EPITAPH

When I was still too small to be allowed in the front seat of the car, my mother taught me the epitaph of John Grey, who died defending his right of way (He was perfectly right as he sped along, but he’s just as dead as if he’d been wrong). She may have regretted it, because I repeated it every time we took that route. It was, however, the start of my policy of Not Arguing With Idiots if at all possible. 

But it isn’t always. Any biker knows the score: you’re happily cruising in your lane, and some absolute gearstick decides to move, with nary a signal nor a blind spot glance. You notice the cage edge over the line and you have that instantaneous sinking inevitability: you have nowhere to go and no time to get there. Cue sickening metal crunch. 

This happened to me recently, at 60mph. I’m lucky - I have no broken bones, no concussion or whiplash. My helmet, jacket, boots, gloves… they’re all completely trashed, but they did their job. A high quality helmet is cheaper than brain damage. Good armour in a good jacket is cheaper than a broken back (or arm). 

And my bike? Well, the paramedics wouldn’t let me near it (clearly they are not bikers), so we wait for that damage assessment, whenever the insurance gets around to it. Equally clearly, they’re not bikers either. 

SPRINGING FORWARD

The first flowers of spring are emerging - snowdrops, crocuses and towering over them, everywhere, daffodils. One of the biggest advantages bikes have over cars is their openness. There’s nothing between your leathers and the world, nothing but the visor between your face and the air. The quality of the air changes with the seasons - the cold of early spring does not feel the same, somehow, as the same temperature in winter. I’m sure there’s a complicated meteorological reason for that, but I’m not a scientist. I’ll just appreciate it, and the sight of colourful nodding flower heads on the verges, medians and roundabouts. 

     

 

There’s something oddly satisfying about the combination of a sunny pub terrace, daffodils popping up haphazardly as they do, and a wood fire taking the edge off the chill.

CHILLS, SPILLS…

 It’s been a cold winter so far, as well as a wet one. Riding days have been few and far between. When the weather is sufficiently clear and the roads dry enough that going out is not to hazard one’s life on slippery patches, black ice or no visibility through the mist, the air has been frigid enough to stall the engine whenever the revs drop - whether slowing down, changing gear or simply idling. It’s a little disconcerting, especially on roundabouts and hills. The problem is that the fuel recondenses too quickly for ignition as it enters the combustion chamber, and idle boosting additives can only do so much - not enough, it seems, for the air we’ve been having lately. Roll on spring, for all its rain and wind. I’ll take it if it comes with a few more degrees on the thermometer.

HAND IN GLOVE

The winter rain let up for long enough for the roads to dry a little, and while there was the seasonal excuse for sunlight, I went to Denbies. It’s a favourite winter run -  far enough for the battery to stay healthy, but close enough that I can generally still feel my fingers when I get there. I have tried all the gloves, believe me: heated gloves (they aren’t all that effective in the kind of headwind you get on a bike, and need too much recharging), double layer gloves (warm, but tend to pull their inner layer inside out when you take them off, which is problematic when you come to put them back on again), and ski gloves, which I bought for cross-country skiing and which have more flexibility than any downhill gloves I’ve tried. They don’t tend to pull inside out and also have convenient handles at the cuffs with which to pull them on (I’m not sure that was designer’s intention, but I also don’t care. It’s a useful feature). I may have to redesignate them as winter riding gloves. 

My fingertips, however, were still cold (negative temperatures in a wind chill will do that), so it was a lovely feeling to curl them around my coffee cup while basking in the warmth of central heating and festive atmosphere. 

SALAD DAYS

 Recently, I had occasion to brave the A303 past Stonehenge. As anyone who has ever taken that road knows, there are always queues. I believe 3am is clear most mornings, but that’s just a rumour at best. The road narrows to one lane as it passes the henge, and this is a major road heading southwest from London. Of course it narrows - Stonehenge and the surrounding landscape is a UNESCO site, after all. Most drivers seem to have had it explained to them that almost all  bikes are air-cooled, so they will generally get out of your way if they can, at least. However, this traffic meant that once past that, around about the A36 junction, I was getting fairly hungry. I turned south, and headed for Rainbow on the Lake, in Steeple Langford, which had come up on google maps and intrigued me. 

It has reasonable parking - half paved, half gravel but on what’s best called an interesting camber. I parked up and headed in. The terrace was closed, but there is also a bit of garden to the side, so I parked myself comfortably in the sun. 

I took a slight risk and ordered salad. You can never be sure what a pub understands by the term ‘salad’. This place gets it right. From what I saw of other patrons’ lunches, this place understands the art of having a limited menu and doing it extremely well. 

I did not try their coffee, as the day was too hot. But I shall visit again, I am sure, now that I’ve found them. 

DOWN THE HATCH

 I like the Wotton Hatch. It has nice (paved) parking behind it, and while it’s on an A-road, with an easy-to-miss and somewhat hazardous turn into the entrance which crosses over another road meeting the A-road, it has made the most of its garden.

There’s a lot of lavender near the road, which smells better than exhausts, and hedges to further reduce the noise. Tables are well-spaced and most have parasols, which is great for anyone as prone to sunburn as I. Plus, it does good coffee and good food and has no objection to bikes. 

Also, I got a macaroon with my coffee. Okay, it’s not my favourite sweet bite with coffee, but small bites with coffee are a practice to be encouraged at every turn. 

PLEASANT PHEASANT

 I wandered out to the Pheasant at Buckland this week, during a gap in the rain. Alas, not a gap in the roadworks which currently haunt the A243, the A24 and the A25. ‘Tis the season. 

The Pheasant has a lovely garden, half of which is comprehensively covered against the possibility (probability?) of rain. They also do a really nice vegan beetroot tartlet, which makes a lovely lunch. Plus they serve flapjackesque bites with coffee. Bonus brownie (flapjack) points to anyone who gives me a little baby sweet treat with my coffee. 

I took a different route home, which involved fewer roadworks but more traffic. Swings and roundabouts, I guess, but the B2032 and the B2033 are fun roads for a biker on a dry summer day.