Kiwi Biker forums - Blogs - cheshirecat https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/blog.php/19489-cheshirecat Kiwi Biker - New Zealand motorcycle community en Wed, 08 Apr 2026 11:35:14 GMT vBulletin 20 https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/images/BP-Brown/misc/rss.jpg Kiwi Biker forums - Blogs - cheshirecat https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/blog.php/19489-cheshirecat Ruapuna Training Day https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/entry.php/2257-Ruapuna-Training-Day Sun, 04 Sep 2011 05:08:11 GMT ---Quote (Originally by rastuscat)--- Yesterday there was a training morning at Ruapuna with some of ChurChurs professional instructors, and some very experienced racers. About 50 or so riders paid $65 (I think) for the experience of the instructors, and all seemed to have a good morning of it....
Quote Originally Posted by rastuscat View Post
Yesterday there was a training morning at Ruapuna with some of ChurChurs professional instructors, and some very experienced racers.

About 50 or so riders paid $65 (I think) for the experience of the instructors, and all seemed to have a good morning of it. No negative comments arose, or at least, none that I heard of.

I had one of the motorcycle Popos out there on the track on his Popo-mobeel, and I was in the pits just engaging with as many as I could. It was a great to chat about bike-specific stuff, law, safety, gear, bikes, all that malarky.

We have quite a cool training group down here. We're looking at doing more stuff, I'll post it for anyones interest.
yes please post.

I took a UK police motorcycle course way back in the 70's. Use the principles every time I ride and my VFR really appreacites it. ]]> cheshirecat https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/entry.php/2257-Ruapuna-Training-Day Adventures of a London Despatch Rider, part three https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/entry.php/831-Adventures-of-a-London-Despatch-Rider-part-three Fri, 08 May 2009 00:36:24 GMT One of the best things about MM was the controller, though I forget his name. Usually controllers are ex riders so they know all the tricks, and they also know London well, very well indeed. MM controller was great. He never pushed you, enjoyed a sharp dry wit, (really important when it was dark,... One of the best things about MM was the controller, though I forget his name. Usually controllers are ex riders so they know all the tricks, and they also know London well, very well indeed. MM controller was great. He never pushed you, enjoyed a sharp dry wit, (really important when it was dark, miserable and chucking down), was on your side in difficult deliveries and kept his humour when you’d deliver to the Barbican. The Barbican is a sprawling concrete acreage of 70’s tower blocks, no entries, blank doors and identical endless corridors. No matter how you approached it’s always the wrong end and nobody was ever around to sign. Oh and your radio cracked out. In the Barbican no one can hear you scream, especially inside a helmet.

He would also get onto the ambulance fast when a rider went down. Radio discipline was always very good but you could hear the silence when this happened, wondering if you were near enough to help, how bad, and which call sign was absent. Either way jobs still had to be delivered and your part in life had to go on; money had to be earnt, the rent paid etc. London doesn't stop. Some places were notorious, the Hammersmith flyover for me. Very greasy in the first rain with that razor steel amoco barrier and no real hard shoulder to slide off onto safety, meaning traffic behind would roll over you. By and large a fall is OK even at high speed, it really depends on what you hit and what hits you when sliding along on the deck. I always smelt fear there and it took everything I had to relax and let the Honda find it's own way, especially coming into town on that last downwards bit. I can see the rear of those lorries approaching now.

Only once did the controller ask for urgency and that was to get a passport to Terminal Three from E4. By some fluke the route out onto the Hammersmith (dry for a change) flyover and the M4 was, by bike standards free running. I kept things easy on the motorway (pure fiction here) at around 85/90 mph as a speed booking wouldn't get the passport delivered. Turning off through a couple of quick roundabouts and things were still going well, a bit too well I thought and sure enough two cars pranged on the next roundabout. No one seemed injured and I jetted off down the dual carrageway right into a waiting bike cop on the next roundabout, the one with Concorde on it. I pulled up right under his nose sharpish like and told him (though the helmet) about the accident. He seemed taken a bit on the back foot by this and said he already knew about it. I thought about asking why he wasn't there helping, but not pushing my luck, I engaged first, nodded, waved, then zoomed off (well not too speedy) into the chaos of Terminal Three. It was a disbelieving and very relieved customer I found. We picked each other out more or less the same time no doubt helped a full helmeted human clutching a package in such a security conscious zone. I think the whole job one way took well under 30 minutes, it was one of those rare days when even the traffic lights were in phase. On the return, again pure fiction, just before the motorway ended and no speed cameras with not much traffic, I let the Honda loose. It was just quick as my CBX1000, but felt so much safer and with half it's cc, now where were those French Nuns in their 2CV? ]]> cheshirecat https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/entry.php/831-Adventures-of-a-London-Despatch-Rider-part-three Adventures of a London Despatch Rider - Part Two https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/entry.php/717-Adventures-of-a-London-Despatch-Rider-Part-Two Tue, 17 Mar 2009 07:34:57 GMT Continued: Every rider has their limits or wedge of safety and in London I had mine. Essentially if there was to be an accident I was going to be legal, well ish, so that meant not overtaking across double yellow lines and pedestrian crossings etc, the highway code through and through. The only... Continued:

Every rider has their limits or wedge of safety and in London I had mine. Essentially if there was to be an accident I was going to be legal, well ish, so that meant not overtaking across double yellow lines and pedestrian crossings etc, the highway code through and through. The only thing I could be ‘had’ on was to be speed for this I kept to a formula of plus 10/20(ish) mph, so when overtaking long lines of traffic the speed differential was to be minimal. Charges would then be careless as opposed to dangerous driving and a ban. It also meant if a car pulled right any impact would be low and reaction time greater. Although I was brisk off the lights to get position, I’d always ease off within a few yards so also giving a bit of leeway in anticipating the ever changing line and escape routes ahead amongst all the other DR's going for them. Needless to say side inspections were always made before dropping the clutch. Often I'd be in convoy with several DR's and I would try and leave a gap (ie not dwardling in yours) for someone coming up behind and often assume or take a calculated risk on the front DR leaving a gap ahead in that blind spot just in front of a double decker bus and that out of sight traffic island. One's call sign always came up in these moments when there was nowhere to go except hyperspace forward. I was always concious being on a bright red, white and blue sports bike of being the conspicuous one in the eyes of the law so had to play a bit safe. This strategy only cost a couple of minutes job but it really mounts up, 30 jobs equals 30 to 60 minutes down time a day and that's a lot. I (and my license) did stay intact though.

I would also try to be as inconspicuous as possible which might seem to be tempting fate but I've noticed many vehicles actually make an effort to pull out in front of you no matter how fast or slow you are. It is always best to assume every vehicle will pull out and you are invisible. I'd prefer the emphasis on the rider being in control of the surrounding traffic because it is always much better coming onto a situation than a situation coming on to you. I was usually happy to let another DR take a lead acting as pathfinder for wayward vehicles and the Red Buses. Non DR's were either too slow, erratic or couldn't keep up the rhythm and pace. This technique also applied to keeping a car in front on the motorways. All this served well and although not the fastest rider my average must have been respectable and certainly got my share of work. In terms of covering distance it’s not the highest speed that counts but the average, keeping up a steady pace and not stopping. One stop wipes out any high speed burst. You have to keep moving all the time. If you look at DRs you will see they don’t really stop and start, rather they flow to an easy rhythm.

Anyway this was someway ahead. Although improving I was only clearing some 200 odd pounds a week. Further my wife became pregnant and so she could only work so long before our income dropped.

