Poor Circulation ............. 28,000 miles, 28 Countries on £20 per Day .......... and continuing


Prior to her untimely death in 2007 my Mother, Barabara Thomas, mentioned that she had only two regrets in life. Firstly, that my Father George Thomas died before having the chance to meet his new grandchildren in Boonville, California. Secondly, that together they could have ridden their beloved Triumph Thunderbird on roads as beautiful as those on the Pacific Coastline, namely 'California Highway 1'.

One year later, I sold all of my worldy goods and invested the proceeds in a Triumph Tiger Motorcycle. I gave myself a budget of around twenty pounds per day and set out to ride around the world carrying with me a 'Special Package'. That package contained my parents ashes. They rode with me through Europe and the Balkans, across Russia and the Far East and then down the Pacific Coast Highway through the Giant Redwoods to Boonville California where they were finally scattered.



Post 257: Romania? ... Thank you very much


I was reading through issue 143 of The Riders Digest and on page 85, came across something quite unusual. It was a full page advertisement for an accident claims management company that specialises in claims resulting from motorcycle accidents. Nothing really unusual about that you might think, and you'd be absolutely right, but this one was slightly different. The photograph used in the advertisement showed a biker entering a bend aboard a BMW K1300R along with the question .... 'HAD A MOTORBIKE ACCIDENT?'

The photograph was actually one taken of 'Me', and thankfully my answer to the question was 'No'. Ironically when it comes to motorbikes my only notable talent is for not crashing, but once I'd discovered the reason for my photograph appearing in the advertisement, I really wasn't bothered. It hadn't been used as an example of an accident waiting to happen, it was just a 'Stock Photograph' that the publisher had used in order to meet a fast approaching print deadline. I went about my life and thought nothing more about it until I received an email from TRD. Would I like to go on a two-week tour of Romania? After quickly establishing what the cost of such an adventure would be, which was thankfully nothing, I could only agree.

So in June 2010, I'll be riding around Transylvania for a couple of weeks on a BMW 650GS as a guest of the Romanian Tourist Authority. Aside form the obvious, I really don't know very much about Romania and so I'll need to do a little reading on the Internet. It's a hard old life.

Post 256: Welcome to my World


Last week I posted a message on Facebook and the conversation somehow turned to one about dyslexia. Trying to describe dyslexia to a person who isn’t dyslexic, is probably like trying to describe a rainbow to somebody who’s colour blind. Dyslexia comes in many shapes and sizes and I guess that many people, including myself when I was first diagnosed, think that dyslexia is nothing more than a posh excuse for crap spelling and general idleness. In some cases that’s possibly true, but as far as my own dyslexia’s concerned, I’ll try to explain it here.
Kemerovo ..... 324
Irkutsk .......... 1820
Chita ............ 2933
From this photograph, unless you happen to be familiar with the Cyrillic Alphabet, then you probably wouldn’t recognise the place names. I know what the Cyrillic words say, not because I’ve learned that particular alphabet, but because I’ve memorised the pattern of each word and related those patterns to a corresponding sound in my head. However, you could reverse any one of the individual letters in any of those names, and I probably wouldn’t notice the change. I’d still see the word in exactly the same form and wrongly recognise them as still being correct. It’s a little like when a child first leans to write and ’b’ & ’d’ or ’p’ and ’q’ or even ’6’ and ’9’ become confused. The good news is that over time 90% of kid’s will learn to use each one correctly, but 10% of us never do. Weclome to the world of dyslexia.
That’s a perfect accidental example. My spelling of the word ’Welcome’ above is incorrect and I only know that because as I finished typing it, a helpful red line appeared directly below it. When I read the word back in my mind, it looks to be correct and I can‘t really see what I‘ve done wrong. I honestly do know how to spell the word ’Welcome’, but clearly I’ve written it incorrectly. Whatever dyslexia is, it can’t be cured but you can at least learn how to identify and cure the mistakes.
Quickly look at the number that I’ve written below, and then ’say’ the number out loud as if it were a lottery jackpot in terms of pounds and pence:
£1400470003
Without the help of numeric punctuation , and . I guess that it’s not that easy to hit the correct answer on the first attempt. Any dyslexics that are reading this will probably have to physically transfer the numbers onto paper, add the punctuation marks and then work backwards to find the answer. There’s nothing wrong with our eyesight, but we seem to interpret visual information differently to normal readers. The answer is fourteen million, four thousand seven hundred pounds, and three pence, which when written as £14,004,700.03 is quite easy to recognise. As a dyslexic, I interpret ’words’ with the same difficulty that you might interpret the ’£1400470003’ without the punctuation. Eventually we’ll all reach the correct solution, but it just takes us dyslexics a little bit longer to get there.

