Читать книгу No One Said It Would Be Easy - Des Molloy - Страница 11

4

Gestation

ES2 Norton had taken flatmate Anne and me from London to Norway (to near the Arctic Circle) and onwards to the Persian Gulf via more of the communist-bloc in a five-month saga of much drama and adventure. 1975 had incorporated a Russian Ural sidecar jaunt with my mate Brown Dog down to Spain to participate in the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, as well as a pilgrimage to the Isle of Man for the annual Tourist Trophy motorcycle races.

So what was I planning for 1976? My ride on Ernie had reaffirmed my attraction to simple, single-cylinder old British motorcycles. I’d loved my 1957 500cc Norton … but weren’t there bigger singles? I’d heard of but never laid eyes on the obscure, long-stroke 650cc Panther motorcycles from Yorkshire. As with a lot of things in life, a whimsical dream sometimes slowly moves along from the “I’d like …” over a period of time to “I must have!” And so it was that by mid-1975 I had the makings of a 1961 Panther Model 120, complete with a factory sidecar chassis. An outsider would have been a little bemused at my fleet of vehicles, seeing as I was not really in permanent accommodation, had no storage facility, garage or workshop. I had an old London Taxi, the Ural and sidecar that I used on a daily basis, a 1937 BSA Empire Star which I had thought I could go vintage racing on, and now I was the owner of a collection of Panther bits. Dreams are free and can give a huge amount of joy even if nothing eventuates. Already I could feel the evocative thumping of the 106mm long-stroke Panther transporting me along in exotic, faraway locales, the sun shining and a huge smile on my face.

Say it quickly, and it never seems too hard or unachievable. What about a ride from New York to Rio? I must admit that my default reaction to a suggestion like that (even if it is my own) is always “that’s sounds great … it’ll be awesome!” It is possibly a small character flaw that I don’t ever temper the thought with some balancing imagery, maybe some rain and cold, deprivation and misery? Gradually that wee burr under the saddle became something that had to be addressed. All I needed to do, was sell the dream to people I liked and wanted on the ride … competent mates, enjoyable and resilient. This often needs a bit of planning. You don’t just go off blurting “Do you want to come to South America on a motorbike?” over the first pint. Of course candidates have to also have their shackles pretty loose and ready to be shaken free. They had to appear to like me and not be too dominating or domineering, they also had to be prepared to waste a significant amount of money doing this. How much? Dunno, never did a budget, that would