ORANGE GLOW AND PURPLE HAZE
Back in the monochrome days of my biking youth, there was a bunch of us in the village with old British iron – teenagers inspired to explore beyond local boundaries by riding motorcycles. It was a (relatively) cheap and easy way into personal transport, felt a bit rebellious, and was way too much fun. We’d ride all year, but there always seemed to be an annual winter trip to London – though not on bikes. We’d fill a minibus, go en masse to one of the annual bike shows, check out the new stuff but, more important, buy loads of tat we needed to bring our bikes back to fine fettle. We also used to hit the smoke by minibus when Coles needed Velo parts. Coles had a Venom and despite being…