"She is my aim and motivation"

I bought a Kawasaki Ninja 650 as my first ever 'large' bike after passing my full license. The following week I had a mini stroke, followed by a seizure. I have been told I can't ride for 6 months for health and safety reasons, and let me tell you the disappointment in not only not being able to ride, but not being able to ride the dream bike I have wanted since I was 10 years old. It's not just a bike for me... it's my dream to ride her, and as soon as I am better, it's the first thing I will do. She is my aim and motivation to get well again!! I have had to attach the photo from GT Superbikes' website of the bike I have purchased, because they are kindly holding onto her for now, until I can ride her! Will have to wait to share a photo of me and my bike :(

"It will always be very special to me"

I've been for 50 years, but for some reason I'd never really done any wrenching until a couple of years ago (which is weird since I work in IT and I'm reasonably handy around a house). Then one day I got tired of the guys at my LBS talking down to me, started watching Park Tool videos and picking up skills, and got hooked before I knew what was happening to me.

This was my first build, from a broken bike I bought for the Ultegra drivetrain and a 2009 Wilier Izoard frame I got on eBay. It weighs next to nothing and rides like a dream. It's also quite eye-catching on the road with the white saddle, bar tape and cable housings - to say nothing of the elegant Italian carbon frame - and I always get a kick when other riders notice it and comment on it.

The photo is a bit of a joke. "Brocante" in French is a flea market, so it's a reference to building the bike from spare parts. It won't be my last build - I'm working on a late-1990s Wilier right now - but it will always be very special to me.

"Cycling is freedom, joy, and exercise all in one"

I have three bikes, and I love each of them for different terrains but my trusty steed is my hybrid. At 68, you might think the excitement of cycling would fade, but the moment I get on and push off, I feel like a child again. Suddenly I’m light and free, as if I could head off, wind in my hair, and just go where the trails take me.

One of the greatest pleasures is cycling with my grandchildren, from the eldest at 14 to the youngest at just 2. Sharing that experience across generations makes it even more special. To me, cycling is freedom, joy, and exercise all in one. I call it “health through stealth,” keeping me active without it ever feeling like a chore. It's something that truly can be enjoyed at any age.

"My bike is my freedom"

My bike is my freedom, it's just me, my machine and the road beneath me. When I'm riding, I'm in that moment, worries, overthinking, anxieties, they all drift away as soon as I twist the throttle and set off. It's not just getting from A to B, filtering through traffic, it's the feel of the wind rushing through you, and taking the negatives away with it.

"Biking has changed my life"

My bike is my baby. I built it through an earn a bike program at Austin Yellow Bike Shop where I volunteered 40 hours learning the basics of bicycle mechanics and then built my earn-a-bike frame. Biking has changed my life. I have since built a bicycle for my father and also got my mom on a bike after over 30 years without riding. As a woman of color, I feel safer riding my bike at night versus walking or taking the bus. Car-free living, biking is my ticket to health, movement, and freedom. My Hiplok gives me peace of mind to park my bike wherever I go.

"It can scoot me to the shops and back but also give me the freedom"

After having had a stroke, a car was too much for me and my bicycle was tricky uphills, so I went all mod and now I have what I call an adult toy that can scoot me to the shops and back but also give me the freedom of exploring the countryside I could otherwise not access.

“It was so awesome!”

In the mid-1990s, a small Italian factory turned the motorcycle world upside down. The armada of pot-bellied, towering, asymmetrically exhausted four-cylinder sports bikes from Japan, all of which followed the same construction pattern, was shaken up by a slim, small bike.

It was radically different in form – and radically thought through to the end. Headlights with a feline look. A filigree but bombproof tubular steel frame enclosed a slim, supportive engine. The cockpit was drawn painfully tight around the handlebars, guaranteed to pinch thicker fingers. The back of the fuel tank as the narrowest point of all. Crash-protected exhausts at the rear. A single message: Where I am is up front. Quick-release fasteners, single-sided swingarm, completely naked in minutes. All designed to keep you smiling all the way to the chequered flag. As the first, of course.

