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Questa galleria contiene 1 immagine.
The last day, and the sun is shining. Much as I loved Shropshire I decide to head for one …
02 sabato Set 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District
inTag
Questa galleria contiene 1 immagine.
The last day, and the sun is shining. Much as I loved Shropshire I decide to head for one …
26 sabato Ago 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District
inTag
Day 8, and the way home begins. To make it less sad, and less torturous on the motorway, I have decided to break the stretch into two and make a stop in Shropshire.
Remembering the bad experiences of the first day, this time I spend more time on Google Map (no physical England map with me; perhaps another mistake) and decide to do all motorway until Chester and all countryside from there to Shifnal, Shropshire HQ. It all goes well (and with a nice sun; the day I have to ride away!) until Warrington, when a big queue announces itself. I decide to abandon the motorway there and, luckier this time, I find beautiful roads to Shifnal. Happy to skip lunch after excessive eating the evening before (I skip lunch on many occasions, as I try not to eat when I am not hungry) I rest a while in the hotel and then ride out to Ludlow.
I had been in Shropshire on my way back from the Peak District in April, and the place had impressed me: beautiful landscapes, fast and well-kept roads, no cameras, very little traffic, sparse little picturesque villages here and there. This time is also no disappointment, and even the traffic is not noticeably worse in August than April.
A pint in beautiful Ludlow is followed by wonderful roads for the following two hours: the A456 (also enjoyed in April), A449 and A442 are excellent, but in the triangle between Shifnal, Worcester and Ludlow I really could find no road that wasn’t very enjoyable; however, you may want to keep your Garmin Satnav away from “curvy roads” if you want to avoid the usual “one lane roads with passing places”. But really, everything was tip top today: roads, weather, bike (!), pub, restaurant, hotel. I wish I could have had a day like this in the Lake District. But I count my blessings, and am very happy to have enjoyed this holiday.
Tomorrow I will probably head home via Cotswolds and Chiltern Hills. But if the weather is bad I might stay here until I get tired and then get on the motorway to get home fast. However, on the motorway I have the constant threat of Dr Goebbels’ nephews wanting to keep me trapped on the motorway for my own security and to make me understand what an evil CO2 producer I am.
Tomorrow better be sunny, then…
25 venerdì Ago 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District
in
Day 7 is the last full day in the Lake District; tomorrow, I will ride to Shifnal to get another piece of Shropshire before heading back home.
I have the habit of refuelling as either last or first thing of the day, in order to avoid searches for gas stations during the day. Things have become much easier in the age of GPS, but it is still a nuisance to have to interrupt your chosen route to get to a gas station.
I therefore stop, first thing, at the gas station just outside HQ.
The fuel filler cap refuses to open.
This is a “keyless ride” bike (bought that way, used; I tend not to pay extra for electronic gimmicks, but when you buy used there is no substantial difference in price), therefore there is no key. The damn thing just does not open.
I try and try but do not want to break the “beak” used the open the fuel filler cap as I might be in real trouble then. I give up and want to call BMW Assistance. No mobile phone signal (“emergency only”). I decide to ride further and try again at the next station, perhaps it’s a momentary glitch. In Troutbeck Bridge (this is between Windermere and Ambleside) the filler cap still does not open, but I do have signal. I remember once in April, when I had to call BMW Assistance because the electronic lock of my pannier refused to open and give me my helmet back. On that occasion, a dirty sensor at the back of the pannier was causing the problem, but I see no dirt on the filler cap now and cannot imagine that there is any inside. I fear an electronic gremlin; which, as those know who have experienced them, are the worst thing that can happen.
I call BMW Assistance and they need a lot of time (1:40 minutes) to show up. When the chap appears he shakes the bike a bit with the help of the steering bar, then punches the cap energetically two or three times.
Nothing happens.
He repeats the procedure, and the filler cap opens up.
Just like that.
“It’s the water on the sensor”, he says; “quite a common issue on this type of machines!”.
He dries the now visible sensor and we repeat the closing and opening several other times. It now works a treat.
I am angry and relieved. Relieved that I can ride away and know what to do if the problem reappears. Angry that these new technologies are released on the clients without having sufficiently debugged them (my bike was registered in September 2014, I really want to hope things are better now). It has rained quite a bit in the last days and it basically rained every night since I arrived at HQ last Saturday. But this does not mean that my filler cap is justified in refusing to open up.
