Can I be a Cool Rider?

At about midday today, we (the great Brightonian public) experienced a modicum of sunshine through a letter-box sized gap in the clouds – I know! In mid June! Who’d have thought it?

I happened to be out on the road at the time, pootling around in the little green Escort van that my Local Authority day job often requires me to use. Driving it makes me feel like an environmentally conscious Postman Pat.

Anyway, at the appointed hour, the clouds parted and sunlight smacked the windscreen, which caused the ambient temperature in the van to rise almost instantly, forcing me to reach for the partially snapped window winder by my knee (no expense sparing spared, when it comes to tax payer’s money). As the wind forced its way into the van and hit me in the face, I was presented with the same thought that often presents itself when I experience a cool breeze on a hot day:

God, I really want a motorbike! (uttered as a yearning statement, rather than an actual prayer – note the absent prefix of ‘Dear’)

A proper motorbike! Not that tiny thing I ride for Chauffeur Monkey, which is, in essence, a child’s toy. I want a proper motorbike with a proper engine. I want something that could not be overtaken by, if such a thing were able to travel, a washing machine – which I worked out some time ago, our washing machine at home could achieve just over 50mph on maximum spin if the drum were in contact with the floor. The long winter evenings just fly past at my house….

It is at this point I must, in order to justify the reasons behind this post, make the single most embarrassing confession I’ve ever put into print:

I used to bunk off school. That’s not the embarrassing part – lots of kids used to bunk off at my school, or to use Sheffield’s finest learning establishment, Newfield Secondary School’s colloquial terminology,‘wag it’:

(the following typical conversation between my schoolmate and me should be visualised and conducted in your best Bernard Manning accent)

“Are you waggin’ it today Jake?”

“I’m waggin’ it. Are you waggin’ it?”

“I’m defo waggin’ it. Wanna wag it round mine? Me mam’s not in”

“Aye! Let’s wag it”

And with that, we’d pool our loose change, buy ten B&H (plus a packet of Rizlas for making ‘butt-rollies’ when we’d finished all the fags), and head to my erstwhile school chum’s mother-free house to watch for the thousandth time – I kid you not – Grease 2!

In my defence, it was always his idea to watch it (he shall remain nameless to prevent any undue distress and/or possible legal action). However, and to my utter discredit, I never objected. While the majority of my peers were gaining that essential foundational education that would set them on course for their glittering careers, I was, more often than not, to be found in a dingy attic bedroom, smoking copious amounts of cigarettes signing along to ‘Let’s Bowl’.

As a plot device, the cars in the original Grease have been swapped for motorcycles in Grease 2, as if by doing so, no one would suspect that it’s practically the same film as it's predecessor, but in reverse. This time it’s the guy who’s all shy and quiet to begin with, while the girl – Michelle Pfeiffer – is a sassy rock chick on the lookout for a ‘Cool Rider’ to sweep her off her feet.

To save myself further humiliation I will say no more about it, other than the idea of being a ‘Cool Rider’ has permeated my entire life since,and refuses to abate.

As a first attempt at achieving my dream, I once bought a Honda C90 motorbike from someone at school for £20. Alarm bells should have started ringing when he produced it from inside a nearby hedge, but my mum said it was ok for her 14 year old son to buy a motorbike for £20 from someone at school, so those alarm bells had effectively been disconnected from the mains.

It didn’t work (obviously) so I free-wheeled it through the park down to my house, where I was determined that I would teach myself to fix it. I lugged it through the back door, through the kitchen and down to the cellar, where it stayed untouched until I moved out. Best 20 quid I ever spent!

From that point to this, I have periodically thought about owning a proper bike - Usually, as I said, when the wind is in my hair, fuelling the fire of boyhood fantasy. The trouble (or saving grace, depending on how you want to look at it) is that I’ve never really had enough disposable income to buy one, so it’s always been sandwiched in between ‘another tattoo’ and ‘salad tongs’ on my list of priority purchases.

And while I still can’t afford one, sometimes, if I’m out on the Monkey Bike on a clear warm summer’s evening, I close my eyes and just imagine myself astride a Honda Shadow 750, with Michelle Pfeiffer (circa1982) dressed head-to-toe in leather, squeezing me round the waist, as I power off into the sunset.

The fantasy never lasts long however, because believe it or not, it’s incredibly dangerous to close your eyes while riding a motorbike, regardless of it’s size.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/Ihavewrites

Twitter: @Ihavewrites