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a Bikers – Night before Christmas

On the Biking Blog “Ride it like you stole it!” which is sadly no more by Dave Dragon, there was a poem “The Biker’s Night Before Christmas”.

I have posted this before but as it is Christmas Eve I thought I was worth posting again.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pad,

There was nada happenin’, now that’s pretty bad.

The woodstove was hung up in that stocking routine,

In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.

With our stomachs packed with tacos and beer,

My girl and I crashed on the couch for some cheer.

When out in the yard there arose such a racket,

I ran for the door and pulled on my jacket.

I saw a large bro’ on a ’56 Pan

Wearin’ black leathers, a cap, and boots (cool biker, man).

He hauled up the bars on that bikeful of sacks,

And that Pan hit the roof like it was running on tracks.

I couldn’t help gawking, the old guy had class.

But I had to go in — I was freezing my ass.

Down through the stovepipe he fell with a crash,

And out of the stove he came dragging his stash.

With a smile and some glee he passed out the loot,

A new jacket for her and some parts for my scoot.

He patted her fanny and shook my right hand,

Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.

From up on the roof came a great deal of thunder,

As that massive V-twin ripped the silence asunder.

With beard in the wind, he roared off in the night,

Shouting, “Have a cool Yule, and to all a good ride!”

The Night Before Christmas

On the Biking Blog “Ride it like you stole it!” which is sadly no more by Dave Dragon, there was a poem “The Biker’s Night Before Christmas”.

Crossing the Ford

I have posted this before but as this is my last post before Christmas I thought it was worth posting again.

“Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pad,

There was nada happenin’, now that’s pretty bad.

The woodstove was hung up in that stocking routine,

In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.

With our stomachs packed with tacos and beer,

My girl and I crashed on the couch for some cheer.

When out in the yard there arose such a racket,

I ran for the door and pulled on my jacket.

I saw a large bro’ on a ’56 Pan

Wearin’ black leathers, a cap, and boots (cool biker, man).

He hauled up the bars on that bikeful of sacks,

And that Pan hit the roof like it was running on tracks.

I couldn’t help gawking, the old guy had class.

But I had to go in — I was freezing my ass.

Down through the stovepipe he fell with a crash,

And out of the stove he came dragging his stash.

With a smile and some glee he passed out the loot,

A new jacket for her and some parts for my scoot.

He patted her fanny and shook my right hand,

Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.

From up on the roof came a great deal of thunder,

As that massive V-twin ripped the silence asunder.

With beard in the wind, he roared off in the night,

Shouting, “Have a cool Yule, and to all a good ride!”


Snows Coming

Leica M4 – Fuji Film

The weather forecast is not looking good the next few days and as someone who commutes by motorcycle, i’ll be digging out my electrically heated waist coat.  Generally here in Lincolnshire, unless you live out over the wolds we do not see much snow and as most motorists in the UK do not like switching from their summer or general purpose tires its a good job.  You do not need much of a coating of snow to bring the UK to a halt.

The Night Before Christmas

On the Biking Blog “Ride it like you stole it!” which is sadly no more by Dave Dragon, there was a poem “The Biker’s Night Before Christmas”.

I have posted this before but as this is my last post before Christmas I thought it was worth posting again.

 

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pad,

There was nada happenin’, now that’s pretty bad.

The woodstove was hung up in that stocking routine,

In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.

With our stomachs packed with tacos and beer,

My girl and I crashed on the couch for some cheer.

When out in the yard there arose such a racket,

I ran for the door and pulled on my jacket.

I saw a large bro’ on a ’56 Pan

Wearin’ black leathers, a cap, and boots (cool biker, man).

He hauled up the bars on that bikeful of sacks,

And that Pan hit the roof like it was running on tracks.

I couldn’t help gawking, the old guy had class.

But I had to go in — I was freezing my ass.

Down through the stovepipe he fell with a crash,

And out of the stove he came dragging his stash.

