SURE STARTS

I went to lunch with a friend recently, as a random destination for a ride. She had a small child in tow, which promptly led to a photo op. The child was far more interested when I started the engine, and the bike actually moved, which just goes to show a level of taste and intelligence inspiring to see in one so young. 

It’s one of my favourite things about riding – the excitement and envy of kids I pass, their parents pointing me out, them smiling or waving until I’m out of sight. Especially the little girls who suddenly realise not everything has to be pink and safe to be pretty. That a woman can ride a 1690cc beast of a bike, and that bike can still be beautiful. 

Hang in there, kids, this could be you someday.

SATNAV SAYS SCENIC

Recently, I’ve been taking scenic routes. Sometimes because they intrigue me and I want to see where they take me, and sometimes, admittedly, because I get lost. The other week I took the A246 in Surrey and tried out the Duke of Wellington. 

It has real fires, comfy chairs, paved parking, friendly staff and good food. Not cheap food, but that doesn’t make me wince when it’s tasty enough. It also serves Smarties with coffee. This is always a plus-point. 

This week, I wandered up to Hertfordshire, via the B roads and C roads in Chalfont, the Chilterns in general, and Colne Valley. Some of them are very pretty, especially at this time of year, but they are also muddy.

I ended up, as arranged, at Two Brewers in Chipperfield to meet a friend for lunch. It’s not a bad pub, but I think they were having a slightly off-day, food and service-wise. Still, the A412 is a fun road for large chunks and coming back was far easier than going. I wasn’t intending nearly as scenic a route as I took. This is where maps are infinitely preferable to satnav, because at one point, the satnav wanted to take me on a 5 mile loop, whereas pulling out on the map made it clear all I really had to do was a U-turn, and I was 2 miles down the road from my meal. Okay, so a car probably couldn’t have done a U-turn on the available road, but I ride a bike.

At the Duke of Wellington

FOREVER AUTUMN

I like riding in autumn. It's crisp and cool. It's either clear or you get to see the last of the mist rising off the land. The leaves are a range of colours from green to red to gold to brown.  There are nice seasonal dishes, usually involving pumpkin or butternut, on the pub menus, and places are generally a little quieter, because the schools are back and all but the hardiest cyclists are tucked up safely at home for the winter. The motorbike is also less inclined to overheat. 
Plus, my bike looks really good against autumn backdrops. 

I ambled down the A24, as I often do, then looped arbitrarily onto the A246, which is a nice little road if you don't mind slowing down for villages (I don't). I shall be revisiting this road, and probably stopping short of Guildford once again, as I don't mind villages but I do mind large built up towns and cities. There are several new pubs and cafes along that road to try, and other buildings which intrigue me purely for their architecture. Next dry weekend, I think. 

WORTH IT

There is no such thing as a heat-proof cover. There are heat resistant covers of various stripes, but it's always advisable not to test those limits too much. Unfortunately, it's not always possible to let the bike cool down completely before covering it up. 
So what you get, with the best will in the world, is melted bits of cover on the pipes. Now some years ago, a gent at a filling station suggested the old armourers trick of using baby oil and the finest possible steel wool. This actually works, but requires elbow grease as well as baby oil, in fairly large quantities. 
I spent some time and energy on Sunday morning, de-gunging my pipes and getting bits of steel wool embedded under my nails (the gloves didn't last. Latex and oil don't mix well. We know this). But I got it all off, cleaned my nails as best I could and headed off for a well-deserved pub roast lunch. 
As I waited for my lunch, I watched a man carefully inspect my bike from every possible angle. Twice. He leaned, he crouched, he peered, he very nearly took out a magnifying glass. 
Some time later, once he'd found his party and also spotted my helmet, he complimented me on my beautifully keep bike. And every last piece of steel wool still under my nails, every twinge from wrist and elbow and shoulder? Worth it. 

KING OF THE ROAD

There's an old song about the vagrant lifestyle, which celebrate hte simplicity of having no material ties - no phone, no pool, no pets, no permanent job or pressure or roots. I think of it often when riding. 

