EDITORIAL – NIK WAFFLES ON ABOUT SOME SHI… NO, ACTUALLY, THAT’S RIGHT
HELLO AND WELCOME TO THIS NEW ISSUE OF BSH, WRITTEN AND PUT TOGETHER IN THE SWELTERING TEMPERATURES OF THE MIDDLE COUPLE O’ WEEKS IN JULY. I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I LOVE THE HEAT (FAR RATHER BE HOT THAN COLD), AND THE 'WAVE FOR ME’S BEEN BLISS.
As you may’ve noticed by now, I’m not really that much of a table-thumper, that political – I used to be when I was younger, as many of us were, but as I’ve got older I’ve kind o’ become resigned to the incompetence, corruption, and self-servingness
(is that a word?) of successive governments, especially this current one, and these days I just want to be left alone to ride me bike and have as peaceful a life as possible without too much interference from the powers that be. I’ve long felt that we, that’s us lot in our forties, fifties and sixties, are probably the last generation of bikers, real bikers – by the time we reach the end of our riding careers, bikes’ll’ve changed from the noisy, unreliable, gas-guzzling, noisy monsters we know and love to silent, predictable, if damn quick, electric or hydrogen-powered machines that just won’t have the same soul, the same character, as our petrol (and for the really perverted, diesel) beasties do. That’s okay though – by the time that happens, as the esteemed Mr Hulse alludes to in his column at the other end of the mag’, I’ll be old (and possibly no longer resident on this planet… although, it has be said, my good lady reckons I haven’t really been resident on this planet, at least mentally, for a good while now), and probably unable to ride, but until that time I’m just going to do me best to have the best time of it I can, and get as many miles under me wheels as I can.
Take last night (or what was last night to me, but a couple o’ three weeks ago to you… this time lag between the mag’ going to the printers and you reading it’s weird, isn’t it?) for example. I’d dragged the sillysided Bandit out for a blast down to So Low Choppers’ bike night, hooned down the 25-odd miles there, and then stood around drinking tea and talking bikes with a host of good people. As the sun started to set, I said me goodbyes and headed for home, conscious of the fact that me Simpson’s got a black visor, riding slightly more sedately accordingly. The roads were pretty empty, and the evening air was cool, and the smell of wild garlic (or is it wild onions? I’ve never been sure) was strong in some of the more wooded bits as I made me way home, revelling in the sound of the exhaust reverberating off stone walls and houses. No four-wheeled shagwits drove in a manner that’d potentially shorten my life, and suicidal wildlife was conspicuous by its absence, and by the time I’d got ‘ome, opened the doors of the Big Toy Cupboard (a name for a garage I blatantly stole from the legendary Chris Ireland years ago), rolled the bike in, and given it a quick pat on the tank, I was relaxed and at peace with the world. Bikes do that to you, don’t they?
So we’re allowed out into the world again now that governmental Covid restrictions’ve been relaxed, and responsibility for the spread, or non-spread, of the virus is in our collective hands (can’t help feeling that that’s not a great thing – we are, after all, the nation that voted for that ship to be called ‘Boaty McBoatface’…), and that means bike events can go ahead, but not necessarily exactly as they used to, y’know? There are going to be restrictions that organisers have to adhere to, because Covid hasn’t gone away, and even if you’re double jabbed you can still get it (although it shouldn’t be quite so life-threatening), so at the risk of repeating meself (again!), please check with the organisers of any rally/show you’re going to before setting out. A lot of rallies’re prebook only this year (and I have a feeling that they may be for a while to come yet), so you can’t just turn up on the gate, and there will be oneway systems for bars, etc., at some of them, but we can deal with that, can’t we? We’re bikers – we’re better than the majority of ‘normals’. I mean, look at the aftermath of something like the Glastonbury or Reading or Donington festivals, with fields knee-deep in rubbish and shite, and then look at the aftermath of the big rallies where, half a day after they’ve closed, the land looks exactly as it did the week before anyone got there (and sometimes better!).
Anyway, that’s enough bollox from me – get out there and enjoy the remainder of the summer! Me, I’ve got a load of rallies and shows to get to, and the new gear-change on the 45 to get me head round – it’s now a foot-change/hand clutch, but ‘cos it’s a 1942 ‘box there’s no synchromesh, and so learning how to change gear without lurching/ damaging summat in there’s going to be interesting. Everyone’s said it’ll just be like double-declutching an old Land Rover, and I’m sure it will indeed be, but I only passed me car test 18 months ago – I have no idea what double-declutching an old Land Rover actually means!
See you next month!