Nick does 9 months

Hello all, me again. If you're now thinking 'who?' then it may be wise to go back to the 'Articles' archive and look for the one called 'Nick and his new bike' ‑ read that, then if you're still interested you can come back and read the story of 'what happened next'!

The last article finished with me getting my trusty Suzuki GSR de‑restricted, enjoying the power available and preparing to set out on my first big trip abroad ‑ so what happened next?

I was initially feeling quite scared of the new bike ‑ having only had a 10BHP, ex‑school, seriously abused 125 and then graduating straight on to an almost new, 90BHP semi‑sports naked was more than a bit of a jump and I needed to learn more about the bike before I could truly enjoy it. So, one bright Saturday morning in April I leathered up, packed my tank bag, got my copy of 'The Best Rides' and headed off. Where to? Nowhere, well, when I say 'nowhere' I mean back to where I started. My route was a rough 'Start from Barwell, head out on the A47 to Leicester, then back out again towards Peterborough, take the B6047 towards Melton Mowbray, A6006 towards Ashby de la Zouch and then back home again.

The ride took a couple of hours, and as I went on I felt more and more confident leaning the bike into corners, and generally started to feel more 'smooth' and at one with the bike. The ride did me the absolute world of good ‑ just what I needed as a total beginner.

Just to backtrack a bit, I had got into biking as a way of cutting costs going to work as it's only a 7 mile trip each way ‑ well, the 'direct' route is anyway ‑ and I didn't think that taking the car every single day was worth it. I'd previously had a little experience riding back in my younger days and for the past few years I'd wanted to get my own bike, get a licence and just start enjoying the daily commute ‑ eventually leading towards touring abroad.

So, after two or three weeks of taking the direct, 7 mile trip to work I started to realise that I wasn't enjoying the commute as much as I did when I used to take the 125 through the single track country backroads. I think that most of the problem was I was afraid to take the GSR through those single track country backroads. Not wanting to be put off though I found myself another route, one that I'd previously stumbled across on in the car. A nice blend of twisty bits, lack of cars and some nice straights meant that for the summer months this route, despite being 4 miles longer than the direct route, was my route of choice.

So, commuting is all well and good, but one of the reasons I went for my licence in the first place was the fabled European trip. Whilst I was busy doing my commuting my father in law and brother in law were doing their Direct Access in anticipation of the already booked trip to Normandy for the week of D‑Day.

Whereas I had taken my time with getting my full licence ‑ deciding that the blend of a bit of practical experience with my 125 and tuition was the way to go ‑ they had decided to go for the 4 day intensive course. I won't go into why I think going from riding nothing to having a licence to ride a Hayabusa in 96 hours is a bad thing but it worked for them as they both passed their tests first time.

Anyway, with all the required licences in the bag and the chap who already had his licence eagerly oiling his XT500, the ferries and 'biker friendly semi detached cottage' booked we looked forward to our first trip abroad.

We had decided on a route from Hinckley to Portsmouth, down the motorways towards Oxford, then hugging the main A road down to Portsmouth docks. A six hour, overnight, ferry trip to Caen would leave us with only a quick hop down the road towards Arromanches (where we'd have a quick stop off with a chap who runs a B&B there that we tried to get in, but was full) before heading off to our 'semi detached cottage' which was in a place called Vaux Sur Seulles near Bayeux.

After loading my new soft panniers for the first time (with far more stuff than I'd ever need for the week!) we set off. The ride down was fairly uneventful ‑ the bikes (my 57 plate GSR, the brother in law's GPZ500, the father in laws Kwak LTD and his friends XT500) all behaved themselves on the way out, however, as I preferred to ride at the back of the group I noticed that the father in law was having a few problems getting his bike round corners! All too often I'd set myself up for a nice sweeping corner, only to end up having to hit the brakes to avoid going into the back of him as he slowed right down for even the slightest curve in the road… Still ‑ this was nothing too bad… yet.

The only thing the ferry trip taught me was that after a good few hours in the saddle you really wish you'd spent a few extra quid to get a cabin, rather than try and get comfortable on the 'reclining' seats for a six hour nap… That one I'll remember in the future!

