Brilliant. Again. Your world is very different to mine, while still being the same. Thank you for the insight into your version.
Farewell Tour
- Thread starter monkeyboy
- Start date
Top reports Monkeyboy, you're made of sterner stuff than me! If this is indeed the Farewell Tour, Thank You so much for this, and all the previous inspirational reports.
Katy, my Tiger's keeping an eye out for you
Katy, my Tiger's keeping an eye out for you
Top reports Monkeyboy, you're made of sterner stuff than me! If this is indeed the Farewell Tour, Thank You so much for this, and all the previous inspirational reports.
Katy, my Tiger's keeping an eye out for you
I’ll admit I’m down, but I’m definitely not outTop reports Monkeyboy, you're made of sterner stuff than me! If this is indeed the Farewell Tour, Thank You so much for this, and all the previous inspirational reports.
Katy, my Tiger's keeping an eye out for you
A masterpiece of creative writing 
I've really enjoyed your musings in all of your trip reports, Thanks again
I've really enjoyed your musings in all of your trip reports, Thanks again
I have yet to get to the end of your adventure, I have a satellite connection, not that Musk shite, just good old fashioned proper satellite with a metal dish and a metal satellite!
I read of your border issues and you have my curiosity, in that how in the fuck can you put up with that shit? I would rather be shot and dead than wait the hours that you did....I tried this out in Turkey and Egypt and I won.....I simply cannot wait and death is preferable in my opinion.
I look forward to your photo`s loading so that I can finish your epic trip.
I shall have to leave my computer switched on overnight to do this, as I live in a a rural place with only satellite for communications.
I read of your border issues and you have my curiosity, in that how in the fuck can you put up with that shit? I would rather be shot and dead than wait the hours that you did....I tried this out in Turkey and Egypt and I won.....I simply cannot wait and death is preferable in my opinion.
I look forward to your photo`s loading so that I can finish your epic trip.
I shall have to leave my computer switched on overnight to do this, as I live in a a rural place with only satellite for communications.
It’s not over yet…I have a big tub of salt. I have my wounds.
Time to rub..
Time to rub..
DO NOT EVER STOP MONKEYBOY
Today is a just normal day. Too normal. It would be so easy to just bank to the west, get in formation, join a big black road artery and head home, especially in The Twat's rapidly spiralling black mood, but he knows in his heart that this trip is almost certainly the final one he and his mate will do ever together. There is that word again. Final. They both know it. They don’t talk about it. But they both know.
And that makes a big difference to the usual Twat centric nature of this trip. He loves his mate. He went beyond a mate and a friend a long time ago. He’s been granted honorary family membership. So we’ll prolong this just a little while longer. My apologies.
Book a ferry, or 2, to Helsinki. The Twat gets the last place on one and his mate on another. Then a short ride through more thunder and lightning to Lahti and an old wooden house full of character and a rooms fully furnished with an extensive menu of lovely memories you can pick and take home with you. The huge stack of drying pine logs stacked in the basement providing a delicious fragrance on your way to the open shower shared with the other guests, any of whom could walk in at any moment. The way the light falls across the couch or the shapes in the wood on the ceiling. All the simple things that give unidentifiable feelings of pleasure in The Twat’s head. All to be carefully logged and shelved for reference in order to get through another episode of Easterners without committing suicide.
No internet. No data. They go manual and talk for hours over a salad bar takeaway from the local supermarket while listening to occasional polite applause from the leaves on the wind.
And that makes a big difference to the usual Twat centric nature of this trip. He loves his mate. He went beyond a mate and a friend a long time ago. He’s been granted honorary family membership. So we’ll prolong this just a little while longer. My apologies.
