Jase-the-Race, Tim Bissell and myself had planned to hire a nice big Transit van to carry the bikes and associated clobber over on the Harwich/Hook ferry. For some reason, a bleedin great tranny is cheaper than three itsy bitsy bikes - strange but true.
Phoning round the van hire places, most said they wouldn't let their precious vehicles out of the UK but 'Thrifty' Van Hire didn't have a problem with this and as they were cheapest they got the deal. Even better, when we went to get the van on the Thursday, Tim's RAC European cover saved us the #50 EC recovery charge and eagle eyes spotted a notice on the wall that said 'Extra days free hire' if you rent a vehicle for four days. Brill, that saved us ninety quid straight off and the young lady on reception still kept her smile!
A quick trip into the local shopping centre purchased a large black pudding and some bottles of Newky Brown for Keith and copies of Good Housekeeping and the BBC Good Food Guide for Janice (although I did hide them in between a load a bike mags to minimise the loss of street cred!).
I'd slightly over allowed for the time needed to load (visions of rushing out to buy more straps and bits of rope) and I'd also over estimated the time need to drive to Harwich (visions of traffic jams) so we ended up sitting in the less than salubrious surrounds of Harwich port for a couple of hours.
Anyway, despite the forecasts of gale force winds, the crossing was very smooth and the the only down point was the 'Bing-Bong Good Morning Campers' announcement in three languages at 0600 CET (0500 by my body clock!) Arrrgh!
A quick blast(?? well the transit got to 80) up the motorway saw us arrive at Chez McKay at an awfully early hour and rouse the McKay clan from their beds. Much coffee, fondling of black puddings etc later Keith announced that he was planning on riding his Jota to Assen and I thought this was a good opportunity to put a few more miles on the Norton before thrashing it's nuts off round the track.
As I'd only managed to put about 100 miles on it since it's winter rebuild, and I was less than confident with the carb settings I went blasting up the local bypass to do a plug chop. Weird, the plugs showed it was running very lean and shutting the air slides (an Amal word for choke) seemed to confirm this. So, gloomily I tried a long shot and asked Keith if he just happened to have any Amal main jets lying around.... and wonder of wonders, he produced a handful! Triffic. Out with the 230's, in with some 240's and back out down the bypass...... odd it's running worse!
I turned around and went back to Chez McKay and as I went through the
mini one way system in Wilnis passed a Ducati 900SS (I didn't really
mean to but with the Notrun popping and banging slow riding wasn't an
option) which turned out to be ridden by Andrea Latin-King-of-Style and
his better half Flavia who were heading for Keiths pad.
Ripping out the float bowls on the Amals once more, I was slightly annoyed to find myself holding the needle from the right hand carb! Bugger, the clip that holds the needle in the slide had cracked - well, that explained the weak running on one side but looked like putting paid to my ideas of riding the Norton to the circuit (*Lesson No 1: ALWAYS take *ALL* of your spares on trips like this - I had spare clips available.... in my garage back in Blightly).
But low! a shining hero appeared in the shape of a Yellow & Black leather clad warrior mounted on his orange steed! Keith zipped off to the local bike emporium and returned with a 'close enough to work' clip raided from the carb of an unsuspecting Ossa. A swift flurry of spanners later and the Snotrun burst into life - albeit idling at around 2,500 RPM but running.
So, off we trotted, heading north towards Assen...... trouble is, with it's very high tickover, the old girl was starting to overheat her clutch and idle even faster..... anyone spell vicious circle?
By the time we'd got most of the way through a largish town, I had to switch off the engine at every stop and the only way to get her moving was to paddle away and, with a total lack of mechanical sympathy, kick it into gear - 'cause the clutch wouldn't release.
I'd almost got to the point of giving up and waiting for the following vans when Keith shouted 'Motorway next turn' and zoomed off up the road. One last time I closed my eyes, ignore the graunching of the gears and followed Keith.
Sure enough, we turned onto the motorway and after a few miles of top gear running the Norton cooled down enough to almost idle normally when we stopped for coffee. Full of character this old brit-iron :-)
Arriving at the circuit, I was most impressed by the facilities - none of your British muddy fields and obscene 'Chemilavs'. Decent washrooms with 24 hour hot water, showers, toilets with loo paper and the whole paddock block paved and clean. Magnificent.
