Shadowfax-ST Blog

Banking on Barclays Motorcycles It's a shame, really. Barclays Motorcycles in Bournemouth (where I bought Dilbert from at the close of April) let me down. I can forgive that but I can't forgive their dishonesty. I phoned Colin up at the weekend to check on whether he'd remembered to send off the DVLA V5 log-book, which I knew he was awaiting off the former owner. "Yeah", he claimed, "I did that immediately; it should be with you." I called Paul at the DVLA who advised printing a V62 off their web site and attaching my V5-slip so as I wouldn't receive a charge for their service. In the post now; job done. Funny bit, though. He did quite a lot of checks for me while I waited to see whether the bike was recorded stolen, or otherwise lost, and on whether any application had been made by Barclays to record me as the new keeper. "No. NOTHING has been received", he said. Colin. All you had to do was apologise for an honest ommission or mistake; n...

Dilbert's BIG Moment Saturday. Ka chucks kids in the Lanny and I peel off behind them toward Taylors' in Droxford. I followed the guys in to Fareham but Ka opted to go through town while I went round the by-pass, easily overtaking them, needing me to wait for them off the Motorway junction. The it was off with the family in tow, my Son very excited to begin with then desperately unhappy that I didn't actually jump cars or pop wheelies. Out of Wycombe and the traffic was pretty slow but I didn't want to enter a race with Ka because she's a competitive sort and wouldn't take many prisoners from the blue-rinse mob in front of me. At the Alpha garage on the A32 a gargantuan white Yanky limo was reversing across both lanes and our traffic flow stopped to let the tarmac greedy bastard shift out the way. I qucikly passed the queue and went for a blat. In explanation, the wind was near zero so I needed to conduct another screen experiment so needed to get up some s...

Ducking the Vibes After the second commute day I decided to have a try at the tall screen that had come with Dilbert. It wasn't that I wasn't enjoying the commute - far from it - but the wind turbulence in the cool Summer breeze was just a bit much on my wrists and neck after a full week in the saddle during training. With the screen fixed on the 2nd commute evening I pulled out onto the A27/M27 and let rip for effect. The first thing I noted was that I could keep my visor up until about 40mph when cross winds ripped across my eyeballs. The second thing I noticed was how tall the screen is - the top is just on my eyeline making its refractive properties all too well marked, either driving through it or perching up out the seat to peer over it. On the sharper faster corners it was more than I really wanted to get used to. At just over 80mph, erm...70mph (not wishing to exaggerate my keeping up with the flow of Motorway traffic, Officer) it was remarkably calm behind the scr...

Getting Recovered I called Green Flag to check how much I'd be due to fork out to add Dilbert to my personal fleet of transportation vehicles. "£155 per annum", said the dude on mind-altering drugs, but if I was to contact Churchill Insurance (with whom I have the Green Flag deal pinned to my Alpha's insurance) I may get a discount. Bloody Hell! £155!! So I called Churchill Insurance and a nice lady listened to my question, took my details, and checked some thoughts with her supervisor. "That's fine." She said. "We've added a motorbike to your policy notes and there'll be no further charges". Blimey! FREE! Mind you, it's about time I had a break. Everyone else involved in this project has been out for profit from my loss (although I have good words for LS Imports).

Riding Home As soon as I left the car park I knew I was going to have a fun time. Even getting off the premises was a challenge: the roundabout was 4-lanes deep in pushy cars already, and the first set of lights before the A331 were chokka. Still, I held up other bikes even though I feel I was doing all I could on a still new-to-me machine and given the appalling driving of the ubiquitous lane-hoppers. Things were going well before I got onto the dual carriageway. The wind was in my face and Dilbert's screen just wasn't cutting through it for me. My head was getting mauled. If I wanted that sort of effect off the bike I can only imagine sticking my bonce up an elephant's arse the morning after a Vindaloo fest - an anal sphincter death grip with screams muffled by the endless turbine of turbulent phart. My speed was somewhere just below 70mph but the level of control I had to exert on Dilbert was approaching that required of a horse on roller skates startled by a yappy rat t...

Bennets Insurance Supermarket Administration Grab So, I think, " hey! I'd best let the insurance company know I passed my test " seeing as my policy was set up on my provisional licence for a month, changed out of necessity to provisional with CBT else I'd loose the deal within a month. (See previous posts). So I phoned up and informed a nice lady that I am now a qualified rider. "That'll be £25 administration fee ", she says. " Bollocks, that !" Said I. Some deals!! In the end she had to ask a supervisor to deal with me because I argued that if I had known that announcing my change in licence (in accordance with the policy's demands to give notice of any changes) would cost me £25 I wouldn't have told them until it came to re-newal. In fact, I thought I'd have had a rebate as my risk was reduced! The argument clinched it. A remark has been left on my policy notes that I have passed the test but no changes have been made to the...

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 an...