Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

Now the inspector wants to destroy the wooden pallet. I've got no problem with this, but Qantas might. And no matter how many times I tell him, the inspector won't believe it is an Australian pallet and not a Singaporean one. I can't work out why it is my problem. He just doesn't seem to get it, so we leave him to argue the point with the Qantas officials.
The bike is delivered to us by forklift. If you ignore the broken frame, on this adventure the bike has suffered its most serious damage somewhere between being tied into the crate in Singapore and coming out of the cargo shed in Australia. The screen is broken and the supports for it are bent. It looks as thougn it's been rammed into something while on the forklift. I am a bit pissed off but decide to let it pass. I'm just glad to have the bike home. Now all we need are new tyres and we'll be on the road, heading south.
Two For The Road   Shirley Hardy-Rix & Brian Rix  pp310-1

[Biggles]

"Friday and it's Day Four in the big brother household".
This big brother is the Canadian Border Security Agency, CBSA, and they are the ones who have my bike. I'm on first name terms with most of the staff in the office in Halifax, though they did get a superior to kick me out of the office yesterday.
"Please go home Sir, you can no longer stay here."
"But the closest thing that I have to a home is parked on the quayside and you won't let me near it."
This exchange came after I had been told that although it had already been four days, the process would take much longer because I needed to apply for Canadian number plates. I, yet again had to explain that I was just passing through Canada and their argument that all vehicles in Canada had Canadian plates was somewhat flawed given that there were three cars in the street outside that had United States plates.
Oh dear, it seems I'll never learn the consequences of challenging authority with the blindingly obvious. Sometimes there is just no room for rationale. Introduce that when you talk to a uniform and I find I'm either ejected or end up staying much longer than planned.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p26

[Biggles]

When I quizzed him on Alaska (somewhere he goes most years) and the furry people-eater situation, he mentioned a motel where he sometimes stays, rather than camping. He just casually said that the motel cook had stepped outside for a smoke and they found most of the rest of his body next morning. You see, smoking kills! He said the diners were a might pissed off too that evening. On the plus side, Angela and Ian who I stayed with for a few days in Moncton, told me of a friend of theirs who camps most of the time he travels that way and has always come back, and I met a couple from British Columbia on a pair of KLR 650s who have experienced bears quite a lot in their travels with no major ill effects of the laceration kind. Apparently I shall become so used to seeing black bears that I won't let it interrupt a conversation. Well, we'll see about that.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p57

[Biggles]

Now let's look at time zones, they were introduced by a Canadian after all, Sanford Fleming and if you had a name like that you too might find yourself sitting around on your own pondering things. I know they make a lot of sense and for the westbound motorcyclist they provide an extra hours riding every few days, but they are so arbitrary. A man decides, but the geographical line in the sand is so... false. OK, the concept I get, unlike a certain North American who couldn't understand why the Brits got up in the middle of the night... but I know it gets dark a certain time in the summer at a certain latitude and I almost navigate by that. Then, within a mile, all my reckoning is out the window. Now it's not quite as arbitrary when a political boundary is used for demarcation, after all that's every bit as random, but have any of you seen a map of North and South Dakota? There the time zone goes around villages and crosses the street, cuts diagonally through fields and neighbourhoods, in the same state.
"Should I nip round to Bob next door and borrow some sugar?"
"Good heavens no! You know they'll already be in their beds!"
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  pp107-8

[Biggles]

An incredibly surprised solitary ranger told me that the nearest town, Cody, was another 60 miles away, but it was a couple of thousand feet lower. The snow and sleet eventually gave way to rain as darkness embraced me and I tried to keep the throttle pinned.
My fear, paranoia and hypothermia combined in the Shoshone gorges to conjure images of fantastical creatures. The rock columns and pinnacles, seen in a thousand westerns, with shapes and faces in them, towered above me, often shielding the final rays of sunlight. Their beauty and majesty would have been stunning at another time, but for now I needed civilisation lest I died, quite frankly.
It was then that my first deer incident caused me use all the road and more. This was becoming ludicrous, as wildlife took an age to register in a cold brain. I'm not entirely sure how I missed it, but barely 10 miles further my luck ran out when I clipped the third of three deer crossing. I knew it must have been there somewhere, the way the first two crossed something told me there were more, but the third went behind me and caught the pannier. I managed to stay upright and within two miles saw the lights of the most welcoming place I was yet to stay in. Garish neon spelled out 'restaurant and bar' and I couldn't have been happier.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p155

