Dilbert's First Day

The First Commute

Dressed and helmeted, I eased Dilbert's choke to about 75% as I sat aside him and tip-toe reversed him back off the drive and into someones granny's path. Ooops. Mirrors on the handlebars work well for reversing; mirrors mounted on the fairing don't.

Perhaps its the grannies that need fluorescent vests when out and about? Someone walking in front of them with a red flag might do it - keep 'em up to speed through "Woolies" and stop them dawdling past McDonalds on smelling the food. You know grannies can't look after themselves properly; that's why they stink of piss and they're always hungry. A solid Big Mac down the hooter would pep 'em up no end, but for their resistance to taking anything Yank in their mouths after that particular incident during the War. Still, at least they only go as fast as they can stop around corners so I only grazed her into a solid Paddington-style rueful stare.

I digress. Off the pathway I pulled and into the morning traffic: a deliberate attempt to navigate the busiest of the morning rush hour. Down toward the main road and into the selfish flow of car drivers glowering from behind their wheels. The flow was just quick enough not to opt for a filter, at first, although a couple of short-stop sports bikes did pass me by in trust of the opposite carriageway's good nature not to play "Chicken" with them, which I would if they tried bully tactics on me in the Alpha. By the time I got to Fareham I dropped the choke off and filtered right for the Motorway queue and then started an early centre of road line down the dual-carriageway.

Now I wasn't wearing my fluorescent jerkin as I'd decide to test the World's attitude to a white bike. Being deep-South England I reckoned white would get more courtesy than black or other coloured nature. It seemed a fair assumption as many drivers gave me enough way to feed an ambulance through. Panel vans and pick-up drivers didn't. Perhaps my black gear and dark looks weren't washing, or maybe their fag in hand driving style didn't allow for safe maneuvering?

By the time I got onto the A32 "proper" I was getting some feel for the acceleration open to me from Dilbert. On the last of the dual carriageway after the M27 Junction I had overtaken a number of dawdling Micras and other blue-rinse-mob aging drivers and slowed back to nearer the 50mph speed limit in time for the road convergence back to one lane. It was around here that Dilbert's rear brake was noted missing.

Brake, Too. Oh

While cleaning Dilbert with Muc-Off protector, I guessed, I had accidentally over sprayed on to the rear brake disk. The evening before I had even popped down to Halfords to get some Muc-Off brake cleaner to sort out the faded braking. I met a nice bloke who recognised Dilbert as a Deauville and stopped to chat.

This fella, about 60 to 65, I guess, has had a Deauville for 10-years and it has just 11,000miles on the clock. How can you only ride 1000miles a year? I'd like to know. Anyway, he informed me that the vibrations I experienced at 4-5,000rpm were quite normal, that my clutch lever play was insufficient, and that he fancied the belly panel sported on Dilbert but feared it'd upset the bike in the wind. Sure, thanks. Nice meeting you, etc.

Anyway, after cleaning the rear disk and spraying the pads there was sufficient improvement in the brake, if not an effective action: and I figured that as I was confessed to being a rear-brake-heavy rider it'd do me good to use the front brake more. Ewan, a neighbour who passed his test just a week before me offered this was likely dangerous, especially around corners. I mentally pictured a dab on the rear brake around a wet corner and then a front dab - both scenarios ended in tragedy so I ignored the specific warning, thinking back to my crossing the double white lines incident in Warnford where brakes would have been the worst option. Nah, brakes. Who needs them? The rear brake still works, just not too well. Use the gears.

Dabbling With Danger

Down the hill into Wycombe, slow to 30mph limit, enter roundabout decision zone, brake. No, brake! The front dipped harshly, compressing the front forks and my shoulders' bursars. "See", I muttered to myself, "I'm rear-brake reliant. This is a good exercise in learning to use the front one more effectively". And since then, I have.

Cruising Speeds

Once through Wycombe I followed slow cars for a while and overtook where safe in all the usual spots reserved for the Alpha's routine commute. It rapidly turned in to a bit of a blat, seeking out the gear / rev relationships to give the best passing performance.

