Two Wheels are better than Four

Current Steed - BMW K1100LT

I vaguely remember my dad had a scooter. In the 1960's I remeber being taken to church on the pillion, but always on sunny days. Then there was a gap before my dad bought an ancient old Honda two stroke 49cc. It had pedals which you needed to crank along to start it up. He gave it a bright blue and red paint job. When I was 16 he let me use it to dot around town - I even had a cream round (door to door cream deliveries), and I remember once or twice being allowed to do the round on it - I was the envy of all the other cream boys!. He used it mainly to go back and forth to work from home to Atlantic House. The journey took     him along the by-pass and his reasoning was that a more powerful bike would only tempt him to go faster - he wanted to be slow and conspicuous. To help with this he wore his CAA yellow jacket (this was before the hi-visibility jackets you see now). 

Sometime later he invested in a Honda Melody scooter; small, plastic and yellow - pretty modern but still 49cc. It was bright yellow, again it was his main transport to work. It reached 30mph downhill with a good tail wind. At the time I was dating Louise who lived on a farm 16 miles away in the Girvan Valley. I had a summer job on the boats on the sea front - I'd quit at around 4pm then cycle down to the farm. I'd usually work in the evening - usually bailing - then we'd have some time together. Next morning I'd cycle back home then to the beach ready to start at around 11:00. 

Honda Melody Circa 1979

The great innovation came when my dad offered the yellow 49cc scooter for my trips to the farm. On reflection presumably the cycles were keeping me pretty fit; anyway it was great scooting down the road on the scooter. The road itself went through Maybole - after that it was pretty wiggly. It was on that stretch where I had my first fall - myst have been going at 10mph, round a corner on which someone had dropped gravel. Over I went, onto my knee. Bike was ok and I was limping a bit. I continued to the farm and experienced for the first time someone taking a nail brush to my knee to get the gravel out - arrgghh. I think she got most of it out, but if I look now, I can still see bits of gravel under the skin - at least I think I can.
One of the fun things about the farm was that they had a old 125cc scrambler-type bike of indeterminate origin. We used to use that thing to zap around the local roads and up (and across the fields). It was great. On summer days Louise and I would zoom up the hill at the back of the farm and along the forstry track and just chill for a while. I guess you could say that's where I learned to ride a proper bike.

Suzuki DR125 - Manchester 1986-88

After that I was off to university and had no more to do with two wheels (powerd two wheels), until I got my first job 5 years later - apart from one memorable incident. My folks had moved to Linlithgow just outside Edinburgh, however the scooter (the yellow 49cc one), was left back home for my use. One day I fancied some adventure so I decided to drive it up the A71 to Linlithgow - around 60 miles. An awesome journey for such a wee bike but it managed just fine - there's a steep hill just out of the clyde valley which it struggled with - I thought I'd have to get out and push. When my folks found out they were a bit miffed - I think the thought of it scared them, but I was fine. 

I found myself working in Manchester - well not quite - I lived south of the city centre in Chorlton-Cum-Hardy but worked north of the centre in Oldham. I think it took three buses to get there - a right pain. Right around this time my dad died. My suggested I take the scooter to use in Manchester - the yellow 49cc job. First thing was how to get it down there. Option 1: drive it down the A6 (not allowed on the M6) for 240 miles - didn't fancy that. Option 2: take it on the train - so that's what I did.

At that time (mid-80s) you could put things in the guards van - but it depended on the whim of the guard at the time. You turned up at the station, bought your push-bike ticket, presented yourself by the side of the train and waited. If the guard gave you the nod you were ok - but you still had to lift the bike onto the train. If he scowled at you you were knackered and, despite having the ticket, had to buy a new ticket and wait for the next train to try again.

So after watching one train disappear without me (fierce looking guard) I lifted the moped onto the train and off we went. Those were also the days you could sit in the guards van with your cargo; I'm glad I did as the petrol started to leak (you were supposed to drain petrol before transporting) so I had to sit with a plastic bag trying to collect leaking petrol - I couldn't hide the smell though.

Manhandled the moped off the train at Manchester Victoria then suddenly realised for the first time that the roads in Manchester were somewhat busier than in rural Scotland. Undeterred I set off - phut phutting along Deansgate and down Princess Parkway at 29mph. Our house in Chorlton had a garage so that's where the bike lived. My fellow housemates did comment on how small the bike was relative to my 6'2" frame. But I didn't care, to me it represented a way out of the tyranny of multiple bus journeys to work.

