Holy Shit!

And Other Expletives!

I rode Dilbert through a stunning sun lit morning with just the odd fresh patch of wet road from some passing light showers along the Valley. We arrived at MSG Motorcycles in Farnborough and parked up next to the side gate. The Pan was waiting expectantly on the pavement where the sales photographs had been taken for the Autotrader.

I strode in to find Mike (the owner) and Mark (the ex-owner and part-time mechanic) cleaning some blue Kawasaki ZZR 750's wheel with acid, which Mike found difficult to continue with as it burnt through his hand. We chatted.

The previous visits had centred around what to expect from the Honda ST1300: a whole lot of speed (140mph was easy, Mike said) and acceleration (like a "guided missile", Mike said). I claimed the novice bit and both he and Mark were quick to point out I rode a similar machine (Dilbert) already and that as long as I respected the Pan I shouldn't have any major unplanned thrills. We even took time to find out how, and to adjust t he seat's height and rake to my comfort zone and I was allowed time to sit and reflect on how sitting and reflecting felt astride an ST1300 - I wasn't allowed a ride.

Today though, we chatted about more general bike stuff for a while before Mike did a swap of keys to push Dilbert in to his yard from where I could pick him up on Saturday, and turned the Pan to face my intended direction of travel off the curb to give me some advantage in the way of actually getting going on the road.

Then, as he had promised, Mike walked away and didn't look back over his shoulder to make me feel pressure to ride. I sat astride the Pan all kitted up but without my ear plugs; this, I wanted to hear. Keys in and turned in the ignition, checks for anything obviously done stupidly to prevent a clean start - like getting in to neutral, and then thumb over the button...

...Hmmn. Funny sort of sound; like a turbine starting up. Check traffic: lots. More. And some more: looking for a decent gap in case I flunk it. I gave the Pan a little shake to feel the weight - there's a LOT of it at a stand still. Mike had suggested keeping both feet down at first until I got a handle on its balance, but that sounded lame and I placed a foot dutifully on the foot brake. The bike felt heavy again so I placed the foot back on the ground - but only because the linked brakes allow for this and I had the front one applied - not because I went sissy, or anything.

The gap. I opened the throttle (a little, I don't want to start with a wheelie) and open the clutch. Everything stopped - stalled - and I teeter-tottered a little to recover the balance (both feet FIRMLY down!

Again, but this time (with more revs than I'd expected) we pulled away and immediately set to playing over 5 mini-roundabouts in all the wrong gears. Then down the A325 South past Farnborough Airstrip and on to some fuel at Tesco in Aldershot. The auto-pay gizmo was off-line so I had to place the beast on side stand and pay in the kiosk but the bike was close to the pump to reach the nozzle easily and my dismount was far from the cleanest. Getting back on I was just happy I had the dark visor down!

Out and back to the A325 toward the A331 Shepherd's Flock roundabout but there's a small stretch of dual-carriage way to clear first and there are two cars doing just 50mph off the roundabout. "Let's over take, then", I thought and as if by magic I was passing both autos at 90mph..."Holy Shit!" I shouted over the wind as my arse slid back over the vinyl seat to it's upper lip and my shoulders strained at the sockets.

Of course, there's the Sainsbury's roundabout next and one needs to brake, "Shit!" The linked brakes don't half kick in when you need them. I was fighting 3 to 5 times my body weight against the handlebars and my arse slid forward over the vinyl and crushed my nuts against the tank just as we pulled up to a safe rate for the interchange. "F&&k, that was fast", I barely breathed.



On to the A331 East: no more big throttle turns as it was time to work out the electric screen. 75..80..85...screen raising, wind noise lessoning...90...screen fully up and all's calm in the helmet but the back draft is giving my kidneys a thoroughly solid kicking and my head is being pushed forward to nosh the dash! 95...screen down a tad...a little buffeting...and then acceptable wind noise and no more Sumo-elephant riding pillion behind me. Back to 85mph and a cruise to the Frimley turn. No dramas: what a ride and what a smile beamed across my face.

Shortly before I invented a few new expletives and just after I had regained the power of speach I exclaimed, "Excellent! Everyone should have one of these!"

I rode in to work and confess to having a busy day that lasted for ever, not least because I couldn't wait to get back on the Pan to try it out on the way home and maybe (just a little) because, like waiting for the school bell to announce your meeting Biffa for the day's after-school-fight I was not really ready to take another thrashing.

I was scared but couldn't wait to get stuck in again.