The underrated beauty of riding is that concentration needs to be near-absolute. Two wheels and a helmet are the perfect excuse not to answer the phone, not to red emails, not to be available to all and sundry. I know there are bluetooth headsets, ways to connect both to a pillion or another rider, and to my phone, but there's a reason I don't actually own any. I don't want to be connected 24/7, and I really don't want my job to think I can be. Or should be. The trouble with flexible working and smart technology is the tendency for that to translate as Permanently On Call for Work. 

Riding, with earplugs, helmet, loud pipes and statistically high risk factors is the perfect excuse to unplug, and focus on the present, no further forward than needed to anticipate the traffic. You could even call it that 21st century buzzword - mindfulness. 

MOVING MEDITATION

DESTINATION UNKNOWN

Every now and then, I go out with no plan. Just time, and dry weather, and an itch in my throttle hand to scratch. Given the lack of any plan beyond Not Getting Stuck In Traffic, it's probably not overly surprising that I end up meandering down little country lanes that have previously intrigued me, but not enough to deviate from the plans I usually have, at least as far as the location of lunch is concerned. 
Every now and then, though, none of the places I know appeal, and on those occasions, I simply follow the road. I let the side roads and detours beckon me down between hedges I've barely noticed before. There are some very interesting views and curves cafes and pubs and twisties down there, which I would never have known if I always went out knowing where I was heading. 

THRILLS, SPILLS AND HIGH FEVER

Every time I go out after a couple of weeks of no riding, I remember anew all the reasons I love riding. I remember the etymology of exhilaration – because riding is, fundamentally – breath-taking.  In a way I can’t define, the power of the engine; the way your balance changes through the curves, without ever faltering; the speed and the wind in your face; sets off a well-spring of exuberance. The only thing that stops me laughing from the sheer thrill of it is the knowledge that it would result in having to pick bugs out of my teeth. 

On a short run, no long straight motorways, opening the throttle right up and racing the wind is more fun that a rollercoaster, because control of the ride is entirely in your hands. 

The thrill of it all, I guess, is that the speed and curves and tilts and dips aren’t prescribed, aren’t the same every single time you go down a given road. 

Every run is unique, and every run is down to the rider. It’s how you read the conditions and the road, how you react to traffic and potholes and diesel spills etc. How you deal with riding in a heatwave that can melt the asphalt (currently) or a wind chill of -15 (winter).

For something so reputationally dangerous and wild and rebellious, riding’s really all about control. And in that dichotomy, I guess, lies the thrill of it. 

SCREEN TIME

It's funny how big an impact no longer having a screen has on riding. 
Suddenly, one has to think about such things as wet wipes for de-bugging both visor and jacket. One has to consider the extra wind chill factor to the face and chest. One has to weigh the pros and cons of eyedrops, as well, and whether, in summer heat, open face or full face helmets are better; pitting the tendency to wind and pollen and little gaps between sunglasses against the heat and the inability to easily swig water. 
The lack of a screen has a significant impact on what I wear, especially for longer trips (that is, anything that actually requires more forethought than "where the heck did I put my keys again?")
More than that, though, the biggest impact is on journey time. The extra wind in the face translates to more muscle fatigue in the shoulders and neck, which in turn translates to more rest breaks over any given distance, especially on motorways. So one tries to avoid too many miles of those, and thus takes interesting little back roads and side routes - which add journey time, but are far more fun.

JOB DONE

There is a simple satisfaction in a job that's done. It might be hard, or fiddly, or dirty, or even painful, but when it’s done, and you can stand back and see the results, it’s suddenly worth it. I’m talking, of course, about cleaning the bike. 

It’s bug-season in the northern hemisphere, and while I debug the lights and mirrors and my visor after every ride (and on bad days, during as well), the rest of the bike has been waiting a while for a proper clean and polish. It’s an hour or more of bending and twisting and ripping glove and skin on bolt ends and unexpected corners hiding behind the pipes, but once it’s cleaned, dried, debugged, waxed, polished, and I can see my face in the pipes and the mirrors and the engine cover – it’s worth the sore back, stiff muscles and scratched hands. 

When pedestrians then stop and point, and people shade their eyes from the sunbursts of the chrome – it’s worth it. 

