Nothing like the feel of throbbing between legs

THANK you to those who showed concern after spotting this reporter walking bow-legged earlier in the week, but all was okay.

No, I wasn’t recovering from a delicate operation to the region of the unmentionables nor were, as my mate Robbo suggested, “the piles playing up, then?”.

The simple fact was I’d hopped aboard a Harley Davidson motorbike for the Cruise for Cancer run last Sunday which was the first time in 20 years-plus I’d straddled such a rumbling machine, hence the Monday tenderness.

The cruise route was a country run from Toowoomba to Haden (the stomping ground of my primary school years) and back again.

To say I was a little apprehensive pre-ride was something of an understatement.

As the old saying goes: “I was as nervous as a prime minister going into a spill motion meeting”.

It’s one thing climbing onto the back of a Harley Davidson after all these years, but I was riding pillion behind an old mate – and one-time sporting foe – in Brett “Shorty” Short.

Many years ago, around the time I had my last motorbike ride, Shorty was president of Valleys Rugby League Club in Toowoomba while I was secretary of All Whites (now Brothers).

For the uninitiated, Valleys and Whites are century’s old rivals with a history of generational animosity.

Of course, I trust Shorty – in this case with my life – but I couldn’t help thinking: “What if Shorty has a flashback to those heady days of 1990s Toowoomba rugby league rivalry and flings me off the back of his Harley somewhere outside Goombungee?

‘‘ AS THE OLD SAYING GOES: I WAS AS NERVOUS AS A PRIME MINISTER GOING INTO A SPILL MOTION MEETING.

“They’ll never find me… and noone at work will even notice I’m missing!”

With such pre-ride mindset, it did little for my confidence when Shorty hit a couple of pot holes early on.

Now, I may be mistaken because both of us were wearing full face helmets, but I swear I heard Shorty giggle as I bounced skyward with a yelp each time.

However, to be honest, it was a great ride thanks to Shorty’s manoeuvring skills – and patience – and we had a ball.

Special thanks to the Haden Hall Association who put on the greatest morning tea spread I’ve ever seen complete with freshly made sandwiches, cakes and slices.

However, walking about gingerly Monday morning post-ride, I happened upon an old footy mate while on a job who reminded me of the last time he had seen me walking thus.

That had resulted from a very different scenario which had also left a throbbing sensation between my legs.

I can laugh about it now, but it was in the days when rugby league scrums were keenly contested with big booffy blokes pushing against each other to obtain possession of a leather ball that we little halfbacks threw into them.

The outside prop forwards would often throw a leg out to “hook” the ball into the tunnel and just as often the halfback would cop a flailing boot to the head or body in the process.

This particular day, the ball had bounced back out and my prop, Kimmy, threw a boot out to rake it back in only to miss the “pig skin” and cop me flush in the Niagara Falls.

I went down in a heap, my face not the only place turning blue.

What is it about such moments that make everyone other than the victim burst into laughter?

All I could hear was giggling as I tried to regather my breath.

The referee was laughing so hard he couldn’t blow the whistle to signal time off. Even the ambulance officer who came out to help me was in fits.

Fortunately, the throbbing the Harley ride had left me with was far more pleasant and less the cause of general merriment from those around me.

There’s something even noble about turning up sore after a charity bike ride, the couple of days stiffness is almost satisfying.