Motorbiking

I was driving around the M25 as I do most Saturdays to see the aged P when about 30 bikers suddenly surrounded me, like a swarm of bees suddenly engulfing a hive. Very odd. I guess they were a club. Or maybe it was an impromptu convoy.

Doesn't take much to bring back old memories at the moment. Must be in touch with my inner child. The motorbike was a big part of my family history. My father, grandfather, uncle and stepfather all worked in the old triumph factory in South London at one time or another, and my brother-in-law's father was one of the test riders. Family folklore has it that they rebuilt a whole machine using parts "borrowed" from the company. In the sixties my dad had a motorbike and sidecar and I have vague memories as a little boy of hunkering down in the cockpit with my mother, a leather cover clipped down over our knees with string pulled through little steel eyelets, the wind stinging  my eyes.

I should probably get a tripod mounted on my dashboard with a cable release. I see a lot of interesting things when  driving every day. But then again maybe not. Health and safety and all that ...