Finance without the crisis

Buying a bike is probably going to be one of the biggest financial decisions of your life and yet for most of us it's something that's ruled by the heart instead of the head.

While most of us spend months deciding what bike we'd like, finding the right one, haggling for the right price, scouring the market for the best insurance deals and even planning where to fill it with fuel to save a few extra pennies, when it comes to actually financing the purchase it's all too easy to jump at whatever deal is offered without looking at the alternatives.

While it's easy to spend hours poring over bike brochures and digesting every last specification, our minds go blank the moment legally binding finance documents are shoved before us, signing blindly without considering if there's a better way. Mention bhp and we're all ears, talk about HP and most of us start drifting.

But if you like money, or the things it can buy you, it's worth trying to focus for a few minutes and work out whether you could be saving hundreds by simply financing your next bike a different way.

Cash

In an ideal world buying a new bike would simply be a case of handing over a wad of notes, scribbling a cheque or swiping a card, and if you've recently won the lottery or you're a City banker with a bonus to squander then congratulations, you can stop reading now. But for most people the price of a new bike – or even a used one – is higher than the balance in our current accounts.

And actually, even if you can afford to buy outright, it's not necessarily the cheapest way to do it.

Usually, however, it is. Wads of notes can be enormously persuasive when it comes to getting a discount, and if it's coming straight from your personal fortune then there are no hidden costs; you pay the agreed price and that's it. No interest payments, no fees, no penalties.

But if you're still reading at this stage, the chances are that you'll be looking for some sort of finance when you next buy a bike. So if the cash isn't available, what else is?

Personal loans

In practice, provided nothing goes wrong, you won't notice much difference between hire purchase and a personal loan, but they actually work quite differently.

With a personal loan you'll be paying a fixed monthly sum over a period of time and paying interest, exactly as you do with HP. With a personal loan, the bike is yours from day one; the loan isn't linked intrinsically to the bike. You can sell it whenever you want, but of course you'll still be expected to pay back the loan whether the bike is in your possession or not.

Personal loans can be split into two types – secured and unsecured. Smaller amounts tend to be unsecured, which means there are specific assets named to be repossessed if you fail to pay. Larger loans tend to be secured, which means you guarantee them against the value of specific assets, normally your home. Fail to make repayments and those assets are at risk of being repossessed. For bikes, the majority of personal loans will be unsecured.

Dave Macey, franchise development manager for Black Horse Finance, the biggest player in the motorcycle finance field, explains: “With a personal loan there's just a straight deposit and monthly repayments up to four years. Customers agree the purchase price, pay the deposit to the dealer – anything from £99 upwards, but most people put in a lot more than that because they have part exchanges – and pay the rest in instalments. It's traditional finance, and with it you can include new leathers, a new helmet, everything you need for a ride-away package.

“Although it's an unsecured loan we have a responsibility to make sure we're lending against the value of the bike, so if a bike's worth eight grand, we're not going to lend 20 grand as it's being lent predominantly for the bike, but we can include an element for leathers, helmets, gloves, accessories with a personal loan.”

Hire purchase

Hire purchase is one of the longest established ways to spread payments. You put down a deposit and then pay fixed monthly instalments over a fixed period until the value of the bike and interest at whatever rate was originally agreed is paid off. Unlike loans, with HP you don't actually own the bike until the last payment has been made; it can be repossessed if you stop paying, and you can't sell it until the finance is settled and the bike is actually yours to sell. The level of deposit, the size of the repayments and the amount of interest can vary enormously depending on the deals you can find and the length of the HP period, usually between three and five years.

Macey says: “Hire purchase is exactly the same as a personal loan agreement except the finance is secured on the bike. So for hire purchase the customer will own the bike outright at the end of the hire-purchase agreement when they settle the finance. We don't include the leathers, helmets, gloves etc on this one.

“Hire purchase is also a traditional finance product, and again we offer deposits from £99 and payment periods of up to 48 months. Most finance now is done on hire purchase, with personal loans only used when accessories are needed.

“The customer can settle at any time, and the bike becomes theirs. If they decide to sell the bike privately before the end of the hire-purchase period they will need to settle the finance first, or if they part-exchange the dealer will contra-settle the agreement and they can either pay cash for a new bike or re-finance for the new bike. But it's all clearly explained to the customers before they sign an agreement.

“They can't sell it and not repay us, because the bike isn't technically theirs to sell until the hire-purchase is settled. But the dealer will clearly explain it all so customers don't walk away with any misconceptions.”

PCP

Personal contract purchase, or PCP, is a bit more complicated but is one of the most popular ways to buy new bikes.

PCP is attractive because it makes monthly payment far lower than traditional loans or HP agreements simply because they're not covering the whole cost of the bike. PCP requires a deposit – often covered by a trade-in bike – followed by small monthly payments over a two or three year period. Great! But at the end there's another large payment, called the “guaranteed future value” (GFV), to pay. That final payment is based on an estimate of the expected secondhand value of the bike at the end of the deal, and the idea is that it gives you several options when you reach the end of the PCP deal. First, you can pay up – perhaps you've saved the cash to do so, or if not you might have to get a personal loan to do it. Second, you can hand the bike back and walk away. Third, you can trade it in and use any surplus value over and above the GFV as the deposit or part of the deposit for another PCP deal or HP agreement.

