MY MOTORCYCLE TEST
by Paul Brown
Back in the June of 1977 I took my
motorcycle test. Things have changed
a little since then, so for those who
can’t – or don’t want to remember,
here is a window to the past.
The summer of 1977 was looking to be
the scorcher that ’76 was, bright blue
skies, blazing sunshine – perfect biking
weather – but not on my test day – it
rained. Persistent driving rain, cloudy
skies – just what I hadn’t hoped for.
Resplendent in my black rally jacket (a
bit like an anorak with a hidden hood in
the collar) with an orange stripe down
each sleeve, covering my school
blazer – I had gotten approval by the
way to take the time off - I arrived at
the test centre in the New Dover Road
on my orange CB125, which
incidentally matched the fluorescent
orange rubberised (steady now)
waterproof trousers covering me and
my prized Ashman boots. Hey it was
the seventies – the decade that
fashion forgot!
I hoped that my ensemble would
make me look an upstanding
member of the community in the
eyes of the examiner, rather than
some leather clad tearaway. I
needn’t have worried, my examiner
who I recognised as the happy soul
that took me for my car test a few
months earlier, was decked out in top
to toe waterproof blue – with hood. He
looked as if he really wanted to be out
in the pouring rain with some Day-Glo
youth.
“Good morning Mr Brown, if you’d like
to start your machine and proceed to
the traffic lights, straight over to the
roundabout, left past the cinema, left
again at the next roundabout, past the
fire station to the Oaten Hill lights, left
again to the lights and repeat until I
signal you to stop.” I knew the route
well as my friends at school had all
done the same course. So in one
smooth flourishing movement, I swung
my leg over the bike, a quick prod of
the kick-start and nothing. Nervous
laughter and have another go –
nothing, then I turned the ignition on
and it was third time lucky – the
examiner did not look impressed. The
idea of the route was that as a square
there were side roads from which the
examiner would pop out to see what
you were getting up to and mark you
accordingly.
As I approached completing my first
lap, I noticed Mr Blue standing under a
shop awning just past the Cross Keys
– dripping, he did not look happy. As I
approached the same spot on my
second lap – he was still there.
“He’s a bit quick for an old bloke,” I
thought. I never completed my third lap
as he signalled me to pull in.
“Right Mr Brown, if you would proceed
to the right, up Cossington Road, then
right into the Old Dover Road and then
right again at the lights, and then right
again into Cossington Road, continue
on that circuit until I indicate
otherwise”. This was exactly as my
mates had done – so easy peasy.
I only completed one lap as he pulled
me over to “proceed at a walking pace
showing total control of your machine”.
No problem except that when I stopped
I was in third gear and now I couldn’t
get it back into neutral. I hoped that
this wasn’t included in the ‘total control
bit’. Also I shouldn’t have lowered my
visor before all this as it steamed up
almost immediately, I couldn’t see a
thing and once on the move I couldn’t
take my hand off the bars to open it
either!
Then he stopped.
“Mr Brown I will now walk further
ahead and indicate for you to proceed.
At some point I will indicate for you to
make an emergency stop.”
I knew all about this again from my
mates, but this was in the wet. I had a
cable operated front disc brake that
didn’t work even when slightly moist
and a rear drum that would lock up
the Bridgestone nylons at the merest
hint of pressure – this should be
interesting. All went well though and I
was then instructed to make my way
back to the test centre via the entire
length of the Old Dover Road. So how
was he going to follow me? Seb Coe
he certainly wasn’t. Did he have a car
nearby? No he was going to walk
back to the centre leaving me to my
own devices. So long as I didn’t beat
him back I should be alright.
A few Highway Code questions later
and I became a fully paid up member
of the motorcycling club.
No classroom lectures. No video
games for hazard awareness. No rider
to rider communication - ah the good
old days!
The next motorcycling test I took was
almost thirty years later and just a
little bit different.
