The first sunny Sunday

As I pottered around the flat yesterday, windows flung open in the warm sunlight a frequent sound bought back memories of years gone by and of the 'first sunny Sunday' in every springtime. There are very few things that I miss from my old life, save of course for my family, very few things that can fill me with instant wistful-ness and even fewer sounds that fill me instantly, with a feeling of excitement, good memories and the promise possibility of a long hot summer to come.

So of what am I talking, the sound of swallows returning from their winter vacation, of lambs bleating in the field, of lawnmowers beginning a new season of work or of people walking outside, chatting to one another and greeting neighbor's they have not seen for the duration of the winter, while they hid away indoors against the cold?

No....it is none of these, it is the unmistakable sound of high powered motorcycles chasing madly around the lanes, screaming up and down through gearboxes, 'popping' with power and signaling, for me, the start of spring.

Even here in this quiet backwater this annual pleasure can be heard, for to me it is indeed a pleasure......as I listened to these feats of engineering given their head, for the first time this year I was there with them, I felt the power, went smoothly through the box with them at the corners, felt the machine become part of the person, the wrench on my shoulders as they braked hard and accelerated even harder and felt the power of the air around my body.

Yeah, so some will say it's a dangerous pass-time, that these reckless petrol heads risk their lives for an adrenaline rush and disturb the peace and quiet, but for me nothing ever came close to being so much fun ( Ok...maybe just one thing). After a long winter on four wheels the first sunny Sunday in spring always heralded the beginning of a new season of everything fun one can do in leather. Memories of hastily made phone calls among those like minded friends as we realised that at last summer was on it's way, the roads were dry, the sun was out and we could go play together. Memories of 30 or so bikes, winding, snake-like through the countryside, blowing away the winter cobwebs, the feeling of power, of torque, of speed and of utter freedom.

Yes, the sound of screaming engines, the Ducati dry clutch 'clunk', the Kawasaki 'whistle' and of pegs and sliders hitting tarmac is music to my ears.

Take it easy guys.....but not too easy......

Bugger and damn........I miss it!