The Ducati 916: a century design, specific for the race track and revolutionary in its consistency. The sensational Honda RC30 was undoubtedly the template for “la moto massimale” in Bologna, but the 916 combined Far Eastern precision with Italian madness.

This also meant: the 916 was not available for a long time. Hundreds of half-finished bikes remained in the factory because suppliers had stopped delivering due to unpaid bills. Organised chaos and a sometimes very casual build quality kept many 916s off the road. Apart from the price.

My first contact with the goddess was in the saddle of a Yamaha FZR 1000 Exup – a battleship compared to the red one from Bologna. I followed the Ducati through the Vinschgau valley, it filled the space behind with harsh Termignoni fanfares, terrifying clutch rattles and its orgiastic tail. After a few kilometres the 916 crashed sideways into the rear of a car taking the right of way, leaving the rider with a broken wrist. The Ducati, on the other hand, was able to roll home on its own wheels thanks to cleverly placed predetermined breaking points on the handlebar stubs, clutch grip, mirror and fairing brackets.

That had never happened before.

The 916 was fascinating, but for a long time I did not feel I wanted it. Its radical looks spoke against it, I was still more addicted to the superbikes of the 1990s: GSX-R, ZXR, the beautiful OW-01. What’s more, its successor, the 996, even in 2000, was still priced in spheres I couldn’t reach. However, I spontaneously fell in love with a 748 that I could practically see being born: During my visit, my dealer opened a crate from Borgo Panigale and assembled the “little one”.

Barely six months after that impression, the keys to my Triumph Daytona changed hands and I climbed into the saddle of a Ducati for the first time. I rode it at night from Bolzano to Vinschgau, a distance of only 80 km. The high footrests gave me severe cramps in my thighs, the low handlebars burned my wrists, and the sluggish engine threw me uncomfortably against the hard fuel tank several times. Fortunately, family planning was not an issue. The thing rattled, clattered, roared loudly and dully, briefly:

It was so awesome!

After one day, I was already shaving the curves of the Reschenpass, proudly showing off the disappeared fear stripes in front of the ice cream parlour. That was something back then. The first 1,000 kilometres of running-in were behind me after a week, the mechanic in Imst (Tyrol) did the inspection. On the way back I almost drowned in a thunderstorm – my 748 passed the wet test without a murmur and from then on I never doubted the Italian electrics again.

It didn’t matter to me that the 916 and its sisters were built for the track – I was travelling with it. A tank cover with two rucksacks and a large rear bag served me well. One of the first longer rides took me to Franconian Switzerland – after a phenomenal festival of bends lasting several days, a well-packed family station wagon pushed my Ducati to the right into the coarse gravel at Kathibräu. Once again the predetermined breaking points proved their worth.

The next incident was not far behind – the following year I threw the fully loaded 748 I was riding to Denmark with a passenger in front of a German police patrol car. I was pushing the bike away from the pump after refuelling and stumbled over the side stand. It fell back on its right side, the predetermined breaking points … you know. We reached Denmark anyway and I got home without any problems.

After a year the mileage jumped to 30,000. I was running the third set of brake discs and the second set of rocker arms. The brake discs, which were supposed to be suitable for racing, were permanently warped, and the rocker arms in the Ducati heads had a tendency to separate from their coating. If it hadn’t been for the warranty, I would still be penniless today.

I pressed my knee sliders into the asphalt of the Anneau du Rhin and the Salzburgring, drove to the Ligurian coast in one go and back again the next day after some interpersonal difficulties. I regularly paid my respects to the Franconians – I still love the game in the bends between Bayreuth and Bamberg.

I rode the Ducati all year, through rain, snow and salt water, and looked after it manically. A tablespoon of my mother’s best washing powder mixed with hot water in a spray bottle kept the 748 clean and shiny. The second set of chains was fitted at 40,000 km to match the second clutch. Second hand from Ebay, as the budget did not allow for original parts. The service costs were always in four figures. And I drove a lot.