[Biggles]

I know there are one or two things that need fixing, but they'll have to wait until such time my hands don't stick to the metal so I think that'll be California.
Remember the oil leak that developed on the way to Southampton? Well that is, or has become, a protective film that now coats every bit of engine, from the rocker cover to the sump. The slow front puncture is in fact a dodgy valve. Do you recall how old men used to do the spit test and look for bubbles, which as a kid you found revolting? Well I took that one stage further and having found the leak used the steel valve cap from the rear wheel and filled it with grease to make a seal. Just temporary, honest, but it's managed about 2000 km now so I'll see how long it'll last. The clutch is getting heavy, the lights are stuck on, one of the spotlight brackets has broken, one front indicator unit is held together with glue and a large amount of Obama's Hope which is en vogue and the front wheel bearings are so noisy and coarse now, I can hear them above the engine when I lean from the vertical.
Oh and the heated grips have become intermittent. They seem to stop working when it gets particularly cold.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p160

[Biggles]

Leaving the rim of the gorge I had a funny old thing happen. I was enjoying the swinging nature of the rapidly descending road, when on one right hand corner- and I don't know how it happened, my right foot got pulled off the peg and stuck between the pannier and the road meaning that my boot was being slowly ground away. I could lean no further for the tightening bend, nor use the rear brake for balance. Oh how I laughed afterwards, when it transpired there was no truck coming the other way and there was just enough road to make the turn without barrelling off the side of the mountain.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  pp169-170

[Biggles]

"So what's your name then?" (note, I wasn't wearing my hat).
"Whaddaya wanna know for?"
"Oh just for the book about my travels."
"You're writing a book eh? Joe, bring me over that check for our Irish friend."
Yes, a $30 saving. It works! A pair of Bridgestone Trailwings fitted for just over 200 dollars. Compare that to my painful experience in Winnipeg. On a roll, I headed off to find chain and sprockets and a few odds and ends. This time the chaps at SF Moto threw in a free set of brake pads. Now I had a dilemma though. What do I do, what do I say? Do I take the freebie gratefully, or do I speak up?
"Aw thanks very much, that's really kind of you, but they're the wrong ones."
"What? That's what the book says."
"Well it's FA 213s or 208s that she takes" says I obsequiously as possible.
"Oh, alright then, I'm sure you must know that bike well by no now."
And that was it! Can you imagine telling a bike dealer in the UK that they are wrong?
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p197

[Biggles]

After we both posted some more things back home, (another 15lbs for Matt) which was terribly exciting for the lady in the tiny San Lorenzo post office, because she hadn't done international before, Matt announced he now had room to carry a spare tyre.
"Why?"
"Because your bike looks so cool and my bike doesn't. Everyone talks about your tyre. I need a tyre. Then I'll look like an adventurer."
"You don't you fool! You're doing it, you are an adventurer!"
"No, I gotta have a tyre too, it's hardcore"
"If you really want hardcore, you need a grill, over your headlight"
"You reckon?"
"No. Lets ride"
Playing in the mountains took us into New Mexico and up over Emory Pass and through Black Canyon, really great roads where Matt had his first ever footpeg scraping experience. He thought my two highside attempts were great when the usually sliding tyres gripped, jettisoning me out of the saddle, so I just said "Oh yeah, but  don't try them till you have more experience..."
Play it cool, he beats me at chess and pool all the time so it's only fair...
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p220

[Biggles]

