An Ode to a Disillusioned Rider
Look at you with the brand new armored jacket and shiny riding boots. Yes you - sitting pretty on that brand new bike - stopping every few miles to take that ‘cool’ selfie that you’ll proudly post on all your social networking sites. A few more rides to rake up a few thousand miles and then an invitation to join a few biker clubs - where each member tries to outdo each other in the never-ending quest for that James Dean-esque manliness, where each ‘biker’ lines up their ‘mean machines’ each competing for that exclusive status, after all you do have all the requirements of a ‘true biker’ down to a tee, don’t you? That rebellious, never say die attitude or how the rain, snow or rough terrain is just shrugged off as one of those elements that your courage & motorbike can easily handle. But a couple of years ago, remember that uncle of yours? He had a host of motorbikes - always red ones - and even that Zundapp, didn’t he? Or your dad who rode his Java almost a hundred