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rictus01 · 09-02-05, 05:08 PM

That reminded me of my first ever "long run".
take my Fizzie to Barry island (yes Butlins) on our annual holidays.

the plan was to set off before Dad and the rest of the family, to get a head start.

So off I go route taped to the tank for the first stop, went past Watford, now I knew I was on a long trip

, filled up and set off for Oxford, meeting the family at the Little chef just outside the city. took me about 2 hours from North London to Oxford (what 40-45 miles or so).

had breakfast at the little chef (Dad had passed me about 10 minutes before I got there, he left a good hour after me

). got warmed up and refused the offer to put the bike on the trailer and go in the car, after all I was a biker now

.

Off I set again whilst the family carried on with their maple syrup pancakes (yeah, could have done with those).

Next meeting scheduled for a petrol station outside of shipton on the A40, about 30 miles away.

Set off fine everything working well, then the rain came, now it seemed to target just me and my leathers remained waterproof for about a minute or so, then it when straight though all my clothes, but hey I'm a biker so you just tuff it out

.
5 minutes later the cold has set in and I have to stop as I can't stop shivering, gloves on the exhaust pipe, hands over that to warm.

10 minutes after that Dad passes me at the side of the road, he reverse back to see what's wrong with the bike (rain stopped by now) when he finds out why I stopped, he just laughs, Mum won't let me go on soaked to the skin, so the bike is strapped to the trailer to get to the next stop.

I'm sitting in the car with all my brothers and I know they are thinking "I knew he couldn't do it" but Mum just wouldn't let me go on then.

at a roadside cafe I get changed into dry clothes and Dad pulls out his old Barbour suit from the trailer, not the most trendy gear, but I'm set on going on with the journey, so I put it on and consign the leathers to the trailer.

Back on the bike again, suited up for anything the weather can throw at me. bring it on

.

One last meeting with the family at Gloucester, before they take the motorway and I take the A40 into Wales. Mum makes sure I've got the telephone number of the camp and Nan with me and furnishes me with a stack of 2p's, and off I go "Barry or Bust".

Everything is going fine (famous last words) I have to treat the bike to 4 star as they don't have 3 star on the pump, but hey, it's working hard.

Had a puncture in the rear after an hour or so, but I'd practised this and with my puncture kit and bike pump, I was soon on my way again.

Finally round a corner "I see the Sea", that's it I'm nearly there.
check my instructions, I can't find the way to the camp, so go into Barry town, find the police station.

The copper at the front desk looks to be about 100 or so to me, but is very helpful, he explains how to get there, whether it was because of my tiredness or his accent or what; I don't know, but I couldn't understand his directions, he sees this and tells me to "wait there" which I do, after all in those days the police were always right

.

10 minutes later the copper comes back and he brings another with him, he says to me "follow him lad", the other copper leads me outside and looks over my bike, "Hmm, nice bike that" I grow an inch taller.

off he sets in his panda car, not two miles away he pulls over and points down the hill to a giant sign saying "welcome to Butlins".

I've made it

We shake hands and I'm off to the gates, I pull up thinking I have no way of getting in, as I don't have any booking stuff (Mum looks after that).
But It's not a problem as they are expecting me.

I follow one of their electric cars around the site to our chalet. and thank the driver for showing me the way.

The family is all there as I park the bike up next to Dads car.

After some hello's and what not, they all get ready for the evening meal, me I'm fit to drop

.

I go to bed , I done it, and don't wake until the following afternoon.

185 miles and about 9 hours on a fizzie

the return journey, I've nothing to prove so the bike is trailered back and I go in the car.

But what a holiday, my own wheels, was I cool, I don't know but I certainly felt it

Cheers Mark.

09-02-05, 05:08 PM	#2
rictus01 Member Mega Poster Join Date: Jul 2003 Location: South London Posts: 9,799	That reminded me of my first ever "long run". take my Fizzie to Barry island (yes Butlins) on our annual holidays. the plan was to set off before Dad and the rest of the family, to get a head start. So off I go route taped to the tank for the first stop, went past Watford, now I knew I was on a long trip , filled up and set off for Oxford, meeting the family at the Little chef just outside the city. took me about 2 hours from North London to Oxford (what 40-45 miles or so). had breakfast at the little chef (Dad had passed me about 10 minutes before I got there, he left a good hour after me ). got warmed up and refused the offer to put the bike on the trailer and go in the car, after all I was a biker now . Off I set again whilst the family carried on with their maple syrup pancakes (yeah, could have done with those). Next meeting scheduled for a petrol station outside of shipton on the A40, about 30 miles away. Set off fine everything working well, then the rain came, now it seemed to target just me and my leathers remained waterproof for about a minute or so, then it when straight though all my clothes, but hey I'm a biker so you just tuff it out . 5 minutes later the cold has set in and I have to stop as I can't stop shivering, gloves on the exhaust pipe, hands over that to warm. 10 minutes after that Dad passes me at the side of the road, he reverse back to see what's wrong with the bike (rain stopped by now) when he finds out why I stopped, he just laughs, Mum won't let me go on soaked to the skin, so the bike is strapped to the trailer to get to the next stop. I'm sitting in the car with all my brothers and I know they are thinking "I knew he couldn't do it" but Mum just wouldn't let me go on then. at a roadside cafe I get changed into dry clothes and Dad pulls out his old Barbour suit from the trailer, not the most trendy gear, but I'm set on going on with the journey, so I put it on and consign the leathers to the trailer. Back on the bike again, suited up for anything the weather can throw at me. bring it on . One last meeting with the family at Gloucester, before they take the motorway and I take the A40 into Wales. Mum makes sure I've got the telephone number of the camp and Nan with me and furnishes me with a stack of 2p's, and off I go "Barry or Bust". Everything is going fine (famous last words) I have to treat the bike to 4 star as they don't have 3 star on the pump, but hey, it's working hard. Had a puncture in the rear after an hour or so, but I'd practised this and with my puncture kit and bike pump, I was soon on my way again. Finally round a corner "I see the Sea", that's it I'm nearly there. check my instructions, I can't find the way to the camp, so go into Barry town, find the police station. The copper at the front desk looks to be about 100 or so to me, but is very helpful, he explains how to get there, whether it was because of my tiredness or his accent or what; I don't know, but I couldn't understand his directions, he sees this and tells me to "wait there" which I do, after all in those days the police were always right . 10 minutes later the copper comes back and he brings another with him, he says to me "follow him lad", the other copper leads me outside and looks over my bike, "Hmm, nice bike that" I grow an inch taller. off he sets in his panda car, not two miles away he pulls over and points down the hill to a giant sign saying "welcome to Butlins". I've made it We shake hands and I'm off to the gates, I pull up thinking I have no way of getting in, as I don't have any booking stuff (Mum looks after that). But It's not a problem as they are expecting me. I follow one of their electric cars around the site to our chalet. and thank the driver for showing me the way. The family is all there as I park the bike up next to Dads car. After some hello's and what not, they all get ready for the evening meal, me I'm fit to drop . I go to bed , I done it, and don't wake until the following afternoon. 185 miles and about 9 hours on a fizzie the return journey, I've nothing to prove so the bike is trailered back and I go in the car. But what a holiday, my own wheels, was I cool, I don't know but I certainly felt it Cheers Mark. __________________ Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, 'Wow! What a Ride!