Book Report: A Ride In The Sun or Gasoline Gypsy by Peggy Iris Thomas

Though not a prolific book reader, I own lots of books in the 'Adventure Motorcycling' category. I've even finished one or two of them. Actually it's exactly two of them and no, neither was Jupiter's Travels (though I did start that one). One was The Road To Gobblers Knob by Geoff Hill (Geoff's sense of humour made that one for me but ruined it for others). The second I finished yesterday having read it at my daughter's swimming lessons for pretty much the last 6 months.

The author, an English woman with an adventurous spirit, goes on an 18 month ride around North America (with a wee dip into Mexico) in the 50s. She makes the journey on a BSA Bantam which chewed through wheel bearings and inner  tubes. This was at least in part, due to it's huge load which included a sizable dog. Actually the dog was the only part off the outfit the author felt a strong connection with. He provided security way beyond that which modern bike alarms can.

At first it all seems something of a stretch. RiDE magazine UK, who drew my attention to this book, got it just right. I can't quote word for word but they said something along the lines of the only person who didn't think it all seemed a bit implausible was Peggy Iris Thomas.

As such, the person I most want to recommend this book to its my daughter. In fact Tom could do with reading it too. Unfortunately it would be rather lost on a six year old. A four year old who is just about able to recognise his own name certainly won't get it. Also, you need a rudimentary grasp on what was expected of young ladies in the early fifties. Having met a Bantam would also help.

So who would enjoy this book? Pretty much anyone with a sense of adventure. In fact if anyone wants a well thumbed and slightly waterlogged copy, message me and be willing to send a stamped envelope. You won't regret adding it to your reading list.

Have you read it? What did you think? Any suggestions on the next book I should leave in the swimming bag?

Ride Report - Forest of Bowland North Of Newton in Bowland

Because of the summer break and a recent foreign holiday, my bike had remained idle for much longer that I really like. Yesterday however, I received a last minute and much needed leave pass thanks to my mum taking the kids and Ang snoozing after a night shift. I had nothing planned but some of the best rides start that way. Chucking my map and tea making kit into the box, I headed off to @BeanandBud to look things over and enjoy one of their fine flat whites.

I was looking to explore somewhere new and there isn’t much I haven’t seen round here so I had to look further afield and accept there would be some unavoidable A road (highway) riding. Before my coffee was out I’d settled on an area called the Forest of Bowland, just across the border in Lancashire (spits on floor). I drained the dregs and hit the road.

I wasn’t disappointed. I suffered the A59 all the way to Clitheroe (actually not that bad) then I followed the B6478 to Newton-in-Bowland where I planned to head north towards a marked viewpoint. I was totally blown away by that stunning views on the section of road over Waddington Moor. In fact I was thinking it would be nice to ride it back again and get some pics. Time however was not on my side. Apparently, luck wasn’t on my side either as my route was soon blocked by bridge works. forcing me to retrace my steps. Still, I got those pictures.

The diversion (pretty obvious on the map) wasn’t anything worth writing about so I didn’t take my time. Once I was on the northbound road from Slaidburn, I was once again being blown away by the scenery. The heather was in bloom and being so close to the clouds gave the impression I was on top of the world. It made me think of a recent post on the FUZZYGALORE.COM blog, reflecting on the difficulties/impossibilities of sharing what you see from the saddle with others. So true but I still stopped every few meters to take yet another pic.

However, if you can, you really should go out and ride this. Maybe not if you’re only interested in knee down antics. In fact if I was going to do this again, I’d probably use the YBR125 and make a whole day of it. This is one to savour.

Motorcycle Adventure Media - Part 1 - Dirt Track Productions

My two weeks are nearly up. That’s to say, a while ago I made a personal commitment to post at least every two weeks. Two weeks have now passed without a post. I’m not going to claim a lack of time. It was inspiration that was lacking. All I’ve been up to is riding to and from work, sometimes on the Wee, sometimes on the YBR125. Once I got to work to early so I wandered up to the Cow and Calf Rocks and took a picture or two. That’s it though. My life has been more about skipping festivals and choir competitions that bike based adventure so I’ve gone elsewhere as usual. That’s today’s inspiration. I’m going to write briefly (in three or four parts) about where I get my fix.