Because the bike is expected to be worth a specific amount at the end of the deal, PCP does add a few extra hurdles. First, there's always a mileage limit, with a penalty to pay if you go over it (usually around 5p per mile), and there may also be penalties if you fail to follow the service schedule.

Macey explains: “Again this is a hire-purchase agreement, but this product has really taken off in the motorcycle world over the last three years. The monthly repayments are less than with standard hire purchase or a personal loan because of the guaranteed future value. Basically that means we will guarantee a certain amount of the value of the bike. The customer has three choices. They can hand the bike back, subject to terms and conditions such as fair wear and tear, mileage etc, and walk away. Alternatively they can settle the finance and take ownership, or they can part exchange.

“We always set the guaranteed future value at a level where the customer will have some security if they part exchange. The majority of customers will part exchange.

“A lot of customers are taking this option: the monthly payments are a lot less than standard hire-purchase and they come back every two or three years to have a new bike for similar monthly repayments, maybe with a small extra deposit contribution.

“We set the GFV at a point where the customer has equity, so if we set a GFV of say, £4000, the bike might actually be worth £5200, or £6k, so the customer is likely to have £1200 or £2000 of deposit for their next bike. Of course, that's subject to the bike not being a wreck and sticking within the mileage parameters.”

Although handing the bike back at the end of the PCP deal is an option, it doesn't tend to make much sense. Since the GFV is likely to be well under the actual secondhand value of the bike, you're usually better off either trading in for a new bike and using the surplus against its cost or, even if you don't want to keep the bike, paying the GFV and then selling it privately to release the equity.

Credit cards

OK, so you're probably not going to put a £12k superbike on your American Express but at the cheaper end of the market something as simple as a credit card can be enough to get a good deal on finance.

With many cards offering an introductory zero per cent interest rate on spending for a year or more, they can provide a way to spread payments without having to fork out extra in the form of interest. Of course, the vital thing here is to know exactly when the zero per cent rate expires and be certain to have paid off the debt before it does, or you could face a much higher interest rate then you might have achieved with a loan.

Regardless of how you're financing a bike, it's worth putting at least £100 of the cost on a credit card, even if it's only part of the deposit. Section 75 of the Consumer Credit Act means that for anything between £100 and £30,000 paid with credit card, the card company is liable if something goes wrong. So if you need a refund and, for instance, the dealer you bought from has gone under, you'll be able to claim money back from the card company. And even if you only put £100 on your card, the card company's liability covers the entire cost of the goods. Debit cards don't offer the same protection, so even if you've no need of actual credit it's still worth using a credit card then paying it off immediately to ensure you don't rack up interest.

Buying a used bike

If you're buying privately on the used bike market your options when it comes to finance are much more limited. Since the more advanced finance deals like hire purchase and PCP are usually arranged via dealers, you're unlikely to be able to take advantage of them for a private sale.

Macey says: “If customers are going to go to BikeMart and try and finance a used bike from a private sale, we can't help as we operate through dealers. The options for private sales are more limited; high street personal loans, supermarket loans... Direct lenders, basically.”

While the best bike prices might be had by buying privately, buying a used bike from a dealer will often open up a wider scope of finance options.

“We finance used bikes up to 10 years old,” says Macey, “although it tends not to be on bikes more than six or seven years old. PCP is also available on used motorcycles up to three years old, although not for scooters. Because we can predict the value of the bikes, we can offer PCP on bikes up to that age. Normal hire purchase and personal loans are also available at dealers for used bikes, just as on new ones.”

Negotiating a deal

When you're haggling for a bike – new or used – from a dealer then the finance you're taking can be a significant point.

Traditional thinking suggests that buying with cash will open up the best scope for discounts, although that's not always the case as some dealers will actually benefit from selling you a finance package.

One thing that is more certain is that some of the more attractive finance packages – like the zero per cent APR deals often promoted by manufacturers – will work against the chances of getting a big discount on the purchase price. Usually, those deals, while attractive as they spread payments without accruing interest, mean you won't be able to knock much, if anything, off the bike's RRP.

That doesn't mean you can't have a bargain, though, as dealers will occasionally “over-allow” on part exchanges, so the paperwork shows you've paid the new bike's full RRP to get the zero per cent finance deal, but the dealer has valued your part exchange on the high side to effectively increase your deposit. While your own haggling skills will have an effect, the real deciders here tend to be market forces – as logic suggests, if you're buying an unpopular model that the dealer is worried he won't shift, you'll get a better bargain than if you're buying the latest must-have machine.

One thing you will struggle to do is to improve your chances of getting finance. Making sure you pay loans without a hitch will give a better credit history in the long run, but there's little that can be done instantly to improve a credit rating. “Each case is underwritten on its own merits,” says Macey, “There's a process that dealers go through and every customer is scored on their own circumstances – where they work, where they bank, where they live, their personal circumstances – it all goes through the normal credit score criteria. But there's nothing that you can really do to put yourself in a more advantageous position before buying a bike.”

