06-02-2021, 01:10 PM
1
The Biker
Pulling on his open faced helmet, goggles parked on the peak, the biker straddled his 650, then pulled it upright before performing a series of well-practiced moves which he did without needing to think. He had found the bike quietly rusting away in a friend’s garden, and had painstakingly rebuilt it over a period of several months and a house move.Left hand on the handlebar grip; left foot, kick back the prop-stand; right hand, reach under the tank and open the main fuel tap; swap hands; right hand on the throttle grip; left hand, prime the carburettor; both hands on the grips; left hand, pull in the clutch; right foot, check the bike is in neutral; stand up; right foot, depress the kickstart to feel for compression, ease up, jump up, kick down; right hand, blip the throttle.
The bike fired first time as he knew it would. Magneto ignition, not coil, much more reliable in the biker’s opinion.
Nodding to the woman who had just given him directions, he slipped the bike into gear, checked over his shoulder, faced forwards, eased out the clutch lever and smoothly pulled away, only to stop again after fifty yards at the crossroads.
Checking right, then ahead, then left, then right again he slid out into the light traffic, accelerating, deftly changing up through the gears. Burman gearbox, one of the best ever made. The speed limit was forty, but he never got above twenty-five, or above third gear.
Looking left as he passed an alleyway leading to a housing estate, he saw a girl of about fifteen in school uniform walking towards the main road. Immediately, the biker began to slow and pulled up just inside a turning leading to the school entrance fifty yards away.
The fierce looking teacher on gate duty gave him a suspicious look as he went through another series of practiced moves, killing the engine, kicked down the prop-stand, leaned the bike onto it then stepped off before walking along the footpath back the way he had just ridden. As he did so, he removed his helmet and unzipped his leather jacket, the sunlight briefly glinting off his stainless steel-framed sunglasses.
The schoolgirl was now walking towards him but he didn’t stop until he was almost level with her, then turned, took her arm in a surprisingly gentlemanly manner, before walking back towards his bike.
They chatted, exchanging times and dates when they would next spend the day together, away from her parents, at his house twenty miles away.
“Who is that? he asked, nodding toward the forbidding looking woman who was glaring at him by the school gates.
“Oh, that’s Mrs Blakely, my head of house. She’s lovely”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it because she does not look too pleased to see me,” replied the biker.
When they got to his machine, he released her arm and took her hand, ready to say goodbye. Mrs Blakely began walking towards them with a stern look when a Police car pulled in front of the motorbike, cutting off its exit. Two officers got out and put on their hats as they walked towards the man and girl, the teacher slowing to a stop as they did so.
“Is this your bike?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes officer. The tax disc is there by the front forks,” indicated the biker, pointing with one hand, “and I have all my documents here with me if you wish to inspect them,” pulling out his wallet and removing several pieces of paper as he did so.
Turning to the schoolgirl the biker said, “You had better go. I wouldn’t want you to be late on my account.”
He was a head taller than the girl, and as he bent down, she craned her neck up before kissing him on the cheek.
“Bye, I’ll see you on Saturday,” replied the girl with a smile before turning and heading towards the gate where a small crown of pupils had stopped to watch the spectacle.
The constable checked the tax disc, and the condition of the bike whilst the sergeant checked the biker’s driving licence, MoT, and insurance certificates.
The constable nodded to his superior that he could find nothing wrong, and the sergeant handed the papers back to the biker with a reluctant admission that everything seemed to be in order.
“How old is the girl?” he asked as he did so.
“Fifteen, officer," answered the biker.
“I see from you licence that you are twenty-five. Don’t you think she is too young for you?” the sergeant replied in an accusatory manner.
The teacher was about to intercept the girl when the biker spoke. “Mrs Blakely, these officers have just asked me about my relationship with this young lady. If they have no objection, I think it might be to your advantage if you listened to what I have to tell them.”
“I am not some villain intent on defiling an innocent young maiden as you might think, although I do care deeply for her.”
Pausing long enough to tell the girl to wait where she was, the teacher walked over to the biker and the two officers and listened to what the young man had to say.
Fifteen minutes later, the teacher was trying to restore order to her afternoon registration class, being repeatedly interrupted by questions about the girl, the biker, and the police.
“Is Lizzy in trouble for kissing her biker boyfriend outside the school gates miss?”
“Did the police arrest him?
“Have you been on the back of his bike yet?”
“How fast does it go?”
