Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against motor bikes or the men and women who ride them. There must be a place for them in the grand scheme of this world. But when 200 motor bikes (and their men and women) start clogging up the cobbled lanes of St Ives on a sunny Sunday afternoon, I draw a line.
While walking along in a peaceful, uninterrupted silence a faint rumbling noise reached our ears. The noise grew until it became a roar, and the roar was coming our way.
There is no possible way to walk or talk when hundreds of motor bikes are roaring at you and maybe even frightening you into bits. Several other pedestrians stopped, too - some ladies out walking their barking dogs and a young, beautiful couple standing and staring at the edge of the street.
There are not many truly gorgeous people in this world, but these were definitely two of them. Apart from the man's multiple tattoos, these young people were smashing. The woman's blond/brown softly curled hair fell to her waist. She wore a long leather-look dress, boho beads, and other super cute accountrements. I was impressed. But there really was no time to stare at them. I was staring at the motorbikers.
I hope you can see in this video what we saw in real life. These were not your ordinary, work-a-day bikers; neither were they Hell's own angels. They were long-bearded, three-piece-suit-wearing, boot-wearing and sequin-encrusted riders, but in a really masculine way. One wore a black-tie affair, very spiffy with a beard and mustache that curled at the corners of his mouth.
There were a variety of helmets, from World War One Kaiser helmets to heavy-duty Viet Nam era head gear. Their ladies behind them were dressed up too. They were pretty, waving and cheering as they flew by, but were not as impressive as their men.
When it looked like the parade was over, we turned and struck up a conversation with the beautiful couple nearby.
"Do you know why they are here?" asked the man.
"No," we said. "We have no idea."
"Maybe a wedding?" said the woman, who was wearing long, pretty earrings. "It would be cool to go to a wedding all filled up with motor bikers. They would have to have it out of doors, I think. Maybe it's a biker-wedding and the first two in line were the couple.."
We ran out of things to say, then, and they wandered off.
It may seem strange to you, dear Readers, that the SconeLady - when she was a teenager - used to want to ride a motor bike. Because I wanted to, a motor biking school friend brought his over for me to ride, sitting behind him. Off we went, as he made loud engine noises that hurt my ears.
Pretty soon he produced a flashing red contraption that looked like a police light.
"What is that?" I asked plaintively.
"You'll see," he answered, then pulling up behind a car, he turned it on. The car stopped.
What!? Was he pretending to be a policeman? Who on earth was in the car he had stopped? Great heavens!
Thankfully we did not hang around to 'interview' the car driver, but made our escape. Suddenly I no longer wanted to ride a motor bike. What I wanted was to go home.
That is my only motor biker story. I was reminded of it as we stood watching the strangely bearded and smiling bikers. It also reminded me of the lesson I had learned that day long ago:
Never get behind an idiot on a motor bike who wants to be a policeman, but will never be anything more than a security guard.
See you along the way!
the SconeLady
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