If I don't have a clutch lever, am I still a man?

Even though I’ve been a massive fan of two wheels since childhood (I haven’t owned a car for over a decade, preferring bicycles, and even owned a bike shop for nearly 20 years) I’d never been bitten by the motorbike bug. The "biker scene" just never appealed to me.

So when I bought my first powered two-wheeler in 2024, a humble 125cc Piaggio Liberty, it was purely driven by practicalities. I live part-time in Spain, and while I loved cycling, the hills and distances were limiting. My wife and I had spent over €1.3k on hire cars in 2023 alone, so the decision was made to buy a 125cc moto (which you can ride on a car licence in Spain) and see how we liked it.

To cut a long story short, we loved it.

I loved the freedom of nipping down the A7 to Nerja or heading into the mountains. My wife surprised herself by thoroughly enjoying riding pillion. In our heads, we were Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, riding around the Riviera, wind in our hair, sun on our faces, not a care in the world.

Until we tried to use the motorways. Then things got a bit less "Hollywood" and a bit more Dumb and Dumber.

The problem was simple. 125cc scooters are the perfect means of transport right up until you need to go faster than 60mph uphill with a passenger. We had a choice, stick with the 125 and limit our ambitions, or get a bigger bike.

So, by the end of 2024, I was back in Northern Ireland taking motorbike lessons.

I learnt on a 650cc something-or-other. It was winter, I was freezing, and after a lifetime of using my hands to brake on bicycles, I was trying to rewire my muscle memory to use my right foot for stopping and my left foot for going. And clutch control? Yeah, right. I got there eventually, but I didn’t much enjoy the experience.

Once I had my full A-licence, I could ride whatever the hell I wanted. But I soon decided that what I wanted wasn’t a "motorbike." Sure, they’re fast, sexy, and will almost definitely make me feel incredibly manly, but they are supremely impractical if your goal is "everything a 125 scooter does, just quicker."

So I ignored the advice of my biker mates and bought the big brother to my little Liberty, a Piaggio Beverly 350.

The rest, as this blog will attest, is history. In Spain, where it’s warm and dry, maxi-scooters are ubiquitous because they make sense. But what about Northern Ireland? When I told my biker friends I was going to use a maxi-scooter as my main means of transport in an NI winter, they laughed. "You mean a moped? Wise up."

Undeterred, I found a decent used Beverly 350, bought it, and immediately added a full screen and a Tucano Urbano leg cover (the famous "apron").

Now, nearly a year later, I have the last laugh. As the weather got colder, I just kept riding. In the Winter of '25/'26, I have used that scooter almost daily. I haven’t needed a diving suit to stay warm, just the apron, a good jacket, and gloves.

Meanwhile, every "real biker" I know has their machine sitting in the garage on a battery charger because "it’s too cold and wet to ride."

This brought me to the core question. Why do UK riders buy machines they can only use for three months of the year, when the perfect tool for the job exists?

I genuinely couldn't work it out. So I asked the internet. And that’s where it got fun.

The "Humiliation Ritual"

I posted my theory online, suggesting that the UK bike market is declining because we are too snobby to ride Maxi-Scooters.

I expected some debate about wheel sizes or suspension travel. Instead, I got a fascinating, and slightly terrifying, glimpse into the psyche of the British male.

The responses fell into three distinct categories of denial.

1. The "It’s a Hobby" Defence

The most common argument was that in the UK, motorcycling is a hobby, not transport. "I don't want to commute, I want to have fun on sunny Sundays."

Fair enough. But surely if your hobby involves riding, wouldn't you want to do it more? This creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. You treat it as a hobby because you bought a toy. If you bought a tool, you might find it becomes transport. But because your toy is miserable to ride in the rain, you take the car.

It seems nuts to limit your hobby (which is surely the act of riding, not just the act of owning) because you’ve chosen a machine that can only operate in perfect conditions.

2. The Maths Failure

"I'm not spending £12k on a scooter!" cried the masses.

I am genuinely confused where this number comes from. I saw this comment over and over again. Yes, a top-spec Yamaha TMAX is expensive. But a brand new Honda Forza 350 is roughly £5,500. A Honda ADV350 is under £6k.

Meanwhile, these same guys are dropping £18k on a BMW R1250GS to ride to a café twice a month. If you can’t make the maths work on a vehicle that does 80mpg and costs half the price of a "real" bike, you shouldn't be trusting yourself with a clutch.

3. The Fragile Ego

And here we get to the crux of the matter. The real reason UK bikers won’t ride scooters isn’t cost, and it isn’t performance. It’s fear.

One commenter (riding a CBR650R, naturally) summed it up with accidental brilliance:

"Scooter and apron might as well be a humiliation ritual. No thanks."

Let’s unpack that. To this rider, arriving at work warm, dry, and on time is a "humiliation." Presumably, the "dignified" alternative is arriving on a CBR650R, soaked to the bone, with frozen fingers and a stripe of road grime up your back.

Another commenter cut straight to the chase and simply questioned my sexual orientation because I ride a vehicle with an automatic transmission.

And there it is. The reveal. For a huge chunk of the UK biking population, the motorcycle is not a vehicle, it is a prosthetic. It is a gender-affirming device. If you take away the manual gearbox, the noise, and the "power ranger" aesthetic, they feel vulnerable. They feel... "soft."

Gregory Peck rode a Vespa in Roman Holiday and looked like the coolest man on Earth. But our CBR friend is worried that if he puts a blanket over his legs, his testosterone levels might drop.

The Conclusion

The UK motorcycle industry is in decline. Dealers are struggling, and garages are full of depreciating assets. We could save it by embracing the Maxi-Scooter, the practical, European solution to our wet, grey reality.

But we won't. Because in the UK, we’d rather get wet, cold, and miserable on a "real bike" than risk looking like we chose the sensible option.

If having a dry crotch is a "humiliation ritual," then sign me up. I’ll be the one riding past you while you’re waiting for the bus.