This was shot with an early Olympus digital camera from 2001. Not bad, huh? This is what it might look like on your computer…
And here’s a charming picture of your intrepid photographer out and about…
…combining two activities that brings pleasure to his tedious existence. Actually it isn’t that tedious: I think I’m really rather fortunate.
Whenever I’m out and about taking photos of stuff whilst on my bikes, I find it most annoying that I have to remove my helmet before doing a David Baily impression…
Of course if I wore an open-face helmet, it wouldn’t be a problem. But ever since I slid along a road on my face (in November 1976 to be precise), protected only by a thin clip-on visor (that mercifully didn’t detatch itself from the helmet) I’ve always worn full-face (or integral) helmets. Unfortunately full-face helmets restrict close-up views somewhat – especially when trying to dig a camera out of a velcro jacket pocket blind. However, after much thought upon the subject, a quick trip to the nearest motorcycle clothing emporium got me this…
…which looks kinda natty, with not only a regular flip-up visor…
…but also a flip-up front…
Will wonders never cease? So now, as I pull to a halt at the side of the road…
…I don’t have to shout from behind a huge face guard when I remonstrate vociferously with the lycra lout that has just annoyed me…
Moreover, if said lycra lout takes a swing at me, I can flip the front back down in a nanosecond. I’m now also capable of seeing my way into my jacket’s velcro pockets too. No more struggling with mobile phones or wallets before finding the camera. Bliss. Money well spent methinks.
Regular readers will probably recall the fiscal nightmare that is the Back Lane Behemoth…
…otherwise known as my Yamaha XJR1300. As much as I adore it, it has cost me quite a pocketful in the couple of years I’ve owned the 21 year-old modern classic. And things haven’t changed. When I mentioned that I intended to swap the BLB in for a smaller, lighter Yamaha MT07, my regular mechanic pointed out that it would need some remedial work done before a dealer would even think about taking it in as part-exchange. Years of dissuse (before I took it on) had played havoc with perishable parts, like intake rubbers, gaskets, seals, what-have-you. Moreover a ham-fisted previous owner had butchered several parts. So I said, “Go for it.” Three weeks later it’s back – with a list of replacement parts as long as my arm – all of them far from cheap. The bill for the work equalled the the engine’s capacity. A GBP for every cubic centimetre of the machine’s four mighty cylinders. Taking a deep breath I said, “Perhaps I won’t be swapping this in for a 700 just yet: it’s going to have to pay for itself first.” To which Andy (of Earle Brothers Motorcycles) replied, “As great as an MT07 is, if you swap it in, you will forever regret getting rid of the XJR.” He then added words to the effect that if I was impressed with the performance increase their last work had wrought, I was going to be doubly-pleased with their latest efforts. “It’s an absolute rocketship!” he finished. After a twenty mile test run, I have to agree. Oh boy have they released some ponies: it flies! Money well-spent: it stays. So, if any bike is going to make way for a 700 Yam, it’ll have to be the Fantic…
But then, when I think about it…aren’t they about to release a new Fantic Caballero with a Yamaha 700 engine in it? Hmmm, sounds like the best of both worlds to me!
It’s the last day of the year. It’s early: still dark. Why do I feel like crap? Oh flip, I’ve got a cold. The hours pass: no improvement. I’ve taken the flu remedy in the medicine cabinet. And the vitamin C drink too. There must be an alternative to sitting around feeling miserable. Look beyond the laptop. Is the rain still lashing at the windows? Are the trees in the neighbour’s garden almost bent double? Answer to both: yep. Time to uncover this then…
There’s nothing quite like manhandling a 100+ BHP muscle bike down muddy lanes, washed out city streets, and through blinding motorway road spray. Nothing. Then take some nice photos of windswept bridges and drowning fir trees…
…before fighting your way back home – only to find your pride and joy covered in road filth…
…and discovering that your waterproofs aren’t quite as waterproof as you would have liked…
But, dammit, you feel great: ready to face the rest of the day. Throw out those pain killers: pull on those bike boots.
