The experience was terrifying, because I'm a control freak.
Pillions, who needs them? They’re simply a nuisance on the back of your bike. Here we are, sitting up front, bravely managing our wonderfully powerful steeds through traffic or down country lanes while they simply sit on the back and occasionally complain. Or so I thought until recently. When doing this job there's a certain amount of picking up and returning of motorcycles to be done. Once in a blue moon I need a lift. Last week was one of those times. My esteemed colleague, Paul Creevey gave me a lift across town on the back of his bike. The experience was terrifying. Not because he's anything other than a very talented motorcyclist, but simply because I'm such a control freak.
There I am, sitting on a high seat behind the rider, surveying the world around me but master of none of it. I know how the machine works, but sitting back here, I find myself utterly devoid of any power. I can't overtake, or for that matter, undertake. I can't speed up or slow down. I've got nothing to do, but look on in horror as yet another insane car driver gets way too close for comfort. When I manage to calm down and look around I notice stuff I haven't seen in years and some stuff I never knew existed. Indeed, the pillion perched on a motorcycle enjoys the ideal vantage point from which to take sneaky looks into people's gardens. Small children held captive in the back of their parent’s cars seem somewhat mesmerised by armoured aliens thumbing their noses at them as they overtake at 100km per hour.
While I did relax somewhat, largely due to my confidence in the rider's skills, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't very happy when we got to our destination and I could get back on my own bike. Having survived the ordeal I recalled my formative years, many of which were spent sitting on the back of various bikes. Back then, I was blissfully unaware of the dangers associated with motorcycling and to me there was a genuine sense of excitement every time I got on one. A particularly colourful friend of a friend had somewhat of an aversion to authority and seemed unaware of his obligation to stop when signaled to do so by any and all law enforcement types. This was all well and good when he was out on his own, but at least one of his pillion passengers will never forgive him for taking her on the trip of a lifetime without her consent.
I remember the exhilaration when sitting on the back. The curiosity about how bikes worked spurred me on to save enough money to buy my own. Having made the transition from the back to the front of the bike I've always been somewhat curious about career pillions, the ones who have no intention of ever riding a bike and are happy to leave someone else, usually their partner, do their riding for them. Then again, I may have mentioned that I'm somewhat of a control freak when it comes to this sort of thing.
My favourite pillions are the professional ones you see in the Tour de France, sitting the wrong way round on the back of a BMW holding a heavy TV camera and remaining focused on a pack of sweaty push bike heroes while the rider is trusted to do what they do. There are a number of other models of pillion, the one that comes quickest to mind is the 'clinger'. Scared witless, they clamp themselves onto the rider, hanging on for dear life. They squeeze and crush, making the whole experience excruciatingly uncomfortable for everyone concerned. They truly suffer for their art, and they make sure the rider does too.
Then there's the casual type – they sit on the back of the bike where they alternate between looking around with such physicality that it feels like they are climbing on and off the bike and try to have conversations with the rider at speed. The worst type, however, has to be the experienced motorcyclist, second-guessing everything the rider does and willing themselves to be in control. They try to ride the bike from behind, throwing their weight into corners where it's not needed. Some of them even signal on the rider’s behalf. They tend to be quite nervous and draw the riders attention to hazards that he or she have all ready noticed. This type of pillion needs a bus pass. But the problem isn't always down to them.
Many years ago a former motorcycle courier, who shall remain nameless to save his blushes, had recently taken his Sunday bike, a Ducati 748, to a track day for the first time. He subsequently decided the best way to proceed around town while working would be to get his toe slider, knee slider, elbow and any other appendage decked out at every given opportunity while riding his Suzuki DR200 dispatch bike in the city centre.
When a colleague needed a lift back to the workshop to pick up his own bike our hero volunteered to do the honours. He neglected to explain his new riding strategy, and having taken several turns this way had scared his passenger almost witless. The pillion then decided to opt out on the corner of Stephen's Green and Dawson Street where he simply stepped off the rapidly braking bike while it was still moving. The last thing the rider felt was his rear suspension unload before passenger, rider and bike all got a new set of scratches. Years later they are still on speaking terms.
My favourite pillion rider of all time had to be one I saw on a FireBlade street fighter at a provincial stunt show many years ago. Each time the rider wheelied the bike, the pillion, who was somewhat smaller than the rider, would helpfully lean back. After a number of passes, the rider swung both legs over the front of the bike and pulled himself or herself up on the tank. The now former rider held on via the support bar on the Renthal handlebars while the pillion slid forward into the riders seat and took control of the machine. All this happened pretty much in the blink of an eye. The best part was when our diminutive pillion then wheelied the Blade with the former rider still sitting on the tank. Truly epic and in spite of wasting hours of my life on you tube, I haven't been able to see this particular trick repeated.
It's easy to complain about pillions, they make our bikes handle badly, interfere with navigation, tell us to slow down, but every time we carry one we become an ambassador for our passion and they in turn get to share some of our adventure. They do in truth, help us navigate, they keep us company on long trips, share the experience, pay tolls and choose accommodation when touring. If you carry a pillion, take a little bit of time to explain the best way for them to sit on the back of your bike so you both remain comfortable, define a basic communication system so they can signal you if they need to stop and let them know what to expect from the handling of the bike.
Make sure they are properly attired for the experience; your 10-year-old lid isn't going to do them any favours in the event of an accident. When they are back there, ride with some consideration. It's all very well that you know what your bike can do, and indeed what your own capabilities are, but a frightened pillion will simply confirm all the nasty stories and stereotyping of motorcycles. Paul Creevey runs Motocraft, an Irish trackday company operating on some of the best tracks in Europe.
Ride safe and try to be nice to the pedestrian on the back of your bike.