Backwards Glance

I used to like an adventure. At least, the idea of an adventure: nothing too taxing, you understand. I tend agree with Bilbo Baggins, who saw adventures as nasty, uncomfortable things that made you late for dinner. He could easily have been referring to the elderly, British-built motorcycles which I have long favoured as the means of ridding myself of spare money. I will defend Britbikes until last orders and beyond, and still spend much income on them.

Resident in Ireland, I hatched a plan to add a Norton to my modest collection, this bike being inconveniently located in the UK. With a wad of cash in pocket, helmet, gloves and extra clothing in rucksack and breakdown cover arranged, I boarded a plane to Bristol in the very nadir of winter. Two hours later I stood shuddering with cold at a bus stop and was whisked off to the coastal town wherein my prize awaited. A half-hour trudge to the