So where did it all start? I pledged in my first ever post to this blog to potentially reveal a little of me. Letting you in when I saw fit. Now feels about right to tell you a little more. Why? Well as you know life for me is changing, radically. I know that it won’t be the same again, it will be different, much different and for the better. I must say though that I feel ready to embrace it and whereas once I day dreamed and wondered of my next outing on the bonnie I now think about how I can snatch just a little more time with baby Libby and Rachel.
It therefore feels right to reminisce a little as I stare at my “dust covered” bonnie parked away in the garage. The story of how it all started for us and where the bonnie became my expectant weekends.
Bikes figured in my growing up. Not on a grand scale but with a dad who always had a bike. For him it was a necessity, a cheap mode of transport to help bridge the financial gap with a young family. My dad had grown up with bikes and there is the odd black and white picture of him with his brothers astride their BSA’s (amongst other nostalgic brands). My memories though are not as romantic. They consist mainly of a constant crackle of a kick start on cold early mornings. The little commuter 125cc then being allowed to ‘warm up’ just a few yards from my bedroom window. The noise and routine signaled that it wasn’t long before I too had to get up for school.
I can’t say I was fascinated by my Dad’s bike. Sure he took me on a couple of small spins, usually when he took it to the garage for its MOT, but that was it really. To me football, cricket, schoolwork and chasing the fairer sex all took precedent in my early teenage years. As I approached 16 a couple of friends purchased old 50cc Hondas and that is where my interest was really first stimulated. I was a tad jealous. They had something exciting and a new found freedom that I wanted to experience also. Inevitably as my own 16th birthday approached I began to ask the questions - could I have a bike also?
Such questions were always met with a firm ‘no’. I was left in no doubt that a bike of my own was not going to happen. In fairness I didn’t sulk for long over it but the whole episode left a question in my mind as to was my Dad just being hypocritical? Soon it was forgotten as college, exams and university all followed in a flurry of years.
Since those early yearnings little of the bike world touched me. Occasionally at a Rockabilly concert I’d catch a glimpse of a classic bike or maybe a Harley. Sure, I wished I owned one but the pull of beautiful space age 1950’s cars appealed more and would take more space in my day dreams. I knew though that I had neither the mechanical skill or patience to keep such beautiful machinery on the road. In the case of the bikes – I didn’t even have the requisite license.
Suddenly I was there, post 30, with few financial concerns and little responsibility outside of work. Life was good for Rachel and I. We were able to do what we wanted, when we wanted with only an occasional glance at our bank accounts. It wasn’t luck – we had both worked hard and made the most of the opportunities that came our way. As such I played around at several hobbies to keep my interest. Learn the guitar – I enjoyed my lessons but I have to admit my talent was limited. Gardening – fabulous in the fresh air but I lost interest once my garden had reached ‘show garden’ style perfection. Wine – joined a wine club, drank loads, but you can’t live your life being ‘interested’ in wine it is just a matter of subjective taste afterall. Rockabilly – still love this music, and its culture and fashion still influence me but that is where I want to stay ‘an influence’ not a complete lifestyle. There have been other more fleeting hobbies also.
So there I was several years ago, sitting in a gents barbers shop in Hinckley contemplating my next hobby. It was new year and I’d been musing for a while of the need to do something stimulating. My work life had slowed a little and I was looking for something to put my energies into. There is only so much gardening and wine you can take.
I was actually contemplating wind surfing at one point. Not that I had undertaken any serious research into it but it had been something that kept coming to the forefront of my mind. I have little idea how I could ever have made this a practical proposition given that I live in the midlands and so far away from the coast to make it an unglamorous notion on man made lakes and reservoirs. I also went through a period of wonderment about buying a classic sports car. This did reach the research stage as I trawled through auto-trader for a potential weekend toy. Three things conspired against me – lack of a decent garage, no mechanical nous and an uncanny ability to be drawn to expensive offerings. Classic air cooled Porsche anyone? Nope the classic sports car had to go the same way as the wind surfing.
