Trials, Triumphs and Travelling: Motorcycle Chronicals, #2

Chapter 1 Triumphs

Growing up in rural Norfolk, England, during the 1970s life was fun and optimistic – the dark post war years were well behind us, and the youth of the day had more freedom and a bit more money in their pockets than in any period of living memory. There were a lot of good times for most of us, and the world was open and full of opportunities and optimism for the future. Politics and serious stuff was for the ‘oldies’ and most of us did not really think beyond what we were doing for the week. We lived for the ‘weekend’ and we would scan the local newspaper for the What’s On column. There was nearly always a good choice, whether we wanted to see a live band or just a disco in a local pub.

It was generally a good time to be young, the parents had grown up in a time of relative peace and relief after the second world war, with the rationing and national conscription a thing of the past. Most of the parental generation had been part of the 1950s era of rock and roll, with motorcycling or car owning being within the grasp of those with a bit of get up and go. Those parents had then lived through the swinging sixties and seen, or been a part of all the hippy sets and various young groups having their bank holiday battles in the various coastal towns around the country, student protests were rife in the 1960s and the voices of the young had been acknowledged even if not understood by the ‘oldies’. There was a bit more tolerance than in their day, and with the contraceptive pill more easily available, sexuality was more open and not as frowned upon as it had been only a decade previously. We did not quite have it all, but we had a lot.

In the mid-1970s I had been dating my boyfriend for about 10 months and we were having a wonderful carefree time, going to the dances at weekends, and during the daytimes there was always something to do. We had just had our first holiday together, going to the Isle of Man with a group of mates; there was so much to do on the island, not just the racing which was exhilarating in itself, but the sightseeing and the total acceptance of the islanders for all the invading motorcyclists. During that time in England it was not uncommon to go to a pub and be faced with a sign banning various sectors of the population, bikers being one of the popular exclusion groups. We were often labelled as anti-social even though most of us were hard working and had earned our bikes – many being used for commuting to and from work. The ‘bad boy image’ really seemed unfair to me as I felt that in reality it demonstrated that we had a work ethic as opposed to being ‘greasy lay-a-bouts’ which was a common label given to us. The term Greasers was coined from this perception – and was indicative of the greased back Teddy Boy hairdos (usually with quiff) brought about by applying oils or creams to comb and style their hair as was popular. It amused me that many of the lads spent more time on combing their hair than I did, but as I had waist length hair all I had to do was trap it inside my jacket – job done.

There are so many forms of prejudice in life, and it is universal for people to disregard those who do not conform to their own set of rules without looking to see the facts of the cases. Discrimination is rife and is universal, not limited to one or other group, but really shows the limits of the persons doing the discrimination as it all comes from ignorance and being unprepared to be educated. Personally I find I am never keen on religion either as it seems to me that many people use religion as a weapon. When I look at the world all I see is wars started by religions – perpetrated by people who expect everyone else to see things their way – not being prepared to look at other points of view. I like to think of myself as being an individualist and try to treat others in the way I like to be treated, or put another way, I treat others as they treat me. Mutual respect never hurts. How do you know anything about anyone different to yourself if you never ask them what their point of view is?

Anyway, I digress, so back to my story. Stu and I were enjoying ourselves out and about in our county, and through our many activities we regularly met up with different groups of bikers. There were one or two bike clubs in the nearby towns, and we joined a couple of different groups. We joined the Triumph Owners Group and then the Norton Owners Group as they promised to give discounts at various bike shops, and a discount is always appreciated, especially when one does one’s own maintenance. The other one was locally more active and through them we ended up volunteering at various race tracks. As volunteers we marshalled at several events through our involvement with a Norwich Motorcycle Club. One of the most interesting weekends was for a National 24 hour endurance test where we were stationed at the City end of Hall Road in Norwich. We provided proof of riders attending the waystation by way of stamping their road trial log books, and giving out hot drinks, snacks and any other assistance which the competitors needed if we were able to help. It was quite exciting to do the midnight stint, and was an extraordinary thing to be involved with. I was intrigued as to why someone would want to ride for 24 hours, just for the sake of it. Still, many of the people were very interesting and came from all walks of life, this endurance ride providing stories a plenty to tell their mates back in their hometowns. As with any hobby, people go to all sorts of events within their interest just to know they have done it, the bragging rights are proudly displayed in various metal badges or cloth badges attached either on the leathers or cut down waistcoats worn. Motorcycling seemed to attract characters, not just people, the commonality of a motorbike brought us together and seemed to transcend boundaries – the mutual interest overcoming possible fear of the unknowns. If they rode two wheels, we were as one and the roadcraft needed to survive on the highway brought tales of harem scarem to be shared while having a pitstop, usually involving a burger van in a layby. We already knew they were our kind of people, all we had to do was start talking about makes and models and lifelong friendships were made. Strangers were just friends you hadn’t met beforehand.

