For years, I loved bikers. Then I realised, it’s more fun to be one

1st April 2026 – Another Birthday

On my ninth birthday double digits were my ambition.

But the year between an upturned six

And the one and zero that made a ten

Was tied to the tail of a hibernating tortoise,

And then, when I got there, I could see that thirteen

Was the age I’d really like to be; almost an adult,

Heading for autonomy and the skies outside.

But at thirteen, sixteen looked like much more fun

As boys grew into men that rode motorbikes; I wanted one.

In a triumph of hope over experience

I got engaged at seventeen to a Suzuki rider,

Left home at eighteen, married at nineteen

Divorced at twenty-one, and then did it again and again.

I realised I should have cut out the middleman

And married the machine. If I had to choose between

A man and a motorbike I’ll let you guess.

Halfway through this week I become a “pensioner”

As if I should park up my Hayabusa for the last time,

But instead, inside my head, I’ve just hit my stride

And I’m aiming for one hundred and nine.