A leaflet caught my eye, scattered as it was between the tatty magazines and newspapers within the Barbers. ‘Hinckley Motorcycle School – CBT, DAS and Advanced Tuition’. I picked it up and turned it over to read. Suddenly I was 16 again. I had not thought about a riding a bike since my Dad firmly said “no” all those years ago. The desire was returning. As I left the shop, a little lighter of fair locks, I picked up the leaflet, stuffed it in my pocket and took it home.
The next reminisce will encompass the ‘L’ plate months………………………
Wednesday 1 September 2010
Saturday 28 August 2010
Time to Reminisce..........
I remember it well, the days that we spent planning, the energy that went into the packing and the excitement of a sleepless night. I’d had my bike licence about a month, the bonnie only a couple of weeks. Raw and inexperienced, this was going to be an adventure.
I’d tottered around the local lanes on the bonnie, wobbling a little and getting a feel for its performance. I was gaining confidence steadily, the power delivery of the 790cc motor never really threatening, more smooth and compliant. Just how I wanted it to be. The bonnie’s lines, beautiful, I couldn’t help but admire it. To this day I still don’t think there is a better looking bike on the road than a bonnie.
I’d persuaded my long standing girlfriend (as she was back then) to buy some bike kit and become my ‘pillion candy’. Resplendent in her new gear, including a beautifully tailored Belstaff leather jacket, she looked the part. The initial trials of riding two up had gone well. We discovered that holding the rear grab rail produced an unnerving bounce at the back of the bonnie around sweeping bends. Best to lean forward and wrap your arms around the rider, ‘old style’, more intimate, we both preferred it. The pillion soon learned to relax and go with the flow, leaning with the bike when needed. With rising confidence as a ‘threesome’ it wasn’t long before we were planning our adventure.
The day arrived and the ruc-sack was packed full to bursting. All manner of items it contained. It was heavy and I worried that my girl would struggle with its weight. She insisted that she would be ok. The practicality of panniers had not reached us at this point in our biking lives and we had completely over packed to err on the side of caution. Never mind, nothing could stop us now, and so we set off – two biking ‘newbies’ – excited at the day ahead.
The distance worried us both. I had never covered so much mileage on a bike and ‘two up’ it was even more daunting. We pressed on though, we’d both watched ‘Long Way Round’.
I remember it being a beautiful summer’s morning. Clear, crisp and with prospects of warmth ahead. I concentrated on the road, very steady, no overtaking – I wasn’t ready for that just yet. My pillion relaxed, the odd squeeze letting me know that she was still there, safe and enjoying herself. With the road sweeping ahead, the sun starting to shine and the bonnie purring everything felt just right. Any worries or concerns melted away. I smiled gently within my helmet, the hours spent on a dodgy 125cc on cold winter’s nights, before my test, all seemed worth it now.
We stopped at a garage. I topped up the tank but in fairness this was our planned rest stop. We stood around for a while, stretched our legs and grinned at each other with gabbled and rushed conversation of the initial sights, sounds and feelings of part one of our adventure. The bonnie glinting in the sunlight, surrounded by numerous other bikes all stopping to take fuel before heading for the same destination. Rest taken we knew it was time to press on. We turned back onto the road.
A while later we neared our destination. I stared to feel nervous now. I was sharing my personal patch of road with numerous other bikes. Huge powerful sportsbikes, giant tourers, nakeds, street fighters and the odd classic. All their riders had to be more experienced than I. I was tense and I could feel a tighter grip around my waist. You know how it is – the fear of making a fool of yourself around peers. Let’s just say that I was a little over careful, there was no way I was going to have a low speed spill or drop the bike in the middle of a pack. In fairness the organization at the venue was really smooth and it wasn’t long before we were parking up in a mass of bikes. We’d arrived safely at Silverstone for a round of the British Superbike Championship. Helmets off we grinned at each other and we still had the journey home to go!!
