Hamish McShanks

Ham Shanks Secret Diary w/e 8^th July 2007

My brother looked at me incredulously ‘Your bike test?’, ’yes’ I replied curtly ‘your motorbike test?’ he continued with barely disguised disdain ‘no my fecking cycling proficiency test’ I replied hotly, ‘of course the motorbike test!’ he raised his eyebrows and exhaled theatrically ‘dunno, I could have believed the cycling one; are you still a member of the secret squirrel savers club?’, ‘oh ha ha’, ‘don’t you think it’s about time you cancelled your subscription to Commando magazine?’, ‘Your looking for a skelp in the puss sunshine‘, ‘sorry I thought we had been transported back to the late seventies and we were eleven again; do you want a new train set as well?’

‘Your cruising laddy’ I hissed through gritted teeth, giving him the full force of my mesma-death stare at the same time. He raised his eyebrows ‘can I get you some senekot?’ slamming down my coffee cup I grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling his face up to mine ‘What’s so fucking hard to fucking undersfuckingtand’ I screamed ‘all I want to do is get my motorfuckingbike fuuuuuckinglicence!’ relinquishing my grip on his shirt I dropped him back into the kitchen chair. He calmly mopped the spittle off his brow ‘Ooooooh you’re having a mid life crisis, now I understand!’

The remainder of the conversation was carried out through the medium of fists.

‘Ok Mr Shanks’, ‘can I call you Ham?’, ‘by all means’ I had been expecting some big greasy biker to be doing the training, but it turned out my instructor was a very nice woman by the name of Rosie ‘Ok Ham, lets see if we can find a helmet that’ll fit over that broken nose’ she rummaged through a box of bike kit occasionally handing out a helmet or a pair of gloves. After half an hour of modelling the very latest in motorcycle apparel I was finally looking like a biker; all I needed now was a bike. I’d booked myself on to the ‘direct access’ course. This is the one where you sit your test on a 500cc motorbike and assuming you pass; you are then allowed to ride any size bike straight away. I couldn’t wait.

‘Okay Ham let’s have a look at the bike you’ll be riding’ I was soooo excited as we walked over to the training area. The instructor opened the door of a large container and I peered eagerly inside ‘this is a Honda CG125cc four stroke motorbike’ my face was tripping me ‘what?’ it was about the size of a bmx ‘when do we get on the proper ones?’ I enquired in a particularly whiny voice ‘one step at a time we-’, ‘I thought we were doing the big bikes’ I interrupted ‘You have to do the basic training on a 125 first Mr Shanks’, ‘Wannnabigbike!!’ I screamed as she wheeled the bike out of the container ‘so let’s familiarise ourselves with the controls’, ‘wannabigbike wannabig bike! WANNABIGONE!’ I howled until my face went crimson.

This response was given short shrift; I was forced to go and hang from the naughty hook until I calmed down. Only after ten minutes thinking carefully about what I’d done and a ‘proper’ apology did the training continue ‘m’really sorry Rosie promise I’ll behave’ I sniffled as she removed the bike chain from my ankles, lowered me to the ground, and resumed her explanation of the bikes controls.

The C.B.T. (Compulsory Basic Training) was in fact a dawdle but I have to confess that I did actually own a 125 bike when I was seventeen and had ridden for a couple of years until I finally got around to passing my car test. So it did all come back to me quite quickly, after all it’s just like riding a bike …. Well where the fuck did you thing the saying came from? Hmmm?

Aaaaanyway once I’d sampled the delights of four wheeled motoring i.e. being dry and actually able to keep up with traffic rather than being at the mercy of it. The lure of the motorcycle lost its attractions. I have however been kicking myself ever since that I didn’t just sit by bike test at the same time. It would have been a dawdle.

In those days your bike test consisted of whizzing around a few cones in a car park before being sent round the block on your bike. At some point the examiner would jump out in front of you, dressed as a woman or a baby, and you would have to do an emergency stop without killing him. Ok so the dressing up part is a fib but I’m pretty sure the examiner wanted to live. There was certainly no ‘pursuit’ test. Nowadays you are linked up with the examiner via radio and he follows you on another motorbike watching your every move. It’s a fecking nightmare. Unless of course you are properly trained; Enter Rosie stage right.

I’d elected to do the ‘condensed’ tuition which consisted of four days consecutive training followed by my test on the fifth day. It was indeed ‘intensive’. I don’t think the communist Chinese, The Scientologists or The Moonies could have done a better job brain washing me. We were linked up by radio and by thend of the four days I’d ridden round Stirling so many times I felt I could do it in my sleep. Every turn I made I could hear Rosies voice in my head ‘Observation, Signal, Manoeuvre, too early with the lifesaver glance, ‘straighten up and rear observation, c’mon boot it up this is national speed limit, get moving go go go!’ I was waiting for the lesson where she was going to blindfold me and I would have to use ‘The Force’ to get around., but it never came.

It was all worth on the day because I realised it was my own voice in my head telling me what to do (no not the crazy one; he’s quiet as long as I keep taking the lithium carbonate) the sane one was telling me to do all the right things at the right times and I breezed the test - Passed with only 2 minor faults – Woo and indeed HOO!

It was with the utmost relish that I knocked on my twin brothers’ door that evening. He took a couple of minutes to answer as I leaned on the door bell whilst knocking loudly and repeatedly on the wooden door with my other hand. The door was finally wrenched open ‘WHAT!’ he shouted ‘Oh it’s you?’ he was fumbling to zip up his fly so clearly I had caught him ‘incognito’ (or having a shite as we call it in Scotland) ‘What do you want?’ he muttered angrily, our previous fight clearly not forgotten ‘I’d like to gloat please’ I replied brandishing my pass certificate in his face ‘HA! Take that ye bawbag’, ‘midlife crisis my backside!’

He examined the document before handing it back ‘Oh aye very good’ he replied ‘what are you getting next? A tattoo and a piercing?’ nonplussed at his reaction I gave him the finger before stomping back to the car. Slumping into the drivers seat I fished out my mobile ‘How the fuck did he know that?’ I mumbled as I hit speed dial ‘Hello Gary’, ‘Ham here’, ‘aye am going to give the Prince Albert a miss pal’, ‘Aye it’s just not me’

Doei

Ps Sorry Mum but Neil and Fraz BOTH knew I was getting a bike and they said nothing so they are as much to blame as me – more in fact if you think about it …..