www.justigiving.com/geoffgthomas

Post 255: The Strangest Things


Earlier this week, I popped into Millers Tea Hut in Epping Forest. It was a nice bright day but there were far more cars than motorbikes in the parking bays. I was sitting on a bench chewing the fat with John Newman, publisher of The Riders Digest, and wondering if frothy coffee was indeed the hottest substance known to man. People were coming and going and an aging Honda CB250 caught my eye. For it's age, it looked to be in quite good condition and the rider and pillion sat admiring it for several minutes. A young couple whispering sweet nothings perhaps?
Sweet nothings? Possibly not. Conversation over, the rider leapt into action. From one pocket he produced a tin of Hammerite Smooth Black, and from another a 2" paint brush. No cleaning, no rubbing down. Before my eyes the little Honda turned from original Honda Aqua Marine to Hammerite Smooth Black.
The riders name was Andy Peckham. I wanted to ask him why he was painting the little Honda, and especially why he'd decided to do it in the Millers Tea Room car park. But I didn't ask him, I just took his photograph and wrote down his name. Some mysteries are much nicer when they remain as such. Mysteries.

Post 254: Testing Times


The court of popular opinion has spoken and the motorcycle media has condemned the new Driving Standards Agency Bike Test. It’s dangerous, it’s unrealistic and candidates are putting their lives at great risk when attempting to pass. Novice riders are being asked to perform a fast swerving manoeuvre before bringing their motorcycle to a controlled stop. Students are being asked to carry out this manoeuvre, and an emergency stop, even in damp and wet conditions. These elements of the new Module 1 Bike Test have already resulted in serious injury to several unfortunate candidates. Wow, the DSA are needlessly murdering innocent novice bikers?

I’m lucky, I’m old and I took my Bike Test back in 1979 when it was easy. Twice around the block without falling off, four correct answers to five simple questions and in recognition of this amazing personal achievement, I received a certificate that would allow me to legally ride any bike that I could buy, steal or borrow. That intensive five minutes spent in the company of a driving examiner and his clipboard was not a ‘Test’ of my competency on two-wheels but merely an ‘Administrative Inconvenience’. If my wallet had been as thick as my truancy report, then I’d probably have bought myself a Kawasaki Z1000 and more than likely killed myself within weeks. Thankfully I was skint, I bought a clapped-out Jawa 350 Twin and lived to tell the tale.

The Driving Standards Agency (DSA) invited me to Wolverhampton for the opening of their latest Multi Purpose Test Centre (MPTC). It’s really little more than a single storey office building with a large enclosed car park that’s been liberally dotted with coloured traffic cones. Not a lot to see or photograph, but after convincing them that I wouldn’t sue them if I crashed, I was allowed out to complete Module 1 of the new Bike Test with my Hi-Viz examiner, Dave Sims.

After a brief briefing, I was ready to go. The first task is to manoeuvre the bike around an imaginary parking space without dropping it or hitting any of the cones. The Tiger’s a little taller and heavier than your average scooter, but so far so good. Then, it’s a slow slalom between evenly spaced cones before completing two full ‘figure-of-eights’ without dabbing your feet. A tad more difficult than pushing your bike between imaginary parked cars, but I never once felt in any great peril. Next is a swifter ride around a sweeping bend before passing through a timing-gate at 50 kph (32 mph). After the timing-gate, you then flick right and left before bringing the bike to a controlled halt between a set of four cones. Oh, the infamous ‘Swerve Manoeuvre’! To this point, I’d only been nervous at the thought of failing the test and looking like a total dick but at this point, a new set of nerves kicked in. Because of the tales that I’d read in Motor Cycle News (MCN), I was looking for dangers that simply didn’t exist, worrying for absolutely no reason at all. Ride around the bend accelerating to 32 mph, a gentle flick right, a gentle flick left, roll off the throttle and gently bring the bike to rest in the appropriate place. Faster than the ‘Slalom’ and ‘Figure-of-Eight’, but really no great shakes. Wet or dry, this manoeuvre registers a big fat ‘Zero’ on the danger scale. Having survived the 'Swerve Test', you then execture a 'U-Turn' between two painted lines. The distance between the 'Lines' represents the width of a Street, not the widest Street, but on anything shorter than a Pro-Fuel Drag-Bike, you should get around without dabbing. Then, follow the clipboard at walking pace for a few metres. Dave Sims isn’t the fastest walker in the world, but it’s still faster than a lot of the filtering that you’ll do in London. Finally, it’s the emergency stop. It’s hardly an ‘Emergency', your examiner has just told you that it’s going to happen. Again, accelerate and pass through the timing-gate at 32mph and as the Examiner raises his arm, stop in a controlled manner before hitting him, which I assume would be a ‘Fail’. The Examiner wont raise his arm until your bike is straight and upright. Use the front and back brakes, don't worry about locking the rear or not stopping in time, because you will. It's not difficult, so don't worry about it.

