FROM THE FRONT
It always feels somewhat churlish when I decline the opportunity to ride in company. The truth is that I much prefer to ride on my own, and always suggest to friends that we meet up at a convenient hot spot for a drop of tea, coffee, prune juice or whatever tickles their throats. Hence an abiding and no doubt tedious familiarity with OK Diners, Little Chefs and indeed layby ‘coffee’ halts. I rode in lots of organised jaunts – usually club runs and the like – for many years, and although they were always an entertainment of sorts I rarely actually enjoyed the experience.
This isn’t down to my being unsociable. Simply that I prefer to ride at my own speed and in my own rhythms. The latter is important – at least to me. I have a way of riding honed by desperate formative years misspent in the saddles of a weary stream of motorcycles which boasted hardly any Go, precious little Stop and nothing in the way of Grip – tyres were made of sterner stuff then, and were rarely improved by a decade or two of disuse. So I learned to ride in a very old-fashioned way, accelerating and braking gently and taking wide lines around corners, slowing down as little as possible and leaving plenty of escape route for when the tyres began to slide.
Which of course they rarely do nowadays, but old habits die hard. And in any case, I enjoy riding at my own pace and on my own, rather than trying to second-guess some maniac who brakes hard for every corner and scorches off into the distance as though rocket propelled. And we won’t even mention those who ride even more sedately than I do – plainly they’re on medication or something.
However, even old dogs can be taken by surprise. I’d asked for a test ride – a decent duration please – aboard a modern machine, a machine I’m considering for next year’s guaranteed heatwave riding season, and not in any sense sensibly priced. The salesman revealed that they preferred their test rides to be accompanied, and I have no problem with that, I simply suggested that I ride in the cardigan and slippers way rather than the technicolour leathers and aero helmet style, and would prefer it if my new riding companion rode at a sensible speed. My, how we laughed.
Off we went, me struggling with an entirely unfamiliar riding position and control positioning, my companion mounted aboard a vast touring behemoth complete with fairings, panniers and the like. After a succession of industrial estates and suburban dreamscapes, we hit the country roads and the pace increased. Out across the wide open, windblown (this was gale month) Somerset levels, he was sticking to all speed restrictions apart from the national ones, which were apparently flexible. He rode excellently, positioned himself perfectly for every junction, every serious bend, signalling his intentions plainly and going Very Fast Indeed in places. It was a brilliant ride. I would have happily followed him for miles more. We shared a faintly embarrassing moment of hand-slapping elation when we got back, and Rowena was entertained by my idiot grin. What fun! What an effective way to sell a new motorcycle!
Maybe I should ride with others more often? Hmmm…
Ride safely