Triples Run #11 - October 30th, 2011 - How your ACC dollars are spent.
Harry overcooked the second uphill bend as he entered the first set of ‘twisties’ on the inland road. It seems he was off the bike before it left the road, as he remembers hitting the road hard – enough to rip his visor off, and smash a piece out of the forehead area of his helmet. However – it was probably his impact with the bank that knocked him unconscious.
But lets start at the beginning…
Triples Run. It starts with various murmurings months before about invites, and routes, and gradually solidifies in the last few weeks. This year, it was mentioned that people should just come along on any bike – more fun with more numbers. That concept began last year as a special tribute to Andy – as it was his event, and many of his friends were owners of bikes with slightly less appealing numbers of cylinders. There were 5 bikes and a car coming down from Blenheim on the Saturday, and they would stay over in Christchurch for the early start on Sunday. Another few were expected to travel up from Timaru, so there was the promise of good company. I spent Saturday helping to shift house for a hospital-bound mate’s Mum. I suspect he found out that her new apartment was on the first floor, and hurriedly had an accident, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, and it all went well considering. I had just arrived home when Allan phoned. He was in Amberley, 30 miles out of town. He stopped for gas and the rest of the group went past. They were heading for a motel in the city, but he had a few issues with the bike, and was probably going to need help to sort them. My bike was still sitting in the shed it had been evacuated to after the earthquake in February, covered in masonry dust, and not run since. I told him I was about to go and retrieve it, and would see him later.
The Trident still had fuel, and appeared to have electrics. It also had a stripped head stud from several years earlier, plus a slightly ominous rattle from the primary drive. I guessed that this signified impending doom from the clutch dept, and had decided I would be carrying a towrope with me on the run. Hopefully I would find someone willing to do the towing if it all went sour. I pushed the doubts away and figured it was all or nothing. The T160 requires a lot more effort on the kickstart than the earlier models of triple. Mine especially. Not sure if it’s the synthetic oil being sticky, or the extra cc’s resisting harder, but it never feels as if its going to light up. But it did, giving a healthy bellow in the process. Woot.! I headed over the broken roads to our new address, the seriously under-inflated tyres doing a nice job of soaking up the sharp edges of the cracked tarmac. Stopped at our friendly neighbourhood petrol station and added a few more psi to the 10 I found at each end. Then it was off home to our slightly sorted garage. At least it now has room for a couple of bikes. I checked the electric start – it’s my battery status indicator. It was pretty feeble. Figured I had best pull the battery out for the first time in 5 years, and actually check its contents. Only half the fluid left. That would explain it. I nipped the corner off a plastic bag, and filled it with water - carefully aiming a jet of water into each cell until it burped. It then got 4 hours on the charger.
Allan showed up as the sun was setting. He had given his bike an oil change that morning before leaving Blenheim, and oil was pissing out underneath it – presumably from the freshly disturbed sump gaskets. We mopped around a bit before wheeling it into the garage beside mine. It also had a slipping clutch, a tank badge was vibrating off, and we began to notice a few loose bits as we looked underneath. This Rocket 3 had been languishing in his shed since before I met him. It was the first triple he ever owned, but had been laid up after appearing to run out of oil pressure. Recently he had fitted a pressure gauge and run it again, to discover that it looked quite healthy. Other than a couple of brief squirts, this was its first time out. Untried. Dang.! I noticed that the fitting for the oil pressure gauge had quite a few washers underneath it, and then I found it was loose. This will be the source of the oil leak. Plenty pressure behind this. As it is low on the front of the engine, the oil will be running underneath. Sorted that. Shortened the tank badge screws and fitted o rings behind the badge. Refitted the main stand pivots which had parted company. Checked the clutch and found that all we could do was reduce the preload a bit. At this point Allan had to go and join the group for dinner, so I gave him a car, and carried on. Found the twistgrip a bit loose on the bars, so I filed the mating surfaces down a bit, and removed a small mountain of plastic tape from inside the twist bit. Much better. I decided against test riding it, as it was now quite late. Time to look at the T160. I gave it several years overdue maintenance in 15 minutes. I got a rag and cleaned it.! That should do. Back indoors to assist with babysitting the grandson. Bed at 2am.
