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Real People, Real Experience, Real Rides….

April 18, 2010

Trapped in the election 'village'

Droop, England – Two weeks in and I’ve already got election overload!!

No more please, if I get another election mail, a call or even told how wonderful all these prospective members of parliament are going to be to enhancing my UK motorcycling experience I’m going to blow.

As for motorcycling ‘Question Times’ it’s covered ok. Look not only are the prospective MP’s willing to say anything to get a vote, the ‘experts’ who people these things are on a career development programme similar to ’Britain’s Got Talent’ but without Amanda Holden. All of us out here in the real world know that all the ‘experts’ are simple lining up to join the next Governments little coterie of ‘expert’s. Sit on ‘expert’ committees to be ‘expert’ about motorcycling and inflict their own little self-interested personal axe grinding expertise on the rest of us.

Little wonder then that elections always result in my having a bizarre out-of-body experience. The one where I’m watching a spider, sitting in the centre of its web,  eyeing up a passing fly and doing that web jiggling thing in the hopes of obtaining lunch. Trouble is as a voter I’m not sure if I’m the spider or the fly!

Elections they give you an insight to what it would be like living in a perpetual episode of the ‘The Prisoner ‘in ‘the Village’ next to Number Six. Outside nothing inside endless election political propaganda and sycophants. But we have the means of escape, yes the motorcycle one twist of the wrist and we can leave the election far behind.

Yes folks it’s the Real Experience, Real Rides bit on the road to err nowhere…….

Spain, a hot afternoon, I had left the group of riders some hours earlier and was riding on my own across country to our overnight stop. Despite the hot day and dust the bike was running well and I had deviated from my planned route only stopping occasionally to read my map.

The road climbed from the plain and I was riding through ravines with the bikes engine noise echoing from the walls, overhead birds circled in the afternoon thermals. I came to a crossroads pulled up no direction signs, checked the map, the realization I was lost.

Checked the tank ten litres enough for 100K ho-hum. Rode straight ahead 20K later arrive in a small village, checked the map, good appeared to be around 50K from hotel, but was I actually where I thought I must be. Needed help, looked around small village nothing stirred, like a set from a 70’s spaghetti western.

I switch off the engine, kicked down the side stand and look around, a small boy is standing behind me I sit back in saddle and beckon him over. I offer him the map pointing at my supposed location; he nods but points at another spot where there is no name but a kink in the road. I point at my destination he runs his figure from the kink to the town I am riding to, I thank him he grins.

I start the bikes engine, kick up the side stand, I ride around the square in which I had been parked, the boy waves his hand, I wave back. I gun the bike out of the square at the edge of the village I look back, he’s still waving. 50 minutes later I arrive at the hotel.

It is not shown on any map………..real places never are.

Be seeing you!

© Back Roads Rider 2010

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. No Expert permalink
    April 18, 2010 8:51 pm

    A tale of today – no question time – no talent needed – he gets my vote.

    I was at a motorcycle event today taking place in a well known place where there are volatile politics at times to say the least.

    Supping a coffee and chewing the fat with fellow bikers when he arrived – one of the local candidates for Westminister.

    Was there a flurry of activity with minions – minders – flunkies? Were there “experts” swooning in his path? – NO – he just arrived.

    He wandered about looking at the bikes, people nudged each other, is that who I think it is, yes was the whispered answer.

    Not being backwards at going forwards I stuck out my hand, a warm handshake and introductions saw us talking about bikes – not politics.

    He remembered ‘her indoors’ from her first name and where we lived and a handwritten letter he had replied to regarding issues around local health services.

    Yes we got a photo opportunity with him sitting on the hack, but only because it was fun; we had a laugh and talked more about bikes.

    It was an out of body experience, but a good one. No prospective MP willing to say anything to get a vote, but a man who works hard for his constituency as a councillor and talks with people not at them.

    So no need to watch debates, read junk on what policies are best. For me, it’s voting for the man who hand writes letters to everybody that asks for his help and has a joke to share.

    If that hotel that is not on the map had a ballot box in May, it might be worth the travel, just to put an X that marks the spot.

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