Another post that didn’t get published. Perhaps prophetically. See the footnote.
2016 seems like the year things just finally went bananas. I’ve seen older folk lose friends and becoming gradually more isolated in their own peninsular lives. This has always had a poignancy but I feel more kinship with this after a year that has seen the end of so many things; jobs, people, politics, integrity, even normality itself.
So, it might be easy to become despondent, but there’s a bright spot for me. In July I started as a volunteer at Sammy Miller’s Motorcycle Museum (that’s quite a mouthful for the telephone, ending with ‘how can I help you..?’ then a pause for breath.)
I wrote about my first visit to the Museum some time back.
This local attraction is rightly acclaimed throughout the Biking world as a kind of Mecca for the two-wheeled afficionado. It could be bigger, more successful even, if it was within the scope of any major centre of population, but it nestles down here on the edges of the New Forest, and it shares its seasonal cycle with the rest of the area; shutting down to just weekend opening from December to February. Even the famous Bashley Manor Tea Rooms on the same site closes for a few days over Christmas.
Mr Miller, MBE is now 83, looking quite a bit older than most of the more familiar fresh-faced images in his racing/trials days. Yet he handles the bikes with some skill..
The epilogue.
Well, they do say that you should never meet your heroes. I’ve learned a lot over the last 18 months. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes in that sleepy Hampshire bike mausoleum, not all of it good and not all of bright portent for the future of the attraction. Suffice it to say that after what seemed like a promising start Mr.Miller and myself eventually found a mutual dislike for each other. That’s by no small means an exclusive club that I found myself joining. Toxic personalities tend to leave one disappointed. A great motorcyclist, without doubt. But a great man? Oh no.
So much road, so little ability 