Wednesday 10 October 2012

THE PURPLE PENIS, SITTING PRETTY WHILE I HAVE MYSELF A CIGGY . . . . HOMEWARD BOUND FROM A 300 KLM TRIP FOR A NIGHT WITH THE BOYS, A BEAUT MORNING, LIGHT TRAFFIC . . . . AND A NORTHERLY SIDEWIND BLOWING STRAIGHT FROM SATAN'S ARSEHOLE . . . . THE ONLY TIME I REGRET RUNNING WIDE BARS . . . . UNLIKE THE OLD TRUMPY, AT LEAST THE HOGLET IS HEAVY ENOUGH TO REMAIN STABLE.

Freakin headwinds really deflate the spirit sometimes, when you throw wide bars into the equation the results are even more annoying. You'd think I'd learn something after having run the same basic style of 'bars on two Bonnies and now on the Skirtster . . . . they are a wonderful thing for comfort and handling most of the time, relaxed, one handed operation, wind resistance minimised, joy, but when you're powering into a cyclonic strength headwind/sidewind they're a pain in the progression metre, you become a human sail and forward progress is almost annoying . . . . I suppose it could've been worse if I'd been on the old Bonnie, many a time I found myself leaning into the wind, if it was blowing from the side, with so much force that the entire bike would be slanted over at a forty five degrees angle . . . . thank fuck the so called 'Sporty' is substantially heavier, it just slows down to a gentle 120 Klm/hr and sits there like a bloody great . . . . well, a bloody great purple penis on the highway of life. 
 By the time I got halfway home the desire to pull over and get out of the claws of the spirit of the wind was an undeniable force, so I did, even took a couple of pretty fucking lame shots from the roadside, above is a view looking into the very eye of Satan's sphincter, you can even see the 'epicentre' in the distance . . . . alright, it's a fair bust, it's only a tunnel but I was trying to psyche myself into believing that the wind wouldn't be howling quite so hard on the other side . . . . whaddaya know, it wasn't anything of the sort.
See the dust blowing across the sugar cane field in the above photo, yep that dust is being blown straight up my fucking hooter, which is fine and dandy, what's not fine nor dandy is that the surface area presented by myself, even in single handed, clutch hand under the tank mode, means that the buffeting and resultant level of frustration and annoyance keep intensifying to the point where I'm yelling obscenities at the breeze . . . . no result whatsoever from that plan of attack . . . . maybe next time . . . . maybe not.

6 comments:

  1. There's no solution against wind, particulary if you are tall. What a pain in the ass !!! Excepted shape your body on the bike as it was a cafe racer :/

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    1. Ollie, I ate the cafe for breakfast, hence the increased wind resistance, ha ha ha, X.

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  2. Reduce speed a bit, head down . . . hey, it usually dies down at night. When in doubt I go fly my kite instead.

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    1. Always approached it that way mate, just relax into it, speed came down from 130-140 to 110, always ride one hand off to reduce drag anyway . . . bloody forward controls make it a lot harder on the back than with mids though . . . next time I'll pack a kite !!

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  3. You make me think of a time I was going down long lonely I-5 to visit my mother in the Monterey area. Doing about 70 in my little Ranger pick-up.Nothing and nobody for miles. Way off in the distance coming up fast is a figure on a bike. As it gets closer it looks like a parachute riding a chopper. As it gets closer I see this large figure in the most balloooned out clothing and a 'skull-cap' helmet. The bike has the highest pair of Apes and really wide and forward set pegs. As he blows by me at some outrageous speed, I realize it's multi colored hair Dennis Rodman on the most outrageous chopper, literally looking like a human parachute. I give him a thumbs up, and he has this great big smile going. He blows by me like I'm standing still. To this day I can't figure how he was able to hold on to that thing....maybe his arse was velcroed down...

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    1. Laz, you have just excelled yourself, going to pop this one up on the blog, fantastic tale, fucking brilliant . . . enjoy those Testor's fumes, mmmmmmmm

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