Picture if you will, two people in the queue to be served at a pub. Talking about motorcycles. The acceleration characteristics of a large trailbike versus those of a sportsbike, the result of the Dutch TT in the absence of Valentino Rossi and the annoyance of having to pass a scooter rally - several hundred Vespas and Lambrettas all at 45 mph - on the A5. Yes, Stace and I do "Bloke down the pub" conversations with aplomb.
It was a flying visit and since my wife was working I was alone. As they're over from the Netherlands with a tight schedule we were meeting at one of those cheap-and-cheerful food pubs somewhere not far from the M1. Maybe the best place for delicate gender-variant conversations is a large and crowded beer garden, after all everyone else is only paying attention to the World Cup or to their errant children. I hope Mrs. Stace did not glaze over with boredom too much when our conversation turned to the geekier aspects of maintaining a 1960s car. At least in my scruffy motorcyclist guise I should have gone some way towards putting her mind at ease, past encounters with the more "out there" among our community have heightened her apprehension level, something she shares with my wife. It is certainly good for those of us who have to find a way through this mess to engage with others in the same hole, I hope it is similarly of use for our partners.
As we parted and went our separate ways, Stace having tried a monster trailie for size, I was thinking about our conversation as I rode through the Northamptonshire countryside. We were talking about bikes not to present a male impersonation but simply because we're both motorcycle enthusiasts. I couldn't help raising a chuckle at the thought of the effect on those around us had we had a "girl" conversation instead. I've got a barbecue coming up to go to, I should have sought Stace's opinion on what outfit to wear.