I felt the first trickle of water penetrate my right boot as we passed Cumbernauld. Only 23 miles, that’s got to be a record. To be fair, the amount of spray on the M80 was prodigious, matched in volume only by the rain falling incessantly from a leaden sky. By the time we got to the rally point and went for a wander, both my feet were squelching and Samantha, my once eager pillion, was turning a pasty shade of blue.
“Let’s go to the Easter run, Dad,” she’d said.
“It’ll be fun,” she’d said.
Not so funny now, huh?
Rat bikes, choppers, sports and super-sports, cruisers, muscle bikes, trikes, quads, pit bikes and even a fully loaded Goldwing with two (2) cup holders (it’s owner tried to flog it to me but I politely declined. If I want to drive something THAT heavy I’ll buy a truck), they were all there. With a continuous stream still rolling up.
What a turn out, particularly on such a shitty day, and everyone was in a good mood, even me with my squelchy boots.
I had a quick scout for the YesBikers, we were going to tie up with them though we had run late, but didn’t recognise any of their bikes there and there were no saltires flying — this is not a political event (time and a place and all that). That said, the Goldwing was flying a butcher’s apron, so not everyone was abiding by the, albeit unwritten, rules.
There were people dressed as rabbits or Elmo from the muppets (someone tell me what Elmo has to do with Easter, please?). Both Spiderman and Superman were in attendance. As was a Minion (on pillion – he’d never have reached the handlebars) and bunny ears adorned helmets everywhere.
By the time we wiped the water from the saddle and moseyed out, the steady stream had become a river of motorcycles running more than a mile long (I couldn’t see further than that). In the past at this event, or on funeral runs, we sent outriders ahead to block side-streets. Ths allowing an uninterrupted flow that ignored all other traffic and red lights. This time, the boys (and at least one girl – I saw the pony tail hanging out of the helmet) in blue were out en-mass to do the job for us. There must have been a dozen police bikers and another 30 or 40 officers on foot holding traffic back as we made our way slowly through the city.
People lined the streets with cameras and phones, clutching kids and receiving high-fives from riders as they passed.
There were as many smiles on the ground as there were on the roads.
To most motorists bridges are ignored or used as brief shelter from the sun on hot days. To bikers, bridges are auditoriums and tunnels are concert halls. Today they reverberated with the thunder of a million ccs of motorcycle engines as each one of us tried to drown out the others in a frenzy of revs so loud that it’s a minor miracle no one threw a rod.
Kids and staff lined the entrance road to the hospital, waving and cheering as the bikes arrived. Little faces plastered up against windows in wards and stairwells watched, open mouthed, as wave after wave of bikes descended on the hospital car park, forming rank upon rank of metal and leather.
We didn’t stay long, Samantha was visibly shivering by the time she got off the bike at the hospital and I was so wet my jeans had become one with my legs. I couldn’t have been more soaked if I’d fallen in a river. I gave some consideration to peeing in my jeans just to warm up!
We were dreading the 40 mile run home in pissing rain at 10 degrees (if) above freezing, so we phoned ahead to get Susy to put the hot water on for a bath and a shower, grabbed a quick coffee and booted it up the motorway.
Both of us required assistance to get out of our gear when we got back.
Will we do it again?
Damn right.
Miserable as the weather was, the company was braw, the kids faces were worth all the discomfort and the knowledge that more than 1,000 bikes, riders and pillions raised over £20,000 in one day for the Children’s Hospital warms my cockles (even though there are other bits that may not thaw out for a week).
My first Easter charity run was nigh on three decades ago. I hope Sam and Doug are still doing them 30 years from now.
(Image courtesy of YesBikers)
