The Final Straw – Part One

Have you ever had a particular incident that significantly help to change the direction of your life?  

My own specific episode, I like to call “The Final Straw” - it happened to me in July 1977 – just one week after my seventeenth birthday…. Here’s my story of that actual event.

It was a warm summers night, my best pal and I had decided to take a ride on our small motorbikes down to popular seaside village on the Suffolk Coast. This picturesque hamlet, which was renowned for attracting plenty of holidaymakers, especially during the summer season. It was also a popular place for late-night beach parties and barbeques; somewhere you could hangout when the local pubs closed their doors.

After arriving at the village, we drew up outside the local public house. Like we’d expected the location was lively, full of young people as well as plenty of holidaymakers chatting, laughing and enjoying the evening. The time was getting close to ‘last-orders’ so we decided not to enter for a drink, but to ride a little further down to the coast to see if any parties had already begun.

We’d travelled about five or six hundred yards down the road toward the beach, when from nowhere three strange looking blokes jumped out in front of us, all of them waving their arms and causing us to brake sharply. I quickly observed that all three guys were very heavily built in stature and displayed a similarity in their appearances, long shoulder-length hair, tatty jeans and black weather-beaten leather jackets.

I turned off my engine and parked my machine on the side of the road, very close to a footbridge, which led down to the sea. I walked over to the men and engaged in friendly conversation. Initially the mood was pleasant and courteous, all of us chatting about trivial things. It wasn’t long after my initial engagement that the mood started to swiftly change.

One of the men who was noticeably drunk, started to make fun of out of my small Japanese motorbike, calling it a ‘sewing-machine-on-wheels’ and a complete ‘heap of junk’. He quickly informed me that he and his two companions all belonged to a “Bikers-Gang” from the South Of England. He spoke in a very confrontational manner with a slightly slurred tone, probably due to the excessive amount of alcohol he’d consumed. The man abruptly informed me that only ‘real men’ rode British bikes and that he and his two henchmen really despised any ‘imported’ machines, which also included any person that was riding one.

I soon realised that these blokes where now looking for trouble and I accepted that something dreadful was about to occur. My heart started to beat faster-and-faster. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention, adrenalin started to course through my body, basically preparing me for a “fight or flight” situation. As the seconds ticked-by I became more and more anxious, I knew that things were about to turn ugly.

Meanwhile sitting quietly in the background, not saying a word, my friend was still on his bike with the engine slowly ticking-over. He’d obviously picked up the same bad ‘vibes’ as myself, but had not gotten off his bike. Out of the blue with a puff of engine smoke he opened up his throttle and rode off into the night, leaving me totally alone to fend for myself.

With the sudden departure of my mate, I automatically knew that there was only a small window for myself to escape as well. With no further options available, I instinctively lashed out with several kicks and punches. I knew that I hadn’t really done enough to stop a full wave of violence coming back at me. Realising that I’d now infuriated these giants even more, I accepted the fact that I was now in very, very deep-trouble, therefore I did what most level-headed people would have done ……….I ran like hell!

Discover the final outcome in Part Two