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Desmodromically delirious
Thanks to everyone who came to the Ducati Drinking Olympics..errr…Mysterious Marathon Midgie Masher Flypast this weekend. Great to see you all !. Hopefully all bodily parts are returning to normal and one or two broken bike parts will be fixed soon.
It was certainly a marathon and a bit of a challenge. The numbers gradually whittled down along the way but four of us out of the original 25 or so starters managed the whole 430-mile figure of eight.
Mysterious…….
until the secret was out and the Moffat Mutineers headed for the pub !.
Midgie-free too….. so the fly-kill was at a welcome low.
For my group the omens were not good as we waited in the car park of the Edinburgh Woollen Mill for the stragglers to arrive, with a cloudy sky and then we watched our sweeper (who shall be nameless !) swept out at the tail of the departing KDB group , who were doing the route in the other direction and were due to meet us for lunch at Eyemouth on the E coast. Fortunately, he-who-shall-be-nameless realised this just before heading off up the St Mary’s road and so all was well as we headed off in formation up the Edinburgh road past the Devil’s Beeftub, tiptoeing round those wonderful but dampish bends and off down the Tweed valley with no towns but Broughton to slow down for, with the weather improving all the time and the roads drying. Took a right turn at Blyth Bridge and followed the nice twisty Tweed valley road through Peebles and on towards Selkirk. Just before there we met the other group head-on (this was almost true, not mentioning who was riding the oncoming red Exocet which had me bracing (hint) myself for a bit of forestry exploration. Phew !. Soon it was time for a stop and a change of underwear just above Selkirk. A quick body count and oops, someone at the tail end was missing, and it rhymes with bleeper . Someone hadn’t marked a junction, you naughty Masher whoever you are . So we made a few calls to Glentress and all local restaurants to locate said sweeper but to no avail. Oh, well, he had a detailed route plan and so we assigned Wee Ian as sweeper :thumbs: and off we rocketed to the brunch stop at Eyemouth, along some nice open Borders roads and through the towns of Kelso, Kirk Yetholm, Back O’Beyond and onwards along the Borders Brown Trousers Scenic Route. Some nadgery twisty stuff with a bit of gravel here and there (though not as much as we’d have liked, for sure). Poor Carlo was a victim of Newton’s Third law of physics and came a cropper on a left-hander , with rider and mount failing the attempt at Becher’s Brook, ending up with bike and rider lodged down in the hedge. A thorny issue for sure. Ouch!. Most importantly, Carlo was unhurt, and when I arrived back at the scene (thanks to Wee Ian’s warp factor 10 catch-up riding) there was a heavy-lifting operation going on. There were guys pulling the bike, guys pulling the guys who were pulling the bike and at the bottom of it all, six feet below road level in the ditch was Derek’s head sticking through the bottom of the hedge giving instructions. Well done, team, for getting the bike out. A quick inspection found an unfortunate amount of broken plastic but a rideable bike , and so on we went – we had a run to finish, not to mention gagging for something to eat. We’d heard by now that our missing sweeper was heading for Eyemouth and the lunch stop so there was not a moment to waste lest he eat everything before we got there.
Soon after Carlo’s flight at Flodden (that place is jinxed for us Scots !) we passed a red car up in a tree , as you do. Answers, please, on a postcard as to how you do that. Bikes in hedges, cars in trees….if I’d stayed at home to clean the budgie’s cage I’d have missed all this.
A final romp over the Northumberland countryside and we were soon at Berwick, which was nicked from us Scots by the English some time ago (although why they’d want it I’ll never know). A quick (supposedly) fuel stop at Morrison’s found us at the busiest filling station I’ve ever seen. Heavens knows, they must have been having a sale or something but, let me tell you, a certain Herr Schumacher would not win races if he had to wait that long to refuel. Not that we were hungry or anything but you should have seen some guys ramming chocolate bars down before we set off for brunch at Eyemouth, just beyond passport control back in Bonnie Scotland.
