My apologies if this is too long. I need an editor that will work for free. Its really hard to stick to the past tense, I always seem to slip into the present tense.
Yesterday I went down to Wimbledon to get a CBT (compulsory basic training) certificate so I can finally ride the C-1. We left the house a bit early to reach the training place, which turned out to be a good because I accidentally left the paper half of my licence at home on the coffee table. (Why on earth does the thing have to be in two parts anyway?) So Bill went back to get it for me while I started the course (yay bill!).
The training school was in a dingy three-storey building with a garage on the first level. I went upstairs to the third floor and sat in a room lined on one end with shelves of white motorcycle helmets. When everyone was accounted for, the group was split in two. I got the chubby instructor with the South London accent, dressed tastefully in black Teflon-like trousers and ordinary looking black boots. The other instructor was a thin guy with spiky blonde hair, tight leather motorcycle pants that creaked with every step he took, and huge knee high armoured boots, the kind that only bikers and goths wear.
My group consisted of three other people, one girl and two guys. The girl was 20 and had never even driven a car before. One guy was 21 and had ridden his own scooter, which he had just purchased, to the lesson (which he was chided for, as it is illegal to drive without getting your CBT certificate first) and another guy who said he had ridden a bike before, years ago. The third man said he wanted to use a scooter to get a job as a delivery person. His English wasn't so good. My instructor gave both groups quick low-down on the basics of proper safety wear. The spiky guy told a story of how his foot was run over by a Rolls Royce, and that the very boots he was wearing protected him. I still think the boots are a bit over the top, fashion-wise.
After the brief lesson we went out to the parking lot. It rained the entire time we were out there, for a good three hours. I putted around the parking lot of Wimbledon Greyhound Stadium soaked to the bone, trying to avoid the puddles and the huge city bus at one end (also in training), making figure eights and emergency stopping. Once we heard the dogs yelping near the entrance, while we were standing around waiting for something. It seemed there was lots of standing around waiting for something involved in this class. Two of my fellow classmates took advantage of these breaks and smoked each time, cupping their cigarettes in their hands to keep them from fizzling out in the rain. We stopped for lunch and the delivery guy was dismissed and told to come back another time, as he couldn't do his figure eights without putting his leg on the ground.
My fellow classmates and I got lunch at a spot frequented mostly by BT servicemen or other tradesmen, men whose office mainly consists of a van of some sort. The rain seemed to have stopped and the sun started to burn down, drying my clothes almost completely (except where the sun doesn't shine). I grabbed a twix for dessert from the basket on the end of the lunch counter and tucked it into my pocket as I paid for it. I needed some chocolate to complete the next task: riding on the road in traffic. (Please note, no eating and riding was done simultaneously.)
Back in the office again, where we over some of the British highway code, sitting around a table inlaid with what reminded me of an Ikea children's rug: an oversized cartoon map, with roads wide enough to ride a toy truck down. Then we split up so we could go out two at a time on the road with the instructor. I volunteer to be one of the first.
We started out with me in front, the instructor on a motorcycle in the middle and the other guy bringing up the rear on his own bike. We had radios to hear the instructor give us directions. I make the first left out of the parking and a woohoo! I'm off! It was fun but rather frustrating, as being on a scooter is like the worst of every form of transportation on the road: not fast enough to be a motorcycle, not nimble enough to be a bike. Cars, motorcycles, bikes and pedestrians all potential hazards, not to mention the buses. And the scooter is also not a very proud vehicle. It certainly feels embarrassing, even when going downhill, to be passed by a cyclist. The bike I was riding on was a 50cc model, I tried pushing it up past 25mph, but it really didn't want to be bothered.
We rode around a bit, stopped to do some mandatory maneuvers, and then came back. The hour flew by. I spent the next hour waiting for the other two to get back, snacking on my twix and chatting with some other students who had spiky as their instructor. It seems that some people are taking up cycling to avoid the congestion charge. I'm just doing it because it's a step above getting around on a bike that's powered by my thighs alone.
The last hour on the road it's the girl and me. I go first again, as the girl seems a bit frazzled by being out on the road, apparently, she tells me in disgust, cars cut you off and aren't very nice to you! (A lesson I learned on my bike, or maybe from driving myself.) She smokes three cigarettes in the ten minutes it takes for the instructor to fill out the paperwork for the first guy, as he gets his certificate and goes home. We hop on the bikes and its me in the lead again, stop again for maneuvers, only I get a break since I've done them already. I sit on a bench overlooking a golf course, and text back and forth to some stranger who thinks he knows me (hi, what r u doin?). In the old days it wouldn't take four texts to figure out you had the wrong number.
I get back on the bike and finish out the course. Bill is waiting for me when we get there. The instructor tells me to go inside and wait for him at the desk, he will fill out my CBT certificate there. I go up there and then wait and wait and wait, it seems like forever. Then the girl comes bursting up the stairs half in tears, saying that he failed her and she has to come back. I am kind of shocked and asked why. She tells me that while doing a U-turn out on the street she fell off her bike. I missed this because I was watching two lovely ladies putting on the golf course. She says something about losing her deposit on a bike because she can't pick it up this weekend, and storms out. Ugh, I feel bad because for the most part she was doing fine. One of the guys at the place says that it's all in the name of safety, that they actually lose money by failing people, as they are entitled to another course for free if they don't make it through the first time. At this point I feel relieved that I passed the course at all, even though I failed to cancel my signal on half the turns I took.
Finally the instructor comes upstairs and fills out my paperwork. I tell him what kind of bike I'm going to be riding, and he tells me to practice it first somewhere safe before going out on the road, as the C-1 handles differently than other scooters. I thank him, take my certificate, go downstairs and hop on the back of bill's bike to race home. I watch the speedometer and feel a trill when it gets up to 50 mph on a freeway-like stretch of road that slopes towards the spaceage wandsworth sign. It feels good to be riding on the road at a decent speed. I think that maybe after riding the scooter around for a bit, I will want to ride a big bike. Who knows. Lookout road, here I come!
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