Je Ne Regrette Rien

Which, loosely transalted, means "I have no regrets".

Whilst this song is often held up as a defiant symbol along the lines of "My Way" (think of Norman Lamont in the bath - no, wait, don't think of Norman Lamont in the bath because it's an image you just don't need). Hmm. There's a perfect example if an unstruction (blogs passim).

It's often used as a "I don't regret what I have done, and I'd do it again", but that's stretching it a bit. It's actually a love song, not a song of defiance. It's a song about how a woman falls in love and is basically saying "nothing that I have done before this moment matters, because my life has now begun with you".

So, from singing a love song, Edith Piaf came to symbolise French defiance (and other defiance too) throughout the world. It's not often I "do politics", but I couldn't resist this one.

Jerome Kerviel, the "rogue trader" from Societe Generale, has had all the charges against him thrown out. Oops. That wasn't part of the plan. Watch the trail of blame go further and further upstairs.

Also, watch out for some newspaper or other sticking in a headline of "Je Ne Regrette Rien", and use it in the context of defiance - rather than it's true meaning as a love song. If I find any links, I'll post them.

Anyway, sorry, the point. I put it down somewhere - much in the same way as I dsimantled the bike at the weekend - and it's around here somewhere. Please give me a minute to find it.

Ah yes, the point. Here it is. Good.

My nephew, a wee boy by the name of Cal, ended up in hospital yesterday. He had some kind of seizure, and he was eating an apple at the same time, and he ended up all blue and lifeless on the floor.

My big brother, Cal's Da, is a fireman. Despite panicking his tits off and not knowing what to do - I mean, that's his toddler lying there on the floor and his other one screaming - he kind of knew what to do. He resucitated the wee man, and called an ambulance. Out came the ambulance, oxygenmasks and stuff, and took the wee man to the hospital. He was lucky, my big brother had saved his life.

Don't even get me started on the hospital. It was an "apple choking incident" they decided. End of story. The doctor has spoken. Bollocks was it an apple choking incident. Please put the ego away doctor, and consider for a second that you weren't there. And if you patronise my big brother again by asking him "are you in the medical profession?" then you will end up dealing with me. Despite the fact that my big brother is, as his name suggests, "big" - you would rather be dealing with him than me when I get started.

So here's the thing. I seldom talk to my brother, and I see him even less. But, in times of crisis, our family fights as a cohesive unit - an impenetrable spartan Phalanx. And when we fight, we do it for real - believe me. My Ma is 5 feet tall, about 90 pounds soaking wet, and anybody with any sense is terrified of her.

So I'm bouncing through the traffic tonight on the way home, reflecting on how riding enduro makes you a better road rider - I have much much more control of the bike. Reflecting on a lot actually, which is what I do when I'm on the bike.

I also scowl. I scowl menacingly inside my helmet. Despite how much I enjoy riding, I have a face that looks like I just sucked on a pickled lemon. I am a different person when I am on the bike, it's almost as though my helmet acts as alens through which I see the world differently. It's like a crystal ball - I know what people are going to do before they know it themselves, and this is what keeps me alive.

So, I found this video. Please watch it:



Possibly because I've been thinking a lot about family, but Edith Piaf, as she sings, reminded me so much of Madge, my Nanna (a fearsome gold-hearted woman), my Ma and my Aunt Mary all rolled into one. Any one of them could sing this song and it would bring tears to your eyes. She even looks like how they would look as they get up, grabbed the microphone, and sang at some family party.

Thankfully, Jerome Kerviel may have brought the world's banking system into meltdown but he managed to delay it until I had paid for the lovely bunch of flowers I bought The Missus on the way home. After buying them, I realised that I hadn't thought about how I was going to carry them now I'm back on the bike so I just gripped them between my teeth. They tasted horrible - it is no wonder that they don't serve flowers in posh restauarants. But I got them home and smile on The Missus' face was well worth it.

You see, it's all about family. It's where you draw your strength from. Many, many, many times the outside world (or myself) has tried to crush me. Many, many, many times they have succeeded in doing so.

But they have never, yet, succeeded in keeping me crushed. Think of this bouncing back as practice for Dakar.

And, to completely misquote Edith Piaf, as everybody else does, "Je Ne Regrette Rien".

Going To The Chapel

Rosie arrived tnis morning, delivered to my work, in a nice shiny silver van. The guy wheeled her out of the back and she looked an absolute picture. Everything on her, with the exception of the exhaust and the front forks, was new. She was immaculate.

Out came the shiny new panniers from their box, and we put them on. One of them needed a little adjusting, but the job was a good one.

I threw the helmet on and rode her round the car park, I was kind of amazed at how much power she had (bearing min mind that I've been off bikes for several months and my last time out was on a 200cc). She didn't feel heavy at all, well-balanced and nimble as ever. Almost too shiny and new to ride though, if you follow me. Still, a good rainstorm will sort that one out.

So now we're going to have an interesting couple of days getting various vehicles back into their correct positions, and this will probably involve getting lifts from The Missus at various points.

I was considering the options for the GPS, and here's an interesting thing. You can't get Ordnance Survey 1:25000 maps for the Garmin GPS I have on the bike. Which makes it useless for trail riding. I called Garmin and the guy I spoke to suggested that I might want to invest in a piece of software they have which shows all the countours and stuff. But, em, it doesn't show byways and tracks. Very useful indeed.

This is not as silly as it sounds. When I was out on Sunday, and I came home and checked the map, I realised that I rode across private land a number of times. Ab ability to follow the Byways would have helped, but my GPS doesn't support it. Which means map and compass. It worked for Columbus, I suppose.

Which always makes me think. Was Christopher Columbus the first person to discover America (other than the natives who were already there)? Or was he just the first person to make it back home again to tell everybody about it? How many people landed in America but weren't able to tell anybody about it?

Out trail riding on 8 February with AJP. I will be leading, Martin sweeping, so that I can get to know the trails properly and can then take people out on my own. As The Missus keeps telling me, it's probably too early for me to be going. As I keep telling her, it's not like racing - Trail Riding is different. Very different.

