First love..... a red Fastback.

The Red Fastback


Some women never leave you, and nor do some bikes. The memories that come flooding back when I look at a Norton Commando, are real powerful........ so much that they sometimes shock me.

I saw a Red 750cc Norton Commando Fastback parked up the other day, and I was in a right old nostalgic state...... couldn't leave it, and kept walking back to it. A bright red Fastback .... she was one of my young life’s “Firsts”.

I wanted to take it home sooooo much. Wanted to feel her under me again, wanted to touch her, feel her throbbing between my legs, like only a Norton Commando can. Wanted to run my hands over her polished alloy timing chest… trace the word ‘Norton’ so beautifully cast into the alloy, like I used to do when I was polishing my old Fastback.

I wanted to get on her again, and feel that precious moment again, when I bought mine from Bridge Garage, in Exeter. It too was a red Fastback. A beautiful, gleaming red Fastback, and I fell for her the first time I saw her, crammed amongst all the other second-hand bikes in their showroom;… all looking like abandoned and forgotten souls wanting to be loved again.

I bought her without a second thought.

I was barely twenty, been riding like living was going out of fashion since sixteen, but was still pretty raw to ride a bike like her as she was the biggest, most powerful bike I’d ever ridden.

I rode her away from Bridge Garage, up onto the busy flyover roundabout, stopped her and just sat there tight to the curb with the traffic going by. Her engine was patiently ticking over, heaving and shuddering on the rubber mountings in that lovely Commando "rubbery" way, and it was a moment I’ve never forgotten. She was quietly waiting for me to do what I wanted to her, anyhow, anywhere, any time, any place. Quietly twittering away in that uniquely way those Commandos did through her kicked-up twin peashooter silencers, and seeming to say;

"I’m ready when you are, sonny boy, take your time".

She was so latently mighty, so brutal, and I felt afraid of her but somehow not at the same time. I can remember saying to myself... "What have I bought? What have I done?"... I’d just exchanged a nearly new Bonnie, [650cc Triumph Bonneville], for her, but compared to the Bonnie this thing felt like I'd moved up into the Big Boys league ......... Like , REALLY moved in with them, and I wondered if I was up to it right that moment. I was a nutter and I was good, bloody good, but was I good enough for this? Sitting there on that flyover, I wasn't so sure.

She felt like such a handful She was so tall, splayed my legs so wide, was heavy, solid and just exuded pure badness, the likes of which I'd never felt under me before. She made me want to scowl at the world. She was like the sort of girl you wouldn't want your dear old Mum to see you out with. She was going to do some real BAAAAD stuff with me. She knew it, and so did I. She also seemed to know it was my first time in the big league, and that I was sitting there, unsure of myself and not knowing quite what to do with her. I could sense that she just wanted me to let her clutch out again and ride her, and somehow I just knew she’d show me the way.

I can remember how she felt as I thought to myself, “OK, no way to back out of this thing now,” and gingerly eased the clutch lever out. She just grunted as the revs dropped, I felt her trying to stall, but refusing to at the same time. I automatically gave her a touch more throttle and she grunted softly dug deep and unexpectedly lunged forward. I snatched the clutch in again and slipped it a bit longer the next time.

I rode her through the heavy and slow Exeter traffic, and it was a very steep learning curve. Lots of lunging forward every time I let that clutch right in and a good bit untidy until I got the measure of her gearing. She was so high geared compared to the Bonnie, that you just had to slip the clutch all the time and daren't let your hand off it once it was really in. She would run away with you if you didn’t snatch that clutch in quickly enough when the traffic slowed. She'd run you into the back of the car in front, all too easily. As soon as the clutch bit, she just surged forward grumpily with hardly any revs on. She was saying "If you think THIS is trouble, wait until you really let me loose", just like the Bad Girl she was. I couldn’t wait to get out of town and get some room around us.

Finally, we got out onto the lovely open roads, and in a few miles I was giving her all the beef she could feed on and trying for all I was worth not to wind up throwing her down the road. Sure, I was overcooking it all over the place and had some real near misses, but I just didn't care, in the way you don’t when you’re so young and invincible. I was laughing at her way of being so fast without trying at all.

I remember that the most clearly of all; feeling so damn happy and laughing aloud so much as I rode her non-stop all that hot and glorious sunny afternoon.