Why do I reminisce? Well last weekend we rode out again to Silverstone as we have done numerous times since that initial adventure. Things are though somewhat different now. The preparation was minimal. I booked the tickets a week before, the ruc sack was packed on the morning of the journey and there was no fuel stop, after all Silverstone is only an hour and a half away. My pillion long since graduated to her own bike and the newbie persona has long since receded.
What did remain though were two important aspects of that first adventure. The ride down to Silverstone was wonderful, emptyish roads with a few glimpses of sunlight coupled with the odd overtake. Sometimes it all just clicks naturally into place. This was one of those occasions. Perhaps more than the ride though was the sense of excitement that preceded our outing. With our recent change in lifestyle and the arrival of little Libby we hadn’t managed to get out of the bikes together for a long time. With Nan and Grandpa kindly babysitting for us we had a day to get to know our bikes again. A wonderful sense of anticipation abounded both before the outward and return journey.
And the racing at Silverstone? Well you can’t ask for more than a clean sweep of all the podium places at both races of the home round of the World Superbike Championship can you?
I’d tottered around the local lanes on the bonnie, wobbling a little and getting a feel for its performance. I was gaining confidence steadily, the power delivery of the 790cc motor never really threatening, more smooth and compliant. Just how I wanted it to be. The bonnie’s lines, beautiful, I couldn’t help but admire it. To this day I still don’t think there is a better looking bike on the road than a bonnie.
I’d persuaded my long standing girlfriend (as she was back then) to buy some bike kit and become my ‘pillion candy’. Resplendent in her new gear, including a beautifully tailored Belstaff leather jacket, she looked the part. The initial trials of riding two up had gone well. We discovered that holding the rear grab rail produced an unnerving bounce at the back of the bonnie around sweeping bends. Best to lean forward and wrap your arms around the rider, ‘old style’, more intimate, we both preferred it. The pillion soon learned to relax and go with the flow, leaning with the bike when needed. With rising confidence as a ‘threesome’ it wasn’t long before we were planning our adventure.
The day arrived and the ruc-sack was packed full to bursting. All manner of items it contained. It was heavy and I worried that my girl would struggle with its weight. She insisted that she would be ok. The practicality of panniers had not reached us at this point in our biking lives and we had completely over packed to err on the side of caution. Never mind, nothing could stop us now, and so we set off – two biking ‘newbies’ – excited at the day ahead.
The distance worried us both. I had never covered so much mileage on a bike and ‘two up’ it was even more daunting. We pressed on though, we’d both watched ‘Long Way Round’.
I remember it being a beautiful summer’s morning. Clear, crisp and with prospects of warmth ahead. I concentrated on the road, very steady, no overtaking – I wasn’t ready for that just yet. My pillion relaxed, the odd squeeze letting me know that she was still there, safe and enjoying herself. With the road sweeping ahead, the sun starting to shine and the bonnie purring everything felt just right. Any worries or concerns melted away. I smiled gently within my helmet, the hours spent on a dodgy 125cc on cold winter’s nights, before my test, all seemed worth it now.
We stopped at a garage. I topped up the tank but in fairness this was our planned rest stop. We stood around for a while, stretched our legs and grinned at each other with gabbled and rushed conversation of the initial sights, sounds and feelings of part one of our adventure. The bonnie glinting in the sunlight, surrounded by numerous other bikes all stopping to take fuel before heading for the same destination. Rest taken we knew it was time to press on. We turned back onto the road.
A while later we neared our destination. I stared to feel nervous now. I was sharing my personal patch of road with numerous other bikes. Huge powerful sportsbikes, giant tourers, nakeds, street fighters and the odd classic. All their riders had to be more experienced than I. I was tense and I could feel a tighter grip around my waist. You know how it is – the fear of making a fool of yourself around peers. Let’s just say that I was a little over careful, there was no way I was going to have a low speed spill or drop the bike in the middle of a pack. In fairness the organization at the venue was really smooth and it wasn’t long before we were parking up in a mass of bikes. We’d arrived safely at Silverstone for a round of the British Superbike Championship. Helmets off we grinned at each other and we still had the journey home to go!!
