Now think on! I mean it.

If you scrape the rough coarse surface from an aviator you will find a gnarled motor cyclist underneath.

That isn't an invariable rule but I bet it is true in 70% of cases. The skill and pleasure to be found in flying or riding is similar.

My first experience with motorcycles was on April 10th 1954 . That is how completely I remember the occasion. My dad and I gently lifted my brand new B.S.A. Bantam Major from his van having just collected it from Dickenson's at Sandbach. The registration was STU 201.

As I put it on the centre stand, my dad walked around until he faced me and then he said in his most severe tones, "Now, if ever I hear of you acting the goat on that bloody thing I'll put my axe through it......Now think on! I mean it."

A small deposit was put down on the purchase and the rest (about seventy pounds) was paid on what we used to call the "never never." I paid a guinea a week to the finance company which left me with enough for a gallon of petrol a week.

Further ten shillingsAt the end of the term, I was astounded to discover that I had only paid all these months to hire the bike .....It was then offered to me for sale for a further ten shillings. I thought it a blasted cheek to con another ten bob from me to complete the sale!. Otherwise, re-possession!

Anyway, I went in the house and ate a quick meal and then rode to Worleston to show the new machine to my girl friend Anne (Now my wife of fifty years).
She lived in the Lodge at the Rookery front gate. The bungalow was behind a large stone wall with masonry posts upon which were mounted the wrought iron gates.

So I drew up outside the gates and with great nonchalance I blew the horn and waited for her to emerge and admire my prize.

Now! I had not properly explored the workings of a sequential gearbox and had erroneously believed that the gear leaver must be depressed to it's maximum to neutral gear .....wrong! Depressing to maximum placed it in bottom gear!

So I'm sitting with both feet on the floor and both hands on the handle bars with the left hand depressing the clutch.

When Anne came through the door, I lifted my hands from the bars and the bike took off from between my legs.....I landed on my back in an untidy heap and the twist grip opened the throttle as it left me with the bike accelerating up the stone pillar and the rear wheel showering me with gravel.

Not a very good start in convincing her parents that I intended to develop into a good steady rider fit to carry their daughter upon the pillion. And to add to that I had knocked the first new paint from the bike which would carry the scars until I finally sold it.

Many bikesI have had many bikes since then. I remember them all with pleasure...I remember also many of the incidents and scrapes they got me into.

Like the day that the Crossville service bus came past the Pinfold corner at Wybunbury just as I was gathering myself up having fallen on black ice. Something told me that Mrs Cooper who watched me from the bus would tell my mother what she had seen. She did as well, and there was hell to pay during tea.

Then there was uncle Joe! Now uncle Joe was the lengths man whose job was to keep the streets of Wybunbury clean. Every Friday morning, Joe had to visit the Council Yard at Nantwich to collect his pay.

By this time I had graduated to a B.S.A. 350cc and I always came up behind uncle Joe on his bicycle at the bottom of Haymoor Green heading for Nantwich. It was always my great delight to ride like hell and brush Uncle Joe's shoulder as I overtook him.

Joe soon got to be aware of what was going to happen and as I came in sight (and sound) of him he would hunch his shoulders in anticipation.

This particular Friday morning I was running late and Joe had reached almost to the end of the lane at Butt Green. I gave him my usual blast and almost immediately applied my brakes for the road junction at Stapeley.

This was my undoing, for as I applied the brakes, the anchor plate came adrift and the rear wheel locked. Now, there isn't much you can do with a motorcycle doing about 50MPH with the rear wheel irrevocably locked.

So me and the bike went down ...the bike following me and rolling end over end with both me and the bike shedding bits of hitherto essential equipment until, running out of steam, the bike finally fell, fortunately away from me and my badly dented butty box.

Now it was Joe's turn – having watched this performance from the elevated position of his huge bicycle, he, without pause looked down at me and said in his nasal twang " I knew you were going to come off.......I could see you were going too fast ". And with that he joined the main road and continued upon his way.

SatisfactionWithout a doubt this incident had given uncle Joe the greatest satisfaction. This brings me to an incident that gave my father great satisfaction though I was not immediately aware of that.

Around the time of which I write, and being a teenager who like other teenagers thought I was God's gift to motorcycling, I began to lust after more power.

Now, I had seen an advert in the local paper of someone trying to sell an altogether more powerful machine though I could not buy it as my funds were all in my present bike and it took time to sell it and to release the funds. I approached my father to fund the purchase of the proposed machine, thus giving me time to sell my own.

He guided me to the door of the house and with a sweep of his arm over the outside world he said "Everything you will ever want, be it motorcycles, aeroplanes, or cars are all out there.......go out and get them for yourself."

This refusal made me so mad I replied: "Well bugger you then, I will do just that."

Years laterMany years afterwards I reminded him of this conversation. He said: "I remember the occasion very well and I will tell you now that unknown to you I went back into the house inwardly rejoicing. I knew then that my work as your father was over. You were launched."

For a time during the period when the children were small I gave up motorcycling in favour of a family transport car.....but the itch came back and I bought a Royal Enfield 350cc.

Going one day to Crewe for a mortise lock, I decided to do the journey on the Enfield. Travelling through Wybunbury I suddenly became aware that I had received a sting from an insect which had flown up my sleeve. Quickly stopping I stripped off my jacket and shook it to remove the insect though I could find nothing.

Re-mounting, I continued upon my journey cursing my bad luck and the pain of the sting. As my journey continued I began to feel really ill but, since there was no one available to help me, I made the decision to at least try to reach my destination where I was known. Had I tried to enlist help as I rode into Crewe I was sure that I would be regarded as a drunk.

I was by now experiencing the strangest and completely detached feeling. It felt to me as though I was riding along the roof tops of Gresty Road looking down upon this person riding the motorcycle and feeling that I was quite quickly becoming unconscious.

Arriving at my destination I stepped off the bike and let it fall. Walking into the Iron Mongery dept of Wooldridges I said to the attendant: "Jim, will you get a doctor – I have been stung". I remember nothing more until waking in Crewe Memorial Hospital where they were injecting me with anti-histamine.

I think they called it Anaphylactic shock. I do not know to this day what insect stung me but I have been very careful not to provoke wasps and the like since.

Then there was the occasion when the brand new Ford Zodiac disappeared into the bushes on the traffic island at Castle Donnington. But I'll tell you of that another time.

Golf. Foxtrot Alpha Romeo Romeo.

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