With a smile and some glee he passed out the loot,

A new jacket for her and some parts for my scoot.

He patted her fanny and shook my right hand,

Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.

From up on the roof came a great deal of thunder,

As that massive V-twin ripped the silence asunder.

With beard in the wind, he roared off in the night,

Shouting, “Have a cool Yule, and to all a good ride!”

Motorcycling – the joys and dangers

I enjoy motorcycling far more then driving a car.  Its not that I do not like driving cars, but truly fast and enjoyable cars cost far more then I am willing to pay.  A few thousand pounds will get a motorcycle that can out perform a car costing over a hundred thousand pounds.

Today we had a idiot car driver pull out onto a roundabout without looking, I have had to do a few emergency stops in the last couple of years here, but today as Caroline was turning right someone came straight out without looking.  Caroline managed to avoid being hit by him, but having to serve and brake out of the way dropped the Deauville.

Caroline with more a bruised pride then injured, gave me a call and I went and collected her, and I rode her bike to our local garage.  Luckily apart from a new front fairing the rest of the bike is alright.

Punctures the enemy of motorcyclists

I had the misfortune to get a puncture this week.  I managed to get home but then had to use Caroline’s Honda till I could get a new rear tire.

I picked up a can of tire weld which managed to seal the puncture long enough to get to the garage and get the rear tire replaced.

Honda Deauville NT700V

On Saturday we took delivery of a new motorcycle.  We part exchanged our old Honda Deauville NT650V (a 1999 model) for this shiny NT700V (2007) model.  So much newer and far more important much lower millage.

Caroline rode it home on Saturday and will be commuting on it during the week, I hope to get a ride on it soon.

Good Bye Honda Deauville NT650V

This week we said good bye to our Honda Deauville, we had the bike from new and have toured all over England, Wales and Scotland, have gone to France several times and even gone as far as Spain.

With all the the hard use, we bought the BMW R1100S to reduce the millage somewhat.  Once we had two bikes then we could go on camping trips together

That bike has now gone after 32000 miles and we replaced it with the GS which we have now done over 50000.

But its tours two up we will remember most.

With panniers, top box and a tank bag, you can tour in comfort.

Its with sadness we have sold her but it will not be the end of our Deauville adventures.

a new Motorcycling Year ahead

Llagollen

Last year was a quiet one for us on the bikes, no biking holidays just trips in the car.  We might try for a few days out this but that depends on a number of factors, like Dog Sitting, and getting Caroline a new bike.  At the moment a Honda NT700V as a straight replacement to the NT650V she currently has is likely to be the choice.

Merry Christmas

Leica Summicron 35mm

On the Biking Blog “Ride it like you stole it!” which is sadly no more by Dave Dragon, there was a poem “The Biker’s Night Before Christmas”.

I have posted this before but as it is Christmas Eve I thought I was worth posting again.

 

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pad,

There was nada happenin’, now that’s pretty bad.

The woodstove was hung up in that stocking routine,

In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.

With our stomachs packed with tacos and beer,

My girl and I crashed on the couch for some cheer.

When out in the yard there arose such a racket,

I ran for the door and pulled on my jacket.

I saw a large bro’ on a ’56 Pan

Wearin’ black leathers, a cap, and boots (cool biker, man).

He hauled up the bars on that bikeful of sacks,

And that Pan hit the roof like it was running on tracks.

I couldn’t help gawking, the old guy had class.

But I had to go in — I was freezing my ass.

Down through the stovepipe he fell with a crash,

And out of the stove he came dragging his stash.

With a smile and some glee he passed out the loot,

A new jacket for her and some parts for my scoot.

He patted her fanny and shook my right hand,

Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.

From up on the roof came a great deal of thunder,

As that massive V-twin ripped the silence asunder.

With beard in the wind, he roared off in the night,

Shouting, “Have a cool Yule, and to all a good ride!”