Last month’s write-up saw some jeopardy as the little Suzuki was neither running, nor had an MoT, with less than a week before the Longest Day Challenge…
Words & Photography: Dave Manning
Originally published in the September 2024 issue of Motorcycle Sport & Leisure. Catch up with part 1, part 2, part 3 & part 4.
Rather than witter on about the issues that I had during those last few days – they’re in a boxout elsewhere – I’ll just talk about the actual trip itself. For, yes, I got it sorted, so didn’t have to use one of the back-up bikes that friends had offered.
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With an MoT passed and a pair of Bridgestones fitted, I left Lincolnshire after tea on June 18, planning to get about halfway to Cornwall before finding a room somewhere. Due to no testing, I didn’t know what the fuel consumption would be like, nor the tank range. I’d squeezed in 13 litres after the MoT, so guessed that I’d get over 100 miles, so I covered around that distance and topped up, with nine litres going in telling me that I could certainly get 125 miles before thinking about fuel, so used that as my gauge for the following few days.
After a nightmare finding accommodation near Bristol, only getting a room after seven enquiries (mostly fully booked, but one wanting £366 for one person for one night!), and only some slight aches from my knees after the 200 miles covered, my head hit the pillow at midnight, ready for an 8am start to get to Land’s End the next day.
A steady 200-mile ride saw me meeting the other 35 riders and event organiser, John McAvoy, at 2pm, some introductions made, photos taken, and then to the hotel for food and instructions about leaving the next morning, June 20, the longest day of the year.
The Longest Day
We left on the strike of 4am, with John’s instructions ringing in our ears of “Watch for the speed cameras on the A30”, and I set a steady pace along the A30, bike tail lights stretching out before me as the sky began to lighten, heading towards Bodmin Moor. As the sun began to burn through, a scarlet glow added to the mist over the moor and, trying to get the phrase ‘Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning’ out of my mind, I concentrated on counting down to my first fuel stop on the outskirts of Exeter.
As the LDC uses no motorways whatsoever, we had to head through the city of Exeter, which, once I’d fuelled up just off the A30 (12.64 litres), was actually really easy, but then it was still early, with next-to-no traffic. My Dad was born in Exeter, and I got to wondering how much he’d recognise, and if he’d have been able to help with directions – I lost him to cancer nearly a quarter-of-a-century ago. I ended up at the roundabout by the M5 services, a junction too far south but, rather than just use the motorway for a junction (determined to stay to the ‘rules’), I knew of a lane running around the back of Westpoint Arena northwards back to the A30 – my wife used to organise the Exeter Motorcycle Show at Westpoint, nigh on 20 years ago.
There followed a cross-country route along the A30 and A303, past the Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm Museum (which struck me as peculiar, being nowhere near the sea), hooking northwards on the A350 to Chippenham, then the A429 to Cirencester and the first pitstop at the services on the A429/A417 junction. The pitstops are manned by volunteers, with drinks and light bites on offer, as well as encouraging words and mechanical help. I decided to fuel up the bike first, then have a quick refresh myself. With 13.29 litres in, the lock on the cap felt a little sticky, and then popped straight out, leaving the cap open and the lock barrel still on the key! Better than it being locked shut I suppose, and a kindly chap at the pitstop unscrewed the mechanism from under the cap, so it couldn’t click shut and never be opened again, covering the cap with duct tape which was then held in place, and the cap kept closed, by my tank bag. It’d be a bit of a faff at subsequent fuel stops, but it meant I could carry on. Bizarrely, another rider at the same pitstop was also taping up his fuel tank, after he’d left the cap on top of a petrol pump…
Leg 2
