You don’t notice it as a car driver so much but I was surprised to find that while out and about on my Bandit that, on the whole, other bikers will give you a little nod as they pass by on the other side of the road. That little nod is acknowledgement that I am now part of a biking fraternity (and sorority too I suppose, although I ain’t nobodys sister, fool!) and that we are the privileged few who know what it’s like to expose ourselves to the elements and embrace the freedom of the road and that two wheels are better than four. Or something. To be honest, the nods of other bikers remind me more of the subtle acknowledgement that the Spacemonkeys in Fight Club used to give each other and I sometimes wonder whether I’ve taken the first step into some vast, global, subversive conspiracy that will rise up and challenge governments and the status quo. Then again, my helmet maybe squeezing my head a little too tightly.

The general consensus seems to be that I’m having a midlife crisis. My wife ventured out to the pub last weekend and was asked by our village friends whether that was, in fact the case as they unanimously felt it had to be. I’m not surprised - man with wife, kid, labrador and sensible diesel estate buys big, black, two wheeled monster can only be an aberration that comes about as a result of hitting that midlife crisis road hump. As one pointed out, I’m hardly biker material. They have might a point

You see, the truth of it is that I probably wouldn’t get as many nods from the other bikers if they knew that I am constantly on the verge of soiling my pants any time I go over about 40 miles per hour. For me, the adrenalin rush of being out on the open road, crouching over a throbbing engine and opening the throttle as far as it will go is surpressed and diluted by the tangy cordial of vulnerability and fear, compounded by the knowledge that if this were a speeder bike from Return of the Jedi, rather than being somebody with the Jedi reflexes of Luke Skywalker, I’m far more likely to be one of the anonymous biker scouts who ends up as a flaming fireball after crashing at 200mph into a tree. Or at least I would be if I could face getting the damn thing up to 60mph any time soon. I’m not so much born to be wild as born to be oh so very mild.

The real truth of it is that I’m not new to this brave, new two wheeled world. I learnt to ride motorbikes when I was about 8 or 9 years old, starting out on a 250cc trials bike. 250 is twice the size of engine that used to be considered a learner bike back then. My parents were keen bikers, both qualified instructors and used to race classic bikes. Parts of my childhood were spent accompanying them to the Isle of Man TT Races (which, coincidentally, was where I first saw Return of the Jedi back in 1983) and travelling the length of breadth of country, going to various meets and watching them race. Despite all this, I was never hugely ‘into’ motorbikes or cars for that matter - I prefer feet to wheels - but even so, I took and passed my test about 15 years ago, just before the CBT was introduced. I haven’t actually ridden a bike since then.

So, on the surface of it, putting this down to a midlife crisis and attempting to regain a little of the freedom of my childhood seems to pretty much describe the situation. As it happens, there were far more practical considerations behind this purchase than just an impulse buy. I’ve just started a new contract which is in a location that is entirely uncommutable from where I live (unless I fancy a train ride into London and then all the way back out again). A second car was mooted until my wife, of all people, suggested getting a bike as it would be, on the whole, cheaper to run and quite probably be quicker on the type of roads I’m travelling on. We discussed it, investigated the options, worked out the expenses, made a few calls and now I am once again, a biker. So far the commuting has gone well and I can now go faster than 40mph without wearing adult nappies.

Midlife crisis? The bike isn’t it. What the hell do you think all that Tough Guy/Mountain Marathon/Hellrunner crap is all about?