The Black Forest and Motorbikes

Today I went for a cruise on my bike in the Black Forest. Though it's a public holiday, my wife was working and my son was in Düsseldorf playing American Flag Football against the Krauts (we won, I'm glad to say). My daughter has been begging for a ride sometime and the weather was playing along for a change, so off we went. The ride was wonderful. After the months of grey skies and the interminable wet and cold of a European winter, it was fantastic to be out in the sunshine with the wind warm against your skin and the feel of a powerful motor beneath you. Riding the winding forest roads with the dappled sun playing on the asphalt beneath your wheels, following the route of a surging forest stream as you make your way upwards from the Swiss border through the fringes of the Black Forest, climbing ever higher, passing through open meadows and picturesque little southern German villages, well, it just gives one a good feeling. There is a myriad of cute little taverns and inns along the way, tucked away in the forest on the roadside. We chose one and stopped for some of the delicious forest fare before leisurely making our way back South via a different route.

What one does notice though, especially coming from where I do, is the sense of fashion, or lack thereof, among the bikers over here. This is a very wealthy corner of Western Europe where I live, and nowhere is this more evident than among the bikers. There are literally hundreds of bikes on the road when it's a public holiday and the weather's as good as this. What's so amazing is that they are all brand spanking new! However, that's not what catches my eye the most. It's the clothing. When I was sixteen, I got my first motorcycle. It was a 50cc, and it was all I was allowed until I turned eighteen and could get a licence for something bigger. Like me, all my friends got one too. We were all from poor-to-middle income families, so there was no such thing as a new bike for any of us, and if one of our schoolfellows was fortunate enough to be given a new motorcyle then he was ostracised and left out of the fun. Anyway, our bikes were simply a means of transport, and after school and on the weekends the whole crowd could be found whizzing down to the beach in their baggies, barefooted and no shirts, a surfboard (which was longer than the bike) clutched under one arm while you crash-changed the gears all the way down to the shore. Some of the unfortunates who hadn't managed to get holiday jobs and save enough for their own transport but who were lucky enough to have a friend willing to run the gauntlet of a traffic control while illegally giving them a lift, would sit on the back, helmetless and clutching a surfboard on either side. Later on, I got a 500cc Honda and was allowed to legally carry a passenger. We still rode in shorts, sandals and no shirts.

When I first got to Switzerland, one of my priorities was getting a motorcycle. I haven't been without one for 21 years, and with these alpine passes and beautiful summers, it was a necessity. I wasn't prepared, however, for the stares, glares and lectures I was in for. I do wear shoes and socks these days, and a shirt, but half the reason one has a bike is for the feeling of freedom, the sun on one's skin, the warmth of the summer air rushing over your body as you cruise the open road. Not here. Here people dress themselves up in a variation of costumes that puts the fear of God into you. Can you imagine 30°C, bright hot sunshine and a skintight leather or canvas-like suit completely encasing your body and zipped tightly up to the chin? Add to this a kidney belt that looks like Klitschko's latest trophy and you can feel the sweat breaking out as you read. What's laughable about the whole thing is that everybody has some sort of a Grand Prix style outfit. You could swear you've somehow stumbled into an international event. I even find myself looking out for billboards with all the motorcycle manufacturers sponsoring ads.

What happened to getting on your bike and going for a fun ride? What happened to owning a bike for the simple purpose of getting from A to B? Today you need to get kitted out in a sauna-suit that's some variation of neon puke green or eye-searing bright pink before you mount your colour-coded 1200cc metal steed, which in most cases you're not even really experienced enough to drive, and then hare off into the most hell-raising, hair-curling ride you can think of, endangering all and sundry in the process and unfortunately killing not yourself but some other hapless pedestrian, motorist or cyclist.

I do own a full motorcycle suit (black with a touch of midnight blue, none of this neon sunflower shit for me, and no fake Suzuki, Honda, Motoguzzi, etc. racing labels), and together with the motorcycle boots it was just the right thing when I spent three years commuting to night school every night in Zürich. One remains completely dry and warm, no matter what the weather is doing (even December wasn't a problem) and there's the added satisfaction of knowing that a fall isn't going to result in half your skin being removed. However, even with the Winter lining removed, it is just impossible to don these clothes when the sun is shining. Not to mention that my daughter doesn't have the advantage of owning such things. So, if she has to wear jeans, sneakers and a thin leather jacket, then so do I. If she's got no gloves, then mine remain at home too. Though I know that the modern protective clothing is designed to save lives, I surely won't clad myself in all these things and then leave my daughter to her fate when the next wannabe Grand Prix champ smashes into us. Rather we suffer together. Man, I can just hear the whinging going on as people read this! The thing is, what happened to us along the way? My father used to take us on his bike when we were toddlers. When he realised that we started falling asleep to the rhythm of the engine after five miles, he modified an old safety belt from a scrap car and strapped us to him so we couldn't fall off in our sleep. Crikey, I don't think it gets unsafer than that. Actually, rubbish. My brother-in-law carried his toddler around on his shoulders on his dirt bike as he did the rounds on his farm in the Drakensberg mountains of South Africa. No helmets. We drove around in old Valiants with bench seats and no head rests. Mother and father sat in front and I stood in the back, leaning on their seat. Safety belts were only available in the front and were something to be tucked away under the seat so they didn't get in the way of cuddling while you drove. Well, my parents didn't get their necks snapped and I didn't fly through the windshield. The old man just drove slowly and carefully, keeping his eye on the road and the other motorists and being a considerate driver.

I know this is all over now, but there must be a mix somewhere? Sure, everyone drives like raving lunatics, and the vehicles are, like life these days, so much faster, but can we still enjoy a "Sunday drive" in the sunshine with our children if we're extra careful?

I did.