Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

When they refused, I took to throwing my dinner around my cell, splattering the walls. They shot videos of the walls, showed it to the judge, who warned us that we were lucky we were being fed at all. My argument was if we were going to trial for three days and all they wanted to give us was sandwiches, that would have been okay. But after three months, we needed hot food.
Eventually we got soup with our dinner- a small victory, but in jail things like that are important, especially when you're fighting to stay out of prison for the rest of your life.  After a particularly contentious day in court, the judge finally warned me that I had better start acting like a defendant. I said I would act like a defendant when he started acting like a judge and the district attorney started acting like a real district attorney.
"Until then, you can get stuffed."
My lawyer cringed.
Someone in the audience clapped, which really made the judge angry.
The judge pounded his gavel. "Who did that? I demand to know who clapped."
A black bike rider from the Dragons with only one arm raised his hand.
Hell's Angel  Ralph "Sonny" Barger  pp218-9

[Biggles]

As West Coast rep, Anthony Tait came to my house a lot. He dressed like a tacky drug dealer and wore lots of ivory, gold chains, and rings. Tait rode around on a cream-colored Harley full dresser and wore light-colored cowboy boots so he could be easily picked out of a crowd for police surveillance photos. He usually kept his bike at the Harley shop in Oakland, so when he flew in from Anchorage he would only have to ride a short distance from the airport to the clubhouse.
Tait couldn't handle riding long distances on a motorcycle. He would always get sick and throw up. Once when we travelled on a USA Run together, I remember Tait getting another guy to ride his bike for him. We assumed he was ill for some reason. Looking back, he was probably petrified from riding so fast in the pack. Or maybe he was just scared of motorcycles, period. At the time we didn't know Tait was a rat working for the federales and just waiting for an excuse to betray the club.
Hell's Angel  Ralph "Sonny" Barger  pp232-3

[Biggles]

We rode back to Switzerland, straight up into the Alps. It was the tallest mountain range I ever rode, so steep we were accelerating into the clouds. It was the highest high, the furthest I've ever been, body and soul- from the likes of Folsom Prison or a dingy county cell. As I rode, I got to thinking: if I learned anything from being in the club over forty years, it's that freedom isn't cheap. I thought about how much I needed the open road, a tight set of handlebars, a firm seat, and an old lady willing to hold on for the long and bumpy ride.
My thoughts overpowered the roar of two hundred Harleys gunning through the Alps. I know I've paid a terrible price for my freedom. I've learned the hard way that to understand my heart is to understand the evil that lurks inside. I can't hide behind religious traditions and superficial heroes. It's impossible to be delivered away from man's constant inhumanity to man. As a warrior, you know pain and sadness alongside joy and solitude. It is to those who long to ride- forever free- that I write these words... and the Angels shall be Kings!
Hell's Angel  Ralph "Sonny" Barger  pp254-5

[Biggles]

For all my careful planning, I had neglected to bring any waterproofs. "No, we won't need them in North Africa," I'd told Neil, authoritatively. "The Sahara virtually meets the Mediterranean, and it doesn't rain in the desert, everyone knows that. By the time we get south to the forests we should have missed the rains." Now, huddled under a six-foot by three-foot corrugated iron awning in jeans and a leather jacket, trying to stave off the inevitable, I felt pretty stupid. Neil looked smugly on from the warmth of his Drizabone. My sole consolation was Pierre's denim jacket, his only line of defence against this unexpected storm. We were both soaked, for this 'shelter' as Neil had called it, was quite obviously built to shade a milk stall from the sun. Still, it was marginally better than nothing.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p9

[Biggles]

We drove on into bibleland. What a buzz! Our bikes have become time-machines zooming down a warp straight into the Old Testament. Goatherds and shepherds grazed their flocks, farmers tilled the land with oxen, mules pulling loads of hay worked their way down the tracks and beautiful bright-eyed children came rushing from their homes. They smiled and waved, their innocent faces full of excitement. I felt sure that no matter how many children I waved at on this trip, they would always bring a smile to my face. We drove on, happy to be alive. I started to sing.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p11

[Biggles]