It is now almost Midday and I have basically had no real ride at all. I decide to allow myself one and a half hour ride before riding back to HQ for a late lunch. I also ride to Coniston and back, like yesterday, which is still beautiful but I find more traffic than yesterday afternoon. The lunch is the last lunch at HQ.
The afternoon is, compared to the morning, blissfully uneventful. As it is the last afternoon I ride along the now well-known local roads for a while, then back along the 592, which I hope to ride all the way to Penrith. However, the Apocalypse awaits me at the roundabout connecting with the A66, with a queue stretching for as long as the eye can see on the road itself. I can’t avoid thinking Health & Safety Dr Goebbels might be at work again. I abandon the plan and ride back along the 592, which means lake and pass again. At around 7:30, after a leisurely stroll and my farewell to beautiful Windermere, I ride back to HQ for the last dinner before the ride to Shropshire.
No more than 130 miles today.
Blame the damn sensor.
24 giovedì Ago 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District
in
It is the morning of day 6, and the sky looks horrible. I decide not to look at the weather forecast at all, lest it induces me to spend all morning at HQ.
I decide to ride north again: Ambleside, then Keswick. The aim of the morning is a stretch a Guzziriders reader, Mick L, has warmly recommended. I take the road from the other side and start from Keswick in order to avoid the bitches (see previous post), but it is the same (and only) road all right, the one that leads to Buttermere avoiding the Whinlatter pass (which, as we already know, is not a bitch at all) and enters the village by the small, picturesque church. This is a very beautiful stretch, a narrow vale closed by green, steep hills, a bit of a world apart/Lord Of The Rings scenery, and not easily forgotten. Being in Buttermere I decide to head north again towards Cockermouth, which is the birthplace of the District’s most famous son, the poet William Wordsworth (but there are others: Beatrix Potter and Stan Laurel come to mind). On the outskirts of the village I get a spot of hail (it has been raining on and off all morning), but when I arrive in the centre of the village the roads are perfectly dry. “Uh-oh”, thinks your truly, and two minutes later the skies punctually open and the hail is there again. At this point it is past 11 and I decide that there’s nothing like the warmth of HQ. I arrive there a bit later than Midday, and it is still raining. Worryingly, a huge queue has formed in the other direction, stretching all the way from Ambleside to way past Windermere, along the main road. Heavens, I think, in the afternoon I won’t head this way so soon.
After lunch it rains again and I am frankly fed up a bit. A nap helps to pass the time. After the nap, the forecast says no rain anymore and I profit to get in the saddle again. Wanting to avoid the road to Windermere I head in the opposite direction and, like yesterday, follow the indications for Crook from the B road. Like yesterday, the roads are beautiful and the landscape stunning in the (now appeared) sun. Beautiful as the Peak District was, in my opinion the Lake District easily wins the contest. Near Crook a beautiful Moto Guzzi Le Mans I (I think) magically appears out of a curve. I see the bike for a very short time, but that sound stays with me for long as I try to keep it in my memory and not think of the whining I have just below and in front of me.
I explore again the local roads until I decide to stop in Bowness, where I refresh myself with a good pint at the “Flying Pig”, seating outside and seeing the cars and bikes go by.
After that I keep strolling around the local roads, but another pearl is the road to Coniston. Really, it is difficult to go wrong these parts. You might get a road you did not want (say: one lane with passing places) but the scenery will always be anywhere between very beautiful and stunning.
Less than 170 miles today, and another enjoyable, if more than somewhat rainy, day.
23 mercoledì Ago 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District
in
The morning of day 5 has come, and the weather forecast is the contrary of yesterday: rain in the morning, all fine in the afternoon.
I plan to use the morning, of limited biking use, for a leisurely stroll around Lake Windermere and the visit of Wray Castle. The rain isn’t really disturbing, but the roads are wet enough to take away any sporty desire. I spend some forty minutes enjoying the stunning scenery this region offers literally everywhere. Don’t let anyone tell you that the rain spoils the British countryside. It merely gives a different, interesting angle to it. You can also enjoy the landscape better, because you ride slower. In moderate doses, “riding in the rain” is quite something. Unfortunately, after a while you end up wishing for a nice sunny day or the comforts of HQ.