Corners feel 1000% more confident on Dilbert over Phut-Phut, but still the sharp 'S' bends at the waterworks were taken cautiously as the road dips and is breaking up (Thanks Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling for all this petrol duty I pay and for not f&%ing fixing my roads, Bastards).

Snarl Up

By the time I reached the slow-down zone for Warnford I was feeling quite perky; here I am commuting on Dilbert. Finally! No stress, loads of time to get in to work and it's a fine - if blustery - day. 70mph to 50mph for the left curve and...ANCHORS ON! Traffic queue? Stationary.

I moved out to centre line and cautiously overtook some 20 or 30 cars to the 40mph sign then more cautiously passed each car in turn through the village where vision was insufficient to do otherwise. I guessed there'd been an accident and looked for large gaps in the on-coming traffic, but there was no rhythm to it; no guarantees of gaps, and lots of lorries - and traffic, all in all compared to normal Thursdays at this time. This carried on through Meon.

Up out of the village, over the hill, and all the way down to the lights at the A272 Meon Hut junction - loads of traffic - perhaps over 2000 cars and vans passed already? I blatted to the red lights and (annoying, I know) took position in front of the lead vehicle, which began to indicate left anyway. And on green I cleared the lights and the traffic, which all seemed to go left, too. Later I discovered the M27 or M3 had been closed so this was doubtless peeps looking for a rat run. I reckon it cost many more than an hour to clear this melee; some 20 or 30 light phases, at least!

Pheasant Watch

Cresting Privett corned I was pretty free to ride but the wind was stronger and anything over 50mph was buffeting my head; 60mph and the wind noise (and buffeting) were almost unbearable. I sat upright out of my seat and found "clean air" above the windscreen, but couldn;t ride like that. There seemed to be a convergence of all the air moving over Dilbert's nose into my visor line. At 70mph this became more than I could put up with so I eased off to 55 / 60mph for the rest of the stretch. It didn't matter: nice sunshine breaking through, Summer meadows, grassy fields, and pheasants.

I'd seen one of those Ambulance, Death on the Roads-type TV programmes recently, hosted by Richard "Hamster" Hammond from Top Gear, I think, which showed the remains of a CBR600 up-ended in a ditch aside an A'Road. The rider (doing 60mph, Officer) has received a pheasant to his head, which had smashed through his visor and smashed his cheek bone, giving him a ponderous old shiner. Pheasants are dangerous to a bike at "60mph", and here I was struggling with a head wind that could give me and a hapless (stupid f&%ing) pheasant a relative closing speed of over 80mph.

Most pheasants are shagged out right now; having gone through the mating season and raised their broods, so those I see are generally pretty slow on their feet or spread out in 3 compass points across the tarmac. So why, why should one over-zealous feathered rabbit decide to avoid my impeding their airspace by taking me on? It's not like its packing a 20mm canon is it? Just a beak and a 4lb bag of bones, blood, and gristle.



Honestly, swerving is a skill that the DSA should assess! I'll not tell you what my heart did before I swallowed it again, but it wasn't standard gymnastics but, hey! It missed me, or I it? Drama over.

Cold Filtered for a Smoother Flavour

Farnham was chokka cars. It took what seemed an age to filter through to the A331 off the A31 but in comparison to trying the route in a car at that time I was quids in.

I can't tell you how much I was smiling when I parked up at work. The last stretch saw speeds of up to 80mph to keep with the flow, and although this twisted my head off its normal socket I had great fun fighting the wind and really feeling what Dilbert is. He's a great old softy with an appetite for sport but suffers from arthritic joints. Dilbert and I really are a perfect match.

Luggage

Dilbert's top box influenced his handling in the wind, without a doubt, but far less than Phut-Phut's given the relative increase in size as well as speed of assault on the air-flow. Where it won was in stashing my helmet and colder-weather gear leaving my hands free to carry my light day bag into work with my shirt, stride, and tie. Happy with that. It used to be a nause carrying Phut-Phut's top box (too small to fit a day bag) and a helmet through to the office.

I quite looked forward to the journey home, too.