The early Tiger Cubs

I SPOTTED THE LITTLE MOTORCYCLE AS SOON AS I RODE around the bend. The rider was sitting bolt upright in his black waxed cotton jacket as he trundled down the country lane, the saddle springs of his Tiger Cub clearly soaking up more bumps than the plunger rear suspension. I tweaked the throttle of my Gold Star, quickly caught him up, and rode along behind. He could see me in his mirror and I was expecting him to pull over so we could talk. But he kept on riding. And riding. I know, I thought, he’s heading for the next village. I’ve got a friend who lives there and he owns classic bikes – he’s probably going to call in to see him. But he kept on riding, and checking his mirror.

Finally, after another couple of miles, he pulled over. “A Goldie!” he said. “I thought that’s what it was!” As I took off