On such a lovely sunny day, and with the icy roads thawing quickly, I thought the time was ripe to pull my Fantic Caballero from it’s hutch. And indeed it was; a fun journey ensued that lifted my spirits. But after the twenty-mile ride had concluded, I found my boots somewhat soiled…
…and the bike an absolute disaster…
This was due entirely to a front fender that had been designed for pleasing aesthetics: not warding off road crap…
I spent the first fifteen minutes of the rest of my life hosing the bike down. So, it seems, from now on I’ll have to choose my riding conditons more carefully – like when the roads are entirely dry…
However does anyone really care when the machine looks as good as this? It’s referred to as an urban chic street scrambler: but I think it looks kind of groovy in a rural environment. Oh if only they could keep the roads clean!
Actually it’s not the Back-Lane Behemoth this time: it’s the little Cabo that’s having TLC lavished upon it. Unhappy with the total lack of luggage space, I searched the Internet for a rear carrier. It took hours to locate one in the UK, and it appeared to be the last one available. So, paying through the nose, I purchased it. I also bought a base plate for a top box from my local accessories store too. In total it came to £160 – for a bloody bike rack – but at least the postage was free – and I always enjoy a little drive out in my ‘classic’ Toyota (to collect the base plate) anyway. So, after discovering that some minor manufacturing changes had been made to the 2022 version of the Fantic Caballero, which meant poking about through several boxes and buckets of nuts and bolts in my shed, I finally wrestled the flipping things into place…
I think it finishes off the slightly droopy back end nicely. Better still, it means that I can now simply unclip the topbox from the Yamaha, and slip it on the Fantic…
Now that’s extremely practical and a significant financial saving over a second top box. I may be a silly old Tooty; but I’m not entirely stupid. Next up, a small screen to stop the wind blast making my ageing shoulders complain. Watch this space.
If you are a long-term reader of this illustrious blog, you’ll know that I have a long lasting affection for Spain. As I watched the three-day build up to the 2022 Spanish MotoGP – with the first mass crowd in evidence since the original Covid 19 lockdown in 2020 – I could almost feel the heat of the sun as it beat down upon the spectators from a perfect blue Spring sky above Jerez. I could smell the jasmine, scorched soil, drains, and petrol fumes. As the meeting progressed, more and more I wanted to be there. But I didn’t let it effect me: I was at home, with my family, and that was that. Then, as the meeting came to a close, a camera panned around to the motorcycle park – zooming in on a portion of it. The air sloughed from my lungs and my shoulders slumped. But not before I’d freeze-framed the playback. This is what I’d seen…
I went to bed – totally pissed-off.
Some things never change. Human behaviour, for one. But we don’t want to go down that serious philosophical avenue right now: let’s stick to a far more cheerful subject. Please regard this hideously faded photo of Tooty (before he became Tooty) in 1976…
As you can probably see, he was a cheerful and lovable chap. Well his mum loved him, and, at that time, so did this delightful young woman…
Also as you can probably see, he was a motorcyclist. Protective equipment amounted to motocross boots, a crash helmet, and gloves. Back then, when very few people considered health and safety, body protection was provided by a pair of flared cotton trousers and a small corduroy jacket. Note the corduroy jacket appears festooned with sew-on patches. Here it is again, later in the year…
It has grown a few more. And again in 1977…
…where even more appear evident. Because of the extraordinarily piss-poor resolution of the ancient print, it is doubtful that you can recognise any wording or logos that appears on the plethora of patches. Well let me tell you (if you haven’t guessed already) most of them read ‘Yamaha’. He was, at that time, The Yamaha Kid. He doesn’t know when, or whence, that jacket disappeared, but he really misses it and has cursed his carelessness on a regular basis for the last few decades. When he returned to motorcycling in 2020, his son suggested that they find a modern equivalent jacket, then do likewise with the patches. Tooty decided against it on safety grounds. If he had ever crashed with that jacket on, it is pretty odds-on that he would have come away with somewhat less skin than if he’d remained perpendicular to the asphalt. So he decided against it. In any case, a sixty-three year old version of The Yamaha Kid would look a tad pathetic, wouldn’t he? BUT he WAS able to find exact duplicates of many of those 1970’s patches on the Internet. In fact one of them was an original. Prices were too high for most of them, so he passed. What was the point of purchasing expensive patches for a jacket that he wasn’t going to buy or wear? But one was an affordable price, and the orignal patch was an absolute giveaway. These he simply couldn’t resist. Then his son found an exact copy of the U.S AIRFORCE patch that he had worn above the left breast pocket – and duly bought it for him. Well, the other day, the temptation to sew them on to something overwhelmed him; so he took out his Spanish fisherman’s jacket (that he paid too much for in a Villa Joyosa market a few years ago) and set to it with the needle and thread. Ladies and Gentlemen: in a subdued manner that should not embarrass the old fool too much – The Yamaha Kid returns…
But he doesn’t ride his bike in that gear: he’s not a complete moron. Pity the camera strap had to hide the original 1970’s patch though. Stupid Tooty!
