going fast and turning left tomorrow. My classes (Thunderbike and Pro) start racing at 13h00, entry is free so come along and watch some Dirttrackin'!

Profound

Travis at Pikes Peak by San Christmas

"This wolverine portrait pic was taken shortly after I watched the fellow run off the Finish line. And then receive CPR in the back of a flatbed plow truck. That was not the first time I have seen chest compressions at the races. It was the first of this summer but not the last. Racing is real. Deep and real."
Travis Newbold

Via: Sideburn via FTWCo

Saw this shortly after my last post. An immense pic and profound words from the legend. Some of those feelings I have on the Isle of Man too.

IOM 2014 - Post Manx Blues

For a few weeks and even months after returning from the Isle of Man, I suffer 'Post Manx Blues'. Most of my friends who race out there get it too. Back to the hum-drum of everyday life - lightyears away from the focus, intensity, thrill, emotion, danger, sadness, hard work, concentration, frustration, adrenalin, celebration, relief and joy of racing on the Isle of Man. I get a feeling for what combat troops returning to civil life go through.

'Crosswind' by one of my favorite artists: Tom Fritz

With the Isle of Man experience fresh in my memory, it's the contrast to everyday life that leads me to sometimes think: "Why the hell am I doing this crap?". But I quickly remind myself: "So that I can go and have these incredible experiences.". I'm getting better at keeping the gap between the thought and the reminder as small as possible.

I think that this practice, and having achieved every goal that I set out for myself before I got on that ferry a month ago, has helped keep those 'Post Manx Blues' away. Right now, I have a deep sense of satisfaction.

I never take the decision about racing on the Isle of Man lightly - this is why I wait at least 2 weeks after returning before daring to think of returning. Let the emotions settle - like closing your eyes to the dust kicked up by a car speeding by on a dirt road. Hold your breath, let the dust settle.

IOM 2014 Day 14 - Senior Race

Early morning Friday and the rain was being driven horizontal by the fierce wind. Not quite ideal racing conditions on the Isle of Man. Or anywhere. Once the rain stopped, the strong winds persisted... good for drying the track... bad for racing motorbikes in. We load up and head up to the Paddock where an hour delay to the start is announced to allow the track to dry more.

The Aprilia up through skrootineering, fuel topped up, tyre warmers gently getting 80 degrees into the tyres and rims and we're all set. It's sunny and the track has dried out nicely by the time the 45 minute horn sounds. But it's quite chilly and very windy.

Pretty soon I've got my gear on and am heading up to Parc Firme for the start of the Senior race - the blue riband event of the 2014 Festival of Motorcycling. When walking up for practice or a race, I pull my cap low over my eyes and stare at the ground 6 feet ahead of me and focus on the job ahead. If I look up and around, I'll see someone I know and they or I will start a conversation. I just get my head down and focus.

Thanks Justine for the pic

Up in Parc Firme, we get an update on the course conditions from the Clerk of the Course. Damp under the trees and very windy - take care. Then we're up on Glencrutchery Road. Bike warmed up, tyres toasty, fuel brimmed - we're good to go racing for four laps of the Isle of Man. The tension and excitement mounts as the first bikes on the road scream away from the start line - the race starts.

We edge forward in the queue. Helmet on, check visor, gloves on, stretch, stay loose and relaxed... focused. Hand-shakes, fist-pumps and shoulder-slaps. Hop on the bike and tip-toe it through the sea of photographers. Then we're alone in penned off start area. Just me an the bike. Focus. Think... speed. Speed!

Thanks Kevan for the pic

My friend, Warren Verwey is starting at number 40, just 20 seconds ahead of me on the road. He blasts off down the track. I close and lock my visor. Next up, is my mate Tim Devlin on his old steelie 600. I hook first gear and ease out the clutch, I roll forward toward the start line. "Clunk!". The bike stalls. Crap. I hit the start button. Nothing. Shit. I switch the key on and off to reset everything, hit the start button again. Nothing. Fuck! The Starter walks back a few paces to me, places his hand on my shoulder and taps it. Shit! The clock is ticking... time to go!

Warren Verwey on Glencrutchery Road

I then remember that the bike has to be in neutral to start - bloody road bikes! I look for neutral with my left foot. Click. Click. Click. Click. Up, down, up, down. 1st, 2nd, 1st, 2nd. Click. The green neutral light on my dash lights up. I hit the starter button again. "Chigga-chigga-vroooom!". I stamp down into 1st and make my start of the Senior Manx Grand Prix 2014 from 5 yards behind the start line and 5 seconds after the clock started ticking. I'm annoyed with myself and red line the aging machine in every gear all the way down to St. Ninians Crossroads.

Ahem... the start line is here... would you please start your motorcycle.

C'mon Son... it's time to go...

