THE FOLLY OF YOUTH

Back in my youth (what do you mean? …yes I can remember that far back), I used to own a Honda CB125 motorcycle. To me, that was the equivalent of a cowboy on his horse. I took that motorcycle everywhere. It even spent some time in my parents’ kitchen while rebuilding the engine (that’s another story in itself).

The CB125 was, and still is, a little workhorse of a machine, and would do almost anything I asked of it (over 55mph was a refusal, unless downhill with a following wind and police car)

I grew up in the Lancashire Pennines, surrounded by moorland, and it wasn’t unusual to find me and a friend riding cross country on our trusty steeds. We would go miles across the hills with not a soul in sight. Imagine trying to do that these days. Within a hundred yards you would be stumbling into the crew building the latest wind farm. (Are we seriously planning on flying the UK to another location in the world? Reverse the current and we would have a tremendous amount of thrust at our fingertips!)

Anyway,  I digress. Behind my parents’ house was a disused railway line (see April blog post ‘Passion’, and if you are really keen to see it, watch the 1961 film Whistle Down The Wind). Now this particular weekend it snowed, followed by light rain, which turned the snow into slush. Overnight the slush froze, creating the perfect skating rink on the cinder bed of the former shunting yard.

Cue two ‘wallies on wheels’. Yep, you guessed it. We decided this would be a good place to go for a ride. Now, I’m not sure how much fun we had, but I’m sure the spectators had plenty. Ever seen Bambi on the frozen lake? Oh, we were fine to start with, and then we stopped…together… and did the synchronised splits. Foot one way, bike the other. It’s bad enough that one of you does it, but when it looks like you are auditioning to be a dance duet it can be just a touch embarrassing.

But that wasn’t the end of it, oh no. Ever tried to pick up a motorcycle on the equivalent of a Teflon coated frying pan? After several minutes of a Keystone Cops routine, we finally managed to remount, and gingerly headed back to somewhere with a little more grip, and where we could hide our glowing red faces.