Jumping on to the A429, it was then a wonderful ride up through the Cotswolds, through Stow and on to Warwick, to join the A46 to Coventry. No sign of Lady Godiva, but a recognition of the inner ring road from the times I’ve visited the MCIA headquarters, and easily on to the A444, knowing the turning from when I’ve visited bike shows at Stoneleigh. The ride from there to Burton-on-Trent is a mix of lovely curves in open country, past Twycross Zoo before the tedious 40mph limits to, and through, Burton. Once on the A38, it was an easy blast past Derby and Alfreton, stopping for 10.48 litres of unleaded on the A61 before the second pitstop at MyMoto in Clay Cross. Here I was surprised to see my good mate, and entrant in last year’s LDC, Rene Schilperoord, all the way from Holland, helping out! A swift drink of water, a banana, tyre pressures checked and a quick chat to Dave Hewson from Obsession Engineering (who did the LDC in 23 – search for his YouTube channel for coverage of that, and this year’s event) and then back en route, and on to what John had told us would be the hardest leg of the day…
Leg 3
The A61 through Chesterfield and Sheffield was easy for me, as I’d learnt to ride in Steel City (quite a while ago, before the trams!), but heavy traffic around Hillsborough caused issues for some folk – I put my London riding head on and dealt with it (15 years working in our capital city gives a hard-nosed approach to traffic). The A629 from Barnsley and around Penistone was decent enough, even around Halifax, but then came the A646. Mytholmroyd, Hebden Bridge, Todmorden. Absolute purgatory. Forty limits. Thirty limits. Twenty limits. And roadworks. Lots of roadworks. None more than about 200 yards long, before a gap of the same distance before more roadworks and another set of traffic lights. That were all on red. I’d been making reasonable time up to here, but this seemed to last for weeks…
As the bike got hotter, and the tickover rose to near 3000rpm, I was convinced I could smell hot oil and burning clutch plates. Or was that the hot, freshly-laid Tarmac, the leaky tipper truck, or the old dear who was riding the clutch in her Kia?
Skirting south of Burnley, through Padiham and Whalley, finally there was open road, a twisting delight of B road past the Tolkien Trail, to Longridge, then Broughton, and then three miles of the A6 to Guys Thatched Hamlet, and the next pitstop. More water, bladder emptied, a spicy pasty (wondering why I didn’t have one in Cornwall…) and a very quick chat with the lovely ladies from Cancer Research UK who were there to cheer us on before slinging a leg back over, with a fuel stop a couple of miles later for another 9.29 litres.
Leg 4
I hoped that traffic would reduce, but the first stretch of the A6 was dull – past Lancaster University, through the city, and on to Carnforth was horrid, but I kept cheery convincing myself that it was good for fuel economy. Distracted by thinking of my wife as I passed her birth town of Milnthorpe, Kendal came and went, and then I was on the very best part of the A6, climbing up to Shap with barely any other traffic, just a couple of cars that were caught and passed at very convenient places. Instantly, the traffic trauma of the last leg was forgotten, and the run to Penrith was wonderful. Probably a little too enjoyable, as I took the wrong route out of the town, crossing the M6 and heading for Greystoke (yes, the Tarzan place!). Fortunately, I knew a back road that led to Carlisle past the racecourse, so didn’t have to backtrack at all, although this meant negotiating the road closures in the city, and a couple of U-turns before I found the A7 northbound to Longtown, before a left and westwards for Gretna Green and into Scotland.
Another 9.10 litres in the tank, and the A75 to Dumfries was busy in both directions – this is the route to the Stranraer ferry, and it was close to teatime – but it was flowing quickly, and once Dumfries was skirted, the traffic melted away and the A76 to Kilmarnock became a motorcyclist’s dream. Smooth, fast-flowing, and scenic.
From Kilmarnock, the A71 and then A78 were a little less endearing, but traffic was light, and I soon reached the west coast to head northwards, with stunning views across to the isles of Arran and Bute. Since the last time I was here, on holiday with my wife some 15 years ago, there have been quite a few new holiday homes and accommodation built along this stretch, with a subsequent reduction in speed limit. But traffic was light, and good time was made, with a stop in Wemyss Bay for an 11.61-litre top-up of fuel.