It’s quite possible that I might have inferred that I had spent enough hard earned cash on extras for the Yamaha. Well sorry for that – but I lied. Whilst out and about down gnarly English country lanes, it occured to me that if I were to get a puncture – not only am I incapable of pushing the 250Kg leviathan, but I wouldn’t be able to summon help because most of the time I never know where I am. One English lane looks much like another. So, after careful consideration for about three seconds, I turned the machine around in a farm entrance (apt really, coz the Yam turns like a tractor) and set off for a motorcycle accessories emporium. I required a pump, tyre repair kit, and a top box to keep them in. And whilst I was in the mood, I fetched myself a brighter jacket, so that car drivers might be less likely to ignore my presence and pull out into the road in front of me at point-blank range. The result?
Very smart, and practical too. And, oh look, it’s one of those anonymous English country lanes. How fitting.
P.S here’s a moody film noir shot of the same thing, minus me…
Recently I was out and about on the…
…Back-Lane Behemoth, when I chanced upon an amateur…
…motocross meeting. It contained an eclectic mix of machines and rider talent levels. The old bikes were loud and not very fast: whereas the newer machines were incredibly quiet, and fairly flew. The vast crowd…
…was…er…vaguely interested: and the riders so cold that some of them wore body warmers, complete with flapping hoods (see above). whilst others pulled their Dad’s old jumpers on over their race kit…
…and looked a bit daft. As you can see, the track was something less than demanding. I could have ridden it fairly quickly – even at my age, and despite the fact that I last rode off-road (at speed anyway) forty-one years ago. Actually I would have jumped at the chance: it certainly looked fun, even if no budding Toni Cairoli’s or Romain Febvre’s made their presence felt. All good, clean fun – and several hikers who passed by on a nearby trail were clearly amused by the (often inept) goings on. But, as I was leaving, this arrived…
…to carry a fallen rider off to hospital. Which just goes to show that anyone can get hurt doing what they most enjoy at any time and anywhere. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my sixty-five years, it’s that Human’s aren’t supposed to have fun: they always have to pay for it, one way or the other. So, instead of giving the Yamaha a huge blast down some country roads, I did the sensible ‘thing’, and went home to create a very nice Chicken Hoi Sin…
Boring, but reasonably safe. Well no one choked on it anyway. And, who knows, maybe it saved me from a nasty accident. I’m well into omens, me.
Okay, yes I know I said I’d bought enough ‘goodies’ for the Yamaha – but really, at speed, the aerodynamics leave something to be desired. Windblast shoots straight off the raised ‘clocks’ and tries to lift my helmet from my head. A small screen is clearly in order. So I put one ON ORDER. And lo, verily it hath arrived…
Spanish too. Can’t be bad. Then, following a half-hour’s ham-fisted tinkering by Tooty the Wrench-Wielder – and another three-quarters of an hour test riding it (why not, it was dry and sunny), this is the result…
Spot-on. Looks nice: does the job required of it. And it was cheap too. Happy days again.
P.S you’d think I’d have put on something rather more fetching for the photograph. Aargh, you’ve seen me in my Slob Gear!
