The Truth About Nick's Bike...

If you are going to spend weeks on end with a group of mates in the wilderness then it is important to all get on together. Like any relationship you have to cope with the ups and downs and above all have absolute trust in your fellow travel companions. A seemingly minor mis-demeanour like crapping in someone else's Shit Box or keeping a secret stash of Kebab flavour Pot Noodles when everyone else is down to their last Wagon Wheel, can quickly escalate into arguments and in the worst case could lead to full blown sulking over several days.

And so it is only right that we should set off with a clean conscience knowing that there are no secrets or hidden agendas. For my part I will come clean and admit that on one occasion at HQ I did swap the contents of one of Charlie's Stella Artois with a can of Morrisons Value lager. Furthermore I regret to admit that I dropped Matt's breakfast one morning and instead of throwing the contents in the bin I simply picked the woodlice and pubes out of the beans and served them up with a smile. Well what he doesn't know can't hurt him. Except he does know now and he might hurt me. But I'd like to think he'll appreciate my honesty and buy me a beer.

Now that I've got those little porkies out of the way I think it's time to reveal the enormous hog roast that's been casting a shadow over our preparations. This is a moment so huge that it eclipses Top Gear's revelation that Michael Schumacher isn't The Stig. Like an MP's expense claim for a butt plug it was bound to come out at some point so I think now is the time before untold damage is done.

The thing is, last year when we were scouring Ebay for our bikes we had some great success and managed to find mine, Matt's and Charlie's bikes in quick succession. We also managed to pick up two really cheap spares bikes which were only really any good for, well...spares. Then it crossed our minds that we might just be able to salvage a half-decent bike out of the two spares bikes. Not a good bike you understand, but good enough for Nick. In any case he had failed yet again to turn up to HQ having cried off with one of his standard school boy excuses, "the dog died", "I have a doctor's appointment", "I have a poorly tummy and mummy says I shouldn't leave the house". For the record, in the last 6 months Nick has lost 8 dogs to terminal illnesses, been to the doctor 9 times and had the shits 17 times.

I digress, but suffice to say we got one of the spares bikes running and decided it had Nick's name on it. By the time he next turned up to HQ we'd done enough of a job on it for him not to notice the worst bits. To be fair we had a head start since Nick normally rides a Kawasaki Versys, so he has no real concept of what a good bike is.

There have been the occasional forlorn murmurings about why his bike has 45,000kms on the clock and considerably more rust than everyone else's but as far as Nick is concerned his bike was owned from new by a little old man with a fondness for boiled sweets and choir boys. Well Nick, on behalf of the rest of the team I am ashamed to say we lied to you. The old man didn't like choir boys, he said they tasted funny. There, we've said it. We can all all sleep soundly tonight.

The Bike Test

Having finally got over the trauma of taking my bike test I feel that I am able to re-live the experience and write about it without going into a cold sweat.

After all it was only a bike test. I'd like to think that if I had to take my driving test again I would pass easily having picked up several new skills over the years that would impress my examiner. Like the ability to merrily pick my nose at the lights in total confidence that no one can see me as as I am in a steel box or the ability to rubberneck totty at the bus stop whilst changing lanes in rush hour traffic, or steering with my knees whilst rolling a cigarette. Admirable skills I'm sure you would agree.

After passing my CBT I was fed up with the bullshit from the motorcycle instructor companies saying “ Yeah mate that will be 20 lessons it will cost you your soul and a large chunk of your house" without assessing my riding abilities. Fortunately I was introduced to a guy named Nigel from Stockport School of Motorcycling who I managed to persuade that I was capable of staying up on a bike for........... well ages, and that I have considerable riding experience. Well OK it is on my trusty peddle powered beer bike and if I can complete the Mobberly Wobberly cycle pub craw several times with a pint in each of the 12 pubs in my neighbouring village without coming to any serious harm (apart from wiping out after the 8th pub and head butting a 200 year old oak tree after trying to buzz my friends back tire, oh and misjudging a down hill bend, narrowly missing a stone bridge and getting my handlebars wedged in a hedge). He duly signed me up for a days tuition and a couple of hours on the day of the test a week later. I arrived in the morning to meet a slightly apprehensive Nigel who informed me that the last person to persuade him that he was a competent rider fell off on the 1st corner 100 metres up the road.

After pointing out which buttons and levers did what I swung my leg over a shiny new Honda 500cc twin and pressed the starter button. (The last time I'd been in charge of something this powerful was after an ex girlfriend returned with an item from an Anne Summers party but that's another story.) I pulled the clutch in selected 1st and promptly stalled! I could imagine what was going on in Nigel's head at the time, would I even make it to the 1st corner without ditching it. Oh ye of little faith, I managed the whole day without any mishaps. Although he did have to remind me to turn my indicator off on several hundred occasions. That's it, I was ready for the big day.

