CBT: Compulsory Basic Torture?

And so two Saturdays ago I took the CBT plunge and validated my motorcycle L plate status and began to terrorise the local road-users on two wheels. It was bloody hot and being overtly safety conscious, or more certain of the likelihood I’d probably fall off; I'd decided to wear my leather jacket and already I was feeling like a Bernard Matthew's special come Christmas day.

I have mentioned before that I think it completely unbelievable that following just a single days' training and demonstration of competence that the learner motorcyclist or scooter rider can be unleashed upon the waiting world of lorries, queue jumping BMW's and buses. Now that I have completed my CBT I feel even more strongly about this.

I'm actually gravely concerned some of the young lads completing their scooter training won't make it to their 18th birthday.

CBT training is (usually) one day of intensive theory and practical motorcycle/scooter training. The vast majority takes place in the safe confines of the test centre facilities and upon the instructor feeling confident of your ability, at the end of the day you will be taken onto the public highway to demonstrate your skills in the real world. If you're not a complete liability then you will receive your CBT certification, which validates your learner status for a period of 2 years.

As with most tests I was more than a little trepidated when I arrived at my local motorcycle training centre. So much so the receptionist commented upon the fact I was shaking when I handed over my card to pay, although this could've been something more associated with the fact I'd downed two double espressos en route to the training centre.

My nerves were only exacerbated when I was introduced to my fellow students; my worst fears were realised; all were male and half were 16 wearing tracksuits, hoody tops and resembled Oxy advertisements 'before' photographs, they all had the same vacant expression which upon me entering the room fixated like a homing device to my bosom region and communicated in a series of grunts, it's been a long time since I'd been around teenage boys, thankfully it's a rarity. They were the scooter trainees, and a fine bunch of stereotype of scooter rider that I despise, a mere gene pool error away from Neanderthal. Thankfully the other half were a more normal but a mixed bunch; a builder who looked like a teenager on a toddlers pre school bike - he was far too big for the Honda CG125, it was more than comical, there was a research scientist and a fairly normal bloke who'd already bought his bike.

Following brief introductions, my first mug of tea and grunts from the 16 year olds; I found myself in a 1970s time warp as we watched a DSA video about the fact that drivers rarely see motorcyclists so visibility is tantamount to successful riding. It was coupled with an irritatingly catchy soundtrack, which stuck in my head for days afterwards, I'm guessing this technique of musical brainwashing and wooden acting was intentional.

I found that repetitive clutch control using your hands is pretty tiring, and so to my annoyance I kept stalling my little learner Suzuki that I found incredibly frustrating but after a while I was doing figure of eights like a dressage pony. Although an Achilles heel I bore as initially it really didn't help me that one of the instructors reminded me both in looks and voice far too much of someone who makes my own little engine rev a little faster and upon his instructions to "look at me" only made me loose concentration and wobble about a fair bit.

After lunch when I took the opportunity to take my jacket off as the vest I was wearing was literally soaked and once the 16 year olds came back from the loos we had a brief discussion about the highway code and defensive riding. Once it was established the scooter boys didn’t know you could buy books let alone one about the rules of the road, they were sent off for further training.

The instructors paced between the motorcyclists remaining to pick who were ready enough to go on the open road. One of the group had to leave early so naturally he was to go first, the instructor turned, my heart quickened (nerves, obviously and nothing to do with his pretty eyes and leather trousers), and motioned for me to prepare to go out into the real world. I collected my helmet intercom system and off I went.

Cars have not appeared this big to me since I was a toddler, I was overtaken by a Land Rover and felt like one of the Borrowers. A Ford Fiesta diminutive in size resembled a bungalow on wheels in my tiny rear-view mirrors. Bernard, my fellow student took the lead but I was quick on his tail as he was struggling with speeding up, so I took over and had the open road before me, with my instructors kindly voice in my ear; onwards I toiled, remembering to increase my speed (30mph feels so much much quicker on a bike) and not stand around head bobbing like a spectator at Wimbledon at junctions.

To my absolute joy I even managed a nice slight lean of the little Suzuki around a huge roundabout near White Waltham, girl and motorcycle working together as one taking sweeping bends and curving around the best of what Maidenhead's roundabouts had to offer; that was until I felt queasy because the centre of balance shifted and on the way round as the bike righted itself I decided it was wise to put my foot down at 40 mph coming off said roundabout. Not the best decision I made that day, but commonsense took over and I scooped up my right foot back onto the peg.

A long stretch back to the test centre and it was all over and done, my instructor signed my certificate and made me promise to take my ‘big bike’ test soon.

Ok, so my romanticised image of myself like some Marianne Faithfull clone bike-a-like in Girl on a Motorcycle (that is before she crashes and goes through the window of a car) was and still is very far away.

Marianne as Rebecca, she looked rather splendid

And Suzi Perry in my leathers I may not be, but at long last I'm on my way and quite frankly sweating so much I hope to have a slimmer honed figure in no time.

Lovely Suzi, every girl should look like this in leathers

Who needs yoga when you can have a motorcycle? I'm rather smitten.

Just have to get further than the end of my road now.

ok so not a photo of me, but my cat Busby looks so much cuter on the bike,
and probably has more sense than the scooter-boys