Board Stupid - To the Alps on a CD250

The decision to ride to the French Alps on a tiny 250cc motorbike with my snowboard, like most adventurous decisions in life, was a spur of the moment one. I’d never seen it done before and therefore it was good to go in my book. First things first, though. I needed a bike. And a licence…

I spent the requisite number of days sweating over the riding test revision reading “Hells Angels” by Hunter S. Thompson, but I passed anyway. Four days of wearing a yellow vest and trying to remember to cancel my indicator after a corner and I was done. That makes it sound a lot easier than it was but the test centre staff (LMRT) were patient and sympathetic - I thought it best not to mention my plan.

At £200 the bike cost less than a pair of Michelins and was owned by an ex-courier friend. The Deptford Choppers (unofficial name) garage run by Ben and Matt was my local haunt for the next few months whilst I got my Hog up and running. When I say ‘Hog’, I don’t really mean a 1200cc American V-twin. No. This was a 20 year old Honda CD250U. Raw power.

I learnt so much between October and March it’s not even funny; mostly how to get wet and cold in an almost limitless number of ways. And that was before I even thought about how to attach a snowboard to the anorexic chassis of the Honda . The last milestone to pass before a big trip was to have a crash. I popped this cherry by sliding off on a wet road one evening at a princely 25mph. It’s important to get these things out the way.

The fortnight before departure I changed and checked plugs, battery, bulbs, fuses, the seat, tyres, tools, rack, board, oil, cables, chain, insurance and fuel. Everything is hard to do until you know how to do it. Motorcycling was new and alien to me and even the simplest things were total brain buggerers. Stupid things like how many spares to take, how detailed do the maps need to be, can I wear my snowboard boots instead of motorbike boots? I also knew I could pack my board bag, hop in a taxi, jump on a plane and be riding snow within 12 hours and for less than £100. At times it all seemed far too stupid for words.

So after what felt like years of planning I set off south on my little blue Honda. The gear lever had been modified so I could ride in my snowboard boots and I was wearing almost all the clothes I owned; a Helly base layer, two t-shirts, a jumper, leather jacket and a snowboard jacket over the top, a scarf, two pairs of gloves, knee pads, jeans, board trousers and my super comfy boots. I didn’t know about proper bike gear, I didn’t know you could buy jackets that had Gore-Tex, quilted linings and armour all built-in. But at least my feet were warm.

The board was lashed to the courier box on the back and I could just about see over the huge, hideous purple tank bag on the front. Again – it was cheap and I figured that it was so ugly no-one would steal it. Or at least I could see them if they did. At 7am my girlfriend waved me a tearful goodbye and in stark contrast the bin men laughed openly as I wobbled up the road on a very small, cold and over-laden motorbike. My amazing trip had begun. And my visor had already misted up.