After the fun I had fixing the Daytona’s brakes and after a short ride around town to see just how bad they were – they were biting almost OK, but with two big a “soft spot” for me to be entirely comfortable – I decided to go out for a weekends riding around my cottage.

Yes, perhaps it was stupid taking out a bike that had maybe 75% of front brake power and then only with the lever at the bar but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, it was that or going in the truck with the kids and the attendant fights, requests for McDonalds /etc and I just couldn’t bring myself to do that. Besides, it was supposed to be a gorgeous weekend, aside from the Saturday and I haven’t really had a chance to use the Daytona this year. Decision made.

It was a long weekend in Canada; something about celebrating Queen Victoria deciding that the British could no longer be arsed with looking after the colonies, at least one without wealth beyond beaver pelts, and thus decided to “give it to the locals”. So we celebrate her birthday by closing all the stores and putting thousands of extra cops on the roads in order to scare us into driving at least 10km/h below the limit that is when we’re not stuck in stationary traffic that is.

Sounds like fun, doesn’t it? But I have a secret weapon. Not having a regular job like other people, I can time my leaving town to avoid all this. So at 11a.m., after strapping my 450EXC to the truck, I jump in the saddle and hit the roads. This plan seems flawless at first. There really is very little traffic about and I’m making good time. The brakes however are not great and so I’m giving everyone plenty of room in front of me.

On the main highway out of town I see my first red and blue lights. Luckily, they’ve pulled over some hapless kid in a Civic SRi. He probably wasn’t going that fast but the blue under-lights and spinner rims really do make him stand out as a target. I hate to laugh, but I was just glad it wasn’t me.

The rest of the ride up was very uneventful. I had to slow for a couple of obvious radar guns (thanks OPP for standing literally in the middle of the road and making it obvious) and had great fun stopping for another set of flashing lights in order to watch the cop literally force an oblivious driver off the road. Cop action aside, it’s not the most exciting ride in the world but it’s a decent introduction back into a sportbike after the long winter sojourn. Besides, I was listening to Jesus and Mary Chain to pass the couple of hours.

So I arrived, a little stiffer than I remember but ticket free and in one piece, which I consider a validation of my choice to ride, despite the brakes.

Saturday, as I said earlier, was a wet day. However, it was always planned as a dirt day. Near my cottage there is some excellent riding, both dirt and tarmac and I’ve not had chance to get muddy yet. The 450 is a beast of a machine, perfect for the terrain up there so it was with some frustration and profanity that I couldn’t get the damn bike to run for longer than a minute without stalling, no matter how much choke or gas I gave her. At the top of the drive way, the battery flat, I remembered why. My old nemesis, the fuel shut off valve, had struck again. I turned the valve to on, popped the throttle a couple of times to refill the throat bowls and kicked it as the battery was all but dead. it fired first time and I’m off.

All I can say about the dirt is that I wasn’t out long, maybe two hours, but boy was it ever fun again. There’s a lot to be learned from riding in the dirt and while I don’t think I picked up any new skills I was very pleasantly surprised to see I was no worse than last year. It rained on and off the whole time and I had a few nice water crossings to do – not too deep, but past the footpegs – so I returned home tired, filthy, soaked and elated. As a bonus, it was raining so I didn’t need to worry too much about washing the bike down. Besides, I need to give it a good clean anyway and the mosquitos were out.

Come Sunday, the sky is looking grey but holding off. I could have trucked both bikes I guess, but it didn’t look that bad so I set off. Again, I was heading out early to avoid the traffic and the plan was good. However, by the time I got one third of the way, the rain was just starting to splash my visor. From there, the rain got heavier and heavier and the air, like my bones, got colder and colder. At one point, I passed one of those businesses, usually builders yards, that for some reason thinks displaying the temperature is a nice idea. In this case, all it told me was that in addition to the maybe 50 yards visibility I had, it was nine degrees Celsius outside. Factor in the windchill and the fact I didn’t even take water proofs with me and it’s considerably colder than that under my leathers. I’ve only one ridden that cold and wet before and I hope to whichever deity is listening that I never do again, at least until I get a decent undersuit and ideally heated grips. Oh yeah, and brakes that work properly.

So, all down the highway, back into town, I’m shivering but thinking “at least there’s no cops out”. Aside from the brakesm the Daytona it must be said performed admirably. While I was a little cautious at first in corners, the cold soon made me lose this and I started riding faster and faster. Doing this at least made me tuck in more, thus conserving body heat. If I got stopped, that was going to be my story but luckily I wasn’t.

So anyway, a decent ride up and a great morning in the dirt were spoiled by a rain-sodden afternoon coming back. Today, I have a horrible cold and the sneaking suspicion that ten minutes longer might have lead to low-grade hypothermia. Oh, that and true to form, minutes after I pulled the bike into the garage, the rain let up and the sun started to shine but by this time I was in the bath while the water was steadily dripping out of my leathers.

And I still have to fix the brakes.

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