After a while I make for Wray Castle and, not for the first time with the National Trust, the visit is a great disappointment.
Excursus: The National Kindergarten Trust
Wray Castle is a big mansion in mock medieval style built by a family of rich merchants (from both sides) in the XIX Century. Beatrix Potter wrote to acquaintances about both of them. This is a typical example of middle age-inspired extravagance of the Victorian Era. It would deserve to be redecorated in character with the original setup, allowing a complete immersion in the day and age of extravagant Victorian wealth. Instead, the entire building, or rather the part of it that is open, is given over – without even any pretence of period decoration – to a real “Kindergarten experience”, something which completely betrays the purpose of the National Trust. Things are so dumb that even the adult visitors – obviously treated like children, too – are asked what the National Trust should do with the building.
Duh? What did the Germans do with Neuschwanstein, Hohenschwangau, or Linderhof? Did they put a “children explore the musical world” theme in them? Thought not…
Before you say it, I don’t accept the money argument. Firstly, there is not even the effort of redecoration or proper use. Secondly, there is no request for funds to start or finish it. Thirdly, if there is really need for money then the membership should be more expensive and the aim of the expense clearly stated (or perhaps, the available money better spent). This pandering to children in the middle of a historic building is akin to using the Uffizi to teach kindergarten children to get in touch with painting. Honestly, the lack of historical perspective and contempt for the beautiful and varied architectonical patrimony of the Country is staggering. Pearls and swine come to mind.
I leave very fast, not before leaving a choice word in the relevant, interactive survey (first question: how many children there are in your party?). And again, this is not the first time the National Trust disappoints in this way.
No membership next year, because I was in kindergarten already.
End of excursus.
After this (non) experience, I keep riding around in the light rain, and once again notice that this Country is never really less beautiful in the rain than in the sun. It is merely the riding that is limited by the rain. The experience of riding through leafy forests in the rain is not to be missed. It’s only after a while that one longs for the the sun or the warmth of a home.
Punctually, after a while I decide to go back to HQ for an early lunch, hoping to get more throttle pleasure in the afternoon.
—–
I get out again at 3PM, with a clear promise of dry, and at times sunny, weather. I decide to have a leisurely stroll around a couple of lakes and towns (no passes today!), hopefully with some throttle opening thrown in. From HQ I ride to Windermere and Ambleside, hence to Keswick, then back to Patterdale at the southern end of Ullswater, then u-turn and back along the lake on the 592 (love that road!) and up to Penrith, where I enjoy a beautiful beer on tap in the bar of the Hotel George (no windows, but still nice atmosphere and good WiFi). Before you ask, I had peeped in in another couple of pubs and they were both very dark, “sports bar” affairs. People seem to love their pubs dark these parts.
After the beer pause I am on my way again and ask the Satnav to lead me back to HQ with the fastest way; this includes a good deal of A6, a great fun in the sparse traffic and the now completely dry roads. In fact, when I am back at HQ at 6:30PM the weather is so beautiful that I spend another hour just discovering the local roads. The hills around the strangely named village of Crook are breathtaking, but really you can’t do anything wrong these parts. I ride again the Windermere-Ambleside-Windermere along the lake, and from there is straight to HQ.
Not much more than 150 miles today, and another sad example of how the vast, beautiful cultural and architectural patrimony of the Country is neglected. But in the afternoon I had the best weather since the start of the trip, and let us hope it keeps that way tomorrow.
22 martedì Ago 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District
in
The 22 August is another great day. The forecast has changed and rain is now forecast from 4PM, again. Therefore, it is necessary to tailor my plans around the weather, again. I have a tour in my GPS called “Lake District Delight”, made one month ago and whose details are forgotten. But looking at the way points it seems this was “the one with the passes”. The plan is: Back for (late) lunch and hopefully no rain. In the afternoon, after a good (late) lunch, I will just stroll around until I have enough of the rain.
Start is at 9AM sharp. The beautiful, already well-known road along the Windermere (Lake 1) all the way to Ambleside is just a trampoline to the near Wrynose Pass. Mind, the route was prepared with Tyre To Travel and Google Map. You just connect the points, but unless you drop the little orange guy all the time it does not really tell you what you’ll find.
