“I still feel free!” the city’s veteran woman motorcyclist and hairdresser Alrose Vice said.
Fifty-five years ago, Vice “borrowed” her brother’s motorcycle.
She was 16, living with her family in Euwin Court in Webb Street, Southernwood.
It was 1971. All the boys had bikes, mostly 50ccs, if you were a teen. She wanted to ride, but girls did not ride, she says.
Quietly spoken, measured, thoughtful, Vice, now 71, has touched the heads of many local women, turning their locks into fabulous creations, imparting pride and spreading confidence.
That first ride was with her cousin Bernard, who was sweet on a girl, but needed his cuzzy to come along to kuier in Cambridge. To be his wingman.
Teen romance was a frightening, but thrilling experience and even in the feral ‘70s in Slummies, it was an ordeal.
But the ride. Just pure adrenaline. Before climbing on, she was given “the basics”, and, as it was for the analogue generation, “I went for it!”
Even though it was dark — the rendezvous was at 8pm — “I was not scared. I wanted to do this. I was the laat lammetjie by six years.
“I had brothers. When I was eight they had bicycles. What they did, I wanted to do.”
But her own bike would only come a few years later, when, at 18, she met Deryck Vice, who was a few years older at 21. He had a proper motorcycle and he was a track racing fan.
Rides to the Grand Prix circuit, then a prized sporting arena with a recent Formula 1 history, were beyond exciting.
She was met with a scene — bikes roaring past, the speed, “all the people in leathers, it was awesome”. And then a visit to the pits where it was action stations, revving, “cars, bikes, people buzzing around, working on engines …”
Attraction was in the air, but the couple’s chariot was a humble 100cc Yamaha.
“I fancied him and he was glad I enjoyed bikes. We had something in common.”
Free time was spent going to the beach for the day, “with our record player ”— a boxy machine with two speakers making the top half, which, when the contraption was unclipped, would pull apart and stand aside the bottom half which would spin the plaate — records.
She was studying hairdressing, he was becoming an electrical fitter at the Cambridge diesel depot.
He bought a 650cc Triumph Thunderbird. The dating intensified. Deryck chips in: “She asked me ‘Why don’t we just get married?’”
They did, she was 20, he was 23 and the open road beckoned. Fun lay at the end of every long, fabulous adventure — biker rallies.
They have done 45 Buffalo Rallies — every single one that was ever held. It was time for her to fulfil a life’s dream and get her own bike.
Deryck rebuilt a BMW 650 for her and her first ride to a bike meet at the Beach Burger at Eastern Beach, a favourite biker hangout, was difficult.
The bike was unsettling — the BMW boxer engine has two horizontal pistons and these “pots” have an unnerving — or exhilarating — sideways vibration or wobble.
She arrived at the burger jaunt to see only two women on bikes, and she was one of them.
A bike dealer and rider, known as “Rockey”, told her: “I have got just the bike for you.”
On Monday morning, at the start of business, Alrose was first through the door. She rode a 750cc Suzuki road bike off the shop floor.
“It was brilliant!” She had written her learner’s test and went for her yard test or “drivers”.
“The traffic cop said: ‘Where is your bike? Did you ride here? Go up that road, go round the island, and come back here’.” She did it. “When I got back, he handed me my licence.”
The riding they did. “Every year, for our holiday, we would be on the bikes.”
They saw every province, every corner, did many rallies. As biking grew around them, so did the inevitable desire to form a club.
“They were the in thing.” They were involved in founding Road Runners MCC and Ulysses East London and a hot rod club.
As the years passed, so did the bikes underneath her. In 40 years, she has owned about 10 bikes, mostly in the 700cc range.
Bikes, she says, are made for men, not women.
They are too tall but there are men who fix that. They drop seat heights, shave saddles, lower swing arms and suspensions.
“I have chosen comfort — my feet must be able to touch the ground when I stop.”
You would not think so judging by the size of her latest bike, a 700cc Honda Deauville, which has large fairings and a touring feel. But the difference was made when “Deryck cut the seat down so my feet can touch the ground”.
In 50 years of riding, she has seen women take to bikes in greater numbers, and estimates about 20 ride in her city alone. Like men, they die on their bikes too. But, touch wood, she has never had a high-speed crash. Bikes falling over while stationary — tipping incidents — aplenty but not a broken bone, scar nor piece of surgical metal.
“Women have realised that bikes mean independence, freedom and adrenaline!”
What was her top speed? A modest but make-no-mistake 170km/h.
Yes, some men have been “chauvinistic” and felt threatened, but only a few. Women riders “put them in their place”. For the most part, “men have been so encouraging”.
“Deryck loves that I ride with him. I am 71 and I still love it. To smell that air, the amazing aroma of the bush. I still feel free.” — Daily Dispatch
