OK, let’s settle this once and for all.
I am NOT trying to re-kindle my lost youth.
I am NOT going through the male menopause.
I am NOT having a mid-life crisis.
All of these claims have been levelled at me over the past few months… most recently, yesterday afternoon.
The weather was marvelous this weekend and so I managed to grab a couple of very pleasant hours out on my bike. Heading north up the A6, I turned off and rode through some lovely little roads and villages. To be honest, I had no idea where I was… and I didn’t really care, so much fun was I having.
Eventually, I emerged onto the A45 and saw a sign for Weston Favell, near Northampton, so I knew where I was once more. More than that, I have a mate who lives over that way, so thought it’d be an idea to stop over for a cuppa, especially as I hadn’t seen him in a while.
As it was, Steve and his wife, Jenny, were working in their front garden when I pulled up outside their house.
“Ahhh, so this is the beast, is it?” said Steve, wandering over and casting an appreciative eye over my bike. “Yes, very nice.” he said.
“I didn’t know you had a bike”, said Jenny. I explained that it was a fiftieth birthday present… to me, from me.
“Ahhh, yes”, she said. “Mid-life crisis. A bloke at work has just done exactly the same.”
“NO! It’s not a mid-life crisis!” I said, in a somewhat sharp and and obviously irritable tone.
You see, I bought my first motorcycle when I was seventeen years old and I’ve had one ever since. Not a single day has passed since then, where I haven’t owned a motorbike of some sorts.
Just because I don’t ride it every day (I used to, before the wife and kids came along), it’s assumed by some that me and bikes are a new thing. But we’re not… we’ve been together a long time.
So, there you have it: bikes are not new to me and I’m not new to them.
And I’m not having a mid-life crisis.
And I’m definitely NOT going through the male menopause.
Except… maybe I am.