I took Ruby out yesterday, which was possibly unwise after a week in bed on account of bronchitis, but I had a camper van to go and inspect (too small and not sexy enough…) and it was a mild enough, though damp, morning. I thought I would trust in modern pharmaceuticals and give it a go.
Next May I will have been riding for 15 years (longer than my marriage lasted!). You would have thought that there would be nothing special any more in that moment of cracking the throttle and rolling out onto the road. Maybe it was the week’s lay-off, or maybe it’s because the way the seats are arranged on Ruby means that if you hesitate too long she gives you an encouraging shove in the small of the back, but riding out on my very own extremely large motorcycle still makes my heart sing.
Of course, now I’m back in bed feeling as rough as I did last Monday. But I’m British, and this is the price I expect to pay for too much happiness.