By the twitching of my thumbs…

…something pretty* this way comes. Thanks to Caz and Steve, my Triumph is back on the road. Moving from one bike to another is an odd feeling, the Triumph feels like a monkey bike compared to Ruby – and of course, my thumbs are twitching away trying to indicate with the starter button on the right…

* she was pretty until I rode for 50 miles under the torrential rain of last night’s electrical storm, which rather sadly undid all Caz’s polishing. On Tuesday morning I was gobbed on by just one irate motorist. Last night it seemed that Satan and every one of his minions had decided to join the fun. To take my mind of the misery I decided that when I reached dry land I would measure exactly how much water had dribbled down inside my boots and my gloves…a pint. Not counting the water soaked into Gialis, jacket, fleece, t-shirt, bra and pants. When I say to people “at least it stops at the skin” this is not meant to be a challenge.

And, while I like to read about the style and technique of fording rivers, and understand the importance of not stalling and thus inducing hydraulic lock, I wasn’t expecting to have to put this into practice on the A10 just outside Royston.


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