Of course, you still have to debug it all again when you get back…

RIDE EN SCÈNE

The weather in the UK has finally checked the calendar and realised it should be warmer and occasionally drier now that it’s officially Not Winter.  There was a dry Sunday, so of course I went riding. It felt like summer- the smell of mown grass, of barbeque smoke (which is very different from bonfires or winter wood fires, even though several components are the same), the buzz of insects attempting suicide via my headlight, my visor, my mirrors… 

Every season has its distinctive mise en scène for a biker, its own recognisable traits and quirks. Early summer has more daylight, more traffic, more time to spend on the roads as the afternoons linger into evenings. When you turn the engine off, you can hear the cicadas, the crickets. You can see the heat rise off the engine in shimmering waves, and coffee stops are replaced with cooler options, but jacket and jeans aren’t uncomfortable at low speeds yet. That will come, in a couple of months. 

STOP THE WORLD, I WANT TO STAY ON

The UK specialises in overcast, it-could-rain-at-any-minute-but-it-might-not skies. All you can do is hold your thumbs and head out anyway, because otherwise you'd never get a ride in. 

Sunday was one such day and I crossed my fingers, put on photochromic glasses and  chose a reasonably A-road route - just in case. Of course, it turned into a beautifully clear and dry day (always a risk, and hence the photochromic glasses) if not a very warm or spring-like one. 

After being off the bike for the best part of two weeks, it was fantastic to be back in the saddle and swooping in and out of what little traffic there was/ round any vaguely twisty bits. The difficult part was getting off at the end of the day... 

A SPELL OF WEATHER

After all the snow and unseasonable cold, the roads are finally clearing. Don't get me wrong, the snow-capped city was enchanting, but cold and not good riding conditions. 
The roads, while no longer 2 inches deep in ice, are still soaked, though, so the bike remains safely out of the weather until such time as I can enjoy a leisurely ride. 

It's not that I refuse to ride on wet roads, it's just that I've only recently cleaned the bike. 

It's almost magical, the way cleaning a motorcycle will almost immediately be followed by raid. Or in this case, snow and ice and high winds. 

It seems that the adverse weather is directly proportional to how much time and effort goes into cleaning all the nooks and crannies of the engine and polishing every last square millimetre of chrome. It's like some kind of weather spell. 

So, having spent hours and effort ensuring my bike looks perfectly sparkling new, I will wait until such time as the first three miles of a ride won't completely undo my handiwork. I'll be back out there soon, and hopefully the weather will actually decide to feel like spring. 

MUTABILITY

I don't make new year resolutions, but this year I did think that I'd like to ride more. Of course, in winter, this is problematic because the weather is so changeable, usually for the worse, and you have to take every opportunity to ride that you can, because you never know when the next chance is going to be. 
When you do get to go, when the weather and roads offer a brief dry respite between winter showers, you bundle up in many layers and get out on the road, and whether you are to be admired (by kids, especially, who smile and wave and point and tug their parents' hands) or squashed (by cars with no concept of why they have mirrors or indicators) or just mistrusted (by pedestrians who don't believe you understand the concept of a zebra crossing in a parking lot) is as changeable as the weather. 

BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN

This weekend, I managed to go for my first ride of 2018. It was freezing, but for a change dry. A good day, in other words, for a shortish run to a favourite pub for a full on lunch. Sitting outside, under the heaters, because once you've layered up in all the clothes that allow you to ride in this weather without picking up frostbite, sitting inside would be a case of broil-in-bag. 
After about 3 weeks of no riding, between Christmas, illness and truly dreich weather, I was a little worried about the state of the battery and whether the bike would even consent to start. She snarled about this neglect for the first half mile before settling down into the more familiar purr. 
The time off two wheels made the whole experience fresh, exhilarating - truly breath-taking (that might have been the cold, too). When you ride a lot, sometimes you forget the reasons you love it. The aggravations of traffic and idiots in cages or on two feet, or cyclists who have no mirrors but don't think to turn their heads and check pre-manoeuvring tend to drown out the sheer thrill of essentially sitting on a growling, throbbing beast; pure power dying to be unleashed. 
Visor down, knee down, eyes open, throttle wide. Smile wider. It feels very good to be back in the saddle again.