Across the pond

(One of the little commented on features of the new Daily Telegraph is that it has a female motoring correspondent, Erin Baker, who has just passed her driving test on a Harley Davidson. Yesterday she wrote a column, ‘Which bike should I get, guys?’ This is my reply.)

Dear Erin

You’ve done it. Shown the men that you can master one of those over-long cumbersome Harley Davidsons. But now you are asking the wrong gender the wrong question.

Trust your own instincts. Motor cycling is not just about which brand you choose. And there is more than just motor cycling issues for you to consider. Think of the readers. You are one of the few prominent women on the new Daily Telegraph. Do you think women readers want you to ask the men to advise you about what to do with your life?

So I am not going to advise you. But I will tell you about the joys of motor cycling as I have experienced them myself.

My first bike was a 1928 Raleigh 250 cc motor cycle. (Yes. It is the same company which still makes the bicycles. They did not start making motor bikes until 1928. They stopped in 1929 because the gloomy buggers amongst the management said they should not try and establish a new product when the stock market was crashing around their ears.)

The 1928 Raleigh was quite as long as the Harley and probably heavier. It appeared to be made of iron. The saddle could have been made of steel. And it was quite a trial getting it into the shed by the side of my house. But it only set me back £15 so I was able to pay for it out of my own pocket money.

And it transformed my life. It gave me a skill that once learned is never forgotten. And it enabled me to combine a totally enjoyable personal indulgence with my work life. By the time I started my first job as a financial journalist I was riding a Lambretta 150 cc scooter. I could wear my motor cycle boots under my suit. And the scooter gave me sufficient protection from the rain that I rarely had to use the spare pair of trousers I kept at the office.

It enabled me to welcome the end of Fleet Street. I could get to Wapping and Canary Wharf in half the time it took my colleagues using cars or taxis. And one third of the time it took those using public transport. And I could get a view of the river on the way.

Today I ride a Yamaha 250 cc motor scooter. It does 90 miles an hour if I care to break the law. It can beat a Harley in getting away from the traffic lights if I am in a hurry. But I am not usually in a hurry. That is the advantage of having a motor cycle. You know you can always get there quickly even when the motor cars are gridlocked. The under-seat storage is so big that I can get a small laptop in, along with everything else I need.

But motor cycles need a powerful voice in the press. Ken Livingstone loves bicycles but he thinks motor bikes are just as bad as motor cars on pollution grounds so he is thinking of imposing the congestion charge on them. Worse still, although he is extending motor cycle lanes, he has not increased the number of motor cycle bays to take account of the increasing numbers using motor bikes to get to work. It is, for instance, almost impossible to find a free motor cycle space near to the House of Commons.

Finally, one piece of advice. Don’t grow your hair so that everyone on the road can see you are a woman. Riding the open road frees you, in the age of full face helmets, from the assumptions other people make about the different genders.

How do I know this, since I am not a woman? Because this temporary anonymity applies to age as well as to gender. I remember being stopped by a policeman for turning left against a ‘No left sign’ notice, partly obscured by the branches of a tree.

‘Take off your helmet.’, he ordered me peremptorily. When I hesitated, my anger rising, he said, ‘That’s an order’. I decided not to argue so I obeyed. I saw the astonishment in his eyes, when he was suddenly confronted by a bald head. He was speechless for a moment. Then, in quite a different tone of voice, he listened to what I had to say. He even called me, ‘Sir’.

So, mam, make your own decisions about that bike. And, above all, enjoy it.

Cheers

Robert Jones