Eight wheels in my garage, to keep me rolling along….I’m still not sure if this is the right choice. On Friday morning, it certainly felt like a good idea. Having a flat in the eaves of my building I get an aural preview of the weather before I open my eyes. Friday morning sounded like the kind of weather that wasn’t worth opening an eye for. But my desire to stay under the warm duvet was outbid by my need for a cup of coffee, so while the kettle boiled I tried to feel good about the fact that it wasn’t actually snowing, just sleeting down: lukewarm optimism soon overwhelmed by the realisation that my helmet hadn’t dried out from the last soaking (I laughed when I got a 36-page instruction book with it, but looking at a post on UKGser which recommended shutting the top vent in the rain, the joke rests on me – there’s a top vent?)so as soon as I put it on the visor fogged up (again). I suppose it helps keep the speed down….
By Friday night I was changing my mind again. The rain had cleared, the sun hadn’t quite gone down, but the temperature had. Cold I can now cope with, thanks to my Klan vest, and I remembered the new back route to the motorway from Wednesday’s trip, so I felt a bit smug as the 2-hour ride home unrolled under the clear skies to a random show-tune playing in my head. A car would have been a little bit warmer but I wouldn’t have felt impromptu joy in the starlight.
Anyway – it’s all academic, I have decided to forge ahead and am soon to be the second owner of a navy blue Vauxhall Agila (nice picture above). The biking gods smile upon this transaction – the salesman pulled into his usual test-drive hand-over spot, the sugar factory car park, to find himself in the middle of a MAG rally. (We didn’t get a badge.)