Saturday, September 3
I live opposite a biker bar
OK, OK, it's a pub. But it's a magnet for some of the area's proper British bikers... those that are not swayed by the vagaries of fashion; who wouldn't dream of swapping their camo gear, Storming the Castle t-shirts and hair dye for Pendletons, Vans and hair grease.
You don't even need a bike to be a proper British biker; a trike is better, and you don't need to bother with a silly motorcycle licence. And you can pull a caravan, or a trailer to rallies where you can sit around campfires sharing your vegan fare with other caravan-haulers. Ever heard a Robin Reliant engine through straight pipes? I have, outside my office window, numerous times a day.
I've never been a biker. And this is why. Although as my wife says as she looks at me pitifully, "at least they're riding."