HEAT WAVES

 I ride all year. Each season has its own challenges and joys, and when I’m freezing my fingers off in winter, squinting in the mid-afternoon glare of LED headlights in the dark, I long for summer days and long, late hours of sun. I forget about the other things that come with summer. Heatwaves, which make the tarmac tacky, sticking to tires so every metre is like riding through chewing gum.  The summer traffic, backing up in ways that don’t want to let you through so your air-cooled engine starts to overheat (which at least comes with some notice - that ominous change in the engine note at idle), the sensation of overheating in your gear as soon as you’re doing less than 30mph, or when you get off at the pub. The glare of the sun, which somehow always manages to be at just the wrong angle for your visor, glaring of any and all glass available, strong enough to make even the dirtiest chrome blinding. 

The bugs. Although there have been fewer of those lately, according to the state of my headlight and visor. The peculiar pattern of the tan afforded by summer gloves. 

But none of it outweighs the clear days, the long hours of daylight riding, and the freedom of not having to wear at least four layers against frostbite.

DIRE STRAITS

 I mentioned that I haven’t been on any long road trips since getting my bike back, all beautifully fixed. One reason for this is that my bike, like most bikes, doesn't have a big tank. Bikes are, after all, pretty economical for fuel use. So having to worry about the petrol price and where I fill up is a new experience. When I first learned to drive, the price was set by the government, and there was no competition so it really didn’t matter. Then I moved to a place with competitive petrol pricing, and started to notice the differences. Then I got a bike and stopped worrying again, because on so few litres, it wasn’t a big deal. I chose petrol stations on grounds like whether they made me take my open-face helmet off (and to this day I refuse to return to the Esso station that wanted me to take my helmet off to use a Pay-at-Pump, which is simply them being stupid, obstreperous and anti-bike). 

Now, of course, I am having to keep a weather eye on the state of the strait of Hormuz, which means paying at least slight attention to the dire-ness that is the news. Sigh. 

Good thing riding is the best way to destress. 

HITTING THE HIGHWAY AGAIN

 It’s been a year, give or take, since I got my bike back after the accident. I haven’t been on any long trips, for circumstances unrelated to the residual cynicism about other road users, suspicion of all other vehicles and general paranoia and hyper awareness around the potential for everyone else to be utterly unpredictable, non-signalling and unobservant. I realise that these - or their levels at least - are what might be called post-traumatic effects. I’m just not sure that’s a bad thing, if it makes me safer on the road. 

I have done the fateful trip again, because I did not need any more reasons to hate the M25 (the world’s longest parking lot), and I refuse to let one idiot put me off that nightmare fuel even further. 

There’s definitely a place for learning from bad experiences, from pain and injury. I just hope the careless drivers also learn from their mistakes. But, given my increased cynicism, I’m really not holding my breath.