The Final Nail
The Final Nail (I forged myself...)
Damo, or Tractor boy, has sent in a personal view of his biking life. We present it here
unedited; I think it tells a tale of quite a few of us...
If you have a bike, ride the damn thing! That's my advice to anyone else out there who has a bike tucked up in the garage collecting dust…
I don't have a motorbike, in fact, I don't even have a pushbike anymore. But it hasn't always been that way. I'm only 33 now, so although my memories seem distant the reality is it hasn't been that long. My first bike was a Kawasaki ZZR600. I used it daily to commute, and when it was clear that there was a significant place in my life for bikes I invested a bit more and bought a brand new Triumph TT600. (The 0% Finance deal at the time was too tempting to resist)
Soon the long journeys and high miles had me hankering after something larger, and within a year or so I purchased a Blue Kawasaki C2 ZX9R. Now I was more serious than ever about bikes, obsessively reading magazines and internet features, attending shows, meets and following all of the major bike related motorsports with keen interest. (I was a huge Chris Walker fan, almost crying with him as he made that lonely walk back to pits in 2000)
Within a couple of years the ZX9R was traded in and in its place sat a Black & Silver 929cc Injection CBR900RR, and I absolutely loved that bike. My basic leathers, helmet and boots had all gradually been upgraded and I was now what I'd deem as a serious biker. Within 2 years (And with the help of Heated Grips) I'd done 22,000 miles on the 'blade' but it was still like new, cleaned religiously after almost every journey. My confidence was sky high, I had a few years of no claims under my belt, I was mid 20s and low risk so insurance wasn't an issue and I'd happily jump on and ride anywhere.
I couldn't understand why touring bikes even existed such was the comfort and love I had for my blade, It could do anything, from a track day to a slow jaunt 2-up trip through Europe. I rode it with no fear, dodging through traffic on the morning commute into Norwich City Centre, knee down on the track or lifting the front wheel (briefly) coming out of villages.
Then everything changed in a flash. Not an accident or the other common reason of finances, It was Divorce.
I was living in the town I worked in but with no garage, the Blade sat dormant about 15 miles away where someone had kindly allowed me to keep it. I had kids that lived 40 miles away so weekends were spent collecting and dropping them back by car. But my love for my blade was strong, so I kept it……and kept it…….and kept it, riding it whenever I could, except that wasn't very often.
My confidence drained quicker than a paddling pool with a stiletto heel through it, every ride out seemed to involve a near death experience, with the world against me all of a sudden; oil drenched manhole covers, blind drivers, wet leaves they were all telling me to quit. The final nail in the coffin for the blade came on MOT day, as I tucked the new certificate into the owners wallet and realised that 2 years had passed with less than 1000 miles covered. Common sense told me that with the bike still worth £4000, plus a probable extra £1000 available from the sale of my leathers, boots and lid it was finally time for us to part company.
It quickly went to a good home and all of a sudden something was missing. Conversations changed from 'I have a Fireblade' to 'I used to have a Fireblade'. With no bike to insure my no claims bonus became void, and I eventually lost interest in bikes completely. I justify it all the time by telling anyone that will listen that 'mortality set in' and my kids drove me to quit bikes, but in reality I actually believe it was simply because I just didn't ride it enough. I occasionally search ebay for a bargain late 90's ZX7R or similar, but in reality I know I'm probably never going to buy another bike.
So there it is then, retired from riding by the age of 30, because I'd left my bike in the garage, with it wondering what it had done wrong!
I don't have a motorbike, in fact, I don't even have a pushbike anymore. But it hasn't always been that way. I'm only 33 now, so although my memories seem distant the reality is it hasn't been that long. My first bike was a Kawasaki ZZR600. I used it daily to commute, and when it was clear that there was a significant place in my life for bikes I invested a bit more and bought a brand new Triumph TT600. (The 0% Finance deal at the time was too tempting to resist)
Soon the long journeys and high miles had me hankering after something larger, and within a year or so I purchased a Blue Kawasaki C2 ZX9R. Now I was more serious than ever about bikes, obsessively reading magazines and internet features, attending shows, meets and following all of the major bike related motorsports with keen interest. (I was a huge Chris Walker fan, almost crying with him as he made that lonely walk back to pits in 2000)
Within a couple of years the ZX9R was traded in and in its place sat a Black & Silver 929cc Injection CBR900RR, and I absolutely loved that bike. My basic leathers, helmet and boots had all gradually been upgraded and I was now what I'd deem as a serious biker. Within 2 years (And with the help of Heated Grips) I'd done 22,000 miles on the 'blade' but it was still like new, cleaned religiously after almost every journey. My confidence was sky high, I had a few years of no claims under my belt, I was mid 20s and low risk so insurance wasn't an issue and I'd happily jump on and ride anywhere.
I couldn't understand why touring bikes even existed such was the comfort and love I had for my blade, It could do anything, from a track day to a slow jaunt 2-up trip through Europe. I rode it with no fear, dodging through traffic on the morning commute into Norwich City Centre, knee down on the track or lifting the front wheel (briefly) coming out of villages.
Then everything changed in a flash. Not an accident or the other common reason of finances, It was Divorce.
I was living in the town I worked in but with no garage, the Blade sat dormant about 15 miles away where someone had kindly allowed me to keep it. I had kids that lived 40 miles away so weekends were spent collecting and dropping them back by car. But my love for my blade was strong, so I kept it……and kept it…….and kept it, riding it whenever I could, except that wasn't very often.
My confidence drained quicker than a paddling pool with a stiletto heel through it, every ride out seemed to involve a near death experience, with the world against me all of a sudden; oil drenched manhole covers, blind drivers, wet leaves they were all telling me to quit. The final nail in the coffin for the blade came on MOT day, as I tucked the new certificate into the owners wallet and realised that 2 years had passed with less than 1000 miles covered. Common sense told me that with the bike still worth £4000, plus a probable extra £1000 available from the sale of my leathers, boots and lid it was finally time for us to part company.
It quickly went to a good home and all of a sudden something was missing. Conversations changed from 'I have a Fireblade' to 'I used to have a Fireblade'. With no bike to insure my no claims bonus became void, and I eventually lost interest in bikes completely. I justify it all the time by telling anyone that will listen that 'mortality set in' and my kids drove me to quit bikes, but in reality I actually believe it was simply because I just didn't ride it enough. I occasionally search ebay for a bargain late 90's ZX7R or similar, but in reality I know I'm probably never going to buy another bike.
So there it is then, retired from riding by the age of 30, because I'd left my bike in the garage, with it wondering what it had done wrong!
Damo
