COUNTRY ROADS, TAKE ME... WELL, NOT HOME.

So I booked a day off work, and wandered off to Guildford to have my new 2-up seat fitted, before heading from there to Lower Weare, Somerset.

The stop in Guildford meant there was no particular value in going up to the M4, so having found my way with no stops or errors (for once) through central Guildford and reached the dealer with 10 minutes to spare – also a novelty – I spent my time while waiting in browsing and asking about ways to get to the M3.

It’s just as well I have no qualms about asking for directions as the recent heatwave had quite literally collapsed the usual feeder road as it was still partially closed and under repair.

I took their advice and backroads to the M3, then picked up the A303, which was fairly pleasant going up until Stonehenge.

Near Stonehenge, the road narrows rapidly from 3 lanes to 1, and it always causes a tailback. Luckily, most people were not in a mad hurry or a bad mood and they let me filter through as much as they could.

Just after Stonehenge, where it widens up again, I made the colossal mistake of pulling off into the services. I have never met such badly sign-posted services. From the road, they’re clearly marked. Off the road, they are a maze of roads and roundabouts with little to no useful signage visible amid the competing café and pub banners. I wanted fuel, dammit, not a pint.

When I got back on the road, I nearly sobbed to discover a much simpler fuel stop only a mile or two further on. However.

I got to Lower Weare through the Mendips, incidentally discovering a bunch of little A and B roads I seldom encounter. Twisties are much milder and much more FUN on a bike.

HOG DAYS OF SUMMER

We’re having a heatwave. Clear, sunny weekends = riding, even on a scorcher of a day.
I took a ride down to Penshurst Place in Kent, which had been recommended by a friend as having a) very pretty gardens and b) an excellent afternoon tea. Plus, it has grass parking, rather than gravel. In wetter weather, this would be a muddy nightmare, but - we have a heatwave.
I meandered down the A2 and A20, behaving especially well because I acquired a cop bike behind me at Bricklayers Arms, just after the flyover, who stayed with me until the Lewisham roundabout where the A20 and A21 part ways.
I wandered onto the A225, and I have to wonder why I don’t take that road more often. In between the towns and villages, it’s full of fun twisty bits and pretty shady bits, where in summer the trees create a cool green tunnel, and in winter it’s a test of how fast photochromic lenses can really react.
I shall try it again in 5 months or so. I spotted some nice pubs along the way, too, which will make good stopping points.
Eventually, I reached the Penshurst gates and parked in the shadiest spot I could, in a vain attempt to let the engine cool down while I whiled away time wandering the gardens, drinking cold things, and trying (delicious) cake at the Porcupine Pantry.

I say vain, because when the temperature is hovering near the 30 Celsius mark, cooling down is a very relative term. The one trouble with riding in hot weather is that as soon as you’re off the bike, you’re in jeans and boots. On the bike, with the breeze in your face, that’s absolutely fine. Off the bike? Well, the term boil-in-bag springs to mind.

DEAD BUG CENTRAL

Once upon a time, I had a bike with a screen. This meant open-face helmet riding all summer long, visor up, without ever noticing the insect life, at least until time came to clean the bike, when I’d suddenly realise my headlight, my indicators, the backs of my mirrors and my screen had all become Dead Bug Central. And as those who’ve ever had to remove insect guts from glass or plastic know well, it’s not actually that easy. They respond best to warm soapy water and a fair degree of elbow grease, depending on how long it’s been since they landed.

The screen used to save me from a large part of the headwind, almost all the insect life (and death), a lot of the pollen and a lot of the dirt.

Now, I have a bike with no screen, and still an open-face helmet. This makes me the sole target for the headwind, which isn’t so bad, if only because motorways are generally pretty boring, so I tend to be confined to under 70mph. My bars, my riser, my jacket, my helmet, my visor, my sunglasses, my face and my eyes are now the landing place of choice for pollen, dirt, and – you guessed it – insects of all shapes and stripes.

I don’t know if it’s really much compensation that the mirrors and indicators are less bug be-spattered these days.

PRETTY DAYS & NEW CAFES

Spring has finally agreed to spring properly, with warm, clear and relatively calm days. It was one of those weekends when you look at the forecast and can’t decide where to go because nowhere is raining, and everywhere is beautiful. I went for a ride through Kent, thinking vaguely of going to a favourite café in Hildenborough, despite its lack of parking.

I’d forgotten, in my sheer enjoyment of not wearing six layers, that I usually slip onto the M25 for a couple of junctions, in order to get from the A20 to the A21. 

I was quite far down the A20, when I remembered about the motorway, so I stopped for petrol and checked my phone. It suggested a fairly short route. I looked at the pretty day, told the phone to shut it, and took a far more meandering and scenic route around the A25, to pick up the A21 again a fair way about Morley roundabout. Smart phones, for all their uses, don’t seem to understand enjoying the journey. 

I was, at this point, in the mood for coffee, so I stopped at the Teal Café, which I’ve passed a few times, but never tried. The Teal Café has parking, although somewhat gravelly in nature. Still, there were a couple of sports bikes on the less slippery side, so I parked up near them and wandered in. 

The other bikes turned out to belong to a father and son who spent quite some time examining mine before they left. The friendly couple at the next table and I had a good laugh about that, and the fact that my baby is more powerful and far heavier than their bikes. 

This meant that when I left, I had to reverse, in a tight curve, on gravel, in front of people I knew were watching me. No pressure, then, to do it all smoothly. No pressure at all.

Perfect summer - good alfresco food & coffee

Parking aside, I recommend the Teal Café. The only other downside is that it’s so close to another really good café. Well, I guess I can alternate.

A RIDE OF BIKERS

What is the collective noun for a group of bikers? Google suggest a rumble or an anarchy. You could go with a gang, or a thunder, or a chapter. Whatever it is, it’s a very distinctive entity.

Recently, for the first time in over a year, I joined an official Chapter Ride. The forecast looked reasonable, and a friend was Road Captain, so yeah. Why not?

It’s fun to spend time with people who share your hobbies (read: obsessions), and it’s always good to get compliments on your ride, which I did in spades because the last time they saw e, I was on an old Sportster.

Why on earth did I stop going to these rides?

Ah, yes. Because there’s always one person who rides almost hesitantly, not filtering, overtaking cars or taking any chances. And there’s always one person who rides aggressively, almost recklessly (compensating?), and is generally stuck behind the cautious person, because there’s no overtaking within the group. Generally, neither of them understands how to ride in a staggered formation, and I always seem to be stuck either behind or between them.