While out on one of my country walks yesterday I was amused to see a procession of about 50 motorbikes roaring past, obviously all on a ride-out together.  None of the riders carried passengers, and as far as I could tell they were all men of uncertain age following one behind the other.

It occurred to me to wonder if they were all part of a motorbike club taking part in one of their social ‘outings’, and if so, what their wives, girlfriends, or ‘significant others’ were all doing.  Do the partners enjoy having ‘girly’ time and chatting together about their life stories while their men were gone, free from tales of bikes’ entrails, heated handlebars and helmets?

Each man seemed happy not to stop and chat with any of the others and preferred instead roar along on his newly-washed bike in his own little world, making sure he was travelling at just the right speed so as not to cause any of the others to talk about him.  A lone motorcyclist  travelling in the opposite direction received so many nods that his skid lid had to dip maniacally from side to side in an effort to return the courtesies.

There was a bit of a gap before the last poor sod brought up the rear, in somewhat less of a hurry.  His bike was older and seemed less powerful than the others.  Perhaps he wasn’t part of the group at all and maybe it was one of those 50cc ‘Fizzy’s that my son used to have before he was old enough to ride his Honda 1000cc Fireblade.  With the full-face crash helmets it’s difficult to tell if he was only a youth desperate to be part of the gang, and I have trouble distinguishing one bike from another anyway.  I felt like giving him a little nod, so I did!

My husband and son have often taken part in ride-outs from the Ace Café in London.  The outings are usually to Brighton, and they set off at 7am for the 2 hour trip to the Ace Café, and then join hundreds of others blocking the M25 up even further as they travel in convoy  down the M23/A23 to the coast.  They love it. They arrive at Brighton, walk along looking at all the bikes parked along the seafront, have a beer and a burger, and then ride back again, sweaty and knackered.  Does Stevie feel as though she has missed out by not riding pillion?  Er…

 

 

 

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