We waited for nearly two hours while the sand slowly buried us. It did not let up or show any likelihood of doing so.
"We might as well make a dash for the gorge," I shouted to Steve. "We could be waiting here all night."
"Aye, keep your lights on and we'll follow close behind."
The road was invisible a lot of the time and twice I drove off it into deep sand. Mile by mile we plodded on, no faster than twenty miles an hour, fighting the forces of nature. But at last, standing like a citadel of peace and security, out of the gloom came the faint and welcome outline of the Arak gorge.
Despite all the hardship and discomfort one inevitably suffers on a bike, it is, I'm sure, the most satisfying means of transport, at least on a trip like this. In a Landrover or truck you can simply wind up the windows and pour yourself a coffee, cocooned in Western comfort. Not so on a bike. Whether it be sandstorm, torrential rain, fierce wind or even a swarm of locusts, indeed anything God, nature or the devil can throw at you, you must take it. There is nowhere to hide. But when the challenge is over and you have succeeded, the feeling of satisfaction is unbeatable.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p37

[Biggles]

"Ah, Jonny le Targui," Amel said, referring to the chech I was now wearing. We walked slowly down the muggy street to the courtyard where my bike was parked. She'd never been on a motor bike before and loved it. The feel of her hugging me tight, her front pressed into my back and her chin resting on my shoulder, was wonderful. The sun was setting as we drove out of town into the desert. We stopped and sat under a date palm to watch it.
"Jonatan, why did we meet?"
"I'm not sure." I put my arm round her and held her close. Again I could smell the glorious perfume of her skin. I breathed it in deep, forcing it into my memory in the hope of being able to recall it later. "Maybe one day we'll know."
After a moment she smiled. "Our paths have crossed once, they may do so again."
"I hope so," I said, as much to myself as to her. I leant forward and kissed her cheek.
"Insh' Allah," she said, her soft, dark eyes resting on me. "It is all in the hands of God."
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p50

[Biggles]

I pushed on to the border in the hope of making Souanke by nightfall but, soon after midday, a few miles north of Mbalam and less than twenty miles from the Congo, I found myself in a little glade, looking at a river and bridge. The bridge was nothing more than three large tree trunks and would have presented a precarious crossing at the best of times, but now it was broken, smashed in the middle and submerged in fast-flowing water.
I took out a damp cigarette and pulled on it deeply as tears welled in my eyes. I desperately missed everyone and everything. A pint with John, a spliff with Guy, a chat with Tania. Oh, to eat a roast, watch a film, sleep in a bed. The worst part was not being forced to give up, but the utter frustration of having to go back through all the crap I'd just fought.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p83

[Biggles]

Satisfaction overwhelmed me. The headache from the village disappeared, my bodily aches dissolved into the peaceful waters and, comfortably blissful, I sat and let my brain unwind. This was utter contentment, like the night in the Sahara or the swim in the Sangha. A feeling so wonderful that should the pirogue have capsized and the bike sunk I really not sure if I would have cared. Indeed, had death suddenly come I would have had no regrets or any problem in accepting it. Everything had been worth it for these few short minutes.
The first stars of the night appeared and behind us darkness was falling. Kamau and his brother were kneeling happily at the front paddling lazily while the current did most of the work. Small tufts of vegetation, dislodged from the thick mangrove on the banks, drifted with us. The occasional splosh of a surfacing fish was all that cut the tranquil silence. At last I had found it, the real Africa, the Africa of my dreams. I took a slug on the whisky, lit a cigarette and dangled my feet in the warm waters.
I wanted the journey to last for ever.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p104

[Biggles]

The track was firm and wide. Deep red, rust-coloured earth stretched like a carpet before me, bisecting the bush. An old man pushing a moped was coming the other way. I stopped to give him some petrol. The sun was high and the sky clear.
Perhaps this won't be so bad after all. No sooner had this thought flashed through my head than I passed under an arch, like an open doorway into a giant's castle made by two huge trees, and entered the forest proper. It wasn't long before the light at the entrance was nothing more than a brilliant pinprick. The track got narrower and narrower until it was not much wider than I. On either side the deep green undergrowth was thick and impenetrable, patterned with the morning dew.
Sharp beams of sunlight slipped through the leaves and tangled creepers high above to brighten the murk of the forest floor. Thousands of brightly coloured butterflies, some bigger than my hand, disturbed by my passing, rose up and accompanied me or flew straight at my face only to dodge away at the last second, like cartoons in a 3-D movie. Soon I was in a dark tunnel, the roof of which was as thick as its walls. There was no breeze down here. The air was wet and stuffy, steam from the rotting vegetation hung like a fog and I was quickly wet through.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p124

[Biggles]