First up are two films by the one man film unit, Gaurav Jani of Dirt Track Productions. If first discovered Riding Solo to the Top Of The World when browsing the Rufforth Autojumble. I must have been feeling rich because I paid £20 for a DVD, not something I do often. I’m glad I did. It’s fantastic. His trip to to one of the remotest places in the world, the Changthang Plateau in Ladakh, aboard an Enfield Bullet is so atmospheric that I find myself watching it over and over again, dipping in and out as I get on with work. Sometimes I wonder if I should separate the sound track with the steady thudding of the archaic bikes engine so I can listen to it when I’m struggling for sleep as it seems to chill me right out.

His films aren’t just about riding. They are also about the people and communities he encounters. Riding Solo is so good, I actually use it in geography lessons when we study contrasting localities. The children are always fascinated until they are shown how the Chang pas make their butter. At that point they are suitably ‘grossed out’. You’ll have to watch it to find out why. However, when offered the chance to watch the rest during wet play times, they usually sit quietly mesmerized. Here's the trailer.

In his second film, One Crazy Ride, Gaurav Jani travels with friends from his club searching for a route they are told no longer exists, still riding Enfield bullets. It’s very different because it’s about a group of people all of whom are riding bikes though challenging and beautiful landscapes on frankly unsuitable bikes. The Bullets are forever breaking down, seemingly more due to their archaic design than the awful or non existent roads. Though there is a bit about the communities they travel through, it’s much more about the ride.Here's the trailer.

If I absolutely had to choose which one to take with me to a desert island, it would be tough. I think I’d end up going for Riding Solo. In truth though, I’m ready for more, so ready I even paid another twenty quid towards the making of the next film, described as a sort of Part 2 to Riding Solo. Motorcycle Chang pa is in post production now but the forecast release date seems to keep slipping back. Hopefully it will be ready in 2013 some time. I can’t wait for the next one which says all that really needs to be said about the films of Gaurave Jani and Dirt Track Productions. I'd recommend these to anyone, motorcyclist or not, just as long as they are remotely interested in travel or the rest of the world. Here's the teaser for the much anticipated Motorcycle Chang pa.

And with that I’ve written enough. In part 2 I get my fix from another Blog. Maybe a couple of blogs.

Riding My Motorcycle in the Snow Part 3

In which I make it home, repair and reflect.

At the end of part two I had just been picked up. I missed an important bit out though. After I was dropped in Otley by a passing farmer and his wife, before I had breakfast, I had the presence of mind to call work and let them know I’d not be joining them that day. Then, I settled down to breakfast. Dunnie’s give you a lot of breakfast for just £2 or £3 but what you get is pretty dire. You get what you pay for and I couldn’t pay for breakfast in the kind of cafe that can brag about the butchers they use. For less than £3, you don’t feel sure what’s in the sausage never mind which high class family butcher it came from. For the first time in a very long time I found myself staring at bacon, sausage and egg unable to bring myself to eat it. Just for once, Dr Buckley would have approved of a lifestyle choice. And it was at just about that time that an email arrived making everything just a little less worthwhile.

Safely home and seemingly intact.

The email was to break a 25 year tradition. Our previous head, who had lead the school for a quarter of a century, didn’t drive. She never closed for snow and expected staff to get in if they could. Until then I had never failed either. Our new head, who I think comes under category c/d without the tyres (see this post), has a different mind. As the snow continued to fall, she closed the school, by email. My journey was now not only a failure but also unnecessary.

Spot the difference.

Good news soon followed. A man, tasked by the AA, called to let me know he was heading my way. I offered to get him a cup of tea if he picked me up on his way past and that was enough to get him to flout company policy. Another forty minutes and I was on my way back to the bike with a nice chap who had spent his morning jump starting cars or pulling them off drive ways. Mine was the first brake down as such. As usual, he was quick to tell me that he knew little or nothing about bikes. His car got down the hill to the bike with no problems even though the road was even worst now than it had been when I first came a cropper.

Within a minute of arriving at my stricken motorcycle I spotted the problem. I could have beaten myself senseless for not looking for it earlier. Back then I didn’t spot it because it was too dark. If I had looked for it though, I would have found it for sure. You see, I mentioned in my last post that the bike wouldn’t crank at all, just as though I had forgotten to pull the clutch in (required on a DL650). I didn’t mention that the bike fell on it’s left side. Nor had I mentioned that it was the clutch side of the handlebars I had to use to lift it. The problem was so obvious, I reckon many or most will now have guessed it. In broad daylight, the clutch interlock cable hanging below the clutch lever was plain to see. With it back in place, the bike started and ran instantly. The only remaining problem was the road, now totally impassable to anything without four wheel drive.

