I set the wheels in motion

Doing the rounds of late is yet another meme, with the following rules: Pick up your nearest book and go to page 123. Find the fifth sentence (not the fourth?), and post on your blog the next three (not five?…) sentences. Acknowledge who tagged you, and then tag five more people. Thus:

And where were the new maps I had been promised? Here were the same crude line-drawn maps I had made myself, on my computer, back in 1996. And why was the section title, "White Man, Where You Going?" (a quote from an African in the story) changed to "White Man, Where Are You Going?"

from Roadshow: Landscape with Drums, A Concert Tour by Motorcycle by Neil Peart.

Considering the last and spectacularly unsuccessful time I tried following on an Internet meme—with only one person, Emma, actually responding in kind—I'm not going to point my finger at anyone this time.

It's not entirely coincidental that Peart's book was the nearest to hand, especially since it's my current read, and well worth it. But this past week I've been ultra-focussed, to the point where I've not read my book, I've not listened to the radio, I've watched barely any television, written next to no e-mails, and done no cycling. I was across town all week doing my Direct Access motorbike training.

A couple of weeks before, I had taken the morning off work and bussed it into town to take my motorbike theory test, for which I had been revising at full-tilt. Back when I was learning to drive a car, the theory test was quite a new thing and it was done like any regular exam with a paper booklet and 35 multiple choice questions. I disposed of that one in ten minutes. This time around it's all gone modern and hi-tech with 50 questions followed by 14 video clips of developing hazards, all done via a computer touchscreen or clicking the mouse. I disposed of the questions efficiently once more, and comprehensively passed the hazard perception. I scored lower than I expected though, possibly because I'm so switched on to road behaviour that sometimes I spotted hazards too early for the computer software's "identification period". Early is good; late might mean an expensive crash, or worse. With certificate in hand I bussed it over to the motorbike training school for an hour's basic riding assessment, a session where would-be students can get a feel for sitting on a bike, working the controls and performing some very basic manoeuvres. The learner bikes were very small and I was perched on the seat without much difficulty, save for my knees which were somewhere around the top of the petrol tank! Of course, I'd been thinking about learning for some time and with my brother and Dad already bike riders, and armed with half a dozen magazines, I was familiar with how it worked. I'd even sat myself in my bedroom, helmet and gloves on, making 'yin yin' noises and imagining how to work the throttle and change gear. On the day, it came together reasonably quickly. I was ok balancing the bike although the tarmac training area was a bit bumpy with some small stones which threw the front wheel a little bit, and I was grabbing the clutch lever and front brake lever sometimes instead of using my right foot and right hand. But the hour was enough to convince me that I felt I had what it would take to do the proper training, and with that I bussed it back to work.

So on Monday, with a week's leave in hand, I drove down to the training school to start the process; I wasn't going to take the bus again after the disastrous journey across town to my work which had left me about to be sick, and unwell for the next three days. There were four of us on the first day, all ready to sit our Compulsory Basic Training, which is the legal minimum to riding on the road. It was a succession of lectures, covering everything from How It Works, to why alcohol might be a bad thing, to what helmet to wear, and bike riding in the yard. Starting and stopping, doing U-turns, riding a figure of eight around traffic cones, learning how to indicate and look on the approach to junctions, where the blindspots were and how to check them. In the afternoon it was our first venture onto the roads and into the local housing area where the roads were quiet. It turned out that only one other student, Al, was doing the whole five days in one go and I struck up a good rapport with him. Riding in convoy with the instructor sometimes at the lead, sometimes in the middle, sometimes tailing us, and all the while in radio contact with us, it was both fun and incredibly tiring. Three of us already had driving licences and were fairly road-savvy but all of us were beginners. At the end, I was informed that I had passed my CBT and was ready to move forwards. I left the school in the evening feeling very tired and I still had to go shopping before having tea.

Coming back the next day I was a feeling more relaxed, safe in the knowledge that I wasn't starting from scratch now and knowing I could work the bike without falling off or crashing into cars. There were two ladies joining Al and me that day, both of whom had obviously done some riding before, and it was a nice change from being in amongst big muckle guys with stubbly faces. The instructors suggested I ride one of the newer, slightly taller learner bikes, still 125cc and only about 13hp, but as I quickly discovered when doing some circuits and manoeuvres in the yard, better balanced and smoother to ride, and generally a bit nicer all round. So with Fred, our cheerful, chain-smoking instructor in the pack, we headed out onto the roads again to try mixing it in traffic. You have to jump in, if not at the deep end then somewhere around the middle, each day in order to progress to test standard within a week, and the middle of town was definitely a deep end! We encountered potholes, roundabouts, cobbles, bad drivers, buses, roadworks and traffic lights, probably all before lunchtime. One problem I was having time and again was forgetting to switch off my indicators after a turn; on a motorbike they aren't self-cancelling. We also visited a petrol station to refuel, went back into town a second time and explored some of the eastern side of Edinburgh and out towards Musselburgh to see the new Driving Standards Agency building and training ground - our potential destination. Both Al and I noted at the end of the day how less tired we felt, and we had done a lot of riding. If I'd had the presence of mind, I might have noted the odometer reading to see just how far.