“Have you had sex yet?”
At the last question, the teacher had had enough and roared, “SILENCE!”
“For your information, he is not Lizzy’s boyfriend, he is her Uncle. He stopped on his way into town to have lunch with his older sister and his niece, and to ask for directions to a car dealer, then walked Lizzy part of the way to school.”
“Now get back to work, the lot of you!”
06-02-2021, 02:21 PM
2
Re: The Biker
Originally Posted by Fruitcake
->
Pulling on his open faced helmet, goggles parked on the peak, the biker straddled his 650, then pulled it upright before performing a series of well-practiced moves which he did without needing to think. He had found the bike quietly rusting away in a friend’s garden, and had painstakingly rebuilt it over a period of several months and a house move.Left hand on the handlebar grip; left foot, kick back the prop-stand; right hand, reach under the tank and open the main fuel tap; swap hands; right hand on the throttle grip; left hand, prime the carburettor; both hands on the grips; left hand, pull in the clutch; right foot, check the bike is in neutral; stand up; right foot, depress the kickstart to feel for compression, ease up, jump up, kick down; right hand, blip the throttle.
The bike fired first time as he knew it would. Magneto ignition, not coil, much more reliable in the biker’s opinion.
Nodding to the woman who had just given him directions, he slipped the bike into gear, checked over his shoulder, faced forwards, eased out the clutch lever and smoothly pulled away, only to stop again after fifty yards at the crossroads.
Checking right, then ahead, then left, then right again he slid out into the light traffic, accelerating, deftly changing up through the gears. Burman gearbox, one of the best ever made. The speed limit was forty, but he never got above twenty-five, or above third gear.
Looking left as he passed an alleyway leading to a housing estate, he saw a girl of about fifteen in school uniform walking towards the main road. Immediately, the biker began to slow and pulled up just inside a turning leading to the school entrance fifty yards away.
The fierce looking teacher on gate duty gave him a suspicious look as he went through another series of practiced moves, killing the engine, kicked down the prop-stand, leaned the bike onto it then stepped off before walking along the footpath back the way he had just ridden. As he did so, he removed his helmet and unzipped his leather jacket, the sunlight briefly glinting off his stainless steel-framed sunglasses.
The schoolgirl was now walking towards him but he didn’t stop until he was almost level with her, then turned, took her arm in a surprisingly gentlemanly manner, before walking back towards his bike.
They chatted, exchanging times and dates when they would next spend the day together, away from her parents, at his house twenty miles away.
“Who is that? he asked, nodding toward the forbidding looking woman who was glaring at him by the school gates.
“Oh, that’s Mrs Blakely, my head of house. She’s lovely”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it because she does not look too pleased to see me,” replied the biker.
When they got to his machine, he released her arm and took her hand, ready to say goodbye. Mrs Blakely began walking towards them with a stern look when a Police car pulled in front of the motorbike, cutting off its exit. Two officers got out and put on their hats as they walked towards the man and girl, the teacher slowing to a stop as they did so.
“Is this your bike?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes officer. The tax disc is there by the front forks,” indicated the biker, pointing with one hand, “and I have all my documents here with me if you wish to inspect them,” pulling out his wallet and removing several pieces of paper as he did so.
Turning to the schoolgirl the biker said, “You had better go. I wouldn’t want you to be late on my account.”
He was a head taller than the girl, and as he bent down, she craned her neck up before kissing him on the cheek.
“Bye, I’ll see you on Saturday,” replied the girl with a smile before turning and heading towards the gate where a small crown of pupils had stopped to watch the spectacle.
The constable checked the tax disc, and the condition of the bike whilst the sergeant checked the biker’s driving licence, MoT, and insurance certificates.
The constable nodded to his superior that he could find nothing wrong, and the sergeant handed the papers back to the biker with a reluctant admission that everything seemed to be in order.
“How old is the girl?” he asked as he did so.
“Fifteen, officer," answered the biker.
“I see from you licence that you are twenty-five. Don’t you think she is too young for you?” the sergeant replied in an accusatory manner.
The teacher was about to intercept the girl when the biker spoke. “Mrs Blakely, these officers have just asked me about my relationship with this young lady. If they have no objection, I think it might be to your advantage if you listened to what I have to tell them.”
“I am not some villain intent on defiling an innocent young maiden as you might think, although I do care deeply for her.”