That’s it, the Module 1 Bike Test in a nutshell. Candidates will probably be nervous and I can imagine that a couple of riders from the thousands of candidates might drop their bikes while performing an Emergency Stop. But, if you don’t know how to stop a bike properly, in the wet or the dry, then it’s far better to identify this fact in the comparative safety of a closed car park. The open road is far less forgiving. The roll-out and implementation of the Module 1 Bike Test leaves an awful lot to be desired, but the test itself is fine. Anything ‘Less’, simply wouldn’t be a ‘Test’, and surely that’s the point. So, when MCN declare that the end of the world is near, then ask for a second opinon, because it seldom is.

www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas

Post 253: Slight Change of Plan

Oops! It should have been the Aprilia Shiver followed by the Mana, but that couldn't happen. KTM came to rescue but unfortunately, there are some problems getting hold of the one and only Press-Bike and so that's been delayed slightly. Another bike became available, but once again there is another slight insurance issue. Thankfully this time, it's somebody else's insurance policy that's failed to pass muster and I'm having to pick-up the reins. Result, thank you very much.

Sadly, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, things have gotten a little bit hectic and so no 'Blog Post' this week. Next week, there'll be much more to report. In the meantime, I've uploaded another abridged chapter to the Book Blog. Entering Europe now and things are becoming weirdly foreign. That's not a criticism, just a statement of fact ... you'll see.

Got to dash .... see you next week.

Post 252: Shiverless


The Aprilia Shiver 750GT is a beautiful looking bike. 95bhp on a fly-by-wire throttle and weighing little more than a Suzuki SV650, deep joy. The 850 Aprilia Mana, slightly less power than the Shiver but running through an automatic gearbox -CVT- Continuously Variable Transmission to be precise. I've never ridden a bike with an automatic gearbox, at least not one where my feet sit somewhere behind my arse. I was really looking forward to the whole experience. Perhaps I'd even become a convert? Unfortunately, I never got to find out if the Aprilia's beauty ran any deeper than their shiny paintwork. The week ahead was all nicely mapped out, the lovely Aprilia's awaited my attention in Peterborough and the Met Office were even promising me some decent weather. But, there was a problem. Aprilia's PR Company didn't like the cut of my insurance policy. That news came as something of a surprise, Harley, KTM, Honda, Ducati, Triumph and BMW all seem to think that the policy's just fine. Apparently Aprilia didn't like the clause in policy that excludes 'Racing'. 'Racing?' Me? I think they confuse me with others. Anyway, it's too late in the day to make alternative arrangements and there's no use in crying over lost V-Twins.

With my riding juices rising in anticipation of the Italians, there was nothing left to do but to ride the Tiger. And ride it I did. With the new front tyre, it's a totally different beast. It's fun again, it makes me smile. For no other reason than the fact that the road took me there, I ended up riding in London. A busman's holiday if ever there was. Nothing of any great consequence happened, I just rode and enjoyed. I like riding the Tiger but there's nothing quite like the experience that you have when riding a brand new bike, especially when somebody else is paying for any of your indiscretions. Thankfully, my Aprilia disappointment was short lived. They've lined up something even more appealing for me to ride. It's a bike that I've salivated over for quite some time and it's a bike that's certainly worthy of my drool. Hopefully this time my insurance policy will pass muster. It's got to happen soon. I feel like my Birthday's just been cancelled but they've given my an extra Christmas in way of compensation. Bring it on, I'm ready.

Post 251: The Next Chapters


Resting Actors and Movie Stars make it look so bloody difficult. Maybe that's just a "Hollywood" thing. Raising kids, paying a mortgage and working a job that you don't particularly enjoy, that's the really difficult stuff. By comparison, buggering-off on a motorbike is really quite easy. Pack your tent, kiss your loved ones, grab your passport, twist the throttle and go. It's simple, so lets not pretend that it's any more complicated than it really is. You probably don't need a specialist security instructor or SAS survival training before you depart. But, if it's a condition of your multi-million pound life insurance policy and somebody else is paying for it, then why not? It looks like a real giggle, so go for it. If you're very unlucky and somebody does point a gun at you, then I seriously doubt that a couple of hours spent with a pixel-faced man is going to be of any real help to you. When you're travelling, the guns only come out after dark, and after dark you're generally quite pissed. You probably wont remember what you've been advised to do. Besides, just how much training do you need to run away quickly, with or without overflowing underpants?

