Meet Neil Morris, General Sales Manager North West Honda Super Centre

It was perhaps inevitable that I would make the leap onto two wheels at some point in my life. My Dad was a bike racer and bike builder, his Dad a bike repair Man and both tore up the streets of Stockbridge and Winchester in Hampshire in their younger days. Usually on old British bikes.

However, it was a slow burner for me personally. Some forays on my Brother’s Italjet 50 (which I’ve still got on loan to some racer – can’t remember his name) trying to deck the pegs on the pavement. That thing had an automatic clutch and as a kid I was convinced that if I found a road long enough it would keep going faster and faster. Wheelying up and down my street on an Amoco Mongoose BMX bike, THE one to have (Diamondback was for no-hopers) until I broke the frame. I had perfected my engine noises on that thing!

For most of my childhood and adolescence, I was a bit preoccupied with being a support of sorts to my Dad and his racing career. Aside from the usual British haunts, I had travelled to Spa to watch my Dad in the 24 Hour Endurance race, Assen World Superbikes, the Isle of Man TT, Ulster Grand Prix and Daytona (twice) before I was out of my teens. Along the way, the old chap collected two British Championship titles and three TT victories. Not bad going for a privateer racer.

Dad would see some major evolutions in motorcycle engineering. From a Norton Commando that he hated working on to GS1000 Suzuki, the first GSX-R750, then RC30 and eventually a Ducati 916. There were FZR400 four strokes, the odd 250 GP bike and perhaps most importantly some single cylinder thumpers.

Sadly, it would end in tragedy for my Dad who was killed racing at Croft in 1999 having clinched the British Supermono series by winning the first race earlier in the day. My Mum was his team boss and she too would be lost to us following a long -suffering illness just six days later. It is fair to say that life was challenging my Big Brother and I. But we had grown up in the cauldron of racing paddocks far and wide and we were determined to go back to the Isle of Man and successfully defend my Dad’s three successive victories in the Singles TT.

And so, it was that we signed up a couple of plucky road racers. Jason Griffiths who (until that bloke with the sideburns rocked up) was the most successful TT racer never to win on the Island and some other bloke from Morecambe whose name escapes me……..Mac or Mc something were lined up on Glencrutchery Road on the beautiful Chrysalis Supermono machines. These bikes were designed and built by my Dad David Morris, enveloped in a trellis frame made by Harris Performance and with a BMW motor now rebadged AMDM (the initials of my parents). The boys did us proud, finishing first (McGuinness) and with Jason in second. A proper do as they say oop North!

That was in 2000 and I still wasn’t on two wheels of my own. Too busy paying for someone else’s hobby. In 2001, I got a job selling bikes for a dealer in Hampshire. That was when I got fed up with everyone else smiling about it and me not getting a piece of the action. My employers kindly put me through my CBT and even leant me a number of bikes to ride the 70-mile round trip to and from work. It started with scooters until I got my hands on an RS125 stroker AND a TDR125. I finally learned what a powerband is.

Fairly swiftly I got myself ready to pass my test. After a bit of an embarrassing faux pas when I ran out of fuel on my lesson and tried to bump the bike on a busy bypass (with no success) I blitzed my test in two days. I was finally a full bike licence holder. I was away.

My Big Bro found me a GSX-R600. It was an ex-hire bike that had recently had a full engine rebuild and it went like stink. But I needed something to build my confidence on as opposed to something to shatter it. So, I purchased my first Honda – a CBR600F Sport. It was brand new and it was Red. I didn’t like Red, so off it went to Dream Machine for a paint job.

Why the CBR? Well, it was in the days where you could rock up at Ron Haslam Race School with a CBT in your hand and ride a 600 around Donington. I was bolt upright, but it was bloody good fun. From then on in, it was commutes, trips to watch our race team at BSB occasionally with Mrs Morris a willing (albeit sometimes cold and wet) pillion passenger. Then it was the move up North.

The lovely folk at my employers (they’re listening) kindly proffered me a company vehicle. So, I had a bike for the road and didn’t need to insure my own. Track Days here we come. Off to pretend to be any good and regularly get smoked by racers who’d turned up for a dabble before their weekend meeting. It’s good to be reminded of your place in the big scheme of things.

Nowadays, I’m back to looking after other people’s hobbies and I definitely don’t get out enough. Luckily, I now have my Son James working for us here at North West Honda. He’s 18 and doing a fine job of selling clothing and accessories in the shop. Not forgetting that he bullies me to take a demo home, so he can jump on the back. He still remembers the day he came out of the seat over the Pilling jumps.

Just recently James had a bike delivered home for his own start in his biking life. He didn’t tell his Mum and Dad (probably best), but he’s got all the gear….just waiting to see if he has the idea. He’s approached the job sensibly though, a two stroke motocross bike to tweak the tendons and break the collarbones. But he’s fully kitted with all the best off-road gear money can buy. He’s going to be the best dressed novice moto crosser.

So that’s the potted history of the Morris Family. Granddad had a bike repair shop, Dad had a bulging trophy cabinet, I prove that the talent skipped a generation and lad gets to find out if any of the aforementioned rubbed off on him. It’s been fun getting this far!