All motorcyclists have done it at least once. Some have done it many times. We have all dropped a motorcycle at some point.
You thought the side stand was done when you leaned the bike over. It kept going. Or, you simply lost balance. Yes, we have all done it.
Picture courtesy of Larry, aka GalacticGS on www.advrider.com
But have you dropped your motorcycle in REALLY embarrassing circumstances? I have and this is my story....
I was going to give a presentation to a few hundred people about the London 2012 Olympics. It was a formal affair in a large central London hotel. Even though I was wearing a business suit that day, we were experiencing a hot summer, so I decided to ride my Harley-Davidson Road King to the event. It was only 20 or so miles, so I was looking forward to the ride.
I knew the hotel had its own car park, so I wouldn't need to leave my pride and joy on the street.
I arrived at the hotel in good time and rode down its long ramp to enter the underground parking garage. I stopped at the booth to collect a ticket, but the attendant put head out of the little window, and the conversation went something like this....
Attendant: "Sorry mate, we don't allow motorcycles to park in here."
Me: "What? Why?"
Attendant: "Some people bring their car in here, leave it a long time and come back weeks later on a small motorcycle, get a new ticket and take their car out cheaply using that new ticket. They then ride in the small gap at the end of the barrier to get the motorcycle out."
Me: "I am not going to do that." Full of self-importance, I added "I am giving an important presentation here at the hotel and I need to park my motorcycle in here."
Attendant: "Sorry, the answer is no."
My only other option would be to park my bike on the street and I didn't want to do that. By now, a car was waiting on the ramp behind me.
Me: (Getting a bit annoyed now) "So you are discriminating against me, because of what someone else has done?"
Attendant: "Like I said, you are not parking that motorcycle in here."
I was as determined as him. "Please contact the manager of the hotel and ask him to come here."
Attendant: "No, because it won't do any good."
Me: “I am not going anywhere.” Now there are a few cars behind me waiting to get into the car park.” One beeps his horn.
Attendant: “You had better move your bike.”
Me: “No. Besides, I cannot as there is a barrier in front of me and cars behind me. I suggest you go get the manager.”
Attendant: “No, move your bike.”
There was no way was I going to back down and somehow turn my bike around in the small space and squeeze passed the cars on the ramp. I climbed off my bike and lent against the wall, staring at the attendant. I was furious and the cars drivers were not happy either. I shrugged my shoulders at them as if to say “what can I do?”
After a couple of minutes of this stand-off, more cars have joined the queue, so I locked my bike, set the alarm and leaving it blocking the ramp, I set off to find the manager of the hotel. After a short discussion, he agreed with me and telephoned the attendant to tell him so. I walk back to the car park, unlock and start the bike, the barrier is raised and with the attendant and car drivers glaring at me, I rode into the car park.
It then happens. Ten feet past the booth, turning sharply to follow the ramp, I drop the bike onto its right side. Fuck!
Full of blood-pumping adrenaline, I use all my strength and pick the bike up, only for it to get away from me and it fell over onto its left side. Fuck! Fuck!
Now sweating buckets in the heat of the confined car park, I tried in vain to lift my heavy Harley-Davidson again but i didn't have the strength. I was now delaying the car drivers even longer and some had begun to blast their horns. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I tried again, but there was no way I could lift the bike.
Embarrassingly, I had to ask one of those drivers to help me. I felt stupid. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me so I was out of the gaze of the car drivers. Reluctantly, one did help me to lift it, and I quickly parked my motorcycle and got out of that car park as fast as I could.
I can assure you, getting flustered, angry, sweaty and being in a bad mood is not a good thing just before delivering an important speech. It went okay, but I have never been back to that hotel.
I went to the Bike Shed event in Shoreditch in London today. It was an outing for my red custom bike, Tradewinds. I met a few friends there, so what better way to spend a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon.
Part bike display, part art show, it was a small but busy event that showed off custom bikes. Most of the bikes were old and had been modified on a budget. No high-end expensive bikes here, which was refreshing.
