While relaxing , well … trying to , the other night I cast my thoughts back to a time long , long past . A time when I could wear sharp-looking trousers without causing distress or alarm to any passing young children . I cast what ’ s left of my mind back to some bar in the south of England , in lovely Brighton , and me and three or four other motorcyclingsoaked lads were talking about sounds … the sounds of motorcycles . We were keeping an eye on the clock above the bar as we were awaiting our call to board a ferry boat across to “ the other side ” ( as one of the London lads termed it ) as part of our journey to the Belgian GP at Spa . It was 1977 . And my Kiwi accomplice John Woodley would be riding there . Against the likes of Barry Sheene ( who poured me a drink at the end of race day ) and Agostini … and a whole lot of other fine names aboard fine 500cc twostrokes . “ I can tell the difference ‘ tween a 500 Yammy and an RG ,” one of the lads insisted , and we all agreeable nodded … for yes , you could . We warbled on about the sound of motorcycles , in between the sound of the grand chap who ran the inn coming over and asking “ nuvver round lads ?” Easy answer to that one .

We waxed lyrical ( not surprising in the wake of the pints we were sending on their way ) about how it was always a spot of audio fun to be able to listen closely , at the exhausting tunes of a distant bike , and come up with a conclusion as to what it probably was . “ You can always pick a single ,” the lad from Birmingham with the beaut Sheene T-shirt declared . More nods , as the next round arrived . “ Do they serve grog on the ferry ?” I think I asked at that point , and drew a sea of amused faces … one of them answering that “ yeah … we ’ re pretty well up with the play on this side of the world ya dopey Kiwi .” I got some kudos and respect back when I announced I would get in the next round , as we still had 23 minutes to go before we had to get to the waiting bus which would take us aboard our English Channel taxi . I also got some points back when I said it was easy to pick the sound of a distant four cylinder Honda with altered pipes , but it was challenging to determine if it was a 500 or a 750 . “ Mmmm ”, was the collective response . And I got a boatload of credit back when I said I had a four-cylinder 350 back home ( a model you couldn ’ t find in Blighty in ’ 77 ) and it sounded like bliss at 10,000 rpm .

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KIWI RIDER SEPTEMBER 2021 VOL1 | Page 86