Book a ferry, or 2, to Helsinki. The Twat gets the last place on one and his mate on another. Then a short ride through more thunder and lightning to Lahti and an old wooden house full of character and a rooms fully furnished with an extensive menu of lovely memories you can pick and take home with you. The huge stack of drying pine logs stacked in the basement providing a delicious fragrance on your way to the open shower shared with the other guests, any of whom could walk in at any moment. The way the light falls across the couch or the shapes in the wood on the ceiling. All the simple things that give unidentifiable feelings of pleasure in The Twat’s head. All to be carefully logged and shelved for reference in order to get through another episode of Easterners without committing suicide.
No internet. No data. They go manual and talk for hours over a salad bar takeaway from the local supermarket while listening to occasional polite applause from the leaves on the wind.
It’s time. Time to slowly start coming to the surface and back where we started. But he must avoid The Bends. It has to be managed very carefully. The Twat is in a very fragile state. I've not seen him like this before TBH. He's keeps just looking down at the ground and stepping back from his eyes. Just retreating, rewinding, feeding himself some memory drugs to keep him sane. It's not nice to watch.
We visit the Finnish Ace Cafe. Probably nicer than the original in London if lacking a little historic rot, mould and damp. It’s now a Royal Enfield dealer too. I can see The Twat likes looking, but he knows what side his bread is buttered and that I’d pick my moment to leave him fucked and stranded if he as much as sat on one.
We visit the Finnish Ace Cafe. Probably nicer than the original in London if lacking a little historic rot, mould and damp. It’s now a Royal Enfield dealer too. I can see The Twat likes looking, but he knows what side his bread is buttered and that I’d pick my moment to leave him fucked and stranded if he as much as sat on one.
Before we leave a German couple are keen for a chat. They do have a bike but are in a camper. God only knows how that works. She”s at least 80% breasts. She must have to put one in each pannier when she rides pillion.
He and his mate sit round and make more plans, book ferries and head west through Finland. Finland where there used to be vikings but now where all the drivers are convinced their cars will spontaneously combust if they get to within 20kmh of any speed limit. I can’t remember being anywhere like it. All crawling about like metal slugs and really gripping my shit. I need to either canter, or gallop, not trot about at walking pace. Sometimes I can nearly detect any movement at all. And The Twat is fuming. His helmet is a boiling mass of rage and his mouth is a screaming stream of invectives, not that that is at all unusual.
It’s a dull day. In all honesty I find Finland a really dull country. I don’t know exactly why. It just is. The only thing they seem to excel at is roadside services. Jeeeeuss. Serve yourself big plates of the most delicious, fresh and healthy food and all for about 15€.
He and his mate sit round and make more plans, book ferries and head west through Finland. Finland where there used to be vikings but now where all the drivers are convinced their cars will spontaneously combust if they get to within 20kmh of any speed limit. I can’t remember being anywhere like it. All crawling about like metal slugs and really gripping my shit. I need to either canter, or gallop, not trot about at walking pace. Sometimes I can nearly detect any movement at all. And The Twat is fuming. His helmet is a boiling mass of rage and his mouth is a screaming stream of invectives, not that that is at all unusual.
It’s a dull day. In all honesty I find Finland a really dull country. I don’t know exactly why. It just is. The only thing they seem to excel at is roadside services. Jeeeeuss. Serve yourself big plates of the most delicious, fresh and healthy food and all for about 15€.
The “hotel” is a small flat in a building somewhere in Turku. We ring up to arrange to collect the keys and he thinks he’s rung a call centre selling insurance. Last night we had a Chinese woman trying to communicate with us, and tonight it’s, well, not a blue eyed blonde Scandinavian either. It’s the usual problem, he just cannot understand what they’re taking about. So he cuts the call and we ride to the booking address. Which, it turns out, is not the address of the flat. Call again. “Where are you?” “At the address” “you need to come to other address. I send message” put that in. It’s a few minutes away. Nobody there either. Call again. “You not listening. Can’t you read? I said car park of shop. Turn around. I can see you. You can’t read?” he turns around and there is a small non local gentleman on some waste ground behind a shop.
