Oh dear, the birthdays are coming faster than dog legs at Oran Park these days.

Ouch, that’s a dead reference isn’t it? Oran Park? Thirty years ago, we used to test bikes for Two Wheels and I did a bit of classic bike punting there too. Nice place to get to know, especially for a bloke who’s from out west where corners are rarer than basket case Vincents.

But Sydney grew too fast and now there’s a whole lot of fast memories buried under another bunch of McHouses. I’m yet to be convinced that progress makes life better. Maybe in dentistry, possibly in better brakes and definitely tyres, and…

“Managed 18 holes twice last week, really starting to get somewhere…” Mango’s a wonderful bloke, even for a Kiwi. But this golf thing is a worry. Wandering around a paddock waiting to ping balls into holes ain’t exactly going to shift the soul like a bunch of fast corners ridden on the edge of control.

But I get it, too; more of it as I get older. The old UNEMCC is celebrating its 47th anniversary with a weekend riding New England next month and I know what one of the topics of our pub conversation will be. Downsizing the bikes, looking for something that’s easier to peddle around with a set of 70-year-old legs. Not the riding part, we’re all faster now than we ever were – just ask us – and it’s a fact that blokes who wobble a bit getting off a barstool can still blitz the balance thing once on two wheels.

Age does not weary them maybe, but it sure as hell wears them out. I had a year off kickstarting while the new knees learnt their thing. While lumbering around, I found the electric start that came off my 1984 Harley in 1986, cleaned it all up and refitted it. It worked for about six months, reminding me why it came off in the first place.

So what’s the age limit on riding bikes? Judging by the numbers of white beards flashing around the place it’s definitely on the tall side. And with modern electrics doing everything from starting the bike to monitoring traction and even lowering the bloody thing as you approach the lights, I think we’re all going to be riding until they take our licences away.

Hopefully for speeding through a red light on the back wheel with a finger in the air. Yeah, maybe not, but there is a use-by date. I know one day I’ll fail that eye test or something and that’ll be it. Go home, bolt a big-bore Harley motor into a mobility scooter and take up golf.

Or not. See, like superannuation – only understood since realising I didn’t have it – I’ve put a few things aside with the future in mind. Yep, a couple of decades ago when there was more work around, I started buying simple little twin-shock trials bikes.

Those of us who are old enough would remember Yamaha debuted the monoshock YZ in about 1975. That’s the cut-off point before things got serious. So I invested – big word for little money – in a Honda TL125, a Yamaha TY250 and the big fat stroker from hell, a TY360. You ain’t lived until you’ve felt the steam engine torque of a big capacity two stroke tuned for low speed. Ding, ding a ding ding, BRRRRR…

Trials is as much a part of motorcycle competition as the fast stuff but picking your way slowly through the rough comes with a whole heap of advantages for an older codger. For starters, it’s scored by counting the number of times you have to put a foot or two down rather than outright speed. It’s still ultimately about traction and balance, like any form of motorcycling, but it all happens in a nicely regulated environment. With any luck there are a couple of soft bushes and a foot of grass right where you fall off. Get real lucky and there’s a bloke with an esky full of cold beer willing to help.

There is a class for classic trials bikes too, keeping them out of the preserve of the serious types who get all competitive and ruin a good day by trying too hard. So in my mind when I’m too old to ride on the road, I’ll be puttering up a creekbed on a nice light little performance machine instead.

Life. It’s all about motorbikes, isn’t it? No bikes, no life.