Day three was another deep end: the big bikes. Direct Access is an intensive route to obtaining one's unlimited licence and involves riding a machine over 500cc with more than about 35hp, and on which one sits the test. Along with the scary powerful bikes, we had a new instructor, Matt, whose attitude I liked a lot. Still jovial, but slightly harder-edged and very committed to getting the best out of us. It was a day of exploring the various routes that we might find ourselves riding on the test and taking the bikes on faster roads. We'd already been up to 50mph on the learner bikes and that had been a shock - the windblast, the sheer exposure - and now we had to practice 60-70mph on bikes which accelerated. Again we practiced U-turns, both on foot and riding, emergency stops (now 'controlled stops') and hill starts, and took the bikes through mid-afternoon clag ups. To my frustration I was still leaving my indicators on, while Al wasn't, but in my favour I seemed to be a little happier turning in the road than he was.

I had another shock on Thursday when I was told that I was going to be riding a bigger again bike, a Yamaha FZ6: 600cc and 98hp...! Apparently one of the fleet had become damaged and wasn't available, and when I asked if it was simply luck of the draw, both Tricia and Matt told me that in their opinion I had the greater potential for a bike like that. They were also considering using them as the big bikes for the training and I was the guinea pig. So as well as having a big black bike to ride, they wanted my feedback afterwards on whether the machine would be suitable. Having gone from two cylinders to four, from carburettors to fuel injection, and small disc brakes to big ones, the bike felt huge underneath me. But it was a spine-tingling and satisfying huge, with my knees hugging the fat petrol tank. I practiced again in the yard before we went out for the day, feeling the clutch bite and trying out the brakes and seeing how the bike felt in tight turns. And then it was onto the roads and more of the same exploration of back roads and changing speed limits, and a few blasts up and down and into the city. When I wound on throttle, the bike built up speed almost recklessly and I had no trouble keeping up with the other traffic. Our route for the morning was as much experience of all kinds of roads as an excuse to stop by all the motorcycle shops in Edinburgh, most of which I'd visited before as a prospective biker. It was during our ride back to the training school, heading through the middle of the city just after lunchtime, that "all the dominoes have just fallen into place." As I led Matt and Al, picking our way along Royal Park Terrace between all the parked cars, I caught up a car waiting for an oncoming car. I'd simply slowed right down, ready to stop, but the car moved off and I carried on to the next roundabout and onwards. I'd thought little of it at the time but Matt thought differently. "That was some of the best slow speed riding I've ever seen from a student! You were going about an inch a second, no foot down, no brake light!" And Al was similarly pleased for me, saying that he could see why they'd put me on the bigger bike rather than him. I had the biggest grin on my face that evening.

We had both been making solid progress through the week and Matt was honest in his appraisal of our riding, saying we were both well skilled already and thinking much more about where we placed our bikes on the road and much less about operating them. I had developed a slight tendency to grab too much throttle while using the clutch, but at least I wasn't leaving my indicators on anymore. During a motorbike test one is allowed up to three of any specific type of minor fault: hesitating, missing an observation or whatever, to a maximum of 16 faults; leaving indicators on too long, especially if one has later passed a side road, means an instant failure. There were some tricks we could use to remember that sort of thing; saying to oneself, such as "indicator, indicator, indicator, indicator", or more forcefully, "I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot"; Al's preferred mantra was "Bastard, bastard, bastard". I invented no such phrase, preferring to periodically glance at the handy green flashing lamp on the handlebars. On the black bike it was easy to spot. And on day five, all the nerves appeared. I'd had a look on my map to find out where the Test Centre was located, because I know some parts of Edinburgh and its environs rather less well than others. I had also looked at the published test route itineraries from the DSA to get an appreciation of what roads might be involved, out of any of the ten possible routes. We spent the morning doing more manoeuvres, more roundabouts, studying the speed limits on certain roads and the timings of bus lanes, then headed back to the training school for lunch. Al wasn't hungry at all, and I could only manage one sandwich and half a biscuit. It had been a monotone, dull sort of morning but the weather was brightening and warming up so I drank some water and fiddled with the vents on my helmet for more airflow. Before long, it was time for us to ride to the Test Centre; Matt and I left our bikes in the little parking bay while Al, whose test was first, parked next to the gargantuan white Honda Pan European of the examiner. I hovered around to refresh my mind on how to check tyre tread depths and oil levels while Matt took my counterpart into the breach, reappearing after a little while. Since the test takes about 40 minutes altogether, we rode back to the school to collect another student who was sitting the test for his A2 Restricted licence, and then rode back once more. I parked my bike next to the big Honda which had obviously only just arrived back, and we waited for Al to come out. I was feeling terribly jumpy, and doing my best to stand stock still and concentrate on taking deep slow breaths. When the door of the Test Centre opened, I saw Al emerge and just from his body language immediately suspected the worst, his head hanging ever so slightly and his walk measured and unhurried. "Sorry guys", was all he said for a while.