Why do I reminisce? Well last weekend we rode out again to Silverstone as we have done numerous times since that initial adventure. Things are though somewhat different now. The preparation was minimal. I booked the tickets a week before, the ruc sack was packed on the morning of the journey and there was no fuel stop, after all Silverstone is only an hour and a half away. My pillion long since graduated to her own bike and the newbie persona has long since receded.
What did remain though were two important aspects of that first adventure. The ride down to Silverstone was wonderful, emptyish roads with a few glimpses of sunlight coupled with the odd overtake. Sometimes it all just clicks naturally into place. This was one of those occasions. Perhaps more than the ride though was the sense of excitement that preceded our outing. With our recent change in lifestyle and the arrival of little Libby we hadn’t managed to get out of the bikes together for a long time. With Nan and Grandpa kindly babysitting for us we had a day to get to know our bikes again. A wonderful sense of anticipation abounded both before the outward and return journey.
And the racing at Silverstone? Well you can’t ask for more than a clean sweep of all the podium places at both races of the home round of the World Superbike Championship can you?
Thursday 29 July 2010
A loss too much....
I was on edge somewhat, not sleeping at all. Hardly surprising given the previous night. I’d convinced myself it would happen again, had to, all the evidence pointed that way. Beside me the girls in my life slept, one more soundly than the other. Eyes open and ears aware to every sound, I lay there listening. I was alert to each noise in the house and village. I could even hear myself breathing.
A slight metallic rattle and I bolted upright within the bed. I strained every sense but particularly my hearing. I heard a metallic rattle again. Jumped out of bed and peered through the curtains into the night. My fears were founded. I knew they would be back. Some people have no respect and care little for society.
He peered up at me from the middle of my driveway – our eyes met for a moment. Nonchalantly he turned around towards his accomplice at the end of my driveway and into the night they went. I screamed for Rachel to pass me the phone and punched in 999. The police arrived in five minutes but to no avail – the two had long since disappeared. Frustration, anger, relief – a real mixture of emotions.
They had visited the night before – whilst we slept and cleared us out – cameras, phones and many other items of value. Worst of all though they took our wedding rings and my wife’s engagement ring. The only word that can describe them is “Scum”.
Why did I know they would return? It was obvious, in their first intrusion the previous evening they had stolen every key in the house and stolen my car off the drive. It would only be a short leap for them in looking at the keys they had taken to note the logo of “Triumph” and “Honda” and conclude that there were motorbikes in garage.
Fortunately the lock on the garage had been changed and the chains to the ground anchors also replaced. It was their attempt at getting into the garage that had awoken me. There was a degree of arrogance to them, cockiness even – they really didn’t care that I had seen and disturbed them.
So the bikes are ‘safe’ for now and I’ll be extra cautious and a little on edge for a long time. Don’t let it happen to you, check your security before it’s too late.
A slight metallic rattle and I bolted upright within the bed. I strained every sense but particularly my hearing. I heard a metallic rattle again. Jumped out of bed and peered through the curtains into the night. My fears were founded. I knew they would be back. Some people have no respect and care little for society.
He peered up at me from the middle of my driveway – our eyes met for a moment. Nonchalantly he turned around towards his accomplice at the end of my driveway and into the night they went. I screamed for Rachel to pass me the phone and punched in 999. The police arrived in five minutes but to no avail – the two had long since disappeared. Frustration, anger, relief – a real mixture of emotions.
They had visited the night before – whilst we slept and cleared us out – cameras, phones and many other items of value. Worst of all though they took our wedding rings and my wife’s engagement ring. The only word that can describe them is “Scum”.
Why did I know they would return? It was obvious, in their first intrusion the previous evening they had stolen every key in the house and stolen my car off the drive. It would only be a short leap for them in looking at the keys they had taken to note the logo of “Triumph” and “Honda” and conclude that there were motorbikes in garage.
