ON A MISTY MOISTY MORNING

While the bike was being serviced, the steering lock key got a little damaged, and ceased to fit the lock. I called the workshop. They said fine, they’d replace my key, but they needed me to bring them the old one to pull the correct serial number off it to order the right new one.

Thus it was that on a misty, foggy morning, I was heading off blindly to sort this out. I do mean blindly, because the mist was fogging everything up – glasses, visor, general visibility. And unlike more usual condensation, mist is not dispelled by movement. It just swirls and resettles and causes further condensation and lack of visibility. 

The only remedy other than constantly wiping lenses/ visors is to open the visor, pull the glasses down to the end of your nose and peer over the top of them, like a stereotype of a disapproving librarian. 

Also, winter mist is surprisingly penetrative and very cold as it seeps through into your bones. Coffee is the recommended treatment here, preferably served in a cup you can lace your fingers around until you can feel them again.

UNSURE STARTS

It’s an apparently immutable law of motorcycling that your bike will always pick the least convenient moment to decide it’s not going to start. For example, when it’s due for a service and you need to ride it down to the workshop, it decides that this is a good time for the battery to die (having been drained by a very cold snap and lack of activity in bad weather). So: Call workshop, explain why bike will not be attending its appointment, and arrange for collection at a later (and thoroughly inopportune) date. 

Await call to say it’s all sorted. 

Receive call to say you need a new battery. Really? After it wouldn’t start so you had to come and fetch it? What a shock to learn the battery’s unrevivable! I mean, seriously. It’s nice that they call me to tell me the expensive bits in advance, but that particular cost was kind of already a given….

SURE STARTS

I went to lunch with a friend recently, as a random destination for a ride. She had a small child in tow, which promptly led to a photo op. The child was far more interested when I started the engine, and the bike actually moved, which just goes to show a level of taste and intelligence inspiring to see in one so young. 

It’s one of my favourite things about riding – the excitement and envy of kids I pass, their parents pointing me out, them smiling or waving until I’m out of sight. Especially the little girls who suddenly realise not everything has to be pink and safe to be pretty. That a woman can ride a 1690cc beast of a bike, and that bike can still be beautiful. 

Hang in there, kids, this could be you someday.

SATNAV SAYS SCENIC

Recently, I’ve been taking scenic routes. Sometimes because they intrigue me and I want to see where they take me, and sometimes, admittedly, because I get lost. The other week I took the A246 in Surrey and tried out the Duke of Wellington. 

It has real fires, comfy chairs, paved parking, friendly staff and good food. Not cheap food, but that doesn’t make me wince when it’s tasty enough. It also serves Smarties with coffee. This is always a plus-point. 

This week, I wandered up to Hertfordshire, via the B roads and C roads in Chalfont, the Chilterns in general, and Colne Valley. Some of them are very pretty, especially at this time of year, but they are also muddy.

I ended up, as arranged, at Two Brewers in Chipperfield to meet a friend for lunch. It’s not a bad pub, but I think they were having a slightly off-day, food and service-wise. Still, the A412 is a fun road for large chunks and coming back was far easier than going. I wasn’t intending nearly as scenic a route as I took. This is where maps are infinitely preferable to satnav, because at one point, the satnav wanted to take me on a 5 mile loop, whereas pulling out on the map made it clear all I really had to do was a U-turn, and I was 2 miles down the road from my meal. Okay, so a car probably couldn’t have done a U-turn on the available road, but I ride a bike.

At the Duke of Wellington

FOREVER AUTUMN

I like riding in autumn. It's crisp and cool. It's either clear or you get to see the last of the mist rising off the land. The leaves are a range of colours from green to red to gold to brown.  There are nice seasonal dishes, usually involving pumpkin or butternut, on the pub menus, and places are generally a little quieter, because the schools are back and all but the hardiest cyclists are tucked up safely at home for the winter. The motorbike is also less inclined to overheat. 
Plus, my bike looks really good against autumn backdrops. 

I ambled down the A24, as I often do, then looped arbitrarily onto the A246, which is a nice little road if you don't mind slowing down for villages (I don't). I shall be revisiting this road, and probably stopping short of Guildford once again, as I don't mind villages but I do mind large built up towns and cities. There are several new pubs and cafes along that road to try, and other buildings which intrigue me purely for their architecture. Next dry weekend, I think. 

WORTH IT

There is no such thing as a heat-proof cover. There are heat resistant covers of various stripes, but it's always advisable not to test those limits too much. Unfortunately, it's not always possible to let the bike cool down completely before covering it up. 
So what you get, with the best will in the world, is melted bits of cover on the pipes. Now some years ago, a gent at a filling station suggested the old armourers trick of using baby oil and the finest possible steel wool. This actually works, but requires elbow grease as well as baby oil, in fairly large quantities. 
I spent some time and energy on Sunday morning, de-gunging my pipes and getting bits of steel wool embedded under my nails (the gloves didn't last. Latex and oil don't mix well. We know this). But I got it all off, cleaned my nails as best I could and headed off for a well-deserved pub roast lunch. 
As I waited for my lunch, I watched a man carefully inspect my bike from every possible angle. Twice. He leaned, he crouched, he peered, he very nearly took out a magnifying glass. 
Some time later, once he'd found his party and also spotted my helmet, he complimented me on my beautifully keep bike. And every last piece of steel wool still under my nails, every twinge from wrist and elbow and shoulder? Worth it. 

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