Then I got to the construction zone. There were no cones, or lollipop ladies, no stop signs or diversions, just lots of heavy machinery in the mud trying to cut a road from the canyon walls and workers huddling around fires to keep warm. The smoke was hanging in the air between the pine trees, where the fog had lifted, but the going became properly stupid. The puddles were sometimes like trenches, so I adopted a "hope for the best" style of riding, as sometimes they were deeper than the bash plate, but the ever-falling altitude and slick surface meant that actually stopping wasn't really an option. I just plunged from one obstacle to the next, be it a fallen tree, semi-submerged in the mud, or a recently carved culvert. Then, perhaps carrying 15-20 mph, I got a big slide with the bars turned full lock, and held it, feet up for almost 5 yards, to the accompaniment of a huge cheer from one group of workers who were huddled round a fire ill-dressed for the cold.   I don't know  who divinely intervened for that moment, but I just sat there and held on.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p242

[Biggles]

Having gone over some really nasty ones which were hidden in the shade of trees, I was trying to be ultra alert and not get caught out unnecessarily, when another unpainted obscured one appeared and I had to scrub off some speed. Braking hard I glanced in the mirror to see Jason and his big red BMW gaining impossibly quickly. 
I tried to crack open the throttle again but I was way too late and after the initial rear impact threw Peggy sideways picking the back end up into the air, I
collided with the tarmac and slid for an admirable distance.
It is because of that, that I'd like to recommend kevlar lined jeans. 'Proven to protect' or some such slogan, but let's just say it meant I could save all my bandages for another time. After everyone warned me about the Mexican drivers, it's the smiley Californians I should have been watching out for. With the poor, now reshapen left hand pannier tied on with ratchet straps, and the crash bars modified with locally sourced rocks to enable me to select gears, I limped on. Literally.
We did discuss the liability insurance he had bought at the border, and whether or not we could all get new bikes from the claim, and maybe some nicer hotel rooms. 
What really pisses me off though, is that he didn't fall off, and it was me that was expecting the impact! At least he bent all his crash bars and front fairing, so that's something. I think Matt felt left out.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  pp279-280

[Biggles]

Another prominent Human Rights and environmental campaigner, Dr Yuri Melini, survived an assassination attempt but was severely injured, just last September so it's still not wise to be too vocal in this part of the world, though change is gradual and much of it began in 1996 with the signing of a peace agreement between the government and the rebels. That first instrumental step was taken by the then President, Alvaro Arzu, who not surprisingly rides a motorbike. Don't all the best people? He rides a Suzuki B-King, and I know that because I met him and had a wee chat about all sorts, including good twisty roads to the coast and rough steep ones that climb the sides of volcanoes. I noticed his bike wasn't actually registered, but then it is the only one of its kind that I've seen, and given the electronic tracking device he had attached to his chest, I don't think it is really that necessary.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p309

[Biggles]

"Buenos Dias senor! Bienvenue a Nicaragua. Passport por favor."
After a welcome handshake I gave the friendly smiling police officer my passport. What a nice man.
"Now you give me 300 Cordobas for the offence or I keep your passport."
"What offence?"
"I'll think of one."
Using my phrasebook and after much discussion, I was able to ascertain that because he had my passport and a gun, he was bound to win. Ten pounds poorer I was back on the road to Managua the capital, and when we were right in the middle of all the city traffic Matt's bike completely died, forcing me to hotwire it after diagnosing a dodgy ignition switch. After neatly fitting a spare light switch we were carrying, to act as a key, Matt just looked at me and said "Should I ask how you knew how to do that?"
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  pp339-340

[Biggles]

It was here I met Jeremy Kroker's dad, like you do. Jeremy wrote a book a few years back about riding his KLR 650 down to Panama, which I read not long before I left home, and often recalled parts of, on this trip. Jeremy was with a friend who infuriated him by always leaving his indicator on and having innumerable near misses because of it. Everyday I watch Matt do similar and can't get him to change. It'll be terribly inconvenient if I have to watch him being brutally crushed by a truck,  not least because I'll have to carry the air compressor.
We camped on a beach next to a hotel thing run by a Californian with a strange business model. His beer was 1500 Cordobas instead of the usual 1000 and rather than sell any he said, "If you've got a problem with that, go down to town and buy your own in the shop for 700."
Which we duly did.
Prior to setting up our tents, we tried to get a room from him, but at 50% more than anyone similar in town his were all empty and he wouldn't take anything less.
The Hunt For Puerto del Faglioli  Paddy Tyson  p350

