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15-07-2005 The Scotsman
Demonstrator shows G8 protest roadblocks a clean pair of wheels By Gethin Chamberlain "ERE... Look at that." The policeman outside the steel fence surrounding the G8 summit site at Gleneagles was pointing at the rear panier of the bike in which I was sitting, waiting patiently for a small gap in the protesters around me to open and allow me to squeeze through. "That's the easiest one to spot so far." His colleague looked over, and started to chuckle. I looked down. They were pointing at the writing on the panier. The pair had about them the look of men who would find amusement in home video out-takes, but I suppose I was asking for it. In big writing, it read: "Two Wheels Demonstrator". We had hatched the idea to borrow the bike from the nice men at Edinburgh's Two Wheels Motorcycles when the non-motorcycle demonstrators began talking about blockading the roads into Gleneagles. While some of my colleagues had the luxury of covering the summit of world leaders from the inside of the fence, where a well-equipped media centre, food court and, I gather, a bar, provided all the comfort they needed, and a shuttle bus whisked them from the heart of Edinburgh straight through the police lines, some of us were not so lucky. My task was to keep an eye on whatever trouble there was outside the summit, but it was a big area to cover, and if roads started to be blocked, getting stuck in traffic tailbacks would be a serious setback. Hence the bike. Now I'm not sure what I had in mind, but if I'm being honest I probably was not thinking of the Honda NT650V Deauville, billed as a "sleek and compact" touring commuter. I understand that some unkind wags refer to it as the Dullsville, and I confess I would not have argued too hard against them on first sight. It had a half fairing and built-in paniers, details which I never associate with a quickening heartbeat, but at least it was roadworthy, which is more than could be said for my own Suzuki GS 850, languishing at the side of the house after failing its MoT for having a headlight which dips the wrong way. And yes, since you ask, it was Two Wheels' tester who failed it. The irony was not lost on me either. The paniers, however, had their uses. Into one went a laptop computer, into the other a bag of clothes, and I was on my way, whizzing up the M90 to the cottage the newspaper had rented in the middle of a field somewhere between Perth and Crieff. Now it is a little while since I have ridden regularly, but I used to commute between my home in Shropshire and Birmingham - and sometimes London - and it was not long before I was sliding between the slow-moving tailbacks on the Edinburgh bypass. I'd been doing this for just two minutes (I know this because the Deauville has a nifty little digital clock on the dash) when someone opened the passenger door of a Volvo as I approached. The fact that I'd already clocked the movement in the passenger mirror and slowed to a crawl, brakes covered, made me feel suitably smug. This feeling lasted until the next roundabout when I put my foot down in a pothole and nearly toppled sideways. Once on the open road, the bike behaved perfectly respectably and thanks to the splendid isolation of the cottage that had been hired, I also had the chance to try it out on a few farm tracks too. If there are any farmers reading this, might I just make a request on behalf of those on two wheels: if you are going to install road humps, it is always helpful to flag up their presence in advance. The Deauville, it turns out, has remarkably forgiving suspension but I'd rather not take off on it again. Sadly, the first roadblock turned out to pose problems that even a bike could not overcome. The eco-warriors had, inexplicably, chopped down a tree and placed it across a bridge. Thankfully, they were from Belgium and had chosen one of the minor roads into Auchterarder, so finding an alternative way in involved only a minor detour. Once in the town, getting about was a dream. Security alerts had closed the main street, tailing traffic back for miles, but the bike enabled me to cruise to the front of the queue and nip round a couple of back roads to be on my way. On the day of the main demonstrations, the bike was worth its weight in gold. There were minor incidents all around the town, and the queues of buses and cars carrying demonstrators stretched back for miles along the country roads, down which they had been diverted to keep the main street clear. Getting through the marchers gathering in the main street in a car would have been nigh-on impossible, but they did not seem to mind a bike weaving through their number. The police, too, seemed happy enough to allow a bike through and coned-off areas provided no barrier on two wheels. Even the leathers had their uses. When eventually the march reached a cornfield overlooking the security fence built around the site, some demonstrators decided to push through the police lines to get as close to the hotel as possible. There was nothing for it but to join them, to see what was going on. I may have been cursing the leathers earlier when the sun came out and I was working in my own personal sauna, but two barbed wire fences later the previous discomfort was forgotten. There was, however, one unforeseen downside. The word "demonstrator" on the side of the paniers may have caused some mirth, but the sight of a man dressed from head to toe in black leather, carrying a black bike helmet strapped to the black rucksack on his back, and striding towards the police lines appears to have caused some confusion. The police thought I was a demonstrator, and protests to the contrary fell on deaf ears as I was shoved away from the main flashpoint, and some of my colleagues appear to have had the same thoughts. A radio reporter shoved a microphone under my nose and asked for my views. I shared them with him, but I'm not sure it was what he had in mind. Never mind. The next morning, I was preparing to spend the day mopping up whatever last bits of trouble there were, only to be called back to Edinburgh. Bombs were going off in London, the message said. Get back here now. And with that I was back on the bike, hugging the white line as I cut through the traffic and made it from Auchterarder high street to my desk in 40 minutes flat. Don't you love it when a plan comes together?
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................................................................................................................. Copyright ©2004 Gethin Chamberlain. All rights reserved. |
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