We ride to the gentleman and he’s still having a go. “Cont you read?” The Twat just tells him perhaps he should try putting the actual correct address or a coordinate on the listing. “We have several flats in these buildings. Can’t you read? You want me to cancel?” No mate. We want you to stop talking, give us the key, pour petrol in your pockets and strike a match on your fly. That’s what we want you to do. You ****.
But he’s still not having it. He’s obviously pissed at being questioned and sullenly gives them instructions before just fucking off. I’m not happy here. And I’m not happy with the small gentleman either. I don’t trust that little fucker one inch.
By the time they get to me the next morning they’re running late and they have a ferry to catch. But I have a problem. In the dead of night I head some footsteps, then a drill, then a sharp prick in my backside before seeing a small gentleman skulk off back into the dark. My rear tire has a brand new screw smack bang exactly in the middle of my back tyre and the tyre is flat. They connect his mate's arse to a pipe and into my tyre to blow it up. His mate has been bum belching like an Icelandic geyser all night and is walking around 0.001 seconds away from paining the town brown. But it’s the quickest way to get me to the docks.
The Twat has listened to me explain and without actually accusing the little **** directly he’s fucking bloody sure the inadequate cock has deliberately sabotaged me out of spite. The screw is brand new. The tyre is deflating so quickly that it could only have happened in the car park. It’s down to him. Even Brian thinks is suspicious. It’s JOT FUCKING SUSPICIOUS BRIAN. I’VE BEEN DRILED ANS SCREWED BY A SMALL GENTLEMAN COMPLETELY AGAINST MY WILL
We get on the ferry, they park me on the deck and leave me to slowly hiss my displeasure while they sit in the sun and watch the archipelago go by.
We’re breaking the journey at Mariehamn, one of the Finish islands. Taking a decompression stop. When it’s time to depart I’m flat again. They put in just enough to get me off and I limp to the hostel. Extract the screw and guess what? It’s a fucking brand new self tapping screw the likes of which someone who “manages several properties” would have handy for repairs. I’m going to send it for testing and ask them to check for any **** DNA. I’m betting it’s covered in it.
[
His mate has some demon puncture repair screws so I grip my teeth as they insert it into my wound. Give it an hour and I feel fine so we go for a ride round the island.
And it’s as just dull as the rest of Finland
We ride to the gentleman and he’s still having a go. “Cont you read?” The Twat just tells him perhaps he should try putting the actual correct address or a coordinate on the listing. “We have several flats in these buildings. Can’t you read? You want me to cancel?” No mate. We want you to stop talking, give us the key, pour petrol in your pockets and strike a match on your fly. That’s what we want you to do. You ****.
But he’s still not having it. He’s obviously pissed at being questioned and sullenly gives them instructions before just fucking off. I’m not happy here. And I’m not happy with the small gentleman either. I don’t trust that little fucker one inch.
By the time they get to me the next morning they’re running late and they have a ferry to catch. But I have a problem. In the dead of night I head some footsteps, then a drill, then a sharp prick in my backside before seeing a small gentleman skulk off back into the dark. My rear tire has a brand new screw smack bang exactly in the middle of my back tyre and the tyre is flat. They connect his mate's arse to a pipe and into my tyre to blow it up. His mate has been bum belching like an Icelandic geyser all night and is walking around 0.001 seconds away from paining the town brown. But it’s the quickest way to get me to the docks.
The Twat has listened to me explain and without actually accusing the little **** directly he’s fucking bloody sure the inadequate cock has deliberately sabotaged me out of spite. The screw is brand new. The tyre is deflating so quickly that it could only have happened in the car park. It’s down to him. Even Brian thinks is suspicious. It’s JOT FUCKING SUSPICIOUS BRIAN. I’VE BEEN DRILED ANS SCREWED BY A SMALL GENTLEMAN COMPLETELY AGAINST MY WILL
We get on the ferry, they park me on the deck and leave me to slowly hiss my displeasure while they sit in the sun and watch the archipelago go by.
