Learning to ride a motorbike

Learn to ride a motorcycle.

Driving to work trapped in the beige and moulded plastic interior of my generic hatchback, slogging through commuter traffic, I made a surprising decision. Thirty-five years old, bored and seeking new challenges, I wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle.

I had watched and re-watched ‘Long Way Round’ and “Long Way Down’ countless times. Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman’s popular travelogue series made motorbikes, previously uninteresting and unfamiliar to me, seem intoxicating: the stuff of freedom, adventure and friendship. GPS routes formed in my mind and programmed themselves into my daydreams: biking holidays exploring the rural beauty of Britain; the sun-dried roads of Europe. The exhilaration of feeling the landscape, opened up to the elements. The rising costs of fossil fuels was a factor too.

I read many internet sites voraciously, the most accessible and useful being the www.Geton.co.uk website, which provides information and links for new bikers as well as free one hour bike lessons for beginners, in partnership with training providers throughout the UK.

It was through this scheme that I found myself taking the first tentative steps towards biking. A training provider in Stoke on Trent walked me through my initial baby steps into riding.

For a glorious hour I rode a Yamaha YBR125 and learnt basic skills. I took to it all surprisingly quickly, given my lack of even riding a pushbike for a number of years. As the wind buffeted against me while I practised changing gear, stopping and slow riding, I knew I was unequivocally hooked.

The CBT was booked with the same provider, an all day course, starting with practice on private training grounds, followed by the minimum of two hours riding on public roads. There were setbacks; an extra two hours needed to complete the course on account of a blisteringly hot day, sweat pouring from the ends of my sleeves, throttle painfully over-revved, frequent stalls and a U –turn that refused to conform to its namesake.

Finally, I released onto public roads and rode purposefully with an instructor lingering behind in case of near death scenarios. With the intonation of a local radio DJ, he encouraged and instructed me through the earpiece. Save for one moment where he warned, “Whoa, get back over to your side, you’re veering towards that mini!”, all passed without incident and I became confident and fluid through junctions, roundabouts, hills and blind corners. Several things became apparent in comparison to driving a car: once on a bike you seem to adopt a cloak of invisibility that only the finest Hogwarts magician could cast; cars pull out at junctions, oblivious to your oncoming presence. Distracted from their arguing/radio station hopping/texting, they will shake their heads at you and pull up far too close behind you. Garish, brightly coloured clothing, usually avoided in any sane circumstances, are needed.

So, the prized possession of a CBT certificate sits on my bookshelf. Next steps: theory test, modules one and two. And actually buying a 125cc motorbike fit for my meagre budget. The solid reliability and familiarity of the YBR125 is a strong favourite or the economy and good looks of Honda CBF125.

All I know is, I still have that romantic dream etched in my brain: I want to weave through Italian roads sat astride a growling Moto Guzzi V7 Classic. The stuff daydreams are made of.