A few pictures from the event, all taken on a camera phone….
Many café racers….
A nice BMW café racer….
A Triumph with extended forks and a hard seat….
A lovely bobber….
Nice air intake….
An unusual JAP engine in a Harley-Davidson frame….
Um, some sort of a bastard bike….
Old and dirty….
My favourite bike at the event. I am looking for an engine like this right now, for a new custom bike project I have in mind….
Goggles and gloves….
I met this guy, Martin, sketching away and was impressed by his art….
My friend Paul, as ever, taking pictures….
I think they may need to find somewhere bigger for next year.....
In what is becoming an almost annual pilgrimage for me, I went to the HOG (Harley Owners Group) Festival in St Tropez again this year. This year it coincided with the 30th anniversary of HOG in Europe.
Ten of us set out from Tunbridge Wells and headed on a chilly UK morning for Dover, where a ferry was waiting for us. Our group consisted of a diverse of people on a range of bikes;
Andy, a private investigator, was on a H-D XR1200. He needs to get a new bike and there are rumours he might. After the burnouts some did on his bike, he at least needs a new tyre.
Another Andy, a commercial manager and an artist, was on his H-D Dyna Wide Glide. He forgot to pack a lot of things. He reminded us of Boycie, from Only Fools and Horses!
Axel, a German investment banker, was riding his new H-D 110th anniversary Road King. He takes lots of pictures, so is known as Foto-Fuhrer. He likes base-jumping without a parachute.
Charlie, my son and bicycle shop owner, was on my H-D Road King called the Leading Ladies. He was about twenty years younger than the next oldest, and definitely cooler than us old gits.
Ian, an architect, was on a Triumph. I could tell he was itching to open the bike up and leave us in his wake. He should have.
Ian, a semi-retired property developer, was on a H-D Street Glide. Always the first on his bike, it is clear patience was never one of Ian’s virtues.
Jon, a sales director, was on a Ducati Monster, but we forgave him. He gets lost sometimes and forgot we were meant to be heading south, not north.
Paul, a website designer, was on his H-D Blackline. Paul took more gadgets than clothes. He cannot dance, but thinks he can.
Preben, a machine technical from Denmark, was on his custom Sportster. He needs to get a bigger fuel tank. He is in love with Suzi Quatro.
I was on my custom bike, Amelia, the one with the long forks. My arms and arse ached a lot.
Not exactly a hardcore biker gang, so we called ourselves “The Sons of Democracy”, with Ian even going to the extent of getting tour t-shirts printed. The Hells Angels we met thought the t-shirts were amusing.
Our route south to the sun took us to six different countries: France, Belgium, Luxemburg, Germany, Austria, Italy and finally back into France. The route we took and the roads we used gave us a lot of variety. Each of us lead on a particular day with as many different ways of planning the route as there were planners. Methods ranged from sat navs / GPS’s to writing down names of towns on a beermat and duct-taping that to the tank.
Day one was about getting off the ferry and getting some serious miles done, led by Ian the property developer, in the less exciting areas of northern France and Belgium. It was cold and we rode mainly on motorways, eventually turning off when we realised we were getting further away from our destination for the night (in northern Germany).
Day two was led by Axel through his homeland of Germany. Mainly on quieter roads now, we saw some of the Black Forest and that big river we crossed must have been the Rhine. Towards the end of the day, we started to love the views of the mountains and the twisty roads. The owner of the remote hotel we had booked went from zero to hero in 10 minutes after we discovered the bedrooms all shared one toilet and one bath, plus he said the hotel restaurant was closed. I think he realised we were about to leave when miraculously, he declared the restaurant open, and to be fair, he produced a great meal and was a terrific host.
I led on day three into Austria and onto Italy, over the Alps. We enjoyed some cracking roads surrounded in part by snow. We passed the entrance to Stelvio Pass but carried on riding as I knew the road was still blocked by snow. At the end of a long days riding we rode down the west side of Lake Garda and onto a great and cheaply priced hotel. It was a shame we chose to ride through Austria on what must have been National Tunnel Cleaning Day, as the road surface of a few were filthy dirty and wet from the cleaning operations. Our bikes, especially my custom chopper were very dirty at the end of the day.