Earlier, Lango had told me that a gazelle was being killed in my honour. It was now brought in, skewered on a pole, the size of a small lamb, and placed on the table before us to excited applause. Lifting a large knife in flamboyant style the Chief began to carve. Pounded yam, cassava and fried plantain were handed out, followed by hunks of the succulent meat. It was a feast to be sure. Curious faces looked at me in silence as I put the food to my mouth, asking with their bright eyes, 'Is this white man going to like our food?' On hearing my approval they laughed and began to discuss me in their own language. I pleased with my contentment.
Bananas and pineapple followed the meat and lastly some strong dark tobacco in a wooden pipe.
The feeling between us was one of trust and understanding, an immediate affinity of fellow human beings. Here there were no secrets to hide, no fear or worry. They did not know where I came from but I was there, in their world, enjoying their culture and that was enough.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p135

[Biggles]

I did as I was told. I drove round the block, up the street into the mass of bodies standing round the camera, and came to a halt. The interviewer asked such questions as how far had I been? When had I left? What did I eat? Did I have a wife back in England? Why was I doing it? What had I learnt? (To this I answered "Don't believe all you are told until you have seen it for yourself." What countries had I seen? And what did I think of Cabinda?
The ages of the children stretched from about four to sixteen years old and hundreds of bright eyes watched me closely. A particularly cute little boy no more than five chewing on a stick of sugar cane, stood at my side. He clung with his free hand to my trousers and each time I was asked question he pulled gently, seeking my attention. I answered the questions as accurately as possible, stating, truthfully, that Cabinda was the most beautiful place I'd seen so far.
The filming concluded, the interviewer shook my hand and then said something to Fernando, who again translated; "He says it has been a pleasure to interview you- the tourist number two."
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  pp167-8

[Biggles]

The high adventure of the Congo and Angola had left me no time for feeling down, my mind too absorbed in the challenge of what I was doing, but here, with more time and fewer problems, alone in a crowd of happy faces, I felt alienated and unhappy. I was reminded of holidays with Mel, in Greece or France or Spain - the setting was different but the expressions on the faces of the happy couples were just the same as ours must have been. On reaching Cape Town a part of me had felt that I had this grief thing licked, that I was 'over it' - but I wasn't; like the journey, I now realised there was still a long way to go. The feelings of pain and loss, unlike the miles of my trip, weren't constants that diminished logically over time, rather they changed shape and moved about within me.
The prospect of what lay ahead made me feel no better. Would Tanzania let me in? If Tanzanian customs officers suspect you've been to South Africa they are entitled to refuse you entry. For this reason I had not had my carnet stamped at the border and intended to get a new passport in Lusaka. However, officials are usually wise to such ploys. It would be touch and go.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p226

[Biggles]

That I had made it so far showed luck was on my side but, as the ambassador had pointed out, if I was going to make it all the way home I would still need a lot more. I should not waste it on a whim. I looked again at his considerate face which seemed benign, almost fatherly, and wondered why I had been so nervous of him.
"Yes, you're right, it's not worth it. I'll leave for Malawi tomorrow. And thank you for your advice."
"Oh, you need not mention it," he said, getting to his feet. "That's what we are here for. If I have saved one man I am pleased."
Ambassador Khan opened the door and led me back into the hall. The lobeless attache was still there talking to the girl but he hurried back to his tasks when he noticed us coming. We walked outside into the forecourt. The man had finished cleaning and now stood chatting to my taxi driver. The late afternoon was quiet and peaceful and I realised that a self-imposed burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I turned and shook the ambassador's hand, thanking him again.
"It's okay. Good luck on the rest of your journey."
"Thank you and good luck to you." I climbed back into the cab and with a wave we drove away.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p233

[Biggles]

Shortly before Jaap returned that evening I turned on the television and sat back in the comfort of a large armchair. As the picture slowly emerged to settle on the flickering screen I was surprised to see the face of Ambassador Khan. What the voice of the reporter was saying made my mouth go dry.
"... whose strangled and beaten body was found today tied to a chair. It is not yet known why the ambassador was killed or by whom but it is suspected that Renamo had infiltrated the embassy staff." His benign face disappeared from the screen to be replaced by that of the news-reader. "His death comes on a day when heavy fighting has been reported between the rebels and government forces near both Maputo and Tete, with some reports suggesting that as many as 200 people may have been killed. Peace efforts in Rome seem to have reached a stalemate.
"At home now, and in Ndola..." Shocked, I sat for a while staring blankly at the screen. It seemed incredible. Only two days before, this compassionate man had persuaded me not to risk my life. Now he had lost his, perhaps at the hands of the very people he had been protecting me from.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  pp246-7

[Biggles]