My office was at Metropolitan House, Oldham some 12 miles North of Chorton straight through the city centre. I devised a cunning route that included scooting across the Daily Express building loading bay - this cut out a busy set of traffic lights at the junction of Great Ancoats Street and Oldham Road, and shaved around 3 mins off the journey. Later on I even adjusted the route to include Daisy Nook park just the the East of Oldham Road. I loved this route in particular since it was off the busy road and through a nice green space - however I think any time advantages gained on the loading bay were lost in Daisy Nook.

Metropolitan House itself was a 5 storey 60's concrete panel building. Greater Manchester Resesearch and Information Planning Unit was on the 4th Floor. The 3rd Floor was occupied by the West Pennine Housing Assocation, can't remember the second floor, while the ground floor housed the Council Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages. We always had the pleasure of watching newly married couples emerge from the registrars and for ritual confetti throwing on a 2 square metre patch of grimy grass out front - overlooked by the 6 storey multi-storey car park. A grim place for a wedding!

Out back there was a narrow lane leading up to a fire exit - that was where I parked my bike. I could have used the adjoining multi-storey, however anything parked in it was prone to being scratched, bumped or bumped-off. In the early days (probably 1987) I had a colleague Miles. He had saved for around 10 years, since he was 22 I think - to buy a sporty SRi thing. He parked it in the car-park but was so obsessed with it that he mounted a mirror above his desk so that he could keep an eye on it while he worked. One day he wasn't looking in the mirror when I spotted a guy with a hammer poised to smash the side glass - I stuck my head out the window and hollered in my broadest brashest Scottish Accent 'what the F*** do you think you're doing F*** off'. Counfused and I reckon more than slightly discombobulated, the fellow looked up and fled. Meanwhile Miles hared off down the stairs and appeared in the car park in what seemed like seconds - it would have taken a decent sprinter around 3 mins to do that run - but with 10 years of savings at stake miles was faster than any 100m pro. Meanwhile my scooter was wrapped up in a 6ft chain out back safe and sound.

After a while I got tired going at 29mph and one day took a bus to Rochdale. I'd heard there was a good motorcycle shop there. I got off the bus, went into the shop and bought myself a 125 trials bike - Suzuki DR 125. I'd been looking at trials bike brochures - I had been particularly impressed by the Honda Transalp which had just come out at the time. But it was way out of my price league, plus at 600cc you needed a full bike licence to ride it - which I didn't have. The guy in the shop asked if I knew what I was doing - I said yes, then remembered I hadn't brought my helmet - embarrassed I bought a red helment and off I went. I hadn't ridden a proper motorcycle for years so I wobbled around the shop car park for an hour, stalling and stuttering until I was confident enough to head for the open road. That journey home was the longest of my life, around 20 miles right across Manchester at rush hour - there seemed to be around a million sets of traffic lights which meant I had to use the gears, something I wasn't that confident with at all: how did you know which gear you were it?

Back in Chorlton my house-mates were impressed, but I think they also thought I was stupid - none of them ever had a bike so they didn't know the biker secret - its great fun! What a difference though - my 12 mile commute still took the same route: across the loading bay, daisy nook (only when it was sunny), but only took around 20 mins - fantastic. My parking space was still the fire exit lane round the back of metropolitan house.

I always loved maps - big ones small ones, all kinds. My job involved using maps extensively - paper maps on my desk and electronic maps in Geographic Information Systems - GIS. That's when I realised how close Oldham is to the moors - Saddleworth Moore in particular. On sunny days I'd head out of the office, and head up to Saddleworth. On-route I also discovered Dovestone's Reservoir and the cliffs above it - what a place. Halfway up the road on to the high moor you could stop at a parking area with a panoramic view of the reservoir and the cliffs. I'd take my can of juice and some sannies and a book. Parking up the bike then reading for a couple of hours as the sun fell behind the cliffs was what I looked forward to all week. Sometimes that would do me, other times I'd hop on the bike and go up past the parking area and on across the moor, sometimes as far as Holfirth, sometimes Huddersfield and once to Mirfield (which I later discovered was where Patrick Stewarti.e. Cptn Jean-Luc Picard) was born.

