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HARRY POTTERER AND THE (MOTOR)CYCLE OF DOOM
(With apologies to J.K. Rowling)

Bob Pickett tells a mystical tale of a boy and his bike...

Young (and rather short for his age) Harry Potterer always felt there was something different about him. While his family and friends watched football, he would listen out for engine noises as they went past his room under the stairs. When no-one was around, he found himself wearing a pan on his head and making "vroom" noises. He had no idea why, but there had to be a reason…

Then one day, while the family were glued to "The Big Match", Harry slipped out quietly from the house - something was calling to him from the High Street. As if by magic, he was drawn to one particular shop, where he found himself unable to take his eyes away from what he saw in the window. There they were, gleaming machines, all chrome and lovely, with just the smallest of oil patches underneath each one. Harry was transfixed. But what could it all mean?

"You're a biker, Harry" said a voice. Shocked out of his reverie, Harry looked up. There was a very tall man, with a massive shaggy beard, wearing a leather jacket.

"A biker?" said Harry "What does it mean?"

"Its in your blood" said the tall man "Look, you even have the mark of the biker on you".

Harry looked at the mark that he had from birth. It was three letters, BSA.

"But what does it mean?" asked Harry.

"It stands for Biker. Short A*se" said the man (see, we told you Harry was quite short for his age).

Suddenly, everything made sense. "Now we need to fit you out with your tool" said the tall man. Harry followed him into the shop and bought his first bike. It was magic.

From then on, his life changed. He flew about the countryside as if boy and bike were as one. Then one day he rode to the Ace Café. Walking through the door, he saw a vision of loveliness. Drawn to her, he asked her name. "It is Hermoanione" she said. Harry was transfixed. Unknown to Harry, Hermoanione had her own form of magic to weave on him…

… 20 years later, the kids had left home and the mortgage was paid up. Hermoanione had her own little business, arranging parties where she sold small motorised contraptions, battery powered, to other ladies. One day, Hermoanione was packing her bag to go to her latest party, when one of the little machines fell on the floor. Harry went to pick it up and accidentally flicked the "On" switch. The little machine did what it was supposed to do, and began to vibrate.

A small, vibrating engine? What could than mean? The spell was broken as Harry realised with a gasp what had been missing from his life for the last twenty years. Once again, he slipped out of the door to the shop that had changed his life. But in the window, things had changed. Where there had been chrome and oil patches, suddenly there was all plastic and purposeful pointy angles. Harry was transfixed. The magic weaved it's spell once again, and Harry left with something exotic, with the mystical symbol "R1" on the tail.

"Now I used to be a wizard on one of these" thought Harry "So lets see what it can do". So he did. Unprepared for 1000cc of performance engine, Harry flew along the road, missed the corner and went straight into a ditch…

But why? "Because you're no longer a biker Harry" said a familiar voice. Looking up from the floor, Harry saw once again the very tall man with a flowing beard, now wearing the clothing of a motorcycle paramedic (he had obviously done his homework over the last twenty years). "You are now a middle-aged man who didn't realise bikes have moved on while you were under Hermoanione's spell. Look, the mark on you has changed"

And Harry looked. And saw the mark had changed to three different letters, IAM. "But what does it mean?" asked Harry.

"The letters form the name of someone you should go to for some re-training before you get on such a powerful bike after all those years away" said the tall, bearded paramedic.

Moral: if you haven't been on a bike for years, get a little practice in before launching off again. It will work like magic.

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