When I bought the XJ900F back in 1997 (after writing off the previous one) I knew I would end up doing some long range journey eventually.
It wasn't until 1999 that it happened.
After a brief visit to France in April with a group of friends (who I had never actually met in person before) that involved riding down to London, getting a little tipsy , waking up early and diving over to St Omer for one night and then back to Liverpool, it was suggested that some of us go to the Bol in September. So , 6 days after returning from France on a family holiday I was packed up with 2 full side panniers and a fairly empty top box (for storage of lid etc). The tent was strapped over the top.
I left work early on the Wednesday , got home , kitted up and set off for the south of England into some beautiful sunshine , weather was to remain like this until I got home again. At Neil's I met up with some of the others who would be tonking through France with us. Neil M (Ducati 750SS), Nial (Ducati 750SS), Neil C , Simon, Steve & Braces (ZX9s). We relaxed in the garden to think of the next days ride while drinking. The plan was to be in St Etienne by 19:00 the next day, a nights rest and then the easy ride down to the circuit.
It was dark when we got up to leave, we all dragged the bikes out and started them, Neil's 750SS sounded a bit rough. By the end of the road it had packed up and he decided to switch bikes (to a GT750 ) and catch us up. Telling every one that I knew the route from Sutton to the M25 he waved us off. It was dark, I had only done this bit once before but managed to lead them down to the M25 and Dover anyway. At one point it looked as if no Ducati was going to get to the Ferry as Nial's decided to cut out, but it was a short lived breakdown as he had only managed to block his petrol breather with his tank bag. On the M20 there was a bit of a fog , so we eased up to around 110 ! At the ferry we met up with Neil again (on his GT750) plus Bill (Bandit 1200) and Mick (FJ1200).
At 07:30 (French time) on the Thursday morning we rolled off the ferry and started our long ride.
First off we hit the autoroute out of Calais (because the north of France is boring), heading for Paris before hitting the N roads at Senlis (oh yes , this was to be a long ride). Before long our first problem came up, Bill had no petrol. Bandits are notorious for their tank range, but he forgot to fill up at Dover. We escorted him to the next exit and then carried on, a bit unfriendly but we had a lot of miles to cover. About an hour later I was getting low on juice, I had neglected to fill at Dover myself as I had a 150 mile before reserve range and hadn't thought about the others not stopping, so I opened the throttle on the XJ, made signals to the others and went for the next petrol stop. Watched them go past as I filled up , then opened the throttle to catch them again. Mission accomplished. Did I mention that I had no idea of where we were going and needed to follow Neil ? Nope, well I couldn't be bothered to get a map case etc. Anyway much more fun this way.
We spent the day in 2 (or should that be 4 groups) ,The GT750,XJ900 & 750SS in one pack the ZX9s in another and the Bandit and FJ1200 making their own way, ourselves and the ZX9s passing each other occasionally at petrol stops. We doing 150 to a tank and them 100. The XJ900F was performing well, taking the French roads in its stride and being shown how to corner by the 750SS. While stopping for petrol I had to get some gaffer tape out and strap the N/S front indicator back on as it was hanging by the wires, I had either been hit by a stone or a large fly. The day went by in a blur of traffic, towns petrol stops and trees. Finally we got near St Etienne and started to climb up into the hills , what a way to finish the day ! As Neil disappeared into the distance on his GT750 (he knew the road well) I didn't follow him closely as I was tired and remember thinking "I don't fancy dying today". As we arrived in the village with our hotel, we saw the last member of our little gang sitting outside a café , Kev (XJ600) , straight from Assen. To mine and Neil's delight our 2 old Shafties had beaten the ZX9s over the 500 miles from Calais. Mick turns up very late, the battery on the FJ died and he spent most of the day sourcing a new one.
This hotel is renowned for its "Thunderbird loos" , you walk into your en-suite room and wonder where the toilet is. While putting some clothes in the wardrobe you slip and push against it. The whole unit swings out and there it is ! A shower, toilet and basin. Food and wine that night was excellent and we all retired tired and merry, knowing it would be the last comfy night for a while.