We’re breaking the journey at Mariehamn, one of the Finish islands. Taking a decompression stop. When it’s time to depart I’m flat again. They put in just enough to get me off and I limp to the hostel. Extract the screw and guess what? It’s a fucking brand new self tapping screw the likes of which someone who “manages several properties” would have handy for repairs. I’m going to send it for testing and ask them to check for any **** DNA. I’m betting it’s covered in it.
[
His mate has some demon puncture repair screws so I grip my teeth as they insert it into my wound. Give it an hour and I feel fine so we go for a ride round the island.
And it’s as just dull as the rest of Finland
The Twat is thinking he was a little harsh on Finland yesterday. He has, as I reminded him, been to Norfolk.
So he took me for a bit of a photoshoot in the low morning light. I love the cool fresh air in my lungs. And I love to see the water too, which is quite strange for a woman whose first go at swimming would definitely be her last. I’ll miss this. I’ll miss these moments just purring and posing in the middle of some far off road. I’ll miss it all. And remember ladies, we all need a bit of filtering as we grow older
So he took me for a bit of a photoshoot in the low morning light. I love the cool fresh air in my lungs. And I love to see the water too, which is quite strange for a woman whose first go at swimming would definitely be her last. I’ll miss this. I’ll miss these moments just purring and posing in the middle of some far off road. I’ll miss it all. And remember ladies, we all need a bit of filtering as we grow older
And we both love a nice bus stop too. I can’t remember seeing one quite like this before either.
Hopefully The Twat can drag his mood out the gutter today and remind himself what this trip is all about. Remind himself where he is and maybe turn the petulance down a bit. I really do think he needs to ride under the subliminal threat of arrest, torture, interrogation and internment in order to feel alive sometimes. But if anything did actually happen he would shit his nappy and cry like a baby.
As we’re leaving we get taking to a couple from Nepal. He works in Macao and she is training to be a nurse in Finland. More souls crossing paths. More memories shared. Another scribble on the helmet. Another normal day on the road.
We’re waiting watching the ferry back into the dock. The moment it stops we’re told to just ride on immediately. “But it’s not tied up” cries The Twat. “Suction” days the bloke. Amazing. They have a row of big yellow machines with giant suckers holding the ship tight. Amazing.
Then another 6 hours on a ferry to Stockholm. Fuck there is some serious money round here
. The Swedish islands are much more populous than Finland’s it seems, and much more attractive too. It’s a proper rich man’s playground from what he can see.
Hopefully The Twat can drag his mood out the gutter today and remind himself what this trip is all about. Remind himself where he is and maybe turn the petulance down a bit. I really do think he needs to ride under the subliminal threat of arrest, torture, interrogation and internment in order to feel alive sometimes. But if anything did actually happen he would shit his nappy and cry like a baby.
As we’re leaving we get taking to a couple from Nepal. He works in Macao and she is training to be a nurse in Finland. More souls crossing paths. More memories shared. Another scribble on the helmet. Another normal day on the road.
We’re waiting watching the ferry back into the dock. The moment it stops we’re told to just ride on immediately. “But it’s not tied up” cries The Twat. “Suction” days the bloke. Amazing. They have a row of big yellow machines with giant suckers holding the ship tight. Amazing.
Then another 6 hours on a ferry to Stockholm. Fuck there is some serious money round here
. The Swedish islands are much more populous than Finland’s it seems, and much more attractive too. It’s a proper rich man’s playground from what he can see.
Stockholm. Another decompression stop. Another delay in the inevitable. It looks like we’ll all be back having only been away a month. The Twat is desperately searching for positives. He’s looking everywhere but he’s coming up short. His adventure gauge is reading a dead, flat, zero. And his heartbeat is heading the same way.
A night’s sleep hasn’t softened The Twat’s mood. They’re off to spend a few hours in Stockholm. They’re the last out the hotel. The face drawer only has one left. “Petulant, spoilt, bored, arrogant, extra cunty and a super sized portion of The Arse”. He tries it on. It fits perfectly.
