I bought my first GS last tuesday, from a chap in Glasgow. It was a 5 hour journey up to see the bike, so I was going to struggle to walk away from it. But the photo's didn't lie. The bike was a beauty. With my extensive checklist from MattW I went over the bike, but apart from the usual flaking paint on the engine case, it was all in beautiful shape. I handed over £2400 in crisp £20 notes, and we shook hands on the deal.
First impressions of the bike - those handlebars, that riding position - it's like nothing else I have ridden. It's nippy too - I'm skipping away from the traffic lights like a newborn lamb.
So all my gear stowed in the big, but strangely awkward shaped system panniers and cavernous topbox, I'm heading out of Glasgow Northwest along the A82. Suburbs give way to rolling hills, then the shores of Loch Lomond, and the road drops from dual carriageway to twisting tarmac. I'm still a bit nervous about this bike, not sure how it is going to react, but slowly confidence grows, and with it the willingness to let it out a bit more. Out into the wilds - that switchback escarpment that marks the borders of the Highlands, and all of a sudden the mountains kick up, and you are looking at Glencoe. Stopped to take pictures a the spot we bivied years ago, with Buachaille Etive Mòr in the background. Now there is a smile on my face.
I'm following my handlebars, no plans, no schedule, just as I like it. After the mountain wilderness of Glencoe, the air changes, and there is a salt tang in the air, you realise that these are sea lochs. I see signposts to Fort William and my stomach is rumbling, so head for civilisation. It wont win any beauty prizes, but there is food to be had. Then I spot a trail running up Glen Nevis. It's a cracker, dropping to single track and taking you as far up into the mountains as you will get on a bike. Then back, found a good little campsite and set up for the night.
It was a cold night, but slept well and pleased to have a bag that is usually a bit too warm.
Woke up to find my water frozen and the bike looking good with its frosting.
Set off riding again, stopping for a full scottish breakfast along the way (careful - I nearly said full english!). Weather is improving, warmer and patch sunshine. At lunchtime I'm on the shores of Loch Ness, and I pull over near some castle for a cup of tea and a bite. Foolishly realise I didn't bring any water, so kicked myself got back the bike and turned the ignition. This is where the drama starts.
So my city bike is an old R80. Shabby, but great to work on, and I'm doing what might loosely be called a rolling restoration. But with a bike like mine, you get used to flat batteries. So I press the ignition button, and get a classic flat battery sound. The engine tries to turn over and fails. I'm annoyed, because a flat battery makes no sense, and there has been no warning of this. But nevertheless, I flag down a slight;y nervous southerner in a brand new mini cooper, and after hunting for ages to find its battery (its under a flap at the back of the engine) I wire up the jump leads. And then nothing. It's like I haven't connected things properly. Check, double check and check again. Same thing. The next chap to turn up is great. Shaun rode motorbikes around Oz years ago. He doesn't ride here, because the roads are too crowded (In Scotland? You should try London fella). He looks things over, says something about a solenoid that I don't understand, and suggests a bump start. I strip off all the panniers, and we push the bike up a hill. Its actually not that heavy with two of you. Jump on, second gear, clutch in and let it roll, clutch out and it springs back to life. Fortunately I catch myself before I put the side stand down, which cuts the engine.
I head off up the road, but I'm still confused thinking it is a flat battery. After a few miles I want to see if it has recharged, so I find an inordinately long hill, ride up, switch off the electrics and try to restart. Nothing again. Fortunately there is no problem bump starting on the long hill. But now I can't stop anywhere flat. It's a good job this is Scotland.
It becomes a bit worrying and stressful, and I am riding racking my brains as to what might be wrong as much as thinking where I am going or enjoying the views. And of coutse then the weather starts to change. The temperature drops, and the clouds loom, and the snow starts to fall. Curses. I'm low on petrol so I have to fill up with the engine running as I can't risk not being able to start it again. Another time I'll talk about how good the GS is in the cold. It has enough fairing to make a huge difference. Hand guards and heated grips all feel like luxury. But as it starts to get dark I am cold, fed up and struggling to know what to do. I'm going to have to stop somewhere, so I pull into Pitlochery, and find the biggest hill and park up in the sleet. Walking down into town I find a nice place to heat and munch on comfort food. They have wi-fi, so I think to post something incoherent on UKGSer, still convinced it is battery problems.
Twenty minutes later I check my phone, and there are three response already. Remarkable. NeilDD says "starter motor magnets". But that doesn't mean anything to me. I check the wiring as others suggest - that makes sense to me. But it all seems fine And I am tired, my brain isn't functioning and I am feeling pretty stuck. So I grap the necessaries in a rucksack and head off to find somewhere to stay the night. And I am starting to curse the guy who sold me the bike.
