JUST ANOTHER BIKE STORY

2010. M50 motorway, Dublin, the bike is BMW1200GS.

There are blue lights in my mirror, which means the game is over. I indicate, change the lane, brake, kill the engine, take the helmet off and make myself small and guilty. The victim of the circumstances, that’s me. All by the book. I observe a little red car screaming past me, leaving two skid marks, stopping and letting out a very angry young Garda. Angry, yes. I got slightly carried away so he had a tough time trying to catch up with the 1200cc bike. I assume the position and prepare myself to the possibility of various objects being inserted up my anus. Well deserved possibility, I might add. Then I notice something strange. The Garda is wearing bike leathers.

Me, still in a receptive position: ‘Why leathers, officer?’

Garda, walking towards me, holding handcuffs and still fuming at the mouth: ‘What? Leathers?.. Oh… well, me bike’s at the garage’

Me: ‘What’s the bike and what’s wrong?’

Garda: ‘’Deuville, battery’s not charging’

Me: ‘I know, I know, had one myself, Hondas are good, but electrics get them down.’

Garda, forgetting my crimes against humanity, trying to discreetly put handcuffs away and looking slightly embarrassed: ‘So, what’s with the Beemer, how’s she handling in the wet?’

We spend next 20 minutes talking bikes, engines, brakes, tyres, gloves, lids, handling etc. We have a smoke and exchange bike stories. He looks my bike over, gets under, gets dirty, checks suspension, flicks the ignition, makes knowing face, then we have another smoke. Suddenly he remembers that he is a police officer and I am the bad dude, makes half-hearted attempt to make himself angry again, fails completely, smiles and says: ‘Alright, alright. Tell you what. Let you out with the warning. Now. Nice to meet ya. Go on, drive safe.’