ROUND BRITAIN
WHIZ
Question - where would you find four English motorcyclist, three Japanese and a Dutchman, riding a Japanese-engined Indian-build bike around England, Wales and Scotland? Where else but on the first ever round Britain motorcycle economy run! And what else could you use but an Enfield Robin? It's still the only diesel-powered bike in production.

The Enfiled part of this question is based on the old Royal Enfield Bullet, a simple, solid British bike of the '50s which is still being made lock, stock and crankcase in Madras. For the last couple of years, there's been a diesel conversion from Erinie Dorsett (who is really Mr Diesel Bike) and Redbreast Engineering, which imports a Japanese stationary engine called Robin. This all alloy DI single is more usually seen powering generators or water pumps, and it boasts a ground-shaking 8.5bhp. Naturally, this doesn't endow the Enfield with leopard-like performance - top speed is around 65mph and it cruises comfortably at fifty. On the other hand, as regular readers will know from our own long-term Enfield (still rip-roaring along at 17,000 miles) it needs only a little persuasion to better 200mpg. "Diesel Car inspired me," said Dr Shigeru Miyano. A Japanese medical man who has a thing about economy records (as well as 1960s Grand Prix racing - he's a Bruce McLaren fan) , he read about the Enfield in this very magazine, and from then on the die was cast. He already holds the round-Britain petrol car record, at 85.96mpg in a Honda Civic (the outright record is of course held by a diesel; a Daihatsu Charade TD managed 103mpg in 1991). Since no-one has attempted the standard Guinness round-Britain route by bike before, all we had to do was finish the course without crashing or breaking down and the record was ours. Simple.

Real test
The Guinness round-Britain route makes a lot of sense as a real-world test of economy. It's a real cross-section of A-roads, B-roads and motorways ; up hills, through towns and over mountains.
The whole 3,500 miles has to be completed in less than 180 hours, to prevent over-the-top economy driving tricks. So you need an average of at least 20mph, including stops. That doesn't sound very much, but what with rider swaps every hour or two, team changeovers and refuelling, we'd need to keep up 35-40mph to maintain the average. I knew from experience that 40mph cruising would have to be the limit if we were to crack 200mpg.
That was probably the easy bit. The logistics were something else, as several forestsworth of fax paper flew between Britain and Japan for months beforehand. In the end, there were two teams - A (the English/Dutch one) would set off from Brighton for Bristol via Land's End, hopefully handing over to B (Japanese/English) about 24 hours later. B would do Wales, handing back to us near Liverpool, and so on. Each team would have a back-up car, and everyone would share driving, navigating and kipping on the back seat. That was the theory. Funnily enough, in practice it all worked out rather well.