Riding around the world was a blast and writing the book was fun, but finding a publisher willing to take a risk with the book has been neither. I'd swear that the many rejection letters were all written by the same person. He "enjoyed" the words but had "no love for the subject", it wasn't "a work of commercial significance". Sure, we're in the middle of a deep recession, but I can't help thinking that perhaps he was just being polite. He suggested that I "develop the dangers", "raise the tension" and expand the "conflicts". All sound commercial advice I'm sure, but what happened happened, and what didn't didn't. "Chapter 29 .... the bloody Tiger refuses to start. That's not good, but the other news is even less agreeable. I've just been eaten by a gang of giant sea monkey's". No, it doesn't really work does it? The truth is, we didn't get shot or catch any wonderful tropical diseases. To the best of my knowledge, we weren't eaten or attacked by any wild animals and ignoring the possibility solo performances, there was certainly no sex. We left London in reasonable health and returned a few months later weighing slightly less, but in roughly the same condition. There was no serious crashing, the rivers that we forded were never raging and the Triumph Tigers were boringly reliable. Despite our best efforts, the bikes simply refused to break. No drama. "Plane lands safely at Heathrow".

So, my dreams of writing a best seller and buying the house next door to J. K. Rowling have been cruelly dashed. I didn't expect to make a fortune, large or small. I've seen the crowded shelves in Waterstones, the competition is fierce. Without exception, every book on every shelf seems to be written by a person who can actually spell, quite amazing. So, massive book sales aren't going to help me to make the money that I foolishly promised to raise for St Teresa's Hospice. I'll eventually reach the target, but I'll just have to do it slightly differently, or perhaps "By Any Means". Anyway, I've decided to publish and possibly be dammed, but unfortunately, the publisher will be me. Self-publishing, it's not the cheapest option. But, if I can sell one book a week, every week until my grandchildren have become grandparents, then I'll break into profit. Ha, that'll prove the doubting publishers wrong. Thankfully, just like the journey itself, I'm receiving an awful lot of help with the process - you know who you are, Thank You. It'll take a few weeks, which probably means a few months, but eventually there'll be a book, "Ashes to Boonville". It'll have words and pages and photographs and everything, just like a real book. In the meantime, I'm writing extracts from the various chapters onto my mirror Blog listed below. Maybe, just maybe, a few people might read it. Maybe, just maybe, they'll be inspired enough by the story to ignore the fun-sponges and set out on their own adventures. I hope so, because they wont regret it.

Anyway, I've got to go, I'm very busy. Busy in a relaxing sort of way. I've got a date with a couple of sexy Italian sisters, the "V" twins, they look quite hot. I'll be riding them for two weeks, but only one at a time, I'm not a gymnast. Also, I've bought a notebook in which to plan the next adventure. It's actually already planned, I just haven't written it down yet, but it shouldn't take me too long, it's a very small notebook.

www.poorcirculationbook.blogspot.com

www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas

Post 250: Dosvedanya Comrade Scorpion


Volgograd was a lifetime ago. A plea for help. A hastily scribbled note and a copy of The Rider’s Digest. Roman and Slava had raced to our rescue. Under their protective wings in an amazing city of plenty, we were wined, dined and lavishly entertained. With Roman’s help, we tracked down new tyres in Moscow. Metzler Tourance’s for the rear and Pirelli Scorpion’s for the front. Not ideal, but infinitely preferable to riding on canvas. Six days later, with tyres replaced and personal batteries recharged, we pulled out of the “BikeCity34” workshops and onto the wide and perfectly paved Strasse. The compass pointed East towards Saratov but the Tiger‘s were reluctant to follow. Around the first corner and safely out of sight, we pulled to the side of the road. Something was wrong. Tyre pressures too low? Steering bearings too tight? We checked and adjusted everything possible but both bikes had adopted new and dangerous personalities that we just couldn‘t seem to cure. The once reliable and precise steering of the Tiger was gone. The new tyres weren’t working as new tyres should. Individually they were probably fine tyres, but as a mismatched pair they were certainly an experience. At any speed below 40 mph, the handlebars oscillated violently and the bike gave a constant feeling of “falling over“. The front wheel just refused to steer. Where once a gentle nudge would tip the Tiger into any corner, every turn now required a threatening memo giving notice of your intention. It wasn’t a pleasant experience but I was confident that miles and wear would eventually solve the problem.

The mounting miles did little to improve the steering and the silky smooth roads of North America only highlighted the problems. In New York, 18,000 miles after the tyres had been fitted, I replaced the now threadbare Metzler Tourance. I couldn’t bring myself to replace the offending front tyre. In 18,000 miles the Scorpion had used less than half of it’s tread, the bloody thing just refused to die. Sadly, there was no improvement with the new rear. Granted, an undersized Pirelli Diablo Corsa wasn’t the ideal partner for the part worn Scorpion on the front, but it was all that I could find and came at an amazingly low price. Beggars don‘t make good choosers.

