YORKSHIRE Plodding

I had not ridden off-road since my early teens. Public roads were not an option then; even a provisional license was well over a year away. I had no bike and not much idea how to ride one. What I did have, though, was a couple of like-minded friends and access to an old orchard. This contained a dilapidated shed housing several equally dilapidated old bikes. I recall one being an Ariel, another possibly a Matchless. Both were in a sorry state, the Ariel had but one exhaust pipe for its twin ports but, like the possible Matchless, it was a mostly working motorcycle and we learned much from getting them running.

As you might imagine, what we really enjoyed was careering around our tree-lined circuit with what we liked to think was great verve – if not great speed. Surely a better use of our time than studying for the upcoming exams? We had no riding gear, just a watch for timing our runs and those gnarled old trees for crash barriers. It was a recipe for disaster, but we survived more or less unscathed