I mope for a few hours. But eventually when I check UKGSer there are a raft of replies and offers of help. Phone numbers, people offering parts . You know who you are but thank you to Canuck, Den, g.s.john, pedro, G.C. and to warmshed who spoke in words that my addled brain could understand. And unbeknownst to me GerrardWatts had posted something in the Scottish section informing folks of my plight. Ghiribizzo and Gerry and Voyager all offered replacement starter motors.
I took Gerry up on his offer, and arranged to head over to Glenshee the next morning. But the next morning comes, and wet roads mean that you can't get enough traction on the rear wheel to bump start a cold bike. I reach the bottom of the hill, and I am properly stuck now. I send a text to Gerry, and he replies 'Don't despair' which is exactly the right thing to say, because I was getting close.
Two hours later he rolls into the carpark (im not even sure I told him where I am) in his Thunderbird 2 (Land Rover), and sets about showing me how to swap a starter motor. 'It's not that hard' he says 'even I can do it'. And it really isn't. One bold and the cover is off, then two more holding the old one on (don't forget to disconnect the electrics - the starter motor is live)
Then reverse the process and you are done. Turn the key, hit the button and the old girl roars into life.
I'm more grateful to Gerry than I can express. But I'm tired and a but worn out. Its funny how mechanical problems take it out of you. I take photo's, I present Gerry with a ritual offering of Old Pulteney, we load up the bike and I am away again. Gerry escorts me out of town, and then waves Goodbye. What a gentleman.
The rest of my trip is rather without interest. Not that I didn't have a good time, but it lacked the drama of those first two days. Scotland is stunning, the GS behaved impeccably, I learned to overtake (and man, is it good at that) we rode though sun, wind, rain and snow. I forgacve the seller - it is a really lovely R1100GS, and he couldn't have known that the starter motor was on its way out. And I love that we could change it with a couple of allen keys by the side of the road.
And so eventually back over the border, for a final night in the beautiful Borrowdale valley, before the drag back down the M6 and home to London.
Does anyone else talk to themselves on long Motorway sections or is it just me? I ramble away to myself, and I found myself telling this story. And for me what is obviously most significant about this is the way the Scottish brethren of the UKGS clan rallied round a new member, and outsider and an unknown and were willing to offer time, parts, comfort and expertise for no other reason than they could, and that they believed that others would do the same for them. I'm told that the UKGS board can sometimes be argumentative, but this for me is evidence that there is something a bit special here.
Thank you to you all, and espacially to Gerrard Watts - but I have a feeling that if it hadn't been Gerry it would have been another one of you.
UKGS. International Rescue. Thunderbirds are Go.
First impressions of the bike - those handlebars, that riding position - it's like nothing else I have ridden. It's nippy too - I'm skipping away from the traffic lights like a newborn lamb.
So all my gear stowed in the big, but strangely awkward shaped system panniers and cavernous topbox, I'm heading out of Glasgow Northwest along the A82. Suburbs give way to rolling hills, then the shores of Loch Lomond, and the road drops from dual carriageway to twisting tarmac. I'm still a bit nervous about this bike, not sure how it is going to react, but slowly confidence grows, and with it the willingness to let it out a bit more. Out into the wilds - that switchback escarpment that marks the borders of the Highlands, and all of a sudden the mountains kick up, and you are looking at Glencoe. Stopped to take pictures a the spot we bivied years ago, with Buachaille Etive Mòr in the background. Now there is a smile on my face.
I'm following my handlebars, no plans, no schedule, just as I like it. After the mountain wilderness of Glencoe, the air changes, and there is a salt tang in the air, you realise that these are sea lochs. I see signposts to Fort William and my stomach is rumbling, so head for civilisation. It wont win any beauty prizes, but there is food to be had. Then I spot a trail running up Glen Nevis. It's a cracker, dropping to single track and taking you as far up into the mountains as you will get on a bike. Then back, found a good little campsite and set up for the night.
It was a cold night, but slept well and pleased to have a bag that is usually a bit too warm.
Woke up to find my water frozen and the bike looking good with its frosting.
Set off riding again, stopping for a full scottish breakfast along the way (careful - I nearly said full english!). Weather is improving, warmer and patch sunshine. At lunchtime I'm on the shores of Loch Ness, and I pull over near some castle for a cup of tea and a bite. Foolishly realise I didn't bring any water, so kicked myself got back the bike and turned the ignition. This is where the drama starts.