Thursday/Friday
Up at what feels like the crack of dawn for pre-ride briefing. All goes well until Dr Miyano hands round the official crash helmet with intercom. The idea is it'll allow car and bike to stay in constant touch. Unfortunately, a one-size-fits-all policy doesn't work for helmets, and this one goes down over the eyes of Tsuruyo Ban. She's five-foot nothing and races a Ducati in Japan, but needs to see where she's going. The helmet is abandoned. Which is a pity, because the intercom worked perfectly across the hotel's sitting room.
Down to Brighton prom to be seen off by the Mayor. It's hot and sunny, and everyone's happy. Posing the bike in front of Palace Pier is a great photo opportunity, but I can't understand why the camera won't work. "You've still got the lens cap on, " says the Mayor helpfully.
Off at last into Brighton's horrendous traffic - for the first few miles, we're in convoy, and find that three cars and two bikes are impossible to keep together on busy roads. Two miles on, at the official first fill-up, we find most of the party lost and the filling station closed for refurbishment. On to John Cooper Garages in Worthing, only to find they don't sell diesel. Fill up at last in Littlehampton, and the run begins.
Threading our way through Bognor, Southbourne and Portsmouth brings home the real coast-hugging nature of the Guinness route - there are no shortcuts, you really have to cover every peninsula and resort. The bike feels completely different to our long-term Robin as it's barely run-in. The riding technique is the same though - just stick it into top at 25mph and leave it there. In fact, the Enfield is quite easy to ride economically, as the torque of its lov revving diesel (max 3,600rpm) means you can stay in top through town and round roundabouts. I hand over to Gordon Powell in Gosport. His normal transport is 120mph Vincent V-twin, so the Enfield's performance comes as bit of culture schock.
We somehow manage to hit Bournemouth in the middle of rush hour. Dutch rider Kees Verwey takes over and we head out unscathed onto the quieter roads of south Dorset. Down through Weymouth, then along the scenic B3152 to Bridport - great views of Portland and Chesil Beach. Someone turns on the radio just as John Major's resignation is announced, accompanied by ragged cheers from the back of the car. We lose a good ten minutes on the steep hill out of Lyme Regis. Two heavily laden Swedish trucks are having trouble. One makes it by reversing up the narrow 'A' road, but the other can't restart, so the first has to come back down again to tow its fellow up.
Evening falls as mother-of-two Lesley Reeday begins her ride at Sidford - she's also President of the Matchless Owners' Club and shouldn't have any trouble adapting to the Enfield - "I've been driving diesel cars and vans for years."
It's dark by the time we reach Dartmouth, and my second stint at 10.30pm, but not cold. The only problem is the twisting, turning, up-and-down roads of south Devon and Cornwall, which are slowing us down and won't do the fuel figure
much good. Land's End passes at 4.43am, at which point it's just light enough to take a picture.
Endless twisty 'B' roads takesus back up the coast, and within sight of Delabole wind farm just as most people are thinking about breakfast. As the day opens out, it just gets hotter and hotter - trundling over Porlock Hill, I see sheep stretched out in the sun. Apart from a slightly grabby front brake, we make i round Porlock's famous hairpin OK. Thanks to the terrain, we're behind schejule, and things aren't helped when we forget to pay for fuel at Williton. Into Somerset and through Bridgwater, then ten minutes of motorway (not recommended on an Enfield Robin) to meet Team B at Gordano Services on the M5. After 697 miles and 26 hours, the first leg is over.

Saturday/Sunday
I have never experienced jet lag, but now know what it feels like. Riding an Enfield Robin for 700 miles is a cheaper way of achieving the same thing. Up early again on Saturday for the drag up to Flint on M5/M6/A51 to meet the others. It's another hot day, and we're all longing to get out on the bike again. So hot that the ordeal lies not in getting up at 2am to ride the Enfield, but spending the other 75 per cent of time sitting in a car.
B Team is waiting for us - they've made good time thanks to quieter roads through Wales, and apart from looking a little haggard seem happy enough, though Yuki (who runs his wife's ballet school in Kumamoto) would like more power. The traffic seems worse than in Brighton, until we twig that this is a summer Saturday and only to be expected. Up through the Wirral to Birkenhead and the Mersey Tunnel - 'Join our car wash club' says a roadside sign - what do they do, compare polishes?
Out of Liverpool, we get mixed up in South-port Carnival, and have to thread through the backstreets. Preston comes and goes, and we're getting into a routine of rider swaps every two hours (one hour at night).
Blackpool arrives in a maelstrom of lights, trams and candyfloss. "It's a big circus, " says Kees, "Britain is like a holiday camp." A quick rider swap and obligatory tram picture, and the Enfield plonks off north across nat land - to the east, you can see the hills of Calder Fell. No scenic deviations for Team A though, as we have to stick to our coast-hugging routine.
Whoever dreamed up this route must have had a sadistic streak -the low point comes shortly after Newton Stewart (2.13am) . Normally, the 25 miles from there to Stranraer would take about thirty minutes. Three hours later, we pull into the ferry terminal, having explored every little creek and inlet this part of Scotland has to offer. The terminal is deserted, apart from a convoy of ancient Army Bedfords and thou-sands of midges. Everyone is getting tired now. The A77 up to Ayr is a welcome piece of straight road, but that makes it more difficult to stop dropping off. After finding myself and Enfield on the white line, I wake up.
On up through Largs and Greenock to Glasgow Airport, where we drop Kees and ask a bemused security guard to take a picture. It's turning into another hot, blue-sky day, but we're ahead of schedule, and allow ourselves the luxury of a 45 minute Little Chef breakfast. There's a row of custom bikes outside, but the Enfield attracts more attention. A quick check over reveals the gearbox leak is no worse, it's used no engine oil and the chain doesn't need adjusting. We hand over to the others at Arrochar, overlooking the beautiful Loch Long. That evening, meet John Doherty, an Enfield Robin owner who chose his bike for green reasons - it's his only transport.

