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DIARY -
Tuesday 21st August 2007
'Na then lass, I want you
to do summat'
The gravely voice came
down the telephone, a
strong Yorkshire accent
brooking no nonsense.
'I want you to tell me
what t' 'ell I'm doin'
wrong - if owt
I want you to follow me,
say absolutely bloody
nowt 'til the end of the
day and then give it t'
me straight.'
I nearly choked - did the
man not realise that for
a woman to say
'absolutely bloody nowt'
was almost nigh
impossible?
We met a week later on
the training ground and
he told me the full
story.
It seemed that Malcolm
(not his real name you
understand) had been out
for a ride with his
friends, some of them
police bikers, when a
'jumped up little tw*t in
a yellow jacket with the
words 'Chief Senior
Observer' on his back
(his words, not mine,)
said, in a smug holier
than thou voice 'I am
going to sit behind the
group and tell you all
what you'r all doing
wrong'
'Tha' can p*** off'
Malcolm replied.
My heart sank, not a very
good start, should I tell
him I was a member of the
IAM? Did he consider us
all stuffed pompous ego
inflated morons? Were sea
boot socks and a Sam
Brown belt the image he
had of the IAM? I was
relieved to note that it
wasn't one of my local
groups' members he was
talking about but someone
from another area, but
still, not the image we
want to give.
'He told me I wur doin
this and that wrong and
he didn't like it when I
told him to keep 'is
opinion to 'is sen, but
when I calmed down I did
think 'praps I wurn't so
good, bloody 'airpin
bends - I 'ate 'em' so I
want you t' help me sort
it.'
Malcolm was a mechanic
and a lorry driver, he
had been riding bikes for
the past 40 years and on
his own admission his
slow riding was not good,
he hated hairpin bends,
he couldn't keep his bike
on the correct side of
the road. Without
exaggerating, he said his
technique for turning
left was to pull up at
the junction, make sure
there was nothing coming
from the right and the
left then pull out, using
the whole of the road to
turn.
His face went grey when I
explained about using
centrifugal force,
slipping the clutch
keeping the engine revs
up and riding the bike
against the rear brake.
'No, No, No, I can't slip
a clutch - I'd sack one
of my lads if they did
that in mi' lorries.'
A demonstration was
called for and with a
simple explanation that
you can't ride a bike
like you drive a lorry;
the old dog learnt a new
trick.
He practised slaloming
through a set of cones,
turning left and right,
stopping on the rear
brake, his smile and his
confidence grew bigger
with his new found skill.
Later that day, outside
the café in Hawes, bacon
butty in hand he said 'y
know lass, riding 'owt
here is al' reet, but
doing them cones on't car
park is bloody great -
lets go back an' 'ave
another bash'.
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