More info for cyke
Ey up Cyke.
I have only just read your first contribution to this subject and this is my response.
Listen mate. You know sod all about me so you are in no position to make the comments you did. You seem to have based your opinion of me on info gained from Nick Sanders, that well known fountain of truth. You haven't made any further nasty comments so maybe you have read on and have decided that all Nick Sanders says isn't 'Gospel'.
As to whether I'm a real biker: I have never raped a chicken or bitten the head off a Granny but I have had a bike on the road since ' 76. Even when I've been working overseas I've usually managed to cadge a bike to scratch the itch. It might tickle you to know I made myself look a complete idiot when I fell off a CG 125 while crossing a river in Afghanistan. The fact that the clutch and brakes didn't work were a contributing factor but I'm not looking for excuses.
In 32 years I've also ridden a mile or two, like Barcelona to Paris in a day after a late start following an evening of one or two sherbuts. And if you think that I'm an old git that tootles about on a Harley these days then think again. Last summer I went to a rally in Finland simply because I hadn't been there before. I left Finland on Sunday evening and was reading MCN at a friends house in Edinburgh on Wednesday night after tootling through the Baltic States, Poland, Germany etc.
As to me hiding behind my Mothers apron. Well! What do I say to that? As a kid I was out from dawn 'til dusk, only came in for meals and my poor Mother went grey wondering where the hell I was.When I became mobile, ie the proud owner of a tricycle at the age of about 3, my range increased and my Mother and Father would have to drive around trying to find me. I wasn't lost. I just didn't want to go in. When I became ';mechanised' my range increased to as far you can get on a bike in a 3 week holiday and my Mother read the postcards to find out where I was.
By the way. My Mother is still alive but, Bless her cotton socks, but is confined to a wheel chair now because of MS. When she was fighting fit she scared the hell out of two armed border guards who were sadistically taking our caravan to pieces under the pretence of a search. They were rude to her and, armed or not, she flew at them intent on giving them a pasteing. My Father had to drag her off two ashen faced blokes who suddenly realised that they had overstepped the mark.
So Cyke. I never hid behind my Mothers apron, but it would have been a formidable defence if I had. As to whether I'm a real biker or not. I'm not sure what a REAL biker is so I'll just get on with riding my bike if it's all the same to you.