I’d heard of a café where all the “boys” used to hang out and decided that it has to be the place for me, so all the gear on tank of two stroke and off I sped on the Bantam to of all places, The Busy Bee, north of where I resided. They reckoned that hundreds of Ton-Up boys gathered there on a Sunday afternoon. When I got there, I could see no-one, an empty area so I park the little Beeza, and sit on the wall out front and wonder.
Eager me of course, too early in the day; then they started to arrive, thundering into the Bee, making the most of the sound of their bikes as they changed down 4th, 3rd, 2nd, 1st with white scarves trailing in the wind, pudding basin crash hats, feet back, clip-ons, some solo, others with a girl in tow. This is the Biz: all powerful stuff to me – but hold on! Look where they are parking their bikes, all around my Bantam, loads of them, they’re smoking fags chatting and laughing and drinking coffee. The time is getting on, it’s getting late – how long before I pluck up enough courage to go forth and remove, somewhat red faced my little Bantam from this wild looking crowd, who would, for the crack throw me and my bantam into the woods opposite, just for a laugh.
I decided to sit it out until the majority had left the Bee that evening – to escape before the next wave arrived, muttering that “my kid brother had left his bike here somewhere, tut, tut just imagine riding one of these”, with that I knocked it of its stand and pushed it down the slope into the pub car park next door.
I was free, I started it up clicked it into first and sped off into the sunset vowing that the next time I turn up there at the Bee I would do it in style.
To be continued…..