Peter Rae: from 'Motorcycle Touring', Osprey, 1982

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Skins
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Peter Rae: from 'Motorcycle Touring', Osprey, 1982

Post by Skins »

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The narrow road twisted, turned, snaked and climbed tortuously through the Wicklow mountains. Snow-covered fields on either side rolled endlessly away into the hills, blinding white in the early March afternoon. A pale yellow sun hung low in a cloudless eggshell-blue sky, bathing the entire fairytale scene in a picturesque glow, but doing nothing to raise the temperature more than a degree or two above freezing.

Four small motorcycles pressed on towards the summit, swinging sinuously from side to side in tune with the sweeping bends, the only moving objects on the desolate landscape. We hadn’t passed a car in miles or seen a living soul since Aughavanagh slipped past in our mirrors. The snow ploughs had been out and the roads were damp from the melting snow, but clear. Kevin was in the lead on his Honda 175, keeping warm with his regulation two pairs of trousers and socks, three sweaters, two pairs of gloves, thick scarf, heavy boots and Barbour jacket. Seamus was shivering to death on the pillion, his skinny frame covered only in thin cotton trousers, one sweater, a short anorak and walking shoes. He really looked as if he might suffer from exposure if we didn’t find shelter soon. Denis wasn’t much better off; just as his 175 relied on string and wire to stay together, so he too depended on two elastic bands around the cuffs of his casual leather jacket to keep the wind at bay. Such ingenious refinements were not to be found around the wide open cuffs of my double-breasted car coat, and the chill breeze played cruel games around my wrists, up the sleeves and down the billowing back. As I leaned my newly acquired and rare 1963 CB92 Sports Benly through the corners just ahead of Brendan’s Honda 90, my chattering teeth created a greater racket than the high-revving engine below.

It was a fine day. In Ireland, when the sun shines it’s always a fine day – whatever the temperature. The appearance of that glowing orb in Irish skies is such an unusual occurrence that all lovers of the outdoors have to make the most of every opportunity. That’s precisely what we were doing, but even I questioned our collective sanity as we crested the rise near the Turlough Hill hydroelectric power station and dropped down into the next valley, heading back towards Dublin, home and warmth before the sun finally dropped below the horizon, taking with it the last illusions or friendliness and comfort.

The fun part of the ride was well and truly over and from here on the trip became an ordeal to be finished with as quickly as possible. We went our separate ways at Stillorgan, elated but dangerously cold. Back in the warmth of the Rae family kitchen it was a good half-hour before sufficient feeling returned to my frigid digits to let me pour a cup of badly needed hot coffee. Instead, I killed the time in front of the gas fire looking at the map to see where we’d been. It was the first time I had ventured any distance on my motorcycle and I was keen to find out just how many miles we’d clocked up.

We’d ridden 75 miles! We laugh now, looking back, but I was so ecstatic I called Denis to break the good news! When you’re 17 with your first real bike and your usual riding beat rarely extends beyond suburbia, then covering 75 miles in an afternoon just for fun is something of which you can be justly proud.

From: 'Motorcycle Touring', by Peter ‘the Bear’ Thoeming and Peter Rae
Osprey Publishing Limited, 1982
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fasterdammit
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Post by fasterdammit »

Cold? Nothing a pint or four of Guiness won't cure! :thumbup:

Nice find!
Just because you're not dead doesn't necessarily mean you're living, either.
1988 Paso 750 #753965
1997 Monster 750
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