LAST OF THE SUMMER RIDES

The weather has been doing that beautiful last hurrah of summer heat before autumn sets in. I can tell autumn is setting in not only because there are occasional treacherous drifts of slippery leaves (they’re not wet, just too smooth for my tires to grip), but because the air pockets are unmissable. This is one of the things about which car drivers know nothing. As you ride along, and the road goes up and down and twists and turns, there are noticeable changes in the air – hot to cold, dry to dew-laced. Autumn air is not always crisp. It’s not always anything, and that’s what makes it so special – every mile can feel different, and there’s still enough light to make the most of that.

MISE EN SEASON

One of the great things about riding is how aware you are of the landscape you're riding through. All the senses are engaged - you can hear and see everything you can in a car, but you can also smell the fields and plants (a problem in spring and summer, when the pollen count is high).

The A303 is a frustrating road, but currently less so that the M4 for anyone traveling between the South East and South West of England. The A303 specialises in random bottlenecks, when for no obvious reason, the road goes from three lanes to one.

This means one has plenty of time, while weaving through the tailbacks, to observe the scenery (largely fields) and any wildlife immune through custom to the noise and pollution of road traffic.

In early harvest season, like late summer, when the wheat crop has been gathered and the fields are all stubble and haystacks, this means crows. The crow family, of course, is well known to be intelligent for birds. They learn, they problem solve, and lately, they’ve been learning from humans. They were all over the harvested fields, but neatly socially distanced. So: if a group of crows is a murder, what do I call what I saw? A Corvid-19?

FREE RIDE

Lockdown is finally sufficiently eased that I could go for a proper ride again, with an actual destination, rather than the scenic loops I’ve been doing for battery health. Apart from keeping the bike running, they’ve chiefly been good for developing an iron butt. Which was just as well, given that I haven’t done any non-stop rides over 100 miles for months. First it was winter, and then it was pandemic lockdown.

It was amazing to have to take a lock with me, and plan to park up and have a cup of coffee in the sun, which I didn’t make myself.

The lighter traffic has encouraged the agencies that be to do all their upgrades and repairs all at the same time, so the lack of vehicles hasn’t really made the roads any clearer, but it still feels freer than usual. People are still in a mentally more relaxed space, prepared to enjoy the ability to travel again, and therefore are happy to chill and make space for bikes to filter past, and wave as they go by.

The sense of freedom to go back to riding for pure pleasure, to wherever, with a vague destination and plan in mind, without having to have a reason acceptable to authority, is a welcome one, which I never appreciated in the past.

ESSENTIALLY

Most of the world, it seems, is in some kind of lockdown. Citizens are allowed out under specific circumstances, for essentials of life. Only, where I am, those circumstances don’t seem all that specific. After all, what constitutes a ‘reasonable explanation’ is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?
Now, generally, I’ve been good about social-distancing and self-isolation. I am not one of those idiots ruining it for the rest of us by sunbathing en masse in the park at the first sign a clear blue sky (the park is now closed as a result. It was the only park in the area).
My bike, on the other hand, needs regular runs or the battery will die. I don’t have the option to keep it on a trickle charger. So, what I want to know is this: is a battery-health ride a reasonable explanation for venturing outdoors? After all, between the helmet, gloves and lack of places that are open these days to stop, this isn’t a social or contact activity.
Actually, what I really want to know is: would the cops think a battery-run is a reasonable explanation for being outside… It is, after all, essential to the health of the bike, as the bike is to the mental health of this rider.

GOING THE DISTANCE

Currently, in the Year of the Nurse, we have a pandemic. The irony is delicious, which is just as well, as almost all restaurants are closed, and the supermarket shelves are bare.

The more responsible among us are practising social distancing and self-isolation. According to those issuing the guidelines for this, we should stay at least two metres from anyone we don’t already live with (and three steps from those we do). So, it’s worth noting that a bike is pretty effective social distancing in any case. By the time you have gloves and a helmet (buff optional), and you’re practising safe following distance, you’re a good 2m from anyone who could infect you.

Which is just as well, because if I couldn’t ride, I’d probably go nuts.

RIDING BLIND

A couple of weeks ago, a combination of a hurry, a wet leaf and a pothole resulted in my coming off a bicycle and hitting the ground with, according to the maths, about a metric ton of force. Mostly, I landed on my left hand. Shockingly, I didn’t actually break anything. But the hand is finally the same size and colour as its counterpart, so I went riding on the bike that has an engine. This may have been a mistake, because the left hand, as every biker knows, is the clutch hand.

Now, Harley has lightened their clutches over the past few years, but they’re not exactly featherweight. Every gear change was blindingly painful. And I mean blindingly. This is not an advisable state in which to ride when there’s already a) holiday traffic, b) wet roads and c) bright sunlight to contend with.

However, that impromptu physio session now complete without accident (although I must have been hell to be stuck behind), it will hopefully get easier again. And since it's winter, less bright, too, which should help the blinding factor.

HOGSURFING

Recently, there have been a lot of rainy days, and windy days. Whether you call it climate change or not, there’s been some seriously foul weather, at least for riding. So naturally, on the first dry day, I took the bike for a spin.
Well, surf.
Well, aquaplane. Blindly.

The roads were still soaked, and while the sun was shining, it was shining on water, so the glare was intense. And while most of the diesel had been washed off the road by the ongoing downpours, there’s always new diesel being spilled. The end result is that rather than riding, tires gripping the asphalt, one ends up surfing, tires sliding and gliding over the pretty rainbows of the sun/diesel/water mixture, while one squints frantically through the glare to find and follow any dry (or dryer) ribbon one can.

The trick, of course, is to ease off the throttle a bit and follow, as far as possible, the section of road best dried by the heat of passing traffic. This cuts down filtering options, but all road paint is slippery as oil when wet anyway, so that’s not necessarily a bad thing for one’s health.

The autumnal hillsides are beautiful, though, all green and red and gold and vermillion in the clear light. Having to slow down a touch to safely surf the roads has its advantages.