So, everyone’s always going on about “real” bikes, you know, the ones where you’re wrestling with gears and a clutch. Like it’s some kind of badge of honor. I used to kinda nod along, not really getting it, but whatever.
Then this one time, my old beater car just decided to give up the ghost. I mean, totally kaput. And of course, it happened when I was miles from anywhere, out in the sticks for a work thing that went sideways. Public transport? Forget it. Taxis? They’d have charged me a fortune, if I could even get one to come out there.
Stuck and Scrambling
I was properly stuck. Needed to get around for a few days, sort things out, maybe even find parts for that useless car. Walked to the nearest tiny village, and there was this little shed, almost, with a hand-painted sign: “Bikes for Rent.” Old guy running it, seemed like he’d been there since dirt was invented. He had exactly two options: a rusty old pushbike with a flat tire, or these scooter-looking things. Autobikes, he called ’em.
My heart kinda sank. An autobike? Seriously? I’d always pictured them as, well, a bit pathetic. Like something you’d get if you couldn’t handle a proper machine. But what choice did I have? It was that or walk everywhere in the blazing sun.
So, I rented one. Bright yellow thing, probably seen better days. Getting on it felt weird. No clutch lever, no gear shifter. Just a throttle and brakes. “Just twist and go,” the old fella said with a grin. Yeah, right.
My Week as an Autobiker
And you know what? He was right. I twisted that throttle, and the little thing just… went. It wasn’t gonna break any land speed records, that’s for sure. And going uphill, it sounded like it was having a bit of an asthma attack. But it got me around. I used it for everything that week:
- Going to the next town over to find a mechanic.
- Hauling back some surprisingly heavy groceries.
- Exploring these little dirt tracks I’d never have even seen otherwise.
- Just getting some air when I was fed up with the whole car situation.
It was dead easy to use. No faffing about with gears in the little village traffic, which was mostly tractors anyway. Parking was a breeze. And it barely sipped any fuel, which was a bonus considering my wallet was already feeling the pain from the car breakdown.
Frankly, after the first day of feeling a bit silly on it, I actually started to enjoy the simplicity. It wasn’t about being cool or making a statement. It was just… transport. Pure, unadulterated, get-me-from-A-to-B transport. And it did that job perfectly.
So now, when I hear people trashing autobikes, saying they’re not “real” motorcycles, I just think back to that week. That little yellow scooter wasn’t trying to be a superbike. It was just a tool. And sometimes, the simplest tool is the best one for the job. It definitely changed my mind a bit. They’ve got their place, for sure. Not every ride needs to be an epic battle with the machine, you know?
