Three best friends embark on a journey riding on their motorcycles.
The first time I rode with Lois was 12 years ago, although I had briefly glimpsed her on her 1959 Bantam before them. We met through a mutual friend, Lisa, who along with Lois had only recently passed her test, and the three of us planned a girl long weekend touring Wales on our bikes.
Lois left her Beezer (and newly acquired boyfriend Austin) at home in favour of the Yamaha XT225 Serow she had just bought in preparation for her first major road trip; the Alaska-Argentina odysseyEUR"which she wanted to try out on-and off-road. Lisa was cutting her teeth on a Honda Bros, and I was on my trusty 1958 Triumph Thunderbird, which I had owned for about 10 years.
Putting together a trio of women who do not know each other awfully well in potentially challenging circumstance can be a recipe for disaster, bitchy comments and two-against-one cliqueness, but not us: we were kindred spirits. Amazing roads, stunning scenery and great company; it was a fantastic weekend full of laughs, adventure and female camaraderie.
We each faced our own obstacles. Lois was getting used to the idiosyncrasies of her first modern Jap compared with the eccentricities of her classic Brit, and later discovered she had done most of the trip with only a thimbleful of oil. Lisa had become demoralized by a couple of low-speed spills; but with plenty of encouragement from Lois and I, and copious wine each evening, she was soon brimming with confidence.
Meanwhile, my Thunderbird had a leaky magneto oils seal (yep, I know a mag is not standard, and these days the bike runs electronic ignition), which meant I regularly had to clean the points and pick-up ring, getting the occasional shock as the Triumph was kicked over. Yet none of these issues, nor the incessant Welsh rain, could put a dampener on those 750-odd miles.
I returned home saddle-sore but happy and full of exciting tales. And despite the Triumph looking like it had done service in the Battle of the Somme, it had behaved beautifully. It wore the fifth of the miles with pride; as well as an elasticized hairband wrapped around the SU carb to retain the float champer top after the bolt had vibrated out and been lost forever. By the way, this was not the last time I have effected a make-do repair using the contents of my make-up bag.
All these years later, Lois, Lisa and I are still firm friends. We each had our own riding and life adventures; none of which top the ones Lois had, of course], and because we are all busy ladies we do not get to see each other nearly enough. But together with our motorcycle-mad partners and mates, we are not half had some larks. I am so glad these ladies and gents are in my life.
By: Sarah Bradley
The first time I rode with Lois was 12 years ago, although I had briefly glimpsed her on her 1959 Bantam before them. We met through a mutual friend, Lisa, who along with Lois had only recently passed her test, and the three of us planned a girl long weekend touring Wales on our bikes.
Lois left her Beezer (and newly acquired boyfriend Austin) at home in favour of the Yamaha XT225 Serow she had just bought in preparation for her first major road trip; the Alaska-Argentina odysseyEUR"which she wanted to try out on-and off-road. Lisa was cutting her teeth on a Honda Bros, and I was on my trusty 1958 Triumph Thunderbird, which I had owned for about 10 years.
Putting together a trio of women who do not know each other awfully well in potentially challenging circumstance can be a recipe for disaster, bitchy comments and two-against-one cliqueness, but not us: we were kindred spirits. Amazing roads, stunning scenery and great company; it was a fantastic weekend full of laughs, adventure and female camaraderie.
We each faced our own obstacles. Lois was getting used to the idiosyncrasies of her first modern Jap compared with the eccentricities of her classic Brit, and later discovered she had done most of the trip with only a thimbleful of oil. Lisa had become demoralized by a couple of low-speed spills; but with plenty of encouragement from Lois and I, and copious wine each evening, she was soon brimming with confidence.
Meanwhile, my Thunderbird had a leaky magneto oils seal (yep, I know a mag is not standard, and these days the bike runs electronic ignition), which meant I regularly had to clean the points and pick-up ring, getting the occasional shock as the Triumph was kicked over. Yet none of these issues, nor the incessant Welsh rain, could put a dampener on those 750-odd miles.
I returned home saddle-sore but happy and full of exciting tales. And despite the Triumph looking like it had done service in the Battle of the Somme, it had behaved beautifully. It wore the fifth of the miles with pride; as well as an elasticized hairband wrapped around the SU carb to retain the float champer top after the bolt had vibrated out and been lost forever. By the way, this was not the last time I have effected a make-do repair using the contents of my make-up bag.
All these years later, Lois, Lisa and I are still firm friends. We each had our own riding and life adventures; none of which top the ones Lois had, of course], and because we are all busy ladies we do not get to see each other nearly enough. But together with our motorcycle-mad partners and mates, we are not half had some larks. I am so glad these ladies and gents are in my life.
By: Sarah Bradley
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