Sitting nervously in the waiting room trying to crack jokes to hide the fact that I was totally cacking myself I was informed there were 2 examiners, one was really amiable and the other was err most definitely not. Guess which one walked in? To say he was abrupt would be an understatement, even my attempt at some form of humour was met with a cold stern stare. This was not going well, and my stomach was somewhere between jelly and water and if we didn't get on with this now I might have an accident in the waiting room. Nigel gave me a few pointers to calm me down.
“Apart from barking directions at you, if he has to say anything else that's generally not a good sign.” Thanks Nige just what I need. I replied.

“At the end of the road I want you to turn right then immediately left” came over the intercom. As I was about to turn right I noticed at the last minute that it was a filter lane for oncoming traffic and in fact the right way was straight ahead.
“Glad you spotted that eventually” came into my ear, Oh shit ive cocked this up immediately I thought and this was the 1st junction.

He pulled me over and gave me some directions round the block to do the emergency stop procedure
“At the end of the road turn right, then 2nd right then left then blar blar blar.” Off I went and promptly got lost. As I approached him from the opposite direction to the one he was expecting me to come from I could see him shaking his head and he repeated the directions again. This time I came from yet another direction still not the one he was hoping.
“Get this into your head, right, left, right, right.” On the 3rd attempt I arrived where he wanted me and stopped next to him. What Muppet gets lost twice on a bike test?!!!

Back at the test station I feared for the worse, I think my expression gave it away to Nigel who came hurriedly over.
“Well you have passed but only just” said the examiner “when can you do 40mph from a 30?” he asked me.
“Err when I've past the sign” I replied
“Exactly.... Not when you see the sign in the distance”

I had passed, despite getting lost twice and speeding on my test. I guess my riding was OK even if I was a complete and utter fuckwit!

I would like to thank Nigel from Stockport School of Motorcycling If wasn't for his patience and no-nonsense teaching style I would be confined to 4 wheels and a support driver on this trip

Santa Pod - High Speed Training

Unless you are a petrol head you probably think Santa Pod is something that Father Xmas was hatched from. It is in fact a field in the arse end of Northamptonshire with a long strip of tarmac going through the middle of it where people go head to head to see who's car can cover 1/4 mile in the fastest time possible. You've probably seen a variation of this in your local town centre involving some tracksuit wearing tosspots in Citroen Saxos tearing away from the lights with rear spoilers so big you could fit a couple of lesbians on them.

The difference with Santa Pod is that all this behaviour is actually encouraged, (apart from the lesbians on spoilers bit unfortunately). For those of you that have witnessed a Top Fuel dragster reach 300mph in 5 seconds then you'll appreciate how awesome drag racing can be.

On this occasion however we were at a "Run What Ya Brung" day where anyone can turn up and have a go. In performance terms this is the equivalent of chimps playing at Wimbledon. Last time we were here was back in the summer of 2005 in preparation for our Reliants to Russia trip. We were without doubt the slowest vehicles there clocking a time of 21 seconds for a 1/4 mile and a terminal speed of 56 mph much to the annoyance of everyone else waiting in the queue.

This time we'd brought the T80's and were about to redefine "slow". Matt was so confident of a terrible performance he bet £10 (all his sandwich money) that none of us would crack the 30 second barrier. So once Charlie had eventually turned up with the van and bikes having followed his cheapo Sat Nav in to a field somewhere in Yorkshire we could get on with the serious business of drag racing. Make no mistake, drag racing is a dangerous sport and should only be undertaken with the appropriate protective clothing. I don't know whether the marshalls were too embarrassed to check but apparently a Mr Blobby outfit passes all ACU regulations.

So we'd signed on, got kitted out, got the bikes running and were ready to unleash all 6 horsepower on the drag strip, but not before we'd all had a full english and several cups of tea.

So by mid-afternoon we were finally lined up in the queue when suddenly there was a near disaster. One of the more serious competitors had complained to the race officials that Nick's garden allotment represented a danger to other users. This is fair enough because at high speed a stray piece of rhubarb can cause untold damage. A garden gnome failure could have shut the entire event down. Eventually we persuaded them that even at terminal velocity there wouldn't be enough air tubulence to loosen a petal let alone a root vegetable. Obviously Nick could still crash and lose his load all over the track but all parties agreed that would be funny and anyway it was only Nick. We were good to go.

So with eager anticipation we lined up at the famous strip and attempted some burnouts to wow the crowd. Unfortunately the grip of our brand new Continental tyres was too much for the engines to overpower so we had to settle for the other crowd pleaser. Wheelies.