Much ritual exchanges of the form 'what's your name.... errm your EMAIL address?.... ah! so you're you!' took place. Mat (Der Instaffle) didn't meet my expectations (far too clean and tidy) but got closer to his net.image later on after suitable intake of alcohol.
Keith decided to take us assen.virgins on a track walkabout..... dunno
if I learnt anything about the lines but I did learn that it's a long
way round. Made a mental note to make sure I had a full pack of fags
and a lighter in my leathers every time I went out - never know when
this characterful brit-iron will enforce a rest stop :-)
Scrutineering passed with the application of sticky numbers, lockwire and promises to cable tie our center stands up before going on the track and then we were all off to beddybyes like good little bikers (except for the hardened loonies who stayed in the bar doing their own pre-race form of preparation).
Dawn broke with the (I'm told) ritual mating call of Manx Nortons, Ducati electric starts and some insane geezer with a TZ yammie providing an oily form of morning mist. Gawd.... I hate mornings and looked like it from the insensitive remarks made by the others when I stuck my head out of the transit's door (Lesson No 2. You don't need a tent if you've got a nice big van and No 3. Bikers take the piss even when it's insensitive and cruel).
Rrrrrreeeowwwwwww....... yup first track session
Assen, for me, is a weird circuit. More used to narrow english tracks, Assen seems far too wide and open. Going into the corners, you can actually see several bends in advance. I constantly found myself doing the road rider thing and looking into the distance instead of concentrating on the current bend. Hmmmmmmm.
Still, I was quite pleased when I came back in, got the results and found that I'd done a 2.05.22 (sorry but you've got to allow me a smug grin here as other net.assen.virgins were all a tad slower on their flash modern bikes with brakes that stop you and huge sticky tyres). Haha, I got the feeling the two minute barrier is possibly attainable on the old girl.
The timing system is really brilliant and should feature in all track days. It's quite simple (numbers on the bikes front end, a camera over the start line, associated timing gear and freeze frame), really adds a level of interest and cuts out all the bull.
Next session for me was marred by oil flags, several bikes in the
shrubbery and traffic on the circuit. The top end of the Norton isn't
anything to write home about, and I constantly had faster machines
passing me on the straights and then slowing down in the bendy bits.
Best time, 2.05.92; bugger 0.7 seconds slower.
In true British style, I started moaning that I might not make the 2 minute lap when Mat made the most ridiculous offer of all time; 'Want to swap bikes for the next session?' Arrrrrrrgh! my conscience couldn't stand it.... was this man seriously offering me his beautiful Aprilia RS250 for a thrash round Assen? His pride and joy? His only means of transport? The bike he had to ride back to Germany? Shit! I hate having a conscience. Nope I couldn't do it; this is something I'll regret for a very long time. Bugger bugger bugger!
Two things stick in my mind from the second session; Firstly Carlo stomping past me onto the main straight, waving casually then blasting into the red shift zone and secondly, while tearing round this bend for all I was worth, tyres complaining, bum off the seat, the whole bike gently weaving I was horrified to see a bike come past underneath me (yes underneath, you havn't seen the way I have to hang off the Commando!); worse still in the split second that it was inches from my elbow, I recognised it as an H1 Kawasaki triple! Argh! He'll kill me! He can't out corner a Norton! I'm going to get taken out! Motheeer!
Such thoughts only lasted for the briefest moment as the H1 and its most serene rider gently zingged off into the distance looking smoother than a very smooth thing that's been highly polished.
I wandered round the paddock later and found the H1's rider. Seems that
he's something of an H1 fiend (he owns nine of them) and Assen
specialist. The bike he was riding was a more-or-less standard H1 with
sticky tyres, a few tweaks to the chassis and suspension (bloody good
tweaks; as he was pulling 1:49's!) but his other more serious H1 with
White Power goodies has managed a 1:42. Sheesh. Keith remembered the
guy from another track day, wheelying his H1 down the main straight - a
grade A hero and nice bloke to boot.
Saturday night, and it was time to visit an unsuspecting Assen town; the poor mexican restaurant didn't know what hit them; twenty plus HairyEvilBikerScum (and scumesses) all piling into enchiladas and (the brits at least) making ribald comments about the dutch word for whipped cream ('slagroom'; well it made the desert menu interesting!). Strange how the last modicum of decorum goes out the window after enough booze. Strange too how everyone else in Assen had a sudden desire to avoid mexican food that evening.
