Alexe's Story - the reply

How the Tiger crash bars got road-tested...

Subject: No Boring Roads in New Zealand

reply to 'Alexe's Story' John rode the Tiger half the night to catch up with us, and had a *very* interesting ride - but I will let *him* tell you all about that.

Errr, Gee, thanks Alex. OK, Where do I start?

Firstly, you need to know that Alex was on our first motorcycle tour for 1998, riding one of our 97 Tigers. It was one of those days where nothing goes right.
Just as Alex was about to ride off on the longest ride of the tour from Mt Cook to Hokitika, I gave his tyres a quick check (with a precision kick - I'd already checked them earlier in the morning with a gauge and they were fine) and noticed the rear was almost dead flat. So I tell him heds better get off while I fix the puncture.

Wrong.
Turns out what I thought was a puncture turned out to be the valve nozzle torn out of the tube. So my puncture kit was a fat lot of good wasn't it? We tried repairing it MacGyver style with a rubber patch, some Loctite Rubber Superglue and some lark's vomit but no, there was to be more filling than usual today in life's s#*t sandwich.
No spare tube (lots of patches though!), so we quickly determined that time was running out. The only hope was to courier a tube from Ashburton on the East coast, but the courier wouldn't be there 'till 5.30pm (and it was to be a 5-6 hour ride to Hokitika). So, Alex kindly offers to run off with my wife in my van with my Doris my dog, , ( he was good enough to leave me my wallet) and threw me the keys to the Tiger and was gone without so much as a "So long, Sucker" or a "Bye your leave." So I sat in Mt Cook waiting for 5.30pm and spent my time trying to catch the eye of one of the cute little Japanese things that were stumbling around the hotel in their micro-mini skirts and high platform shoes, but I think I just scared them (last time I was in Japan the kids nicknamed me Guido-san after the Gatekeeper in one of those Dungeon & Dragon type games). Whatever, the day was progressing the same way it started. Finally 5.30pm rolled around and the courier turns up with said inner tube. To my surprise, he's brought the right one, and I fit it in record time, and fit the wheel to the bike.
The Mt Cook maintenance crew still can't believe I'm going to try to ride over Arthur's Pass in the middle of the night, and firmly convinced I'm going to die, they dragged me into the staff dining room for my Last Supper. Excellent it was too - pork chops, lamb chops, steak and steamed vegetables, and something they all refused to eat that they called a "Eurosausage" on account of it's teutonic origins. Mississippi Mud Pie and chocolate ice cream followed.
Eat your heart out Alex - you may have had my wife, my van and my dog, but I had YOUR desert. Anyway, as I finished up, I asked the guys at the table where I could get some gas in Mt Cook, as Alex had kindly informed me the Tigger was out of gas. Long serious faces, lots of muttering and shaking of heads, then they warn me under no circumstances should I buy fuel at the station down the road.
"It's full of rust and water mate - y' won't get five bloody miles".
Marvellous. I rang the place in Hokitika where we were supposed to be staying and the guy there tells me " No worries - if you're any sort of rider you'll do it in 4.5 hours - I do it in that in my car".
Red rag to a bull. Why did he have to say that? So full of optimism I set off for Twizel 70km away at 30 km/hr. I was convinced I'd never make it, but somehow I did. It took a while, I can tell you.
On the way, ( I had lots of time to think, you see) I worked out that all the fuel stations across Arthur's would be closed and it was a 500km trip. At Twizel I fill the Tiger to the brim and eyed up a 2 gal plastic jerry can and considered strapping it to the bike.
" No, silly bloody idea" I thought.
"Imagine if you came off. Or the plastic container splits. Or something equally horrible".
So I decided to "hope" I could find some idiot to open his gas station in the middle of the night. By now I was seriously behind time and the 4.5 hour challenge was looking impossible - I'd only covered 70 km in about 1.25 hours.
So I opened the taps (unlike the Pass itself, the roads leading to the pass are pretty straight) and mindful of my last experience with a radar trap on that self same Tiger, I set off at 149.5km/hr (150km/hr is instant loss of licence, while at 149 they only bill you a sum the equivalent of the GDP of a small pacific nation).
I reached the last available open gas station at Geraldine, where I amused them greatly by asking where I could get fuel in The Pass at midnight. To hell with caution, "you'll never fall off - you haven't fallen off a road bike since, oh, '79." So I bought a 25 litre (5.5 imperial gallons) plastic jerry can and used those wonderful tiedowns that Triumphs come tied in the crate with (us dealers flog 'em all) to fix it to the Givi top box rack, filled up again and set off into the night at Warp 9.
Straight roads, no problem.
Zoom. At Vallettae there is a marvellous left hand banked curve that turns through about 120 degrees - I know it like the back of my hand so I hardly even rolled the throttle off.
Sideways.
Oops.
Try again.
Big slide again.
Try the brakes.
Front slides instantly.
Getting worried now as I was rapidly starting to spear across the road.
I could hear the freshly laid gravel that the moronic roading engineers lay on melting tar rattling off the bash plate.
I tried leaning it a little again, but I could feel the bike starting to begin to slide again and it was about then that it hit me.I remember lecturing Pat and Alex about watching out for loose grit on corners following hot days -normally there are warning signs out, but not this time. Did I mention that I was about to turn 42 in about 2 hours time? It suddenly struck me - "What a marvellous time to run an Immortality Check and see if I'm still in favour with The Gods - just two hours before my 42nd birthday".

