Following on very loosely!

Chelsea Bridge.

At the age of 17 I acquired a fascination with bikes, not the healthy pedal models the very large petrol (or something more interesting) propelled type..... and a small but obsessive biker was born. I add hurriedly here,I was never the long haired, greasy, tattooed, with multiple piercing breed, more the 'bum up head down' speed freak type, though of course safety dictated I wore leathers and consequently 'Joe public' has a tendency to stereotype us all.

At 8 stone and 5 foot tall whilst I could and did ride, I generally chose to pillion given that anything worth riding was far too much of a handful for me. For those of you who have never experienced the thrill of 170 mph or the low end torque believe me you need to have some considerable upper body strength! Though I say so myself I was a good pillion, my size dictated that the rider hardly knew I was there, I was fearless and I was the only person I knew who could 'get my knee down' on the back of a ZXR9.

It was perhaps my one 'anti establishment' stand. Day to day I have always been and will always be a democracy believing, law abiding citizen and somehow biking was among other things a small escape from that.

I did all the 'biker' things...... reunion rides to Brighton, Saturday and Sundays riding everywhere and anywhere, holidays touring and all the shows, Birmingham NEC, Crystal palace etc, my second wedding took place in leathers and on a bike.
One of the 'must do's at the time was Friday night at 'Chelsea Bridge', it was probably also the stupidest. For those of you who are not unfortunate enough to live near Chelsea Bridge or stupid enough to have been involved in this ritual I will expand.

On a Friday nights bikers from allover the South East and London converge on Chelsea bridge having 'screamed' their respective routes via the likes of 'The Ace Cafe' and other 'biker friendly' establishments.



Having arrived, those who are the most stupid race the bridge and perform many and various hair raising stunts, whilst the remaining hundreds look on. This of course is not an 'official' or 'approved' meeting and it goes without saying is extremely dangerous. If those involved wish to risk their lives that is their choice but to risk the lives of the public is another matter entirely. It does of course attract the attention of the police and in latter years (this has gone on since the late 60's)has largely been well controlled by them.

I say this now from a point of disapproval. At the time I was involved I disapproved and agreed with all the arguments against it, the danger, the cost of policing etc. but strangely and conversely at the time I loved it. I knew I shouldn't and I constantly argued with myself over it but I loved it none the less. Perhaps it was my one attempt at rebelling......whatever I am glad to be out of it now.

You may be wondering from the title of this post what it is following on from? At the end of Chelsea Bridge road is a service station which made a good living on Friday nights. It was the only place close at hand, late at night, offering coffee, food and lavatorial facilities. One such night, freezing cold and wind worn,trying to force my hands to work well enough to hold onto a hot drink and paying no attention to what was going on around me, I bowled headlong into some poor shopper trying to control two children and buy a few necessities. I spectacularly emptied my drink over him and at the same time trod squarely on his feet with my none too feminine boots. I looked up in horror, full of apology and embarrassment at the voice uttering expletives in my direction to see that the individual I had assaulted was Bob Geldof!

Probably not the introduction to one of my hero's I would have wished for!