Fortunately the lock on the garage had been changed and the chains to the ground anchors also replaced. It was their attempt at getting into the garage that had awoken me. There was a degree of arrogance to them, cockiness even – they really didn’t care that I had seen and disturbed them.
So the bikes are ‘safe’ for now and I’ll be extra cautious and a little on edge for a long time. Don’t let it happen to you, check your security before it’s too late.
Sunday 4 July 2010
What ever happenned to spontaneity?
In many ways I have felt a little sorry for Rachel. Sat at home on maternity leave, looking after Libby, can’t be easy when you were used to a career and long days in the office. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure she is enjoying it but the flexibility and spontaneity of our previous 20 years together is no more. It was of no surprise therefore when Rachel described her desire to ride her bike again before the year was out. Sure she got some strange looks from the other mums in the ante natal class as they contemplated this ‘blooming’ mother to be on the back of her husbands bike. “No”, she replied “I want to ride my bike again once the baby is settled”.
So the last couple of weeks we have been trying to plan a couple of hours of freedom on the bikes. My interest is stirred more by the fact that I keep reading a couple of bike blogs (dreadful as they are but I’m a follower none the less) and as such I too desire some time together, the two bikes and two riders gently swinging down the local country lanes.
As I mentioned though that spontaneity is now gone and what would have been a five minute conversation of deciding where to go has turned into an art of planning. First thing first – the babysitter. Tick in the box here – Nana is coming to visit next week, she won’t mind a couple of hours of quality time with her granddaughter. Next – the tax disc has been lost on the little silver Honda that whisks Rachel around the country lanes. It’s been sorted now though – the duplicate disc arrived in the post this week. Errm ....typical the MOT has lapsed – we’ll have to get that completed next Sunday morning before our run. There is a garage down the road that does bike MOTs every Sunday morning. Thank Heavens for an occasional point of convenience in this village. What do you mean your bike gear does not fit you? You’re thinner than you were even before Libby came along? Hang on a minute, is not supposed to be the other way around? Well you are always one for bucking trends - better get a belt then. And so it goes on ...........but we’ll get there and next week will be great. Our first time together on our own in nearly four months. And on the bikes it will be even more special. We’ll miss Libby but even new parents need a little time on their own to preserve their sanity.
I do fear Rachel is getting a tad carried away though. She is now talking about us going to see the World Superbikes at Silverstone in August as our first ‘proper time’ on the bikes. If one little trip takes all this planning now – how long a day out at the bike races will take to plan is anyone’s guess. I blame Leon Haslam – she’s always fancied him!!
So the last couple of weeks we have been trying to plan a couple of hours of freedom on the bikes. My interest is stirred more by the fact that I keep reading a couple of bike blogs (dreadful as they are but I’m a follower none the less) and as such I too desire some time together, the two bikes and two riders gently swinging down the local country lanes.
As I mentioned though that spontaneity is now gone and what would have been a five minute conversation of deciding where to go has turned into an art of planning. First thing first – the babysitter. Tick in the box here – Nana is coming to visit next week, she won’t mind a couple of hours of quality time with her granddaughter. Next – the tax disc has been lost on the little silver Honda that whisks Rachel around the country lanes. It’s been sorted now though – the duplicate disc arrived in the post this week. Errm ....typical the MOT has lapsed – we’ll have to get that completed next Sunday morning before our run. There is a garage down the road that does bike MOTs every Sunday morning. Thank Heavens for an occasional point of convenience in this village. What do you mean your bike gear does not fit you? You’re thinner than you were even before Libby came along? Hang on a minute, is not supposed to be the other way around? Well you are always one for bucking trends - better get a belt then. And so it goes on ...........but we’ll get there and next week will be great. Our first time together on our own in nearly four months. And on the bikes it will be even more special. We’ll miss Libby but even new parents need a little time on their own to preserve their sanity.