We soon rumbled into town to find Davie and KDB’s group signalling at us from a nice restaurant balcony (I think they were shouting “for God’s sake get up here where there’s still some food left” but I can’t be sure). After parking up at the quayside beside the fishing boats we joined the party and had some lunch. KDB’s group left soon after that on their Trans Caledonian Epic and we eventually left too about an hour behind schedule. Due to the delay we took a more direct route towards the eventual destination on the other side of Scotland at Portpatrick, heading initially for a stop at St Mary’s Loch.
Hardly a tractor on the road as we “made progress”
through Duns, Greenlaw, Earlston and Selkirk and on down the Yarrow valley to the super little tearoom at St Mary’s Loch. Is there a better place for bikers to stop ?. There we met Scottch, Julie, Gizmo and Linzi. After some well-earned cups of tea, cakes, etc, stretching of legs and searching for signs of life in body parts that get sat on and shoogled on a bike we were ready for the next leg to Kirkcudbright, minus two withdrawals due to Scotty’s tight helmet ( get thee to a Rabbi ?), and Davie, whose hangover appeared to have won the day.
Off we went down the nice wiggly bits along the lochside and up and over the summit, dodging the sheep as we went. The next section past Grey Mare’s Tail (Soprano Highway) was bumpy as usual and a tad twisty. As we got close to the suburbs of Moffat we attempted to negotiate the Moffat Bypass and avoid the tractor jams in the downtown area. Not that the roads were minor or anything, but we really didn’t need the machetes and eventually found ourselves out of an encircling manoeuvre and onto the Dumfries road. Down said road we zipped, going round the (proper) bypass and turning off onto the Dalbeattie road. What you might call a “free-flowing” road . Indeed, unable to restrain himself, Wee Ian swept by me in red button missile mode heading for K , with Rockjock and Martin locked on. A tremendous biking road with beautiful views to the sea.
We finally rolled into Kirkcudbright in glorious sunshine at tea time, parked up at the riverside and bought ourselves some well-earned and superb local ice creams. Large grins all round – until I mentioned that the target destination was about 35 miles to the east of Belfast (well, not in so many words but Portpatrick is at least on this side of the Irish Sea !).
While eating our cones we debated the next move and democratically considered the opinions of the group (“I can’t take much more of this”, “I’m going to end it now..”, “I need to change my belts”, “This wasn’t in the brochure”, “I’ve got no buttocks left”, “You b@@@@rd”…etc).
After the group had headed back towards Moffat in the last of the daylight, I hauled myself back out the river and onto the quayside, only to get a call from KDB who was at Portpatrick with two of his group. Amundsen had beaten Scott to the South Pole !. Not liking to leave a job part-done I nipped over there, getting there in an hour, during which time the monsoon had started.
A quick meet-up with the three coast-to-coast Mashers (KDB, Gogs and sorry, I forget). While in Portpatrick I had to decline an offer from a drunk to wheelie my 749 along the front riding b*ll*ck naked . As you might expect, my advice was for him to go forth and multiply in profusion. He did the first part anyway, and for all I know he probably did the rest later that night.
Without the prospect of some seaside stunt riding to amuse us we set off on the return leg to Moffat and Drinking Control. The A75 was practically empty and the gathering darkness did not hold us up as we sped along, reaching Moffat at 22.00, with two hours pub time to spare :thumbs: . A quick change into civvies and up to the Annandale Hotel, where an UpNorth drinkathon was in full swing :drunk: . Boy, were we ready for a beer !. Cometh the midnight hour we then trooped off to the Moffat night club, where many people were in attendance (get it ? a tent-dance ?..) Apologies, for that had the marquee of a bad joke told by an odd guy. Anyway, in various states of blooteration and decreptitude we walked/staggered/boaked our way back to whence we came ……
The Midgie had landed !. Not quite in the Nick Sanders league but we’d ridden right across Scotland twice, 430 miles of some of the best biking scenery you’ll find. Many thanks to KDB who put a lot of work and thought into organising (says DB, trying to deflect the blame onto someone else…). Thanks also to the guys who volunteered as sweepers and leaders.