What is APR?

You won't go far into investigating finance without bumping into the term 'APR' – or Annual Percentage Rate.

The best way to look at it is as a comparative tool – the lower the APR, the less interest you're paying each year. As the term suggests, it's worked out on the basis of how much interest you're paying on the loan each year, so don't be fooled into thinking that if you borrow £100 at 15 per cent APR, the total to repay will be £115. The total amount of interest will vary hugely depending on the length of the loan period. At the same APR, the total interest will be less if the loan is over a shorter period of time. So while your mortgage might be at a very low APR, say three per cent, because it's being paid over perhaps 25 years, the total amount of interest will be enormous. In stark contrast, the much-advertised “payday loans” designed to tide you over for a few days and be repaid almost immediately might have fees and interest of only a few pounds, but the APR of such loans can be as much as 4000 per cent – they're just not designed to be used for long periods of time.

APR itself is a manufactured idea. In reality, the amount of interest you're paying on the debt alters with each payment the same as the debt itself decreases over the period of the loan.

While helpful when comparing two finance deals that are going to be repaid over the same period, it's important to find out what the total that you'll actually end up paying will be.

Just to add a little confusion, you'll notice that adverts tend to refer to “representative APR” rather than simply “APR”. Macey says: “Representative APR is a calculation of all the interest and all the elements of a finance agreement, the advance, the fees, the period, all taken into account to reach an APR that can be used for comparative purposes to compare his deal against others on the market. It's a customer guide, but it's based on a lot of factors.”

Importantly, just because a deal might be advertised with five per cent “representative APR” that doesn't guarantee that you will be offered a five per cent APR deal. Macey says: “What you see advertised as 'representative' isn't necessarily what you will get, but it must be what 51 per cent of customers would get. You could get a better or worse rate, depending on your situation.”

Looking at the total to be repaid is vital, as it can make a difference to the deal you decide to do. For instance, while a low finance rate can be attractive, if it's only being offered should you pay the full list price of the bike then you may be better off haggling for more money off, even if it means accepting a higher APR.

As an example, if you had to pay £10,000 for a bike at zero per cent APR over 36 months, but for a cash deal you could get the bike for £9000, you'd actually save money if you could get a £9000 loan at five per cent APR over 36 months (the total to repay would be £9710.57, a saving of £289.43 compared to the £10,000, zero per cent finance deal).

Ben Purvis

All day – and all of the night

How does getting tired affect your riding? Not a bit tired – but totally, bone-achingly, eye-closingly exhausted? We joined a 1000-mile, 24-hour charity ride to find out

A long ride is all about perspective: it’s only as it gets closer that you actually realise how big it really is. When the ride's a long way off, you imagine any distance is possible if you take your time. But as it gets closer, you start to accept how tough it might be – because you know that as you ride, you'll get tired; as you get tired, your riding will get worse.

So how exactly does getting tired affect our riding? To find out, I'd volunteered to take part in the RE1000, a 1000-mile charity ride visiting four Royal Engineers depots with current and former Sappers. I felt confident at first, but as they days ticked down, I began to feel like the helmsman on the bridge of The Titanic: oh look, a little block of ice; well, it’s not that big; uh – that's not looking so good; Oh. My. God…Still, I’d put the RiDE name forward so I wasn’t going to abandon ship.

However, I did plan how to survive it. And all joking aside, I saw it in those terms: I didn’t want to lose concentration, make a stupid mistake and crash through exhaustion. So I took great care to select the bike, the kit and even the food I thought would get me through the ride. The planned route would go from Oldham to Elgin in the Highlands, then down to Chatham in Kent. Thing is, the plan was to set off at 1am on Easter Saturday morning… So on Good Friday I was tucked up in the Oldham Travel Lodge by 7pm, trying to get to sleep.

11:30pm

The alarm goes off. I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve only had four hours’ kip. I hit snooze…

Midnight

I’m stumbling round the room like a drunk. This is what bumbling looks like. I should have been gone by now, but I’m faffing. As the silly little panniers on the KTM 990 SM-T are so pointlessly small, I’ve filled them in no time: one has extra waterproofs and three spare sets of gloves; the other has food, water and the change of visors that won’t fit in with the gloves. I’ve had to strap a drybag on the back seat to actually carry a change of clothes.

12.15am

I’m standing on a deserted petrol-station forecourt in Failsworth, which is where I thought we were meeting. It feels like I’ve fallen for an elaborate and well-executed wind-up. As soon as I set off – thinking, “Sod it, I’ll just do it anyway” – I spot a group of 20 flouro-bibbed riders parked up 50 yards away outside the Territorial Army building that doubles as the Oldham Sappers’ depot.

Introductions are brief, but I’m not planning to stick with the group. I don’t want to ride at the pace of the slowest rider (whoever it is), as that’s a surefire way to get bored and fall asleep on the bike. That’s happened to me before and I was lucky to wake up in time to save it. I'm also I’m worried that, riding in a group, someone else might fall asleep and ride into me. That’s also happened to me and, again, I was lucky to stay on. I’m not risking either drama happening on this ride, as I doubt I'll be so lucky again.

