Dear Diary,

Living up in the moor has its benefits, unless you’re a hardened city-dweller who prefers noise and convenience.

For me, the main attraction is the relative peace and quiet. I grew up here, but later spent many years in the city, first Glasgow, then Madrid, which to me seemed like the noisiest and most frenetic place on Earth.

Noise pollution around here is when the farming contractors are bringing in the hay, roaring their tractors and trailers through the village at breakneck speeds to beat the rain or move swiftly on to the next farm. You can feel the ground vibrate as they pass.

On most other days you can hear the lambs bleating in the surrounding fields, someone’s lawnmower, or the occasional passing car. The other day I heard the familiar sound of the postman’s van door shutting at the end of the road - I got up, went outside and met him at the gate. We’re on first-name terms.

This all sounds rather idyllic, but living in a village with no shops, few amenities, and poor public transport can be very isolating. It’s perfect, but only if you can escape at will.

We learned this the hard way in our mid-teens, having outgrown the rural playground and now desperate to explore the outside world, but curtailed by youth and a reliance on parents. Not very rock-and-roll.

Having your own wheels was more a necessity than a right of passage, so it wasn’t uncommon to opt for a moped at sixteen before finally becoming eligible for driving lessons at seventeen.

My first set of wheels was a Honda C90 scooter, my brother's bike that our parents bought for his digs to university commutes. He didn’t get on with it. Perhaps he lacked riding confidence, but it’s more likely the responsibility was somewhat incompatible with his beer studies.

At some point the bike returned and started to gather dust, so from about age fifteen, this 85cc single-cylinder thumper carried me out of the village and beyond. No licence or training, with a loosely fitted helmet, fogged visor, and huge gauntlet gloves, I just twisted and went.

Earlier this year, I started thinking about the C90 again, and that first taste of freedom. It was cheap and reliable, and, it has to be said, fun to ride. Those thoughts coincided with concerns about my future freedom, and a dawning acceptance that perhaps I may have to give up my car at some point.

My car is old and, frankly, under-used. It’s becoming more expensive to maintain, and replacing it just doesn’t make good financial sense, but that dread of being stuck in the village with no independent transport weighs heavily on me.

The idea of downsizing to a scooter started to take hold. I could become that eccentric old guy on the bike that everyone waves at, but also thinks is a little crazy. That this adds to the appeal might say something about me.

So, I did my research and quickly came to the conclusion that a scooter simply wouldn’t cut it. If I’m going to do this, I reasoned, I should go all in and buy a proper motorbike. Maybe I am crazy.