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.