The tale of an old fool, and a third-generation fool.

You probably don’t know me.

Never seen me at a trial. Never read my name on any of the long-standing Double Five trophies (though you might find it there once or twice if you look hard enough). I would be neither surprised nor upset if you’d never heard my name mentioned at all.

But I’ve been around the Double Five for a long time, and for the last ten years I’ve run the clubs’ website, albeit a little remotely. I think I first joined the club when I was sixteen, and that was thirty years ago now. In fact there are only a handful of names currently at the club that I remember from back in those days.

Although the mud dried on my Dunlop trials wellies a long time ago, I’ve still kept in touch with what’s been going on. My father, Jack, had a long association with the club also, so when my own son Ben eventually showed an interest in (bicycle) trials recently, I saw the possibility of a third generation of our family joining the brotherhood of the DFKMC. I had bided my time, and when the moment was right, I took the opportunity.

Actually, that’s a bit of a fib. Taking my boy out there with me into battle with the terrain would be very satisfying, not to mention really good fun, but I kind of knew that my trials days weren’t over, and had actually been contemplating a return to the sport for some time. I’d grown fat and lazy building first a career and then a family, and it was time to put all that right. Mid-life crisis, my wife would probably call it… but back into training I went. I shed some weight and built some muscle down at the local sports complex. Found out what a cross-trainer was, and that aerobics aren’t made by Cadbury.

I’d had a fairly brief re-acquaintance with trials back in my thirties on an old Aprilia TXR 280 which would have been a great bike if it hadn’t turned out to be as reliable as a politicians' Petty Cash claim. This time I was going to buy something which was as dependable as my old Yamaha TY 175 and Fantic 200. As it was, I’d ended up with my old mans’ Majesty 200 a few years back (I still have it), but I really wanted something modern, reliable and easy to ride.

I tend to buy many things on eBay these days (don’t ask… I just find it convenient) and I found myself bidding on a 2003 Scorpa SY 250. Modern and reliable, remember the brief? As it happens, I missed out, and was pretty disappointed. I’d been half-looking for quite a while, and the Scorpa fit the bill perfectly.

Then I found a fantastic looking 2007 Sherco 290 just down the road in Southampton. It was mint. Likely to go for more than I really wanted to pay, but it had not seen that much use, and after chatting with the owner via email I was confident (stupid?) enough to gamble nearly £1900 sight unseen. I was shaking when I pressed the ‘bid recklessly with your life-savings’ button, and positively in bits a few seconds later when I’d won it. Yeah, sorry. I’m one of those shitbags who bids right at the end of the auction. Again… sorry. Genuinely.

Anyhow, a week later I made the trip along the coast to pick it up, not knowing if I would actually get it in the car or not. With no towbar, the plan was to strip more and more parts off it until it fit into the back of my Merc. estate. In reality it was easy, but I have to admit to being about five times over the limit on petrol fumes by the time I made it back to my home just outside of Brighton later that day!

No point getting to this juncture and not finishing the job though. All the kit to buy, not to mention that bloody towbar. The best part of five hundred quid handed over to Scam-You-Good Towstuff Ltd. and a tin of Hammerite paint later, the old bike rack which had spent the last fifteen years in the roofspace of my garage was looking good, sticking out the back of my motor.

Another couple of hundred notes evaporated from my account to pay for some new boots (WHITE boots?!?! Are you NUTS?!?), the largest sized trials-trousers and shirt I could find, and a new skid lid. Yes, WHITE boots. You can join the ever-lengthening queue of fellow riders wanting to take the piss out of those. Feel free. In fact, I’m amazed at just how many white-boot jokes there are, though I think I have probably heard just about all of them now.

With the cobwebs removed from my old brain-bucket and a second hand pair of boots procured for Ben, I finally brought the expenditure to a halt, not counting our Double Five membership and ACU fees of course. All my spare cash, plus the spare cash of anyone who would have anything to do with me was now gone. If I couldn’t find my old motocross gloves, I’d be wearing the Marigolds from behind the kitchen sink to the first trial.

Cacking myself now. What if I just didn’t enjoy it anymore? What if I simply COULDN’T DO IT anymore? Anyone who knows me would positively predict that I would break either the bike or more likely my face on the first outing anyway - most likely by trying stuff I used to do effortlessly when I was sixteen, but now didn’t physically have the strength, balance, poise or skill to pull off in a month of Sundays.

April 18th. Then we would know. Chads Farm Beginners & Wobblers practice trial.

The day arrived, and it was perfect. Blue skies, Sun shining and bike gleaming. That seemingly endless list of ‘other stuff’ you need to go trialling piled into the back of the wagon and off we went.

Well, the rest is now history.

How did it go? Well, if you were there, you’ll know that the day itself was just fantastic. The good weather helped to boost the entry to 88 riders. The field used for parking (which can be the cause of so much angst in the winter months) was like a billiard table, and seventeen excellent sections had been laid out by Steve Westley and the boys. It just couldn’t have been more fun.

Ben (who had never ridden before) spent much of the day just weaving up and down the field, dipping into the woods now and again when he thought I wasn’t looking and wearing a grin like a madman in a wedding photo. I rode most of the easier yellow sections, and thankfully didn’t do any notable damage to either bike or body. A few aches and pains the day after of course, but without those it might all have been a dream, right?

I’ll finish by saying a huge thanks to Steve and all those hard-working fellas at the club who’ve been keeping the place tidy whilst I’ve been off doing boring stuff. Now I’m back, and this time I’ve brought reinforcements…

So what are YOU waiting for? Get your butt back in the saddle too, or like me, you could buy a modern bike and discover that they don’t have such comforts any more!

Berni George, Webmaster & Wobbler.