Alan's simple repair to the gear lever works great.

I’ve no idea how many of you will have ever been towed on a bike. It’s nothing like being towed in a car. Though perfectly possible, it's best done right, by two people who know what they are doing. Even then, it’s terrifying. The very nice man who came out to help me had never towed a bike and I had only ever done the towing. For both of us this was going to be a learning experience and neither of us would have chosen for that lesson to take place on snow.

We had to look the rope around the forks and back to the hitch leaving a little too short for comfort. As the rope took the strain and as my bike began to carry me but someone else in control, I’d never felt so uncomfortable. In seconds I was screaming, “Slow it down, I’m gonna have to paddle this thing.” The front wheel was dancing from side to side so I needed time to correct each shift. The driver obliged and we crawled to the top of the hill, my heart trying to beat its way though my sore rib cage, probably in a bid to find a more sensible owner. Several times I was sure I was going down. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

Alan's new pinion bolt
cover looks like
Suzuki put it there.

The main road, when we reached it, was far better. We could say our fair-wells and sign paperwork. Finally, about seven hours after I left, I was in a position to make my way home. He could get back to dragging people off their drives and I could start a very slow ride home, not the way I came though. The longer way. The one with fewer steep bits and more traffic. The way I should have come in the first place. My destination, G. W. Johnson’s Motorcycles in Harrogate, home of Alan Johnson.

Alan wasn’t busy. My snow caked Vstrom, it’s indicators hanging off, handlebar ends at a jaunty angle and gear change leaver partially absent went straight in. He went to work immediate, rummaging though a box of assorted indicators for bikes long since scrapped for one he could bodge on. The lighting repaired, he went to work drilling a hole through the remains of the gear change pedal, sticking a bolt through and covering it with the rubber part of a kick starter. The resulting repair so good I’ve forgotten it’s there. The bar end bolt was straightened and a new cover for the Swingarm Pinion was fashioned for a box of old rubber bits. Within the space of an hour, my bike was fully roadworthy again and I had been charged for half an hour’s labour if that.

That’s the thing about Alan. He puts things right and knows his customers. He knows my bike works for a living and that I couldn’t give two hoots what it looks like. For me he keeps it working. For other, he keeps them working and beautiful. My good friend Kev always says, “I take my bike to Alan because when I get it back, I know it’s right. Simple!” And he’s right.

I wonder what kind of bike
this item started its life on.

In the mean time Sandra is upstairs booking them in, finding parts for anything and everything and every so often, if you look like you’re in no rush to
be somewhere else, making a cup of tea, good and strong with a splash of milk. Just like Alan, she knows her clients, mostly by name. For goodness sakes, she knows my children by name and doesn’t seem to mind too much when they rearrange her displays for her. I’ve counted on them for the last 13 year and I hope they will still be there for me to count on for many more to come.

So, what did I learn from the whole experience? Darn it. I did say I would write this section and I kinda wish I hadn’t. Please don’t read anything I write as being a ‘Learned Opinion.’

Thanks to these, the bodywork survived
our little adventure and all they asked in
return was a lick of paint.

Ok, first up, the decision to ride is about more than just whether or not it is possible to make progress on a bike. What happens when conditions change? What happens if you brake down? Can you mitigate these concerns with a different route choice? I would have been fine if I had taken a different route.

Next up, the old scout motto, be prepared. A head torch (flashlight) would have prevented any need for recovery. Well, a head torch and a folding shovel. The first now lives under the seat. I’m waiting to find the perfect shovel.

Finally, reading this month’s Ride and recent editions of MCN, it seems my belief that the engine braking on the VStrom is good in the snow, isn’t. I thought it was giving me more control on descents but all others writing about the topic want less torque and no engine braking. Having not tried it, I don’t know. So what have I learned? I’ve learned that a little experience, like a little knowledge, is a dangerous thing.

Lessons learned. This time I turned around.

In future I’ll probably not ride into untreated snow again. Since I started this writing project I’ve had plenty of chances for a repeat and taken the car most times. With parent’s evening, an Easter production and diocesan inspection, I couldn’t risk down time so I usually drove. Then, on my way to work, up the same road that got me last time, I came upon snow and ice. I panicked a little, let the bike roll to a halt, got off and considered my options. That time I took the picture, walked the bike back to the black and found another way. It’s not the coming off I wanted to avoid. It was the cost of fixing and the embarrassment of putting others out. It’s not that I won’t ride if it’s snowing. I can't afford to drive nor can I stand not riding. I will probably head out in snow. I'll just be a bit less adventurous. No, that not fair. I’ll be a little more cautious.

Riding My Motorbike in the Snow Part 2

In which it goes more wrong. 

In my last blog post I told of how I decided to make my way up a moor on an unploughed moor road. If you haven’t read it and intend to read this, you really ought to read that first so give me a click. If you are like minded, it may mitigate the lunacy of what I will cover below.

You see, one Monday morning, a little after 5am atop a moor, I arrived at my turning. Adrenaline was still pumping following the rubber-side-up moment I’d had a few hundred meters previously. The road descended gently and should have been less of a challenge than where I’d come from though the snow was all fresh, no tracks to follow. Thinking back, from where I was, it was probably the best available route to ride back down off the moor anyway. I’m pretty sure that’s not what my prehistoric brain was thinking though. That just wanted to fight through and finish the job.

Things started just fine. The V-twin motor on the Vstrom allows you to make a pretty slow descent just letting it tick over. The front wheel seemed to meet plenty of resistance with the snow as well and that helped me control speed. It helped that the road was straight.

Then I came to a dreaded snow drift and ground to a halt, stalling the bike. Somehow, I also managed to slip as I put my foot down. Once again, I found myself lying in the road feeling an utter twit. In a strange way, it mattered less that time though. I was beginning to accept that falling off was not going to do much more damage than we had already sustained, especially as they were both dead slow or stationary drops.

The problem was, having again heaved the stricken bike to its feet, this time, it didn’t start. Crumbs! (I actually said something else but, you know how it is.) In fact, it was behaving like a Suzuki VStrom or SV does if you don’t pull the clutch to start it. Quite possibly it’s a Suzuki thing. 

I was going nowhere without help and that’s what I pay the AA for. However, before I called them, I wanted to be sure I wasn’t missing something. My former life as a Armoured Vehicle Mechanic (not an especially good one) had taught me that too many break downs are driver error. One particularly memorable event saw me called out in the wee small hours, driving a rover blacked out through rough and muddy ground (wasn’t much cop with that either) to a non-starter. In that case it was a Challenger (i). Exhausted and cold, I climbed into the drivers compartment, removed his helmet from the gear selectors, placed it in neutral, pushed the started and woke up the neighbourhood.

When I climbed out of the compartment the driver asked, “What was wrong with it?” As I recall, I didn’t say anything. Just threw his helmet at him and drove off. He knew just as well as I do, Chally won’t start in gear. Then again, I’ve since learnt you make mistakes in the cold dark hours.

(Another similar event was a Chally with no drive. When you removed some or all of the gash that the driver was carefully storing under the handbrake leaver, it went surprisingly well.)

Not wanting to count myself amongst the cavalrymen I’d come to disrespect, I began to run though the checks. Am I pulling the clutch in? Yep. Check for neutral. Yep, that’s there.  Kill switch? That’s fine. What then? Seat off, I checked the various cables. In the cold light of dawn, I couldn’t see anything that should stop it cranking so I’d little choice but to call for recovery.

At that point I felt like a thoughtless moron. Thanks to my little adventure, some poor patrol driver was being dispatched up a moor in the snow, no doubt pulling him away from many other category B (see previous post) people who just need a quick tug off their drive and a boost. Poor chap was doubtless going to have a busy day as it was. There was however, nothing to be done but make the call and get the bike to somewhere a bit safer.

Did I mention there were two falls? This final one is a real doozy. You see, the Wee’s v-twin motor makes descents a doddle. It’s brakes, which are pretty much just brakes, they aren’t so easy in the snow. When I had the bright idea of sitting on the bike to coast it a bit further down the hill to a gate I didn’t consider that I hadn’t an engine to coast with. I’m pretty fortunate that that was the last misjudgement of the day.

