Well, if you want the rest of the story.
Dad lived on the corner of the street that I now live in, and mum lived half way up the block. Mum's parents wouldn't let her go out with this young bloke on a motorbike, so dad would borrow his older brothers Whippet car and go pick her up, back to the house and off on the bike. Dad would ride out of town and put mum on the front and give her instructions from the pillion seat. Mum was a good rider/driver (she got her driving licence in a 3 ton Bedford truck and still had a class three (Heavy Rigid) when she handed her licence in at 85) being only booked once for speeding (at age 80!) and having one minor accident in 1952.
The deception went well until one day they were coming back into town (with mum riding) and they passed her parents going the other way in their car. Ooops!
They were married soon after.
Mum drove wheat trucks at harvest, drove the tractor ploughing while dad ate lunch and rode the AG bike until a fall in her early sixties caused a bit of gravel rash and she decided that was enough. I took her for many rides on my 750 Honda, and she loved watching speedway.
She is now (at 88) too frail to get out much, but still likes to hear about my travels.