The next pitstop was at Gourock ferry terminal, for we were due to catch the ferry across the Clyde estuary to Dunoon. As I rode around the headland in Gourock, I saw the ferry leaving. Had I not stopped for fuel in Wemyss Bay, I would’ve been on that, and not had a 30-minute wait until the next crossing. It doesn’t sound like much, but when you’ve spent the whole day trying to make up time, a few seconds here and there make a difference, and a half-hour delay felt like an eternity. Still, it gave me chance to scoff a hotdog, and have the first coffee of the day, too, as well as a chat with the other riders who arrived after me.
Leg 5
Seven of us rolled off the ferry on to the A815, staying as a strung-out group as far as the A83, past the Rest-and-be-thankful viewpoint, but split up by the time we turned left on to the A82 alongside Loch Lomond. I’ve travelled the road a few times, but never has it been as quiet and traffic-free as it was now, with me following Shaun Baker on his Honda Deauville behind Stuart Sharpe’s Aprilia Atlantic 500 scooter. A truly epic ride, only getting more so as we passed the Green Welly at Tyndrum and headed over Rannoch Moor to drop down into Glen Coe in the dusk, mist beginning to drop over the tops. Glen Coe is always atmospheric, but to have a clear run, just three bikes and no other traffic, will stay with me forever.
On through Fort William, with a quick fuel and pee break (10.51 litres of the former, I didn’t measure the latter), we were making superb time through Spean Bridge, right up to a road closure at Laggan Locks. With no way of bypassing it, we had to sit put for 15 minutes until the hourly opening. Apparently, it’s a regular thing in the Highlands, with overnight road closures being opened at regular intervals to allow traffic to pass through under escort. Our wait saw the very last of the light disappearing, so once we were underway, we passed through Fort Augustus, alongside Loch Ness and to Inverness in the dark, with just enough light to be able to see that the loch was there, but not enough to see the views, or Nessie.
The last pitstop was at Haggis Tours in Inverness, found via a convoluted route through the city’s backstreets thanks to Stuart’s sat-nav (I would’ve really struggled to find it by myself), and it was just starting to spit with rain as we rolled up to a warm welcome. A greeting that also informed us of another road closure on the A99, that would open at 2am and if we pressed on, we should get there in time, otherwise it’d be closed until 4am… Let’s go!
Leg 6
With what would be the last fuel stop, just 5.76 litres were squeezed in, and a trio of shonky, cheap motorcycles headed out of Inverness in the rain, northbound on the A9 for the last 120 miles of a long day.
While the road was quiet, it was as pitch black and the road was wet, and although it wasn’t heavy rain, only really spitting, it was very sharp rain that meant visors needed to be closed, which was interesting as mine was tinted… I was, however, wearing yellow-tinted sunglasses but these soon misted up and I found myself peering through a slot between tinted glasses and half-open visor, slightly ducked down behind the small screen on the Suzuki. It seemed to work, albeit made all the more easier by having Stuart and Shaun’s tail lights to give me a clue as to which way the road went. The only clue as to the layout of the land was the twinkling of lights on the offshore windfarms.
Trying to maintain a decent pace, we reached the road closure just five minutes too late, meaning we could either wait nearly two hours, or take a diversion that one of the chaps at Haggis Tours had told us about. It took us down a very narrow, very dusty, and very bumpy lane, that felt like a farm track but soon got us back on the A99 heading to our final destination. John O’Groats lies to the north of Wick, about 15 miles down a narrow section of A99 that felt, on that late Thursday night, that it was about 200 miles long. The rain was easing, but the feeling that it wasn’t getting any closer was interminable.
Finally, at 2.27am we rolled up to the signpost at John O’Groats. One thousand and seven miles had been added to the odometer since 4am, so much had been seen, and there is so much to talk about. Best of all, lots of money has been raised for Cancer Research UK.
The aftermath!