Again the 748 went down – but this time to the left, in the first corner of the Stelvio. I was sitting on a rare and incredibly expensive 916 Senna, watching the drama from behind. For once it was a good idea to change bikes, the Senna should not have fallen over…

Stilfserjoch, yes. The true playground of my Ducati. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve taken the 748 up and down the 48 bends, but it must be in the hundreds. The feeling as if the bike were bolted to the road, the absolute precision and the unwavering stability under hard braking, even on rough asphalt, that’s what gives me unbridled pleasure. The fact that the little one roars like a big one out of its intake nostrils gives me goose bumps. Again and again.

From 2002 my love for Ducati began to wane. I had hot affairs with three supermotos and the crazy scene that went with them. The 748 became a little-noticed commuter bike, used only between home and the Supermoto garage. It stoically endured short-distance bashing, didn’t whine about neglect and sparing use of mum’s washing powder, and even proudly bore the marks of outdoor parking – cue bird droppings.

From 2008 I hardly rode the Ducati at all – baby break. The 748 spent a year in a musty underground garage, then another under the too-short canopy of a Swiss family house. It was buried under metres of snow in the Grisons, and lay in the mud of the front garden when the spring thaw came. I tried to make up for it with a place in the living room, somehow …

And I thought about a separation. But who would want to buy a Ducati with over 50,000 km? I found no one.

In 2016, I hauled it on a trailer to Basel in Switzerland: the start of a sporting journey through the Vercors and into the Cévennes, with RR-BMWs and 1290 KTMs in tow. The mercilessly underpowered Ducati put up a brave fight, roaring through the gorges of the south more leaned than permitted and wearing out a complete set of tyres on the French tarmac this week. My old love has been rekindled, even if my shoulders, neck and wrists have been sore for weeks.

More and more modern motorcycles with ABS, internet and space technology moved into my garage: KTM LC4 690 Duke III. KTM 1290 Superduke R. Zero SR/F. Even a Harley Road King, can you imagine? But the Ducati held its own. With its shirt-sleeved, pointer-wagging technology, it is now the maximum antithesis to the hypermodern Zero. It wears the dress of the single-seater version, has upgraded brakes and clutch (radial pumps) and is regularly serviced by the mechanic who took it out of the transport box in the distant spring of 2000. The original exhausts have been replaced with strong carbon Gianellis, reminiscent of my very first moped, which I had also upgraded. And because I use it for travelling, it also has a Scottoiler.

It is, of course, demanding to ride, requiring the whole of the rider’s body to move forward dynamically. It has relatively little power – basically none compared to today’s litre bikes – and its now razor-sharp braking system leaves no room for error.

It bears the marks of 24 years and 95,000 kilometres. The carbon is dull and faded, the fairing keel sandblasted down to the primer. The rims tell of dozens of tyre changes, the ignition keys are worn and bent. And the curves of my body no longer fit elegantly between the tank and the seat.

But when she stands at the top of the Stelvio pass, between her MotoGP nieces with V4s and 200 hp, between the ground-to-ground rockets from Bavaria and Japan that will soon be able to drive themselves thanks to software updates, she still attracts all eyes.

“Mountain bikes are much more than just riding…Creating memories along the way”

As a Mountain Biker, my bike is much more than a bike. It’s one with me, and it’s like a well-known companion who’s there for you when you don’t believe yourself when others do. Ready to catch you when you push yourself a little harder than last time and the time before, which is what it’s all about. Mountain bikes are much more than just riding. It’s good for the soul and the body. Creating memories along the way. And having that stolen from would be a nightmare.

“My bike means everything to me”

My bike means everything to me, and I don’t say that lightly. Fifteen years ago, I had a serious life altering accident. After four years of intensive rehabilitative physio, and unable to drive a car, I was slowly getting bored of just walking around aimlessly. I knew I needed something in my life to give me drive. I wanted to ride a bike like back when I was a kid. I was a teenager when the first mountain bikes came out, but over the years somehow lost touch with biking because, you know, boring adult responsibilities and various life obstacles. But the call to ride returned stronger than ever. So, I got myself a cute little hardtail and rode whatever trails I could find. I put a basket on the back and my bike took me grocery shopping, to the lake, to the forest. It took me to places of peace and serenity.