I do fear Rachel is getting a tad carried away though. She is now talking about us going to see the World Superbikes at Silverstone in August as our first ‘proper time’ on the bikes. If one little trip takes all this planning now – how long a day out at the bike races will take to plan is anyone’s guess. I blame Leon Haslam – she’s always fancied him!!
Saturday 12 June 2010
Coming Home
It’s been a long time since I posted to this blog. It’s not that I have been lazy but things have been difficult. I’ve had two girls in my life for the last few years, and my better half often jokes that I love the bonnie more. Yes I have a love for the bonnie but occasionally in life something happens that forces you to take a real perspective, put the jokes to one side and concentrate on what is important.
For seven months it had been a breeze - our social lifestyle changing, perhaps slowing down a little. With the bikes tucked away for the Winter there was only one thing on our minds. It had crept up on us late in life, later than either of us expected but suddenly there was a realization that life was going to change massively. My wife was pregnant and a nervous happiness pushed us through the Winter and into Spring as we planned for our new arrival. And then I got the phone call, 60 miles away and unexpected – “your wife is going into labour and it’s seven weeks early”. Nervous happiness quickly turned to nervous concern.
I’ll spare you the details but things got complicated, more complicated than we ever imagined from attending our ante natal classes. It wasn’t meant to happen like this - a slow drawn out week of a labour culminating in 48 hour birth that neither of us will forget. The baby taken from us almost immediately as it arrived – transferred into an incubator on the Special Care Baby Unit. A confusing array of clinicians, numerous tests and various drugs followed. Poor “little Libby Pearl” had them all. The prognosis was good though – she was strong and breathing unaided. We kept the vigil by her incubator for five days, helping where we could, until the doctors decided she was strong enough to leave the special care unit and be placed on a maternity ward. Still in an incubator but at least with mum. A further five days on the maternity ward under the lights of phototherapy followed before I got a different phone call at work – it was my better half – “c’mon, get yourself over here we are being sent home”. I allowed myself a smile although the feeling of relief was mixed in with the happiness.
So I’ve spent the last few weeks learning how to be a dad. There have been many ‘ups’ and the odd down but I’m thoroughly enjoying getting to know Libby Pearl. Knackered though – you really do lose a lot of sleep!!
You’ll understand therefore that Little Suzy Q has had to be pushed into the background for a while. Indeed life kinda stopped for three weeks when things got difficult and all my efforts were focused on my wife and Libby. Eventually though LittleSuzyQ and I rekindled our relationship – I took her for a brief spin and an MOT. It felt good, clearing the cobwebs and easing back into her laid back riding style. A comforting familiarity. I’m started to get excited now as I write, for tomorrow will be our day. I’ve put aside some time for us to spend together and I’m really looking forward to it. Just a couple of hours to ourselves but enough to enjoy each others company. Nowhere in particular to go – we’ll see where the roads take us. I won’t be ”pushing it”, although I’m not sure you really want to on a bonnie. It will be a lazy, relaxing and careful run out. The emphasis being on the careful, afterall I have even more to return home to now. There were two girls in my life, now there are three.
Note - A song to come home to.......incidently my brother's favourite rockabilly track
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elyvIMUd0H0
For seven months it had been a breeze - our social lifestyle changing, perhaps slowing down a little. With the bikes tucked away for the Winter there was only one thing on our minds. It had crept up on us late in life, later than either of us expected but suddenly there was a realization that life was going to change massively. My wife was pregnant and a nervous happiness pushed us through the Winter and into Spring as we planned for our new arrival. And then I got the phone call, 60 miles away and unexpected – “your wife is going into labour and it’s seven weeks early”. Nervous happiness quickly turned to nervous concern.
