dangerous and me set off around twelvish, destination the classic bike club meeting at stanford hall near lutterworth, it's about a sixty mile ride, you could just jump on the m1 and squirt down there but we don't do motorway if we can find an 'a' road instead, anyway, we were out on the ducati's so we needed to find some bends, through the urban sprawl of derby and soon into the countryside, through melbourne, into peggs green and we are making our way south, past mallory park and into hinckley, always get lost here and usually end up going past the triumph factory, this time i stuck to the town centre signs and we picked up the a5, i reckon we saved about 10 miles going directly through town rather than using the bloody ring road, into lutterworth, loads of bikes about, picked up the brown tourist signs for stanford hall, payed the six quid fee and parked up, loads of lovely bikes there, loads of autojumble stands and a nice day but, no people?, strange, over a tea and a chunk of home made fruit cake off one of the stalls i mulled it over, i reckon the classic scene as we know it may be over, as the old boys die off their bikes are put in museums or sold to oversea's collectors, the kids aren't interested in old stuff, their classic bikes are the first 'blades or slabby gixers and the like, but what is really killing it is that most of the bikes there were trailered in, the vincent was a case in point, there was a crowd standing around it slack jawed, looking at it like it was the holy grail , i shouted to dangerous 'it would look mint with a peanut tank and ape's youth', they looked at me like i was satan, whats the matter with you?, it's a fucking motorcycle,
lighten up a bit, talk to people about your bikes instead of basking in the glory of winning a fucking horse rosette and of course, you could always go for a ride on it now and again.












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