The AJP Action Day is extending into Sunday 17th as well. Martin, very cleverly, is taking some extra bikes along to the Midwest Racing enduro at Tetbury. If you fancy a test-ride of a PR3 or PR4 (with a 260cc engine or not) then come along and have a go. It will be a complete hoot, and you'll be doing it on a real enduro course which has just been ridden in a championship race.

My ageging friend was over last night, and we were ding-donging about bizz-ness - as we usually do. This morning, it turns out that we are invited to speak to Very High Up People in a Very Big Global Company about what we do and how we do it. There may well be possibilities there.

I am itching to get work over and done with so that I can get on my bike and take her home. I'll stop off on the way and get some 3-core electrical wire. I will then wire her up to the mains to, em, 'deter' would-be thieves.

And you know that feeling you get when you find a tenner in a jacket you haven't worn for a while? I mean, you haven't actually gained anything because it's your money in the first place but you still feel like you've scored? Well, I discovered yesterday that there are 3 timesheets which I hadn't sent in from back in October and I sent them in today. This will fill the bushel with some rather welcome groats in a couple of weeks.

All in all, a good day today.

BMW = Back on My Wheels

Phone call from the repairers today, Rosie is ready. Which is fortunate, because the Insurance Company haven't yet authorised the repair. Sometimes it's helpful to be crap with paperwork and not send the right things to the right people.

The Missus and I had slightly different opinions on whether or not being back on the bike so soon is a good idea. Trail riding at AJP? OK, she says, this is a smart way to get my bike time up without racing. Fraternising with the locals when riding on their land on a Sunday? We can live with this. Commuting to work up the M3? No, no and - just in case we missed it the first two times - no.

I'm not bike fit, she tells me. I've been off a bike for months. "It's just like riding a bike", I grin at her. "And", I continue, "I didn't get bike fit in the first place by not riding a bike did I?".

Apparently, I am "fucking impossible". But in a nice kind of way.

I got a lovely email from the Nutty Guy from Bolton, pointing me at a very very amusing short story by the legendary Mark Twain - "Taming the Bicycle".

Mark Twain was one of these guys who we all wish we could be. He is the most quoted person on the face of the earth but, funnily, he didn't actually say all of the things he is quoted as saying. If you think of a phrase that is amusing, witty and perceptive, just credit it to Mark Twain - everybody else does.

His real name was Samuel L. Clements, "Mark Twain" was just a name he used for publishing. Raised on the banks of the Mississippi river, he witnessed the fall of slavery, the American Civil War, the Gold Rush, and the Wild West. He had an uncanny ability to find satire in pretty much anything end everything - and had a wit so dry that it would make a Martini jealous.

I can see why the Nutty Guy pointed me at this short story - it's got "Twain" all over it. Amusing, incisive and - true to form - satirical as hell, there's a lot in there. Mark Twain could do in 10 words what the rest of can only do in a hundred. Or, as Winston Churchill used to put it - "Dear Sir, I am writing you a long letter because I am too lazy or stupid to write you a short one".

So I am hunting through the garage, trying to dig out all my riding gear. Helmet - put that somewhere. Gloves - I've found one so far. Blow the dust off the BMW Rallye Pro suit. I have a dilemma about footwear - do I wear my road boots, or my offroad boots? Hmm. The Missus reminded me that I always used to wear my road boots until I started taking detours on Salisbury Plain on the way to work in the morning and we won't be having any of that thank-you-very-much. It's a good point, well made.

This day always had to come. The Missus was always going to be a bit nervous about it. To tell you the truth, I am too. But, to mis-quote John F. Kennedy, "we do these things not because they are easy, but because they are hard". I mean, if I slipped on the pavement I'd be out for a whole season right now - the only safe option is not to get out of bed. Which would be nice, but ultimately wouldn't pay the bills.

So they deliver the bike to me tomorrow. Apparently, the estimator - guy named Paul (whose book "Armchair Rider" will be published in the Autumn) treated this bike like his baby. Normally, the estimators pass the bikes on to the engineers but Paul stuck with this one all the way through and lovingly nursed her back to health.

He's just sold his own BMW and bought himself a KTM 250EXC 2-stroke. And he seemed like such a nice guy as well. As women always say - the best guys are married, gay or they ride 2-strokes. Thanks for doing a good job Paul.

Martin tells me that he back wheel falling off an AJP when trying to remove the engine is a perfectly normal affair. He tells me that the first time you take the engine out, you are left with what looks like a completely stripped bike, and you have no clue how to put it back together again. He also told me that service manuals work best when they're the right way up:



Ahh, so that's where I was going wrong.

Darth Bader

Woke up this morning and had a bit of a dilemma. Do I finish putting the swingarm back on? Or do I dare to face the wrath of The Missus when I take advantage of the lovely sunny day and go out riding?

Thankfully, The Missus was not as wrathful about it as I thought she'd be. I dug my enduro gear out (being thankful that I hadn't set fire to it like Oz's mate) and put it on. As soon as I put the body armour on, I realised what a massive mistake I made in Morocco - this would have saved my collarbone. I'd still have got hurt, but nowhere near as badly.

Sometimes, you don't learn anything unless the price of the lesson is high. If you get the lesson for nothing, you won't value it. I paid a high price for my lesson, and I will never again go on a bike without body armour.

I presented myself to The Missus, all fully kitted out. "So I, em, thought I might, em, take the bike out for a bit"'. Her face went the colour of chalk, then the colour of a nice ripe strawberry. She looked me up and down, saw the enduro gear. I saw her instantly transported back to the middle of the Sahara in Morocco, slinging me up - that was the last time she saw me in that gear.

We both knew that nothing short of an Act of God (any God) was going to stop me taking the bike out. We both knew that there was dangers associated with this - even though I can hold my shoulder it would not survive a fall. She gave me some of Martin's age-old wisdom: "don't fall off then". We both knew that it was time, and that I needed to do this. As I've said before, they broke the mould.

Before I went, I had to change the front brake. If you recall my last enduro (the one with the DNF and no body armour) then you'll remember that I had a dodgy front brake. I had got a new one from AJP and, thankfully, it came as a complete unit. It took less than 3 minutes to fit the whole thing.

