The motorcycle club that I belong to have some real die-hard bikers: guys that will ride any distance in any weather.

I’m not one of them.

I used to be, back in the day. I used to ride in all weathers: dry, warm and sunny to windy, cold and wet. I even used to ride in the snow – mainly because back then, my motorcycle was my only form of transportation… apart from my pushbike.

But, once I’d got a car, the bike very quickly became a warm weather vehicle. Notice I said ‘warm’, not ‘hot’.  When the degrees are up in the high twenties, I’d much rather be in an air-conditioned car than sweltering in leathers at a set of traffic lights.  In fact, I’ve become a very temperate rider: I don’t like it too hot and I don’t like it too cold.  Baby Bear’s porridge is just the right temperature for me.  Call me Goldilocks if you wish.

Guys at the club rib me and say I am a wuss for not riding all year round, as they do.

Each January, they do a ride called the Chilly Willy, which raises money for a local hospice or something.  I determined that this would be the year I would brave the weather and join them.

I didn’t.

The fact is, that nowadays I ride for fun. I ride for the sheer joy that motorcycling gives me.  And I get absolutely no joy whatsoever, riding when it’s freezing bloody cold and/or wet!

So, the die-hards can make fun and call me whatever – me and my steed won’t be joining them until the roads are nice and dry and the mercury in my thermometer gets within decent reach of 18° C.