Next day, another relatively early start (08:00ish) , great ride back down the mountain/hill apart from the smell of diesel on one bend. Then off towards the lower slopes of the Alps, once more on the N roads. This time the ZX9s decide to stick with us and we all pootled our way through Valence and on down to Sisteron via the D93. As we approached Die (and all the jokes surrounding it) the roads became like we expect from French roads, open twisty and clear. The ZX9s blast off and Neil shows me how to throw a shite old shafty round mountain roads, leaving the XJ600 and Bandit behind ( we later found that Bill had ridden the Alps with a slow puncture and wondered why it had handled so badly). We had one worrying, but amusing moment as we rounded a bend and Steve was pulling his bike out of the bushes, with a grin as big as a Cheshire cat "Over ran it a bit" he hopped on and was off again.
After a stop for lunch we decided it was time to hit the autoroute and get to the Bol. After a somewhat boring run down the A51 and A52 (interspersed by the normal hunt for petrol for thirsty ZX9s and finding a fully automatic,card only motorway service station) we approached Bandol on the D559. There was a traffic jam and a half caused by the Bol traffic and a Convie Exceptional ! A bit of mean filtering later we went up the hill, I had to show off and show a Fireblade how to go round bends with a laden bike.
The site was something else, bikes everywhere, crowds at the gate trying to get people to do donuts, hit the rev limiter or do a "kill switch", of course the XJ could not play that game. Neil led us to his usual spot round the back of the Mistral straight against the fence to the joined military land . We were sandwiched between a group of mad Swiss and mad Germans who had fridges, dirt bikes, full camping kitchens and sound systems. We proceeded to put the tents up on what felt like concrete. Tents sorted and it was off to the Supermarket for a beer run.
The hill down from the circuit is famous for its bends and deaths. Granted it was a top road, unfortunately too many riders are not up to it. I decided to take it somewhat easy and stay out of their way. On the way back up the hill I was surprised my shocks did not die, I had a case of beer in each pannier (3), at least 6 bottles of wine, some water, some food and Mike on the back carrying another case of beer. I went very gingerly back to the site.
That afternoon our final party member joined us , Nick, he was on holiday near Preopening and decided to pop over on his Gold Wing.
And so started 2 days and 3 nights of alcohol induced fun, we watched practice, we swam, we drank, we built a fire (Steve was head firestarter). The site contained a fair ground, a stage for groups and all the usual stalls, my favourite of which was the Tartifilette one.
The nights, what can I say about the nights, apart from it isn't worth sleeping. You drink until you can drink no more, in the back ground you hear the bikes roaring past and in the foreground the sound of bikes held to the rev limiter. Also driving round the site all night in some form of sound competition are bath tubs with engines on them.
On the way to the beach that day we came across a rider, obviously dead (blanket over him and a pool of blood) being tended to by the Gendarmes as his R1 lay split in 2 nearby. We assume he or the rider of the other bike on the road had been on the wrong side. Its strange how incidents like this effect people, most riders slowed right down, I just rode my normal ride and was probably the fastest bike on the hill for , about 5 minutes.
On the Saturday after watching the practice start and the real start (god they must get hot). We went for another swim, how we didn't get wiped out I will never know, as we approached the beach a car pulled out from our right, Steve managed to get past it but the car continued into the road and our path. I elected to open the throttle and pull round it, missing Kev's knee by millimetres (he was pillion). The French bint continued on her way as if nothing had happened.
The beach at Bandol. Clear water, clean sand and totty ! If you ever get a chance , go.
So it was back to the site and watch the bikes for a bit, drink more beer and ring my wife at midnight to tell her it was 21 Degrees here.
On the Sunday morning I crawled out of my pit and joined a group talking about how the race often never goes the full 24 hours because spectators invade the track when a team is so far ahead that they cannot be caught. So here we were sitting behind the Mistral straight and my mind is ticking over slowly as I ask "So , how do we know when the race has finished then ?" At this point a legend was born and I earned my nickname as Nick turned and said "When the stop going round, You Thick C*** ".