Also Alex had expressed admiration at the crash bars we had made up for the Tiger and I thought I could test those at the same time. (bet you wondered when we were going to get to this bit, dincha.?) So I stood the bike up and speared off into the grass, over a 2 foot bank and into a hay paddock at about 100km/hr (60mph).I nearly made it, but the steering oscillations got bigger and bigger and I realised the "hurty" bit was coming up.
"Bugger this -I'm jumping off" I thought then "What am I going to tell Alex?", but before I could think another thought the whole plot went down and we slid gracefully on our side cutting a 30 metre swathe through the long grass. When we stopped I realised I was trapped under the bike by my left foot, then remembered the gas can.
I can report I easily pressed the 230kg Tiger off my foot, given that motivation. I wasn't hurt at all, not even a bruise or scratch, so I figured I had passed my Immortality Test.
I flagged down a couple of local lads who helped me up with the bike. Other than being covered in long grass, I hadn't even broken an indicator lens, or scratched the paint - not even off the crash bars. I didn't even get grass stains on the rainsuit pants I'd borrowed from Alex.

Amazing. The crash bars had taken all the load and totally protected the bike.
I was still laughing as I continued on my way at 149.5km/hr. The hell with caution - I had a challenge to beat. After that, Arthur's and it's hairpins in the clouds were a doddle.
But half way down the other side, on the West Coast side, I kid you not, I came upon a pair of half naked women walking in the middle of the road, 50 kms from anywhere.
There was this big fat Maori woman with a face that looked like that could have been used as mould for making Gorilla biscuits standing in the middle of the road in just a pair of panties and a bra and bleeding from cuts and scrapes. It looked like she's been raped or something, so I slowed and pulled over beside her and asked if she was alright.
"Dip your f%#*">f%#@*&g lights you c*&t and f#@k" off, you bastard" she yells.
So, fearing she might try and kiss me, I did.
As I began to ride off I came across a much tastier looking European girl, also scantily clad in a pair of men's overalls torn open to the waist, chasing after the other one.
Round about then I figured they'd had a punch up or something. I figured it must be some sort of a "woman thing" and knowing that us men don't want to mess with that, I scampered off into the night.
They're not like us humans are they? And no, - I was not under the influence of drugs. I made Hokitika in 4hrs 25 mins, and honour was preserved. And I didn't even need the bloody petrol.
All in all another routine day in the life of a motorcycle guide (though I have made a few changes since the incident, a trailer and more spares for one).
Cheers to all, I apologise for rambling on.

John Fitzwater