MOTORCYCLE TYRE PRESSURE GUIDE. MOTORCYCLE TYRE

Motorcycle Tyre Pressure Guide. Pitbull Rocker Tires For Sale.

Motorcycle Tyre Pressure Guide


motorcycle tyre pressure guide
    motorcycle tyre
  • Motorcycle tyres provide the only contact with the ground, via the contact patch under normal conditions, and so have a very large influence over motorcycle handling characteristics. Motorcycle tyres have a round cross section to facilitate the leaning necessary when a motorcycle turns.
    pressure
  • the force applied to a unit area of surface; measured in pascals (SI unit) or in dynes (cgs unit); "the compressed gas exerts an increased pressure"
  • a force that compels; "the public brought pressure to bear on the government"
  • coerce: to cause to do through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means :"She forced him to take a job in the city"; "He squeezed her for information"
  • The force exerted per unit area
  • The use of persuasion, influence, or intimidation to make someone do something
  • The continuous physical force exerted on or against an object by something in contact with it
    guide
  • lead: take somebody somewhere; "We lead him to our chief"; "can you take me to the main entrance?"; "He conducted us to the palace"
  • A thing that helps someone to form an opinion or make a decision or calculation
  • A person who advises or shows the way to others
  • steer: direct the course; determine the direction of travelling
  • A professional mountain climber in charge of a group
  • usher: someone employed to conduct others

Marrakech the Mercenary
Marrakech the Mercenary
Marrakech throbs with life. Heady and thrilling, yes, but brutal and mercenary too. Would I recommend it? Not to anyone who likes to relax. From the moment I stepped into the old city, Marrakech took hold of every one of my senses and refused to let go. I have described Marrakech as mercenary. We were followed, waylayed, harassed and pressured to part with our money everywhere we went in the medina. For example, a friendly looking merchant I was passing extended his hand to me with a hearty "bonjour, my friend!" I took his hand and shook it. "Come and see my shoe shop! Come in! Come in!" My protests, whether meek or stern, were ineffective. He was holding my hand tightly to the point of hurting me, and I couldn't pull away. Another man working in the shop proceeded to untie my shoelaces so that he could put another shoe on my foot. To escape, I had to pull away in a manner that made me seem like the rude one, but there is no other way I discovered to deal with it. Another example: when we stopped at a market in a Berber Village in the mountains, we were immediately pounced upon by two men who insisted on being our guides. These men shouted "My friends! My friends! Japan? Korea?" and followed us. I heard the word "Konichiwa" more times in that week than the rest of my life put together, and people would shout "Jackie Chan!" at us. After a day, I found it easier to say simply that I was from China rather than explain that I'm British born half-Chinese. At times I pretended to be unable to speak either English or French. We said we needed no guide. Ignoring our pleas to be left alone, they would simply say "No problem! No problem! Berber market this way! Look! Take picture! Yes! Very nice!" The frenzy with which they spoke and moved was so stressful to me that at times I wanted to scream in their faces: as it was, I just left as quickly as I could - climbing up the side of a steep rocky hill rather than taking the path so that they couldn't follow me. By the time the men realised that they would get no money out of me, all I would hear was shouts of "You no good! Japan no good!" It was a shame, because that market seemed - at least what I could glean from my hurried and stressful march around it - very interesting, and I would have liked to have spent a lot of time there. I can understand the desperation: during the week I spent in Marrakech, I spent as much money as it would take the average Marrakshi six months to earn. So why am I complaining? I didn't hate being asked for money: I hated the insincerity, and it led me to doubt everyone. Whenever a stranger spoke to me, no matter how friendly they were or the subject of the conversation, I assumed their motive to be that they wanted money from me. Sadly, not once was my assumption wrong. This is the only city I've visited of which this is true. I once asked someone for a light for my cigarette - a kindness which I've come to take for granted - and they asked for the equivalent of ?8 in return. As a relatively comfortably well-off man living in Scotland, I can't judge the behaviour of these people: I don't know the hardships they may face. However, I would caution anyone thinking of visiting Marrakech to be prepared for it. Unless you have lots of money to spend on staying in a fancy resort outside of the city (and if that's how you plan to spend your trip why bother going to Marrakech?) it is not a place to relax. I saw several street fights between grown men while I was there, and I wasn't surprised, because it is a place that winds you up, makes you edgy: a city of tension, anxiety, desperation and veiled hostility. It is a place to go when you have relaxed for so long that you're tired of the same old routine. The guidebooks I looked at before I visited spoke of friendly and passionate mercantile banter: the reality was far more unpleasant. Marrakech, 2011.

motorcycle tyre pressure guide
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