Anyway, ferry docked, we all got off and set off on our journey towards Bayeux ‑ our first motorcycling experience abroad! The journey towards Arromanches was again uneventful, apart from one, beautiful blind 90 degree right just as we entered the town. Again, I was riding at the back of the group with the father in law in front of me. The GPZ and XT had long disappeared off into the distance leaving me watching the back of the classic Kwak. So, back to this corner. I saw it and thought it was a wonderful opportunity to get some lean. I set myself up… and watched in disbelief as the father in law bottled it completely, sat the bike up and went straight on at the corner, right across the line of potential oncoming traffic and down a side road! Initially I thought I'd missed the turning(!) so U‑Turned where safe and went back to meet him, only to find that he'd got back on the road and was now coming down towards me. Another quick U‑Turn, and 10 metres more of riding and we were at Adrian's B&B, enjoying a nice cup of tea.

Eventually, we decided to find our lodgings for the week ‑ the biker friendly, semi‑detached cottage we had booked, which was less than ten miles from Arromanches. About an hour or so later we eventually found it… Riding up we were impressed with the place ‑ OK, it had a large, deep gravel driveway but the place looked nice and large, with a big garden. We knocked on the front door where we were told the owner would be waiting for us ‑ she eventually answered. We were shown into the 'converted garage' which we assumed was the office… until she showed us the tiny shower room, and the upstairs bedroom and claustrophobia‑inducing toilet. Oh great ‑ our semi‑detached cottage was three quarters of a garage, with an upstairs. All of a sudden, my decision to include a £25 three man tent as part of my luggage didn't seem like such a daft idea after all…

But ‑ we stuck the place out, three guys upstairs in the bedroom, leaving me to the mildly large sofabed downstairs in the lounge/kitchen/dining room.

That first evening I spent questioning the father in law as to what he was actually taught on his intensive course, asking if he'd been shown the black art of countersteering (aka, knowing how to get your bike round a nice 90 degree bend without standing it up and almost killing yourself…) He hadn't. Needless to say, 10 minutes and a lot of 'Trust me, it sounds daft but it bloody works' later and he was a convert! For the next day he was getting round corners like a goodun… until one of his front fork oil seals popped and his bike pissed fork oil everywhere…

I'll not go into all the details of the week ‑ the weather was great, the Normandy roads were as smooth as anything I've ever ridden and I've now seen as many World War II monuments as I need to see… oh, and if I never see Caen Kawasaki again it will be too soon! As I mentioned above, the father in law's bike popped an oil seal ‑ so, on one of the days, after a fantastic breakfast at Adrian's we headed off to the nearest Kawasaki dealer so see if they could get it fixed. This is where we learnt our first real lesson of riding abroad… Take your bank cards, because the French like their lunch hours, and petrol stations are always unmanned when you're running on empty…

As the only bank card holder, after I bailed out everybody we headed back towards Caen, eventually arriving and realising that they too had disappeared off to lunch, just as it had started raining like a goodun… An hour later, we established that they didn't have a replacement seal, and either couldn't ‑ or wouldn't attempt a fix. We left there promising never to return. Little did we know that we'd be back within 48 hours after the father in law (who was having a rather dismal time reliability wise) managed to snap his clutch cable… Fortunately he had taken out breakdown assistance and had no problem in getting himself and his bike transported back to good old Caen Kawasaki… Eventually, after the owner (who had previously denied speaking any English on our previous visit yet suddenly turned fluent 48 hours later) had relieved the father in law of 20 Euros we left good old Caen Kawasaki behind for good.

After arriving in France, one week and a thousand miles later we returned to the UK, our first European trip under our belts. So, what did I get out of the experience? Well, firstly I liked the courtesy of French drivers ‑ it's a bit of a cliché but they seemed more aware of bikers than the drivers at home. Also, other riders on the road seemed more willing to acknowledge you, and it was nice to be able to give a wave instead of nodding! I also managed to properly square off my rear Bridgestone BT‑014 after racking up around 4000 miles on the bike…

The first thing I did when getting back was arrange for a new set of rubber to be put on the bike ‑ I went for Bridgestone's replacement for the 014's in the BT‑016. My logic was that with the triple compound rear it may last somewhat longer than the 014's did with my predominantly commute based riding. For the £260 it cost for the pair, plus the fitting I had better be correct!