"The problem," Masfin went on translating, "is that you can only cross the border with permission from Addis. It has been closed for long time and it is only the Internal Ministry who can authorise this."
"But how long will permission take to come through?" I asked, knowing that the chances of getting it, should I apply, were almost non-existent.
"Three weeks... maybe more."
"But I cannot possibly wait that long. I have to get out of Ethiopia before the rains start, otherwise I will be trapped. If he can give me a letter of clearance to Addis, I'll get a visa from the ministry when I arrive."
I drank the coffee while they talked. Dark clouds still lingered over Kenya but here the sky was clear and the sun hot. A slight breeze rustled the pale blue jacaranda trees which lined the street opposite. A battered truck crawled slowly up the hill, passed the bar and disappeared. Again Mr Ragasa browsed through my passport in deep contemplation. Then he picked up the lighter and started to play with it.
"He can have it, if he wants... a present," I said to Masfin. It needed no translation. Ragasa smiled but said nothing. We sat for an age.
Finally he stood up, cupping the lighter in his large right hand. He said something to Masfin and left.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  pp272-3

[Biggles]

On the outskirts of the capital, (Addis Ababa) next to a burnt-out tank, the bike coughed and died. The bright sun of the morning had given way to a leaden sky and heavy rain was falling. The traffic heading into the city centre was dense and slow-moving. On either side of the road were grey factories and warehouses. I hadn't really noticed the bike losing power until I'd started to climb back up the escarpment, but then it had deteriorated fast. I had crawled the last ten miles not much faster than walking pace. I couldn't imagine what the problem might be, but whatever it was I knew I could do little about it there. I needed more luck. Within minutes it presented itself in the form of a white pick-up truck driven by a man of about forty, dressed in Western clothes, with the usual bushy hair and soft, honey-coloured, inquisitive eyes. I explained that my bike had broken down and promised him my eternal gratitude if he could just get us both to a hotel and out of the tiresome rain.
"Oh, I can do better than that," he said in near-perfect English, "I can take you to Hagbes. They're the Yamaha dealers in town." Short of meeting a travelling Tenere mechanic, I could not have sought better fortune. I made a mental note never to take my luck for granted - it was a feature of my travels I could ill afford to lose.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p282

[Biggles]

I had thought many times about what I would do if such a situation presented itself, whether I'd stop or place myself in the hands of the Gods and drive straight on. I had come to no concrete conclusions. I felt I would have more of a chance of survival taking the latter option as, even if the bandits did decide to shoot, their aim might not necessarily be accurate. But here I was, face to face with the real thing, and any action seemed impossible. I got closer and closer, still unable to make the decision. He stood in the middle of the road now, his gun unwavering. At any moment he might pull the trigger; he made no gesture that he wanted me to stop. What was he going to do? What was I going to do? When I was no more than twenty yards off, still undecided whether to stop or accelerate, he lifted his head and a different expression crossed his eyes. Stamping his feet together, he swivelled his gun round to present arms, and, with his face exploding into a gigantic grin, gave me a salute worthy of the Guards. I returned the gesture and sped past, leaving him choking in a cloud of dust.
When I arrived at the Lake Tana Hotel twenty minutes later I was still shaking.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p294

[Biggles]

On the Sunday, as you might expect, I had to get clearance to be allowed to take the boat: the ticket was not enough. This was possibly the most tedious and tiring day of all in the Sudan. From eight in the morning until six at night I was passed from the police station to the customs office, to immigration and the office of information, back to the police and finally returned to the ticket office. At each bureau there was a queue of a hundred or more. At the ticket office I told the Nubian man that I was not jumping the line but had simply been lucky. He accepted the explanation and became surprisingly charming, telling me that as nobody knew how much they should charge for the bike I could take it for nothing. He checked I had all the right forms -a red one, two blue, a green, a yellow and a white- stamped the ticket and wished me "Bon voyage". "It will start boarding at eight and leave around three," he said. I told him I'd be there at seven.
That evening as the sun went down behind the sandy hills even Wadi Haifa seemed pleasant.
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p321

[Biggles]