[Biggles]

Charley
One weekend, Sean's son Jason came to visit. Jason was quite a bit older than me and spent most of his stay forcing me to push him up and down the drive on a little monkey bike. Eventually, long after I had got the bike started and Jason had spent a long time riding it around the farm, he let me have a go. I promptly fell off, but that one moment, that twist of the grip, the roar of the engine, the smell of the exhaust and the petrol and the thrill of the speed was enough. I was hooked. I pestered my parents to indulge my nascent passion. Before long I'd persuaded them to let me buy a motorbike, a Yamaha 100 miniature trials bike that I've kept to this day and which I bought with my earnings as a featured extra in The Great Train Robbery. It was fabulous.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  p7

[Biggles]

Ewan
My father organised a wee red Honda 50cc and we headed off to a field that belonged to a family friend. After the kid had a go, they asked me if I wanted a ride. Of course I did. I clambered on and shot off. It was just a twist and go, and I went all over the field. I thought it was just the best thing. I loved the smell of it, the sound of it, the look of it, the rush of it, the high-pitched screaming of the engine. Best of all, there was a Land-Rover parked next to two large loads of straw bales with about a metre and a half between them. I knew that from where the adults were standing it looked as if there was no distance between them. Just one large heap of straw. I thought I would have a go. I came racing towards the adults, shot right through the gap in the straw bales, thrilled to hear the adults scream and elated that it had frightened them witless. It was my first time on a motorbike and I wanted more.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  p11

[Biggles]

Charley
Even I was pleased we'd chosen the BMWs. We'd covered almost a thousand miles in three days and we didn't feel physically tired. My bum didn't hurt, my muscles didn't ache. If we'd covered that many miles on a sports bike, I'd have been pole-axed by now. Everything would hurt. The Beamers were a good choice, but they were still scary full of petrol. Really scary when you got on with a full tank.
Although the BMW made few physical demands, the riding was mentally exhausting and the trek through the suburbs of Prague dragged on like the final hours of a long-haul flight. The last minutes ticked by ever so slowly, until we found ourselves crossing an ornate road bridge into the city, a magnificent view of the spires of Prague spanning the opposite riverbank and on a hill above us a massive monument with a ticking arm. And all of it washed in the light from the blood-red sun. It was a stunning entrance.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  p60

[Biggles]

Ewan
I loved every drawn-out minute of the negotiations. They fascinated me. And while Charley and David bargained with the officials, I watched a big old black Mercedes with darkened windows draw up at the border. The door opened and a man in a leather jacket, slacks and black leather shoes stepped out. Gaunt and narrow, with a cigarette pointing straight out of his mouth, he looked like a weasel. He was the hardest, most frightening man I'd ever seen. Skinny and weedy, but ball-shrivelling scary. He walked towards me, looked at the bikes with contempt, his cigarette wiggling slightly in his mouth, turned on his heels and walked back to the border crossing. The car's side window dropped down. Another guy looked out. He was the second most frightening person I'd ever seen. Something in their faces made me feel that killing somebody would mean absolutely nothing to them. To them, the act would just be an irritation.
The weasel-like man collected his passport and climbed back into the Mercedes. Just before he sunk into his seat, he turned round and gave the soldier, at whose beck and call we had been all day, such a telling-off. A complete dressing down. Really unpleasant. And the soldier upon whom we had been fawning all day suddenly looked like a little schoolboy. Head dropped, he looked frightened and subservient. The hard man with the cigarette clicked his car door shut and drove off. Everyone who had seen the incident sighed with relief. Totally scary men.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  p87

[Biggles]