We spent the morning stumbling around, packing our gear, watching a few bikes go past and waiting for the final lap. Within minutes of the race finishing we were off. The police make the Bandol hill one way as thousands of bikes sweep down the bends and through the town. The streets are lined with people waving, Grannies, toddlers and parents, the French love bikes and bikers. The procession is fed towards the autoroute and away from the area. For mile after mile we plodded down the autoroute , bridge after bridge had people still waving , this went on for hundreds of miles. Apart from the waving spectators this had to be the most boring 2.5 hours of the entire journey. Neil Murray, being a Bol veteran knew the score with petrol, most bikes would rip open the throttle and an run out of juice around the 100mile mark. This would mean queues, long queues. Neil knew there was a petrol station at the 160 mile mark and so we all sat at 80 letting the juice be sipped slowly. And he was right, some of the petrol queues where horrendous.
When we finally stopped I was surprised at how little fuel the ZX9s needed, just over 14 litres! That was less than the XJ900F. Now at last it was playtime again, we only had about another 130 miles to our over night stop in Dijon to do, so it was throttle open time again. Obviously the ZX9s disappeared, but I had fun slip streaming sports bikes and blipping past them at 120+. Kev on the 600 Divvy topped out at 120 doing the slip stream game as well. Before we knew it we had arrived at our junction and peeled off the autoroute, I was surprised to see I had managed to nearly empty my tank. The fun and games continued at the toll booth, as the autoroutes are free for bikes during the Bol weekend and they normally have bike lanes available. At this exit they didn't , but by the time we discovered that we had got to the front and barged in. Neil was held up by the operator, a bit of misunderstanding ensued and when the barrier lifted he went. So did the car, who got it on his roof .
Oh the site of a Campanile after 3 nights at the Bol. It was shit show and shave time, then down for some food, wine and beer.
Next day we had to leave Batey waiting for the breakdown service, he had washed his ZX9 the previous evening and now the immobiliser was working to well. We all started to split up a bit, I stayed with Neil and Kev doing some N road stuff as we had had enough of the autoroutes. At one petrol stop we saw a site I will long remember, a Ducati owner was fixing his slipping clutch by making cardboard clutch plates. He was seen later at the Ferry having made it .
I left the others before we got to Troyes as I had the furthest to go the other side. It should have been a long lonely ride, but you always meet other bikers at petrol stops and ride with them for a while if they are doing the same speed, but it must still have been 3 hours on my own to Calais. When I got there I decided to buy some wine and stuff the panniers with it (about 12 bottles). This meant I missed my boat by 5 minutes.
The young lady at the terminal was most unhelpful and said I could not get another until 18:30 (it was 16:25) as they were all full (of bikes). Nor could I leave terminal as I now had a ticket. Resigned to a 2 hour wait I pottled off down to the lane indicated and went for a coffee. As I wandered back a French marshall asked if I would like to jump on a ferry leaving in 30 mins.
“Would I ? “
“Too bloody right!”
I dumped he coffee and followed his directions to the new line. As I got to the front of it another marshall asked if I wanted to get on the boat leaving now .
“Would I ?”
“Too bloody right!”
Result ! I was on a ferry leaving only 30 minutes later than my intended one.
My little Bol trip was nearly over, one last leg to do, the worst one , Dover to St Helens, 320 miles of British motorway. I filled up at Dover and remember looking at the clock on the bike 17:30 (now reset to UK time) and set of. I started to wonder exactly how quick I could get home and if I could do it with only one stop (the XJ900F can push over 200 miles if taken steady). So I set a pace of 90-95mph. I hit the M25 by Heathrow at a reasonable time and was able to keep a fair pace of 60mph as the cameras were on. I had 1 fuel stop at Warwick on the M40 which cost me 8 minutes (am I sounding obsessive) and continued up the M42/M5/M6. Its amazing how you occupy your mid at times like this, mine was all to do with how fast I could go in relation to my fuel usage while watching for Police cars. As I neared home the speed was rising and I was definitely cruising at over 110 by the time I crossed the Thelwall Viaduct. As I turned into my road I looked at my clock again, just as it blipped onto 21:30. Fours hours from Dover, through rush hour M25, cool. Over 750 miles travelled that day.
A trip I know I will never forget.
I returned to the Bol again (but at Magny Cours) in 2001 with some of the same people, on a mixture of old bikes, but that is another story.