Homeward bound, part 2. Knutsford to Poole

I had a pleasant, not hugely eventful run home, for the most part in glorious sunshine.  


Stopping at services near Stafford to fill up my flask, I came across another temptress.

Another temptress

"Would you like a bar of chocolate for a pound to go with that?"
Merciless vixen.

The joy of motorcycling

I noticed quite a few motorcycles out and about, now the weather is getting better.  There's always a certain cameraderie between riders - a nod as one passes, a couple of words exchanged in car parks - and this despite the great variety in motorcycles and their riders.  There are old men like me on sedate tourers, younger blades (well, forty-something, anyway) on hideously fast sports bikes, teenagers on screaming mopeds.  In Fort William, I even passed a platoon of lads on mud-spattered motorcross bikes; curious things specifically designed to be ridden standing up, with just a token of a seat wedged between the back wheel and the engine.  And yet there is a binding thread; we all share the enjoyment of this bizare form of transport: two wheels that rely on gyroscopic forces to keep upright, for heavens sake, and then compound the madness by adding an engine to it.


Rejoining the motorway after the Stafford services, I came across a couple of interesting variations on the theme.  First a tricycle based on a large cruiser-style bike.  There were two people on the bench seat behind the rider, chatting away and obviously enjoying the ride.  Just ahead of them, clearly part of the same party since they shared the same custom paint job, was a Honda Goldwing (that's the massive, 1800cc, twenty-odd grand behemoth) with a sidecar attached.  I passed slowly, taking a good look at these; excellent solutions for passengers who can't manage a pillion seat - like Mrs S - or who wriggle around compulsively - like young Charlie.  
But surely, you might say, this misses the point of a motorcycle, namely having two wheels, not to mention loosing the ability to filter through lines of congested traffic, and limiting the (ability to safely exercise the) performance of the machine.
True, but with a trike or a sidecar outfit, one is still out there, experiencing the environment one is passing through.  It's a little difficult to explain if you don't already get it.  But tell you what; next time you see a dog with his head out of a car window, ears flapping in the breeze, big doggy grin all over his chops; pull alongside, wind your window down and ask him what he gets out of it.
  

A familiar road and a diversion

This is a familar neck of the woods for me: M6, M5, M4, A350 all the way to Poole.  That said, I noticed a motorway sign warning of congestion around the M4/M5 junction.  Motorway congestion is not a huge problem for a motorcycle, but I used it as an excuse to turn off early and enjoy riding a few miles across the Cotswolds. 

Not really needed

One thing that is very obvious is how much more the season is advanced the further South one travels. While the highlands are still brown, the Cotswolds were a chequerboard of vivid yellow and green. 

Greener (and yellower) towards the South

Pausing for thought

On my final stop, I noticed that I had by chance pulled up at the same spot I made my first stop at on the outward journey of my interim, left-to-right trip last year.  There's appropriate, I thought, so I sat down with the last of my coffee and had a quiet word with whatever divinity is responsible for charity motorcycle rides. I only meant to give a quick acknowledgement for it all going so well, but it rapidly turned into the breathless litany of thanks one hears from lucky starlets at the Oscar ceremonies.  Thanks to my IAM coach for making me sharp enough to ride without incident for over two thousand miles, to my wonderful wife who encouraged me to go even though she is poorly and could do with some nursing - even my cack-handed attempt at it, to the kind and generous people I encountered on the way, and so on and so on.  I particularly gave thanks for the previously undetected corner of the inner Seaman that is actually a people person so that I could speak to those kind and generous people.  (Some people who know me will surely be wondering if it was really me doing the ride or my secret jovial twin brother.)

That's all folks.

But most all, I gave thanks for all the friends and relations and friends of friends and relations for making it worth doing for Cancer Research UK

Stats for anoraks

Distance:

• Poole to start at Dungeness Point: 183
• Dungeness Point to Cape Wrath (left bike at Keoldale): 1007
• Homeward run: 823
• Total: 2013

Stops: 35


Fuel used: 156.84l, 37.58 gallons
mpg: 53.6 (that's good for a big motorcycle)


Spares and repairs: none; it's a Honda.