Under starters orders....

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Friday morning I woke to clear blue skies and the realisation that this was it, this was the day that I trusted my adventures to a 1958 British made and designed motorcycle, and to be fair, one that wasn't exactly revered in its day, let alone 56 years later with so I'm told, 'better options'.I admire those that take to the roads on a new modern, hyper reliable machine, but to me, where exactly is the excitement? I mean, for most, the biggest challenge is to throw your leg over the 36" high seat and then all that is left to do is press a button and you get taken along as a passenger and all you're required to do is stop every so often to re-quench the machine. I know, I'm really putting my neck on the line here because I don't know how far I'm going to get on my old beast, but I do have a back up plan. You see, I have another old bike at home that I can call upon, one that all of the parts are available, but of course, where's the fun in that....
I left my house and rode to a friends house only a mile away to have some lunch and say goodbye's. With Fanny B and me fed and watered I started the trip to Hertfordshire to see and say goodbye to my sister and nieces. The sun was warm and the bike ran as close to perfect as you could ever wish for. On the route I rode through Winchester and onto Basingstoke before heading through Winsor, Slough and the other satellite towns of Beds, Bucks and Herts. It was by now Friday afternoon traffic and both Fanny B and me found it irritating. The clutch on these old bikes need to be either fully engaged or dis-engaged, they're very forth rite with this and they hate slow moving traffic and 'feathering' of the clutch. I imagine that the queue of traffic was stop and start for 40 miles or so, traffic lights, roundabouts, bottle necks, and I thought to myself, 'well, there's a clutch plate knackered'
I spent a couple of days with my sister and nieces before saying goodbye on the Sunday morning and heading into Central London to say goodbye to my uncle and his father-in-law, George. George is in his mid-nineties and we reminisced about the old British motorbikes and he told me some old war stories, all of which I listened to enthusiastically.It was from London that I got the sense of finally being 'on the road'. A relatively short run to Harwich to catch the ferry to Denmark which was a bumpy overnight crossing. I met a couple of guys from Sweden on the ferry who were in their 70's and wanted to talk bikes. They had seen me ride my bike on to the ferry and wanted to take some photos, after which they said with a chuckle, "another crazy Englishman". I think we do have a reputation worldwide of doing things that really we shouldn't be doing, things that would be considered outside of the box probably because things inside the box are safe and sterile, and where's the challenge in that? Ask any non-professional runner when they're at mile 20 in a marathon whether they're enjoying it, of course they're not. Ask them a few days later if they'd do it again, of course they would. I don't know how many times I've rebuilt the engine on my bike, and make no bones about it, it's hassle, dirty and annoying, but will I do it again? Of course I will.

H

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