Besides, I dislike riding in groups more than anything apart from off-roading – even more than peaches and dance music. I know that if I’m going to get through this, I have to ride at my own pace. My plan is to get ahead early, then have a leisurely ride on the tight roads through the Cairngorms while the group takes the faster A9. I'll rejoin the pack at the scheduled break in Perth.

1am

We’re off. I get straight to the front of the group. By the time I’m on the M60, there aren’t even any headlights in my mirrors. I settle into a steady 85mph cruise and sit back, massively relieved that at the last minute I’d wired the Klan heated gloves in.

2am

This is surprisingly easy. I’m not feeling tired. I’m well on my way north, on the M6. Why has the fuel light come on? I was expecting to get another 30 miles from this tank. Pulling in at the mercifully close services, four clicks down finds neutral: I just did 105 miles in fifth, not sixth. Maybe I’m not properly awake yet, after all…

Fuel for the bike, a strong coffee for me. And a cereal bar. I’m planning to eat my way to victory. I’m avoiding anything too sweet – including energy drinks – as I don’t want the boom-and-bust of a sugar rush. I have peanuts, cereal bars and ham-and-cheese sandwiches of seed-rich homemade wholemeal bread. I wanted slow-release carbohydrates and proteins, to keep energy levels constant. But at the moment, it’s the coffee that’s really working… I have lots of water, too, as I can’t afford to drop concentration through dehydration (caffeine will do that to you).

4am

Glasgow, filling up again. Food for me and the bike. I’m expecting this next stretch to be gruelling: friends who work nights say it’s hardest to keep awake between 4-5am. I have a sandwich, then get back on it. My aim is to make sure no stop is more than 10 minutes long: no point riding hard, only to piss away my average speed by standing about in petrol stations.

6am

That was hard. Not the tiredness – I feel perfectly awake – but the cold is awful. Past Perth, up the A9, a chill white mist rolled off the hills to cloak the road as a feeble grey excuse for a dawn slowly broke. Strength-sapping weather, spirit-crushing conditions. Every bone I’ve ever broken aches. It feels as if my right-arm – which in X-ray looks like a jigsaw held together with Meccano – seems to have barely enough grip to hold the throttle open. I’m genuinely surprised there’s enough strength in it to lift the petrol nozzle at the Tesco in Inverness.

7am

Here’s the first validation point on the ride: the Royal Engineers depot in Elgin. Locked up fast. It’s a TA center and is deserted, because I’m here too early. I take a pic of the bike in front of it, eat and drink, then head on down the road.

8am

I’ve never ridden this stretch of the A95 before – what a great road. After hundreds of miles of mostly dual carriageway, it’s as refreshing as the pint of lager at the end of Ice Cold In Alex… It flows and curls elegantly past dozens of distilleries, a Speyside dream trip that’s refreshing the parts other roads just wouldn’t reach.

I’m meant to be turning south on the A939, past The Lecht Ski area, but the fuel light’s on again. I find a rural garage that’s open, top up, then carry on without remembering to retrace my steps. I end up back on the A9 at Aviemore. I’ve barely gone a mile when Phil and three of the other riders pass me, heading north. So much for meeting them in Perth…

10am

Glasgow again. For the first time I’m feeling slightly tired. Not glassy-eyed or sleepy, but remote. I’m on the motorway headed south when I catch myself observing the ride, rather than actually being there in the moment. It’s like drifting off in front of a dull TV programme. That’s a spine-chilling thought so I stop for another coffee and more food, filling the tank despite having done only 60 miles on it.

Midday

I’m past half distance, which gives me a huge psychological boost. I can't believe how comfortable the SM-T is proving to be: my legs are relaxed, my back is fine – only my shoulders are aching slightly, but rolling them helps. Then I realize drivers must think I’m pretending to row past them, some sarcastic speeder on an orange bike.

I am struggling to hold a constant speed. I’m not really caning the bike, though I have been making steady progress. Now, the second I stop concentrating, I either add or shed 15mph at random… that’s no good. Heading towards Penrith, I decide I need a break from the multi-lane roads.

I set off on the A686 over Hartside Pass, aiming for the Hartside Café. As I approach, I see the car park is full fat-thighed women taking pushbikes off car racks. I can’t see a single motorcycle there – which depresses me so much I don’t bother stopping. That has to be tiredness: I’ve already noticed my mood swings becoming more rapid and more extreme, from joy at a great view to fury at idiots sitting in the middle lane on an empty motorway. The misery is new, though.

12.45pm

Now I'm elated again. From Alston, the SM-T has devoured the blindingly good B6277 to Middleton-in-Teesdale. Complete with sheep and clumps of thick snow by the roadside. Stunning road, brilliant bike. Halfway along I stop for food and to take a snap with the phone. It’s utterly isolated, beautiful. Priceless. I'm eager to get back on the SM-T: riding it on this road is as invigorating as a shot of espresso.

2pm

A1, southbound near Leeds, I have a moment of arse-awareness. I'm not sore, but I notice I’ve been sitting on it for 13 hours. Hang on, 13 hours? That’s amazing – I’d expect my bum to be in agony long before that on a normal seat. The Airhawk seat-pad I’ve fitted to the SM-T is miraculous.

