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The next morning I caught my dad in the kitchen running late for work, he told me my mum had finally given in, but that if anything happened to me then he would be held to blame. I didn’t care about any of that, I was finally getting a motorbike!
When I got to school, I asked Phil if he could get his brother to ride the bike round to mine when we finished on the Friday.
The rest of the week went past in a blur of sleepless excitement, that peaked when I heard the little two-stroke engine coming up the road, just before the red and black paintwork came into view. I gave my dad the money and he chatted about the bike with the lad who owned it, while I sat on it and got a feel for the controls. I’d had a go on a bike back in Branningham, so I knew what everything did, though that had been a long time ago. Stood over the seat I could just about get both feet flat on the ground, it was the perfect size for me! With my hands on the grips and arms almost straight I was totally in control, bouncing the front end up and down on the long travel forks.
I wheeled it to the end of the driveway beside my dad’s car, then sat on the seat and with one hand on the car roof to stop me tipping over, lifted my feet onto the footrests to see what I looked like in the reflection from the car window. Wicked! I looked like a proper motocross rider! Once I’d shifted my knees back so they no longer obscured the red DT50 stickers that emblazoned the glossy black petrol tank.
Once my dad had finished filling the paperwork in for me, I signed my name at the bottom of the log book, shook the lads hand, and my dad drove him home in his car. The moment I saw them turn onto the main road I ran inside and rang Al to come round.
“I’m just taking it up the field Mum to make sure it all works alright!” I shouted up as she watched me from her bedroom window.
“I’m not sure you’re meant to be going out on that yet are you? I think you should wait for your dad to come back,” she replied.
“Dad said it’s fine,” I lied, while pushing the bike up my road towards the field at the top.
Al carried the single crash helmet that had come with the bike, it was a bit too big for me but it would have to do for now. When we reached the top of the road we stopped.
“Island Lane, Lu?” Al suggested.
“Yeah mate, jump on.” With the ignition turned from 0 to 1 the bike started on the first kick and we set off over the farmer’s corn field. Everything came back to me from that bike I’d ridden before, my hands and feet quickly remembering their roles. I even managed to get it into third gear on the bumpy field, any higher than that would have meant we were going too fast. We cut down the parallel lines left by the tractor, to the main road that runs through Kirk-Leigh, Al holding round my waist with one arm, the other hanging onto the crash helmet. When we got to the main road we got off the bike while we crossed, then pushed it down the footpath until a gap in the hedge let us into the fields on the backwaters side of the village. Once safe in the relative cover of the tree lined fields we set off again. Crossing several more fields, some of which we had to go around and others we could go straight through the middle of, we found ourselves at Island Lane. Oyster Island was so sparsely inhabited that hardly anyone ever came down here. I pulled the bike up beside the pillbox, which sat at the end of the lane where the land met the sea.
“You having a go then Al?” I asked him.
“Too right!” he replied, unable to conceal his excitement.
“There you go then.”
He sat on the bike, did the helmet up, and sped down the road, the little two-stroke engine screaming loudly as it spun as fast as it could. I walked over and climbed on top of the pillbox, sitting with my feet dangling over the edge above the rippling water. Click the bike went as Al snatched the next gear and powered down the gravel track, a cloud of yellow dust following him. The noise quietened until it became bearable, as he went further and further down the lane until I couldn’t see him for the trees blocking my sight. I could still follow where he’d been though, by the dust cloud rising above the trees.
Then, after a short pause it began to get louder again, it was a different tone this time as the exhaust faced the other way. I could hear the sound of the tyres as they clawed their way through the crunchy gravel to grip into the hard earth below. Al came past the trees flat out, engine screaming as the bike bounced off its rev limiter in top gear. Flying towards me at what must have been sixty miles an hour, I focused on his eyes behind the open visor, locked into a wide stare. He tilted his head up to look at me for a second, giving me a nod before slamming the back brake on hard with his foot. Then he skidded past me, snaking from left to right as dust and stones and noise flew all about, finally stopping six feet short of where the moon had decided the water should be.
“How fast was that mate?” I asked as he switched the engine off and removed the helmet.
“Thirty-seven I got it up to,” Al replied. “It felt quicker when I came round the corner though, the back wheel was sliding out,” he laughed.
“Thirty-seven? It looked loads faster than that, it looked more like sixty,” I replied disappointed.
“That’s alright then, people will think you’re doing sixty when they see you riding down the road,” Al laughed again. He had a good point, I hadn’t thought of it like that.
“Your turn then Lu, see if you can get thirty-eight out of it. You have to take it all the way up to the redline in every gear.”
I got on and started my new beast, before fastening the crash helmet and gently riding away. There was no point in riding fast on my out lap, if I was going to beat Al’s speed then I wanted him to witness it. I looked back in the mirrors to see where he was standing then noticed for the first time I didn’t have any, a glance over my shoulder revealed he was sitting where I had been, on top of the old pillbox.
As I reached the end of the lane where it joins the main road, I wheeled the bike round in a little u-turn, trying not to let my feet touch the floor to maintain momentum. I shifted it up into second gear, winding off the throttle just a little, then twisting it back all the way. Second was soon over with so I changed up into third, accelerating through the gear as I glanced down every half second or so to check the revs. When the little white needle nudged the red area I fed in fourth gear, before putting my eyes back on the road. Thirty-eight here I come!
Suddenly the bike began to slow. I twisted the throttle back and forth a couple of times, it changed the burbling sound of the engine but made no difference to the speed we were slowing down. Bollocks. I put the brakes on and pulled to the side of the road, the engine lurching back and forth in one prolonged stall.
I stood the bike up between my legs and shook it. Hardly a splash. I’d run out of petrol.
I let it rest on its side stand, while I sat on the grass verge at the side of the track and waited for Al to come looking for me. After a couple of minutes he ran round the corner, red faced and out of breath.
“Shit Lu! Are you alright?!” he shouted.
“Fine mate,” I replied. “Petrol’s run out.”
“Thank fuck for that, I thought you’d crashed or something when you didn’t come back,” he said, clearly relieved.
“Me crash a fifty cc?” I laughed. “I’m Evil Knievel on a bike mate.”
“I think all Evil Knievel ever did was crash mate, he didn’t land a single jump did he?” Al said.
“Come on then Al, you push and I’ll sit on it and steer.”
“How’s that fair? You won’t have to do anything. How come I have to push?”
“Because it’s my bike mate,” I replied. That’ll teach him.
Church Group Page 12