It’s great knocking around with like-minded people, isn’t it? But don’t forget, there are weirdos in all walks of life and the motorcycle world is no exception. To help keep you safe from the bonkers and the boring, we’ve compiled a list of the top five people to avoid at your local bike café . Good luck.
The ‘Marc Marquez’
Ten years ago, this bloke would have been dressed up as Valentino, but now there’s a new king in town. He’s ditched his Gauloises Yamaha Dainese one-piece and matching R1, and traded the job lot in for a Repsol Fireblade with all the trimmings. There’s one at every biker café, BSB round and dogging spot from Land’s End to John o’ Groats. And although The ‘Marc’ might seem harmless enough at first, after a couple of minutes of conversation with him it’ll become abundantly clear as to why he is so desperate to be somebody else; anyone but himself.
You see, he’s spent so much of his life worrying about what he looks like that he has completely forgotten to actually have a life. Consequently he has absolutely nothing interesting or entertaining to add to any conversation about anything at all. But that won’t stop him trying. He’ll squeak around in his Alpinestars and bore you to tears with tedious anecdotes that are probably made up anyway. The best way to avoid getting stuck in a mind numbingly boring conversation with one of these MotoGP fanboys is to avoid them like the plague, at all costs.
The Gobby Biker Slag
You’ll hear her a long time before you see her, but fear not; you won’t be missing anything. ‘The Gobby Biker Slag’ is rarely anything to write home about. Think 15 stone, squeezed into an ill-fitting set of textiles and a face that even a mother would struggle to love, and you’d be on the right lines. She’s convinced she’s ‘one of the lads’ just because she thinks nothing of farting in public. And to make up for her lack of intelligence and a varied vocabulary, shoe-horns swearwords into every sentence she shouts. She tells everyone that she does all her own maintenance, but her ex-convict (violent crimes) fiancé (there’s no wedding planned) doesn’t let her touch a spanner since she topped her Honda Hornet’s front brake reservoir up with two-stroke oil.
If you’re unlucky enough to find yourself in a one-sided conversation with The GBS, expect to have to deal with blatant and crude innuendos (you might find a bit of sick comes up), and lies about how fast she can ride; lies that only somebody as brain-dead as her would believe. Remember the golden rule; if she’s fat, ugly, covered in cheap tattoos and on a really shit bike, stay clear. It’s best to give The GBS a wide birth.
The Washed-Up Racer.
You’ll spot this prick a mile off. In his 20s, he’ll be in an old one-piece race suit with more scuffs on it then Prince Philip’s Landy, and an Arai logo on the chest from when the local bike shop let him have an RX-7 at trade price. He’ll usually have a couple of hangers on that think he is a minor celebrity. He’s not, but that only goes to massage his already over inflated ego. You’ll rarely hear him talk about anything or anyone other than himself; much to the delight of tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee at his side.
Anything you’ve done, he’s done one better, if your cat’s black, his is blacker; if you’ve got an elephant, he’s got a box to put the bastard in. Except for the fact that he doesn’t have any of that stuff. He doesn’t really have anything and still lives at home with his parents. He’s only at the bike café because he’s nipped out on his old man’s bike. And he can’t stay long because if dad finds out he’ll take his Xbox off him for a week. Don’t get suckered into a conversation with this irritating little turd, you’ll live to regret it.
The Custom Bike C**t
He’ll turn up on a bike that turns heads and makes more noise than it ought to, but that can’t be held against him; everyone’s different after all. Genuine interest and curiosity are likely to lure you in for a closer look at this chap’s bizarre looking bike. The braver ones amongst you might even engage The CBC in conversation. Some will ask if he’s built the project himself or simply bought it as it is… big mistake. Even though you didn’t ask, he’ll proceed to spout a well-rehearsed monologue about his ‘influences’ when building the thing. That’ll quickly turn into a passive aggressive rant about how soulless sportsbikes and the people that ride them are.
If you haven’t punched him in the face by now, he’ll be reaching into the pocket of his oil stained jeans for his ten year old iPhone, on which it will take two or three minutes of scrolling to find some grainy, badly lit images of the bike at various states of its build in a workshop that looks like the Boko Haram have been using it for target practice. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you, if someone turns up on a weird bike, it’s probably because they are weird.
These are people that ought to be avoided in all walks of life. But even more so when you’re at the bike café, with your tinted visor and ‘not for highway use’ can. And don’t be fooled by his “I’m one of the good ones” routine, because he’s full of shit; there aren’t any good ones. Just because he’s off-duty, don’t think for a second that he isn’t eyeing up the tread depths on your R11s. Don’t think he’s not earwigging your conversations about which roads you can get away with opening your bikes up on.
He’ll look down his nose with an arrogant smirk at everyone in the vicinity, whether they’re law abiding or not. Constantly waiting for an opportunity to tell people about his special police motorcycle training. “Anyone can ride fast, but I’ve been specially trained to ride fast, ‘safely’.” This total bellend can single-handedly clear a whole bike café with one of his stupid, self-righteous smiles. Our advice is to get your lid on and do one as soon as you see this arsehole arrive; before he has chance to get his stupid little notebook out of his stupid little pocket.