2.30pm

Yawn… close eyes. Blink open, cold sweat on the neck. Look ahead. Yawn… Blink. Christ, it happened again. “Tiredness Kills” says the sign. Too right. Blyth services are just ahead. Stop for a coffee and a serious word with myself. If I can’t get it together, if I can’t wake up, I’ll have to stop. It’s not safe otherwise.

4pm

This is better. More than better, in fact. I’m past Cambridge, heading for the Royal Engineers depot in Waterbeach (it’s on the other side of the road to Landbeach, which I find strangely hilarious). By quarter-past I’m standing in front of the barracks, one of the Sappers on gate duty taking my picture. “How far behind you are the others?” he asks. I’ve no idea – must be a couple of hours. “But it’s not a race,” I say. He grins: “Yeah, and you’re winning.” I grin too. Sat nav says it’s an hour from here to Chatham. Helmet on at half-four, it does feels like I’ve come onto the final straight of a race. I know I can do this now.

6pm

That was tough. Really tough. The M25, with 50mph limits, cars going everywhere, congestion, filtering, a muddled fuel stop. Brain struggling to follow the sat nav instructions. Tiredness is making a moron out of me. I have no attention span, every train of thought derailed before reaching a conclusion. I’m struggling to operate the indicators. I can’t remember when I last looked in the mirrors.

But I’m here. I pull up outside the final base, get my phone out to take a picture and a jobsworth rentacop appears. “You can’t leave your bike there, you can’t take pictures.” I’m too tired even to swear at the halfwit, so I just ignore him and do what I want to do. But it puts a bad taste in my mouth: why have I just bludgeoned myself to pieces for this kind of welcome? A proper Sapper emerges from the base, a bit more friendly. The rest are expected at 11pm… I’m early.

So early, in fact, that I might be able to catch the group as they head south. There’s a stop planned for Grantham, just north of my house. A glorious idea grips me and I feel refreshed – a genuine second wind. I could get back there. I could meet the group. I could get home and sleep in my own bed tonight…

8pm

Brake! I suddenly realize the caravan in front is moving much slower than I am. Shouldn’t be a surprise, as I’ve been following it for at least a mile. But I think I was asleep for a second, eyes wide open. How could that… Woah! Brake again. I can’t hear the engine of the beating of my heart in my ear drums.

Shake my head, trying to clear suddenly blurry vision. This is no good. I’m 25 miles from the Gonerby Moor services, where I should be able to meet up with the group. Or to put it another way, I’m about a dozen miles from home. And after more than 1160 miles, I’ve suddenly nearly crashed twice in 20 seconds. It’s no good, now I really do need to stop: I’ve been concentrating too hard for too long. I can say that I’ve done the 1000 miles, but now really I do need to stop.

There are 1173.5 miles on the trip when I stop outside my garage. Shortly after, I sleep.

What worked

The KTM 990 SM-T definitely worked. A big tank range sounds like the key to this kind of caper but in fact I was filling up roughly every 110 miles for food/pee/drink/stretch stops. Though I was averaging only 38mpg (the SM-T will do 44mpg when ridden more steadily) I only saw the fuel light when I'd ridden 100 motorway miles in fifth, not sixth… Doh!

The bike was superb: the engine was muscular and easy to use, without being too vibey at speed, always ready to blast a quick roll-on overtake, always ready to calm things down with smooth engine braking. The brakes – backed up with ABS for the sleep-deprived brain – were consistently excellent. When I got off the motorways, the chassis devoured the good roads, quick-steering, neutral and stable. Ergonomically, the SM-T was far better than I could have hoped: I’ve done several 900-mile days on sports tourers and big tourers and have always felt stiffer next day than I did after this 1200-mile day. 

Two bits of kit made the trip not merely possible but nearly pleasant. Klan Excess Pro heated gloves (£139, www.klan-uk.com) ensured good control without any concentration-sapping frozen finger pain. The Airhawk inflatable seat pad (from £79, www.bykebitz.com) absolutely saved me: I may never regard any other seat as comfortable, ever again. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Most of my other kit performed brilliantly too. The Rukka Arma-S suit (Jacket £1000, Trousers £730, www.tranam.co.uk) was brilliantly comfortable, absorbed everything from freezing fog to heavy rain to pleasant south-of-England sunshine with equal poise. I’d supplement it with a RevIt Athos Air hi-viz vest (£35, www.revit.eu) for extra look-at-me-ness. And underpinning all were the unbeatable Dainese Map WS baselayers (shirt £102, longjohns £85 www.dainese.com). Only one disappointment: after roughly 40,000 miles of flawless service, my Alpinestars SuperTech Touring boots decided to leak at the start of this, of all trips. Bugger…

How was it for you?

"It was hard – which I expected, but I wasn't prepared for just how bad the fatigue would be," says organiser Phil Caloe. "At one point I was so physically tired I couldn't work the gearshift properly. I couldn't move my leg. Even now, two of my fingers are numb. When we were stopped at Birchanger Services, my eyes were playing tricks on me: I could have sworn I saw green giraffes walking across the car park. It was some of the other guys in their hi-viz vests, but I was so tired I was practically hallucinating.

