WORDS> DANGEROUS
IMAGES>IAIN‘STRUT YOUR STUFF’ STRUTHERS
Some people were born to explore, to challenge the world, the elements and hardships that come with it… but that’s not me, and it’s certainly not Carl or Boothy, who spend most of their wages on pedicures, facials and lipo (in Boothy’s case). As my dad would often say, there was a time when being a motorcyclist meant dirt behind your nails, skinned knuckles and lots of head scratching at the side of the road while one tried to figure out why four litres of oil had departed a machine’s crankcases. Of course, nowadays that just means you’re a scooterist, right? Still, being a sportsbike rider comes with its compromises. Yes, you get the lion’s share of thrill-filled riding, but bad backs, knees and achy necks come with the territory, and as for luxuries like heated grips, DAB radios and a tank range that can make it further than your neighbouring village, it’s probably best we don’t even go there. Still, I’ve seen those guys in their Rukka suits and flip-front lids, smiling, joking and relaxing next to their big tourers with a coffee, sat on the fold-out chairs they had stashed in their panniers. I’ve eyed them from the other side of the car park while I’ve dug deep into my leathers’ lining, trying to find the bank card I slotted into the world’s smallest internal pocket, gradually growing hotter and angrier as my fumbling fingers fail to find that elusive bit of plastic. A man can only take so much, and after too many occasions of the aforementioned scenarios, the time came to bury my pride and step over to the dark side.