I tried desperately to prevent the build-up of speed that had me travelling faster than I had for miles but it was no use. The gateway past and speed built up. I prayed that I could just keep it upright until the dip in the road, perhaps 200m ahead.

It didn’t happen though. A snow drift and incompetence saw me sliding beside the bike as I’ve done so many times before but usually with a cheep plastic sledge. I’d hit the ground hard this time. The grinding noises as the bike ploughed through soft, pristine snow to the significantly more abrasive black top, they hurt to. This was just getting silly. I lifted it back up one last time, carefully pushed it to the side of the road and removed my helmet, beaten by the snow. As I did so, for the first time since the the car in the ditch, I saw another vehicle. The Landrover cruised to a halt. “Are you waiting for the AA?” I explained that I was and the bike wouldn’t start. “Well, I’ve just seen him back in the village. He can’t get through, even with chains on.”

Well that was great and frankly, fair enough. Sure I’d got the bike there but a Transit was another thing all together. It didn’t make much difference anyway. Having ridden two particularly unreliable bike the last few years, I’ve learnt that all too often the first thing they say when they arrive is, “I don’t know anything about bikes. You’ll have to wait for a recovery truck.” One of them wasn’t likely to get up there for perhaps a day. My predicament was starting to look really quite bad. A phone call to the AA confirmed that they would be sending a local firm and their 4x4 vehicle me. No ETA.

There I was, stuck on a hill. Having food, coffee and excellent cloths for the conditions, I was safe at least. For about 45 minutes I kept myself busy check twitter, listening to and audio book and building a snow man. Eventually the AA rang me with an ETA a mere two and a half hours away. “You won’t mind if I hitch a ride to Otley then I guess.”
“Yes, the driver will call you when he’s ten minutes away,” came the obviously stock reply.
That wasn‘t going to work but I need a cooked breakfast and a cuppa. “It’s gonna take me longer than that to hitch a ride back again. Can’t you ask him to pick me up on his way through Otley?”
Another stock reply. “That would be against our policy but I will ask him to call you as soon as he is on his way.” I figured that would work.

It did to. Within minutes of the call I was sitting in the back of a farmers pick-up forcing the dog to share with his wife. They kindly dropped me off at Dunnies in Otley, home of 30p tea and breakfast for less than 3 quid. It wasn’t anything like two and a half hours before the local 4x4 recovery driver called. The bribe of a cup of tea was enough to get picked up from the cafe. Thus fed, watered and with adrenaline at an all time low, things were moving. Unsurprisingly, the guy didn’t, “know anything about bikes.” Turned out that wouldn’t matter. All we need was a rope and some daylight.

That’s enough story for one night though. It’s not the end of the story though. In part three I’ll get to the mechanical bits. I’ll get to;

• The little, tiny, easily identified (in daylight) fault
• Being towed
• My awesome mechanic Alan at G.W. Johnson’s
• What I should learn from it all.
• Other stuff maybe.

Thanks for reading my post. Please leave a comment if you have time, just to let me know you were here and what you think, warts and all.

Riding My Motorbike in the Snow Part 1

Snow. It’s magical. Whereas the world usually changes imperceptibly slowly from season to season, snow takes the dreariest winter vista and transforms it within the space of a few hours, creating a winter wonderland (sorry, couldn’t quite come up with a more effective and less well travelled metaphor). When it falls, children abandon their electronic baby sitters to venture out, to  build and throw and slide. Snow men are born of imagination and never far away, children of all ages race down icy slopes with reckless abandon, mostly out of control. And why not?

I think, for a lot of people, the white stuff loses it’s magic quality as they get older. For those who need to get to work, finding your transport is snuggled beneath a thick white blanket of snow is not so magical. It’s more of a curse. They then fit broadly into a few categories:
A) Many rightly stay at home.
B) Others rightly should.
C) A few skilful drivers get stuck behind or struck by those in category B.
D) The final category includes all of the above but they benefit from extra driven wheels, fancy diffs and sometimes even clever electronics. Very occasionally, they even have the tyres for it.

Not me. I come under a different heading. You see, I still get excited when the white stuff begins to fall, more excited than my own children as it happens. I don’t know why I do. It makes no sense at all really, being a motorcyclist with a big hill between me and where I need to be. If you had to stick me in one of the above though, it would most certainly be B). My bike has the scars to prove it.