What I found was a bitch.
I discounted the initial warning about 30% gradient etc. Having been on many Alpine and Dolomitic passes I am not afraid of gradients. What I was not told is how darn narrow these hairpin turns are and, as a consequence, how challenging it is to get it right, obviously without dropping the bike. There were hairpin turns the like of which I have never seen. Doable with much attention; but boy, what nasty bitches.
Once on the summit, the descent on the other side (again, I was coming from Ambleside) proved quite nice and pleasant, and rich in beautiful views. All the time I had a Mitsubishi Outlander behind me, and it was reassuring to know help would have been fast at hand if I had dropped the bike.
Once in the vale you get no respite, as the second pass of the day immediately beckons: Hardknott Pass. Hardknott is the bitchy sister of Wrynose. It salutes you with a horrible Tarmac, full of hunches and, more dangerously, subsidence trying to guide your wheel towards the edge. The warning on the signs approach terrorism alert.
Bitchy sister has hairpin turns even worse than Wrynose, and a couple of times the Mitsubishi Outlander (which had followed me on the second pass) must wait for me to patiently test the hairpin turn; stopped, both feet on the ground, carefully moving one cm at a time before letting the clutch go and letting the bike surge through the damn hairpin, the momentum defying gravity as I say things in Italian I will not write here. This happens exactly twice, and only the “hand” just obtained on the Wrynose Pass prevents it from being more.
But bitchy sister has not stopped bitching. This time, the descent is just as nasty, with two hairpin turns also seeing me with two feet on the ground, and carefully watching the available space before going down (I am descending here, and I can’t work with the clutch and brake and get some more space by backtracking as I would have done on the ascent; here, if you are stuck towards the slope you are stuck towards the slope, full stop). Everything goes well, though I see from my mirrors the driver of the Mitsubishi having to reverse before completing the hairpin turn. Heck, never seen on the Alps, too!
As God willed, that was done, too, and I have already enough of passes for the day. My suggestion is that you do not try any of the two sister bitches if you are either an inexperienced motorcyclist or not accustomed to big bikes. Dropping a 260 kg bike in one of those hairpin turns must not be pleasant at all. With a Duke 390 or 690 both passes should be great fun, though.
The route now led me to Erksdale, Calderbridge and Ennerdale Bridge. After Mockerkin I encounter a very beautiful road covered in trees, through which I can see a beautiful lake, soon appearing in front of me in all its beauty. It is called Lowes Water (Lake 2) and it is so different from what I have seen up to now because, coming from the north, you see unspoiled natural beauty (not one house in sight) all the way to Buttermere, and again nothing a good stretch after it. The place “gets” not only me, but many others, as witnessed by the signs clearly stating that the passing places are not for parking!
After this natural beauty, the next pass awaits. However, Honister Pass is very civilised, and even gets the honour of a “B” road designation (B5289, since you asked). The beautiful ascent happens in what felt to me no time after the two bitches, and the descent was something your nonagenarian grand-aunt would call “quite manageable”. Pass 3 is quite a nice girl, then.
I ride along the B5289, a very elevated road, and I soon observe breathtaking views of another lake. This one is Derwent Water (Lake 3), and I seldom remember the like of the view from there, in the glowing sun, just absolutely darn glorious. The road soon leads to another quite nice stretch, the B5293, which is the road of the Whinlatter Pass. Here, on my way to the top, I stop at a panoramic point and admire quite a view of the vale below, with the terminal part of what the map would later tell me is called Bassenthwaite Lake.
I climb up the Whinlatter Pass (easy-peasy, and Pass 4) and descend on the A66, which has a beautiful stretch along Bassenthwaite Lake (Lake 4 for the day, then). From there there would be the possibility of riding fast back to Windermere and hence to HQ, but I decide to complete the tour as planned on the PC, because I am expecting rain in the afternoon and prefer a late lunch after a satisfying Motorbiking tour. The tour leads me, along the A66, to Troutbeck and then to the eastern tip of the A592, whence I once again ride along the Ullswater (Lake 5) and the Kirkstone Pass (Pass 5, beautiful and not challenging at all) to get to HQ before 2PM and ready for lunch. What a day, and not one drop of rain up to now.
