Mutch's Diary
The Road's editor
To Oxford for the Thames Valley Fred Hill run. A bracing ride with the needle topping 70mph downhill and the electric vest working overtime. A good turn out in excess of 200 souls, efficiently marshalled by Thames Valley MAG. I made a speech in Oxford and was then reminded by Regional rep Rob that I was chairing their AGM. AGM concluded I topped 75mph (can I say that?) trying to get back to London before the Excell show closes. I failed.
After the National Committee meeting in Rugby I make another Fred Hill day in London. We meet at The ACE Cafe where I find our numbers considerably swelled by contingents who have made it up from the South coast and points West, thanks a lot guys and girls, very much appreciated.
I make my usual speech at the prison gates where a line of spouses are waiting. In deference to their presence I cut the bit of my talk that emphasises how Fred hated being locked up with 'the stinking scum of the earth.' We then take photographs, whereupon a jobsworth emerges to tell us that we can't do that in front of Her Majesty's prison. Naturally I pass this on to the band of snappers and begin dutifully wiping my memory card as a spouse pulls a Marlborough from her mouth to express sympathy, "Tell him to eff of luv" she chirrups sweetly. Mysteriously one picture has survived and appears on page 75, twilight zone or what eh?
Off to Yorkshire for the reps training session. Fearing rain, I board a train at King Cross and magically find a seat, only to hear an ominous warning.
"This is your train manager speaking (train manager! what the hell's that all about? Casey Jones would spit) there has been a power failure and we can give you no departure time, you may wish to...
To hell with that! I go get a refund, take the tube home, set my alarm for 0615 and subsequently sleep through it. I awake, astonished, at 0720 and at 0830 am heading North up the M11 and A1, arriving at the seminar venue North of Leeds just four hours later at 1230, without a doubt, the fastest ride of my life! Eat your heart out Valentino Rossi!
Back in the Smoke and the BBC ring me to see if I can be in the Fulham road at a quarter to eight in the morning for some filming. A quarter to eight! They want a biker's perspective on the extended congestion charge zone that is outraging the good residents of Kensington and Chelsea. How anyone who can afford to live in these boroughs can be bothered by anything less than a bill for a nuclear defence system amazes me, but hey I'm a mere movie star.
Riding past the living dead who litter the East End's bus stops at this hour, I thread my way across the capital to the rendevouz point where I meet a camerman. I complete the interview and ride down the road with a camera strapped to my handlebars to get some moving shots. Back home I watch the news to see myself pontificating about the eco advantages of motorcycles only to hear, "actually Ian's 1400cc Harley-Davidson puts out more emissions than this seven ton truck." Pan to image of huge vehicle in local government livery lumbering up the road - what!? Answer - it's electric. Booo hiss, cheap point or what? And what produces the electricity eh? Come the revolution those BBC wallahs will be the first on my scaffold. Never mind, I can take a joke, and in this frame of mind I set off for Milton Keynes. The occasion this time is the Motorcycle Industry Media meeting. This is where us magazine editors get together and decide to take a more responsible attitude toward road safety. I enter this throng of miscreants as Mr righteous since The ROAD publishes none of this 'how to do a wheelie outside the school gates' lunacy. OK I still think helmet laws suck but that is a far easier stance to defend than riding like a half wit on public roads.
Sadly the Roads Minister has not turned up for this one, thus robbing me of my teacher's pet opportunity. On the plus side I cadge a beer out of British Dealer News Publisher Roger Willis, a man so tight he has oft boasted of his ability to go on a five day model launch with only a pound in his pocket and come home with his finances intact. The good thing about Roger is that he owns an excellent fish smoking business on the Isle of Man, (www.manxkippers.com) home to the best kippers on earth, and rewards those sad enough to contribute to his letters page with a brace of treated Herrings. I tap out an abusive missive and await my kippers eagerly.
To the West End for a press call about road charging. The Roads Minister, Stephen Ladyman, is the number one speaker, a man clearly 100% behind the scheme. He issues a stark warning to the press. "If you oppose this scheme in principle then you are barking mad." The stage is then taken by a succession of advocates including the omnipresent Stephen Joseph of Transport 2000 who reminds me of that tall shock haired lunatic from the American Seinfeld show. I catch Ann Rossiter, the High Priestess of Road Charging, for a brief interview, you'll find her comments in the feature on page 57 of this issue.
I get the feeling that the Government is determined to press ahead with this and they are right that something has to be done about congestion, but is this the best way? One thing is for sure. we have to make certain that bikes are exempt if it does come in.
To the ACE Cafe next, to meet a long-standing mentor of mine, Ted Simon. In 1974 Ted set off on a Triumph 500 to ride round the world. I remember seeing the picture in the Times colour supplement of all his gear laid out on his garage floor. Six years later I set out on a 650 Triumph chop with the less ambitious project of getting to Israel. Ted's book about his trip 'Jupiter's travels' has now sold over a quarter of a million copies. My book, of my Israel trip, Lowrider, despite its five star rating in Bike Magazine, has sold just 112 copies in six months, but it's early days yet I suppose.
I buy Ted's new book and get it signed, whereupon the actor Ewan McGregor hobbles in with his foot in plaster. I understand from the cover of Ted's new book that his earlier one was the inspiration for Ewan and Charley's Long Way Round trip. I'm feeling like a bit of a B class celebrity in this place, when a biker with a book in his hand comes up and asks me if I am Ian Mutch. I own up with a hesitation born of this admission preceding threats of great violence, and remove my glasses, whereupon he asks me to sign a copy of Lowrider which he has just bought in the ACE Cafe shop. Phew!
Ian 'racer boy' Mutch
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