I’ll spare you the details but things got complicated, more complicated than we ever imagined from attending our ante natal classes. It wasn’t meant to happen like this - a slow drawn out week of a labour culminating in 48 hour birth that neither of us will forget. The baby taken from us almost immediately as it arrived – transferred into an incubator on the Special Care Baby Unit. A confusing array of clinicians, numerous tests and various drugs followed. Poor “little Libby Pearl” had them all. The prognosis was good though – she was strong and breathing unaided. We kept the vigil by her incubator for five days, helping where we could, until the doctors decided she was strong enough to leave the special care unit and be placed on a maternity ward. Still in an incubator but at least with mum. A further five days on the maternity ward under the lights of phototherapy followed before I got a different phone call at work – it was my better half – “c’mon, get yourself over here we are being sent home”. I allowed myself a smile although the feeling of relief was mixed in with the happiness.
So I’ve spent the last few weeks learning how to be a dad. There have been many ‘ups’ and the odd down but I’m thoroughly enjoying getting to know Libby Pearl. Knackered though – you really do lose a lot of sleep!!
You’ll understand therefore that Little Suzy Q has had to be pushed into the background for a while. Indeed life kinda stopped for three weeks when things got difficult and all my efforts were focused on my wife and Libby. Eventually though LittleSuzyQ and I rekindled our relationship – I took her for a brief spin and an MOT. It felt good, clearing the cobwebs and easing back into her laid back riding style. A comforting familiarity. I’m started to get excited now as I write, for tomorrow will be our day. I’ve put aside some time for us to spend together and I’m really looking forward to it. Just a couple of hours to ourselves but enough to enjoy each others company. Nowhere in particular to go – we’ll see where the roads take us. I won’t be ”pushing it”, although I’m not sure you really want to on a bonnie. It will be a lazy, relaxing and careful run out. The emphasis being on the careful, afterall I have even more to return home to now. There were two girls in my life, now there are three.
Note - A song to come home to.......incidently my brother's favourite rockabilly track
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elyvIMUd0H0
Tuesday 30 March 2010
Is it time to move on?
I often try something new. I’m not a magpie that flits from one latest thing to another but I do know that I like to explore my boundaries. Perhaps that is why I ride a bike? Indeed I can still recall the Saturday morning sitting in a gents barbers, just after Christmas, pondering a new year’s resolution of something a little different. A leaflet ‘Hinckley Motorcycle School’ caught my eye on the counter next to the till. I took it, read it and 24 hours later I was on the phone booking my CBT with every intention of progressing to my full licence as soon as possible. A little impulsive maybe but sometimes you just have to do these things.
It then started, a desire to learn everything I could about my new hobby. The Moto GP and British Superbikes were suddenly an essential part of my Sunday viewing, the ‘Ford Football Special’ relegated to second place. World Superbikes followed next. Suddenly I noticed my local pub was a real biker pub covered in biker memorabilia. I’d been there loads of times over the years yet it had not met my consciousness, but now I found myself staring at the bike race pictures on the wall as I drank a draft of real ale. Most of all though it was the magazines. An easy way in to the world of biking. Reviews, new models, the language, the lifestyle. All could be found in some glossy pages of easy styled writing and beautiful photography.
At first it didn’t matter which, I could read them all. RIDE, TWO, Sport and Leisure and even the weekly tabloid rag MCN with its fantasy stories, all of which fed my thirst for biker knowledge. Eventually though I settled on one – BIKE – pulled in by its ‘broad church’ appeal and a free biker rucksack with a 12 month subscription. BIKE kept me sustained with fantasies of beautiful roads, cool kit and hedonistic biker lifestyle as I wobbled down country lanes on a dodgy 125cc during my initial weeks of biker training. I looked forward to it dropping through my letterbox – within a couple of hours most its articles would be read and within a couple of days I had exhausted it. What kit shall I buy? Where shall I go? Touring abroad? BIKE influenced it all. Now though the latest copy sits sadly by my bed, unread or should I venture unloved?
I’m not entirely sure what has happened. The magazine has certainly changed over the years. Its highlight for me being a few years ago when the BIKE was dominated by witty writing and silly challenges on wonky old 2 wheeled lemons. Khal Harris, a young staff writer, had a beautiful honesty in his writing. Not for him was the macho bravado of knee down, uber fast sports bikes and one piece leathers but reflections about his own mortality and true feelings for the bikes he rode and tested. I could relate to him and his prose was always perused first. These were good times for BIKE and I, really happy times.