Back to the circuit, suitably re-pleat and the hardened alcoholics (lead strangely enough by Mat) headed off to the bar while the rest of us foolishly thought we'd retire for the night...... till the piss heads got back and woke us all up!
Morning broke once more at the crack of 0800 with engines being fired up all around us. Breakfast was a curious mix of hard boiled eggs, coconut and Southern Comfort..... most of us declined but Mat decided to maintain his circuit training regime by hitting the Southern Comfort.. Just pray Mat doesn't carry a doner card and you need a kidney (mind you, he then went out and recorded his best time so perhaps his training regime has merits?).
Third session, and by now I had a vague idea of which way the track was going and I had high hopes of improving my times. I managed to ruin my first few laps with poor timing coming out of the parc-ferme and getting caught in the middle of the pack but still managed to peel of a lap of 2.04.27. The aforementioned chap on the H1 had told me to follow him on the first lap to get a better idea of lines while he warmed his tyres..... well I managed to follow for the first few corners then he just disappeared into the distance in a slight blue haze. Warming his tyres? bastard! He later found us in the paddock and told me off for failing to take the long sweeper into the chicane flat out; well he wasn't on Dunlop Mileagemasters and he had two disks on the front... whinge gripe pathetic excuses etc.
By now, I was starting to reach the conclusion that the combination of old bike on granite tyres and the slow old codger behind the bars was reaching it's limit. The (non-folding - you really really don't want to get them dug in) footrests were kissing the tarmac in most of the corners, the tyres were starting to slide around and, most significantly, my bottle was running out. Worse still, Andrea on his 900SS was getting close and my attempt to be the fastest assen.virgin was under severe pressure.
Andrea then went out in the final Ital class and, I must admit, was looking better and better. We wandered up to the timing control to get his times. Andrea grabbed the timing sheet out of the box and started flailing his arms around, being very Italian and saying 'How can they do this to me? I shouldn't have laughed, but I did! He must have been following another bike too closely across the start/finish line because his last two laps had been given an aggregate time of 4.07!!! ROFL!
Still, that meant he had done at least a 2:03.5 so that gave me a target to aim for.
Final session. Somehow I just didn't seem able to string together a decent lap. Either traffic got in the way or I cocked up one of the corners completely. I very nearly made more than just a slight cockup when going into the chicane, I saw 'Mad Marcel's' BMW in a cloud of dust with the rider picking himself up. Seems like he'd overcooked his new tyres (for the THIRD time that weekend; two crashes before he even got to the circuit) and lost the front end. In typical BMW fashion, the cylinder head cover had instantly worn through and left a neat little trail of oil across the track - not a good recipe when mixed with a Norton on the limits of adhesion. I don't know how I didn't go down but the front end gripped again and I'm sure the pucker marks on the seat will come out in due time.
Grabbing the final timings, I'd failed to improve with a best time of 2:04.34, a mere 7 hundreths of a second off my previous best. So Andrea won the offical net.biker.virgins@assen competition with an unknown but very respectable time of under 2:03.5
Other notables must feature JasetheRace for his unbeliavably good times (2:30ish) on his MZ; complete with carrier and Tesco's bag of shopping. Keith for being far too fast on his ancient Jota, Janice for having the balls(!?) to ride within her own limits and not get dragged into a nasty situation and Carlo Klein for being a real quick smoothie on his Trumpet 'Speed Quattro'.
Mat won the alcohol intake competition hands down and Tim and 'Mad Marcel' won the street cred awards for scrapes and scratches.
I was left feeling somewhat bemused and puzzled. Over the weekend, I'd only managed to improve by 0.95 seconds between the first and last sessions, where the other newbies had been clawing off tens of seconds.
In retrospect, I think that it just comes down to self preservation (spelt cowardice!). Some corners I could take flat out and feel happy. Others, especially the banked ones, just didn't feel right so I was feathering the throttle and being a real girls blouse about them.
Next year (damn right I'm going next year), I think the old girl could do with some sticker tyres to improve the riders confidence if nothing else. I might even splash out on some new fork springs as the 20 year old ones curently fitted are getting a bit saggy! Hmmmm come to think of it some folding footrests might be a good idea and those Girlings on the back could do with.......... Nah, maybe just sort out the carbs :-)
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