Poor George 
George had been putting in long hours at work for the last seven days straight, and to boot, he'd been working on his house all night when he got in. He was tired and grumpy, and seriously fecked off with paneling his bath room
.
He'd lost his DIY MoJo and the idea of trying to cut fiddly fiddley bits around the sink was really doing his head in.
Every body else in the house was lazing about, even the dog didn't give a flying feck about life
George needed inspiration, he needed some fresh air and something to pep up his flagging va va voom. So he phoned his mate Darren.
After sweet talking Darrens wifey, Darren was given permission to come out to play with George.
But Lynn wasn't so impressed. She was pulling her hair out with no kitchen sink (a place George felt she should become more familiar with..) and told him he was being a slacker.
George politely reminded Lynn that she should love honour and obey ......
Even the dog was on his side....
George lived on the North Downs in the Garden of England.
He liked nothing better than a good old hoon down tiny B roads with grass gravel and moss. His favourite playground was the Kent Marsh, just half an hour from his door.
Here the landscape is very flat and fen like. Riding hard and fast here takes lots of concentration. It needs good scanning, planning, and is a brilliant place for keeping sharp and getting vision up and away from the front of a motorbike. After years and years of sportsbikes and track days, George had finally seen the light. Here was a place to really get yer rocks off, practice fast road riding, and all in the safety of not going to jail and not pissing off the local residents. George was not ashamed of the odd blatant plug
and often took his Rapid Training students to the marsh to improve their riding!!!!
He met up with his mate Darren.
Darren was a very capable rider (like George), He was also a Rozzer and was one of the bike instructors at work. Darren was a complete bike nut, forever entering enduro competitions and was a keen off roader. Even in TKC's Darren would probably whoop the ass of a sports bike rider 
George and Darren hit the Marsh. George thought about taking some photos of the marsh proper for his online friends, but was having too much fun to stop. Pause for a photo now?? Jeez, this is the vinegar strokes of motorcycling, Ha! no photos of this bit!!!.....
.
.
After a good hours work-out, George and Darren went their seperate ways, and thorougherly re-vitalised, george wound his way home.
He took a few roads he wasn't to familiar with and surprise surprise, he came across a by-way.
'Oooooo', thought George 'That's gotta be worth a try'... so undeterred with his 80/20 road tyres he pressed his fancy electronic suspension button, morphed his brilliant 1200 into off road mode, and chuckled to himself thinking about all those poor 1150 owners whilst the clever bike did it's stuff.
A small leafy climb with the traction control off and George was soon on his way.
George's pet hate was FECKING RUTTS!!!! With his heavey 1200 and a tank that was 2/3 full he screamed like a girl in his helmet as he desperately tried to look ahead and not at the floor..
The muddy bits were also a test of bottle on his TR91 tyres, but 'What the feck' he thought, - 'In for a penny, in for a pound'....
After a mile or two, George spat himself out onto yet another tiny b road...
George was in heaven, he'd been there, seen it, and done the sports bike stuff, and whilst, of course, he'd have an S1000RR in his garage if he could afford it, this was now home. There was no better feeling than playing that fast game of chess on nadgery back roads where an overcooked corner is a disaster waiting to happen, and a gravelly corner is a supermoto style light up the rear tyre, traction control off and the odd wheelie over a rise in the road...
George marvelled with his TR91's. Here is a bloody good tyre. More than capable on tarmac to put in some serious corner speed, and as hard as he tried, this tyre gripped and gripped on a fist full of gas out of a bend.
..and to boot, it'll gingerly take you down a by-way if you get the urge.
When George got home, Lynn was keen that he got back to his work.
Grateful for the couple of hours away from D..I fecking Y, he pushed on with the fiddly bits with renewed vigour.
..then told his new wife to fecking clean up if she knew what was good for her ...
...while he poured his first Gin of the evening..
George had been putting in long hours at work for the last seven days straight, and to boot, he'd been working on his house all night when he got in. He was tired and grumpy, and seriously fecked off with paneling his bath room
.
He'd lost his DIY MoJo and the idea of trying to cut fiddly fiddley bits around the sink was really doing his head in.
Every body else in the house was lazing about, even the dog didn't give a flying feck about life
George needed inspiration, he needed some fresh air and something to pep up his flagging va va voom. So he phoned his mate Darren.
After sweet talking Darrens wifey, Darren was given permission to come out to play with George.
But Lynn wasn't so impressed. She was pulling her hair out with no kitchen sink (a place George felt she should become more familiar with..) and told him he was being a slacker.
George politely reminded Lynn that she should love honour and obey ......
Even the dog was on his side....
George lived on the North Downs in the Garden of England.
He liked nothing better than a good old hoon down tiny B roads with grass gravel and moss. His favourite playground was the Kent Marsh, just half an hour from his door.
Here the landscape is very flat and fen like. Riding hard and fast here takes lots of concentration. It needs good scanning, planning, and is a brilliant place for keeping sharp and getting vision up and away from the front of a motorbike. After years and years of sportsbikes and track days, George had finally seen the light. Here was a place to really get yer rocks off, practice fast road riding, and all in the safety of not going to jail and not pissing off the local residents. George was not ashamed of the odd blatant plug
and often took his Rapid Training students to the marsh to improve their riding!!!!He met up with his mate Darren.
Darren was a very capable rider (like George
), He was also a Rozzer and was one of the bike instructors at work. Darren was a complete bike nut, forever entering enduro competitions and was a keen off roader. Even in TKC's Darren would probably whoop the ass of a sports bike rider George and Darren hit the Marsh. George thought about taking some photos of the marsh proper for his online friends, but was having too much fun to stop. Pause for a photo now?? Jeez, this is the vinegar strokes of motorcycling, Ha! no photos of this bit!!!.....
.
.
After a good hours work-out, George and Darren went their seperate ways, and thorougherly re-vitalised, george wound his way home.
He took a few roads he wasn't to familiar with and surprise surprise, he came across a by-way.
'Oooooo', thought George 'That's gotta be worth a try'... so undeterred with his 80/20 road tyres he pressed his fancy electronic suspension button, morphed his brilliant 1200 into off road mode, and chuckled to himself thinking about all those poor 1150 owners whilst the clever bike did it's stuff.
A small leafy climb with the traction control off and George was soon on his way.
George's pet hate was FECKING RUTTS!!!! With his heavey 1200 and a tank that was 2/3 full he screamed like a girl in his helmet as he desperately tried to look ahead and not at the floor..
The muddy bits were also a test of bottle on his TR91 tyres, but 'What the feck' he thought, - 'In for a penny, in for a pound'....
After a mile or two, George spat himself out onto yet another tiny b road...
George was in heaven, he'd been there, seen it, and done the sports bike stuff, and whilst, of course, he'd have an S1000RR in his garage if he could afford it, this was now home. There was no better feeling than playing that fast game of chess on nadgery back roads where an overcooked corner is a disaster waiting to happen, and a gravelly corner is a supermoto style light up the rear tyre, traction control off and the odd wheelie over a rise in the road...
George marvelled with his TR91's. Here is a bloody good tyre. More than capable on tarmac to put in some serious corner speed, and as hard as he tried, this tyre gripped and gripped on a fist full of gas out of a bend.
..and to boot, it'll gingerly take you down a by-way if you get the urge.
When George got home, Lynn was keen that he got back to his work.
Grateful for the couple of hours away from D..I fecking Y, he pushed on with the fiddly bits with renewed vigour.
..then told his new wife to fecking clean up if she knew what was good for her ...
...while he poured his first Gin of the evening..