The receptionist, an Estonian, warned them as they left that “Swedish people are so boring”. But he was too bored to ask her why.
A train into the centre which they mistakenly vacated a stop early and a long hot walk from anything interesting, which raised his mood, from 0 to 0.0.
Even photographic inspiration deserted him. He just loves it when that happens. Time for tat and tea. The tat is some uber nasty magnets and the tea is an oasis seemingly ignored by the relentless tide of hot humanity flowing through the streets of the old town. Better to sit and watch it rather than try to swim through it.
A night’s sleep hasn’t softened The Twat’s mood. They’re off to spend a few hours in Stockholm. They’re the last out the hotel. The face drawer only has one left. “Petulant, spoilt, bored, arrogant, extra cunty and a super sized portion of The Arse”. He tries it on. It fits perfectly.
The receptionist, an Estonian, warned them as they left that “Swedish people are so boring”. But he was too bored to ask her why.
A train into the centre which they mistakenly vacated a stop early and a long hot walk from anything interesting, which raised his mood, from 0 to 0.0.
Even photographic inspiration deserted him. He just loves it when that happens. Time for tat and tea. The tat is some uber nasty magnets and the tea is an oasis seemingly ignored by the relentless tide of hot humanity flowing through the streets of the old town. Better to sit and watch it rather than try to swim through it.
An hour pacing the streets and a train back to sit somewhere quiet and out of human contact. The Twat feels like he’s in a paddling pool wearing a rubber ring and armbands. His twisted mind doesn’t equate comfort and security with peace of mind. There is never any peace in his mind. He needs sticks that he can through to the dogs running about in his head, something to stop them barking. He needs to feel like he’s been dropped into deep water wearing a pair of lead swimming trunks and a gimp mask. He needs problems and to make plans to solve them. IF he’s not careful he’ll start trying to make problems. I’ve already caught him once trying to put a fork into his bloody rubber ring.
But if you meet him, don’t for fuck sake ever offer any sympathy, or help, or condolences on his failed objectives. Torment him instead. Feed his dogs. Watch him eat himself alive. It’s exactly what he needs.
Anyway, I’ve had a lovely day sitting out on the sunshine thanks for asking. TBH I’m getting a bit tired of The Twat’s dark moods. He and I are some of the luckiest people on earth. Gifted incredible opportunities and the time and money to take them up. Hopefully he’ll get it eventually. Probably just as he walks out the final door.
It’s a beautiful day. A perfect riding day. A simple, fast route and a chance to sink behind the eyes and just think. He’s been riding long enough now to just let me autopilot and take control. If I hear the dogs barking I give him something else to think about. Maybe a slight hesitation in my throttle, a delay in the brakes, an almost imperceptible reluctance to accelerate, or my trip favourite, a quick slip of the clutch. That’ll keep him occupied for hours.
They stop to fill me up. £1.23 a litre. On the motorway. Who would ever thought Sweden would be cheaper than 
? It doesn’t seem expensive at all now. Just normal. He gets talking to a Swede and her husband. She’s a journalist and goes all in berating the state her country is in. He heard exactly the same in Finland. She thinks that reality and the propaganda fed by her government are now completely unrelated. Sounds familiar.
Still, she gently handles his helmet with her soft old hands and writes her name in beautiful handwriting. It stands out a mile.
Anyway, I’ve had a lovely day sitting out on the sunshine thanks for asking
. TBH I’m getting a bit tired of The Twat’s dark moods. He and I are some of the luckiest people on earth. Gifted incredible opportunities and the time and money to take them up. Hopefully he’ll get it eventually. Probably just as he walks out the final door.