"I'm glad I've done it and pleased we got round safely, but I'm not going to do it again. To be honest, I wouldn't advise anyone to do a 24-hour ride – certainly not on their own or if they're not used to riding big miles. You can get so tired it is dangerous. Mind you, once we'd finished I had four hours sleep then got up and rode to France!"

"It was gruelling. I asked myself many times in the first 12 hours what I thought I was doing – I just couldn't keep my eyes open for long. I never knew you could actually ride a bike while apparently asleep. I have no idea how far I rode in this state." Kaz Smith

"My shoulders are wrecked and my eyes feel like they've been peeled with your gran's potato peeler!" Darren le Gallais

Simon Weir

How to prepare for 1000 miles in a day

I am not a charitable man. I pretend it’s because I’m always busy, but really I’m just a bit of a grumpy curmudgeon. However, I’m doing something charitable now and I’d like you – yes, you, with the magazine in your hands – to support this rare occasion please. Look at the box at the end of this story: it’ll shows how you can sponsor me. Please give generously.

I should come clean and say it’s not just me. I’ve been persuaded – that’s code for “roped in” – to do a charity ride. It’s not anything leisurely or sane. In fact, the more I think about it, the more worrying it seems. We’re going to ride 1000 miles. In a day.

If that sounds simple, believe me it isn’t. I’ve done quite a few big-mile days in the past – several getting on for 1000 miles – and they are awful. By the time you pass the 400-mile mark, you’re utterly fed up, without the consolation of being even halfway there. Bits of your body that you didn’t know even had nerves begin to ache.

By the time you’re past 600 miles your powers of concentration have evaporated. The bike – whatever bike it is – seems to take on a mind of its own as your mind wanders. Even the simplest of riding tasks becomes a massive challenge – from staying in your lane to putting the sidestand down at petrol stations.

By the time you pass 800 miles, you’re a zombie. The bike is more or less doing all the work on its own. Routine tasks are confusing – how do you cancel the indicators, how do you stop the engine screaming in fourth gear? Making even simple decisions – such as when to change lane or should you stop at this petrol station – becomes really hard because you can’t think straight. Besides, pretty much everything from cars to junctions to the bike’s fuel light surprises you, because your lack of alertness is so mighty you may as well be staring at the tarmac ahead of your front wheel through a cardboard tube.

And that’s if you can stay awake. Nodding in the saddle is truly, spine-chillingly horrifying. Your eyes shut for a half-second and you jerk back to panicked wakefulness, mouth full of the metal taste of adrenaline – but the worst thing is that you know it will happen again. No question. Terror will keep you awake for perhaps three miles, but then the brain will start to shut down again. And suddenly you’re jumping back to wakefulness, feeling sick because your eyes keep closing against your will.

When that happens, all you can do is stop, have a nap, then get on again. So getting through the whole ride in one piece is going to be a challenge. The prep is crucial. Here’s how I hope to get through it:

Simon Weir

Simon Weir’s May column: “I’m struck by the way our tastes in bikes seem to change”

Bear with me. I’m going to talk about sunglasses for a minute – but it’ll make sense when I switch to bikes, I promise. I first became aware of sunglasses at some point in the seventies: my mother had these big, plastic framed things with graduated lenses. By the time I started wearing sunglasses in the ’80s, mirrored aviators were on their way out and horn-rim Ray-Bans were cool. Then shades got bigger and wrapped around the head, before shrinking to look like normal glasses with dark lenses. Now my daughter’s started buying her own sunglasses: big plastic-framed things with graduated lenses...

It’s just fashion, of course. I’m struck by the way our tastes in bikes seem to be changing. Sales of sportsbikes and sports tourers are falling, while adventure-styled bikes are on the rise. If you count the base and Adventure flavours of the BMW R1200GS as a single bike, it was the biggest selling bike over 125cc last year. 

While the S1000RR sportsbike was a great success, helping BMW become the third-biggest bike brand in the country last year (behind Triumph and Honda), it still sold less than the GS. The K1300S sports tourer logged about a quarter of the sales of the base GS model – and of course the 1200 isn’t the only GS. There’s also the F800, F650 and G650 in the family, all selling in respectable numbers.

Despite the high price, Ducati’s Multistrada was an instant sales hit – the firm’s biggest seller ever since it was introduced. Triumph introduced the Tiger 800 and it instantly became the biggest selling bike the firm had ever made (when, like the GS, you count the road and off-roadish XC versions as one model). And while sales of Triumph’s Sprint ST sports tourer halved over five years, so it was discontinued last year, the 1050 Tiger’s still a firm seller, despite being a clear road bike – not a dual sports machine.