I’d expected my arrival at John O’Groats to be emotional, but that seemed to be pushed to one side by the desire for a comfy bed, and only appeared the following morning, after the group photos, when the sudden realisation of it all being over hit home. Actually, it was when a kindly old dear in an electric wheelchair rolled over to us, to congratulate us all on a job well done, that I seemed to get a bit of grit in my eye, or something…
The ride home was split over a couple of days, with an overnight stop in Tomintoul, east of Aviemore. And, during that ride home, I thought of a brilliant way to finish it all off. It was the Suzuki Live weekend at Cadwell Park, as organised by the good folks at Classic Bike Track Days. So, I got home late on Saturday night, and whizzed over to Cadwell the next morning, taking the Teapot out on track as a celebration.
Briefly, the Suzuki performed superbly. Slightly incontinent from the oil drain tubes at the front of the engine, and from the front brake master cylinder, an occasional cough and splutter and that high tickover, but otherwise it started first push of the button every time and got me there and home in surprising comfort. A Paracetamol and Ibuprofen at every other fuel stop had kept on top of the aches from feet, knees, back, shoulder, elbows, and wrists and, despite all the comments of “Has your arse recovered yet?” my posterior was problem-free…
A total of 96.12 litres, including the final top-up at Wick the day after, works out at 47.2mpg for the day. All in all, not bad for a 33-year-old bike that cost me 400 quid…
Thanks to
This event wouldn’t happen without the skills and determination of John McAvoy, so a massive thanks must go to him and the amazing team that he has assembled. Also, to all of those who helped out at the pitstops, offering support and encouragement along the way.
I must also say thanks to all those who have donated to Cancer Research UK, not just through the link that I have in honour of my amazing wife, but via all of the pages that the other 34 riders have set up themselves. Thanks, also, to those other riders who decided to go for a ride on one day in June. You’re all amazing.
In memory of Belinda ‘Billybird’ Manning.
29/11/1964 – 24/7/2022
Last minute dot com!
As the last issue showed, I wasn’t sure that I’d get everything sorted in time, and that faff and panic continued until the very day I was due to leave home.
I’d managed to get the lack of spark at the plugs sorted by swapping over the seemingly identical primary ignition coil. The carbs were balanced, and then fuel tank and bodywork fitted for the first time in six months, and an MoT booked for two days later. I sorted out insurance, and decided an hour before the MoT that I ought to put a decent amount of fuel in the tank, so sloshed in half a gallon from a can, and set off for the petrol station just four miles away. I ran out of fuel 0.9 miles later. Apparently, the GSX’s tank holds half a gallon below the level of the tap.
So, a walk home to collect my van, drive back to pick up the bike, around to the petrol station to throw in a couple of gallons, back home to unload and then ride the bike for the MoT. Which it failed.
Fortunately, it was just a non-working number plate light, which turned out to be a loose connector, and the advisories of worn tyres and a slightly blowing exhaust gasket could be resolved. Although finding tyres of the right size (skinny 110 front and 140 rear section, both with odd 80 profiles) wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped, with the fastest courier only able to get the tyres to me by the Tuesday morning. I intended to leave at 5pm! The MoT paperwork also revealed that the clocks had been changed, with previous mileage being indicated as over twice that of the 23,000-odd indicated on the odometer… In the meantime, I rode to the office and home again, which resulted in a mere 38 miles of ‘testing’ before I was going to ride to Cornwall. More jeopardy!
The tyres arrived at 9am, and two good mates helped me fit them (many thanks Dave and Craig), and I was ready for the off. Albeit with no idea of fuel consumption or tank range; no idea if it’d be comfortable or not; and no idea if the lights would be any good for the last part of the run up to John O’Groats. The jeopardy continued…
Longest Day Challenge
The premise is simple: riding from Land’s End on the morning of the longest day (which in 2024 was June 20 and will be June 21 in 2025.), northwards all the way to John O’Groats, without use of any motorways, and all aboard bikes that cost no more than £600.
In 2024, 35 bikes took part, and over £100k has been raised for Cancer Research UK.
More details about the day can be found here and you can donate to the cause here.
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