Back in Blighty and with only 3,000 miles under it’s belt, the new Diablo Corsa was already beginning to show-off it‘s canvas undergarments. The lovely people at Jack Lilley Triumph in Ashford Common replaced the rear tyre with a previously enjoyed, but free and lovely, Bridgestone Trail Wing. For another 3,000 miles through the summer, I wobbled on with the 24,000 mile Pirelli Scorpion before finally screaming “enough” . I now hated riding the bike, it was always awkward, like walking in flippers or dancing in clown shoes. Calling time on my frustration, this morning I headed down to Essential Rubber in London N1. The Pirelli Scorpion was removed and a new Michelin Anakee was fitted. For the very first time I‘d changed a tyre long before it was legally necessary. I rode out of Essential Rubber wearing a giant smile. The transformation was instant and amazing, riding the Tiger was once again an absolute pleasure. If only I hadn’t been such an arsehole, I could have changed the offending tyre in the Spring and enjoyed a Summer of motorcycling fun. 24,000 miles is a damn fine innings for a tyre, but I wasn’t sorry to see the back of it. Lesson learned.

www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas

Post 249: Donald Masters RIP


This post is an insight into the lengths that many bikers will go to in order to help fellow riders, sometimes friends but more often than not, total strangers. I first picked up this story from a concerned American friend on the 9th of September.
Donald Masters disappeared on the 31st of August while riding his Honda Goldwing in the Rocky Mountains between the borders of Montana and Idaho, somewhere to the north-east of Yellowstone National Park. Donald was a veteran two-wheeled traveller and a regular contributor to Honda Goldwing and Honda ST (Honda Pan European) Internet forums. The alarm was raised when Donald failed to arrive at his destination in Denver Colorado on or around the 9th of September. At first, it seems that local Government Services paid little attention to requests for help, passing responsibility to other Services or to other Localities. It probably seemed to Donald's family that nobody was interested in his disappearance.
Joe Norris, aka 'Mellow' from the US Honda ST Internet forum, a fellow rider but a man who had never met Donald, then posted a message on the forums bulletin board. Word quickly spread, information was gathered and riders were mobilised. Cell phone data was retrieved, surveillance video from traffic cameras was viewed and credit card usage was analysed. Within days, riders were out riding every possible route that Donald could have taken, searching for anything that might possibly help. The town of Dillon Montana became the centre of unofficial operations, riders from across the North East States joined in the search and bikers from further afield paid for their accommodation, food and even helicopters to assist them in the search. The search area was vast, approximately the size of Wales, cell phone coverage was limited and communications difficult. Roads were ridden North and South, East and West, then retraced by other riders. Every motel, gas station, convenience store and camping ground within a seventy-five mile radius of Dillon was checked, ''Missing'' posters handed out and clues to Donald's movements sought. On the weekend of 19th and 20th September 2009, more than a hundred riders were directly involved in the physical search for Donald Masters while many more worked telephones and fax machines from their homes. The majority of these fine people had never met Donald, but each gave their time in support of a missing biker and his family.
Sadly, on 19th September on ''I-93'' just South of North Fork Idaho, Donald Masters was found. His Honda Goldwing had left the road on a bend and come to rest in a ditch shielded by dense undergrowth. Donald Masters had been travelling from Montana to see his newly born grandchild in Denver Colorado. Exactly what happened to Donald Masters may never be known, but as a biker, it's comforting to know that while to the outtside world many of us can appear to be strange, we're never really strangers. My thoughts are with Donald's family, my respect with those who helped his family in their search.