Peel left, hit the jump, muscle the bike toward the apex on the right. That was easy. Now left. The bike doesn't go left as quickly as it should and as I go over the crest I catch a massive headwind. It's like someone put the brakes on! Whooooah! Left... left... left... I have to roll the throttle to get back on line for the right kink through the bottom of Bray Hill. Bloody-hell! I've never felt wind like that!

Huraaaaah! We get rolling 5 seconds too late...

Throttle to the stops in annoyance.

Thanks Justine for the pics.

The headwind lifts the front of the bike up more than usual over Ago's One and Two. But I'm ready for it on the rear brake. Into the tunnel of trees, over the jump and hard on the brakes down to The Quarterbirdge. Through safely and flat-out. Faster. Faster! I get settled in quickly, but the wind is strong and I'm getting blown off line unexpectedly. Take it easy. Ride to the conditions. I keep a bigger gap to the kerbs than I normally do. By the time I reach The Appledean, I have Tim a few seconds ahead and I'm reeling him in. He's good on the brakes and just a little too far ahead for me to get him at Ballacraine. Up through Black Dub. Tip in to the blind left-hander and 'Whoah!'. I have to tuck my shoulder in to avoid contact. That wall was close!  Bloody wind.

I use the torque of the big Aprilia to drive past Tim coming out of Laurel Bank. Down Cronk-y-Voddy straight and I'm carrying 500 rpm more than usual - tailwind. Knowing I'm carrying a few mph more than usual, I take care through the super-fast right kink at the end and over the bumps. It's hard work having to constantly correct your braking, turn-in and lines because of the wind.

The jump through St Ninians - about 155mph on a flying lap

By the time I get to Sulby Straight for the first time and through the kink, I can see another rider in the distance, just disappearing through Sulby Bridge. I chip away at the gap up through Ramsey and onto the Mountain section. Over the Mountain I'm gaining seconds. By the time we're heading down through Brandish, I'm only a few seconds off and I see that it's Warren. Warren posted a personal best of 115 mph during practice in only his second year at the Manx (awesome Dood!). Starting 20 seconds ahead of me and with my start line shenanigans, I thought I wouldn't see him in the race.

I keep closing the gap through the Grandstand and the super fast section all the way to Ballacraine. I nip up his inside as he takes a wider line at the Glen Helen Hotel. I then get a false neutral up though the next uphill right-hander - Sarah's Cottage. I lose so much speed, expected him to come back past me as I stamp down 2 gears through the gearbox. He doesn't, but I know he's breathing down my neck and I pin my ears back. He can't get past down Cronk-y-Voddy but I can hear him right behind me. I know he's not going to be happy that I caught him on the road and is going to try get back at me. That's when I started to feel the arm-pump.

Warren and I dicing on the greatest race track in the world

I have never suffered arm-pump before. My lack of bike-time and the tough race conditions were taking it's toll on my body. My forearms were burning. My hands couldn't grip as before. I couldn't squeeze the brakes as hard as I'd like. I started to struggle the push the bars hard to counter-steer.

Warren makes his move down Sulby Straight. On the power, he drives past. I want to wave as he goes past, but it's too bumpy, too risky. I take it all in and savor the moment - racing on the best race circuit on the world with my friend. Money can't buy it!

Warren and his crew - Mike Dickenson, his Dad Andre and Curtis before the race

I tuck in close behind in his slipstream. I'm feathering the throttle through the kink to avoid rear-ending him. With my arm-pump, I'm struggling to brake properly, so I'm early on the brakes and he starts to get away. Up through Ginger Hall and the bumpy sections all the way to Ramsey and he gaps me by two seconds or so. I'm struggling to hold on. I know I can get him back on the mountain though, it's smooth up there - I don't have to work so hard with holding on and there is not too much heavy braking. I bide my time.

Sure enough, I catch Warren through the uber-fast three right kinks at the end of the Mountain Mile. I am flat out through them and behind his back wheel by the time we tip in at Mountain Box. He holds me up a bit through the next few sections before I push past on his inside at the Bungalow. Up Hailwood's Rise and and I pass Justin Collins too. The big torque of the Aprilia was helping me a bit on the mountain with so much wind. I was punching out of the turns quicker and making up time on acceleration.

Signpost Corner

By the time I'm cruising down pit-lane (at about 40km/h ;-/ ) and looking for my pit-box, I'm about 6 seconds ahead of Warren. I find my box, pull up next to my crew, fumble a bit with the key, but get the gas cap open. Kevan is sloshing in more fuel. Visor and screen clean and a drink from Steve. "You're fuckin' flying Paul. You're fuckin' flying!" Steve gives me encouragement as I try and stretch and relax my forearms. "You're 10th!". Holy crap! I think. 10th in the the Senior... keep going... just keep going.


Fuel tank full, Gas cap closed, key in and turned,off the stand, hit the start button. Nothing. Huh? I rock the bike forwards, I feel that she's still in gear. As on the start line, she won't start unless she's in neutral. Fuckin' road bikes! Just then, Warren pulls out from the pit box behind me. 'Bugger - gonna have to catch him again...' I'm thinking as I do the 1st to 2nd gear and back again gear-lever twiddle. Bloody hell! I'm struggling to get her into neutral. Trying the most sensitive touch. Click, click, click... the green light on my dash fails to go on. I hear the a guy in the next pit box shout across to me "You need to find neutral." Yeah, no shit. I'm working on it pal...

