Pocket Rocket

Breaking the 800Km Barrier

The chain thing has worried me: I almost didn't ride to work today because I have a nagging doubt the chain will let me down and I'll tumble arse over foot into the path of a badger - and badgers are vicious bastards, too. One nearly wrote off the Alpha last year and ate most of its front quarter. (It won't do it again, mind).

But, the morning was sunny bright and I had this strange yearning to save some dollars from getting burned in the Alpha's six pots, or going to an already rich oil nation. It costs about £12 each way now.

I took the relaxed neuro route; Ka assured me if the bike broke she'd come and fetch me and I figured if I wasn't on time I wouldn't care today - I was a number of hours up on the contracted 36 last week. It was a good mindset to hit the traffic with.

It was okay through the valley. In fact it was almost euphoric dancing between the shadows in the Forest glades and shooting through the tree tunnels along the A32. Country smells filtered through with the finesse of a pheasant to the face at 60mph: calamine, woodland Lome, decaying flesh.

With 800km to complete before breaking out of the 5000rpm bracket and it's 40mph restrictions I noted with joy the clocking up of 700km at East Tisted's Southern speed sign. Just 100km (60 miles) to going ballistic and raising the bar to 7500rpm!

Work was slow. I was looking forward to getting back on the Phut Phut and getting this nut cracked. By 6pm I was walking on egg shells as I got back into the weather gear and straddled the Sanya. The weekend's horse riding aerobics had me aching some, but the sore in the saddle really came to the fore back on this seat. Hmm. £900 for that comfy-looking Suzuki one? Bargain.

Once filtering down the A325 through Aldershot my arse cam to terms with the seat and the chain seemed not to be doing anything drastic except downhill. Back onto the A31 and dicing with fast approaching motors attacking from the rear. Through the roundabouts - badly. Turn off onto the A32; loose the bravest cars on my right hand side. Through Farringdon past the Pheasant Plucker and on toward East Tisted. 777.7Km at the Northern speed sign. Now, there's fortune. 781km from the Hut. Up the hill and down (with a snapping chain in its guard) through the village and, bollocks, close enough. Open up.

50mph at 6002rpm. 55mph at 6505rpm. But what's this? The bike's turned into a star purchase from an Ann Summer's party! Talk about a pocket rocket - only this isn't how I foresaw it. (Where'd the batteries go?) 6893rpm. He canna take it, Captain! So there's a little vibration then.



But, 50mph! I mean. 50! Oh, the freedom - the incredible increase in the noise of the air being split apart by the helmet and the noise from the engine; it sounded like a real motorbike! Oh, the feeling of instability as I peeled into a sharper right across a junction with a farrow on the inner track and into the "S's" at the waterworks before accelerating back up to 50 and getting a little concerned just how fast this feels on tyres with a smaller foot-print than my thumb.

Yeah. It was all over rather quickly but tomorrow is another day.