Like a gateway drug, I knew I needed more. I dreamed of a full suspension and zooming downhill at breathtaking speeds. It wasn’t until 5 years later that I realized that dream. A Rocky Mountain Thunderbolt. Not a long travel bike by any means, but for me, it was like riding a lightning bolt. Then, for my 40th birthday, I finally had the opportunity to go downhill biking in a real bike park. A day that I’ll never forget! I only managed a few laps, but my heart and my soul were full. Since then, my bike has shown me that it is possible to learn to new things at an older age. That it’s possible to overcome adversity and fear and everything that’s holding you back. My bike devours my stress, my insecurity and worries, and when I’m on the trail my mind is clear and focused. There’s nothing but the emotion and thrill of riding- riding free. I will always be thankful for the freedom and hope my bikes have given me, and I have kept both of them to this day.

“Tallulah is the closest thing we have to a wedding ring”

This is me with Tallulah the tandem. Riding a bike is fun…. riding a tandem is double the fun! I share Tallullah with my partner, Jim. We have been together for about 13 years now, but don’t live together. We’d both been married before and realised that neither of us is cut out for sharing living space with another human being – and our cats (Nigel and Rupert) don’t want to live together either! We’re both retired and money is tight. We had been gifted a tandem a few years ago which was great to get used to tandeming on, but it was old and battered. We decided that we would love to have a new, better quality one and decided on a Thorn…. but they’re not cheap. Before we made the investment we had to have a slightly awkward conversation along the lines of ‘are we going to stay together??’. We decided that we will – probably forever. So, Tallulah is the closest thing we have to a wedding ring. The thought of her being stolen would break our hearts so we always use Hiploks to secure her.

“My bike is called Trikie, and he allows me to continue cycling”

My bike is called Trikie, and he allows me to continue cycling. I started on a trike, then was given a big boy trike and now at the age of 79 I have just acquired an e-mountain trike. Over the years I have had two wheeled bikes, both standard and mountain, but I was beginning to find the going getting tougher, that, and the fact that today’s traffic is not what it used to be! I considered moving to e-bikes, but they still had 2 wheels. In was of great interest when I met a fellow cyclist on an e-mountain trike. I was very impressed when I had a test “drive” and bought one.

“It’s an embodiment of freedom to me”

I grew up in Brazil, a country where cycling is just not common, neither for commuting nor for sports. So, I grew up and never learned how to ride a bike. It was a major source of embarrassment for me once I moved to Europe. I finally learned here and decided to buy my own bike, a vintage road Peugeot. It’s perfect in itself for me and there is so much sentimental value attached to it. It’s an embodiment of freedom to me, and now it’s the only way I go around, be it for groceries or for 100km summer rides. I love this bike.

“Charles’s passport to freedom in the outdoors”

I am a British Cycling Guided Ride Leader and regularly lead this inspirational pair on their tandem over ever increasing distances. Charles started to lose his sight at 7 years of age and can now only differentiate light and shade. While he makes an effective stoker, his fearless 12 year old daughter, Emily, acts as pilot. The bond between father and daughter is very special to witness as she talks him through road conditions and the special places we visit on rides. If this wins the prize, it will go to Charles and Emily to enhance their enjoyment of cycling, which is Charles’s passport to freedom in the outdoors.

“My bike is more like a friend, always able to turn to it and get out to help with problems”

My bike is more like a friend, always able to turn to it and get out to help with problems! I’m 2013 I had a brain tumour removed, previous to that I had 8 years of epileptic fit stopping me driving. I ride to and from work for seven years until I wasn’t able to work any longer. Brain tumour removed, I went back to work but still rode. I have two years ago had a Ebike. This has made things a lot easier and now ride with a local group, the cycling oldies. We meet once a week, and ride all mtb. Rain shine summer winter starting at 18:30, so is dark to start in the winter. Cold wet I’ve snow we still go. With a pint at the end. There years ago we had all the families bikes burgled from our home! Mtg down hill and trail mtb give in all. So we started again building our collection, but still get out there! Moral don’t let them get you down!