——
In the afternoon, I am expecting rain. I set up at 3:20PM already more than satisfied with the morning ride, and planning to discover some local roads until the rain makes me say “enough”. The rain never came, and I said “enough” three hours later. You pick on the map a road around the west of Windermere Lake, I have ridden it. Beautiful, but with the caveat that even if you often have the lake very near you won’t see much of it for long stretches. However, the narrow roads deeply embedded in the forest and the lake view stretches make for a very beautiful experience.
Note to self: take the weather forecast cum grano salis. Do not do the exact contrary of what they suggest you should do, but keep open the possibility of mistakes or, rather, erring on the side of caution. If I had stayed home waiting for miserable weather from 4pm onward I would have missed a beautiful biking afternoon.
Less than 190 miles in total today, but more hours on the saddle than yesterday. A very beautiful day at that.
But boy, the two bitches won’t see me again anytime soon.
21 lunedì Ago 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District
in
The third day turns out to be a strange and beautiful day. The weather forecast says heavy rain from 4PM to late evening. Therefore, the usual morning ride-lunch-afternoon ride system does not really work. I therefore decide to set for a longish ride in one go, touching the Pennines for the second – and, very possibly, last – time; this will allow me to stretch the engine’s legs a bit (I have noticed that the Pennines are often faster than the Lake territory) and see a bit of the world out there on the East, hopefully avoiding the rain.
I had a “Pennines Itinerary” saved on the Satnav that I decide to follow until practicable. It led me to Sedbergh, Middleton, Nenthead, Alston, Bishop Auckland, Blanchland and Hexham. Only at home I realised that what looked like a little excursus from the comfort of Google Map was in fact way East and North from where I thought I was (but then I prepared the GPS routes one month ago, just to have some additional possibilities, and forgot all about it).
The track was generally excellent, and the Pennines are very fast. In the later hours of a Monday Morning traffic was basically non-existent and I opened the throttle like, I think, never before in my life outside of the Nürburgring (I start getting accustomed to a machine with 125 metric horsepower, too). The Pennines are strange in that for a wind-swept, mountainous-looking region they have a lot of fast stretches, interspersed with first-gear bends and “WTF” hairpin turns. A glorious experience, only slightly diminished by the local vegetation, or lack of it; this gives it a different feeling than, say, the fast roads in the Black Forest or Alsace. Also, the relatively frequent straights allow overtaking in comfort of the rare vehicles in front of one. However, compared to “Cermany”‘s just as enjoyable roads, no traffic, no cameras, and no “motorbike ban” Nazi Grannies (you have those in all German biking paradises: Black Forest, Odenwald, Bavarian Forest, you name it).
Once in Hexham it’s past 1PM, and the Satnav tells me I am still way over 2 hours away from home. Home it is, then, again through the absolutely stunning A686 and, again, via Hartside Pass. I could happily ride that road every day for a very, very long time before getting tired.
I am back at Lake District Headquarters at 3PM sharp and, whilst on a couple of occasions a drop or three appeared on my screen, it actually never rained. I made myself a very late lunch and waited for the rain. The forecast were pretty accurate: the rain started at 5PM (a bit late) and never stopped until dark.
On a side note: I met only another R1200RT today, and the guy stretched his arm in the air in an enthusiastic salute as if he had met a brother-in-arms, long believed dead. An excellent bike, this R1200RT, only marred by the most unexciting engine sound ever devised by human mind. For the rest, quite a treat, and that I could flip it right and left all day with great ease and with the panniers on board gives the measure of how much fun a proper touring bike can be. A real shame that the craze for the – otherwise certainly excellent – “Adventure bikes for 100% Tarmac use” has reduced or restricted the number of proper tourers on offer (no Moto Guzzi Norge or Breva anymore; no Ducati ST4; no KTM tourers because not enough “ready to race”; Triumphs, Yamahas and Kawasakis have too many cylinders, and they don’t sound right to me either).
Tomorrow I hope for a dry day. And from tomorrow, I plan to stay within the boundaries of the original aim of the trip: the Lake District AONB proper.
Around 200 miles today, and if the rest of the trip is so enjoyable this region will have conquered my heart forever.
