It's all very well us chaps banging on about how great bikes are and biking is, but we all look at the world in a similar way and perhaps our view is, well, a little skewed. We're always being told how our wives, girlfriends, sisters or even female colleagues are so much more logical than we are. So who better to explain, clearly and succinctly, why we ride bikes than a woman? Step forward Clare Gamby - conqueror of the Cadwell Mountain and one of the fastest learners on the planet:

When asked to put pen to paper about why I ride motorbikes, I thought it would be easy. I thought there would be a million reasons that I could wax lyrical about. I thought the ruthless cut of the editor’s knife would be wielded on an epic piece of prose expounding the many delights I get from the two-wheeled world. I thought wrong.

To answer the question, I have a very simple answer: I ride motorbikes because I can. It’s that simple.

Ok, now maybe that’s a little unhelpful (and certainly not very enlightening for the rest of you!) so after much time spent chewing it over, I guess it’s only fair of me to elaborate.

I’m not saying that I’m the best biker I know, far from it, rather that I’m fortunate enough to say that there is nothing that stops me from enjoying the pleasures of biking. Unlike many people I know, there are no barriers (actual or imagined) that can get in my way. I’m single, I have no dependents and I earn enough money to delude myself that I can afford it. In short, I’m alive. And that’s what biking to me is all about.

Like a lot of people I first got into biking through financial circumstances, which for me happened when I was 17. Well, to be fair it wasn’t just the money. It was also a bit of a teenage victory over my parents and boy did that feel good back then! Growing up with an older brother who was persistently told that there was no way he was ever going to ride a motorbike, I got off scot-free. After all, out of the two of us who was most likely to be tempted into jumping onto a two-wheeled death trap and hooning off into the sunset? Not me, no no.

Ah yes. I well remember the look of sheer horror on their faces when I proudly told them that I had put a deposit (non-refundable of course) on a beautiful CB-125 (yeah ok, I was only 17 you know!). The protestations came thick and fast. Only to be quelled by that absolute corker: well, you never said I couldn’t have one. Oh the perversity of teenage logic! I had a lot of learning to do back then on negotiations, that’s for sure. Anyway, suffice to say that I won the first round and with innocent shining eyes proudly collected my bike two weeks later. I had no idea what I had started.

It still makes me smile now to remember the two-mile trudge home with my first motorbike. Like with many life experiences, the memory of the pain has diminished with time. I swear the damn thing was made of solid steel. Why not ride it home? Well, there are a number of reasons for that which I won’t bore you with. Let’s just say that the CB-125 was the only part of the kit that I had.

As part of the deal with my parents, a six-week training course culminating in the completion of Part I of my bike test followed. Then began the start of a love/hate relationship that endures to this day. Why so? Well, I always hear the men I know refer to biking as being like a love affair and I think I get what they’re talking about, but my take on it is slightly different. There have been times when I’ve been so ecstatically happy that I’m sure I have an aura emanating from me that is positively contagious. On the other hand there have been times when I’ve truly screamed and shouted in frustration – usually because of something stupid I have done. Ah. Right. Ok, a love affair it is then.

So that’s where it began, with a truly bodged up CB-125 (they saw me coming that’s for sure) in the naivety of youth. My motorbike was my life then. It got me from A to B (most of the time anyway) and had me grinning in the process. “It doesn’t get any better than this does it?” I thought. True, until I passed my driving test that is. Peer pressure is a terrible thing. For me back then the pressure was well and truly on. I won’t go in to details, but the net result was that before long I’d moved on from biking before I took Part II of my test.

It was twelve years before I next got back on a motorbike.

Had I given it a thought in the meantime? Absolutely. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t. It just seemed that the time was never right. I thought up a million excuses as to why not to ride. But if I’m honest, I guess it’s because I didn’t think I could do it. You see I’d had twelve years of false security in a metal box with four wheels. I was in my comfort zone and I didn’t want to get out of it. My eyes had been brutally opened to what seemed like a world of carnage just waiting to happen. I saw what chaos and mayhem was caused during the morning commuter run into London with bleary-eyed company car drivers auto-piloting the same route every day. Too many times I saw bikers coming off worst through no fault of their own, other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why on Earth would I want to run that gauntlet every day?

So what happened? I changed my mind, I guess. Brought about by a fairly life-changing experience a few years ago when it became very clearly apparent that life really was too short. It dawned on me that it doesn’t matter what I do, when my time comes, then that’s it. So with the full support and encouragement of family and friends I booked myself onto a Direct Access course and got my full bike licence.

I haven’t regretted it for one minute. Being out on my SV-650S (I guess I like twins!) gives me so much I really cannot find words to express it. For me, it’s not just about the joys of sweeping through the countryside on some of the country’s most beautiful and challenging roads. Or the thrills and exhilaration of a track day. It’s that and so much more. It’s about the absolute physical and mental exhaustion I felt after completing the National Rally for the first time and the sheer adrenalin that got me home afterwards. It’s about the aching I felt in my limbs on finally arriving in Nurburg having ridden the 400+ miles there for the first time.

Like I said at the beginning, why I ride motorbikes is simple. It’s because I can. Because it makes me feel alive. Like nothing else does.

What’s your excuse?