So with all eyes on the starting lights we readied ourselves for the days mission - to take a Yamaha T80 to maximum velocity and back without tragic consequences. It may only have been a 1/4 mile but as some wise old man with a wispy beard once said "even the 18000kms trip on shit mopeds requires the first step". Anyway we're pretty sure thats the first time Santa Pod has witnessed Mr Blobby performing a stand up wheelie. At least 4 people clapped so we were winners even before the timing lights confirmed the unimaginable - we'd broken the 30 second barrier and almost topped 50 mph to boot.



So we were able to walk away with our heads held high knowing that once again we'd set a new record for slow. Memories of setting the slowest ever lap of the Nurburgring came flooding back and all was well with the world until we learned we'd actually been out-crapped by a Volkswagen camper van that had actually managed a worse time. Never mind at least we could take comfort knowing there was no way the guy was going to get all the way home again without breaking down. Come to think of it VW Campers would be perfect banger rally vehicles (bearing in mind crapness comes as standard) if it wasn't for the fact people seem to like paying a lot of money for them. There really are some strange people in the world.

Long Way Round Vs Wrong Way Round

So at last the meeting of minds has happened. It was back in October 2008 that we first bumped in to Russ Malkin at the NEC Motorcycle Show and talked of meeting up with him and Charley Boorman. It was always going to be difficult working around showbiz schedules but finally after 8 months we managed to find a day when we could accomodate them.

Now the day didn't start too well. First of all we still hadn't ridden the bikes beyond the driveway of HQ so the chances of riding all the way in to Central London without incident were slim so we loaded them all in to the support van. The meeting was at 11am and Matt feared the traffic in to London on Friday rush hour would be appalling so we left at 7am just to be safe. Imagine our surprise when we ended up sat in a breakfast bar at 8.00am having not seen a single traffic jam.

So about 10.30am we thought we ought to unload the bikes and get ourselves prepared for the hectic 1/2 mile journey from Homebase car park in Kensington to Long Way Round HQ. Some piss-taking ensued when I couldn't start my bike until it turned out Matt had forgotten to put a battery in it. Fortunately you can bump start a T80 otherwise I would have had an embarrassing pushing episode.

Then Charlie realised he'd forgotten to fit his L-plates. All of a sudden we were wishing we could have the time back that we'd just wasted in the breakfast bar eating ourselves to death. A quick search of the van turned up some red insulating tape. A few minutes later Charley had some truly shonky L-plates but they were at least in keeping with the overall theme of the bike.

So with 5 minutes to spare we eventually kit up and get ready to roll except Kaspars had now gone missing. Obviously the full english breakfast had got the better of him. Eventually he comes trotting out of Homebase looking relieved. Having rendered the gents bogs off limits for a few hours he felt obliged to buy something to make up for it, and so he proudly presents Charlie with some shiny new L-plates which would have been a good move had they not been magnetic ones.

Our grand arrival went equally badly since we'd left the arrangements up to Nick (never a good move bearing in mind this is a man who is usually still in his pyjamas at 2pm). Suffice to say Russ was not there nor was there anything in the diary about us arriving. Instead the lovely Hannah had to make small talk while we shuffled around trying not to look like some very sad individuals on shit mopeds.

Then things went from bad to worse when Kaspars asked where the toilet was. It was quickly becoming apparent that all we were going to achieve from this visit was a few photos for posterity and a plumbing bill from Dynorod.

And then as if by magic the shutters went up and dynamic duo arrived...

Off Road Training

After the "Driveway Disaster" previously reported we thought it best to make sure that the next time we took the bikes out we were far far away from normal civilisation. This is how we ended up in West Sussex. We had searched high and low for somewhere we could practice riding off-road that presented us with a realistic simulation of the terrain we will face on The Wrong Way Round.

By a stroke of luck our location manager (Matt) was able to track down somewhere that fitted the bill and so when his mum and dad finally went on holiday we grasped the opportunity to rag some mopeds round their back garden. Now obviously there were some short comings in how closely we could simulate the actual conditions we'll face but there wasn't anything we couldn't accomplish without a bit of ingenuity.

For starters we didn't even need to simulate the European part of the trip as West Sussex is also in Europe. So with a big tick against that box we moved straight on to the arid desert sections in Kazakhstan. The big burnt patch of ground at the bottom of the garden where the bonfire goes provided more than an able substitute for this albeit several thousands miles shorter. We made up for this by making Charlie ride up and down it for 2 hours while we went to the pub.