It’s a beautiful day. A perfect riding day. A simple, fast route and a chance to sink behind the eyes and just think. He’s been riding long enough now to just let me autopilot and take control. If I hear the dogs barking I give him something else to think about. Maybe a slight hesitation in my throttle, a delay in the brakes, an almost imperceptible reluctance to accelerate, or my trip favourite, a quick slip of the clutch
. That’ll keep him occupied for hours. They stop to fill me up. £1.23 a litre. On the motorway
. Who would ever thought Sweden would be cheaper than ? It doesn’t seem expensive at all now. Just normal. He gets talking to a Swede and her husband. She’s a journalist and goes all in berating the state her country is in. He heard exactly the same in Finland. She thinks that reality and the propaganda fed by her government are now completely unrelated. Sounds familiar.Still, she gently handles his helmet with her soft old hands and writes her name in beautiful handwriting. It stands out a mile.
This trip has been easy for me. I’ve not been smashed and bruised and thrown down into the dirt. I’ve not been suffocated in clouds of black smoke or had to drink fuel with less potency than a Russian truck drivers blood. I’ve not been overloaded, abused or had to climb into the clouds desperately trying to breathe rarified air. I’ve just been trusted to just get on with the job. I’ve loved all of the above despite the pain and the tiredness, the long days and the journeys late into the night in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. I’ve enjoyed every single moment of every single day. Age has taken its toll for sure but there is a lot of life left in my old body yet. People look at me and scoff. I’ve heard then. Maybe it was you. But, like The Twat, I honestly don’t give a fuck. I wear my scars with pride. I don’t need a badge or a sticker. One look is enough to tell you I’m not normal.
Tonight we’re at an overpriced hotel in a town The Twat is convinced was assembled from an IKEA flat pack before they arrived, and will be disassembled and disappear again tomorrow. Someone just forgot to pack any soil or character.
You know, it’s been playing on my mind how The Twat was ogling those Royal Enfields the other day. He really needs to be taught a lesson. I’ll have to have a think.
He’s out early for a walk. The hotel was a sweat box and he’s left 50% of his body weight in the mattress. And he’s restless. He should still be in Russia according to him.
. But, like The Twat, I honestly don’t give a fuck. I wear my scars with pride. I don’t need a badge or a sticker. One look is enough to tell you I’m not normal. Tonight we’re at an overpriced hotel in a town The Twat is convinced was assembled from an IKEA flat pack before they arrived, and will be disassembled and disappear again tomorrow. Someone just forgot to pack any soil or character.
You know, it’s been playing on my mind how The Twat was ogling those Royal Enfields the other day. He really needs to be taught a lesson. I’ll have to have a think.
He’s out early for a walk. The hotel was a sweat box and he’s left 50% of his body weight in the mattress. And he’s restless. He should still be in Russia according to him.
We’re all off to Lund to see his mate's old friend. They’ve known each other for centuries and they both still ride and meet on the road. He leaves early and the Twat stays to wait for a tat shop to open so he can buy lots of stuff for his wife to immediately throw away.
It’s only about 150 miles. I’m sure i can have some fun. The Twat is counting his chickens. He knows never ever ever to count his chickens. It’s the No.1 rule. It can’t go unpunished. We’re about 40km out and he’s just counting his last chicken. Let’s see how you deal with this then mate. I wait until we’re on a motorway equidistant between fuel stations and I give him a hit of a twerk with my hips. I feel his arse tense and grab the seat as he slows down to the kerb. So, what do recon has happened here then mate?
The rear tyre is flat. He’s looking for the puncture fix, putting spit on it, but there aren’t any bubbles. You’re not even warm mate
15km more and it’s flat again. He still can’t work it out. Puts the pump on, it’s not pumping up very fast at all but with all the traffic noise it’s difficult to hear what’s wrong. Well think then you Twat. THINK.
Another 10 and it’s flat again. Pump it up but it sounds like the pump is not connected properly and the air is leaking. Then the pump overheats and stops. Which is perfect.
It’s 4 km to the next garage, which is under construction, of course it is, and doesn’t have an airline, because of course it doesn’t. Limp to the next a couple more km on. It’s unmanned, because why would it be, and it hasn’t got an airline, because it was designed by a ****.
