Hardcore North Coast Run

Sunday came about and the weather forecasts had said that the winds would gradually decrease and the rain to slack off. It appeared from the comfort of my sofa that this was going to be the case, so Kiv's duely came down from Derry and we met up at my house. The bike was taken out of the yard and the gear was put on. Fantastic! All was well. We began by heading on the motorway towards Carrickfergus, past the imposing castle and along the coast towards the smaller villages. It was here that the first shower was encountered. This wasn't in the plan! The temperature was also dropping and I was grateful for the heated grips! The roads here twist and camber as you hug the shoreline, the winds were also getting stronger and the 50-60mph gusts had most definitely not subsided! But as we passed through Glenarm and Cushendun and Cushendall you can't help but notice the scenery, despite the weather (or maybe because of it!). As you drive up the twists of the Glens of Antrim, you notice the smaller features, the indigenous woods that hug the steep moutain sides and the sense that you are transported almost back in time. A small goat will scurry from the road up a rocky outcrop to get out of your way and you can't help but smile. There are small (and larger) waterfalls beside you dancing off the basalt outcrops and as you pass you can almost 'smell' them. It's quite bizarre. Several places along hte road have literally been cut out of the cliffs, so you gun the throttle as you pass through them just to hear the amplified noise of your engine. With each twist of the road,I was having to downshift a gear as the surface was greasy, but the Metzler tyres gripped supremely and there was no difficulty. Once through the villages, a steep rise is negotiated and you find that you are on top of a mountain. Here the winds became exceptionally strong, enhanced by the lack of tree over and so they blow over what I guess is a moor unhindered. The view was spectacular and so we stopped to take it all it. The road here is quite straight, man's defiance of nature laid over the crest of the slope.

I knew that the scenery and roads were to get both more spectacular and challenging when we neared the North Coast. Around Dunluce Castlethe winds became scarey. To my right lay the churning and frothing Atlantic Ocean, battering the rocks and the coastline - sometimes the spray was coming that high (as I could taste saline water). Just after the majestic Dunluce Castle I had slowed down considerably as I was by this stage genuinely struggling with the winds. The landscape here will take no prisoners I thought, a mistake and that would be it. Bad thoughts to be having at any time on a bike journey, but in these conditions they were proving an unwelcome distraction. The descent into Portrush was taken gingerly and at that stage I was glad when Kiv's said that we should get off the coast road (it wasn't just me struggling in the conditions!). We took the North West 200 route to Portstewart and towards the roads to Derry. The markings for the road races are still there on the road and I also noted that the road surface on the race course was far superior to normal roads!

The ride to Derry was more sedate, although over the 'Coleraine Mountain' the winds weren't half as bad given that there are forests on either side, so the worst of it is sheltered from you. I knew that I would be riding home to Belfast later in the evening, although the last time I had done that it had become something of a spiritual journey, so I was actually looking forward to it. Sure enough I set off and I was in a bubble, or so it felt. The bike became a companion, and alive, rather than a machine. Once over the Glenshane Pass i stopped for a smoke, and the heavens opened. But there was no annoyance at this, I had all my gear on and although I was aware it was cold, I myself wasn't cold. I swept into Belfast, the faster I went the easier things seemed to become on the bike...and in my head! The lights of Belfast were welcoming after the darkness of the motorway, but I find on this bike, that being alone on the road in the dark is comforting in some strange way. But when I got home, I was glad to light the fire and lie on the sofa. But this days riding remains to date, the most hardcore conditions in which I've biked. I feel I can move up a gear now though - Tunisia here I come!!

New Triumph Tiger

After a hectic Friday (but a great Friday evening relaxing in front of the wood burner with a certain delectable someone) I was on the 212 to Derry on Saturday afternoon. I was heading up to meet Kivi and then to the outskirts of the city to see the Triumph Tiger. By the time we got there, it was dusk and a distinctly wintery temperature along with a ground-hugging light mist had descended on the area. The garage door opened and the order and tidy nature of the garage also gives good vibes. My eye immediately caught the sleak black lines of the Tiger, standing tall and looking exceptionally noble. I then noticed a classic BSA looking like it had just left the factory. A powerful looking Harley was also on its stand against the garage wall.

I took the bike out and decided the suggested test route was, indeed, best - up a hill on the 'B' roads then a loop round on myself to the dual carriageway to see how the bike handled on the tight twisties as well as the carraigeway power tests. I don't think the smile left my face the whole time....the power (and torque) was immediate but so manageable, the bike effortlessly leaned into the corners like it was an extension of my own body. The small wind deflector took away the buffeting I was used to on naked bikes. I decided on the spot that she was mine, and took her! The paperwork was completed and the cash handed over. I have to be honest and say that I genuinely believe I got a bargain. The bike is, probably, the cleanest I've ever owned, as well as the most powerful. But the paperwork with her goes back to the day she left the factory, service stamps from a Triumph dealer, all MOT's, every receipt for everything ever bought.

On Sunday, I awoke with a sense of anticipation, the weather was to be clear and dry (even if it was a little nippy). But a run into Donegall was on the cards and I knew the heated hand grips would take away any cold I felt.

The roads in Donegall were breathtaking, and on several occasions, we decided to see what the bikes were capable of (a lot is the short answer!). There were no "brown" moments as a cross wind hit you, the bike didn't even shimmy, she tracked straight and true. As we approached Donegal Town, we had high hills either side, the road cutting through the peaks like a thin black thread - a lake lay beside us (Lough Mourne then Lough Eske) with the low sunlight shimmering off the surface. A rest in the town square saw another biker join us on his GSXR 1300 who had followed us.

We shot the breeze in the square for about an hour, the row of machinery attracting attention. But it was soon time to go. I was to drive back to Belfast that evening and time was, alas, not on our side. After a delicious and warming dinner, I donned the bike gear and started the journey up to Belfast. It was beautiful, on the stretches of road (and there are many) that aren't lit, the stars were clearly visible; as Kivi had suggested, the heated handgrips almost personified the bike like she was comforting me. I never, for one second, felt alone on the journey. Even as I neared the peak of the Glenshane Pass, the fog blowing in with the cross winds across my path, the bike never missed a beat! I think we shall be friends for a while me and this lovely Triumph. I'm also reading Ted Simon's book[s] and he traveled the world on a Triumph!