Day four was riding through some dull roads in northern Italy and Jon seemed to take the wrong road a couple of times, causing much merriment in the group. The afternoon saw us riding a superb road, the SS45 south of Bobbio to Genoa. The temperature had begun to rise significantly the further south we road and by the time we had reach the Mediterranean, we were shedding layers of clothes. The evening saw too much drink being consumed and a late night meeting with the (friendly) local police, when Axel descending a steep cliff rather too quickly.
Heads were sore for the start of riding on day five, resulting in us leaving later than planned. With Charlie leading, we cracked on, and saw more and more Harley-Davidsons as we near our destination, St Tropez. Bikes were cleaned and an evening out saw another meeting with more local police. Apparently, they don’t like people walking over the top of the steel bridge arch beams. It was only about thirty feet up, so our group were not sure what the problem was! Ian looked sheepish as a policemen asked him (in a very condescending tone) “How old are you?”. “Too old” was the reply!
Day 6 we spend at the rally and in the picturesque town of St Tropez, drinking coffee at the front of the port, with our bikes parked right in front of us. “It doesn’t get much better than this” was heard more than once. The non-Harley riders in the group took advantage of H-D’s demonstration ride scheme and rode H-D’s for the first time. That evening we went to see Suzi Quatro play on the beach along with a few thousand bikers clad in the same black leather as Suzi. It was then that we noticed Pauls appalling lack of dancing skills, but he was enjoying himself.
Too early, but in order for some of our group to get back to work, we needed to leave St Tropez on day 7 and we rode some way back north into France.
Day 8 saw us ride a long way through France to near Limoges, or at least most of us did. Jon had to get back quickly, so arranged to get his bike shipped back by truck while he flew. Paul had trouble with the bearings in the rear wheel of his bike and we had to leave him behind after making sure he would be collected by his recovery service. It was hard to leave Paul behind, but there was nothing else we could do to help him. We stayed the night at Harry’s Route 66 Hotel and bar.
Day 9 was the last day of the trip and we had quite a journey. Near Rouen, the motorway we were due to take was closed and we had trouble finding the next best alternative. We then headed cross country to find another good road, but the diversion we took was very slow. We missed the ferry we had booked, tried to get a train in the tunnel under the channel, but the trains were full until well into the night. We did manage to get on a later ferry and arrived home knackered.
Charlie and I rode a total of 2,674 miles.
It was an excellent trip, with many great roads ridden, friendships forged and memories made. Roll on next year!
I cannot claim credit for an of the pictures below, which were all taken by the others on the trip. The excellent video was made by Paul, a talented videographer.....
This blog was originally started to record a five month, 21000 mile tour of the US on my Harley-Davidson. I continue to use this blog to record my own motorcycling adventures, wherever they may be, along with my thoughts and opinions about motorcycling generally.
Having devoted most of my adult life to being a ‘company man’, the transition to the next phase of my life away from the construction industry was always going to include some challenges. Planning and then making my dream trip to explore America on my Harley-Davidson proved to be the ideal vehicle for clearing my mind of old ways of thinking and being. I rode 21,475 miles, in 27 US states in four-and-a-half months.
My motorcycling trips have continued, with journeys across much of Europe, New Zealand, North Africa and Cuba.
A few years ago, I set up and now run Tour1, which takes riders on Harley-Davidson Authorised tours across Europe. See www.tour1.co.uk.
I live just north of London in the UK.
Please note all photographs on this blog are copyrighted. Do not copy or use, in whole or in part, any image from this blog either in its original form or altered in any way. If you do want to use one of the photographs, then you must ask first and I will almost certainly say yes! Thanks for your understanding.
US Tour - My Favourites Places I Went To....
It is difficult to choose, but here is my list of the highlights of my US tour, in the order I saw them in....