In a series of blog posts I thought it might be a good idea to explain how different activities have had an impact on my life. Where the passions began and how I continue to chase them at every opportunity today. I reckon a good place to start is with pushbikes that have, and still do have a impact on my life. So firstly, in this first proper blog, not an introductory one, here's going way back to the late 1970's early 80's.....In the beginning. Me and Bikes.
Ever since I was a young lad growing up in rural Sussex I spent my time outdoors but It was push bikes that really got me outside, giving me independence and freedom to roam within a Radius of about 1.5 miles. Maybe because back in those days I felt that being indoors was just plain boring, and to this day I still itch to get outdoors and play. At that time it was pre-computer games like Atari, I didn’t like them much then when they did arrive on the scene, and probably still as much at a loss to see how they impact so many lives now, including my own son. I’m not against them, I’ve just never really understood the attraction, but then again, I’m crap when I do try them, that dexterity of having fingers and thumbs working at the same time…Nah, not for me. Television back then was not like now, the only thing I seemed to be interested in was the World of Sport when the Motocross Grand Prix was on. The listing read something like 1.30pm Race 1, 3.30pm Race 2, with a bunch of random mainstream sports in between, maybe a bit of World Rally or RallyCross from Lydden Hill which was always a pretty cool watch. But as far as the Motocross, I remember being out in the morning riding our bikes that always seemed to have different sized wheels because that’s all our mate's older brother Steve Barker could get hold of when we ordered a ‘Tracker’ from him, and he then scoured the tips and skips. It was a bloody high end bike if you ended up with two 24” or 26” wheels and a pair of 'cowhorn' (now selling for £70) handlebars and a headset that didn’t actually hold anything tight. If we were really lucky then our mate Dan Beamish had a few pairs of old handlebars from his, or his older brothers Suzuki MX Bikes, and there was a bin of throw away bars we could have, but with the cross bar cut out so not for heavy use e.g motocross, we'd just put a piece of dowling in there to replace it. Anyway, we’d come home for race 1 of the MXGP, then head out again, and back again for Race 2. Inspired by what I’d seen, then go and jump something or people from makeshift ramps, hit the grass bank over the park, or head up our local little track up the end of the lane and race each other, always trying to avoid, or get past Clive Hopkins who had the widest cowhorns in history, or we'd surely ever seen. Clive will always be someone I remember from those days, and someone who many years later, bumped into in our local pub, he had a spare ticket to Pearl jam and along with his missis, they took me to London. As a personally amusing side note, that only a few will remember, Clive was also famous locally for nearly killing himself when he overcooked a turn, known as WaterWorks Bend, on his moped. He came off, went flying, and as I remember took a chunk out of a Chevron sign. Until that sign was replaced that gave us great amusement to see a hole in the top right corner, and we’d all say that was where Clive's head went! It was all about bikes when I was young, and with a Motocross track owned by my best mates Dad, just over the hill, our parents mostly knew where we would be on race day. We’d spend hours watching the racing when it was on, cheering for our mate Dan in the schoolboys or the senior racers like local rider Billy Aldridge when they were racing up there. At lunch break when the riders were resting we’d all rush onto the track with our bikes and hit the jumps, this was poor man's Motocross, waiting to see if someones frame would snap, a crank arm or pedal sheer off, or wheels buckle, or see who had some style as it was all about the ‘turn bar’ back then, emulating the Motocross riders. As soon as the racing started again the marshalls would clear us off the track, and we’d resume our position high on the hill within the natural amphitheatre of Golding Barn Raceway, with our burgers and drinks, the noise of the two stroke engines, the smell of fuel and your mates beside you, the racing would begin again. I used to love the start, as it sounded like a swarm of bees, and from our house, if the wind was blowing from the North, the noise would funnel out of the valley and across to our village, the council hated it but we loved it, and my Dad always commented saying something like ‘Racing has started son’; but it was usually practice and we’d head up for the racing. As soon as racing was over for the day, we'd charge down the lane, across the main road, down the bridle path past Shamrock Farm, known as the ‘Monkey Farm’, that happened to be an old quarantine facility for monkeys that were to be used in animal testing, and its always the focus of Animal Rights protests back then and thankfully closed in 2000. Our track was just below the Monkey Farm, at the end of a lane in a place we called the ‘The Brooks’. This was our outdoors, this was our motocross track with a few jumps, a bit of a start hill and a few mostly rutted turns. We’d ride until tea ime, or our bikes broke, and all this before BMX even entered our little world. This was the beginning, my love of riding bikes, my real love of a little adventure, not far from my house but another world that I loved so much. This is why forty plus years later, I'm still watching motocross and heading out on my bike with a passion of a big kid, hitting some jumps and trying to rail some turns. Happy Days indeed…. then and now, and as the years went by my radius for adventure grew, but that's another blog. Notes: Photo 1: Golding Barn Raceway, dramatically changed in this photo from what it used to be like. Our village of Upper Beeding (foreground) and Steyning in the background. You can see the natural amphitheatre of the Track and we'd sit high up with the best view. Photo 2: Protesters outside Shamrock Farm entrance blocking the road. Being young we'd often sit on that embankment and watch on our way home from the Racing. This was literally just over that hill from the Track. Our own little track was at the bottom corner of that golden/yellow corn field between Golding Barn and Upper Beeding. That flat area to the right we called 'The Brooks', but actually known as The Weald and Downland between the South and North Downs.
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AuthorHi, I'm Russ Pierre, a Cyclist, Surfer and outdoor enthusiast. Please join me as I have some fun on my adventures and write about all the stuff that makes me tick. Archives
October 2023
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