Post 248: Essex Air Ambulance Motorcycle Run


Sunday 13th September 2009, was the 10th anniversary of the Essex Air Ambulance Motorcycle Run. 5,000 bikes gathered at Ford's Dunton Technical Centre before heading off in convoy towards Harwich. Stunt maestro Craig Jones entertained the crowds with wheelies and burnouts that were almost as long as the queues for burgers and coffee. He wasn't the Star of the Show, that place was reserved for the Air Ambulance and its crew. However, life being what it is, the helicopter was called into action and left the event early .... no apology necessary.
The organisation was slick, the segregated car parks were emptied with military precision and 5,000 bikes departed for Harwich without incident. Seeing so many bikes on the road at the same time is an amazing sight, unless of course you just happened to be a car driver waiting to join the same carriageway. All along the route, turn-outs and bridges were filled with waving well wishers. To be riding a motorbike in Great Britain and be 'accepted' by the general public, is a great feeling, especially for a Despatch Rider. Riders and passengers waved back at the crowds and everybody behaved themselves, everybody on a bike that is. Unfortunately, the young spotted dicks in their big noise Vauxhall Corsa's still tried to provoke violence along the A12. But thankfully, none of the riders reacted and the 'Corsa-Boys' survived to annoy us all tomorrow. The day, sponsored by Equity Red Star and Cannon BMW of Braintree, raised more than £40,000 for a service that an increasing number of people, especially bikers, owe their lives to.
Wandering amongst the 5,000 bikes in the car park, I was amazed at the wide range of metal and plastic on display - Scooters, Harley's, Trikes, Classic British, Modern Japanese and Exotic Italian. There were no stars, people or bikes, everybody was equal. It was Animal Farm for powered two wheelers and bragging rights were taking a rest day. In the far corner of car park #3, I spotted a group of immaculate and original Kawasaki KH triples; 350, 500 and 750 versions, a trio of widow-makers. When I was a teenager, my favourite bike was my Kawasaki KH250. I helped to make Sheik Yamani a very wealthy man and kept Darlington's Bob Fortune Kawasaki Centre in business, Kawasaki two-stroke ownership was never cheap, but it was always eventful. It was a bike that made every journey feel like an adventure into the unknown, and often into the nearest hedgerow, but it was the bike that intorudced me to the spirit of biking. It's difficult to form a bond with a bike that you start with a 'Button', but when you kick it into life with your foot, it's a whole different story, you connect. I never had the balls or the finances to graduate to the 250's larger brothers ............. but like the beautiful KH500 above, I've lived to tell the tale.

Post 247: Financial Meltdown ... Happy Anniversary



For those uninterested or unaffected by the current economic conditions, then this is an ideal time to go browsing elsewhere. I’ll return to biking matters in the next post, but to celebrate the first anniversary of Financial Armageddon, the following is my layman’s take on the why’s and how’s of last years financial meltdown.

One year ago this week, I was riding happily across America with a fistful of dollars and not a care in the world. Tents and motorbikes are not the most media friendly environments, but despite being divorced from economic reality, it was impossible to overlook the simultaneous collapse of the world’s banking system. Gas stations were the ideal place to freely read the front pages of newspapers like ‘USA Today’ and the road was the ideal place from which to observe the economic effects on everyday people. Possessions in front yards were labelled with handwritten ’For Sale’ signs and ’U-Haul’ trailers were carrying the possessions of the displaced in every possible direction. The population of Middle-America was selling-up and moving-on. The world had changed overnight, Wall Street had collapsed and Main Street was ’For Sale’.

Collateralized Debt Obligations (CDO‘s), Credit Default Swaps (CDS’s), Asset Backed Securities (ABS’s), Contracts For Difference (CFD‘s). For most people, these terms might as well be from an alien based language and that’s exactly why the Banker’s developed them. Such terms are designed to impress us into a false sense of security and to prevent us from asking questions that we fear might leave us looking stupid. Complex financial instruments are not a new concept, they’ve been in use since the 11th century, so why did it all go so horribly pear-shaped in 2007? The answer is basically ‘Greed’ and below is my layman’s explanation of why things went so horribly wrong.

Building Societies were great institutions. If you had excess cash, you invested it into a savings account and the Building Society paid you a regular rate of interest. In order to afford the interest that they paid on the savings, the Building Society lent out those savings to people who wanted to buy, and more importantly could afford to buy, a home. The interest charged on the ’Mortgage’ was 8% and the interest paid on the ’Savings’ was 3%. The Building Society enjoyed a margin of perhaps 5% that would cover it's operating costs. If the new homeowner stopped making the monthly loan repayments, then the Building Society would recoup their losses by repossessing the house and selling it back into the market. Each Building Society shouldered the risk of every loan that it made. To reduce this risk to an absolute minimum, the Building Society vetted the mortgage applicants and only loaned money to those people that they deemed to be financially worthy and had a healthy initial deposit. The ’Mortgagee’s’ got their homes, the ‘Savers’ got their interest payments and the Building Society ’Members’ shared in the organisations success. It all worked remarkably well, but each Building Society was limited to lending out in mortgages no more than they received in savings. The management of Building Societies began to change and governments encouraged the development of home ownership, the Retail Banks became more aggressive in the residential mortgage markets and the Building Societies looked on in envy. A Building Society’s capital came from the savings deposited by it’s members, but a Retail Bank was owned by shareholders and could borrow additional capital on the open market. Retail Banks had a seemingly unfair advantage and the answer was quite simple ……. Building Societies would become Retail Banks.


