Today I was "working from home" so did the decent thing and went out on the R1 on what I call my "Southern Loop".

It all started by my doing my usual route to the Hook office, but today I wasn't going to park up and look at the bike out of the window for 8 hours. Oh no, this surprisingly mild December day I was going to thrash this blue missile on some of my favourite roads.

Once past hook and over the M3 I took a right from the Odiham roundabout scraping the right slider and headed along the B3349 to Alton. The sun was low in the sky as it was just past 11 am and even though I was wearing sunglasses under the helmet, the occasional glare caused me to back off as visibility ahead was zero at times. This road is well known to the R1 even though they haven't seen each other for a few months. It didn't take long for them to get re-acquainted and after a few rear end slips and spins out of bends we where in Alton.

I embarrassingly tiptoed around a sharp left hander that leads towards the town centre as some helpful chap had left half a bag of gravel on the inside edge. This was immediately compensated for by hoisting a lovely second gear minger up the hill towards the A31.

I decided to take the A31 for half a mile until the A32 turning towards West Meon. This stretch of the A31 was done in style with the front wheel bobbing about 4 feet off the ground all the way to the roundabout. I really must practice changing into third whilst mid wheelie.

The A32 was fast but deadly slippery and some crud, probably diesel from roadwork machines, had clung to the back wheel for a few miles. This made the acceleration "entertaining", with the rear spinning up under heavy load whilst forward velocity increased slowly. Still, I imagined I was Gary McCoy for a while until I got a little too cocky exiting a
sharp right hander on the A272 towards Petersfield. This is a sign I thought. If I'm going to make it to our skiing resort this Christmas, I'd best not do any tarmac surfing today. Luckily, I came across some road works and an associated traffic queue to calm it all down for a couple of miles.

At the A3 I headed north and saw an indicated 168 on the clock along the one mile stretch until the turning for the A272 towards Midhurst. This is usually a lovely sweeping right hander that takes you back over the A3 and can really make you feel like a GP star. Taken flat out in third, a good scraping of the knee slider is guaranteed. Not today it wasn't.
Road works on the slip road meant I had to fall in line behind a truck spilling sand from its open top. It seemed like an eternity. The sense of speed was playing tricks with my mind. Just 20 seconds ago I was tucked in approaching 170 mph, the R1 singing through the titanium race pipe and fully in control. Now I was being blocked by a truck driver that spent the whole time staring at me in his mirror. He didn't look forwards once and purposely clung to the right of the road trying to block me.

But then I saw it. It was a small gap created by an area of white painted lines that tries to make vehicles move to the left. I saw my chance, my only opportunity to get past this diesel-fume belching Goliath. An opening to the right of the truck was there! It was small but it was now or never. I stamped it down into first and bolted for the gap. The truck driver saw me and moved to block me but I was too fast. I was already hitting 60 the timing was right. I would make the gap but only just. As I drew level with the cab I knocked it up into second, no time for the clutch, this acceleration with a purpose. When the power came back after the brief gear change, the rear wheel squirmed on the white painted road surface. Suddenly I was clear of the front of the truck and the white paint. The rear now found traction and this made the
front wheel leap skywards in what was to be a gesture of defiance to the Yorkie muncher. The wheelie must have looked pretty impressive to vehicles on the A3 below as I rocketed across the bridge approaching 100mph on one wheel. The landing was equally as scary. With the roundabout approaching fast, I was still at the wrong attitude to take the 90 degree left hander and so an emergency shutoff coupled with a few dabs of back brake made me weave to a standstill at the junction.

I sat there, eyes closed, exhaust popping, handle bars vibrating whilst I composed myself. Christ, what am I doing? Then my eyes opened, a satisfied smile painted itself across my face. This was going to be a hoon to remember.

The A272 into Midhurst is wide and very, very fast. Only slowing to time overtakes to perfection I reached my next waypoint in what seemed like the same amount of time for me to finish singing "Smells Like Teen Spirit" at the top of voice in my helmet.

Midhurst was quaint as usual. Until I arrived. I immediately turned into a "Throttle Tart" and echoed the sound of the race can along the High Street. Blipping the throttle at any opportunity. Bunny hopping the front wheel in the line of traffic. Pensioners stopped and glared, well-to-do wives looked shocked. Yeah baby, you want it.

And so onto Petworth. Much the same familiar A272 as before but even faster. The Avon rubber was hot and sticky. The adrenaline was seeping out of my forehead and stinging my eyes. The sun was now behind me and those curves past Cowdray Park had never been taken so fast. The bike was sweeping left and right. I way completely in rhythm and we were working as one. Every bend was exited with a extra few degrees of right wrist.

Petworth came and went. The Throttle Tart visited again along the walls of Petworth Place. I took a mental note that the bike desperately needed a service. It sounded a little rough but not surprising really, it was 2000 miles overdue it's 10k service. God I'm hungry. All I've had today is a cup of tea at 8am. It was midday according to the clock on the bike
and Box Hill was an estimated 30 miles from here. If I play my card right I could have lunch in Rykers.

The next few miles were basically a blur. I think I lost my mind and defied the bike to spit me off on every bends. Even when I approached a particularly nasty right-left flick just past Ockley, where I had witnessed a VFR kiss the dirt a few months before. I just kept piling it on. I was drunk on adrenaline and the party was in my honour.

I rolled into Box Hill car park at 18 minutes past 12. "Not bad" I thought, considering I stopped at the traffic lights just down the road. A sausage and egg bap was swilled down with tea and I noticed that I wasn't trembling. I've done things like this before and hade the slight shakes from the sheer excitement. Not today. Weird. I was cool as a Polar Bear's penis.

This last run home should be fairly boring I though as I mounted the still ticking machine in the car park. After all, Guildford just wouldn't be Guildford without all the traffic. I amused myself by overtaking everything on bends running up to Newlands Corner and then scythed my way through the traffic on my way to Brookwood and the A322.

Sitting at the lights at Windlesham, cool and calm, looking at the bike still remarkably clean after all this, I noticed Mr Johnny Porsche Turbo to my left who was doing every thing he could to goad me into a race. "Tut", as if I would. I decided that I had pushed my luck a little too far today and was much too near "home and dry" to do anything stupid.

Off he went from the lights with his back tyres chirping. "Bollocks!" I thought. "I'm not gonna let him get away with that." By this time I was just changing into second so decided to clutch it up a little. "Woohoo!!" up came the front and I lost ground on him. Damn! I slammed it down at leant forward with the throttle nailed to the end-stop. Second, third, forth, fifth all came and went in a flash. My visor was now pressing hard against my nose and the Turbo was on my left. He was gripping the wheel with both hands and determined to stay ahead.

I looked up to see the "Bagshot Bends of Death" approaching and suddenly had a sense of Deja-Vu. (I've heard that before somewhere). The plan was instantly planted in my mind. This time I would execute it without the worry of having Lou on the back. That time I had to be gentle and back off as I had no Idea was effect it was having on Lou. This time was perfect.

We entered the right hander side by side as I backed of a little, blipping the bike down to third, keeping the revs around 9k. He was ahead by a nose and accelerating towards the left hander. I lined it up, shifted myself hard left off the bike and nailed it. I was redlining and into forth before the end of the short straight, all the time hanging off left, ready for the next bend. He was in there first but I was actually accelerating around the outside of him. The bike complained a little as it hopped around on the crap road surface. I was now leant over left, with my knee tucked in and looking around the side of the fairing. I have never, ever gunned it out of a bend like that in my life. The G forces on me and the R1 were incredible. I took it to the redline in fourth and snicked into fifth, then sixth before I dared look in my mirror for him. He was there but a long way back. He took the right hand lane and peeled off for Ascot with a flash of the headlights.

I rolled into my garage and immediately put the bike up on the paddock stand. One look at the back tyre told the story. No wonder those guys at Sterling Tyres seem so happy when I pull up.

The stats:

Top speed noticed (I wasn't looking all the time): 168
Number of Speed cameras along my route:   0
Number of spiteful motorists being stupid:   Loads
Number of sphincter clenching moments:   Too many to remember
Amount of beans applied: All of them

Disclaimer
All of the above was done on closed private roads with professional riders. Honest officer.
This story is fictional and was not an accurate account of how I spent me day today. Honest officer.
Do you think that will get me off?