One job provided a reality check and caused me to look at changing companies. It was to some place near Chester (North Wales). Great, a couple of hundred pounds, a weeks earnings in one day. I picked the package up and swung by the flat to upgrade my riding gear. Out of intuition I put on a Neil Pryde wet suit vest and set off up the M1. Late afternoon partly up the M5 it started to snow. This wasn’t good as I was heading north right into it and the temperature was dropping fast. Frozen snow is not good for sports bikes. The snow became heavier and settled. I switched into the inner lane where trucks had worn tracks through to tarmac. This is not a good place for a motorcycle, as one slip and you have 40 tons of truck over you from behind but the bike was more ridable on the tracks and the truck headlights behind helped my feeble glowworms. The snow got heavier still and I pulled into a service station to call base, fill up, scrap the frozen wads of snow off me and the bike and get thawed out. It was now dark. There was also no answer from base but the snow had eased so I carried on and promptly slide off doing just 5 mph. The bike had skidded on a metal strip beneath the snow but was undamaged. So far although I was wet, the wetsuit waist coat kept my core warm whilst the feet were bearable having used cold but water proof sailing boots. My hands were OK too because of the heated grips and handle bar muffers. I hate to think what it would have happened without that waist coat. Some hours later with some luck (having no map), I found the delivery address and more luck, it was open with a surprised security entity to sign for it. It's always one thing to get there but it's another to find someone to sign for things. I promptly turned round and rode straight back before being snowed in 'up north' as they say. Aside from black ice it wasn’t too bad and from Birmingham down merely wet and so on all too familiar territory. I remember very well coming off the M1, through Swiss Cottage and down Park Lane mixing it with all the playboys in their Lambo's and Porches. Just as well there weren't any police about. It was two in the morning, I had survived along with the bike. Six hours later it was back on the Honda for the rest of the week – Hmm, I still only cleared some 350 pounds that week. Something had to change. Scouring the rags again a company was advertising a 350 pound minimum guarantee, 'experienced riders only' it said. I called and went in. Was I experienced enough? The controller interviewed me and set a knowledge test, leaving the room along with a large wall chart of central London streets. I must have looked the part now, ie grimy and couldn't give a stuff. Much to my surprise I got the job. They must have been desperate. The company was 'MM' and were great to work for. The guarantee meant that as long as I reported for work 5 days a week and accepted any job they would guarantee me 350 pounds and so for the next two years, I stayed. Their clients were upper range city based merchant banks and lawyers, a rather genteel group, but of course you had to be very reliable, polite and quick as these top names had much at stake. A quick peruse of the FT the following day would reveal that. MM provided a silver jacket and leggings in heavy duty lined PVC. I’ve never come across anything better than this for riding keeping you dry and warm 10 hours a day every day all year.

By now I knew how to keep the clip board dry and pen operational. Not only that but my hearing had acclimatised to the radio ‘hash’ and lingo, learning how to pick up real words in the thick of London traffic and noise all the while carrying out 'delicate' traffic manouvres.

Controller; “36 36”,
Me; “36”, going west, coffee cup wedged in the fairing.
Controller; “36 pick up J Bank going W4”.
Me part way across Cambridge Circus now heading the wrong way; “36 copy”, then in a few minutes; “36, 36,” pause for the controller; “POB going W4”. (POB is parcel on board).
Controller; “copy 36 pick up Law and Son going E4”
E4 was going slightly backwards to the Temple but was only a few minutes detour and besides, it gave a 'clean' route out to W4. The controller had it all figured out you see.
Me: “36 copy”, then having picked it up but lost the coffee, “36 36 (wait for controller again) POB going E4, W4”
Controller: “36, pick up Mo's going W2”.

And so on until there might be a dozen or more jobs on the boil, 10 hours a day, 5 days a week, 51 weeks a year. Rent had to be paid etc. etc. It was crucial to keep each job correctly prioritised, especially those initial pick ups, so they didn't get unduly delayed. Constant navigational calculations were made with the controller doing similar calculations trying to second guess your time, distance and efficiency. Our controller knew his stuff and sometimes there might be a dozen or more bikes each with 20 or so jobs in hand scattered thoughout greater London. With a radio you only hear the controller of course and you had to be careful not the let your transmit button get jammed down (easy with gloves on and ambient city noise drowning radio sound) or no one could call in or out making you unpopular and everyone else unprofitable for the day. I got quite a buzz from being part of this scene especially delivering so quickly often it took significantly longer for the package to get from their office to their reception than ride it Gray's Inn to the Temple. There was also something about being on the edge and part of the London buzz. A motorcyle was and is by far the fastest way, outside perhaps a police escort, and even they could be 'beaten', of getting something across London especially medical supplies or that life changing legal document.

If you were lucky you’d get return jobs from outer London back to centre, this meant either riding slow (somewhat relative) enough on the return to pick up those profitable return jobs or hoofing it to the central Hub. The controller of course knows exactly how long it takes to get anywhere so your timing had to be good. By this time the now industrial grade A to Z was becoming ornamental aside from the odd trick place and my knowledge of moving through the streets had dramatically improved. It was actually more profitable doing lots of inner city jobs than a distance number with no return. Much of our work involved Lincolns Inn, the City, W1, Clerkenwell, Cheapside and The Temple with their myriad of passageways and local knowledge. I enjoyed being busy here. The traffic was assertive, knew what it was doing and there were so many short cuts one hardly ever got jammed up. It was also easy to have 30 or more jobs on board and knock them off within an hour or so.
to be continued ]]> cheshirecat https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/entry.php/717-Adventures-of-a-London-Despatch-Rider-Part-Two Adventures of a London Despatch Rider - Part One https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/entry.php/701-Adventures-of-a-London-Despatch-Rider-Part-One Wed, 11 Mar 2009 08:02:25 GMT During the late 1980’s I became a despatch rider in London. Motorcycling is always with you and after not havig riden for several years the urge, as they say, returned. More on a wim than reason, I popped into a local motorcycle dealer in Clapham. Everything had pushed the hyperspace button.... During the late 1980’s I became a despatch rider in London.

