Caution! Unexpected Driving

The rain briefly stopped, and I took the chance to get out on the bike. She coughed indignantly (once) before starting, protesting the lack of attention. Subsequently, she went back to her usual growl/purr.
It's good to know that riding came back to me more smoothly than did driving, but I guess, when you compare the lengths of hiatuses, that makes sense.
As I was getting back into the swing of it, I found myself behind a mini-4x4 with the bumper sticker: Caution! Sudden Braking. I've seen similar signs on buses, rubbish trucks and the like, which by virtue of their function have some excuse. On a private car? It might as well read: Caution! Bad Driving. I'd quite like to put the sign on various pedestrians, cyclists and taxis, though...
Because the hardest thing to get used to again is always the traffic. In South Africa, a red light is a suggestion, and indicators can mean anything you want them to (as can hazard lights). In the UK, most people obey the basic rules, but indicators are often seen as either optional or something you use once you've started to manoeuvre.
Also on some roads, particularly the ones with unexpectedly tight curves, the signposts seem to set out to confuse. Not only does every country I've ever ridden in have a different gauge for how sharp a bend needs to be before it needs special signage, but within the UK, every council has its own ideas on the subject too.
When you add into the muddy road conditions a curve, adverse camber and a bunch of cars without a clue,  sudden braking becomes the norm, and all you can do is try to sit far enough back not to have to do it yourself.

Indicative

I haven't been in SA for some years, and I'm not as familiar with its ins and outs as once I was. The trusty map book always sat in the passenger seat, usually open. Allowing time to pull over and consult further was a factor always to be added on. 

The most nerve-wracking moment was one fine evening, driving through Jo'burg. 

Now, in the interests of no longer doing rolling power cuts, Eskom has decided not to bother supplying power to most streetlights. This makes post-sunset navigation a new level of adventure for those of us no longer familiar with the city. 

I had been having a very social day - a drink with lunch, a little wine with friends in the evening - so I knew I would probably fail a breathalyser. As the cops like to do random checks, I was trying to be a very good driver, and not look anything less than completely sober and confident. 

This is hard when you're slowing and peering through the gloom at every cross street, and occasionally pulling over to consult the map book.
As it was, I overshot the turn and wound up on the motorway looking for the first junction that presented the potential for a U-turn (luckily, junction 1B on that motorway)

All of this meant I wasn't really concentrating on the actual mechanics of driving a car - which meant I forgot, at crucial moments like indicating direction, that This Was A Car.... 

Indicating Right was fine. In a Japanese car, so the indicator stick is on the right. Indicating Left, however, I repeatedly tried to do with the wipers, because I am used to having each direction's indicator switch conveniently placed for the corresponding thumb...

Hopefully, all the confusion is one way, and getting back on the bike will be as smooth as - well - new asphalt.

This Is A Car

A few weeks ago, I tucked my baby up in her cover, all plugged into her charger, and headed off on holiday.  In South Africa, access was only to cars. I offered to take over driving my brother's car when my Mom was having trouble with the gears, and once safely ensconced behind the wheel, and desperately hoping I could remember how this driving lark went, I mentioned that I hadn't driven a car for about 6 months... 
But, like cycling, the knowledge creeps back via muscle memory, and the only real Notes to Self were: 
1) This is South Africa. You must carry your licence at all times. (Oddly, in the UK I do)
2) This is a car. You cannot filter in a car. It's too big.  (Contrary to the evident belief of several drivers both there and in the UK)
3) Also, this is a car. This means you are not in the centre of it, but off to one side. Allow for this with lane placement. No, seriously. 
4) This is a car. You cannot lean it around corners, so stop trying. You have to steer with the wheel. 
5) This is a car. Indicator switches change sides of the steering wheel depending on region of manufacture. 
6) Also, this is a car. You have a rearview as well as wing mirrors. 
7) This is a car. You have to use said mirrors to reverse, because looking over your shoulder just shows you car, and also go very gently because you're used to reversing by muscle power alone, and on something vastly smaller to boot. 

Easy Like Sunday Morning

My new baby, is – well – new. Very new. Running-in new, which means no caning it, wheelies, stoppies or donuts for at least 200 miles. So until the brakes and tires are a little less sparkling new, and the until the engine components are a little better bedded in, I am avoiding big chapter runs and roads that have an odds-on chance of making me slam on brakes.