20 domenica Ago 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District, Uncategorized
in
On the Sunday the weather is better than the day before. I am on the move before 9AM and whilst the roads are still wet from the night’s rain, things are looking fine, or at least not dire.
It pays to go out early if you visit the Lake District in August: for the first literally 20 miles I have not a single car in front of me, which makes for some 40 minutes of serious fun. The roads are generally very well kept, too, which is in sharp contrast to much of what you see around London. The wildlife is abundant, though, as witnessed by the impressive number of road kill I encounter (squirrels and hares, generally; Peter Rabbit and Squirrel Nutkin, the “locals”, immediately come to mind…). However, you know that the roads are well maintained also because the roadkill is always “fresh”, again a sharp contrast to the hares and foxes in advanced state of decomposition you see in Surrey or Kent.
I had prepared a Pennines itinerary at home and have therefore everything set up for fun: the main roads I ride are the – for great stretches seriously exciting – A6 and its two little sisters, the A686 and the A689: all three of them absolutely bloody spectacular with dry roads and no traffic. The landscape is, as expected, different from the Lake District’s: vegetation is rarer and the still beautiful views do not have, in my eyes, the aha-effect of the green vales of the Lake District; not even in August, when you would expect the region to be at its best. Great fun to drive, though, and I ride twice on the Hartside Pass, home of the eponymous cafe’. The first time there are only three bikes parked outside, when I ride back well past 11 they must be at least two dozen.
I descend from the side whence I had come and, finally, meet my first lake of this holiday: it’s the Ullswater, past the rather nice little town of Penrith. From there, an absolutely spectacular – if slow and traffic-plagued, with the many cyclists now underway making things slower – A592 leads me all along the lakes first and to the excellent, very scenic Kirkstone pass later. From there, I can choose between Ambleside on the right and Windermere straight and I opt for the latter, first out of curiosity to finally see the place and also because I need victuals and think I’ll have a better choice there (I was wrong in this, as I discovered later).
On the road along the like I see coming in my direction a Custom Guzzi, aluminium tank, round cylinder heads. The sound of the bike is heaven and makes me feel shame for the whining sound (nay: the whining whine) of my Boxer. If my bike had that Guzzi sound it would be perfect for me. Without it, it’s like a supermodel with a huge nose always staring at you.
The town is finally reached. Boy, is Windermere beautiful. What I have seen exceeded every expectation, but I wanted to go home and close the morning with a nice meal so I did not spend much time. In the afternoon I will be back, though, because the place truly impressed me.
—–
The afternoon came, and back I was in Windermere. The town proper has a nice, prosperous village atmosphere, and I ordered an ale at the local pub, “The Queens”. The ale in question – I don’t remember the exact name, only that it was local – was a disappointment, but the village is truly nice. Around one mile down the road is another village, Bowness-on-Windermere, which is whence the boat business departs. The lake is stunning. This village has, perhaps, less character, but still a lot of tourists, swarming the place on a Sunday afternoon and giving it a lot of, so to speak, “village Saturday” atmosphere.
I mix with them a while and then decide to discover the East side of Lake Windermere with the bike: Ambleside, Rydal and, particularly, Grasmere. They are all beautiful – I can see now that Ambleside has a lot of shops, and less of the “Village” character – but Grasmere is, in my eyes, easily the best, and I will certainly return. The famous gingerbread shop, on the main road, has not even the place to park a bike. From Grasmere I trace my steps back to Bowness-in-Windermere, whence I keep coasting the lake towards the south until the southern extremity of Lake Windermere is reached. The east side of the lake seems easily the better one as far as panoramic roads are concerned, and I don’t think I will make an ad hoc ride around the like like I did in Italy for Lake Garda and Lake Como. From the southern tip of the lake I ride fast back to HQ via A590 and A591; which is fast and practical, if not particularly entertaining.
Around 200 miles were covered today, and no motorway at all. Stunning scenery in the Pennines, but I think the Lake District is more beautiful still. Tomorrow the forecast is… lots of rain, but it should be the last day of rain, too.