As time went on, Stu and I attended all sorts of motorcycle meetings, and the local scramble track hosted not only scrambles racing, but there were some great Trials events organised in the same area and we went to a few of them too. With so many various forms of competition; road racing; scrambles, trials, endurance and treasure hunts, there was never a dull moment, every weekend gave us a myriad of choice. We did as much of it as we could fit into our precious leisure hours.

It was time for another small holiday, and we chose to go camping for ten days. We headed off to Brands Hatch for a weekend race meet, and although not being involved this time, we happily watched the road racing and our heroes – Peter Williams, Dave Croxford, Mike Hailwood, Agostini, Phil Read, Percy Tait, Paul Smart and many more. We were going to a 400 mile endurance at Thruxton for the following weekend, but circled round the south coast to Fordingbridge to see my nan while we were touring. My nan was a great woman and was pleased to see us. We spent time with her during the daytime while at night we camped at a site just a couple of miles away, near where one of my uncles lived. It was pleasing to know my nan approved of Stu as I had not had any feedback from my immediate family up until that time – mother was not talking to me and I was not welcome at home, my older sister was living abroad still. We spent the middle of the week around the New Forest and were looking forward to the next weekend of racing; we both felt that one long distance race at Thruxton was not to our taste as it was not easy to keep a track of who was where, and on what lap, so could not keep up with who was leading or losing. We found it a bit of a chore but we were glad we had been and experienced it ourselves.

A couple of weeks after our south coast trip the Norwich club were asking for marshals for the main motorcycle racing at Silverstone. This sounded just up our street and our hands reached for the sky without another thought. As marshals we camped at Silverstone for the weekend and were allowed access to the pits area which we took full advantage of. The evenings meant Stu was as usual getting stuck in, helping out with an extra pair of hands for a team doing some of their race prep, while I wandered off to have a peep at a couple of the other race team sections. During my own tour, in a very skimpy top, a pair of hot-pants and black knee high boots, I found myself chatting to two of my favorite riders of the time; Giacomo Agostini and Jonny Cecotto – together with Barry Sheene. Barry had never been one of my idols, but Ago and Jonny Cecotto were. I was in heaven, especially as I spoke fluent Spanish and was able to converse with them comfortably as Ago’s Italian shared many similarities to my Spanish and Jonny was from Spanish speaking south America. They were very complementary and we had a great time, laughing, flirting and chatting about all and nothing in particular. Barry was not too happy as he did not speak anything other than English at that time and couldn’t keep up with the banter, and I am sure that Ago and Cecotto were both teasing him for fun as I was obviously not interested in him. Ago was another matter, and I would have happily run off with him if I’d been given the chance. A great man both on and off the track, oozing charm and masculinity – he was eye-candy personified. Life was full of promise and I was enjoying myself – thoroughly – with no major worries or cares.

Anyways, my moment of triumph was not to be and my time was cut off when Stu came along and dragged me back to our mates back at camp. Oh well! I’m sure my life could have taken a different tack at that point, but I was thwarted and brought back down to earth, back to normality and the thought that on Monday work had to be endured to provide the money for fun so life went on. We did our stint beside the race track, but being stationed on an inside bend, we were not called on for any emergencies, except we had a bird’s eye view of Barry Sheene slapping his tank and retiring from the main race. Couldn’t reason why as up to that point his bike had sounded as though it was right on song to me, but Barry wasn’t as quick as Cecotto or Ago so perhaps that was it.

Chapter 2 Sofa Surfing - Survival

My mother and stepfather were having troubles – big troubles. My stepfather was having a hard time health wise, and mother was not really conducive to being a caring wife. Caring was not really in her nature whether to the children she bore, or the men in her