The magazine has moved on again and I have no problem with that. An editor has to change the outlook to keep things fresh and attract new readers, but the move to a number of 70’s and 80’s retro articles and more serious writing holds no interest for me. Somehow it is more than a change in direction of the magazine. I’ve changed. I no longer feel the desire to understand every new model of bike, how the latest kit actually performs in a monsoon, or the touring challenges of staff writers that used to hold me gripped.
I suppose we all move on, we all mature. I’ve saturated myself in bike knowledge, learnt what I want to know and experienced what pulled me in to biking in the first place. No longer do I need that literary monthly to keep me brimmed up full. Don’t get me wrong I want to feel more with the bike, go different places, the desire for the bonnie still burns deep. In the future though I’ll do it on my terms without feeling the need to replicate the experiences of a bike journalist. I think it is time to can cancel the subscription and maybe move to furtive reading of BIKE articles in WHSmith like so many others.
It then started, a desire to learn everything I could about my new hobby. The Moto GP and British Superbikes were suddenly an essential part of my Sunday viewing, the ‘Ford Football Special’ relegated to second place. World Superbikes followed next. Suddenly I noticed my local pub was a real biker pub covered in biker memorabilia. I’d been there loads of times over the years yet it had not met my consciousness, but now I found myself staring at the bike race pictures on the wall as I drank a draft of real ale. Most of all though it was the magazines. An easy way in to the world of biking. Reviews, new models, the language, the lifestyle. All could be found in some glossy pages of easy styled writing and beautiful photography.
At first it didn’t matter which, I could read them all. RIDE, TWO, Sport and Leisure and even the weekly tabloid rag MCN with its fantasy stories, all of which fed my thirst for biker knowledge. Eventually though I settled on one – BIKE – pulled in by its ‘broad church’ appeal and a free biker rucksack with a 12 month subscription. BIKE kept me sustained with fantasies of beautiful roads, cool kit and hedonistic biker lifestyle as I wobbled down country lanes on a dodgy 125cc during my initial weeks of biker training. I looked forward to it dropping through my letterbox – within a couple of hours most its articles would be read and within a couple of days I had exhausted it. What kit shall I buy? Where shall I go? Touring abroad? BIKE influenced it all. Now though the latest copy sits sadly by my bed, unread or should I venture unloved?
I’m not entirely sure what has happened. The magazine has certainly changed over the years. Its highlight for me being a few years ago when the BIKE was dominated by witty writing and silly challenges on wonky old 2 wheeled lemons. Khal Harris, a young staff writer, had a beautiful honesty in his writing. Not for him was the macho bravado of knee down, uber fast sports bikes and one piece leathers but reflections about his own mortality and true feelings for the bikes he rode and tested. I could relate to him and his prose was always perused first. These were good times for BIKE and I, really happy times.
The magazine has moved on again and I have no problem with that. An editor has to change the outlook to keep things fresh and attract new readers, but the move to a number of 70’s and 80’s retro articles and more serious writing holds no interest for me. Somehow it is more than a change in direction of the magazine. I’ve changed. I no longer feel the desire to understand every new model of bike, how the latest kit actually performs in a monsoon, or the touring challenges of staff writers that used to hold me gripped.
I suppose we all move on, we all mature. I’ve saturated myself in bike knowledge, learnt what I want to know and experienced what pulled me in to biking in the first place. No longer do I need that literary monthly to keep me brimmed up full. Don’t get me wrong I want to feel more with the bike, go different places, the desire for the bonnie still burns deep. In the future though I’ll do it on my terms without feeling the need to replicate the experiences of a bike journalist. I think it is time to can cancel the subscription and maybe move to furtive reading of BIKE articles in WHSmith like so many others.
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