cheshirecat

One of the best things about MM was the controller, though I forget his name. Usually controllers are ex riders so they know all the tricks, and they also know London well, very well indeed. MM controller was great. He never pushed you, enjoyed a sharp dry wit, (really important when it was dark, miserable and chucking down), was on your side in difficult deliveries and kept his humour when you’d deliver to the Barbican. The Barbican is a sprawling concrete acreage of 70’s tower blocks, no entries, blank doors and identical endless corridors. No matter how you approached it’s always the wrong end and nobody was ever around to sign. Oh and your radio cracked out. In the Barbican no one can hear you scream, especially inside a helmet.

He would also get onto the ambulance fast when a rider went down. Radio discipline was always very good but you could hear the silence when this happened, wondering if you were near enough to help, how bad, and which call sign was absent. Either way jobs still had to be delivered and your part in life had to go on; money had to be earnt, the rent paid etc. London doesn't stop. Some places were notorious, the Hammersmith flyover for me. Very greasy in the first rain with that razor steel amoco barrier and no real hard shoulder to slide off onto safety, meaning traffic behind would roll over you. By and large a fall is OK even at high speed, it really depends on what you hit and what hits you when sliding along on the deck. I always smelt fear there and it took everything I had to relax and let the Honda find it's own way, especially coming into town on that last downwards bit. I can see the rear of those lorries approaching now.

Only once did the controller ask for urgency and that was to get a passport to Terminal Three from E4. By some fluke the route out onto the Hammersmith (dry for a change) flyover and the M4 was, by bike standards free running. I kept things easy on the motorway (pure fiction here) at around 85/90 mph as a speed booking wouldn't get the passport delivered. Turning off through a couple of quick roundabouts and things were still going well, a bit too well I thought and sure enough two cars pranged on the next roundabout. No one seemed injured and I jetted off down the dual carrageway right into a waiting bike cop on the next roundabout, the one with Concorde on it. I pulled up right under his nose sharpish like and told him (though the helmet) about the accident. He seemed taken a bit on the back foot by this and said he already knew about it. I thought about asking why he wasn't there helping, but not pushing my luck, I engaged first, nodded, waved, then zoomed off (well not too speedy) into the chaos of Terminal Three. It was a disbelieving and very relieved customer I found. We picked each other out more or less the same time no doubt helped a full helmeted human clutching a package in such a security conscious zone. I think the whole job one way took well under 30 minutes, it was one of those rare days when even the traffic lights were in phase. On the return, again pure fiction, just before the motorway ended and no speed cameras with not much traffic, I let the Honda loose. It was just quick as my CBX1000, but felt so much safer and with half it's cc, now where were those French Nuns in their 2CV?