Originally posted by Beef Oven!
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My motor-cycling career lasted for 4 months, 40 years ago. Never ridden one before, or since. I had just secured my first paid contract at the start of my career in nature conservation, and my job was of a peripatetic nature, travelling the entire Northern Ireland coastline and spending some time on an island (Rathlin). I naturally asked about transport, they assured me I'd have wheels but were vague about how many. It turned out when I got there that transport was to be a motor bike belonging to the regional officer's secretary's husband. It needed a few repairs, apparently
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I asked them to remind me where everything was, lying that it was a year or two since I'd ridden one, and wobbled off down the road. They told me later they realised I’d never ridden one before, but by then it was too late to stop me. It was not difficult. On my first day I rode from Newtownards through central Belfast and onto the M2, up through Ballymena and Ballymoney to the north coast and along to my first billet on Lough Foyle, a trip of around 85 miles. My legs had turned to jelly, but I could ride a motor bike. My driving license was inspected on numerous occasions at RUC or UDR road blocks over the next four months, but my entitlement to be riding a motor bike was never questioned. I fell off occasionally, especially on Rathlin (the bike was shipped over on a small fishing boat), but suffered nothing worse than ripped jeans and a grazed knee. Oh, and the handbrake broke, but I managed without it for a while. I travelled many hundreds of miles on that bike.
But that was enough. My next, and full-time, job carried with it a 4x4 Daihatsu. My advice, Lat, at your stage in life, is don't.
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