Ewan
The room reverberated with a twang as the butt of the gun snapped into place, a sound I will never forget. Grinning wildly, Igor cocked the machine gun, shouted "Please! Please!" and squeezed the trigger. I felt my guts churn. The gun clicked. The chamber, as far as I could tell, was empty. Or was that normal for a gun?  Would the bullet follow with the next click?
"Welcome! Welcome!" Igor boomed. We all laughed nervously as Igor delighted in the sheer thrill of the spectacle. "Here!"
And then I found myself with the machine gun in my hands. Sergey, who was sitting on my right, gently took it from me, glanced in the magazine and peered down the barrel, and, satisfied they were empty, handed it back.
"Oh yeah... oh yeah... made in Russia... nice... that's a nice gun," I said, stuck for words. After all, what do you say to someone who's just come downstairs brandishing a Kalashnikov?
Pap! Pap! Pap! Pap! Four gunshots cracked in the garage just outside the kitchen door, the garage that Charley had entered less than a minute earlier. "Oh my God," I whispered. I looked at David. He was as white as a sheet. Not wanting to believe anything had happened to Charley, my first reaction was to assume there was an innocent explanation. Knowing I mustn't be seen to lose my cool, and telling myself Charley would be all right, I wandered as casually as I could out to the garage.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  pp122-3

[Biggles]

Charley
"You!" one of the guards said to me. "You. Do this!" He revved an imaginary motorbike and lifted his hands. He wanted a wheelie. I was only too happy to oblige. I climbed on to my bike and hoicked a little wheelie on the tarmac in front of the guards' huts.
"No! Here!" the guard said, pointing through the border. I couldn't believe it. A member of one of the world's most uptight bureaucracies wanted me to wheelie across his nation's frontier. I swung the bike around, waved to the guards to clear the area close to the barrier and let rip. By the time I reached Russian soil, my front wheel was 3 feet in the air and I was doing 40mph. I banged the front wheel back down on the ground and looked back. One of the border guards was waving manically.  Then he blew his whistle. Shit, I thought, now you've really blown it, Charley.
The guard beckoned me to come back to the barrier. Slowly I rolled towards him, expecting to be torn from my bike and dragged into a dirty office for, at best, a severe dressing down.
"Again!" he said, smiling broadly and holding up his camera.  He'd missed the shot and wanted another chance to take a picture.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  pp131-2

[Biggles]

Ewan
While Claudio filmed the family watching television in their front room, Charley and I unrolled our sleeping bags on the floor.
"I'm going to need earplugs because of your snoring," said Charley.
"And I'm going to need a clothes peg on my nose because of your feet," I replied.
In the front room, the policeman introduced us to his family. His wife was putting their three-month-old baby to bed. We watched her swaddle the baby in white  cotton, put a dummy in its mouth and strap it into a white cot to make sure it didn't fall on to the concrete floor in the night. In one corner, a television blared.
"Hey, look at this!" Claudio called out. "It's you two." There on Kazakh television was a shot of Charley and me bumping along the road that day. It cut to me singing in Moulin Rouge, then a scene from Star Wars. The policeman's family gave us a quizzical look. I could tell what they were thinking: What have we got here? We shrugged and smiled. They pointed at the screen and then at us. We nodded. It didn't feel as awkward as I thought it might. It seemed quite natural.  We were going around the world, we were in their house and we were on television. It was as straightforward as that.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  pp156-7

[Biggles]

Ewan
We'd just finished shaking hands and were climbing back on our bikes when a young guy on a Ural motorcycle rode up. Dressed in leather jacket, jeans, shades and a Stars and Stripes bandana with a star positioned smack in the middle of his forehead, he looked like a real greaser biker. The bike, which was belching black smoke, had been fitted with high handlebars, like a chopper. As he came to a stop, he raised his right hand, gave us the finger, jumped off the Ural, relying on a bystander to grab it instead of using the side stand, and whipped out a camera. It was a professional paparazzi camera, the type I'd seen too many times before, with a long, fast lens. He hosed us down with the camera, laughing as he did it. Charley and I jumped on our bikes and rode off. The paparazzo gave chase, riding down the street behind us. Pulling level with Charley, he let go of his handlebars and snatched his camera out of a holster on the side of the bike. Firing off another couple of dozen shots, he shouted "Is good, is good, is good," then zoomed off. We had to admire his style.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  pp175-6