Now, how about next year’s Masher ?. I’ve got this route in mind, you see………
It was certainly a marathon and a bit of a challenge. The numbers gradually whittled down along the way but four of us out of the original 25 or so starters managed the whole 430-mile figure of eight.
Mysterious…….
until the secret was out and the Moffat Mutineers headed for the pub !. Midgie-free too….. so the fly-kill was at a welcome low.
For my group the omens were not good as we waited in the car park of the Edinburgh Woollen Mill for the stragglers to arrive, with a cloudy sky and then we watched our sweeper (who shall be nameless !) swept out at the tail of the departing KDB group , who were doing the route in the other direction and were due to meet us for lunch at Eyemouth on the E coast. Fortunately, he-who-shall-be-nameless realised this just before heading off up the St Mary’s road and so all was well as we headed off in formation up the Edinburgh road past the Devil’s Beeftub, tiptoeing round those wonderful but dampish bends and off down the Tweed valley with no towns but Broughton to slow down for, with the weather improving all the time and the roads drying. Took a right turn at Blyth Bridge and followed the nice twisty Tweed valley road through Peebles and on towards Selkirk. Just before there we met the other group head-on (this was almost true, not mentioning who was riding the oncoming red Exocet which had me bracing (hint) myself
for a bit of forestry exploration. Phew !. Soon it was time for a stop and a change of underwear just above Selkirk. A quick body count and oops, someone at the tail end was missing, and it rhymes with bleeper . Someone hadn’t marked a junction, you naughty Masher whoever you are . So we made a few calls to Glentress and all local restaurants to locate said sweeper but to no avail. Oh, well, he had a detailed route plan and so we assigned Wee Ian as sweeper :thumbs: and off we rocketed to the brunch stop at Eyemouth, along some nice open Borders roads and through the towns of Kelso, Kirk Yetholm, Back O’Beyond and onwards along the Borders Brown Trousers Scenic Route. Some nadgery twisty stuff with a bit of gravel here and there (though not as much as we’d have liked, for sure). Poor Carlo was a victim of Newton’s Third law of physics and came a cropper on a left-hander , with rider and mount failing the attempt at Becher’s Brook, ending up with bike and rider lodged down in the hedge. A thorny issue for sure. Ouch!. Most importantly, Carlo was unhurt, and when I arrived back at the scene (thanks to Wee Ian’s warp factor 10 catch-up riding) there was a heavy-lifting operation going on. There were guys pulling the bike, guys pulling the guys who were pulling the bike and at the bottom of it all, six feet below road level in the ditch was Derek’s head sticking through the bottom of the hedge giving instructions. Well done, team, for getting the bike out. A quick inspection found an unfortunate amount of broken plastic but a rideable bike , and so on we went – we had a run to finish, not to mention gagging for something to eat. We’d heard by now that our missing sweeper was heading for Eyemouth and the lunch stop so there was not a moment to waste lest he eat everything before we got there.Soon after Carlo’s flight at Flodden (that place is jinxed for us Scots !) we passed a red car up in a tree
, as you do. Answers, please, on a postcard as to how you do that. Bikes in hedges, cars in trees….if I’d stayed at home to clean the budgie’s cage I’d have missed all this.A final romp over the Northumberland countryside and we were soon at Berwick, which was nicked from us Scots by the English some time ago (although why they’d want it I’ll never know). A quick (supposedly) fuel stop at Morrison’s found us at the busiest filling station I’ve ever seen. Heavens knows, they must have been having a sale or something but, let me tell you, a certain Herr Schumacher would not win races if he had to wait that long to refuel. Not that we were hungry or anything but you should have seen some guys ramming chocolate bars down before we set off for brunch at Eyemouth, just beyond passport control back in Bonnie Scotland.
We soon rumbled into town to find Davie and KDB’s group signalling at us from a nice restaurant balcony (I think they were shouting “for God’s sake get up here where there’s still some food left” but I can’t be sure). After parking up at the quayside beside the fishing boats we joined the party and had some lunch. KDB’s group left soon after that on their Trans Caledonian Epic and we eventually left too about an hour behind schedule. Due to the delay we took a more direct route towards the eventual destination on the other side of Scotland at Portpatrick, heading initially for a stop at St Mary’s Loch.
