Can You Ride A Bike Under Water?
~ or ~
You Don't Have To Be Unhinged ~ But It Helps
Life's been, well, a bit 'samey' lately. The last 18 months have felt like inexorable pressure, personal loss, dealing with estates, some financial pressure - all that stuff that affects everyone else but always seems like it's only ever happened to you. I'll admit that I don't really thrive under stress.
So finally everything gets straightened out and we can get on with our lives again, plan for the next stage of this car crash in slow motion that we call life...
But something is missing. Allow me to explain thru the medium of interperative dance.
Sorry, wrong blog. I'll try again.
Many many years ago I was introduced to motorcycles. As a 6th former I was an avid cyclist, I went everywhere by bike, any excuse to get out on two wheels. Freedom, time to be on my own, no studying, no pressure. Riding solo, master of my own destiny for however brief a period, go where I wanted, when I wanted. Then came the opportunity to learn to ride a motorcycle in a relatively controlled environment. At the time a 17 yr old could obtain a provisional licence and (as long as your parents would sign the HP agreement) climb aboard a 250cc motorbike with ZERO requirement for training, instruction or whatever. Ride on L-plates for as long as you like, renewing the provisional licence as many times as you wanted and never take a driving test.Motoring at its cheapest.
The downside? Pure Darwinism. Survival of the fittest. Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse. It couldn't go on. 'Something MUST be done!' and it was. Some schools received a real motorbike, ours was a Suzuki AP50, metallic blue and chrome. Interested adolescents queued up to ride it around the playground after classes.We learnt to set off, steer, change gear and stop - safely. I was hooked. I'd decided. Motorbikes HAD to be part of my life and they were for many years, much to the disapproval of my mother. "He's out on THAT CONTRAPTION, AGAIN!" she was heard to say to on more than one occasion. By the time I was 30 it seemed the ghost had been well and truly exorcised. I sold my last bike in late 1991 and the last 27 or so years have all been consumed by cars, mortgage, family and a return to bicycles but all I'd done was buried the desire, it had never actually left me, just been suppressed. I suppose it's no coincidence that I opened my bicycle shop next door to Middleton's oldest (and only) motorbike workshop.
Recently the desire resurfaced - partly due to the fact that my mother is no longer around to voice her disapproval. Actually, that's not the whole truth. It's no secret that I've lusted after a big scooter since they began to become mainstream about 20 years ago. Anyway I'm finally in the happy position of being able to afford one, so a few weeks back I took my first step in getting back on a powered two wheeler. It's a touch more complicated these days, thobut. The first step is CBT - a few hours of wobbling about on a small bike, off road, obstacles, cones and figure eights. The intention is to avoid becoming a moving figure 11, you're learning to be a novice. Success means a certificate valid for two years and you're allowed to ride a 125cc machine on L-plates. Depending on what size machine you want to progress to there are different levels of licence but I can feel your eyes glazing over already so I won't bore you with any more details and get to the point of this piece.
Anyone who rides a bicycle in modern traffic is used to being invisible. I'm not kidding. Cyclists have achieved the perfect combination of stealth technology and the Klingons' cloaking device. Anyone who doubts this should refer to youtube or any other of a miriad video sharing websites. You don't exist. There can be no other explanation. Now take this situation and throw in an engine. You're invisible and moving a whole lot faster. The result is the same - but it hurts so much more. Make no mistake, riding a motorbike is a risk because getting knocked off it is never going to be trivial. The best advice you get whilst training is to treat everyone else on the road as a dangerous, homicidal maniac. That and 'Don't be a dick!'
To attempt to be visible and have some kind of presence on the road the answer is - like a treatened cat - to make yourself look BIG! Sadly, Honda Gold Wings and full dress Harley Davidsons are out when you're restricted to 125cc and 13 horsepower. Likewise expedition BMWs and Kawasaki GTRs. Impressive bikes but you're not allowed to play with them.Yet. But there is a solution, the maxi-scooter, a large version of those annoying, small wheeled plastic buzzy things that hormonal teenagers use to impress other teenagers but for grown ups. I bought the biggest one that I could find, a ruby red Honda, one lady owner with a very low mileage and so clean I think she kept it in the living room, where it slept under a tartan blanket after cocoa and a bedtime story. A small downside was that the bike was for sale in Hull but I knew a man with a van who could pick it up for me. No drama. Of course, when you make plans, real life intervenes. We couldn't schedule it. Another friend offered to take me but that meant I had to ride it back. Hull to Manchester on A-roads. Why not? We discussed it over a few days and I emailed the garage to say we'd pick it up this Tuesday, 20th November. The weather has been beautiful this last fortnight, Metcheck was optimistic,what could possibly go wrong?
Jim 'The Leopard' called me on Monday.
"Have you come to your senses?"
"No!" I replied.
"Excellent!" was the response. We were set.
Tuesday morning saw me hurriedly putting my kit together. Helmet, gloves, boots, thermals, jacket & trousers. Complicated, this bike thing. And, of course, it had to rain. We set off East on the M62. And it rained. And rained. And rained some more. Stopping at Goole for a brew, Jim asked once more if I was sure I wanted to do this. I wasn't - but I wasn't going to say so. About an hour later we pulled up outside the garage. The last 10 miles or so we had encountered biblical rain, standing water on the A63 and gusting side winds. This was truly to be a baptism. We met Phil, the garage owner, who asked where we'd parked the van and was gobsmacked when he found out I was riding home. Shaking his head he introduced me to Moiya, who handled all the paperwork and also looked at me with a disbelieving shake of the head. It takes all sorts...