And now Triumph have unveiled a bigger Tiger: the Explorer, a shaft-driven 1200. It’s very good – and it’s very clearly, aggressively aiming for a slice of the GS pie. But so too is the Honda Crosstourer, which takes the VFR1200’s shaft-driven V4 and rehomes it (in retuned form) in a tall-rounder chassis. And then there’s the Kawasaki Versys 1000 – even more road-focused than the fairly road-biased Crosstourer. And we’ll have a new Aprilia Caponord, the KTM Adventure is still going strong, next year’s GS will be liquid cooled. Not to mention the KTM 990 SM-T, the Aprilia Dorsoduro, the original 650 Versys…

As sales of sports tourers and sportsbikes shrink and these upright, trail-styled road bikes grow, it’s easy to assume that these machines are the future. And they are – for the next few years, at least. They’re great machines for older riders, tired of back ache and to responsible for sporty hooliganism. But I suspect that, if we give it a dozen or so years, we’ll see these bikes loosing sales to sportier machines again as fashion changes. What goes around will come around again.

Simon Weir

Matt Hull’s May column: “Just occasionally you find the perfect bike for you”

Buying a brand new bike should be a special experience. If it all goes to plan then you get exactly the bike you want. You get it when you want, in your choice of colour, with accessories that suit you. The sales team treats you like royalty, ply you with coffee and even let you pick the registration. Sign forms, pay money and there it is; waiting outside the shop, gleaming in your choice of colour waiting like an obedient Labrador for you to give it the inaugural trip. It’s like an exciting first date after ticking the boxes on an internet dating site.

Your relationship is just starting to flourish. Over the next few trips your bike allows you extend the rev limit, and you begin to find out more about each other. Tyres bed in, controls come to hand more naturally and you find where you like the screen, levers and footrests. You know each other so well, their little foibles, what you can get away with. You’re going serious now, where friends get used to seeing you two together. Your bike may now have a few thousand miles on it, but they’re your miles and you’ve done them; together.

Buying a secondhand bike on the face of it is a less romantic, if cheaper experience. Most of the time you need to learn to compromise. You may find the type of bike you want, but you really wanted a red one and this one is yellow. Will it do or will you always see it as second best? It’ll have too many miles or a couple of scratches, the tyres won’t be shiny and new and someone has fitted some accessories that you wouldn’t have chosen. For some riders not knowing what the previous rider was like bothers them.  How did they treat it? Where did they go together, did they warm it up in the morning? Will I ride it as well as its previous partner? And what possessed them to fit anodised purple footpegs?

But occasionally, just occasionally you find the bike for you. You fall head over heals in love. It could be the colour, the spec, maybe a limited edition or just unusual. It could ignite a memory, or a dream. It can actually feel more satisfying than buying a brand new bike, because you saw each other across a crowded showroom and immediately there was a connection. A spark. You think it looks beautiful and it is thinking you will look after them. There are no tick boxes here, it doesn’t matter whether it has a good sense of humour, smokes like a trooper or likes Morris dancing; fate has brought you together and you’ll deal with any baggage.

Those who restore classic bikes or build specials get the best of both worlds. It may start life as somebody’s old bike but by the time they’ve hunted down the right parts, restored, modified, polished, painted, lightened and bodged it, the bike becomes an extension of themselves. It’s even more than a relationship, they don’t need to get to know each other; they are each other.

I’ve tried all the above routes to find my perfect match. And as with most other routes in life I’m starting to realise what’s important to me in a bike. So one day I’ll start with a previously loved secondhand example, modify, tune and adapt it to suit me and finish it to such a high standard it will feel like a new machine. I’ll have found the perfect match. One day.

Matt Hull

1000 miles in a day? 100 miles should be plenty, thanks

Much as I love riding, there’s not a trace of masochist in my DNA. As soon as it starts getting uncomfortable or stressful or painful, I don’t want to know.

Simon Weir’s 1000-mile ride seemed like some sort of typographical error. In the same way that the buzz you get after one pint is a better feeling than the tree-shagging, cone-nicking, kebab-puking nonsense that descends after 10 pints, surely 100 miles is closer to the optimum distance for a day’s ride. It certainly is for me.

In this case Simon wasn’t doing 1000 miles for fun – it was a mix of fund-raising and research (the kind of research carried out by deranged Americans who operate on their own brains), but it’s quite close to the sort of thing he does do for fun. He’s not trying to impress anyone – he just likes riding long distances. I’m not trying to impress anyone either – I just like riding short distances.

Take Thursday April 26. I had some luggage and clothing to test. I had some secondhand bikes to look at. I had a Kawasaki Versys 1000 I was very keen to ride for the first time. Everybody else was out on proper big trips, so there was nobody here to tell me to hold the fort. So off I went, with a minimal plan and no timetable – it’ll take as long as it takes.

I had a vague route in my head, starting and finishing at home in Northampton, aiming to use a mix of familiar and unfamiliar roads. The route itself is unimportant, but I was pretty pleased with how it turned out. I took the A508 south out of Northampton then crossed over to the A5 using the minor road through Stoke Bruerne, home of a canal museum and some hugely popular weekend food pubs. I turned left on the A5 to the Super Sausage – a brilliant biker café – just before Potterspury, south of Towcester.

After a rain-dodging stop here for a late breakfast I carried on down the A5 to the junction with the A422, and on to Buckingham. The 422 isn’t as dull and straight as it looks on the map.