As I am running within a limited rev range for now, I have to take it easy. Baby steps.  

Sunny spring Sunday mornings, though, demand riding. Even if it is at a stroll. 

I meandered down the A24 (a nicely predictable road, most of the time) to Denbies Vineyard, which is always a pretty destination, with decent coffee and an interestingly eclectic gift shop. 

Yes, it's close to Box Hill, and therefore lots of speed bikers, but there are currently road works on the fun twisty bit, so everybody has to slow down. 

Denbies also tends to have the kind of visitors who see a pretty bike and come over to flirt and get a better eyeful. Can't say I blame them, and it's nice that she gets the attention and I get the implied compliments to my taste. 

On that Sunday, a classic Jaguar club meeting took up 1 side of the parking, and a display by Henfold Birds of Prey was positioned next to the other side. I’m not sure the owls appreciated my engine….

(Either  they were glowering about that or the fact they'd been woken up in bright sunlight, when any sensible owl should be sleeping). 

APRIL SHOWERS

I watched the forecast last week avidly. More avidly than usual, which is saying something.  On Saturday, I did a further weather check and then sighed, and headed for Guildford to fetch my new baby.

I like Guildford. They fetch bikeless customers from the station, and will do nice little things like give you a big backpack for your paperwork, including a mini bike cleaning kit. In my case, this included an additional full size bottle of paint cleaner, because my baby is a Denim finish, not gloss, so the usual suspects won’t work. It’s kind of like jewellery – I may never forgive H Samuel for returning my matte white gold ring to me all shiny.

As my new bike has a solo seat and no back-rack, all luggage must be attached to my person.

Of course, by the time we’d sorted out all the paperwork and payment bits and pieces, and got the DVLA computer to spit out a tax receipt so I’d be legal to ride, the April showers I’d been hoping to run between had changed their schedule, and wandered over to have a look at this pretty and beautifully cleaned and polished new beastie, growling on her stand.

So naturally, I got escorted home by drips and drops of curious rain, under a sky that almost matched my paintwork (the paintwork’s prettier, though).

UNSURANCE

So, I traded in my baby for a new one.  The new one is vastly more valuable (given the age and mileage on the old one, not hard).  

So I call up my insurer to terminate my old insurance and get a quote for the new one.  They tell me that: given the value of the new one, they cannot quote me for Fire, Third Party and Theft (what I had last time around) – they can only quote me for Third Party Only – the lowest level of cover. That’ll be about £900 for the year, please. Yeah. Right. I’ll call you back, shall I?

So I call Harley Insurance. They tell me that, given the value of the new one, they cannot quote me for Fire, Third Party and Theft – they can only quote me for Fully Comprehensive. For less than that TPO quote, too. So…um… What?

You want the full extent of the irony?

When my insurance docs came through from Harley, the email domain made it clear that they’re part of the same umbrella company  that can’t, apparently, cover my lovely new baby other than TPO…

Such Sweet Sorrow

For some time, I've been tossing around the idea of changing bikes. To be precise, ever since I did the new model test rides in Cascais, I've been tempted to trade my faithful Sportster in for a new model - ideally a Softail Slim.
On Saturday, on a lovely spring morning, I bit the bullet, and headed off to the Guildford dealership (where there is a man who has been trying to sell me a new bike for at least 10 years. I thought I'd help him finally achieve this ambition).
I spent some week nights digging out such items as the manual, the DVLA documents, the original grips, the full size number plate for passing MOTs*....
As is always the way with such things, my baby ran beautifully all the way there. I took the scenic route, too. (Because I know the scenic route. I'm less sure about the signposting on the straightforward route).
Once there, I spent some hours talking money and mileage and extras and details, and ultimately left nominal owner of a new bike, and no longer with the keys to the original. A clean break was easier.

*There is a weird almost loophole in the law here: there are specifications about the font, colours and layout, and spacing around letters, but no actual overall dimensions for numberplate on the DVLA website. I checked. So its usual plate might be legal, or nearly so. Using the definitely legal plates, however, would foul the back-rack and any straps attaching stuff to it.