Biker Chick

The heat inside the warehouse is intense, and the dust immediately gets in our eyes and tickles our throat. Around a dozen others are already here, in various stages of getting themselves and their bikes ready for whatever adventures lie ahead. We’ve all travelled from Ireland to Germany, enjoying the luxury of the bike being shipped separately but even so, there are multiple things to be checked before turning the ignition. Leads have to be pulled and brakes tested; lights flicked, and screws tightened; boxes shaken and panniers adjusted.  Meanwhile I stand idly by, wondering where the changing room is so that I can don my biking gear but it eventually dawns on me, with each unveiling of a pasty white chest and smelly feet, that this dusty, sweating warehouse IS the changing room! Having confirmed this shocking news with GG I hastily strip, taking advantage of the fact that everyone is busy pulling and prodding their much loved machines, and get through the process of shedding my pedestrian gear for the real deal.

Biker clothing is a whole new world to me. It’s expensive, as label driven as any high-end boutique, but must be utterly functional. Leathers are hardly ever worn now due to the technical developments of gore tex and the like, which are waterproof but breathable. Designed for safety they do nothing for the (ahem) fuller figure! There is padding at the knees and hips, elbows and shoulders, all adding inches to the expansive silhouette. There’s even padding in the crutch although just what way I’d have to fling myself off the bike to utilise that particular safety device I’m not sure, but it does guarantee a decidedly unsexy walk and inability to sit any way other than cowboy style.
And then there are the layers required for riding anywhere cool, (thermal long johns and t- shirts have now become staple items my wardrobe!), all of which adds up to one hefty, bulky profile. So, let’s get one thing straight: I don’t care what Marianne Faithful says, biking is not glamorous.

There are also the packing restrictions to consider. When we went to Mexico earlier this summer, my sixteen-year-old daughters’ wash bag was bigger than my entire luggage for this trip! I have brought one pair of shoes, no smart clothes and certainly nothing that requires ironing or care. There is absolutely no need for make-up either because you just cannot wear make-up AND a helmet. It ends up getting smeared and leaving horrible smudges in the lining so far better to just forget the idea. (Apart from lipstick, which obviously doesn’t count).

And if you have an image of a woman taking off her helmet to reveal glossy locks that unfurl and wave about gently as she tosses her hair in the wind, well, think again! The reality is that the hair on top sticks to your head, flat and dull, while anything below the ears juts out in wispy, static induced frizzy bits. It’s not a good look. 

So why bother? What’s the trade off? I’m a mere novice at this biking malarkey but I have quickly come to love the sense of freedom on the bike; the rush of the wind against my chest when we pick up speed; the ability to see so much more than in a car, the view unfettered by windows and metal; the thrill of weaving through traffic and getting to the top of the queue! Then there’s the camaraderie with other bikers and the sense of being part of a secret gang. And if I’m brutally honest, I like the fact that people look at bikers. They may look with disdain or envy, irritation or awe, but look they do, and my fragile ego enjoys that!! But the main joy of riding a bike is the level of connection with the environment. Smells pierce the helmet, whether it’s of freshly mown grass, nearby cattle or honeysuckle in the hedgerow. Watching the road speed beneath my feet and feeling the thrum of the engine means I’m keenly aware of every mile we travel. And on this, our first day of this adventure, that’s close on 1400 miles of glorious scenery, sun filled days and countless bends and curves ahead!