Matt took the driving report sheet from Al and cast an eye over the ticks; "You only had five faults, and then it was the indicators." Al replied, "When I heard the guy say, 'Pull up at the side of the road whenever it's safe to do so, and switch off the ignition.', I knew I'd messed up." He was bitterly disappointed, that he had let down Matt and me, and himself. "Oh, Al..." I said and I put my arm around him.

But he brightened up after a few minutes, saying that he hadn't lost anything, and would take another test as soon as he could. Time was getting on, I was getting quite warm in my heavy jacket, and it was my turn to face the music. Al gave me a big 'riding buddy' handshake and said simply, "Go for it." I quickly discovered that the Test Centre was completely custom designed to accommodate the different needs of car drivers and motorcyclists; while the waiting room for the former was full of upholstered seats and nice carpets, the room for us was air-conditioned (because of our need for warm, armoured clothes), and it had plastic chairs and a linoleum floor (because we might be sopping wet). Steve the Pan European came in, all six foot four of him, he smiled and shook my hand, and we spent a couple of minutes going through the paperwork of my driving licence and CBT certificate. I put on my intercom and helmet, and we headed out into the sunshine.

He asked me a couple of questions about maintenance, which I answered easily enough, and then he reviewed how he would tell me which direction to go. If he said nothing, I was to simply ride straight on; otherwise, do what he asked. So I kicked the bike into first gear and into my test. The traffic was fairly heavy, being mid-afternoon and the route taking me into Musselburgh's back roads, most of which I knew well by now. I did my U-turn on foot, rueing the weight of my bike and my lack of arm strength, and then rode the bike around again. I did my controlled stop, remembering what Matt had suggested about using the powerful back brake only a fraction and letting the front brake do the work. We rode out of town through some more housing streets, with which I wasn't familar at all (arguably a good thing for staying alert), doing my hill start on the A6124, and into the 60mph section where I happily grabbed some throttle to show I wasn't afraid of 'making progress'. I became confused at one point after a roundabout because for some reason I didn't know what the speed limit was; I thought back to the previous road and decided that since I hadn't remembered seeing a sign, it must still be 60mph. I hedged my bets at just over 40mph for a few seconds and then opened up. Then it was a left turn onto the A1 and a brief blast at 70mph in fairly light traffic. And before long I was back on Newhailes Road and heading for the Test Centre. "Don't worry, it's just a bike ride and it'll be over before you know it", Tricia and Matt told me earlier, and it was true. I'd been concentrating hard and most of the riding we had done during the week had been fairly extended sessions. Just as I turned into the Test Centre's side road, and switching off my indicator, I was confronted by a large white van, parked in my lane. I did my left mirror, right mirror, right shoulder check and moved out to avoid it, and realised my indicator was still flashing. I hastily hit the centre button to cancel it and hoped I hadn't blown my chances right at the very end.

In fact, while I was fairly confident of my riding during the past half an hour, I was sure I'd made the fatal mistake just as Al had done, and I quietly stomped back into the building. I was also very warm and was grateful for the cool air inside. Steve the Pan European came in a moment later and took my intercom while I pulled off my helmet and caught my breath. We sat down, and he asked me to wait a moment while he finished off the driving report. As he glanced up, I tensed my stomach muscles and waited for the result. He smiled, saying "I'm pleased to tell you you've passed." I signed the paperwork for him to exchange my licence for one with the extra qualification, he passed me a magazine and a DVD for new riders, shook my hand and wished me well.

Then the moment started to sink in, and I left the building to rejoin Matt, who was waiting with the younger student, alongside the bikes. "I see a magazine there!" he exclaimed, and I held it up and smiled. He took a look at my results, and noted that I'd only been marked on four minor faults, one of which was hesitation, on which I remember being marked down when I sat my car driving test, and which I'd been really trying to improve over the past few days. I waited with the bikes while he went back inside with the student, and I looked over the results for myself. Fortunately my armoured jacket has a large back pocket which was just large enough for the magazine and DVD and envelopes and things I'd been given. Matt returned, and said Al was waiting back at the school. So we had a quick blast back along the roads and I trundled through the gate, giving Al a big thumbs up; he smiled and returned the gesture. Once off the bike I stood for a moment, just standing and gathering my wits, and he came over and gave me a great big hug. There had never been any doubt in his mind really.

Matt was dead pleased, too. He'd been wearing his lucky boots, and we talked about some of the riding we'd done over the week, how impressed he'd been with our progress, mine in particular. Somehow I think that'll be one story he'll be using with future students.

And there's another thing. This past week I've had a lot to take in and a lot to demonstrate, and I've had an absolutely fantastic time. I was very wary of the male banter at first, but I let my guard down and joined in, and before I knew it I was poking fun at them in return and having a load of fun. Quite honestly, it's been one of the best weeks of my life, and my friend Jo has been a great support; she certainly knows a thing or two about bikes.

And what now? Now I get to fire up my very own motorbike and take it across town to the training school to say thank you.