Fish and quips
78.9 miles: Mablethorpe to home
Last time I was on Mablethorpe sea front it was a freezing cold February day to watch the sand racing. Today’s is more traditional seaside scene, but no less unlikely for the
Lincolnshire coast. Lobster coloured locals play on the beach and some paddling is happening, while the breeze blowing gently in from the North Sea is warm. In these socially distancing times it is quite strange, but the sun worshippers and paddling enthusiasts are all well behaved.
My phone alerts me to two missed calls from the Ducati pilot and we are ‘relieved’ to learn he’s got home with only two stops to let the £14,995 gonad roaster cool off.
In the circumstances, a great ride here and now a wrapper full of excellent fish and chips, Langy can find nothing to complain about, though prolonged exposure to sunlight has turned him another shade of red. John happily demonstrates his exponentially expanding topbox to bemused passers-by, Ben wonders if it’s possible to get some tartar sauce. This is the life.
Somehow it’s already turned 7pm, the A153 past Cadwell Park looks like the best route home and I’m leading on the £1500, 23-year-old, exhaust-fixed-this-morning-with-a-beercan-and-jubilee-clip Honda VFR. And it’s great.
For most of the day I’ve been tail end Charlie, happily watching the rest of the gang, all faster, more talented, more committed and younger than me. Now, with everyone in my mirrors I try not to touch the brakes in silly places, build corner speed and keep it smooth. We ride well together, making progress.
This is late in the day, calm, low effort, high reward, knees in riding that suits me. Especially with the extra ballast provided by a portion of cod and chips. Spotting a suspiciously stripey, hi-viz van ahead the pace slows as we gently reel it in. Then, realising it’s an ambulance rather than the rozzers, it’s swiftly dispatched.
We burst over the brow of the hill past Cadwell, on the crest of the Lincolnshire Wolds, and the landscape unfolds before us. The sun is sinking in the west, there’s a lush lateJune fieldscape and minimal trac. This has been my best day’s riding in years. And all on the doorstep.
An hour later I’m back home, just five minutes longer and I would have had to stop to change from a black visor rendered almost completely opaque by the remains of a thousand fenland insects. And miraculously the VFR’S beer can/jubilee clip exhaust bodge has survived the entire day, but just in case I need to redo the repair, I had better empty another one. Anyone got a decent genuine silencer to sell?