900 MILES BY MT-03
Touring France on a 321cc single, just short of 1000 miles – what happened?
Sitting comfortably reading a copy of MSL, I was struck by the following words written about the Yamaha MT-03: “...but if you are thinking of downsizing,” it went, “... it’s worth bearing in mind that with a smaller capacity bike you might also need to consider how and where you ride.” This is true, but don’t let size stop you. Have any bike, have a map, have fun, is my mantra, even if both this rider and his machine are near the bottom of their respective food chains. A Yamaha MT-03, all 321 yappy, enthusiastic ccs of it, was my steed and I – the rider – possessed the wisdom and folly of three-score years and one, quite a lot of it stored amidships. Oxford bags adorned the tank and tail, a vestigial
Puig screen suggested a hint of protection and a hugger looked good, if nothing else.
All of this luggage meant an undignified posture when mounting, certainly for someone with the inside leg length of a wine bottle. It began with waving a foot held up with one hand over the seat, while leaning back to the point of collapse, before subsiding onto the bike, which sagged helpfully. We were ready for the off.
SNAPPING AND FILTERING
The first leg was the Guernsey overnight ferry to Poole for a brief stop-over in Cerne Abbas, a village in the depths of Dorset. It was an 80-mile stint that saw the little MT-03 head north of 35mph for the very first time. The roads were clear at 6.30am, though cold fog hid in the dips and kissed my visor. Meanwhile, the gods had decreed that
Cerne Abbas would be inaccessible that day, as the Weymouth Iron Man triathlon had closed all the surrounding roads.
However, a little initiative and a friendly marshal or two saw me join the lycra-clad carbon-fibre mounted athletes (7mph uphill,
45mph down) and an hour r later, we made it to Cerne, shaken but not stirred.
Back at the ferry terminal, son Sam arrived on his immaculate 10-year-old SV1000, all handsome gear and snazzy helmet, every inch the cool dude. I won’t describe my outfit, suffice to say that it works and that bin bags are surprisingly effective.
Heading out of Cherbourg, a minor geographical whoopsee (by me) cost us an extra 20 miles, both bikes sniffing fumes by the time we could get fuel. Meanwhile, instead of the 70mpg promised by Mr Yamaha 60mpg was nearer the mark with the booming SV not far behind. Still, light traffic, fine road surfaces and comfortable scenery meant life aboard the yappy Yammy was bearable, even at motorway speeds. That little engine is a gem – pickup was impressive and
80 plus on the speedo