19 sabato Ago 2017
Posted 2017 Lake District
inThe morning of Saturday, 19 August 2017 could have been a worse one (and will become one) as, at exactly 8:32, I start the engine of my trusted BMW R1200RT for the much-needed and much-awaited motorbike holiday in the Lake District. I caress, as always, my less trusted but much beloved other bike, a Moto Guzzi 1000SP – we Italians are an emotional bunch – and, after a refuel, I am soon on the M25 on my way to “op north”. The plan is to ride as much on the motorway as I can stand, then go out at some point and try my luck on fast-ish, non-motorway roads. As I don’t know and don’t want to plan how much motorway I will be able to stand I renounce to make any Google-enquiries. The strategy will prove sub-optimal.
The M25 goes away uneventfully and so does the M1, albeit by this time traffic has become more intense. Then I have to choose between M6Toll and M6. Never imagining what will come next and thinking it dumb to pay a toll on a Saturday morning I choose the garden variety M6, and I am soon stuck in a biggish queue.
Already satisfied with the ground covered up to now I decide to leave the Autobahn and try my luck outside; Satnav says I will be to HQ at around 4pm, which is very fine with me. All hunky-dory then; bye-bye, Autobahn!
It wasn’t to be. After a couple of minutes a street sign welcomes me in Wolverhampton; a place which, no offence for anyone, I never identified with the leafy lanes of the green and pleasant country I was hoping for. What begins now is an endless succession of roundabouts, red lights, road works, and Saturday shopping frenzy. After 25 minutes I stop dreaming of green lanes in nice forests just outside the conurbation and decide that if I have to die of boredom I will make it fast-ish, on the motorway; perhaps with some queue but without the endless roundabouts.
I then ride back to the M6 (I don’t get the choice of paying the toll this time, when I was much better disposed) and here, disaster strucks…
Excursus: The Tyranny Of Health And Safety
We live in very stupid times. Times in which the fire alarm bell must ring every week in the office to make us sure that it still works. Times in which every drop of liquid on the ground must see the displacement of a yellow implement just as likely to hurt you. Times in which an army of busybodies wants to take care of us, whether we like it or not, in every little thing. It’s not that we are treated like in Kindergarten: I was never patronised in that way in the kindergarten, and I never had to hear to the damn fire alarm bell every damn week!
Today, after losing forty minutes of my life on a horrible queue on the M6 (in one of those huge, miles-long building sites, therefore too narrow for filtering with my broad panniers) I discovered why: a small accident had caused the usual Dr Goebbels of the Health And Safety Gestapo to close an entire motorway down to one lane, creating a bottleneck qualifying for the general probe of Armageddon. I once – years ago, in a similar situation, on the A3 near Surbiton – asked the friendly policewoman why something of the sort is made instead of doing things as it was always done and leaving two lanes for traffic, and she answered quite in Fawlty Towers style: “I know! I know!! I know!!! It’s the health and safety regulations!!!” . The poor woman was almost in tears at the stupidity of what she was forced to do. I was, actually, quite angry.
And there you have it, my dear motorbiking reader: we are all in the hands and under the power of a cabal of health and safety Nazis pretending to care for us, but in reality either simply trying to justify their useless jobs or, more likely, abusing their power to push on us their war on motoring (we produce CO2, you see; this makes us very, very bad!).
Keep this in mind next time you are stuck on the motorway. Big Goebbels is controlling you!
End of excursus.
After my M6 odyssey and now really, really tired of motorway, I get out of the M6 near a place with a familiar name, Leyland, and make my way towards Lake District HQ. For the past three hours the weather was alternating between grey and miserably rainy (heavy rain at times), and now I get better roads but not better weather. However, the landscape becomes more and more beautiful, and the green and pleasant Country I was hoping for before now reveals itself to me in all its (wet, but still beautiful) glory.
I arrive at the village where my cottage HQ is supposed to be located, and then I discover three villages in the region have the same name. Then I go strictly by postcode and find the place. It’s raining very hard now, which makes my new HQ the more inviting. This is the end of the road for today, after more than 300 miles.
A bit of baggage sorting, a bit of heating, and a spot of grocery and I am ready to enjoy the place and plan for tomorrow no matter how hard it rains.
Landlord has left a bottle of red wine and nice biscuits; the latter gone whilst writing this, and the former dutifully honoured.
Tomorrow I will have, thankfully, no motorway to endure.
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