We all got our Halifax and Abbey National Shares, the names on the High Street began to change, our regional Building Society became a Retail Bank, the Retail Bank was then swallowed up by an International Retail Bank and the International Retail Bank bought a sexy little Investment Bank with a nice address in London EC3. These new megalithic Financial Institutions had cheap money thrown at them from every direction, annual profits rose and the decimal points moved to the right on the rocket scientists bonus cheques. House prices were rising. Regan, Clinton, Bush, Thatcher and Blair all encouraged the concept and reality of home ownership. New money flooded into the housing market, mortgages once only available to Mr Prime were now being made available to his less reliable half-brother, Mr Sub-Prime. The profit margins were good, Mr Sub-Prime was less worthy than his half-brother and therefore paid a higher rate of interest. He kept up his repayments, why wouldn’t he? His house was rising in value every year. If financially things became a little difficult for him then it wasn‘t really a major drama because a no-questions asked re-mortgage was never more than a mouse-click away. Everything in the financial garden was flourishing and everybody was much more financially aware than the generation before, ’Risk’ was no longer an important factor.

The Rocket Scientists at Investment Banks such as Lehman Brothers, had rediscovered the CDO, the Consolidated Debt Obligation. For the Retail Bank this was a way of reducing the risk involved with homeowners defaulting on their mortgage repayments and for the Investment Bank, often part of the same institution, it was just an amazing way to sell the same profitable product several times over. A CDO is basically a box-file, a container for documents, in this case those documents are Mortgages. Into that container, a bank will put a selection of it’s own mortgages, otherwise known as ’Debt Obligations’, and attach a value to the box, a selling price. Human and corporate nature being what it is, the Retail Bank will hide a few of it’s Mr Sub-Prime Mortgages in with it’s gold-plated Mr Prime versions, thus off-loading some of it‘s more dangerous loans. The Investment Bank buy’s a van full of boxes from various Retail Banks, shuffles the documents into larger boxes, attaches a new selling price to each new box and finds a willing buyer. It works well, each sale generates a small profit and each container can be rearranged and sold again and again. Each subsequent box becomes so big and so diverse in quality, that it becomes impossible to assess the true value of it’s contents. These boxes are on a merry-go-round, Banks are re-purchasing bad mortgages that they’d off-loaded weeks earlier, but now at a slightly inflated price. Finally, somebody asks the sixty-four billion dollar question - ’’why is this box full of crap?’’

The answer to that sixty-four billion dollar question is CDS, the Credit Default Swap. It’s not really an answer to the sensible question, it’s more of an escape mechanism that deems a meaningful answer unnecessary. The fact is that the there is no real ‘answer’, nobody can really understand what the hell is in each box. The boxes of mortgages are now so far removed from the original lenders that even the Bank’s Rocket Scientists can‘t calculate an accurate value for it‘s contents. The reaction of the Bankers is to bury their heads in the communal caviar, continue turning the profits on the CDO’s and to introduce an additional means of making new profits; the CDS.

It’s almost perfect. When the Bank sells CDO, a box of assorted mortgages, it now sells an insurance policy that sits happily alongside it, a Credit Default Swap. The Bank charges an additional premium for the CDS, and if the underlying mortgage asset turns sour, then they compensate the buyer accordingly. At the same time, when the Bank buys a box of assorted mortgages, it buys a Credit Default Swap as part of the same deal. The risk is spread again, everyone is protected and more profits are being made. Suddenly, the world’s largest insurance group AIG, pricks up it’s ears and wonders why it’s missing out on what they deem to be ’Insurance’ business. The Investment Banks are more than happy to let AIG in on the action. I can just imagine an AIG underwriter looking into a billion dollar box of assorted mortgages that’s passed twenty times through various institutions and wondering 'WTF?' Long story short, AIG seem to accept the ’Retail Price’ stamped on each box, they collect the premium for providing the CDS and announce record annual profits on the back of this entirely new business. By the end of 2007, the global trade in CDS’s exceeded $60,000,000,000,000.00, that’s sixty trillion dollars.

Historically, a Building Society could lend no more money than it held in savings. Their profit was limited by the amount of money that they had available to them. By the end of 2007, many Investment Banks were leveraged to a factor of forty. This means that they had borrowed amounts equal to around forty times their actual value, forty times more than they were worth. To put that into context, it’s equivalent to a person earning two thousand pounds a month taking on a mortgage of one million pounds, it’s financial suicide. Adding to this leverage problem, the loans taken on by these Banks were in nature, short-term, but these loans were used to purchase mortgages, which are long-term. The situation was beyond precarious, the entire worlds financial stability rested on the value of our houses.

