And they said it would never happen...

Well I finally gave in to the peer pressure and constant piss take about not actually having a motorbike licence for a trip that's going half way round the world on a motorbike. No reasoning would stop the sarcastic remarks.

I can keep up with a bloody T80 on my beer bicycle so I assumed that having passed my cycling proficiency test with.... well rather dubious colours, I thought I was overly qualified. So I picked up the phone to book a direct access course only to find out that I've got to do something called a CBT first. A quick search on the net... Viola “Cognitive behavioural therapy.”

Personality disorder? Check.

Substance abuse disorder? Check.

Alcohol abuse disorder? Check.

Seems like I qualify. But what the hell has this got to do with riding a moped? No that can't be it, maybe its “Crash Before Test” now I've done that loads of times, should be a piece of piss.

Further down the page it was there “Compulsory Basic Training” apparently the idea was conceived by a bike dealer in Yorkshire who grew tired of losing all of its customers under steam rollers and articulated lorries and thought it made good business sense to train their new bikers so that they would be alive enough to come back.

As a precaution I thought I'd go out and buy a new helmet as my other one was from China bought off E bay and was probably made from birds nests. So after a fitting and “No that pink one looks ridiculous on you” I got myself kitted out.

A quick phone call and my CBT was booked. 9am Saturday morning came and I arrived at B.C Motorcycle Training in Northwich feeling like a school boy on his first day of big school with a brand new pencil case and crayons. The instructor told me to go and put them back in the car and get your sodding helmet and why are you wearing shorts and a blazer that's 10 times too small?

Joining me in the classroom was Alex, it was his 16^th birthday and the CBT was a present from his dad. Already in their garage was a shiny new twist and go moped he had saved up to buy.

I was a little disappointed that they didn't offer us a beer or something stronger to settle our nerves. Our instructor was Derek who talked us through clothing and why you shouldn't play football with your helmet and ride around in a mankini. Then it was off to the dreaded course of doom, an area behind the building full of traffic cones where they can assess my riding skills safe in the fact that I wasn't going to mow down any members of the general public.

My steed for the day was a Honda 125cc, a total beast of a machine compared to the T80 that we will be riding in the wrong way round. Like me it was reluctant to start and just as I was about to say “C'est la vie” and bugger off to the pub it burst into life. Whilst it sat there throbbing on the tarmac Derek pointed out which button to press to operate the blinky things and the one that beeps to attract passing totty.

Armed with all this knowledge I gingerly mounted the brute, reigning in its full 12hp and with a gearbox full of neutrals I feathered the clutch and wobbled my way around the cones.

Happy in the knowledge that I wasn't going to go fast enough to actually kill anyone Derek allowed us onto the Queens Highway where I could terrorize the inhabitants of Northwich.

2 hours tearing around the streets whilst mistaking the horn for the indicator and realizing that 125s don't pull away from the lights very well in top gear followed.

Back at base we were issued with our CBT certificates, poor Alex left excitedly with his, knowing he was going to be put through the purgatory of a family birthday meal all evening instead of going out to show his mates his new toy.

Watch out humble road users, here I come!

Next thing, the theory test.... a computerized multiple guess.