Hardly a tractor on the road as we “made progress”
through Duns, Greenlaw, Earlston and Selkirk and on down the Yarrow valley to the super little tearoom at St Mary’s Loch. Is there a better place for bikers to stop ?. There we met Scottch, Julie, Gizmo and Linzi. After some well-earned cups of tea, cakes, etc, stretching of legs and searching for signs of life in body parts that get sat on and shoogled on a bike we were ready for the next leg to Kirkcudbright, minus two withdrawals due to Scotty’s tight helmet ( get thee to a Rabbi ?), and Davie, whose hangover appeared to have won the day.Off we went down the nice wiggly bits along the lochside and up and over the summit, dodging the sheep as we went. The next section past Grey Mare’s Tail (Soprano Highway) was bumpy as usual and a tad twisty. As we got close to the suburbs of Moffat we attempted to negotiate the Moffat Bypass and avoid the tractor jams in the downtown area. Not that the roads were minor or anything, but we really didn’t need the machetes and eventually found ourselves out of an encircling manoeuvre and onto the Dumfries road. Down said road we zipped, going round the (proper) bypass and turning off onto the Dalbeattie road. What you might call a “free-flowing” road . Indeed, unable to restrain himself, Wee Ian swept by me in red button missile mode heading for K , with Rockjock and Martin locked on. A tremendous biking road with beautiful views to the sea.
We finally rolled into Kirkcudbright in glorious sunshine at tea time, parked up at the riverside and bought ourselves some well-earned and superb local ice creams. Large grins all round – until I mentioned that the target destination was about 35 miles to the east of Belfast
(well, not in so many words but Portpatrick is at least on this side of the Irish Sea !). While eating our cones we debated the next move and democratically considered the opinions of the group (“I can’t take much more of this”, “I’m going to end it now..”, “I need to change my belts”, “This wasn’t in the brochure”, “I’ve got no buttocks left”, “You b@@@@rd”…etc).
After the group had headed back towards Moffat in the last of the daylight, I hauled myself back out the river and onto the quayside, only to get a call from KDB who was at Portpatrick with two of his group. Amundsen had beaten Scott to the South Pole !. Not liking to leave a job part-done I nipped over there, getting there in an hour, during which time the monsoon had started.
A quick meet-up with the three coast-to-coast Mashers (KDB, Gogs and sorry, I forget). While in Portpatrick I had to decline an offer from a drunk to wheelie my 749 along the front riding b*ll*ck naked . As you might expect, my advice was for him to go forth and multiply in profusion. He did the first part anyway, and for all I know he probably did the rest later that night.
Without the prospect of some seaside stunt riding to amuse us we set off on the return leg to Moffat and Drinking Control. The A75 was practically empty and the gathering darkness did not hold us up as we sped along, reaching Moffat at 22.00, with two hours pub time to spare :thumbs: . A quick change into civvies and up to the Annandale Hotel, where an UpNorth drinkathon was in full swing :drunk: . Boy, were we ready for a beer !. Cometh the midnight hour we then trooped off to the Moffat night club, where many people were in attendance (get it ? a tent-dance ?..) Apologies, for that had the marquee of a bad joke told by an odd guy. Anyway, in various states of blooteration and decreptitude we walked/staggered/boaked our way back to whence we came ……
The Midgie had landed !. Not quite in the Nick Sanders league but we’d ridden right across Scotland twice, 430 miles of some of the best biking scenery you’ll find. Many thanks to KDB who put a lot of work and thought into organising (says DB, trying to deflect the blame onto someone else…). Thanks also to the guys who volunteered as sweepers and leaders.
Now, how about next year’s Masher ?. I’ve got this route in mind, you see………
! Well written DB and thanks to you and KD.
hope you all had a good time, I know I did:thumbs:
