As ever, please click on by if we are boring.
Bit early for this month's Letter but we have had a busy time here in the Land of Sun & Fun and we have a trip planned to Thailand over Easter so thought we should get this in now. We have covered well over 1000km on Mr Harley this month already and are feeling fulfilled but a trifle sore in the nether regions. It would be indecorous of me to mention that my back-riding companion suffers from wedgies on long runs, So I won't. But the chicken strips on the Metzelers show enough wear to get a bit of respect down at my local. That's what separates the men from the boys and the real stuff from those (what d'you call 'em?) Ducati's isn't it? Hairdressers' bikes, anyway.
We have been to some isolated and pristine beach resorts. Bad roads like moon craters, hard to find places. The Harley as ever pulls like a freight train and feels like it will go on for ever. What a bike. Silver sand, waving palms, clear sea, all that. A sufficiency of lobster hauled from the ocean minutes before cooking and San Miguel served with encrusted ice on the bottles has done much for relaxation but little for female waistlines, unlike me I'm told, since I don't give a toss anyway, Levis have as yet no upper limit on waistlines. Their product enjoys an expanding market. Yet, by that tortuous process of mental chemistry man has yet to divine in his interaction with woman, this is somehow all my fault.
Then she tells me thanks for a marvellous time, slides on the seat behind, slips me a kiss as our helmets bang together and asks sweetly where we're going today. I am lost, done for, finished.
Listening to her shout "whoo-hoo!" as we scrape the pegs on yet another bend, I think she definitely earned her club colours. What a trooper she is.
'Tis our summer here and getting very hot indeed, so we shall shortly be retreating in a month or so to the comfort of air-con at home, telephone Chinese take-aways delivered in 30 mins by pizza pilots or you get it free and a great many pirate DVD's we got from Indonesia plus a substantial stock of my favourite Wynne's Bin 444 to while away the hours. Several bottles of Jack as well if the biker boys want to come around and play poker. A few more rides yet, but the bikes will then be idle more or less till November when the rainy season ends. Not a lot of motoring either, just to the mall and back. Stuck in our manic "trapik". Then the floods, but that's a tale for another time.
Riding I will really miss but I have to think of Miss Philippines and her dainty 48kg on the back with her arms getting brown in the sun, which she hates. All of us bikers here salute our local ladies who are the ultimate good sports. Really they are, never met anyone like 'em. Filipinas will have a try at anything. They literally bound out of bed in the mornings to face life head on. Me I crawl out of bed and try and work out if my head is still on.
Got to get to that 69 Mustang. Done the T-Cutting (the 36 year old metallic blue came up a treat) but it has a misfire. Suspected burnt valve on No. 6. I know that motor well enough to pull the head and have it done by lunchtime if I can find a gasket set. When did they last make cars like that? Stuff you could fix yourself with skinned knuckles, plenty of bad language and a few coldies? Then fill it up with Castrol GTX take it down the motorway and teach it a lesson. The clonky old Bendix a/c compressor is stuffed and a Nippon Denso replacement is $350 ++ Fed Ex from Mustang Parts of Oklahoma. Never mind the "duty" the customs will milk you for here . Ouch. I am an OAP, I will never need to claim the UK OAP heating allowance, Maybe a munificent HMG can subsidise a cooling allowance instead?
The last 4 days have seen the Manila Rugby 10's ,which are a popular sporting attraction much like the Hong Kong 7's, so we have seen an influx of brawny male expats from all over Asia, coinciding with busloads of pulchritude arriving from the provinces dressed in its best and with hope on its pretty face. The ogling of which has earned me a couple of wallops from Her Perfectness and several hours of The Silent Treatment.
I might add also a good many technicolor yawns into the big white telephone by the visiting Brits - frightful chaps at sporting events, aren't they? No idea how to behave at all. Traffic light vendors have even been selling knickers with national flags on them for the 6 Nations Tournament! Can't say these fellers don't have enterprise; rugby is barely known in the Philippines, yet some street vendor picks up on it and makes an opportunity, then all the others copy it.
yes, yes, before you ask, yes GRowlette is sporting her George Cross ones as we speak...........
Ian (Cape Town): reckon we beat you there on the traffic light vendors tales!
I have it on excellent authority from reliable witnesses that I enjoyed myself throughout. Tomorrow if I am well enough I will get GRowlette to read the Philippine Star to me in a darkened room to find out who won.
(Vague motoring link) Needless to say driving was not an option and taxis were resorted to.
I have watched the Clarkson TV programme on Speed and finding the ultimate experience and how it impacts your bodily systems (endorphines or something). I have ridden some serious rollercoasters in the United States and Blackpool. I once did rock-climbing on a survival course on Dartmoor. I have done rapid shooting at our beautiful Pangsanjan Falls here. I have flown on strangely named tropical airlines with short lifespans operating antique aircraft in tropical storms flown by Viet Nam vets who smoked funny cigarettes. I have run out of petrol in Afghanistan with no water and nobody for 100 miles. I once rode a Hayabusa at 250 kph and got nicked.. As a congenital card-carrying coward these have all been gut-wrenching experiences in their own ways and I am not proud of my snivelling performance at any of them. I still have a voucher my daughter sent me for a free bungee-jump as a 60th birthday present in my bedside drawer. A challenge too far, that one.
But, let me tell you, all that is for the birds. Few things clench your sphincter like a Manila taxi ride. It defines in ultimate purity the concept of a cheap thrill. Provided your coronary system is up to it, that is. The signal of what is to come is the way the driver fingers the crucifix hanging from the mirror then crosses himself while muttering a brief incantation before setting off. First thing: locking all the doors (security). Second: yelling at him to put the meter on. Third: argument about why it apparently won't work. Fourth: stop and let me out then. Fifth: at 100 kph in a narrow street lined with stalls, people and parked cars? (I know I shouldn't have said "p***ng ina mo!" - bad move and PM me for a translation). Sixth: wish you'd gone to church more often, pray and hang on.
Absolutely no quarter is given or taken. Overtaking is done within the thickness of the vehicle's paint. What happens to the vehicle behind is (by law) it's fault, so no signals are necessary. To signal anyway would give the game away to the other feller and thereby lose both advantage and face. Brakes could probably be dispensed with, since they are seldom used. Not so the horn, the more musical the better. One imagines if there was an MOT here that the horn would be a major failure item before anything else. Most cabs are the long-suffering Toyota Corolla of the 90's (no other car could take the punishment) and the clonks and rattles underneath are torture to a car lover like me.
Drivers have to pay a daily "boundary" to the taxi owner. That's about £8. Which means they don't earn anything till they've done a number of trips each day. Since the flagfall is about 28p, plus they have to pay their own gas, time is of the essence. Ally this to the macho Philippines "me-first" culture (we can thank 400 years of Spanish occupation for that) and a taxi-ride is a disturbing experience at best and a terrifying one at worst. After a weekend of that I need to go and have a lie down.
You know that movie about a high speed ride through Paris? Want to experience similar for a couple of quid? Come to see us.........but bring fresh underwear.
Ah well, the weather is warm. the beer is cold and the women are beautiful....
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