Erin Baker: The bike life is calling again

And since then, over four years ago, I’ve ridden just twice.

And now, I write this column from the Isle of Man, where I’m watching the TT as a guest of Honda. I was hoping that watching bikes scream past me on public roads, angels with wings, soaring above the laws of physics, my passion for motorcycling would be reignited. For the liberty it offers, and the new vectors and planes of movement it presents. For the sheer love of the physical and emotional freedom, you are gifted in the saddle of a two-wheeler that you don’t need to pedal. For that singular moment, a bat-squeak in the crack of time, when you twist the throttle and put both feet on the pegs; when you are transported, lifted, presented and guided to the air as it parts around you, a demigod in sexy leathers, grafted in attitude and bravery, in rebellion and the gamble of fate.

But it’s never quite that simple. By the time we landed here, on this rain-swept island, one man had already died and, as I write, two more riders have died today.

Right now, in my hotel room, with not a wheel turned in anger or joy, I have no interest in getting back on a bike. Today seemed too noisy, too cold, too monotonous, as we watched bikes scream past at 180mph from someone’s front lawn on Bray Hill. The whole spectacle seemed sadly just that: a two-dimensional spectacle, performed by loons in leathers. I missed my children.

But I’ve just had dinner with three-times world champion Dave Thorpe, who now runs the Honda off-road centre, and is going to take me off-roading tomorrow on an Africa Twin. I’m excited, I can feel the passion lurking again. But it was the walk back to the hotel after dinner that did it. Persuaded me to go again. We passed pubs with motorbikes in the windows, riders tumbling out onto the foggy damp street, live bands playing and beer spilling on the wooden floor, bikers singing. And outside, on the sodium-grazed pavements and cobbled streets and every patch of spare Tarmac, bikes parked up, patiently awaiting the return of their owners in the morning to carry them over the twisting dewy mountain course before the racing commences. 

Aprilias, Yamahas, Suzukis, Hondas, Ducatis, Triumphs, Nortons, Kawasakis… mile after mile of beautiful machinery. And you just know some riders will be tired, some will ache, some will have to fix and adjust their bikes before they ride off, others will have to ease helmets over aching heads. And all of a sudden I want the lifestyle again. I want that feeling when, like a horse rider, you have to get saddle-weary to get back into it again, to return to the point where you wear the bike day in, day out. I really miss that. 

So we’ll see how tomorrow goes...

Iaages courtesy of IOMTT.com