KING OF THE ROAD

There's an old song about the vagrant lifestyle, which celebrate hte simplicity of having no material ties - no phone, no pool, no pets, no permanent job or pressure or roots. I think of it often when riding. 

The underrated beauty of riding is that concentration needs to be near-absolute. Two wheels and a helmet are the perfect excuse not to answer the phone, not to red emails, not to be available to all and sundry. I know there are bluetooth headsets, ways to connect both to a pillion or another rider, and to my phone, but there's a reason I don't actually own any. I don't want to be connected 24/7, and I really don't want my job to think I can be. Or should be. The trouble with flexible working and smart technology is the tendency for that to translate as Permanently On Call for Work. 

Riding, with earplugs, helmet, loud pipes and statistically high risk factors is the perfect excuse to unplug, and focus on the present, no further forward than needed to anticipate the traffic. You could even call it that 21st century buzzword - mindfulness. 

MOVING MEDITATION

DESTINATION UNKNOWN

Every now and then, I go out with no plan. Just time, and dry weather, and an itch in my throttle hand to scratch. Given the lack of any plan beyond Not Getting Stuck In Traffic, it's probably not overly surprising that I end up meandering down little country lanes that have previously intrigued me, but not enough to deviate from the plans I usually have, at least as far as the location of lunch is concerned. 
Every now and then, though, none of the places I know appeal, and on those occasions, I simply follow the road. I let the side roads and detours beckon me down between hedges I've barely noticed before. There are some very interesting views and curves cafes and pubs and twisties down there, which I would never have known if I always went out knowing where I was heading. 

THRILLS, SPILLS AND HIGH FEVER

Every time I go out after a couple of weeks of no riding, I remember anew all the reasons I love riding. I remember the etymology of exhilaration – because riding is, fundamentally – breath-taking.  In a way I can’t define, the power of the engine; the way your balance changes through the curves, without ever faltering; the speed and the wind in your face; sets off a well-spring of exuberance. The only thing that stops me laughing from the sheer thrill of it is the knowledge that it would result in having to pick bugs out of my teeth. 

On a short run, no long straight motorways, opening the throttle right up and racing the wind is more fun that a rollercoaster, because control of the ride is entirely in your hands. 

The thrill of it all, I guess, is that the speed and curves and tilts and dips aren’t prescribed, aren’t the same every single time you go down a given road. 

Every run is unique, and every run is down to the rider. It’s how you read the conditions and the road, how you react to traffic and potholes and diesel spills etc. How you deal with riding in a heatwave that can melt the asphalt (currently) or a wind chill of -15 (winter).

For something so reputationally dangerous and wild and rebellious, riding’s really all about control. And in that dichotomy, I guess, lies the thrill of it. 

SCREEN TIME

It's funny how big an impact no longer having a screen has on riding. 
Suddenly, one has to think about such things as wet wipes for de-bugging both visor and jacket. One has to consider the extra wind chill factor to the face and chest. One has to weigh the pros and cons of eyedrops, as well, and whether, in summer heat, open face or full face helmets are better; pitting the tendency to wind and pollen and little gaps between sunglasses against the heat and the inability to easily swig water. 
The lack of a screen has a significant impact on what I wear, especially for longer trips (that is, anything that actually requires more forethought than "where the heck did I put my keys again?")
More than that, though, the biggest impact is on journey time. The extra wind in the face translates to more muscle fatigue in the shoulders and neck, which in turn translates to more rest breaks over any given distance, especially on motorways. So one tries to avoid too many miles of those, and thus takes interesting little back roads and side routes - which add journey time, but are far more fun.

JOB DONE

There is a simple satisfaction in a job that's done. It might be hard, or fiddly, or dirty, or even painful, but when it’s done, and you can stand back and see the results, it’s suddenly worth it. I’m talking, of course, about cleaning the bike. 

It’s bug-season in the northern hemisphere, and while I debug the lights and mirrors and my visor after every ride (and on bad days, during as well), the rest of the bike has been waiting a while for a proper clean and polish. It’s an hour or more of bending and twisting and ripping glove and skin on bolt ends and unexpected corners hiding behind the pipes, but once it’s cleaned, dried, debugged, waxed, polished, and I can see my face in the pipes and the mirrors and the engine cover – it’s worth the sore back, stiff muscles and scratched hands. 

When pedestrians then stop and point, and people shade their eyes from the sunbursts of the chrome – it’s worth it. 

Of course, you still have to debug it all again when you get back…

RIDE EN SCÈNE

The weather in the UK has finally checked the calendar and realised it should be warmer and occasionally drier now that it’s officially Not Winter.  There was a dry Sunday, so of course I went riding. It felt like summer- the smell of mown grass, of barbeque smoke (which is very different from bonfires or winter wood fires, even though several components are the same), the buzz of insects attempting suicide via my headlight, my visor, my mirrors… 

Every season has its distinctive mise en scène for a biker, its own recognisable traits and quirks. Early summer has more daylight, more traffic, more time to spend on the roads as the afternoons linger into evenings. When you turn the engine off, you can hear the cicadas, the crickets. You can see the heat rise off the engine in shimmering waves, and coffee stops are replaced with cooler options, but jacket and jeans aren’t uncomfortable at low speeds yet. That will come, in a couple of months. 

STOP THE WORLD, I WANT TO STAY ON

The UK specialises in overcast, it-could-rain-at-any-minute-but-it-might-not skies. All you can do is hold your thumbs and head out anyway, because otherwise you'd never get a ride in. 

Sunday was one such day and I crossed my fingers, put on photochromic glasses and  chose a reasonably A-road route - just in case. Of course, it turned into a beautifully clear and dry day (always a risk, and hence the photochromic glasses) if not a very warm or spring-like one. 

After being off the bike for the best part of two weeks, it was fantastic to be back in the saddle and swooping in and out of what little traffic there was/ round any vaguely twisty bits. The difficult part was getting off at the end of the day...