I was shocked at how different I found the tyres ‑ I'm not sure if it was just the 'new tyre feeling' I've heard so much about or if they really are that much better than the 014's, but after the scrubbing in period I was quite surprised at how quickly I managed to make the chicken strips on the new tyres so much smaller than the 014's ever were… My not‑so‑direct route to work suddenly got a bit more fun!

It was also at this time that I went on my first ever bike meet ‑ the first annual meeting of the Suzuki GSR owners forum (www.suzuki‑gsr.co.uk). It was good to meet up with the guys and girls of the forum, the people who had eased me into GSR ownership ‑ and it was also a fantastic opportunity to confirm that I was not the only GSR owner in the UK and that Suzuki had actually made, and sold, more than one!

As the weeks and months started progressing I became acutely aware that you really are quite vulnerable on a bike, and despite being a fat bloke riding a nice red and silver bike with the headlight permanently on, other road users just don't see you. I remember all too well the day I rounded a corner, a side road on my left about 15 metres further up. I saw the woman in her Fiesta indicating right. She looked left, looked right, and just as I anticipated, pulled right out across my path. Fortunately my brakes were already on and I was coming to a standstill as, still looking right through me she then SAW me and hit her own brakes. I raised my hand in disbelief, as if to say 'Are you blind love?' A rather embarrassed acknowledgement was returned and she buggered off on her merry way.

There's rarely a day that goes by without someone pulling out on me from side roads, not noticing me as I turn right at roundabouts and almost taking me off, and I guess all the other things you only ever catch car drivers doing when you're on two wheels! Still, you get used to it and it just forms part of being a biker I guess. The one that gets my goat though is when they DO see you and deliberately move over to block your path to impress their giggling mates who then laugh and point at you through the back window ‑ thanks guys, you really are grade‑A pillocks!

If there's one thing that develops when you're a biker it's your feeling of mortality. It's all too easy to think that you're on a bike, you're the fastest thing on the road and you're invincible but it's not true. You have to face facts that when you're out and about, each ride could be your last ‑ and not necessarily through any fault of your own… A point which was recently hammered home at work when one day we all received a company‑wide email letting us know that a chap that worked in one of our departments, a guy that I never knew but had ridden behind on occasions had gone for a ride at lunch and been killed on his bike. That one hit me hard and, whilst I've never been a crazy rider, I certainly started thinking more about what I was doing and the ride home that evening was the most cautious I'd ever done.

I have to say that the amount of riding I've been doing recently has tailed right off and the car has been getting a bit more use… but I'm not hardcore enough to take the bike out when I see a thin layer of frost on the road outside my window. Still, I got the bike out for the first day of the NEC Motorcycle show and braved the freezing fog and biting cold to do the honourable thing and go there on two wheels! I learned another valuable lesson that day and purchased a set of thermals and inner gloves once I got back home… Still, my 20 mile jaunt was nothing compared to the 'Blade rider who pulled up next to me at the show parking. Chap, if you're reading this, my lid goes off to you for making the journey in awful conditions from North Wales. That's dedication!

I also made it to my first race meet (just down the road at Mallory Park) thanks to Pyro who kindly sent me a ticket. I've not managed to get on a trackday yet but it's on my list of things to do for 2009. Also on the list for 2009 is a solo European jaunt. No idea where I'll start or finish, but a couple of weeks touring Europe and camping out appeals to me ‑ any suggestions as to where to go please let me know!

Speaking of 2009, I've not managed my first ride of the year yet, the bike hasn't been out in anger since Christmas Eve and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms! Was contemplating taking it out this morning until I saw the thin layer of snow on the roads ‑ I quickly changed my mind then. Kudos to the man up the road from me with the SV650 though as I heard him going off to work on his bike, albeit a hell of a lot slower than I normally hear him leaving!

So, that's the story of my first 9 months or so with a full licence and a Suzuki GSR ‑ here's to many, many more!