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?
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