The pump has woken up but is very unwell, and then as The Twat is lying on the floor connecting it he can see exactly what’s occurred. Before our last trip he had my wheels professionally converted at great personal expense to be tubeless. But, the whole valve stem has come through the rim and is no longer sealing. It’s pissing out most of the air he’s trying to put in.
That thick rubber washer should be INSIDE the rim stopping the air coming out
He knows what he needs to do but it’s a difficult job and not one he wants to do here so we very carefully ride on towards the house where his mate and his friend are. 8km away. Flat again. It’s almost impossible to get air in without holding the valve very carefully and pressing it against the rim. It takes ages to even get a few psi in. 4.5km away. Flat. The pump is fucked off with all this now and is really wheezing badly. We can only do 1.5km and we’re flat again. His mate comes out with his pump and gets just enough in to get me the 3km to the house. Excellent. That’s the easy bit dome
Now the hard bit. The tyre has to come off. A real bitch of a job. I did warn him not to look at those Enfields
Tyre off he can see that the sealed section inside the rim has been blown all to fuck by trying to inflate it with the seal gone. All he can do it wrap gaffer tape around it to make it flat so it doesn’t damage the tube.
It’s only about 150 miles. I’m sure i can have some fun. The Twat is counting his chickens. He knows never ever ever to count his chickens. It’s the No.1 rule. It can’t go unpunished. We’re about 40km out and he’s just counting his last chicken. Let’s see how you deal with this then mate. I wait until we’re on a motorway equidistant between fuel stations and I give him a hit of a twerk with my hips. I feel his arse tense and grab the seat as he slows down to the kerb. So, what do recon has happened here then mate?
The rear tyre is flat. He’s looking for the puncture fix, putting spit on it, but there aren’t any bubbles. You’re not even warm mate
15km more and it’s flat again. He still can’t work it out. Puts the pump on, it’s not pumping up very fast at all but with all the traffic noise it’s difficult to hear what’s wrong. Well think then you Twat. THINK.
Another 10 and it’s flat again. Pump it up but it sounds like the pump is not connected properly and the air is leaking. Then the pump overheats and stops. Which is perfect.
It’s 4 km to the next garage, which is under construction, of course it is, and doesn’t have an airline, because of course it doesn’t. Limp to the next a couple more km on. It’s unmanned, because why would it be, and it hasn’t got an airline, because it was designed by a ****.
The pump has woken up but is very unwell, and then as The Twat is lying on the floor connecting it he can see exactly what’s occurred. Before our last trip he had my wheels professionally converted at great personal expense to be tubeless. But, the whole valve stem has come through the rim and is no longer sealing. It’s pissing out most of the air he’s trying to put in
. That thick rubber washer should be INSIDE the rim stopping the air coming out
He knows what he needs to do but it’s a difficult job and not one he wants to do here so we very carefully ride on towards the house where his mate and his friend are. 8km away. Flat again. It’s almost impossible to get air in without holding the valve very carefully and pressing it against the rim. It takes ages to even get a few psi in. 4.5km away. Flat. The pump is fucked off with all this now and is really wheezing badly. We can only do 1.5km and we’re flat again. His mate comes out with his pump and gets just enough in to get me the 3km to the house. Excellent. That’s the easy bit dome
Now the hard bit. The tyre has to come off. A real bitch of a job
. I did warn him not to look at those EnfieldsTyre off he can see that the sealed section inside the rim has been blown all to fuck by trying to inflate it with the seal gone. All he can do it wrap gaffer tape around it to make it flat so it doesn’t damage the tube.
Fit the tyre back on using loads of washing up liquid for lubrication then take it to an actual garage with an actual airline to put a million psi in to POP the tyre onto the rim and its job done. I feel a whole lot better now and The Twat has kept the dogs at bay for another few hours. It’s a win win
. I feel a whole lot better now and The Twat has kept the dogs at bay for another few hours. It’s a win win
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