What a great area. Being an off-road bike, well nearly, I was always looking for small tracks I could zip down in search of genuine off-roading. One time I found a disused quarry - it was horse-shoe shaped and had a relatively flat area in the centre. On one pass I decided to zip up a steep gravel slope - not knowing the first thing about off-road biking I immediately fell off and the bike came down on my leg. Just then it started raining and got very dark and overcast. I couldn't start the bike and soon realised the gear leaver had come off: i had also bent the front brake lever. Suddenly I wished I'd taken off-road lessons!. I managed the get the bike started again but realised it was stuck in second gear and I couldn't change it. I limped off down the road - it took me two hours to travel the 35 miles home - all in second gear and all on the back brake.

At the time I was still riding around with L plates. And no matter how much I tried to dirty them up they still beamed out to anyone who care to look that I was a learner. So one day I took myself off to the Urmston motorcycle learner school. It looked like a bit of old airfield with some portacabins on the corner. I had this idea that you took a few lessons - enough to get you through the test. By that time though (1989) they had beefed up the test. I soon discovered that you had to attend saturday classes for a few weeks (maybe 3 months). The classes were theory and practice. The theory seemed to consist of one particulary smart-arse woman making up difficult questions. The only one I remember was 'you are on the motorway at night, you see red cat's eyes to your right - explain'. The answer was that you were in a contraflow going the 'wrong' way up the opposite outside lane! This was asked with a sneer and a look of sheer disappointment when someone got it right. The practical was riding round between pained white lines practicing stopping on time. I remember there was a test where you had to stop your bike so that the front tyre was exactly between two horizontal lines. She looked at me on my scrambler-type bike and sucked her teeth 'your tires are bigger than normal bikes - you'll never pass this one'. After a few practice runs you had to designate your official run i.e. your run that they would mark you on for your test. I nodded and said I was going for the test run. I did it - the look on her face was priceless, you'd have thought I'd just pissed in her soup!

After a few weeks of this they took us out on group runs around the roads. We had the radio headsets even in 1989 - it was most disconcerting having the instructor babbling away in your ear. 'Numer two, more to the left' or 'roundabout ahead, remember mirror, signal, manouver (position, speed, look)'. After a few weeks I was handed my pass certificate - I had passed the theory and the practical. I put my name down for the test straight away and got a date back for October 1989.

I reported for the test at about 09:30 - it was the West Didsbury test centre I think and it in the middle of a residential area - like a village square. It was raining so I had all my foul weather gear on - including my dad's old CAA high visibility yellow jacket - yes the one I used to wear on the moped. The tester emerged from the front door took my name and gave me my instructions: 'go round the block and keep turning right then stop when you get back to me'. Off I went - this was the easy one - turning right. I got back to him and he said 'do the same but this time don't use your indicators, use hadn signals'. This was the hard bit - to turn right with hand-signals you had to take your hand off the throttle - this meant your speed (and balance) had to be perfect. I managed, and got back to him in one piece. Then he said: 'now go the other way - left round the block until you get back to me - only this time I'll step out into the road somewhere along the way, hold my clipboard up - your job is to bring the vehicle to a safe and controlled stop'. It was the emergency stop! Off I went; about half way round he stepped onto the road and I stopped perfectly. He told me to go back to the test centre. When I got back he was there - he said 'congratulations you have passed - safe driving'. He handed me my certificate and dissappeared back inside. Total time for test: around 10 mins, total distance driven, around 1/2 mile. Awesome! I ceremonially tore the L plate off the bike and binned them. I was a biker at last. I decided to take a celibratory ride on the Motorway for the first time. I decided I could head up past Salford Quays (before it was fancy - it was still derelict factories then), and out the M602 for a couple of miles - I could then turn off heading for Stockport and drop down to Didsbury - a nice circle. Bloody hell - 60mph (which was what the bike could do with me on it) didn't seem very fast on the motorway! Also there was the problem of lanes. The lanes seemed around 100 yards wide - where do you position the bike, left, middle or right. Whereever I tried to put the bike it seemed to leave a motorway width of space on the otherside of the lane. Decided that 125cc just wasn't designed for the Motorway!.

Blackpool trip...


My first bigger bike was a Honda Transalp - a big thumper - got it in 2004!

Honda Transalp - 2004