“It’s a way of life”

Its not just a bike, it’s a weekend away with friends. It’s a time out from life. It’s a way to connect with family. It’s a means of bonding with my son like no other. It’s my escape. It’s a hobby which brings so much joy. It’s a way to extend life through fitness and experiences. It’s a way to get to work and leave the car at home. It’s a way of life.

“My road bike is not just a bike, it is literally a life saver for me”

My road bike is not just a bike, it is literally a life saver for me. I have Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD) Stage 3B, which puts me at higher risk of high blood pressure and other heart problems, so having a regular robust exercise regime is crucial to staying healthy. I am 60 years old and retired and I have cycled over 5000 miles per annum for the last 4 years, which has helped to keep my CKD stable. My bike and cycling are also my hobby and regular rides out with friends is a great social activity. My bike is so precious to me and that is why I secure it at home with Hiplok AirLok and use a Ziplok at cafe stops (ensuring I can always see my bike at the cafe).

“My bike made me remember how good it is to be alive”

Riding my Harley Davidson VRod motorbike after my husband passed away gave me time to think, reflect, be myself and mostly to remind me it’s a wonderful world, to feel wind on my face, enjoy hedgerow scents, see birds soaring above me and wildlife in the fields, to smell pinewoods and may blossom and hear the sea crashing onto our beautiful Norfolk beaches but most of all riding my bike made me remember how good it is to be alive. I’ve since remarried and my new husband and I enjoy our shared passion touring both the UK and Europe, sharing laughter and love. This is what my bike means to me.

“It’s my whole life”

My bike is a lifestyle choice it’s a statement it’s the one thing in my life that shows everyone else what I’m about. It’s my hobby it’s my passion it’s my means to get about. My greatest adventures are with my friends when I’m riding my bike it’s part of me it’s who I am its not just a bike it’s my whole life.

“My bike gives me such a sense of achievement”

I am obsessed with my bike! I have only had my licence 3 years and already taken it on so many adventures including Romania, Portugal and France. Next year I want to get to Asia! My bike gives me such a sense of achievement and I thrive in the challenges and resilience when I need to dig deep! I was in a car accident many years ago and the injuries I sustained will effect me for life. I was lucky to survive. My bike (Betty. Yes she has a name, sorry!) makes me feel alive! It makes me appreciate how lucky I was to be given a second chance and it allows me to see the world from the path less traveled. It’s a real physical challenge for me after my accident but I get such a buzz from riding. I feel immensley proud of myself and what I have achieved so far. Thanks Betty for taking me on all the wonderful and crazy adventures. You have been a dream! Here’s to many more adventures and memories…

"It is my escape from the stresses of everyday life"

It is my escape from the stresses of everyday life, a calming therapeutic instrument and a thing of beauty.

"Thank you, Bike. I owe you!"

It's not just a bike, it's a life saver. After COVID, it's been hard to re-activate a sense of community. Cycling has unlocked a path for me to meet like minded people, who value nature, who love being outdoors, getting together and grabbing a good croissant at the end of a ride ;) thank you, Bike. I owe you!

"I love my bike"

Cycling is the only active thing I do that I enjoy. My bike is an anti-depressant, health tonic, hobby and exotic vacation rolled into one. It was also the bike that I rode the Tour De Lavender with my best friend on. It's the reason I went on adventures when I would have stayed home. I love my bike.

"My bike is everything to me"

My bike is everything to me, it's my daily commute to family, shopping, work
My bike got stolen Aug 2021, I was really upset, had d locks on bike but the thieves cut through them like nothing, after police got involved they weren't helpful, I got recommended by friend who rides also about Hiplok products and purchased D1000 lock, since purchasing this product, I feel at ease, I carry this lock everywhere and honestly best buy EVER.

"I could have done it all without my trusty Whyte"

My hardtail Whyte has done me so proud since 2012 since I got back into off road riding. In the last 3 years it has also been my trusty companion while I have been training a new generation of kids from primary schools to take on the challenge of learning to ride on the roads and tracks around Wiltshire. I could have done it all without my trusty Whyte 801.