Couriers stories

[Greybeard]

I've written a couple of pieces for the local VMCC newsletter. I thought some of you guys might enjoy them.

Part 1:
In late 1976 I got a job as a motorcycle courier for a printers in Diss Norfolk. The regular rider had been banned for 6 months so I was taken on for that period.  The company provided the motorbike; a Honda 500 Four and riding leathers. The pay was good so I thought I was doing well, getting paid to ride a nice motorcycle.

The job required the courier to ride from the printers in Norfolk to various locations in and around London collecting 'Copy' that would then be brought back to be set and reproduced on a Web Offset press. Typical pickups were at The Orpington Advertiser, (one of several free-sheets) but also The Liberal Party News Letter, West Indian World and Gay News. The average weekly trip total would often be well over 1000 miles.

After the first week I realised that this job was not going to be as easy as I had first thought. The weather that winter, following one of the UK's hottest summers was not good. By the time I had ridden to my first pick-up I was so cold I could hardly get off the bike. To try and keep warm I would dress with many layers of clothing with the leather bike suit over the top and three pairs of gloves.

One morning I set off early; there was frost on the ground but the sun came out so the roads were getting cleared. An hour or so later later I was burning rubber on the Newmarket bypass which is pretty much a motorway. I had just overtaken a line of cars when I felt the back wheel kick sideways; black ice I think. I had time to think, "Oh ****, I hope this doesn't hurt too much". Next moment I was sliding along in the fast lane with the bike on its side ahead of me with sparks flying out from underneath. After what felt like minutes the bike and me stopped in the fast lane. It was very lucky that at that early hour there was very little other traffic, but I had just overtaken a couple of vehicles. One car stopped on the hard shoulder and a young man ran across to see if I was ok. It was very lucky that I had been wearing all that winter clothing because my slide along the tarmac had worn the hip of my clothing right through but only just reached the skin. Also the gloves had worn through to the under gloves. I was pretty much ok, just shaken up. The young man that stopped, happened to be an off-duty policeman; he helped me to push the bike over to the hard shoulder; he said that when I overtook him, shortly before I came off I must have been doing about 90 mph. The off-duty copper drove me to a cafe in Cambridge so I could phone my employers to tell them what had happened. No mobiles back then.

[Greybeard]

Part 2:

During the winter of 1976/77 I had a stint as a motorcycle courier for a printers in Diss Norfolk. The company provided the motorbike; a Honda 500 Four.

The job required the courier to ride from the printers in Norfolk to various locations in and around London collecting 'Copy', that is, graphic design work and text that would be brought back to be set and reproduced on a Web Offset press.

Friday was the busiest day with something like fifteen pickups. I would set off at 7am and not get back to base until 9 or 10pm.

By about 3pm, light was fading. I'd spent hours working my way around the various pickup locations spread around London. I had nearly completed my circuit by arriving at my final collection, the Orpington Advertiser. I was looking forward to making my way back home.  I stiffly climbed off the bike and started to rub some circulation into my hands before noticing that the lid of the top-box on the bike was open, and horror, there was nothing in it! I began to try and figure out where and when the lid must have come open. I recalled being hooted at while I was on the London South Circular. At the time I thought I must have annoyed a driver by overtaking him. I wondered if the driver may have actually been letting me know about papers and artwork flying from the top-box. I scoured my brain to try and remember where I had been beeped. I reluctantly rode back over my route still trying to recall the location. Eventually, I came to where I thought it had happened and there in the road was a piece of paper. I got off the bike and waited for a gap in the traffic so I could retrieve it. It was one of mine. A photo was glued to the sheet. It had tyre marks across it! I started to wander down the street and began to spot paper in people gardens in the road and on the footpath. It was all mucky and creased. I apologised in my head for what I'd said to the hooting driver. I spent as long as I could looking, and after finding a decent bundle of papers I shoved them into the box and rode home full of gloom, expecting to be sacked in the morning.

My boss was a great chap, he kept me on but encouraged me to check the box clasp more often.