Pausing long enough to tell the girl to wait where she was, the teacher walked over to the biker and the two officers and listened to what the young man had to say.
Fifteen minutes later, the teacher was trying to restore order to her afternoon registration class, being repeatedly interrupted by questions about the girl, the biker, and the police.
“Is Lizzy in trouble for kissing her biker boyfriend outside the school gates miss?”
“Did the police arrest him?
“Have you been on the back of his bike yet?”
“How fast does it go?”
“Have you had sex yet?”
At the last question, the teacher had had enough and roared, “SILENCE!”
“For your information, he is not Lizzy’s boyfriend, he is her Uncle. He stopped on his way into town to have lunch with his older sister and his niece, and to ask for directions to a car dealer, then walked Lizzy part of the way to school.”
“Now get back to work, the lot of you!”
BTW, he forgot to pull the clutch in before engaging gear ??
Didn't he stall the engine??
Donkeyman! 🤔🤔
06-02-2021, 02:51 PM
3
Re: The Biker
Originally Posted by Donkeyman
->
That sounds like a true story Fruitcake ??BTW, he forgot to pull the clutch in before engaging gear ??
Didn't he stall the engine??
Donkeyman! 🤔🤔
As for the clutch operation, I suggest you read the sequence of events again.
Left hand on the handlebar grip; left foot, kick back the prop-stand; right hand, reach under the tank and open the main fuel tap; swap hands; right hand on the throttle grip; left hand, prime the carburettor; both hands on the grips; left hand, pull in the clutch; right foot, check the bike is in neutral; stand up; right foot, depress the kickstart to feel for compression, ease up, jump up, kick down; right hand, blip the throttle.
The bike fired first time as he knew it would. Magneto ignition, not coil, much more reliable in the biker’s opinion.
Nodding to the woman who had just given him directions, he slipped the bike into gear, checked over his shoulder, faced forwards, eased out the clutch lever and smoothly pulled away, only to stop again after fifty yards at the crossroads.
I always started a bike with the clutch in, just in case it somehow slipped or got knocked into gear during the start process. Dispatch Rider's boots with a steel kick-plate didn't allow for that much feeling in my toes.
Changing bikes could also be problematic. One down, three up, or one up, three down in particular.
06-02-2021, 03:04 PM
4
Re: The Biker
Originally Posted by Fruitcake
->
It's loosely based on four separate but true stories from my twenties.As for the clutch operation, I suggest you read the sequence of events again.
Left hand on the handlebar grip; left foot, kick back the prop-stand; right hand, reach under the tank and open the main fuel tap; swap hands; right hand on the throttle grip; left hand, prime the carburettor; both hands on the grips; left hand, pull in the clutch; right foot, check the bike is in neutral; stand up; right foot, depress the kickstart to feel for compression, ease up, jump up, kick down; right hand, blip the throttle.
The bike fired first time as he knew it would. Magneto ignition, not coil, much more reliable in the biker’s opinion.
Nodding to the woman who had just given him directions, he slipped the bike into gear, checked over his shoulder, faced forwards, eased out the clutch lever and smoothly pulled away, only to stop again after fifty yards at the crossroads.
I always started a bike with the clutch in, just in case it somehow slipped or got knocked into gear during the start process. Dispatch Rider's boots with a steel kick-plate didn't allow for that much feeling in my toes.
Changing bikes could also be problematic. One down, three up, or one up, three down in particular.
But l seem to remember some bikes you couldn't kick the bike over
with the clutch out for some reason ?
However, l enjoyed your story !!
Donkeyman! 👍🤗👍
06-02-2021, 04:13 PM
7
Re: The Biker
Originally Posted by Fruitcake
->
I'm not sure about the clutch being interlocked, but I did have a 600 single with such high compression, it didn't matter if the clutch was in or out and in neutral. You could not turn the engine over without a valve lifter/decompression lever.
I had a Vincent Rapide the was a bit like that !!
And the clutch was either engaged or disengaged, not much in
between!!
Something like my ears. !
Donkeyman! 👍👍
06-02-2021, 05:13 PM
8
Re: The Biker
Originally Posted by Donkeyman
->
I bet that was a Yamaha or a Panther FC??I had a Vincent Rapide the was a bit like that !!
And the clutch was either engaged or disengaged, not much in
between!!
Something like my ears. !
Donkeyman! 👍👍
A Vincent? Another lovely piece of British Iron.
shows your romantic side as well!
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