[Biggles]

Ewan
I immediately knew what to do with them. The nomad had a rifle on his back and probably often had to watch out for wolves, so I handed him my binoculars, letting him look through them at the mountains. Turning slowly, he told us the name of all the mountains he could see. Pointing at a mountain in the far distance, he made it clear that it was on the other side of the lake and that we would be back on the main road by the time we reached it. The mountain was still a long way off, but it was a relief to see the end in sight and I thanked him. He put the binoculars back in their case and handed them to me.
"No," I said. "I want you to have them." With both hands, I pushed the binoculars towards him. "You'll make better use of them than I ever will."
He looked unsure. Then he smiled broadly and took them, making a little sign of blessing and thanking me. It was a lovely, spontaneous moment. I was struck by the beauty of this man's life and it felt really nice to give a present to somebody who lived at the top of a mountain, on a horse, sauntering along watching his camels graze and looking at the mountains, all of whose names he knew. He was so at home in his surroundings and so friendly to us, and at that moment I fell in love with him and the mountains and Mongolia.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  p202

[Biggles]

Charley
Twenty-three hours after we boarded the train, the door to the boxcar swung open and we found ourselves in Skovorodino. There was the same 5 to 6 foot drop as in Chita, only this time there was no one to help us down with our bikes. Our Uzbek companions would have been able to help us, but they couldn't show their faces in the station. The train stopped for about ten minutes, so we had to move fast. I grabbed a length of wood from the boxcar and carried it to the door, but it was too  thin to take the weight of the bikes. Ewan jumped out of the wagon with Claudio and ran over to a pile of rubbish. They came back with a board, but that wasn't long enough. We were running out of time. Panicking, I thought we might have to drop the bikes off and take our chances. I shouted, "The board might not be long enough, but maybe it's sufficiently wide. Throw it up here!"
Ewan and Claudio propped the plank against the wagon. It sloped at more than 45 degrees but it would have to do. We didn't have much choice. With the help of the Uzbeks, I wheeled my BMW to the door and pushed the front wheel out of the wagon so that it was resting on its belly pan. While the Uzbeks lifted up the back of the bike, I grabbed the handles to skid it down the board. The hydraulic brakes barely worked without the engine ticking over. I teetered beside it, squeezing the brakes as hard as I could get some grip on it, and tried to wheel it slowly down the hairy slope. It was a close thing, but I managed to get my bike down without losing control. I eased Claudio's bike down the ramp, then Ewan's. We'd done it. We had accomplished what we thought would be impossible. What a triumph to have made it from Chita to Skovorodino without damaging our bikes! A part of me felt slightly guilty that we hadn't ridden the road from Chita, but that regret was heavily outweighed by the thrilling experience on the train. And to make the victory even sweeter, we were ahead of schedule for the first time, by four days.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  pp251-2

[Biggles]

Ewan
Charley put his hazard lights on. Riding at about 60mph, I reached forward to put my hazard lights on too. There was a screech of tyres and then the bike went completely out of control. It happened so fast, I don't know which came first.
Charley said afterwards that he saw it all in his wing mirrors. "Out of nowhere, a red car just whammed into the back of you," he said afterwards. "Your front wheel went straight up in the air, almost vertical, then slammed down on the road. You were all over the place, your handlebars weaving from right to left to right to left. Somehow, you managed to stay on and come to a stop."
All I could remember was a bang, suddenly being out of control, seeing a big grass ditch about 6 feet deep to my left and thinking I was going to topple into it. I'm not going on the grass, I'm not going on the grass, I repeated to myself and managed to pull the bike round. The next thing I noticed was that my bike was still running after being smashed in the tail end, that I was still on it and that it was riding straight and true.
Long Way Round   Ewan Mc Gregor and Charley Boorman  p284