Babysitting looks like this..
Sunday up at 7. Rounded up all the bike gear from various locations in the garage amongst the unsorted stuff since our move. Fitted the battery back in the Trident and was putting the seat back on when Allan showed up. Fired the Rocket up and had a quick peer about. No leaks and running happily. Tried the Trident and it started after several prods of that lever thing. Looks like we’re in business. Wheeled them outside and put all our leather stuff on. They keep your insides in. Red joined us and we were ready to go. Heard the unmistakeable sound of a triple. Kendrick arrived on his T150. Great. His fourth visit to our new address, and the first time I’ve been home. I think today is going very well. We head across town to the starting point. I realise I have forgotten the towrope. I will consider it a good omen. Quite a few bikes and bods already there. Filled up with the highest octane you can buy from the pumps, and joined the lineup.
Rockers reunion...
20 odd bikes and new faces as well as the usual suspects. Always good to shake a few hands and renew acquaintances. All the Blenheim crowd, and a loner from Timaru. Cheers guys. Try to greet everyone, but realise it will take all day. So that’s nice.
Purely co-incidental venue..
10am and we’re off. Pretty strung out – but when you hang around in the carpark to listen to them leave – that’s what happens. Trev will meet us out at Woodend, another triple. That will replace the one that came to the meeting place but is not on the run. The exit from the city is orderly, but with a degree more urgency than the average club run. These are the big boys and girls. Heaps of traffic mixing it with us on the highway – hopefully half of them will be heading inland at Waipara and things will thin out a bit. That happens, and we mosey along at a good pace. Di is on the back of Allan’s Rocket, and I wonder how that clutch is coping. They seem to be getting along well up ahead, so it must be doing its thing so far. A few bikes swap places, but mostly we stay in line and bunch up a bit to get off on the noise. Cool stuff. High cloud covers the sun, and we have perfect riding conditions. First stop will be Cheviot, 76 miles out, although Allan has already fuelled again at Amberley. The Rocket is proving thirsty, and it has a small tank. The rest of us wait across the road, and compare notes. Everyone is happy. Back on the road. We are quite a way behind the leaders now. Our own group of 5 or so bikes is riding well together, and we make good time to Cheviot. Arriving we spot a number of bikes at a café, so pull in there.
Slow astern..
A few head along the road to fuel, so we wait for them to come back. It seems there are two camps here. The others remain at the gas station, so eventually we all cruise down there too.
Gail looking sexy. And a car..
Gail is in her sporty yellow Merc, and Di now swaps to Peter’s Trident. She’s sampling the triples today. We fire up – the electric is very happy now. Pull out and head away. Clear road ahead, so I hold to the legal limit, which approximates 60mph. Steady drone along fairly wide open spaces. I can feel Red moving about and guess that the camera is coming out. She is making movies, and the guys behind us cruise past waving.
The camera just does this to people..
Now we have some radar cover I match their speed. 70mph feels better, and the Trident is smoother there. We approach the bends along the Conway river, and Grant goes past at speed on his Harley. It feels like being passed by the starship enterprise. Not much noise, but a lot of the universe being displaced.
Wide vehicles coming through..
The camera is pointing all over the place now, so I’m hoping the results will be viewable. Its pretty bumpy on the back of a Trident.
Kendrick and Gary sticking like glue..
We finish the Conway swerves, and enter the set of hills called the Hundalees. Fabulous set of ups and downs, with pretty tight bends and lots of them. The pace is quite aggressive now, and a few cars pull over to let us through. I always wave my thanks.
Think we have a CONVOY..!
Much ducking and diving later, we exit onto the coast, and almost immediately the speed limit drops to 50mph.
Allan's Rocket running sweet. Boys rarin' to go..
Too much temptation, and we manage a few squirts while keeping the eyes peeled for the law. A few tunnels to add to the fun, and all too soon we are at Kaikoura for lunch. 120 miles gone in a flash it seems.
Smoko.
Lunch and the inevitable post mortems on the trip up, interspersed with the best of the earthquake stories. Nice crowd of people to spend the day with. Some are lunching elsewhere, but it seems we have around 20 bikes, and 9 are triples. Not bad odds. A Mk3 Commando and Thomas’ 750 Bonneville help to keep the majority from the 1970’s, so we feel Andy’s plan has worked well.