Six months ago, I'd have been terrified to change my brakes. Three minutes of spanners, and I had a front brake that would stop an articulated lorry. I am going to call that "progress". Queen Madge II gratefully roared into life - she knew we were going out, and she was going to look after me. After all, from her point of view it wasn't her who injured me. She'd make sure I was fine.

I intended to go to that Byway that The Missus and I found a few months back. I got a few miles up the road and found some tyre tracks disappearing into the woods - all sloppy and muddy and stuff. Bingo. I started following the tracks.

As I'm riding along, negotiating the soft mud, I've got Zippy's words ringing through my ears - "any sign of trouble, give it a handful". So I did this the right way. I rode slowly, slower than normal, and gave it a handful at any sign of trouble. This meant a couple of things:

1. The bike was more responsive, since I was in the power range


2. When I sped up, I was still at a manageable speed within my limits


3. It worked

There was a couple of fallen trees across the path. When I got to these I slowed down, first gear, and practised getting the front wheel up to clear them. Did not too bad on some turns, great on others, pile of mince on the rest. Need some practice.

I stopped for a rest, and up pulled a tractor. Obviously there was a farmer in it. I approached it differently from the last time, probably because he didn't have a pick-axe handle. I smiled and said "Hello". He asked what I was doing, and I told him that I was recovering from an injury.

I said that I was following the tyre tracks, riding slowly. He said that he had been watching me for five minutes and that I was obviously being sensible. He said that he had no problem with this, but wanted to warn me not to come back with a bunch of mates. He asked me to stick to the tyre tracks, keep doing what I'm doing, and I am welcome. He used to ride trials, and understands that there's nowhere to practice.

He also told me where the Byways were - lots of them. A much different experience from before. It occurred to me that it's not where you ride, it's how you ride. I asked him if I could have another half hour or so, and he said it wasn't a problem - as long as I kept doing what I had been doing, and stayed out of the trees.

I went off in search of the Byways, and found them quickly. I also found a couple of guys out on their bikes - a KTM 525 and a Husaberg 550. We chatted for a while, they showed me their maps and where the rest of the lanes were. I called The Missus and let her know I was OK - I think she appreciated it.

Riding the Byways, about 50 miles or so, I stuck to the formula. Ride slow. Any sign of trouble, give it a handful. Don't fall off. I hit some really soft mud and things started to slide around. I did what I normally do and came offthe throttle, then realised that this was a mistake. One "handful" later, the front wheel lightened and Queen Madge II skipped through the mud like a ballet dancer on amphetamines.

Once again, bikes prove to be an excellent metaphor for life - if you're 100% committed, and you just give it a handful, then you'll get there.

I stopped for a few minutes to have a drink and a rest, and a cyclist pulled up. Name of Steve. When he wasn't mountain biking, he was flying planes. Made me think of my ITM. He had a rather cool GPS on his mountain bike, which showed all the byways and stuff. Apparently you can download it for any GPS. We chatted for a while, and then he let me go first - otherwise he's make it difficult for me since I wouldn't pass.

I did about 80 miles in total on the Byways - mud and grass and chalk - and didn't have a single spill. I could have had a few, but my new strategy of "give it a handful" seems to work. Thanks Zippy. Again.

I don't think I'm ready to race yet. Trail riding, going at your own pace and going where you want to go, is fairly safe. When you're racing, it's a different world. You're riding as fast as you can, over obstacles that you may not want to take on, and there are bikes everywhere. No racing yet, but trail riding seems to be fine.

I was surprised at how confident I was on the bike, given that the last time I was on a bike I hurt myself pretty badly.

Douglas Bader was a World War II flying ace. Everybody knows this. Everybody also knows that had both legs amputated - one above and one below the knee. Less people know that he had his legs amputated before World War II, rather than because of it. He also had a bit of an issue with authority, had his own views and nobody would tell him different. Hmm.

At an air show in 1931, he was doing some low-level aerobatics and the tip of one wing touched the ground. His plane rolled, and the resulting accident caused him to have his legs amputated. He recorded this in his diary:

"Crashed slow-rolling near ground. Bad show".

He was invalided out of the RAF - because the regulations did not cover amputees being able to fly. When war broke out in 1939, he used his connections to get him back in and he managed to get full operational flying status, despite the Powers That Be having a major problem with this. Persistence and tenacity paid off.

Strangely enough, having no legs was actually an advantage. Because of the high-G manouvres made in air-to-air combat, it cuases blood to rush from the brain to other parts of the body - especially the legs - causing pilots to black out. Since Bader had no legs, this was less of a problem - he could remain conscious for longer.

By August 1941, Bader had downed 22 German aircraft - the fifth highest total in the RAF. he himself was shot down shortly afterwards, losing one of his fake legs in the process. The German Commander who imprisoned him - Adolf Galland - notified the British of the damaged leg and offered them safe passage to deliver a replacement. So, on 18 August 1941, the British mounted Operation Leg - dropping a new leg by parachute to the prisoner of war.

As a prisoner, Bader was as much a thorn in the side of the Germans as he was when he was a pilot. He made so many attempts to escape that they threatened to take his fake legs away from him. When the American 1st Army found him in 1945, and he was transferred to Paris, he asked for a Spitfire so he could get back to the fighting. The RAF refused.

There are people who say that Bader should not have flown, that he might get hurt. Bader thought differently - he was happiest when flying and the risk of being hurt was worth it.

Next stop is Martin at AJP - "ready for trail riding now. When are we off?".

I know, I know. But let me ask you this. If you are going to have a strinking headache, would you rather that it was just a headache, or would you rather that it was the most almighty hangover after a particularly brilliant night out?

I have never, ever, claimed to be sensible. Children, please do not follow my example.

Yeah, That One - Part II

Spoke to Martin yesterday about the AJP action day, the 260cc AJP PR3 and my rather noisy PR4 (the one with the timing problem).

Martin thought that the smart thing to do was just get it on Ebay, noisy rattle and all. Yesterday, when I spoke to him, I thought it was a good idea too.

This morning, I woke up with other ideas. I was going to fix that rattle, I decided. I mean, how hard can it be? I have the service manual for the XR200 (courtesy of the Nutty Guy from Bolton). I have been working on my knowledge of how engines work. I have sockets, spanners and a crap dog to help me. What could possibly go wrong?

Within a short space of time, two bikes were on the driveway and the dismantlng commenced. The bonus of having two bikes is that you can use one of them as a "this is how it should look" reference when you get stuck.

I decided that I needed to get the engine out of the frame. Out came the sockets and spanners, and all kinds of unscrewing was going on. I even put all of the bolts in little seed trays - these ones are the carburettor bolts, these ones are the engine mounting bolts - stuff like that.

It started to get a bit overcooked when I realised that I had disconnected the singwarm (the bit that holds the back wheel on) and the back wheel fell off. Hmmm.

I've got two choices here. Start to put everything back together - the responsible thing to do - or keep going. I decide against the responsible thing. That wouldn't be fun. Back comes the spanners and sockets - that cylinder head is claimed.

Warning number 2 came when I realised that Martin had possibly over-simplifed the engine removal process. Here's Martin's instructions for removing an engine:

"Put the bike on its side, remove thse four bolts, lift the bike up and the engine stays on the floor. You'll be fine".

My experience differed a little. First, there was about 8 million bolts instead of four. Second, I had to lift the engine and move it around to get it out. Then there's the exhaust, the carb, all kinds of wires and hoses. Maybe he miscounted or something. This is some new interpretation of the word "Fine" that I have not encountered before.

The Missus came out to see how I was doing. She didn't twig that the bike was on the floor, and didn't make a bang as it landed. Which means that it didn't fall. Which means that I let it down gently. Which means that I held the weight. "No lifting", the doctor said. He didn't say "and no taking the weight of bikes as you lay them to the floor". If he did, I would have listened - honest.

I called my ageing friend to say that I needed help moving this engine. He asked if it could wait until tomorrow, since he was busy with Missus Ageing Friend. He obviously does not know me. This is not a tomorrow problem. So we lift the engine all by ourselves.

So out came the engine. I was well excited by now. Anything that looked remotely like a bolt was getting unscrewed. Whee!!!!

Warning number 3 came when I removed the crankcase cover, and a whole bunch of cogs and springs fell on the floor, leaving no trace of where they had come from. I think I got them back right. I hope so. They all seemed to fit anyway.

Everybody on the ThumperTalk forums warns against removing the cam chain. "It will pop off and disappear into the crankcase" they tell me. They advise using a piece of wire to hold it in place, otherwise it's a nightmare trying to fetch it out again.

Since I knew this in advance, I was not going to be caught out by it, oh no. I had my wire on standby. I was prepared. I was ready. I hooked the wire round the cam chain, undid the bolt. The cam chain promptly disappeared into the crankcase. The wire then only became useful for fishing it out again.

Our neighbours, over the road, are selling their house. Up pulled an estate agent with a young couple for a viewing. They had to pull up right then, didn't they? They got out their car to the wonderful background music of me swearing at the cam chain, two hooligan offroad bikes on the driveway - one in bits. It was a short viewing. Honestly, I'm not like this normally.

It was then that I saw my first camshaft. My first ever camshaft. A thing of beauty, all covered in oil. I took it out of the cylinder head and just kind of marvelled at it. To the untrained eye, it's just a steel rod with some knobbly bits on it. To me, it was an engineering marvel. Without this 4-inch piece of knobbly steel, the bike won't work. I have to give it due respect and make sure I can get it back in again, the right way.

Then I did what I came here for - move the timing chain round a couple of notches to remove the rattle. I have no idea if I got it right, I just consider it a miracle if I can get all this back together again.

I start to reassemble the bike and it's all going well. I put the gearshift lever back on again, and realise the I don't have 3rd, 4th or 5th gears - the whole thing seizes up. Since it's dark by now, it'll have to wait until tomorrow.

In my book, I've done pretty well. I've only got about 2 bolts that I don't know whether they came from, and everything is back together again except the swingarm. This, believe it or not, is a result.

I commented to The Missus that I need to be able to do that same job in less than an hour, and to be able to do it using only the tools that I have in my BumBag. And that, right there, is a reason for not selling this bike - it's my practice bike. My mechanic training bike.

It is also my mission to make her run again as well as she used to. Ebay can wait. Madge, we will ride again.

I learned an awful lot today. I learned about how the fuel system, lubrication system and suspension all fit together. I learned that I have a lot to learn. I learned about patience. I learned that cam chains like to disappear into the crankcase.

There is no manual, book or training course that will teach me how to fix my own bike - it can only come from experience. As Martin would say, "Yeah, that one".

Why is it such a big deal? The main reason is the long stages on Dakar, and races like Dakar. If your bike stops working, then you need to be able to do something with it. Cyril Despres is not only a great rider, he's also a great engineer. I need to be able to fix my own bike in the middle of nowhere if I am to have any hope at all.

I still have to put the swingarm back on, and I need to try and figure out what this gear-lever sticking is all about.

Other than that, I'm chalking this one up as "a successful day". Maybe I'll even get the bike working too.



Before you go all tut-tutting at my recklessness, consider the alternatives. How am I to figure out how to fix and maintain a bike unless I take one to bits? How can I build a rally bike without knowing what all the moving parts are? You can't ride in long-distance rallies like Dakar unless you know how to use a spanner, and you certainly don't want to learn how to do it whilst the clock is ticking and you're in danger of being booted out of the race.



The high point has to be the Optic 2000 though. I've been egging Martin on to do it and met with a fairly flat "no" every time. Yesterday though, we had a "let's talk through the options at the action day in the 16th".



If you still have no clue what offroad biking is all about, how it is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy, book an action day. You don't need a licence, or any experience at all, and you'll see for yourself what it's all about.



And I promise that I won't have done any maintenance on the bike you're riding. So, em, "you'll be fine".

Fasten Seatbelts Please

I'm not really sure where this one is going, please be warned before we start. It will go somewhere, but that somewhere may not be where we expect.

The Missus was out tonight, taking the Wee Yin to rehearsal for her show. The Wee Yin does amateur dramatics, and she's very very good at it. A proper little drama queen. Just like MuckSpreader, who is in the same Dram Group. MuckSpreader of the "Santa Baby" fame. A little drama queen with an interest in quantum physics.

She said to me the other day - "Daddy, there was quantum physics on the TV. A boy just randomly turned into a banana". One day she'll send rockets to the moon. As Rutherford himself said - "if this does not confuse you, then it's because you haven't understood it". She listens to the audi book of Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy when she goes to bed. And she gets all of the jokes. There is trouble ahead.

Anyway, your Missus has gone out. You have the evening to yourself. What do you do?

Me, I played the piano. Yes, the piano. I am very good at playing the piano. The Missus is also very good at playing the piano, but in a different way. She reads music, I can't read a note of it. She reads music the way you and I read a book. I just listen to a tune on the radio, sit at the piano, and start playing it. If it's a really really difficult tune then it might take me about 15 minutes or so.

I have perfect pitch. When I was a child away at school, they threw music lessons and all sorts at me. I could be a concert pianist one day, they told me. Then they took this passion I had, this spooky ability to just instantly be able to play a tune I've only just heard, and threw staffs and staves and crotchets and little spidery writing on music paper at me. My interest lasted about 10 seconds after that. Much more enjoyabe to just hear a tune and play it.

So I'd go to the lesson, and not pay attention. When the teacher played the music to show me what needed done, I'd memorise the tune as she played it. When it was my turn to play, I'd just play by ear - from memory. I still can't read a note, but I can play pretty much any tune I hear.

It's not just the piano either, I am also reasonably good at playing the guitar. I only learned to play the guitar because my dad said I couldn't. I found an old six-string in a mates wardrobe one day, took it home and tld my Ma and Da that it was a fiver. My Da declared that it was a waste of money since it would just be a "flash in the pan". I played it till my fingers bled and, I believe, my Da ended up quite proud.

So, anyway, the Missus is out and that's when I play the piano. Firstly, because she hates me when I play the piano. I can sit for hours and just bang out tune after tune (sometimes just making it up as I go along) and never read a single line of music. She doesn't hate me playing, she just hates the way I do it without thinking about it - sort of like the way you don't really think about blinking. I suppose I would too.

So if I had asked my Da for money for a bike, he'd have said "No". Firstly, because he doesn't like them one bit (is this why I do like them, I have to wonder?). Secondly, because it would just be a "flash in the pan".

Yet, here we are, 300 posts on from my immortal "today was the day", and I'm still at it. I spoke to Martin today and I was just so so so gutted that I wasn't able to just go out trail riding at AJP today.

That said, whenI metioned the Optice 2000, he suggested that we talk about the options. This is a step forward.

You may well be wondering why on earth I'd want to share such intimate details with y'all, bearing mind I have probably never met you and you don't know who I am.

The main reason, as I said those 300 posts ago, is that this blog is ot just for you - it's for me. It's a record of this journey I have undertaken. This journey of getting from zero-offroad experience to finishing the Dakar rally by a guy who, only three years ago, was in a mental hospital.

On this journey Ihave met David - my ITM giant-of-a-man. I have met Oz - heart-of-gold-and-skull-of-concrete. I've met Martin, who taught me to ride offroad and who has taught me mechanics and bits and pieces. I've met Patsy, Simon, Zippy, Gary Ennis, Phil Noone and a whole bunch of thoroughly nice people like Duncan Tweedie, Ian Shankie, John Whiteford.

Speaking of which.

• For sale. One Dakar Rally KTM. One owner. Ready-to-race. Fully scrutineered. Never used.

My ITM stripped his bike the other night, put all the oily bits in the bath. Missus ITM just laughed when she saw it. I often think that it's harder to be a Dakar Missus than it is to be a Dakar entrant. We only need to go flat out for 15 days, but you guys need to g flat out for the whole year efore in which we prepare for it.

My ITM is solid. Sort of like a nightclub bouncer with common sense and the odd magpie tendency. He'll make it all the way. I wish I was going with him, but injury conspired to make that one a no-go. We'll ride together, but not in Heroes.

I used to think that the world was hostile. The people I have met since getting into biking - offroad biking in particular - shows me how wrong I was. Offroad bikers are the salt of the earth, rally bikers especially so. My life has greatly greatly improved since knowing the likes of my ITM, Oz and Billy.

We wish them well.

Oh, and if you fancy a romantic trip to Paris in the Spring, Heroes Legen sets of from under the Eifell Tower on 8 March.

Sho her ou love her - take her to Paris and treat her to the start line of Heroes Legend.

World Series

Here in the UK and Europe, we get quite cross with our cousins over the pond (aka "the Americans") when they go on about the baseball World Series.

"Hold on", we say, "it's not the World Series, it's just America".

Which is sort of true, up to a point. Except for the story of how the World Series was born. In much the same way that the Optic 2000 has nothing to do with optics or the number 2000, the World Series got it's name from its original sponsor - The New York World newspaper. It began its life as nothing more than a series of matches sponsored by the World newspaper. Hence the name.

So I watched a particularly interesting piece of Video on the Eurosport website about the future of the Dakar.

One of the things that ASO were talking about, Patrice Clerc no less, was a series of events they are calling "The Dakar Series". The thinking, we are told, is a kind of compensatory thing for all those people who couldn't compete in the 2008 Dakar.

So could a lot of small events sponsored by the ASO be equivalent to one big event? If you call something "Dakar Series", will it have the same appeal, the same romance?

Suppose, for instance, that we were to rename 'A'-levels (a high school qualification) and we were to call them "degrees". This would mean that lots more people had degrees - the UK could claim to have the highest number of graduates in the world. Well done, according to the numbers.

But all of these people would have a degree that wasn't worth having. Similarly, if I just went into a shop and bought a karate suite with a black belt then would that make me a black belt in karate? Or would I just be cheapening what it means to have a black belt?

So will a bunch of "mini-Dakars" just cheapen what Dakar is all about? Is this an attempt to compensate the competitors who lost out in the 2008 Dakar cancellation? Or is it, possibly, to compensate the sponsors who lost out on valuable TV time and advertising? Possibly a bit of both.

Will it make The Dakar fundamentally flawed? Let me explain. Tiffany diamonds. You know, that posh shop on 5th Avenue - Audrey Hepburn with a croissant. That one.

So if I were to buy The Missus a Tiffany diamond then she'd be very happy indeed. but what if Tiffany reduced the price of all of their diamonds to, say, ten dollars per carat? Would they still be as valuable, as exclusive, as in demand? Isn't it the fact that they are so expensive, only available to a few, that makes them special? If you could buy Tiffany diamonds with your weekly shopping at Tesco, would they still be valuable?

It was confirmed today by Chris Evans (ASO representative in the UK). ASO are staging a race from 19-26 April in Hungary and Romania, as a kind of 'consolation Dakar'. Entrants to the cancelled 2008 Dakar getpreferential entry, and only have to pay administrative expenses.

He also alluded to the fact that ASO "aren't yet in a position to announce next years 'Dakar'. The race will be held at the beginning of January and will be as much of a challenge as all previous editions".

The use of the quotes is theirs, not mine - i.e. they talk about "next year's 'Dakar'" and not simply "next year's Dakar". A subtle, but important, distinction - especially given ASO's insistence that 'Dakar' is a symbol.

This is not as hair0splitting as it may at first appear either. Think of the Baja 1000. The Baja Peninsula is in Mexico, and this is where the race is held. However, FIM (the governing body of Motorsport) lists Baja as a type of race - like enduro or motocross.

Le Mans, a city in the North West of France, was the birthplace of the Le Mans 24-Hour Race. Nowadays, there is the Le Mans series, which runs all over the place. Cities can become brands. The Tour de France had a stage in England last year. Last time I checked, England wasn't in France. Is it less of a race because of this?

Perhaps, in the future, 'Dakar' will become a type of race rather than the destination of the race. Characterised by long special stages, and equally long liasons, being run over two weeks. Something like that.

Thing is, nobody's yet said anything about next year's Dakar going anywhere near Dakar, or even that it will be in Africa. It's referred to using quotes around 'Dakar', which tells me that there is a shift in mindset going on.

Maybe I just look too hard at the detail but, in the world of humans, nothing happens for no reason.

We're Not The Only Ones

Got a phone call this morning from David Lambeth (UK contact for the Tuareg Rallye). This year's Tuareg is full, absolutelu choca, and has been for months.

What we're doing though is for me to give him my application now for 2009 - and I'll get a guaranteed place. Thanks David.

He asked me what bike I was planning to use:

"What bike are you planning on using?"

"Don't laugh ..."

"OK, I won't laugh"

"An AJP 260. Well, an AJP 200 PR3 with a 260cc engine in it"

"Why on earth would I laugh? That is a brilliant idea. It's got to be, what, 100 kilos with all the fuel and stuff?"

"Something like that - 105kg or so with all the nav equipment"

"Mate, my rally bike is a TTR250 - for exactly the same reasons. I sit on the start line of a desert rally, all these guys on their massive bikes, and they laugh. At the end of the rally, they're all wanting to have a look at my bike. I wish more people had the same approach to it - you just don't need 65 horse power in sand"

We're not the only ones then. Either there's somebody else - an experienced desert rallyer - who is as mad as we are or, possibly, we're on to something. He was firmly of the opinion that any idiot can spent an awful lot of money on a huge bike, but it takes a certain type of genius to build a small bike - most of the genius being in recognising that small bikes are better than large ones for rallying.

"If you're on a KTM Adventure", he tells me, "that's nearly 200kg of bike when all the gear is on it. By the time you've picked it up 20 times, every additional kilo will feel like 10". He's seen guys, halfway through rallies, unbolting parts on their bikes and throwing them away - just to get the weight down.

David also tells me that he has, "lying around", a whole raft of navigation equipment, roadbook holders and the like. Don't go paying retail at Touratech without speaking to him first.

He had some comments about Dakar though. He had some very choice comments about privateers and the way they are viewed by the organisers and professional competitors. He had some thoughts on the long distances and average speeds - whilst a light and small bike would be excellent on most of the stages, particularly sand, it would struggle to keep up the necessary average speeds on the very long ones. Something to think about perhaps but really only something that can be properly tested on a long rally.

When I asked him about 2009 Dakar - and wether there would be a 2009 Dakar - he had to admit that there was no way anybody could know in advance. The Dakar Rally is the worlds most unstoppable race - and nobody is sure if it wil ever run again. That's a major clue.

Could they run the 2009 Dakar, or later events, somewhere else? Well, they've started and finished in other places before but it's always been in Africa and South-West Europe. When you call your race "Paris-Dakar", you're not really leaving yourself a lot of options.

But some excellent feedback on the AJP PR3 260 - and her potential brilliance as a rally bike - from somebody who does desert rallying for a living as it were.

In his own words, "They'll laugh at you on the start line, they'll cry when you skip past them in the sand, and - at the end of the race - everybody will want to know how you managed to build such a brilliant rally bike. You won't win, but you will finish, and you'll be a hero. Or, at least, you'll be my f**king hero".

Came across this brilliant video pn YouTube. It was originally a charity record for Age Concern. It's My Generation by The legendary, legendary, Who. The song My Generation is claimed every 20 yaesr as an athem for the teenager of the day. The irony is that, this time, it's been claimed by people who were in their 20's when it first came out. Very amusing.



Here's your choices. You get old, or you die. Nothing else on offer.

You will notice the notoriously active percussion going on. This was originally Keith Moon. Another manic depressive, and a brilliant drummer. Pete Townshend recorded him at a session and slowed it right down - every beat was in time. Pete mused that "how can anybody play that fast?". The sound engineer mused tht "not even a machine gun can play that fast".

The Mighty Keith Moon. Due to his stick-the-custard-pie-in-the-face-of-the-Hotel-Manager back in the 60's, The Who are still banned from every Holiday Inn worldwide. Or it may have been when he dived into the pool head first - when there was no water in it. We'll never know.

Brilliant drummer. Flawed genius. My hero. "Moonie the Metronome". And, of course, a complete nutter. If he was alive today, he'd ride enduro. But he'd ride it a lot faster than everybody else.

It's A Race Jim, But Not As We Know It

Called the fracture clinic this morning, the whole shoulder thing was getting worse. They got me an appointment within 2 hours, especially when I told them it was starting to bleed and that the screw was ready to pop out the skin.

The doctor who examined me - French guy again - took a good look at me and the x-rays which they took today. He spotted the problem, and showed me on the x-ray.

So I have this titanium plate that runs the length of my collar bone - just under the skin. It sort of runs flat along the shoulder. There are 7 screws pointing straight down - looks like a garden rake.

What's happened is that the titanium plate has started to bend under the weight of my arm. This is causing it to bulge in the middle (think of a suspension bridge) which is why the screws want to jump out.

So he tells me that it's a race. It's a race between the bone healing completely and the metal plate snapping in two. One of these will happen first, he tells me. We hope that it's the healing part.

Reduce my activity he tells me. No lifting. None. No riding, absolutely not. Keep the sling on, except for when I don't. Appointment at the beginning of March, at which point - all being well - he tells me that I will be able to ride a bike again.

He's concerned, but there's really nothing that can be done unless it punctures the skin (in which case it will be a different kind of emergency). If they opened me up now, what would they do? They'd have to re-break the bone, unscrew all the plate and everything else, and put another one in. Once they've done that, the other one might bend too, and we'd just keep going through the cycle.

They were originally unsure about whether or not the plate would have to come out, but now they know that it will. This will be in about a year's time, or sooner if it's needed. Then a week or so in a sling, job's a good 'un.

Looking on the bright side, this is actually a good thing. I was always worried about having a rake pointing straight into my lung, so I'm happy to have it out. More surgery, more scalpels, more morphine, but worth it to get rid of the metal.

The enduro on 17 February is ruled out then, but the 16th is on - the AJP action day.

My ITM put it better than I ever could: "A split second in Morocco and 4/6 months of hell.". Touché.

The guy who was in before me, apparently, also had some pins in his bones. He, like me, was moaning at the doctor to get them out so that he could get back to Motocross. I wondered how many of his broken-bone patients rode bikes.

Despite all of this, or because of it, the Missus has started looking at Direct Access courses to get her bike licence. She's spent the last couple of years worrying about me getting injured and now, when I am injured, she thinks that it's a good idea to ride a bike. If you manage to figure that one out, please do tell me.


That said, she will start her two-wheeled journey under the expert eye of Martin at AJP, (the action day doesn't need a bike licence) so this gives her some confidence - Martin is very good at teaching.

Funniest thing of the day though was when I read about the Astrological Magazine. Set up my mystics and fortune tellers, their website proudly announces that as of December 2007 they have ceased publication "due to unforseen circumstances".

Ay Jing Pal

Which the eagle-eyed amongst you will notice is just a play on "AJP".

The two-stroke riders amongst you will scoff, and believe that this is my admission that 4-strokes are actually a bit geriatric in the performance department, when compared to the look-at-me-Im-a-legend explosive power of a 2-stroke.

Not quite. My ageing friend has transformed into my AyJing Pal - he's off to the action day at AJP. That whole let your hair down irresponsibility, riding without a lid, seems to have fired the lad up sufficiently to have a go for real.

Gone will be the Gucci suit. The Rolex, and other accesories, will be dispensed with for the day. The hairdresser and beauty salon will have to wait. On 16 February, ny AyJing Pal will don a pair of muddy boots and will officially become a dirty old man.

In honour of this mighty occasion, The Missus will don the swimsuit and be the dolly for the day. This will be a problem. First, it's February. Swimsuits in February don't work in England. Second, people will be too busy ogling The Missus to keep their eyes on the track, and this means damaged people.

The rally bike solidifies too. Martin discovered a very very useful piece of information about the PR3, to do with the frame. The crossbar is bolted in. This is the same crossbar that would have needed some "assistance" from a hammer in order to shoe-horn the 260cc engine into the frame. Not any more. Remove the bolts, a bit of filing to remove 2mm, in goes the 260cc engine.

That, right there, is a 89kg bike capable of meeting the technical requirements for an FIM-approved rally. Without a hammer.

The swingarm from the original PR4 will be cannibalised - it's about an inch longer and it supports larger wheels - to give more stability at speed. The wheels will come from the original PR4. The electrics, ignition and instrument panel are gone - saving a few kilos. A Yuasa battery. No need to upgrade the generator - the PR3 kicks out a rather impressive 90 watts straight out of the crate. Acerbis tanks to provide nice long legs - 250km+.

We start on this at the beginning of February - once the garage is cleared of PR4s and BMWs (which is still with the insurance company). We have a whole race season to tweak and tune and get it abosolutely right.

By the way, The Nutty Guy from Bolton - your donation has provided a Honda XR engine workshop manual. This is the only printed manual for the XR engine, transmission clutch and the like (the Haynes Manual is useless). Thank You. It is your donation that gives us the technical information we need to do the clever stuff with the bike.

AJP were spot-on to choose the Honda XR engine rather than some chinese clone. The Honda XR was a Dakar favourite for years, there were even a couple entered this year too. It runs forever, has a minimum number of moving parts and is ultra-reliable. BMW made a big mistake when they opted for a fuel-injected, catalytic converted computer-controlled engine in the X450 (blogs passim).

I got a response today from the ACU as well. They were very kind indeed. Basically, the message is "we rely on your GP - get your GP to sign you as fit to race, we'll write the licence". The treacle just got a lot thinner.

Judy Garland, if you will recall, sing that wonderful song in the Wizard of Oz - "Somewhere Over The Rainbow".

It's a most unusal song, in the way it's structured. Musical sequences come in three types: steps, jumps and leaps. A step is moving up or down a half-note (think of the theme tune for "Jaws", these are steps). A jump is moving up or down a whole note (think "I Want To Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles). A leap, very rare indeed, is moving up or down by more than one note (think of the "Some-Where ..." in Somewhere Over The Rainbow).

It was a daring, groundbreaking tune of its time - leaping notes like that. Sort of appropriate that young Judy sang "if pretty little bluebirds fly, then why oh why can't I?". For some reason, it makes me think of the blue Gauloises factory KTMs riding through the dunes. Why oh why can't I?

Fair play to the ACU. GP next stop.

The funny thing is that there will be times in the next 12 months when I wished that I didn't get the licence at all. It would be a nice "not my fault innit?" cop-out. I will only have myself to blame.

Big Oz, riding on Heroes with my ITM, had a great story about a mate of his. The guy was an enduro nut. Which basically means that, ever Sunday morning, he'd be whizzing round a track with his lungs bursting and wondering why on earth he does it.

He had a bad race one day, fell off a few times. Packed his stuff up in the van, didn't say anything to anybody. Went home, unpacked his gear and his bike from the van into a pile in his garden, then set fire to the lot.

That's what it means to be an enduro nut. The ashes would not have been cold before the guy was on the DirtyBiking website looking for the next event.

I'll get the ACU/FIM licence. I'll get accepted into the rallies. Within 15 minutes of starting, I'll wish that I had never done it. Within 15 minutes of finishing, I'll want to do it again.

To paraphrase King Leonidas: "Madness? THIS IS ENDURO!"



Whilst we're there, please tell me who has the time to do stuff like this:



and, in slow motion, that whole Zidane headbutt is much clearer. It wasn't a headbutt. He's French. It was just a kind of leaning=forward kind of shrug.

Please welcome my Ay Jing Pal to the world of the dirty and the (evidently) clinically insane.

Super-Production It Is

The homologation certificates for the AJP PR3 won't be available until later in the year. This means that it won't appear on the 'automatically approved' list of bikes by the FIM, which ruels out an entry in the Production class of the Optic 2000.

There are three classes of motorcycle in FIM-approved races:

1. Marathon
   Out-of-the-box, unmodified production motorcycles. The purpose of this class is for manufacturers to advertise the durability and excellence of their stock machines. OK, so they have a team of factory mechanics - and a convoy of spare parts - but they're still unmodified;
   
   
2. Production
   Out-of-the-box production motorcycles which have been homologated by the FIM (i.e. they appear on a 'recognised motorcycle' list). You can change a few things here and there, but they still have to be on that list. One of the things you can't change is the engine - which rules out the AJP 260;
   
   
3. Super Production
   Read "anything you like, as long as its got two wheels". So a two-wheeled bathtub with handlebars and an engine would qualify for this class. It's where you get to go completely mental, and build whatever you like. There is no requirement for it to be a recognised motorcycle at all.

Rules being rules, and French scrutineers being French scrutineers, this puts the AJP 260 in the "Super Production" class. This gives us an awful lot of leeway about how to build the lightest rally bike in the world, but does pose some scrutineering challenges since the scrutineers will look a little closer and get their measuring tapes and scales out.

One of the saving graces is that the AJP PR3 is built around the ultra-reliable Honda XR engine. This not only means that we know it will last for a long time over long distances, it also means that there's an awful lot of information about building, tuning and customising on places like ThumperTalk (a "thumper" is the term used for a 4-stroke).

I've learned an awful lot about the XR engine, carburettors, electrical systems, forks and frames and all that stuff. In one respect, it's actually quite fun to be building a bike in the Super Production class to a set of rigid specifications - it almost makes you feel a bit cheated to just buy a stock bike that is already on an FIM-approved list.

Tell you what isn't fun though - commuting. If you look it up in a dictionary, you'll see that 'commute' can mean "reduce a penalty or sentence" - e.g. "the death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment".

So every day, in my bikeless state and with my shoulder (which is rapidly winning the competition with the dog for "what is the most crap?") I wait in line to get my seat on the train. Travelling up towards London, just another one of the salaried lemmings pretending that the person sat next to me isn't actually there at all.

People sat on the train with laptops, mobile phones, blackberry emailers and 3G network connections. They lay their stuff out in front of them - like a shopkeeper setting out his wares - and get to work. On goes the phone. On goes the blackberry. On goes the laptop and network connection. Phone calls, emails, text messages - they are communicating with the world. Constantly in-touch. Available at a moments notice.

Yet they can't talk to the person next to them. Say something to them, they'll look at you like you are an idiot. Crack a joke, watch them look at you like you just threatened to mug their grandmother.

It's John Nash in action - everybody looking out for themselves and treating everybody around them as "the competition". You get more gentlemanly behaviour on a Track and Trail enduro. It's nothing specific, it's just a general sense of hostility that seems to hang around the rush hour in the morning. It's been so long since I've done it - I've ridden everywhere - that it's more noticeable now.

Or is it just that I am now focused on other things? What used to be the twice-daily annoyance of a packed train is now just a twice-daily reminder that I'd rather be somewhere else entirely? Is it coincidence that I have become much much more interested in anything and everything to do with rallies in far-off places?

Why am I even asking questions that don't matter anyway? If I did have answers, which I don't, would I really want to know them?

I think of getting on the bike, I watch videos of Dakar rallies gone by (on Eurosport), and I feel alive. I sit there on the train in the morning, a soul-less lemming amongst soul-less lemmings, on my way to a hermetically sealed building where I do things I don't want to do in order to earn money to afford to do the things I want to do.

OK, you probably guessed by now - I don't like travelling on trains. Not to work at least.

I put the sling back on yesterday - I figure that it will help stop this shoulder getting any worse. Just keep it still, let it knit. If I don't, then my ITM (all 6 foot odds of him) will be stopping off on his way to Heroes Legend to give me a good spanking. He will be ably assisted by The Missus, and the Wee Yin will probably join in since she's a bit miffed that I can't pick her up and give her her "one tickle a day". The Crap Dog will probably join in too because, well, because she's crap.

Shit day today, if you haven't already guessed. The score for today would be:

Gravity 1, Me 0.

and the most depressing thing of all is that I don't really have anything at all to be depressed about. So you feel really really depressed and awful and miserable, and you can't point to a single reason why this is justified. Which makes you feel even worse. Welcome to the spin cycle.