I said – or at least I think I said – that I’d spent as much as I was going to spend on fripperies for my Yamaha. But as I rode along, recently, I found myself getting more and more annoyed with the need to crane my neck and twist my arms out of the way, just to see what was behind me in the rear view mirrors. So, having perused the Internet, I settled on the cheapest set available. I chose them because I didn’t think they were going to fit, work, or be any good at all, and I didn’t want to waste too much money proving it. I spent an almighty £15 with free post & packing. Gotta be shit – right? Well here they are…
Yep, they’re plastic. They wont take a knock, so I’d best be careful with them. But wow, what a transformation. Its like having blinkers removed. The whole quality of the ride has been increased by…ooh…lots of percent. In fact my last ride was so enjoyable, this happened…
New mirrors: the answer to my dreams.
A continuation of Tooty’s return to the two-wheeled fold.
Oh, I don’t know; when I swapped my dinky little Yamaha 125 for its brother on steroids, I promised myself that I wouldn’t add anything to it: that money would only be spent on essentials – like tax, insurance, oil, tyres, etc. But very quickly I added a new headlight and a fender extender. Now I’ve decided that, perhaps, a little luggage-carrying capacity would be nice. Nothing ostentatious, you understand. Just a neat little rack. But, flipping heck – are they expensive! So, having trawled through Ebay, I spent £42 on a used item. Another £8 for fittings from the local D.I.Y store, and there’s another £50 lost from the bank account. But it does look nice…
…and makes hauling the behemoth on to its centre stand easier for this sixty-five year-old idiot.
But then there’s my very expensive (and exceedingly groovy) ‘adventure’ crash helmet…
Apart from the fact that its huge and heavy, that jutting mouthpiece gives my vast nose plenty of room to breath, and the beaky peak is excellent for shading my eyes from the sun. But at the speeds the 1300 is capable of, it’s like wearing a brick. And that peak becomes an aerofoil. Not fun when you turn your head for motorway lane-changes. On a 125 it was fine. Behind the tall screen of an ‘adventure’ bike it is also probably fine. But not on a ‘muscle’ bike. So, for anything other than my rural photographic trips it has been replaced by…
…this rather fetching blue item that cuts through the air so much better. It’s more like the type of helmet I used to wear. No more hanging on for dear life, or rolling off the throttle because my neck muscles are going into spasm. It’s like I’m forty years younger – and £60 poorer.
But when the world outside looks like this…
…you don’t want anything to detract from the ride. Happy days.
Back in late 2020, when I was rediscovering the joys/pains of motorcycling, my boots often looked like this…
And the bike’s engine was even worse. So I trawled the Internet for an answer to my muddy problem. I found (and fitted) this…
My Fenda Extenda (terrible name, but very discriptive) was a Godsend, and it made the bike look nicer too…
So when I stepped up to its replacement, I was ahead of the curve. I didn’t wait until my header pipes and engine casings were all covered in shit: I bought another Fenda Extenda first…
Now if it’s any bloody good I have no idea: but it certainly looks nice…
Of course, on a machine this handsome, a rusty bucket would probably look fabulous.
P.S I am in no way affiliated with the Fenda Extenda’s manufacturers – Pyramid Plastics; I just like the product.
P.P.S The magnetic tank bag featured here is the same one on both bikes – made by Oxford (and really neat). It just shows the vast difference in the size of the bikes.
P.P.P.S It may be a coincidence, but don’t you think that the bikes (although very different) look rather similar in their stance and bearing? I must be a fan of modern retro.
Once upon a time, five years before he was named Tooty (in 1981), a young country bumpkin was talked into switching from Honda motorcycles to Yamaha. Here he is posing with his mighty steed – a Yamaha RD125DX…
He and the Yamaha gelled instantly and he would become a life-long fan of the brand. But life being life – that is unknowable and often incomprehensible – in time his situation changed, and motorcycling became a thing of the past. Then, in 2020 (21 years after quitting bikes), he took the plunge and returned to the fold…
Of course his mount was a Yamaha. A YBR125 to be exact. But it wasn’t the best that ever escaped that manufacturers stable. It wasn’t Japanese for a start! But he didn’t know that when he bought it. And he never really forgave the machine, despite the fact that it was totally reliable and never let him down. But he never felt entirely confident upon it – especially in traffic. Poor suspension: lack lustre brakes: feeble single cylinder engine were its major bug-bears – though Tooty had hoots of fun rushing down gravel-strewn, muddy-as-heck, and cow shit-ridden back lanes on it. Look at the picture above: does that really say “Confident rider”? Nah. What he really needed was something that would give him back the two-wheeled exuberance of his long-lost youth. Something with a bit of oomph. Another Yamaha obviously. But one built in Japan. Regardez vous por favor…
Ten months later. Yup, I’m back – and on a cult classic too! But I think I might pass on the gravel-strewn, muddy-as-heck, cow shit-ridden back lanes for now. Maybe an off-road bike for those. Might have to get some motocross boots though. Hmm, sounds fun…
Whilst out walking recently, I discovered a location that gave me a previously unseen perspective on a section of road that I’ve travelled many times upon a motorcycle since the first time in 1973 aboard my dinky little (and dog-slow) Honda SS50Z. I took a photo of it…
Back in the day, when driven quickly, this was a section of road that could be quite challenging. As the decades have progressed it has become more so. In fact it now has a reputation for being an accident black-spot. Oddly it is easier to negotiate it faster on a motorcycle than in a car. Car drivers, it seems (judging from marks left behind on the bank of the preceding downhill adverse-cambered corner [right of picture] ), lose the rear end in a slide; hit the bank; and are catapaulted across the road – usually to crash into a drainage ditch (or through the hedgerow) just before the gate in the picture. Despite an uneven surface that includes ripples, cracks, potholes, and surface repairs, motorcycles move swiftly without incident (unless they meet an unexpected horse / cyclist / tractor / hedge trimmer of course). Although I must consider myself advancing in years, I still enjoy a quick squirt along this stretch. In fact I wind my Yamaha YBR125 flat out in top gear, which requires some serious leaning to stay on the apex. This is called fun. But then I looked at a second picture…
…and thought: “Flipping heck, there isn’t a whole bunch of room for error! Maybe flat out in top isn’t a good idea – even on a diddy bike like mine: a rider could travel quite a distance through the air at 60 mph.” So, dear reader, you can rest easy in the knowledge that, from now on, the world’s pre-eminent author of earplug stories will take it a little easier. If a bigger bike passes me, I’ll just let it go. Aah…such maturity.
Back in the mists of time – or 2001 as it was known then – I won a competition. Actually I won two competions in the same magazine at the same time. One prize was used over and over until I was sick of it. It was a computer game, which I (much) later gave away to charity. The other prize has never been used. But so enamoured with it was I that I kept it and took it with me wherever I lived – where it simply took up space, and in one case went slightly mouldy. It was a genuine Kawasaki motorcycle jacket. Now bear in mind that I had given up motorcycling two years previously, and had promised my wife that those two-wheeled days were in the past. And they were. But I couldn’t let that jacket go. Then today a four-wheel drive Mitsubishi arrived outside my house. It was pulling a trailer. And upon that trailer….
Here’s a clue to the identity of the item that was on the trailer…
Now I finally get to use that jacket. It now has a purpose. It is no longer a waste of space. But I didn’t buy a Kawasaki. Of course I didn’t. I was once (long ago) known as The Yamaha Kid, you know. I couldn’t let the side down, now – could I! Now all I have to do is remember how to ride my Yamaha. It’s been a while. I don’t think muscle memory is gonna cut it this time. As my daughter put it to me: “I was seven when you crashed your yellow bike.” (the day I quit) “Now I’m twenty-eight!”
This is going to be horrible. I can imagine my wife looking down at me from wherever she is now. “Oh, Tooty,” she’ll say, “what have you done? You silly old bugger.”
Tooty Nolan: Languishing Somewhere Between Clever and Stupid 