Multitasking.
The Blenheim bunch will not return with us. Some will stay here overnight, the others return home north while we head back south. It’s been a good get-together, and we talk about doing it more frequently. As you do. Hopefully we will. The Christchurch lot have been noticeably better at avoiding bumps – we have had 13 months training since the earthquakes began. Some of us head away for gas, the full tanks head to the top of the hill to wait for us. As we make our way up the hill, we pass a strange chap camped in a grassy park with a long lens camera and a radio. He eyeballs us, but no bells ring. We have just passed a police car ticketing a driver, and we are keeping it legal. Another police car up here, but no driver in evidence. Seems they are out today. We join the group and wait for the stragglers. Last man in and we’re off again. About 12 bikes in this group. We head back the way we came, until meeting the turnoff to the inland road, where we leave the main highway and take the empty road towards the hills. I notice Di is on the Bonneville. Got to be a disappointment after the triples. A few bikes hare off ahead, the rest of us are spellbound by the beauty of this route. As we head further towards the mountains, the views are spectacular, and spring is doing cool things to the trees and meadows. The road opens up for the last time, with a few miles of long straights leading to the first of the tight bends as we enter the hills. I look up ahead to see where we are going. The road swings left and up a hill, disappearing around a sharp bend to the right. Above that I see the road cutting up to the left again, so it must be an s bend. A car attracts my attention. It is coming down to the top part of the s, but is going very slowly. I make a note to take care as we head up there, may be something going on. We slow behind Thomas and Di going in to the first bend. Around the bend the car has stopped. A woman is waving at us and a man is kneeling in the ditch on the far side of the second bend. A bike is upside down in the ditch. We slow and look for somewhere to get off the road. Up the hill a slight ditch on our left offers the place. By normal motoring standards, our trip would probably seem death-defying to the average motorist. To me it has been exhilarating and exciting. For the first time today I feel fear. Someone is in the ditch, and he’s not getting up. Its scary stuff.
Harry's bend. Parallel skidmarks suggest sideways exit to ditch.
We park up and get down to the crash pronto. It’s Harry and his nimble GB400 Honda. He has been a consistent runner all day, and having no trouble sticking with this group of bigger bikes. He is lying in the ditch about 3 metres from his bike, and being tended by the motorist I had seen coming down the hill. He says Harry was out to it when he arrived, but now he’s talking and seems a bit unhappy about being in a wet ditch. Nobody wants him to move yet, and they are firing a barrage of questions at him. “Do you know your name? Do you know what day it is? Does my bum look big in this?” We drag the Honda out of the mud and get it up the right way. The forks are twisted and the headlight broken, but otherwise it looks pretty much ok. There are two skid marks that suggest the bike left the road sideways. Maybe it high-sided, as Harry has obviously taken a real thump. We push the bike up the hill to get it to safety, and set about trying to straighten the forks.
Roadside repairs.
A couple of farmers arrive. Our cellphones have no coverage out here, so they offer to head back and phone the ambulance. Thanks mates. Harry is able to account for all his limbs, so they let him sit up. We thank the motoring couple for their help, and help Harry across the road to sit on the bank while we wait for the experts to come and take a look at him.
Di: lean on me. Harry: why? Kilroy: because you'll never get such a good offer again!
Being knocked out means you don’t want to take chances. We are all feeling the adrenalin, and the chat is rapid. We laugh a lot. Harry is reassured about the state of his bike. He reckons he arrived at the second bend way too fast and just couldn’t make it round. Richard offers to ride on and tell the other dudes what’s going on. We were planning a pub stop, so they will be finding ways to amuse themselves there no doubt. Looking back down the long straight we see the police car coming. He’s pulling all the stops. He slows as he sees us all, and stops to ask a couple of questions about Harry. Then he asks Thomas – where would you like me to put the car? Thomas looks as surprised as I am. Around the top bend would be good. The cop obliges. Nice intro. He walks back down and begins all the necessaries. He passed the ambulance further back, so they will be here in a few minutes. They are. There is a doctor in another car behind them. They have the rescue helicopter on the way. Wow. These guys are breaking out all the toys. We figure they will call off the chopper once they realise Harry is looking pretty chipper, but they are a bit concerned that he may have had some other medical factors going on, and the chopper is a definite.