You see, I am obsessed with adventure one way or another. I also have a mortgage, children, a job, a wife and all the usual mundane commitments of being mid 30s and a teacher. For me, adventure is pretty hard to come by so when the snow fell a little bit, earlier in the year, I rode to work. The main road was cleared so why not. The moor road turned out to not be clear having perhaps 2cm of snow but I figured I may as well have a go. What’s the point of fitting the bike with dual sport tyres if you aren’t ever going to use them. That went well. As a matter of fact, it went without a hitch. Not so much as a slip or twitch of the rear. I was straight up the steep, snowy hill and back down the other side. Repeat a few more times. Arrive at work. Easy!

The next time, same thing but more snow and a bit of wind. I was off on an adventure, excited and intrepid. Before long I would be feeling like a right Charlie.

It was not yet 5am as I set off up the A59. Within the first mile, police were holding the road as a car was hauled out of the ditch by a recovery truck. I didn’t think better of it and motored on, carefully, slowly. The other option was after all, the far longer main road route. When I reached my turn off, steep at about 20% I was unsurprised to find it unploughed. A single set of car tracks told of a single other vehicle having braved the route since the snow fell that night. Again, I didn’t turn back. Riding in the car tracks, I made the ascent easily. The first steep descent, even with the tight bend right at the bottom, suggested I was going to be fine. All very affirming. Crack on.

It was beautiful too. Calm, with a silence that seemed able to penetrate the throb of the exhaust (that sentence describes it best but don’t ask me to explain it). There was even a wonderful few seconds when the owl I have seen dart across the road many times before chose to glide along beside me before pealing off between the trees that skirted the road. It seemed to me at the time that it did that because of the snow. Now I wonder if it was just the slow and quiet progress I was making, perhaps a little over a jogging pace. In that moment I had absolutely done the right thing. This was absolutely worth the risk of a low speed drop, the only type possible at the speeds I could reach.

Within minutes of sharing a few seconds with the owl, I was off the bike. It wasn’t down but we weren’t getting up that hill. Category C folk will have noted when I mentioned a bit of wind before. With wind comes snow drifts, especially on higher exposed ground. Manageable on the flat but trying to climb through one changes everything. The car tracks I was using were gone and the only option was to dissmount and kick a path through. Tough work when you’re wearing all your gear. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake. For some reason though, I literally ploughed on. By the top of my ride, I was already exhausted, physically and mentally. And all the while, I’d been riding on snow with grit underneath.

The first time I fell was just plain stupid. Embarrassingly dumb. I had this coffee in my box and was thinking, ‘I’m tired and should take a break.’ There’s this layby on the top road and I figured that would be the place to stop and drink the coffee. Being category B or there about though, I hadn’t figured that the world would look so different or the slight slopes on slight bends would be such a game changer. As I was passing the layby I wanted to be in, I noticed I was doing so. I didn’t notice the slight down hill slope and gentle left curve. The moment I shut the throttle down, things got real.

There I was, lying in the road. Looking back, I’m not sure what I was thinking though there would doubtless have been expletives. I do remember thinking I was in real peril as someone could come along at any moment and my bike in the road would cause an accident. Fortunately, there was sufficient adrenaline and grip for me to lift Hamish up. As it turned out though, no one else would pass along that road for nearly an hour and that was a gritter truck. Immediately, I could see the front left indicator was gone and the bar end weight was bent. With hindsight I can also see the RDR (rider) was also shot. In the pre dawn cold light of night, I didn’t spot that and couldn’t really do anything about it anyway.

The bike, having cut out exactly as it was designed to do, restarted. I should thank the previous owner who had fitted engine bars to it, preventing far worst. Satisfied the bike was still ridable, I mounted up, started up and attempted to motor on, the coffee long since forgotten about.

A quick word count tells me this post is getting too long. The clock tells me it’s bed time. Common sense says this post may be better as a two parter so there I shall leave it. However, I must share this video I found on youtube.com All I can say is, wow! I wish I had their tyres. 

If you can, please leave a comment to let me know you were here, where you're coming from and what you think. 

Thanks,

John



Coming up in the next post:

• More being an idiot
• Two more falls
• Breaking down on a snowy hill
• The kindness of strangers
• Being towed
• What made the whole thing even worst
• Who made the bike right (though he deserves a post of his own)
• What I should learn
• Other stuff probably