Biker chook lives to tell the tale

Biker chook and her biker man after a weekend run

Amazing how I have gone from being too scared to open my eyes when riding pillion on my biker husband’s bike to pestering him for a ride.

He doesn’t know whether to be thrilled or scared now! After the recent long ride with a bunch of charitable bikers doing the “blanket run” to benefit the homeless, I have become more comfortable on the back of a bike, sitting upright, opening my eyes and not even clinging madly to my man.

So, on a recent weekend, with the sun shining, I was into my biker gear and jumping up and down for my man to get going. It was only a total of 100kms round trip – to a place called Wiseman’s Ferry, on the outskirts of Sydney but not too far from our home.

The ride to the old-style pub where we were to have our lunch was trouble-free – the only problem was the ungracious way I dismounted, falling on my bum into the dirt as I slid off. Great amusement to the young fellers who thought it was hilarious to see two fat old farts zooming up, with the old chook then falling in a heap.

After I picked myself up, holding on to what dignity I had left, we strode into the pub like two cool dudes, causing further amusement, or bemusement, among the patrons of all ages.

The older ones probably envied us while the youngsters were mostly pitying us. All I could think of was how my children were going to love the story, another one to tell their friends who love their mad mama tales. Am I really the only crazy woman over the age of 50? It is not as if I jumped out of a plane. That might be next year’s adventure on my quest to use it or lose it. It really is about paying back your children for all the angst they have caused you. Or maybe just to give them a good laugh.

Anyway, I’m glad I hooked up with a man who also wants to give things ago, although bike riding is not new to him as he has ridden since he was a young man, albeit a bit more sensibly now.

He does frighten me with his tales of how he roared around in his twenties, taking risks and loving it. Still, he is relatively gentle with me, happy to have his chook on the back of his bike without getting into too much of a flap.

Now he has to calm me down so I don’t want to ride more than he does! What a turn-up for the books.

Who knows, I might get my own bike one day, as other latter-day biker chicks have told me happened to them. Not likely, mind you, but watch this space!

I have a new name now – Revmama. Vroom vroom.