This was different from the Bonnie. That was fast for it's day, but this girl was REALLY fast, mean as hell and took no prisoners. This was what I'd always wanted for as long as I could remember. I'd always thought it would be somthing like this in all the hours I'd spent as a kid sitting on Dad's old 1952 BSA B31, wearing his leather flying helmet and goggles and dreaming of riding like a God. Now here I was, doing it for real on a top-end bike. She was a Superbike of her day, and I knew nothing was going to be the same again. One of those moments in life, and as sweet, timeless and memorable as making love to a girl for the first time; when everything changes, and an innocence is lost forever.

It was such a perfect time, that first ride on her back and I think it was the first time I ever felt a bike really looking after me. No matter what I did wrong, she seemed to just show me how to get out of it. Like an experienced woman making love to a young boy, she gently showed me the way to please her, and the more I pleased her the better it got. She'd been around the block a few times, and there was a soft power in the way she handled under me. I loved her from those first few miles, and I never, ever, stopped loving her. She made me feel just so proud to be on her back and I rode her all the rest of that day and deep into the dusky moonlit darkness. I just couldn't stop. I laughed a lot that afternoon and I never felt prouder when I finally parked her up, so tired and so happy that I'd found something so very special.

When I went to bed that night, everything felt like it had changed. I was different from who I was when I'd woken that morning. I was finally the Greaser I always wanted to be. Head to toe in creaking black leather, a white silk scarf made from genuine coffin liner and walking so tall. No one was going to mess with me now, I thought, and y'know, no one has ever since.

Anytime I want to, I can conjure up that first hesitant moment when I had paused in wonder, sitting quietly on the flyover there on the cusp of something so new. Listening to her ticking over patiently, blipping the throttle and feeling the huge shudder under me from that lovely big-twin motor spinning itself up.

Seeing that pretty Red Fastback the other day, took my breath away and threw the passing years  aside. Like turning a corner, suddenly seeing a first love again and feeling the trembling, breathless surprise of her,.... and it being the first time you saw her all over again.

© Kevin Udy 23/03/05

Thinking of polishing.......... and the chances of it all....... :o)

Second blog for Thursday, which is bleddy good, don’t you think? Word count for the month will be brilliant if I can rabbit on about some bugger-all something-or-other for a while, eh?

I’m on the beach at Axmouth ……… or is it Seaton? If you come in from one end, it’s Seaton, from the other end it’s Axmouth. Confusing for a chap, doncherknow? ……….. Anyway, I finally got my ass on the Harley and trundled down here in the end at about mid-day. Lovely weather, just warm enough, not too hot, and the beach pretty deserted. Perfect. I’ve been sat here reading a bit, thinking a bit, but mostly I started to sift through the pebbles around me. I started to pick the good ones out, and into the side pockets of the haversack.

I know what y’all are asking yourselves here. Why would a grown man, (as I sometimes laughingly call myself, even if no one else seems to deem it a fit and proper description), be taking pebbles home?

Years ago………… more than I like to admit to, I bought all the equipment you needed to tumble pebbles and stones, and so polish them. Why? Same as always… It seemed a real good idea at the time.

In case you don’t know it, you put the stones inside a small drum, along with water and different grades of abrasive grit, starting with coarse grit, and working down to very fine grit for the final polish. The drum is revolved by a very small electric motor, and so the pebbles and stones tumble over each other constantly, the grit grinds them smooth, and eventually they end up polished like jewels. It makes a helluva racket, and takes months, certainly weeks.

They look bleddy fantastic when they’re finished, though, and out of the one single batch I did (Yup, just the one, and never did it again!!), I sent the best up to my young niece as a ‘box of jewels’ for her to play with one Christmas. I guess she’d have been six or seven….. I forget now. She loved them, what little girl wouldn’t? A whole box of your very own jewels. Brilliant!!! :o)

Anyway……. I got to thinking………. That would’ve been when I was doing the Thinking Bit, you understand……… I got to thinking, as I was looking at these pebbles glistening wet just below the surface, that it was about time I got the tumbler going again and did some more. When I did the first batch………. Ok, the ONLY batch, I was going to incorporate them somehow into some arty woodturning I was doing at the time, but never really got around to do. That’ll be the woodturning I haven’t done for bleddy years either then. I did a lot for a few years, gave it all away, and them moved house, and haven’t really kicked it back into life. One day, though………..