Motorcycling is always with you and after not havig riden for several years the urge, as they say, returned. More on a wim than reason, I popped into a local motorcycle dealer in Clapham. Everything had pushed the hyperspace button. Bikes looked either as if they'd just come off the Klingon track or about to enter the Paris Dakar. Playing on familiar and hopefully safe ground, I looked for Honda’s, having had six of them by some strange quirks of fate and spotted a likely candidate up on a stand sparkling in red and blue livery with a full sports fairing. The handlebar’s weren’t too low and the bike fitted like a glove. My previous bike was the Honda CBX1000, a six cylinder effort, happy on the perfectly flat straights but somewhat squiggley on anything remotely resembling a corner. I was 'seen off' on it once by a nun driving a 2CV along a very bumpy, road full of right angled turns in France. The potential replacement seemed a bit small but then my desires had changed, nun chasing was out now and I had to start again somewhere just to reaccustom with bikes. Besides if it didn't work out it could always be sold couldn't it?

One lady owner, 3500 miles. 3500 pounds cash, The salesman seemed happy, a bit too happy on reflection. It was 1987, the bike was a 1986 VF500 and what I didn’t know was the debacle around it’s bigger brother the VF750 which put Honda right on the line and killed the market for not only for their V4's but everyone else's as well. Honda pulled the VF500 in 1986 after only three years of production so this was the last of the run. What I also didn’t know was this Honda, my 7th (and number 7 is a hard number psycologically) was to be put through the toughest test of all my bikes, a test lasting for over three years.

1987 was the great stockmarket crash and film work became harder to find, so I looked for jobs providing the flexibility of freelance work. Not surprisingly despatch riding became an immediate (and soon only) option, The job looked reasonably easy and anyway, it seemed an obvious choice, I had a bike, had bikes for years, ridden all over Europe and lived in London, surely I could do it? There were a few adverts in the motorcycle rags and I called one, “no experience necessary” they said, “come in” they said. I went in. The company was situated some where in a North London yard accessed by a slippery cobble stone muddy road embedded with old tram lines. It was raining. I slipped and slithered in, my confidence not helped by a despatch rider exiting seemingly totally oblivious to the surface. They gave me a cursory knowledge test, explained the radio and general procedure and that was it, ride out and listen for your call sign. Except that you couldn’t. All that could be heard was ‘squelsh crackle’ with the occasional garbled word or two. After too short a time span I thought I heard my call sign. “Squelsh crackle squelsh . . 87 87”. “87” I replied. “ Squelsh '. . 7 crackle, ..up 3 's4nvcx 8 ?sckisxft street N1 going some . .ng 4”, crackle crackle crackle – silence.

After a bit without querying the very patient controller too much, I deciphered all the info and wrote it in the virgin clipboard. Now it’s still raining and so obviously everything got a little wet. Checking my pocket A to Z, which also collected some London H2O in the process, I was off; the first job. Three hours later and 3 jobs. Now when it rains in London not only do you get The Eternal Rain, a supposed gift from Above; but also The Spray, an clever after thought from Below. Within seemingly minutes everything was soaking; me, the A to Z, the clipboard, inside the bag, gloves, boots, inside the visor, down the back of my neck - the day had barely started. There was another 10 hours of it yet. It rained every day that week, and every day I came home soaked, stiff, encrusted in grunge that went right up inside my nostrals and down my throat into my lungs, disgruntled and cold. I completed barely 17 jobs and must have been the slowest rider ever. All the jobs were North East London, an area completely foreign to me and I had barely cleared 100 pounds. Something had to change, I was going backwards. Looking around I found a company based in Oxford Street and was accepted. I thiink they must have figured a saturated dripping wet biker must at least be consistant or they wanted me out of the office before my pools of water shorted their radios. This was much better though, I was at home in the West End, it had stopped raining and the initial shock had worn off. Someone once said London averaged 65 days of rain a year which comes down to once every six days - Hmm. I was also starting to get into a rhythm through traffic becoming more relaxed (relaxed being relative) and so less exhausted.

To be continued ]]> cheshirecat https://www.kiwibiker.co.nz/forums/entry.php/701-Adventures-of-a-London-Despatch-Rider-Part-One