So my city bike is an old R80. Shabby, but great to work on, and I'm doing what might loosely be called a rolling restoration. But with a bike like mine, you get used to flat batteries. So I press the ignition button, and get a classic flat battery sound. The engine tries to turn over and fails. I'm annoyed, because a flat battery makes no sense, and there has been no warning of this. But nevertheless, I flag down a slight;y nervous southerner in a brand new mini cooper, and after hunting for ages to find its battery (its under a flap at the back of the engine) I wire up the jump leads. And then nothing. It's like I haven't connected things properly. Check, double check and check again. Same thing. The next chap to turn up is great. Shaun rode motorbikes around Oz years ago. He doesn't ride here, because the roads are too crowded (In Scotland? You should try London fella). He looks things over, says something about a solenoid that I don't understand, and suggests a bump start. I strip off all the panniers, and we push the bike up a hill. Its actually not that heavy with two of you. Jump on, second gear, clutch in and let it roll, clutch out and it springs back to life. Fortunately I catch myself before I put the side stand down, which cuts the engine.
I head off up the road, but I'm still confused thinking it is a flat battery. After a few miles I want to see if it has recharged, so I find an inordinately long hill, ride up, switch off the electrics and try to restart. Nothing again. Fortunately there is no problem bump starting on the long hill. But now I can't stop anywhere flat. It's a good job this is Scotland.
It becomes a bit worrying and stressful, and I am riding racking my brains as to what might be wrong as much as thinking where I am going or enjoying the views. And of coutse then the weather starts to change. The temperature drops, and the clouds loom, and the snow starts to fall. Curses. I'm low on petrol so I have to fill up with the engine running as I can't risk not being able to start it again. Another time I'll talk about how good the GS is in the cold. It has enough fairing to make a huge difference. Hand guards and heated grips all feel like luxury. But as it starts to get dark I am cold, fed up and struggling to know what to do. I'm going to have to stop somewhere, so I pull into Pitlochery, and find the biggest hill and park up in the sleet. Walking down into town I find a nice place to heat and munch on comfort food. They have wi-fi, so I think to post something incoherent on UKGSer, still convinced it is battery problems.
Twenty minutes later I check my phone, and there are three response already. Remarkable. NeilDD says "starter motor magnets". But that doesn't mean anything to me. I check the wiring as others suggest - that makes sense to me. But it all seems fine And I am tired, my brain isn't functioning and I am feeling pretty stuck. So I grap the necessaries in a rucksack and head off to find somewhere to stay the night. And I am starting to curse the guy who sold me the bike.
I mope for a few hours. But eventually when I check UKGSer there are a raft of replies and offers of help. Phone numbers, people offering parts . You know who you are but thank you to Canuck, Den, g.s.john, pedro, G.C. and to warmshed who spoke in words that my addled brain could understand. And unbeknownst to me GerrardWatts had posted something in the Scottish section informing folks of my plight. Ghiribizzo and Gerry and Voyager all offered replacement starter motors.
I took Gerry up on his offer, and arranged to head over to Glenshee the next morning. But the next morning comes, and wet roads mean that you can't get enough traction on the rear wheel to bump start a cold bike. I reach the bottom of the hill, and I am properly stuck now. I send a text to Gerry, and he replies 'Don't despair' which is exactly the right thing to say, because I was getting close.
Two hours later he rolls into the carpark (im not even sure I told him where I am) in his Thunderbird 2 (Land Rover), and sets about showing me how to swap a starter motor. 'It's not that hard' he says 'even I can do it'. And it really isn't. One bold and the cover is off, then two more holding the old one on (don't forget to disconnect the electrics - the starter motor is live)
Then reverse the process and you are done. Turn the key, hit the button and the old girl roars into life.
I'm more grateful to Gerry than I can express. But I'm tired and a but worn out. Its funny how mechanical problems take it out of you. I take photo's, I present Gerry with a ritual offering of Old Pulteney, we load up the bike and I am away again. Gerry escorts me out of town, and then waves Goodbye. What a gentleman.
The rest of my trip is rather without interest. Not that I didn't have a good time, but it lacked the drama of those first two days. Scotland is stunning, the GS behaved impeccably, I learned to overtake (and man, is it good at that) we rode though sun, wind, rain and snow. I forgacve the seller - it is a really lovely R1100GS, and he couldn't have known that the starter motor was on its way out. And I love that we could change it with a couple of allen keys by the side of the road.
And so eventually back over the border, for a final night in the beautiful Borrowdale valley, before the drag back down the M6 and home to London.
Does anyone else talk to themselves on long Motorway sections or is it just me? I ramble away to myself, and I found myself telling this story. And for me what is obviously most significant about this is the way the Scottish brethren of the UKGS clan rallied round a new member, and outsider and an unknown and were willing to offer time, parts, comfort and expertise for no other reason than they could, and that they believed that others would do the same for them. I'm told that the UKGS board can sometimes be argumentative, but this for me is evidence that there is something a bit special here.
Thank you to you all, and espacially to Gerrard Watts - but I have a feeling that if it hadn't been Gerry it would have been another one of you.
UKGS. International Rescue. Thunderbirds are Go.
