Kawasaki, DriveWrite Automotive

DriveWrite & The Sons Of Panicy

For the most part, the global Everyman would wish in one way or another that his life was other than it is. We endure the cold, dead, bony fingers of State poking into the nether regions of our existence and are thus subject to infuriating interference into how we live and behave. It shouldn’t have to be this way.

Ever since Marlon Brando shocked audiences in the Wild Ones, many of us, I suspect, have hankered after a life on two wheels; the freedom that comes from being in a Motor Cycle club. MC life as we would like it to be is about seeing the world from a different perspective; an escape from grey government and boring business; from the shop floor and the high rise. It’s about pitting yourself against the world and going your own way on the highway, hands resting lightly on the T-bars and cruisin’ to the next adventure.

Of course, you can hit the open road in a car but I can understand that it is not the same. With most cars more concerned with being connected to the world than the tarmac, the ability to feel the forces of nature on two wheels is alluring. The sense of being more vulnerable on a bike is strong especially for those of a nervous disposition but its clear that motorcycling remains an increasingly popular pastime and mode of transport with a wide variety of machines available. You’re reliant to an extent on the vigilance of car drivers, always a worry these days, that’s why, when you hear the call of the wild, you need to start small. So my latest scheme should do the trick.

DriveWrite Automotive

It’s seems that at this point in time everybody has to make a Star Wars reference or be left out in the cold. It’s the galactic law.

I have ridden a motorbike precisely twice and I admit that on neither occasion did it go well but that shouldn’t put you off. Mrs DriveWrite (a.k.a. my Old Lady) has banned me from two wheels, probably with good reason, but I can dream and ever since my first sight of the Kawasaki Vulcan S Cruiser (above) I have wanted to start my own MC Club.

It’s my New year’s resolution. The thing is, I have realised that you’ve got to walk before you can run; that’s a given, especially with my riding record. My club will be different because membership will not be for hairy-arsed road outcasts but will be restricted to older riders of a nervous disposition who have previously had bad experiences with motorbikes but who nevertheless hear the banshee call of the open road.

Our mojo will be cool like Steve McQueen’s (except we won’t be doing any barb-wire jumping) and we will throw caution to the wind like Guy Martin, only strictly at the lower speed limit lest we get told off by our Old Ladies. Obviously, smoking will be banned as will overuse of the word ‘freaking’. Drugs are a no-no but members will be welcome to imbibe their own Viagra. Each new member gets a welcome pack containing a six-pack of non-alcoholic lager, some Valium plus a photo of Lemmy. We will live according to our own rules in our own leisure time. The initiation ceremony is the same for all. Prospects must enter Homebase and not buy anything. So cut that old leather jacket and get stitching. Our top rocker reads ‘Sons of Panicy’ and the bottom rocker shows the legend, ‘Not Quite As Frightened As We Look’.

I’m really up for this. I’m hitting the road – when the weather gets a bit nicer – on a bad-ass mobility scooter with my Old Lady sitting right behind me – probably in a Mercedes. Well, we’ve all got to start somewhere. Feel the force. Geoff Maxted / DriveWrite