Just before Buckingham town centre, I turned left on to the A413 towards Aylesbury. There’s a particularly excellent four miles from Winslow to Whitchurch – it reminded me of parts of the TT course I’d been riding the previous week. I turned right at Whitchurch on to the minor road signed for Oving and Quainton. It’s twisty pretty much all the way to the A41, although the surface isn’t always great.

You take the A41 west through the neo-Renaissance oddity of Waddesdon and in a few minutes you’re at On Yer Bike, or Ducati Aylesbury – one shop, two names.

There was no burger van today, but there are always other reasons to visit OYB. I checked out the boots in the excellent clothing department and daydreamed about getting one of the original air-cooled MTS1000 Multistradas. They had two: a 2004 bike with matching top box and panniers and Termignoni exhausts for £3999 and a lower-mileage, more standard 2003 one for £3499.

Then I took a bit more A41 as far as Bicester, where the erratically signed ring road will do its best to stop you picking up the A4421 and 421 towards Buckingham. The A4421 is really good. A lot of it has those curious 50 limits but everybody seemed to be treating it as a general guideline, not a rule.

Then after a few slightly confused minutes in Buckingham I found the sign for the A413 to Maids Moreton and up to the A43 just north of Silverstone. This bit of A413 feels oddly French – something to do with the trees at the roadside – and oddly unfamiliar given how close I’ve lived to it for a couple of decades. A real find.

Then I was back on the A5, this time just north of Towcester, and it was time for a cup of coffee at Jack’s Hill Café. I know: a great biker-friendly café just south of Towcester, and another one just north of Towcester. And the area is oddly well provided with burger vans too. It’s as if there’s a parallel community of A-road users who shun the nearby M1 and M40 and their frantic, sweaty, expensive service stations, and instead enjoy the more civilised pleasures of food cooked to order by real humans who are happy to chat.

Then I took some twisty backroads in the rain and returned to Northampton. Total mileage, more by luck than judgement, was just a smidge over 100 miles.

I didn’t nearly fall asleep. I didn’t hallucinate. I didn’t stand on petrol station forecourts snorting coffee and guzzling cereal bars. I didn’t get into any rows with soldiers. I didn’t raise a penny for charity, but then again I didn’t use more than about £20 worth of petrol.

It was a textbook showery April day. I was wearing proper waterproof kit head to toe, but that doesn’t make riding in the rain fun. My relaxed schedule meant I was able to sit out the worst of the weather in the cafes, doing a bit of work and catching up on some phone calls, and then enjoy the drier spells out on the road. I also didn’t need to consult a map and didn’t need to switch on my sat nav.

More fundamentally, I was engaging with the places around me, happy being where I am, not wishing the ride away by willing myself to the end. I was enjoying seeing the birds of prey and the rainbows, admiring the architecture, and on a couple of occasions turning around and riding a particularly good stretch again, just for the hell of it.

Colin Overland 

The Scooter Diaries: Scooter vs bike

After Christmas I had a couple of solid weeks of riding nothing but the Yamaha X-Max 250 scooter. That’s several hundred miles on a twist-and-go automatic with a feet-forward riding position, small wheels and a great big luggage space under the seat. I valued its convenience, its practicality and its economy, while ignoring its lack of speed, its slightly cramped riding position and its limited appetite for smoothing out poor road surfaces.

But when, at the end of January, I needed to ride to Herefordshire on a foggy Sunday morning to visit the Napier Trail riders at Trailquest’s rural HQ, I commandeered Steve Herbert’s Yamaha Fazer8. It’s a trip of about 100 miles each way, and I’ve done several longer trips on the scooter, but I wasn’t in any doubt that this time I wanted to ride a proper motorcycle.

Why? I think it was the ‘Sunday morning’ aspect of the trip that swung it in the bike’s favour. I figured that the roads would be pretty quiet, especially on the way there, and that would give me an opportunity to have some fun. Not the Audrey Hepburn zipping about Rome kind of fun that a scooter can offer, but the kind of fun only a motorcycle can bring: changing up through the gears, feeling the engine come alive, judging a bend well, leaving the cars way behind.

I didn’t consciously think any of that before I nabbed Steve’s bike – I just knew I needed it. And I was right. The weather was pretty horrible, with the fog sometimes freezing and visibility poor in places, but the roads were quiet and not slippery. And I really enjoyed the ride, which took me via Banbury, Stratford, ?Worcester? and blah, using the A43, B4525, A422, A46, M5 and M50.

Meeting up there with Paddy Tyson and Nich Brown from Overland magazine and the Motorcycle Action Group, who’d travelled by Suzuki Bandit and Yamaha Tenere, we all had a quick moan about car drivers not using their lights and about potholes, but we were all warm enough, dry enough and exhilarated enough to all be very glad we’d travelled by motorcycle.

That’s not to put down the benefits of a scooter. But a scooter can’t bring the same pleasure as a bike, or at least a Yamaha 250 scooter can’t. Soon we’ll be riding the bigger-engined new Yamaha T-Max, reviewed with enthusiasm (up to a point) by Jon Urry in our April issue, and the intriguing BMW C600/650. And then there’s the Honda Integra and the Aprilia SRV850, both of which look like they might close the gap between scooter and bike like never before.

Colin Overland