Using the force.
Some more farmers arrive. Anything we need? How about the bike? I tell them we will push it into the nearby farm. They offer to phone the farmer concerned to let him know. Thanks. Shortly afterwards, that farmer turns up across the field. He rushes off to get a trailer, saying he will leave the bike on it at the farm so it can be easily transferred to whatever vehicle is brought to collect it. He then does so. What amazingly thoughtful people.
Brendan Morgan deserves a DB..
While we are loading the bike on the trailer, the chopper lands in the field beside us, raising a small storm of flying excrement. Nice.!
All the toys..
The ambulance crew drive the few yards to the gate of the paddock, and Harry is transferred to the waiting chopper.
Shortest ride you'll ever get in an ambulance..
He walks to the chopper under his own steam. It’s a good sight. They still put him in the stretcher – no risks being taken here. Seems strangely at odds with our day – where risks are the fact of life that keep us on full alert. It’s a weird contrast.
I'll just grab a wee kip..
We watch the chopper lift off, knowing Harry will be home well before we are.
Go well mate..
The ambulance people and the cop are tidying up and chatting happily. The cop is quite forthcoming. He was one of several who had a stakeout in Kaikoura – the bloke we saw with the camera was calling in the law breakers to cars at either ends of town. Lucky we were not worthy of their attention. He was a most pleasant chap – enjoyed his high-speed callout, and was obviously happy to have found Harry alive and mostly well. He asks us to tell Harry there will be no further action on their part, and makes sure we are able to pass on the contact details so Harry can retrieve his bike. He then makes his exit, and we are suddenly alone with ourselves on the side of the road.
Debriefing..
Hard to express what we were all feeling right then. Relief of course, but its sobering when you see what a split-second can do. We hit the road. I leave first, not wanting to be behind anyone right now. This road has some really tight bends interspersed with a few open bits, not the sort of place to let your mind wander. I decide to focus just on the job at hand, and push the speed back up to where it was before. Trev and Kendrick are right there too, and we weave our way through the hills and valleys, with 45, 35, and even 25Kph warning signs for the sharpest bends. Kinda funny then, that after dropping into a steep river valley and crossing a narrow bridge, we see a sign that shows a squiggly line with ‘15Kms’ beneath it. Now we get 15K’s of twisties where they don’t bother putting any other signs at all. ‘You’ve been warned..’ sorta sums it up. We put it all beneath our wheels in style. I think the other two would agree, it was a good ride with no ‘moments’ – but we kept it humming. Through Waiau, then Rotheram, and on to Culverden, where I pull over in case anyone needs gas. They don’t, so Trev takes the lead, and we howl down to Hurunui where the others are waiting at the tavern. We line up and are soon filling in the details. A drink is most welcome, and we feel our spirits being restored. The last riders pull up, Di happily installed on the back of Grant’s Harley. He had ridden back to offer help, and the armchair look of the passenger compartment turned her head. Unfair.! We loiter for a while, then decide it is time to head home. The day has gotten late and we have spent time in places not anticipated. Trying to think how long the whole accident scenario took, I imagine it was only about 45 minutes from the time we arrived on the scene, to the time we left. I may be wrong – there was a lot happening – but I doubt that’s too far off. Pretty amazing considering how many services found their way to us in such a short time, and in a fairly remote place. Well done all.!
The last stage home is always reflective. Its cooling down, and the mind is preparing for putting this event on the shelf. Thanks to Red’s efforts, we will be able to live it over and over through the photos and movies – you’re welcome to drop in and share. We drone down from Waipara and join the rest of the traffic heading back to the city. It’s a steady pace, and riders are waving to each other as they swap places. Thanks – its been a great day. I have a lot to think about.
Huge thanks to all who turned up, but especially Di and Thomas for doing the organising. Particularly with the weather. Maybe Andy helped there. Respect to Marian and Viv - the two female riders. Cool. Didn't need the towrope. Hahaha. Get well Harry. See you on the next run. Cheers all, Kilroy.