The Bike of Shame

The world's greatest adventurers have a lot in common. Meticulous preparation, determination, and careful use of resources. This is why we are not the world's greatest adventurers.

Ridiculous preparation, extermination, and a careless use of resources would be closer to the mark. If Extreme Trifle had been founded a few centuries ago then history would have taken a very different course. Christopher Columbus would have drowned a few miles of the coast of Italy, The Wright Brothers would have crashed on take off and Marco Polo would never have invented the mint.

On the plus side we would have invented the external combustion engine and custard would be the new oil which would mean instead of a disaster in the Gulf of Mexico we'd be having the world's largest food fight.

Anyway back to the here and now. Or more precisely back to the pub a few months ago when we decided that The Wrong Way Down would not be the fustercluck that was The Wrong Way Round. Yes we would be prepared, yes we would be determined and yes we would be careful with our resources. For starters this would mean we would not have a repeat of last year's stunt show at our Moto GP leaving party. Assen is still strewn with pieces of indicator lenses, brake levers and the entire contents of Nick's garden allotment. If you are not familiar with the Wrong Way Round that last bit won't make any sense. Never fear, making no sense is a common theme here.

The net result of our meeting was that TWO NEW RULES were introduced for this year's event giving us a grand total of two rules.  Firstly, since the Moto GP leaving party is at Silverstone we don't need to take the bikes, we can just pick them up on the way back. This will save them from destruction by over enthusiastic celebrations if England beat Algeria on the Friday night or destruction by drunken yoofs if we don't.

Secondly, we introduced "The Bike of Shame". The idea being that we would all be encouraged to look after our own bikes by making the spare bike so embarassing no one would want to ride it. But seriously, how do you embarass someone who was already riding a T80?

Charles with a knowing wink said he had something in mind. "Think pink" he said.  And so the debate started. "Pink? Hang on, didn't the SAS used to paint their landrovers pink as desert camoflage". "Yes they did". "Well it will hardly be embarassing to ride a bike that is bloody invisible!".

"This is no ordinary pink" said Charles as he strutted off to the garage with airbrush in one hand, roll up in the other and can of Stella in the....hang on. No Stella, blimey he was serious. So after a few minutes or so the bike was entirely stripped down (number plate removed) and prepared for painting  (top layer of rust removed with wire brush).  And then the first squirt of pink was laid down.

This was no ordinary pink. In fact the bottle probably had "Definitely Not Ordinary Pink" stamped on it. In actual fact the bottle had "Spangletastic Pornstar Acid Pink" stamped on it. Simultaneously everyone reached for their sunglasses and then stood around nodding approvingly. It was truly hideous.

The best bit about it is that it is no longer "The Bike of Shame". It is "Kaspars Bike of Shame". Since he decided he was ditching the support van and joining us on a bike we've had to give him the spare. Even better since he is in Latvia until the day we leave we can pretty much do anything we want to it and he'll have to live with it. In the end Charlie ran out of not ordinary pink paint before the bike reached full volume, though by this time it was clear that far from being invisible in the desert, the bike would actually be visible from space.

Charlie ended up taking the bike home and we arranged to next meet up at RAF Wittering for the annual "Moped Mayhem" event. This is a 6 hour endurance race on mopeds. In fancy dress. What is not to like.
Our only slight problem was that in keeping with our meticulous preparations we would resist trashing one of our T80's and instead rely on a Honda Melody that had been sleeping in the garage at HQ for 3 years but according to Matt "it used to work".That was reassurance enough for us.

Sure enough the day before the race we got the bike going and after a trip to the end of the drive and back declared that the bike had achieved full race specification. Unfortunately the Moped Mayhem racetrack is a tad longer than the drive. Long enough for us to realise that the Melody was incapable of reaching the manufacturer's claimed top speed of 31 mph. It is not cool to be overtaken by someone walking back from the burger van with 8 cups of tea.

Worse was to come. Charlie had trailered down both Kaspars bike and his own bike so we could take them back to HQ for storage until the trip. Here we had two fully prepared T80's that were about as fast as anything else out there and we couldn't bloody ride them for fear of wrecking one just weeks before the trip. In order to put them beyond temptation we lent both bikes to the race marshalls so that they could use them as safety bikes for removing objects from the track like mudguards and bodies and stuff.

We looked on in a decided huff as every other team bombed around having a laugh while we stood despondently looking at our arthritic Honda Melody which now refused to start. At about this time somewhere in the distance something which looked a bit like a packet of Haribo Star Mix exploding happened. This turned out to be one of the marshals losing the front end in to a hairpin bend and binning Kaspars freshly painted bike in a haze of dust and sparks.

Unbelievable. It would have been bad enough if we'd crashed ourselves but to think it had been caused by a race marshall (who shall remain nameless) was even more galling. We were sick to our stomachs and not at all looking forward to the awkward conversation that was about to happen and to inspect the inevitable damage that would have been caused. As the marshall walked sheepishly towards us pushing the bike with a bowed head (whose actual name of Mr Tim McGivern we shall disguise as "Nob Chops" for the time being) it began to dawn on us that the bike was still remarkably pink and pretty much the same shape as it was before.

By some miracle the rack that Charlie had fitted over the front mudguard to hold a tent and sleeping bag had taken the brunt of the crash and the paintwork was untouched. We were so deliriously happy that we immediately celebrated by removing all the bodywork from the bike and ragging the arse end out of it for the remaining 5 hours of the race.

All it needs now is new forks, a new rear brake pedal and a new set of handlebar grips and it will be desert ready once more. Just don't tell Kaspars.