Much of governmental economic thinking revolves around controlling the rate of inflation. The rate of inflation is determined indirectly by the supply of money, and the supply of money is determined in part by interest rates. As higher inflation became a possibility, Interest rates began to rise which meant that monthly loan and mortgage repayments increased. Added to this problem, many of the Mr Sub-Prime mortgages were falling from their ‘Introductory Discounted Rates’ and homeowners were confronted with a double whammy. The housing market slowed and homeowners began to default on their monthly repayments. Houses were repossessed, new buyers stopped entering the market and prices fell further. A vicious circle had begun. The Banks also had massively increased repayments on their own debts which added pressure to their already overstretched cash holdings. They were no longer able to loan money to other institutions, the financial squeeze was coming from all sides. Northern Rock were the first to break cover. The short-term loans that they’d used to provide long-term mortgages for their customers were not being renewed, they quickly ran out of money. Northern Rock approached the Bank of England and the first run on a British Bank in living memory began. To the public, the failure of Northern Rock was reported as a blip, the result of a flawed business model, an individual case of gross mismanagement. The rest is history; Fannie Mac & Freddie Mae, Bear Sterns, Bradford & Bingley. Lehman Brothers bankrupt, Lloyds saving HBoS and RBS falling into government hands.

The Banks got greedy and the greed was rewarded with the payment of stellar salaries and bonuses. Smoke and mirrors were used to disguise the true value of their business transactions. Profits and bonuses were annual calculations but the mortgages upon which those profits were based were not. Governments were happy with the application of soft-touch regulation for financial institutions while they spent the enormous tax income on popular vote winning projects. Nobody emerges from this global fiasco looking good, but some will emerge looking wealthy. Unfortunately, those are the same people who’s actions created this whole mess in the first place. Governments and Customers don’t design and sell complex financial instruments …. That’s all down to the Bankers.

www.justgiving.com/geoffgthomas

Post 246: Summer Holiday, Krabi Southern Thailand



Krabi, deep in the south of Thailand. Rainy season but thankfully for us non-farming off-peak tourists, very little rain. White sandy beaches, warm seas, endless sunshine and ice cold beer. Long tail boats to islands, deserted beaches, peace and tranquility. Krabi is like Phuket of 25 years ago or Kho Samui some 20 years ago. It's not 'unspoilt', but it's at a stage of development that unlike Phuket and Kho Samui, still represents a good compromise between tranquility and entertainment. Unbelievable beaches that you see featured in magazines and movies, will either be in the expensive Seychelles or here in good value Thailand. Sand, white and pure against a sea so blue that you can't help but feel has been freshly painted in anticipation of your arrival. It's August, the low end of the low-season and everything is cheap. At the Ao Nang Beach Resort Hotel, we have adjoining mini suites overlooking the beach, rooms that cost a large fortune during the peak periods are ours for just £10 per night.
From the beautiful Ao Nang beach, a few pounds takes us to the nearby islands on a long tail taxi boat. Poda and Chicken Islands are a few minutes away, Kho Phi Phi Don and Kho Phi Phi Lei are a little further and slightly more expensive. Sadly, Kho Phi Phi Don, featured in 'The Man with the Golden Gun', and Kho Phi Phi Lei, featured in 'The Beach', have risen in popularity and unless you arrive really early in the morning, you'll be sharing your small piece of tranquility with a million other tourists and a flotila of taxi-boats, even in the low season.
For the first time in my life, I paddled a sea kayak. An unsinkable boat designed for two people. The purveyor of these craft turned out to be from Isaan. Everywhere that we go Tassaneeya seems to meet somebody that she knows and advantageous deals are constantly being negotiated. The craft was suddenly suitable for three people, but it seemed that I had the only paddle that ever got wet. It was hard work paddling against the current, but entering the mangrove swamps where macaque monkeys jumped down onto the kayak and hitched short rides made it well worth the effort. We didn't encounter any crocodiles but paddling on still waters beneath high canyon walls was quite an experience.
Later in the day, we visit an elephant sanctuary where once again, Tassaneeya strikes up a conversation in the language of her village. Within minutes, the three of us are aboard an elephant called 'Chang Bung-Shwee' (Mr Helpful Elephant). I struggle with the whole concept of animals being kept in captivity and had it not been for Hannah, I would never have done this. Reluctantly I'd agreed to take a trek through the forests and with hindsight, I'm pleased that I did. We wandered the forests for an hour, taking it in turns to ride the elephant, sitting on it's shoulders and steering with small strokes on it's ears. Meanwhile, the Isaan mahout's walk around us and a constant stream of jokes flow, mostly at my expense. It was actually great fun, Hannah's highlight of the entire holiday. Chang Bung-Shwee didn't seem to notice that we were there, he simply wandered where he wanted, drank half a stream, ate any leaf that took his fancy, pee'd a small reservoir and poo'd a whole mountain of crap. I'm not sure that I'd ride another elephant, but at least these elephants have escaped the trauma's of wandering the streets of Bangkok for the entertainment of other tourists. All in all it was a really good day.
I'll definately return to Krabi in the future, if not for the beauty of it's beaches, then simply for the magnificence of its sunsets.