Some might say there’s more polishing than riding going on here, but every now and again your sticker-covered, opened face piece of nostalgia gets worn as you you throw a leg over that tricked out piece of art you call your 'street scrambler', 'bobber' or 'cafe racer'.
If it looks like it was built by NASA and was designed for re-entry then you’ll probably be wearing it. Gloves with sliders, knees with sliders, elbows with sliders, toes with sliders - you've got the gear and you'll take any excuse to use it.
Across the plains of the Serengeti, up the mountains of the Himalayas, tracing the ancient route of the Incas or picking up milk from your local Waitrose. You love to explore all four corners of the world. In the meantime though, those metal panniers will just have to work their magic keeping your sandwiches safe on those Sunday rides.
You're the flip fronted, intercommed exploring type who lives or dies by TripAdvisor. You'll spend days in the seat eating up those miles - taking in the sights, sounds and smells is what it's all about. You and your passenger keep up the constant commentary through the intercom (unless you discreetly turn down the volume!).
Car mirrors are your trophies, the weather is your nemesis. You flick the ‘V’ to those car drivers sat in endless queues of traffic. You revel in that extra hour in bed, you smirk at the car driver digging around in the glovebox for meter change. You are the true biker, not fazed even by the worst the British weather can throw at you. We salute you.
Some people run, some people pound a punch bag and a few even jump out of a plane. You, however, prefer to put a bike through its paces every weekend on a track with jumps higher than a house. If you aren’t carrying an injury then you simply don’t ride hard enough - your kind are built from tough stuff.
You yearn for days more simple - a world of leaky crankcases without EFi or traction control. If it's got a push button then you’re not interested. End of. Some would say it’s a form of masochism, you believe it’s truly the purest form of motorcycling. Either way, you demand respect - even if you have got a pocket full of cable ties and oily rags.