FROM THE FRONT
Do you have favourite rides? Favourite routes to favourite places? Roads and destinations which are so entirely familiar that you can concentrate on enjoying the ride itself, rather than puzzling over the best way to get to where you’re going? I most certainly do, and have long laughed at myself for returning – most months, once the magazine has gone off to press – to the borderlands between Wales and England, where I lived between maybe 1976 and the turn of the century. Roads I know very well indeed.
It’s a little like reading a favourite book or listening to a favourite piece of music: although it’s completely comfortable and familiar it is always somehow slightly different. The roads have changed, but are still much the same, and the seasons endlessly move along, as they have always done. There are so many variations on the route; diversions, slower and faster roads, minor roads and back lanes. It’s never dull. If I’m in a hurry – usually to meet someone for lunch or tea or just a chuckle and a chat – then I power out of the West Country on the A30 and M5, using the bike to dodge the holiday jams, and riding our modern 3-wheeler in winter, when being stable and weatherproof are more important than the ability to filter.
If there’s no hurry, and I’m not planning on a close encounter of the friendly kind, then I head off over Exmoor, the fringes of Sedgemoor, using the big roads only to cross Bristol, choosing the shorter older bridge across the mighty Severn rather than the faster more modern alternative. The choice of bridge offers different routes north, too, and it’s easy to find quiet, traffic-free roads even in the height of the summer caravan carnage. To the east, historic England; to the west, the other face of that history, spectacular Wales.
People occasionally wonder why I visit the area so often? Don’t I get bored? A smile is the easiest answer. Although I’m always mildly surprised to rediscover the odd fact that few folk appear to have a favourite ride – not just a 10-mile rattle around the block, but a trip that can take all day, end in an overnight and feature an elliptical return route a day or two later. I try to explain, and they try to understand. It’s all very amicable.
Choice of route dictates the choice of bike, too. This is the very best bit of being fortunate enough to have a small collection of machinery, and it all adds to the pleasure. Considering the destination, the evening’s entertainment and the forecasted weather is all part of it. I’ve never enjoyed life under canvas, dislike the personal proximities of B&B and have cheap tastes in hotels, so that’s where I stay. Whatever the weather, whatever the hour, I roll up, hang my gear up to dry, unpack the bike’s bags and relax in a hot bath or under a shower, depending mainly on a whim.
But here’s a thing. I’ve very rarely ridden these favourite roads on an old bike since I sold my last Norton Commander, and before that the Commando. Why is this? Logic and a peculiar fear of finishing – finishing up unable to start an old bike in the cold light of morning.
I’m planning my 2022 New Year’s Resolution early. You may be able to guess what it is…
Ride safely