Take a seat everyone
Four-up, you say? Mikearmitage explores newways to share the fun by learning to pilot an outfit… and it’s one the entire family can join in on…
Forget all you know about riding a bike. You need to be able to operate the basic controls, but beyond that there’s nothing about riding with a sidecar that’s like being on a twowheeler. It doesn’t lean. You don’t put your feet down. You even steer in the opposite direction. Since acquiring my Royal Enfield Bullet a couple of months back there’s been increasing family prattle about attaching a chair. It started with father-in-law Tony observing that the single would make a nice combination, causing much excitement in the long-suffering Mrs Armitage and our boys, Edward and Lyle. Things escalated when I made enquiries about the Bullet’s accessory exhaust – it’s an ex-press bike from when Watsonian Squire were UK importers, and Watsonian Squire are the sidecar world leaders. Which is why I’m outside their Cotswold showroom, perched in a chair on the side of a Triumph T120 and getting insightful instruction from director Ben Matthews. It all seems logical enough. The sidecar will make the bike pull left when accelerating, pull right under braking, and it needs steering like a quad – solo style countersteering will obviously do bugger all.
The reality is staggering. I can’t believe the forces involved and the constant input needed to prevent a comedy disappearance through the hedge. Ben cheerily demonstrates by accelerating in second gear without correcting the ’bars, and the outfit turns so sharply left that I emit an involuntary squeal. Squeeze the front brake and it tries to switch lanes. Round right handers you feel the bike heavily loading the sidecar and vice-versa on lefts, even at gentle pace.
We swap seats and I take the controls, and it continues to be a shock just how much input is needed. And how much concentration. To accelerate you need to effectively steer right to go straight but need a momentary stab of left-turn pressure when closing the throttle to change gear – the load direction alters and the outfit tries to dart the opposite way. Corners need serious pushing and pulling and a 1000-yard stare, braking is bum-clenching. It’s a workout and my feeble arms ache. But, remarkably, this alien control starts to feel more natural with miles – it’s far from second nature, but I start to react to the feedback. The most difficult things are resisting putting a foot down at junctions and maintaining road position – it’s easy to forget there’s a chair on the side, and I suspect Ben wouldn’t enjoy headbutting a road sign.
Riding with a chair is also an absolute hoot. Partly because it’s so different to riding a solo, partly because of the amusing involvement at safe speed, but mainly because you can share the fun. I’ve dragged the family along and we end up with all four of us bundled aboard. Bobbing around at steady pace with two grinning youngsters, babbling chatter and Mrs A practising her royal wave is probably the highlight of my year. Crucially, this carry-on still feels like part of biking. There’s a twistgrip, clutch, handlebars, bugs in the hair. While clearly very unlike riding a normal motorcycle there’s still a solid connection. Sensations and involvement are what make bikes so engaging; riding an outfit might be a completely different skill to riding a solo, yet the experience is just as absorbing. Who cares that fitting a sidecar cancels out the benefits of two wheels? Piloting a combination is compelling, inclusive and utterly hilarious.
Seems everyone was right. My Enfield needs a third wheel.
»Watson ian squire manufacture around 80 new side cars every year, and export worldwide. They also buy and sell second hand out fits, and fit things together that people have bought–the boom in retro bikes has made side cars cool again, so riders buying pre loved side cars bring them to Watson ian for appropriate rectification.
» watsonian-squire.com
‘Crucially, this carry-on still feels like part of biking… there’s still a solid connection’