BORN TO RIDE... 115 YEARS AGO

SIT BACK It was just like The Magnificent Seven, except without all the dead Mexicans.

A baker’s half-dozen of us had gathered at Harley’s UK HQ in Oxford to ride to Prague for a huge bash to celebrate the fact that the company is 115 years old. I know the feeling.

Best of all, I was on a Heritage Softail, one of my favourite Harleys: lots of power, but not too heavy, and all-day riding comfort.

When we rolled into Prague three days later the streets echoed to the thunder of 60,000 Harleys which had turned up for the celebration, and I parked the Heritage and wandered around the temporary town of Harleysville that had sprung up in a park around a lovely old 19th century exhibition centre.

Inside were customised Harleys which were paragons of form over function and mostly unrideable, and in a museum lovely old machines such as the legendary 1911 Silent Gray Fellow and a 1942 WLA, a sweet and gentle ride with its three-speed hand change and rocker clutch.

And outside were 100,000 people who were all individuals, all with leather waistcoats, tattoos and chains, proclaiming their particular allegiances with patches saying Naples Military Chapter, Hanoi Chapter, Jeddah Chapter and so on.

It is, of course, all harmless fun: middle-aged men who during the week are Reg in Accounts, but at the weekends become Rebel Reg, King of the Road.

Four thousand of them, chosen by lottery, took part in a grand parade through the city the next morning.

They were led, naturally, by Santa on a rather fabulous red and white Coca-Colathemed machine, and we were in the SIP group behind – for Slightly Important People.

As impressive as the sight of 4,000 bikes trundling through the streets watched by cheering crowds was, the sound was even more so, like a world flatulence conference.

Naturally, one idiot at the front managed to stall his Heritage Softail in Wenceslas Square.

And some health and safety nerd at Harley had just fitted a new device which meant the bike couldn’t be started in first. And since it was a new bike, finding neutral was, er, tricky.

He was, now that I think of it, me, and I can only pay tribute to the tolerance of the 3,990 bikers behind me who waited patiently while I faffed about.

There may also have been some swearing involved, for which I apologise to the three nuns walking past.

I won’t make a habit of it, sisters.

Geoff Hill @ghillster Fraser Addecott @MirrorBiker