"Your passport please." He didn't look mean, just bored by the prospect of the day which lay ahead. "Papers." I confidently handed them over.
"Where is your blue form?" I pulled the two blue chits from the pile in his hand and put them on top.
"These ones?"
"Not these," he said, taking me to one side. "Your customs import licence." He gestured to the bike, "for the machine."
Oh God. Stay calm, stay calm...
"They should have given you one at the border when you entered Sudan."
"But they didn't," I answered, fear rising. "Have you been to Gallabat? There are only a few grass huts. There is no customs and no immigration, let alone blue forms. They gave me nothing."
"So how do we know you not buy this machine here in the Sudan and have not paid duty?" I was incredulous.
"Look," I said in near desperation, my hands starting to shake, "I have my carnet which proves that I brought the bike into the country." I got it from the tank bag and showed it to him. "Here, you can see... Cameroun, Angola, Malawi, Tanzania. I've been driving the bike round Africa."
"This is not blue form. You must go back."
My God! No! Please! I was on the gangway, the ship to home and freedom only a few feet away. I felt physically sick and my head started to spin.
I begged: "Please don't make me go back."
Running With The Moon  Jonny Bealby  p322

[Biggles]

Comfort is key to riding distances safely. To spend more time on your motorcycle, you must be prepared to ride in inclement weather and you should know how to adapt to extremes of heat and cold. You should learn how to make your motorcycle more comfortable and how to look after yourself on long trips. After long hours in the saddle, minor irritations drain energy and alertness. All riders can benefit from small modifications that enhance comfort and reduce fatigue.
You have more to gain by learning how to be comfortable on your motorcycle for longer periods than you do by riding at breakneck speed or riding while exhausted.
As veteran Iron Butt competitor Bob Ray says, "Find out what makes you want to get off your bike, then fix it."
Going The Extra Mile  Ron Ayres  p13

[Biggles]

Some novices seem to believe that gloves fall into the same category as helmets: they offer protection in case of an accident, but it's more comfortable to ride without them. Gloves are necessary to shield your hands from sun, cold, stones and other flying objects. At 60 miles an hour, just being struck by an insect can be painful. Gloves are especially beneficial if you should ever go down, even at low speed, as it's instinctive to extend your hands to break your fall. Some riders experience numbness in their lands from vibrations transmitted through the handlebars, and wearing gloves will provide some insulation from the vibration. You may find your hands tire less easily as well.
You should have three weights of gloves: lightweight, short deerskin gloves for summer use; middleweight, unlined leather gauntlet gloves for cooler weather; and heavy, waterproof leather gauntlet gloves for cold or wet weather.
Going The Extra Mile  Ron Ayres  p18

[Biggles]

Once, during a long, hot trip through south Texas, I had an inspiration. After parking my bike at a gas pump, I removed my helmet and placed it into the sidewalk freezer that held the store's supply of bagged ice. By the time I refuelled, paid for the purchase, and drank a bottle of cold water, the helmet had cooled nicely.
The effect lasted a long time. In a similar vein, some riders stuff the pockets of their riding suits with ice to get some relief from the heat.
If you spend much time riding in very hot climates, a tinted face shield will keep the temperature inside your helmet a few degrees cooler. Also, if your helmet doesn't have a removable, washable liner, consider using a separate helmet liner of silk or CoolMax, which is designed to wick away perspiration to keep you more comfortable. By washing your helmet liner regularly, you'll also prolong the life and user-friendliness of your lid.
Going The Extra Mile  Ron Ayres  p24

[Biggles]

Suzy is also a member of a Roadway Express team that visits schools and fairs to promote safety.
She often cautions her motorcyclist friends to avoid the "No Zone" behind big trucks. "Tailgating a truck irritates the driver, and is very dangerous," she maintains. "Although truckers check their tires regularly, they have no control over what may be on the pavement that can cause a blowout. I have seen a blowout knock clearance lights off the truck and break off mud flaps. I shudder to think of the consequences that could befall a rider struck by such a large flying object. Stay away from big trucks!"
Tailgating also deprives you of a good view of the road ahead of you, so you'll be less likely to spot hazardous road debris in time to react safely. It can be an especially dangerous practice during bad weather or when you're likely to encounter animals.
Going The Extra Mile  Ron Ayres  p42

[Biggles]

It won't be possible to avoid punctures altogether, but there are some tricks to minimise them.
When you're riding alone or when you're the first rider in a group, select a riding position to the right of the centre of the lane, approximately in the right wheel track of four-wheeled vehicles. This position will place you in a section of the lane that has usually been swept clean of screws which have worked their way loose from vehicles (a major cause of punctures), and of other debris. When you're behind a rider who is using the right wheel track, use the left wheel track, just a little to the left of the centre of the lane. As with the right wheel track, this area has been swept clean by passing motorists. You'll also be following proper group riding practice by riding staggered from the rider in front of you.
Going The Extra Mile  Ron Ayres  p51  (left/right adjusted for Australian roads)