I’ve never been as cold as when I rode a motorbike

My feet like blocks of ice and frozen shins

Stopping every mile or two to rub unfeeling thighs

And warm my hands through mittens on the fins.

I had a Beezer Bantam I bump-started on a hill

I’d ride it into work through frost and snow

So cold my hands and fingers they, by dinnertime, would still

Be numb and tingling like an Eskimo’s.

It gave me more than 80 to the gallon all the while

Not bad for just one seven five cc’s

I pushed that bastard Bantam, though, for mile after mile

No wonder I’d such good economy.

Six volt electrics, single cylinder, small engine too

It didn’t generate a lot of power

And with 20 stones astride it the best that it could do

Was a top speed of just 50 miles per hour.

So this winter if you see a biker whose machine has stalled

Crouched beside an English classic brand

It’s possible he isn’t even broken down at all

He’s probably just warming up his hands.