Click, click, click... tick, tick, tick... the seconds go by. Using the lightest touch possible, I feel 1st disengage, and there is no click up to 2nd gear. The green light is blazing. "Yeah! You bitch!" I hit the starter button so hard, it twists around the handle-bar. I keep pushing and she fires into life. Careful not to stall, I pull off and cruise down pit-lane. Another 10 seconds lost. Shit! Bollocks!

Wtf is neutral? Tick, tick, tick.... third pit-lane f-up in the week. What a muppet!

Thanks Justine for the pic.

I chase after Warren on an empty track. By the time I'm braking heavily for Quarterbridge, my forearms, especially my right, are killing me. I know I've lost loads of time on this lap. The last lap of a 4 lap race is the only proper flying lap. I wanted a personal best. I decided to sacrifice the third lap and a few race positions to go for that personal best on the last lap. Personal Best times are more important to me than race positions around the Isle of Man.

On the road alone again

Braking early and not as hard on the big braking areas, using my legs against the tank of the bike instead of countersteering and rolling the throttle on with my fingers (like a monkey would do), I was trying to rest my forearms as much as possible. I knew I was losing time, but if I could save enough strength for a blistering last lap, it would be worth it. I had to consolidate. The wind was still strong and I still had to fight through a lot of fast corners. That was a looooooong lap.

By the end of the lap, the pain had eased in my forearms. I tested the countersteering and heavy braking through Cronk-y-Mona and into Signpost. Aaaaaah, that's better. Down through the blind Bedstead (love that corner) and the Nook (hate that corner) and I was g'ing myself up to pull the pin on the last lap. Around Governor's Dip and then hard on the gas for the quickest lap I've ever done.

Small jump going through Union Mills - #36 started 50 seconds ahead of me on the road

"Braaaaaap!", "Braaaaaaaaaaaap!", "Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap!". As I approach the Grandstand, I see some red movement. I approach at around 140mph to see a marshal frantically waving a red flag. Huh? Really? Now? I slow down and there is another marshal at the entry to the return road, in the middle of the track, waving a red flag. Isle of Man rules: red flag means you stop where-ever you are on track at the next marshal's post. I slow right up and filter into the return road as directed by a marshal.

The Gooseneck - leading to my favorite part of the course, The Mountain Section. 10 miles of riding heaven

I get back up the return road to find only Warren and another rider in Parc Firme. The other riders ahead of me on the road must have just got through to the next Marshal's post. With all racing stopped under a red flag, there couldn't be a better place to have it happen. Two other riders join us. With the first 35 or so riders on the road already through and on their final lap, I know that this is the end of the Senior race and a result will be called. No chance of a proper flying lap.

War stories of our dicing on the roads...

Thanks Justine for the pics.

We're all happy and somewhat relieved to be back safely. It was a tough race, real tough. Warren and I exchange war-stories of our lap 2 battle before the Clerk of the Course announces that there are 2 incidents that the 2 air-ambulances are attending to and with no air-ambulance cover, the Senior race is over and a result will be called. I am disappointed not to have a go at my personal best in lap 4, but am also relieved. That was a hard race and I didn't have anything left in me to do more than 1 lap... and I'd have to dig deep to do that lap too. I'm really pleased that it's over and we're safe... but disappointed that my last lap of the 2014 Campaign ended with a red flag.

Thanks Justine for the pics

The race result was rolled back to the 2nd lap. This played into my hands as my conserving 3rd lap and pit-stop cock-up didn't count toward the result. I later am surprised to learn that my 2nd lap dice with Warren had taken me up to 8th place at the end of lap 2. Awesome! It didn't work out so well for Warren who was on fire in lap 3 and well into the top ten.

Evening meal with friends for a job well done :-)

8th in the Manx Grand Prix Senior... I could hardly believe it! Some luck there... maybe... but after so many luckless campaigns, I was due a bit of fortune. I still had to ride the wheels off that big old bike for those first 2 laps. My first lap was 113mph from a standing start. My second lap, including the slow-down for the pit-stop was 114mph. I'd got that personal best after all.

Third replica in a week - Team SpeedTherapy's best results ever!

Thanks Justine for the pic.

It makes me chuckle. 8th in the Senior or what is basically a road bike with clip-on's, throttle, rear-sets, race bodywork and an exhaust/airfilter, power-commander AND - it's 11 years old! Nothing special about that bike... ok... maybe the color-scheme.

The day ends with sadness when later that afternoon we learn that Gary Firth, in his first year on the Isle, lost his life in one of the incidents. Condolences to Gary's family and friends. As many have said - he was doing what he loved and was living the dream.