A Wheely Good Adventure
I was horrified when the husband told me he was buying a motorbike. It was a real midlife crisis moment, even though he’d always warned me he would relive his youth and buy one when he could.
“It’s the same with you and horses,” he told me. “You loved them when you were younger and still do now. They’ll always be in your blood and that’s how I feel about bikes,” he added, although I refuted his claim that loving two wheels was the same as the emotional attachment you can develop with four hooves.
At the back of his mind though the husband knew the key to our 30-year relationship is that we never say the other person can’t do something. I mean, we may sulk and moan, but we never say no - otherwise it would be like a red rag to a bull.
Resigned to the fact this motorbike madness wasn’t going away, I did initially retaliate by getting a longed-for tattoo (which I knew the husband hated) and made sure I always had fun me-time booked in the form of a luxurious yoga retreat, a spa day or weekend away with the girls.
The husband however was keen to share his new love with me and I eventually gave in, yanking up my big girl pants - or extra-large sized motorbike gear to be precise. (Don’t get me started on female biker gear which is made exclusively for size 0 models, and will ride up your lard arse when you’re perched on the back of a bike if you’re any bigger than this.)
A Perfect Date
Fast forward several years and it turns out that a weekend trip with my biker boy is the perfect date for us. The husband is a man of few words so loves the fact that I’m spending time with him, but loves it even more as he can’t hear a bloody word I’m saying when I’m sat behind with a motorcycle helmet clamping my mouth shut.
And I do love it. As a pillion passenger I can soak up all the views of our glorious countryside, watching as snowdrops and daffodils peek through at the beginning of the year, just before lambs start frolicking across the fields. Then there’s bluebells, luscious greenery and blooming lovely scenery that gradually makes way for the browned-off look of summer (if we get one) before autumn starts spreading her golden glow. And then if I’m feeling extra brave, I’ll be up for a winter ride and make use of the heated seat and gloves the husband bought especially for me, in one of his typically sweet gestures to try and get me to like his new bike.
Don’t be fooled into thinking that I have perfected the role of a cool biker chick though.
Is it normal to shout “WEEEEEEE” in your helmet when you’re enjoying a bit of speed? And how do other people cope with the trauma of coughing, sneezing, and trying to wipe a runny nose when you’ve got your helmet on?
While I’m not sure how many other bikers feel nervous about getting on and off when someone is watching. Thankfully yoga means my hips are quite mobile but there have been several failed attempts when my little trotters can’t make a clean swoop over the backbox on the bike.
The Biker World
I also love getting a little glimpse into the biker world. Perhaps it’s just the older ones like my husband, but I still giggle at that cool curt nod they give in acknowledgement when passing one another on the road. And I now realise when a motorcyclist sticks their leg out, they’re not trying to kick another vehicle, but simply saying thank you without letting go of the handlebars.
For me however, the highlight of a biker day has to be the pit stop. We’ll usually find a lovely country pub for dinner, and I’ll have a little glass of fizz (or two) which brings a bigger smile to my face as we often chase a beautiful sunset home (with the CHiPS theme tune playing nonstop in my head).