The deal concluded, I got 'Darth Vadered-up', as an old boss once described it, slung a leg over the new bike (named Delilah) and they waved me off into the Hull traffic - and the rain. Within a couple of hundred yards I became aware of a long-forgotten sensation. Freedom! Forget the rain, the wind, the traffic. I was free! A couple of miles of stop/start traffic and I was out of Hull centre and heading for home on a dual carriageway, trundling along at roughly the same speed as the trucks. Smelling the strange smells of the open road - mainly diesel fumes - and feeling ever so alive. ALIVE!
Within the first 10 miles a problem became apparent. My hands were wet and getting cold. This was serious. Turning off the A63 on to the minor roads (couldn't use the motorway) heading for Gilberdyke, Howden and Selby I started looking for a village shop and stopped at the first one I found, bought a pair of marigold gloves and put them on under the bike gloves. No warmer but my hands were at least dry which was a boon, there being no letup in the rain. This was the only discomfort and the rest of the kit worked well. Apart from the hand problem I was comfortable, warm and dry. That part of Yorkshire is sparsely populated and pretty much pan flat, the traffic was light and it was an ideal way to get used to the bike's handling. The performance was hardly sparkling but in the wet the bike was surefooted and the cornering stable and predictable. Within half an hour I felt at home in the saddle and the little single cylinder engine was faultless. Delilah trundled along the country roads at a steady 50mph and would go faster where it was allowed. Me and the bike just tipped hats and said 'Howdy'.
Crossing the Ouse at Howden the side winds made the handling 'interesting' but it was very short lived. Turning North towards Drax and Selby, wow! The sidewind was vicious and for the first time I wondered if the journey was wise or indeed justifiable but resolved to press on. After all, there was no one to come and get me, so I promised my self a brew at the first available opportunity. Turning East again at the Drax power station put the wind behind me and from there to Colton on the outskirts of Leeds, the weather was unobtrusive. Except for the rain. Did I mention that it was raining? I knew there was a retail park at Colton and was relieved to find I was on a direct route to it. The Golden Arches beckoned! Now I know that McD's isn't a popular choice for the liberal socialist - being a $BigCo they are automatically an evil corporation - but when you're cold and a long way from home... Well, coffee is coffee* and I needed one!
*Yes, I know. But it's warm and convenient, plus I have simple taste and a wooden pallette.
Warmed up, tum full, bladder empty. Phone calls made to those that needed to know. I set off into the rain (Yes! It was still raining) to do battle with Leeds. I've been to Leeds a lot. I've worked there, have friends there but I've only ever ridden a motorbike through Leeds once. 35 years ago. I wanted to navigate the city centre and exit onto the A62 or A58, the problem is that you can't do this without using the urban through route. Which is a motorway. Arse biscuits... Not having a satnav - I don't have one that's waterproof! - and my phone in a waterproof pouch under the seat, I tried to aim for Elland Rd. At least that would be the right side of the city. Might as well have wanted to achieve orbit. Ended up in Beeston, no idea how but at least I could get out via Holbeck and onto the Huddersfield road.
By now it was getting on for 4 o'clock, darkness and traffic. Crossing the M62 (again) at the Ikea retail park to descend the hill towards Heckmondwyke, Gelderd Rd and Huddersfield Rd were nose to tail, standing traffic. Very naughty but I started filtering and ended up riding down the outside of a line of stationary cars from there until the outskirts of Huddersfield. It's not something you should do but there's little choice when the alternative is freezing your bits off. Into Huddersfield and a stop for fuel - more peace of mind than necessity, it's a 2.5 gallon tank and it only took 9 quidsworth to fill - another quick phone call to another mate who was going to put the bike in his garage for the night and set off again into the rain, this time to cross the summit of the Pennines above Nont Sarah's befor edescending to Denshaw crossroads. Tired by this time and having difficulty seeing the way on unlit roads,as I reached the summit I ran into cloud,strong sidewinds and snow. The screen on the bike was wet on both sides as were my visor and glasses. The descent to Denshaw and then to Newhey was, I think, achieved by riding in braille. Turning left towards Shaw, wonder of wonders, the rain stopped. I reached Jason's place where we garaged the bike and I got out of the wet bike gear. Luckily the underseat compartment was completely waterproof and I could change back into dry civvies. A mug of hot tea, a chinwag with a good mate - who also called me a mad bastard - before jumping into a warm car and driving home with my tolerant and very understanding wife who came and picked me up! The silliest of silly bike adventures.
To replicate my day dress in full motorbike gear and stand in front of a wind machine while a mate sprays you with a fire hose. For four and a half hours...
Was it a good idea? The jury's still out.
Would I do it again? For sure but next time can we do it in July?
I've been walking around all day today with a stupid grin on my face.
Mission accomplished. WHAT A BLAST!
Thanks for reading
luv'n'stuff
John
