Why Do We Do This...?

11 Minutes Of Sheer Terror

 

It's getting to be a habit, this blog...

Last time, if you remember, I'd made a return to motorcycling in a small way. An epic - for me - journey to collect a bike in some of the worst weather I'd ever experienced on 2 wheels or 4.

So what's different? Almost everything. For a start there's shitloads more traffic. Like I said before, you need eyes up your backside. The gear is different too. 30 years ago we had only just come out of the era of waxed cotton. (If you're not an experienced biker you may not be familiar with early 20th century 'waterproofing'. Heavy, cumbersome clothing made of a cotton fabric impregnated with a black wax compound. If regularly reproofed it kept most of the water out at the expense of the wax rubbing off at the collar and cuffs. You could tell a biker, they all had tide marks around their necks.) Modern fabrics are a revelation by comparison. It is possible to stay warm and dry on the longest journey but I digress... 

Having got mobile it was now time to make progress. Over the back end of the year there was little opportunity to get out and ride but in December a mate invited me to join a 'Toy Run' in aid of a childrens hospice in Chorley. A cold but dry Sunday, very enjoyable. Being part of a convoy of 150 or more bikers is a great experience and feels worthwhile - as opposed to just going out and spanking it for the crack.

*A small diversion - please indulge me.* The problem with pastimes such as cycling, golf, motorbikes, etc. is how selfish they are. When you work 5 or 6 days a week there's very little time left for hobbies. Doubly so between October and March. You definitely can't play golf in the dark, cycling is hazardous and motorbikes doubly so. I've already admitted the desire for a motorbike never went away, I'd merely suppressed it but a major factor was guilt at how self centred such a hobby is. It's a hangover from childhood, my dad always seemed to be on the golf course, mum always seemed to be moaning about him being on the golf course. It's difficult to shake the guilt of going out and enjoying yourself.

Back to the main thread, the whole point of doing this was to be able to ride bigger bikes. I'd had enough of messing around, it was time to take it seriously. To explain how this works, you need several things to happen in order:

CBT - Compulsory Basic Training. An instructor shows you how it's done, you do it, the instructor accompanies you on a road ride and certifies that you're unlikely to kill yourself. Usually a day course, after which you can zoom around on L-plates on a 125 or less for up to 2 years.

To progress further you need to take a 'Theory Test' which is a distinctly uncomfortable experience. You book online and pay the fee (There's ALWAYS a fee), pick a venue, date & time. Turn up about 15 minutes early and somebody checks your identity. You are then required to remove everything personal - watches, rings, wallet, mobile etc. - and put it all in a locker for the duration of the test. In my case the receptionist wanted to check my specs to make sure there were no hidden cameras too. (All this is done with the kind of casual indifference and lack of empathy that I have never been able to achieve and consequently totally incapable of working for a government department.) Suitably devoid of any opportunity to cheat you are seated in a cubicle  in front of a blank computer screen. There are a few minutes of 'how the test works' and clicking a mouse to demonstrate how a ccomputer works, then you begin. 50 questions, multiple choice, followed by 'hazard perception' videos. When you see a hazard develop then click the mouse. the quicker you spot it the more points you get. It's supposed to last an hour, about 35 minutes later I'm done. Back to reception,
'How did I do?' I asked, cheerily.
'It's printing off, now' she said, drearily.
Fucking hell! And you get PAID for this?
Anyway it was a pass, so that's a major hurdle done.

Next it was back to the bike dealership where I'd put a deposit on my personal Starship Enterprise just before Xmas. Having possession of a Theory Test certificate I could enroll (for a fee, obviously) on the Direct Access training course. Essentially, you learn to ride a big bike by training on a big bike. 'Oh! and would you mind paying the balance of your own bike, seeing as you're here...?' Cut a long story short, there's four days of fairly intensive training to pass a test interspersed with some observed road riding with an instructor barking in your ear'ole. 'Middle of yer lane. MIDDLE! Yer not drivin' yer car!' By the afternoon of the fourth day I was knackered. The concentration and sheer physical effort of riding slowly, slalom, figure eight, u-turn etc. left me a gibbering wreck but it led me to the Module 1 test the next morning. Four days of effort followed by 11 minutes of sheer terror. Worth it though, seeing as I passed.

That was back in February, the weekend of the 'heatwave', There was me, togged up in a Winter suit, thermals underneath, sweating buckets, knackered but happy. One down - one to go.

A month and several riding lessons later  I'm back with Martin, my instructor, at the DVSA site in Stockport. Thursday, 8AM for Module 2 - Practical Riding Test. 40 minutes of stop/start, rush hour traffic. How the fuck anyone can assess your bike handling skills in that situation is beyond me. Make progress? Well, left to my own devices, I would've done but unfortunately there's a civil servant sat on a BMW GS 10 yards behind me and he isn't going to be impressed with my 'bollocks to it, I'm not sitting in this all day' tactics. So I had to behave. Eventually he asked me to return to the test centre, I had a bad feeling he'd seen enough. As I walked in to the office Martin looked up at me and I shook my head. 'Bottled it' was all I could say. Ten minutes later my examiner tells me that I've passed and should consider some advanced training sessions. Christ! They'll obviously pass anyone... Martin's all business, a quick congratulation and a photo with the bike then we're off back to Rochdale. Only this time we're not going the slow way but directly via the M60. A journey that took the best part of an hour on the way out is over less than half that on the return.

It's beginning to sink in. I'm 3 months off my 57th birthday and I've passed my test! That means I can ride my bike. The one that's been sitting in the showroom since December. For real? For real. an hour or so later I'm doing just that. That feeling of joy is still the same, the freedom. Work can sod off for the day, I'm off out on my bike.

This is why we do this.

luv'n'stuff

John