Monday/Tuesday
Long drive north, to meet B at Nairn. Their John 'O Groats run went OK, except that their thirsty (petrol) Volvo back-up car almost ran out of fuel - they wasted time waiting for a filling station to open. The Moray Firth is an almost Mediterranean blue as we trundle down into village after village, each one perched on the clifr edge. A quick stop on Lossiemouth front for pictures before we hit Fraserburgh at 4.40pm on Monday. This is a bit of a landmark, as we're heading south at last !
The team is down to three riders, with Robin's cheery Wayne Marlow as driver - this means more work, but we soon get into a routine of drive/navigate/sleep/ride. As evening falls, mist rolls in from the sea, as the only blot on our perfect Weather - it's light until gone 10pm anyway, and dawn starts at three. Running down the A90 into Edinburgh, there are rabbits calmly nibbling away on the verge, noses only inches from the traffic.
Woken at 1.20am, I know I've slept too long. Fortunately my next stint is down a straight and simple A1 - we're back into England.
Crossing Tyne and Tees is interesting -we're escorted through the Tyne Tunnel at four in the morning by official Land Rovers with blue lights flashing. Have no idea why. Later on, as the early shift is going to work, there's a transporter bridge. Apart from a group of cyclists coming the other way, we are the only occupants.
Travelling for 24 hours gives you a different perspective - you see the whole day unfold, but via glimpses of hundreds of different lives : the first chirpings of the dawn chorus, kids waiting for the school bus, the lunchtime rush, more kids (less neat now) going home, rush hour traffic, pubs opening, getting busy, and closing again. Then it's dark, and we're alone again.
Back to earth at Hull's Forte Travelodge -every detail is identical to the one near Bristol, and I suspect even the girl behind the desk is the same. These places are good value if three of you share a room, otherwise (at P34.50 with no breakfast) not. We hand over to the others for the last time - they've got an easy run down the coast to Sussex, but that's on top of a nine-hour drive from Scotland.

Wednesday/Thursday
The ride is over for Team A, but for the record, the others left Hull at 5pm, passed through Cromer at midnight, Ipswich in the small hours and crossed the Dartford Bridge at breakfast time. Midday at Herne Bay brings them back to us, at the Rose & Crown in Old Romney. That evening, Dr Miyano, pint of Guinness in hand, is effusive. "Bruce McLaren and Denny Hulme will be looking down at us from the heavens. "
Next morning, it's back to the holiday traffic of a week ago, through Hastings, Bexhill, Eastbourne and Newhaven. Brighton looms, and not only do we find somewhere to park, but the Enfield is back on the prom at midday, almost exactly a week after setting off. Mayor Sheila Shaffer signs us back in, and the ride is officially over.
But the moment of truth comes at the final fill-up back in Littlehampton. Eighteen and a half gallons over 3,469 miles equals 195.98 mpg. That's uncorrected for mileometer error, though a bigger than standard front tyre may have meant it was actually under-reading. Everyone was disappointed not to crack 200mpg, but with seven different riders, heavy traffic and difficult terrain, it's hardly a disgrace. The record is now there to be broken, but will any other road going vehicle (petrol or diesel) do better? I doubt it.