The Philippines on two wheels - part eight

Just survived my first solo motorcycle ride in forty years. To be accurate, a scooter ride. Hands are in my pockets to hide the trembling.  Gord arranged for a rental so we can do some road trips together.

Here's my last motorcycle, a dinosaur of a BSA 250 bought in England. To start meant kicking like a carabao (look that up).

An old advertising clipping.

This is my 'Honda Beat', an odd name, but ignition simply involves a button. Vroom! On the inaugural ride, I unintentionally found myself nipping along at 65 k. Glancing at the speedometer while avoiding jeepneys, dogs, pedestrians and a chicken gave me a fright and I discovered the brakes. There also seems to be a usefully loud horn. 

I'm joining the millions of Filipinos for whom a small motorcycle is the 'family car'. There's certainly a casual attitude to driving and enforcement. A television news program today noted the number of Filipinos who drive and text - on motorcycles.  

To employ a hackneyed phrase, I've rediscovered the pleasure of wind in my face, if not insects in my mouth and dust in my eyes. Also the addictive quality of speed.

It may be appropriate that my new acquisition arrived just after All Saints'. Even if all ends well, I may use up some of my nine lives.