Next we moved on to the high terrain of Russia's Altay mountains. In this instance the incline of the river flood control embankment provided a good test of riding on steep gradient albeit several thousand metres lower. We made up for this by making Matt wear a gimp suit to simulate low levels of oxygen.

The wild and windswept steppes of Mongolia were an almost perfect match to the steps leading up to the pond and the pond itself more than gave us an insight in to crossing a Siberian river raging with meltwater.

The body-jarring Road of Bones section was demonstrated by taking it in turns to give each other the bumps, and sticking ants down our pants to simulate mosquito bites. And finally the general feeling of malnourishment, nausea and diarrhoea was simulated by allowing Nick to make our lunch.

And the results? In conclusion, T80's do suffer somewhat with traction on anything other than tarmac. Either the wheel goes round and moves mud but not the bike itself or the wheel doesn't have enough power to go round at all. This is however entirely consistent with predictions so from that point of view we are completely on track.

All that is left now is to explain to Matt's parents why they have been served a noise abatement order, why there are muddy circles on the grass, and why one of the garden gnomes suffered a slight breakage of the total destruction sort...

The Test Ride - a.k.a "driveway disaster"

Remember how excited you were when you last bought a car? Couldn't wait to get the keys and go out for a spin? The same cannot be said when you are taking delivery of a moped bought off Ebay for £112. The anticipation ranks up there with waiting for your test results from the clinic. Let's face it, if this vehicle was a lonely hearts advert is would go something like this:

"Ageing paedophile with club foot and stammer seeks anyone of low moral standards. Light cosmetic damage including slight ripping. Low fluid levels hence not willing to travel long distance. Likes: ritual humiliation and gentle spanking. Dislikes: Working. GSOH (great shit of heap)"

So in light of this I set my expectation levels on a par with the chances of bumping in to Kiera Knightley covered in jelly asking to be licked clean (I may be developing a semi at this point). Well, my expectations were fully met. The moment the cobweb laden, rust infested abhorration arrived I knew in reality I had bumped in to Dot Cotton covered in crunchy peanut butter (ok this is worrying, I'm firming up).

So here she is in all her glory. I can only take solace from the fact that the other guys variously took delivery of the equivalent of Stephen Hawking eating custard, Kerry Katona covered in doner kebab and Pat Butcher in a thong.

Anyway there was no point putting off the inevitable. We all knew at some point they would need to be mounted and ridden hard.

So ah yes, mopeds, sorry got distracted there whilst reaching for a sock. The test ground for our voyage of discovery was the driveway at HQ. A relatively safe bet you would think although in the space of half an hour there was a hole in the hedge and a dent in the side of a hired Skoda Superb (probably the most inappropriately named car since the Mitsubishi Charisma).

Still it wasn't all bad. We did manage to get 3 out of the 4 bikes running. The non-runner being Pat Butcher (Nick's bike). On inspection we found serious fluid leaks, a total lack of spark and a rusty shaft. But anyway enough about Nick.

Trailer Trash

So Matt's phone rings. It's Dynamite Disco Dave on the line. This is either one of those calls where Matt has to go and help Dave retrieve his latest bargain motor (i.e. get dragged by the tow rope of doom wondering what will fall off first), or Dave's found something useful for our trip whilst bargain hunting.

Thankfully it's the latter. "I've found a trailer...it's free, and better still it belongs to the Rotary Club and was last used as Santa's sleigh". Such rare discoveries are quite normal for Dave. If only he could use those skills for finding gold-laden ship wrecks we'd all be a lot better off.

Hang on why do we need a trailer? Well this one has a massive Santa on it and its free and that's just funny so we'll have it. Having said that, having seen the pile of spares that we've had to accumulate to make sure the bikes and the Transhit have a fighting chance of making it, plus the collection of porn that Charlie wants to bring, it dawned on us that having a bit of extra space might not be a bad thing.

Unfortunately this just means everyone now wants to increase their personal allowances and where as we were originally going to restrict ourselves to 2 pairs of pants, a toothbrush and some bog roll, we've now got dressing gowns, candelabras and mood uplighters. You can see where this is all heading. I think it is unfair though to draw comparisons between the Transhit and the donkey. The donkey is faster and more hygienic, and in a crisis you can't eat the Transhit.

As it turns out the trailer was somewhat disappointing since even during the credit crunch Santa was demanding top whack for an appearance so for Xmas the Rotary Club had to downgrade to a nativity scene involving some astro turf and 3 ornamental sheep.

Nevertheless the trailer came complete with working lights and a trailer board, at least until Carl-should-be-on-Jerry-Springer-Holden went ape shit with a lump hammer and trashed it all.

Anyway, the trailer has now had a slight makeover and by my calculations there should be plenty of room for my vegetable steamer and spice rack...