(Those who’ve read enough of this blog over the month’s since it started last February, will by now be noticing a distinct pattern here.)

Hell, cut me some slack here will you……. I can’t help it if I get distracted, can I? There’s always something new just around the corner to be tried, and you know what we boys are like don’t you girls? If you’re a bloke, you’ll be well familiar as to how tough it is being a man and having to play with all these toys we gather around us. Must be a real simple life just to do a bit of hoovering and cooking, eh? :o)

Mind you, these days most of you will have been broken into domesticity and servitude by some little honey-trap, and you sure have all my sympathy because I know it’s real easy to let your guard down and get dragged down into it without realising. It’s the power of The Vagina. Why the hell we gave you Chicks the vote is quite beyond me……….. you had a load of power without us shooting ourselves in the foot. It’s no coincidence we’ve lost the bleddy empire since then, but far from me to bleat over spilt milk, and be accused of raking over long cold coals.

Thankfully, the woman hasn’t been born who can tame me, and believe me a good few have tried, bless them all. (that statement really fires up My Girls at work…… never fails!!!) :o) They generally see sense, give up pretty early on, and then we settled down to what comes naturally, each fulfilling our natural roles and so letting life roll along smoothly without all the frictions most couples suffer these days. As God intended, I think you’ll find.

Mind you, some have said that may be a small part of why I’m Chick-less right now, but I hold a different view. I rather think it was more a search for The Large Penis. Shame that. Still, we all have to live and learn, eh?

I myself have every hope for the future. It’s just a bit of a dry spell, that’s all. Won’t be long now. (He said through a fixed grin and clenched teeth)

Where was I? Oh , yes, ……… collecting stones, type:- Various, many, for the polishing of.

It would be good to be able to identify what is what, stone-wise, and have the experience to know which will polish the best, but I just picked the best I could see, and meeting different criteria. Some because they were already nice and rounded, no cracks, and smooth. Some because they were quite translucent, and therefore definitely ‘jewel-like’, some for the shape they already were, and some for the colour. A few had the lot all in one.

I got to thinking, (Now doing both the Thinking Thing, and Selecting Pebbles…… multi-tasking, yes?) as I was sifting through all these stones, about how massive ‘chance’ was playing a big part here in which stones were being picked. It struck me just how much like life what I was doing was.

How the chance of being picked was so very slim if you backed right up to me sitting at home this morning. That I would happen to think of collecting some stones TODAY, and that’s a load of chance before you even start with the slim chance I would choose this beach for a start………… then choose this particular spot, this EXACT spot.

From there, there’s the chance of being spotted as I sweep each layer of stones to expose fresh ones, it only taking a few to cover others out of sight. OK, so you’ve been picked out of the billions on the beach………. The odds are hugely and unimaginably, better now you’re chosen and in the haversack. Once taken home, (some would factor in me actually making it home, seeing I’m seen by many as lucky to be alive every trip!) there’s surviving a further selection of those much better odds before going into the polisher. Only the best of those chosen will make it in there. Then being weeded out as the polishing process goes along….. some being ditched as each grade of grit is changed.

Finally, when all is done and finished, a few are found to be the best of the lot. Out of them, there is very likely to be just one; only ONE that just has the edge on the others, and that one, that single stone, will be The One.

One little stone pebble, chosen today out of billions on that beach today, a stone formed millions of years ago, crushed, compressed, twisted, broken, and ground ever smaller over the years. Shifted around by angry seas, and it’s final destination it rested at today at the mercy of the weather that drove those seas to drop it there.

One polished stone. One lucky stone.

How much like ‘life’ is that?

Kinda makes you think, and although I don’t mean that it bears any more resemblance to all that can potentially happen to any of us and any time on any day, I’m like a pebble on a big beach, and one not as handsome as he once was either, hoping to be picked from the flotsam surrounding me. Or conversely, there’s a pebble washing around in tide somewhere, and waiting for me to pick her up for a polish.

I won’t spoil the philosophical and deep train of thought by following that with the base and cheap laugh from exploring the concept of all that rubbing together we’d have to do. Perish the thought. :o)

Now I’m thinking of how it really is like life………. we all get together, and grind all the sharp edges off each other until some of us make it out the other side polished, perfect and gleaming.

The rest of us end up quite polished, broken, or covered in cracks and pits.

Life……….. one big Polishing Drum of Chance.

Nite, y’all,
K.x :o)