ISN'T it time something was done to clear our roads of the menace that is the quad bike?

On farms and other private land these vehicles are acceptable, and in a controlled environment they can be fun even for youngsters to ride on.

But on highways and other public places they are dangerous and irritating, often driven carelessly and aggressively.

This week the T&A reported that Queensbury Gold Club faces a bill of up to £10,000 after quad bikes damaged two greens.

The club was targeted by quad bikes on Saturday, leaving members "distraught". Club secretary Richard Guest said one green was destroyed and another damaged, just two weeks ahead of the new season. One green is expected to be out of action for at least six months.

"They've been spinning around on them. They have rutted everything up," said Mr Guest, adding that it was "soul-destroying" to see land the groundstaff work hard to maintain so badly damaged.

There is something nasty and arrogant about quad bikes in public places. Usually heard before they're seen, they make a deafening racket as they speed along main roads, residential streets and across parks and playing fields.

I recently approached a roundabout and three or four of the wretched vehicles suddenly appeared behind me, aggressively revving their engines as I waited to pull out. They roared past me, practically leaping over my car.

I once saw two quad bikes racing up and down a road in Bradford city centre, laughing and shouting as they sped by. A few people complained to a patrolling police officer, but it seemed there was nothing he could do. A friend of mine once saw a quad bike roaring past a police station, doing wheelies!

These vehicles often come in packs, raced at speed by drivers without safety helmets, and I would say most are not designed for road use. Why are they allowed on public roads? Do they conform to regulations on tyres, lights etc? Are they taxed, insured, and do they comply with road vehicle legislation requirements? Some will, but I suspect many won't.

Danger aside, there’s something ridiculous about grown men screeching about on these daft-looking vehicles. If you're a buff surfer dude cruising along a beach track in the Californian sunshine, you can make a quad bike look cool. If you're roaring up Sunbridge Road with half your flabby backside hanging out of trackie bottoms, it's not quite so cool...

* THE four middle-aged Yorkshire mums who rowed 3,000 miles across the Atlantic have written a book about their extraordinary achievement, and there's talk of a film. I hope it comes off, as it's a wonderful story of grit, determination and female friendship.

With eight children between them, as well as fulltime jobs, they went from a Saturday morning rowing club to breaking a Guinness World Record as the oldest all-female crew to row across any ocean.

I had the pleasure of meeting two of the women last year, when they gave a talk in Bradford. In their little boat they braved hurricanes, 60ft waves, shipping tankers, seasickness, hallucinations, claustrophobia, muscle cramps, sores, and the occasional shark. But there were glorious moments too; not least the vibrant sunsets, glittering stars, seeing whales close-up, and reading letters from home on Christmas Day.

I can't think of much worse than rowing across an ocean, battered and bruised by giant waves, but their story is hugely inspiring and reminds us that it's never too late to plan an adventure.

* I'M currently reading a fascinating book, The Ballroom, set in an asylum based on High Royds in the early 1900s.

Among the 'inmates' is a young woman sent there for breaking a window in the Bradford mill she'd worked in since childhood. The novel explores the disturbing Eugenics concept of compulsory sterilisation, leading to men and women segregated in asylums. Equally disturbing is novelist Anna Hope's account of mill-work. We tend to romanticise our mills, where Bradford's industrial glory was created, but in reality they were often grim places filled with fear and loathing.

* BROWSING around a garden centre at the weekend, it struck me how they have diversified since I endured them as a child.

They used to be tedious places offering little more than compost and wheelbarrows. These days they have trendy bistros and vast shops, selling everything from herbal handcream to shabby chic kitchenware.

With spring in the air, the shop displays were bright and floral, dominated by a bewildering array of Easter merchandise. Napkins, lollipop kits, cake-stands, all festooned with chicks and bunnies. Since December, I've had Mother's Day gift press releases pinging into my inbox - now Easter, the holiest time in the Christian calendar, is swamped in commercialism too. It seems nothing is sacred.

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