The Original ‘No Tears’ Onion Goggles inspired a search for something similar, with a better look. Looks don’t make you cool, of course, but there are limits. Eventually I found some cycling sunnies employing the same technology on an affordable ticket, so I bought them and took them out for a test ride.
What an improvement over my site glasses. You lose a bit of peripheral vision but when you turn your head at speed you don’t become tear-blinded in the windward eye. This is critical from the standpoint that I have to turn my head regularly to check the rear view mirror, to avoid nasty surprises. Bring limited to 40-50 mph means that even trucks tend to lunge up the outside on the open road, which can be more than a little disconcerting.
It was a beautiful evening for a test ride, which fully whetted the appetite for my upcoming trip on this self-centered form of transport. A fellow courier on the Wapping squad once announced in our cramped rider's Portacabin that he’d bought a helmet intercom so that he and his girl could chat as they rode along. Half the assembled bikers started laughing while the others dropped their heads into their hands.
“What?” he said, looking hurt, “it works...”
“She told you to get it, didn't she?” snorted one, doubled up with laughter.
“It was seventy quid,” he pleaded indignantly, as if the price made it right.
I don’t need to explain what made them tease him so. Personally, I think of motorcycling as a solo activity, that’s one of the beautiful things about it. If you ride out with friends, you’re together but also alone, until you stop and share stories. It’s peaceful in that helmeted state, I wouldn’t have an intercom, no way, I’m not even sure it’s that safe. To be honest, I don’t really like taking or being a pillion passenger either. But each to his own and I digress.
It was a beautiful evening so I rode up onto the downs with great fistfuls of throttle. Alright, it looks like I’m going backwards when something modern comes past but 400 miles in and I’m really beginning to get the hang of riding this thing and it’s great on twisty country roads with a decent surface. Lack of rear suspension means it’s predictable and what power there is goes straight to ground.
The sky was low and brooding, undercut with evening sun. Long shadows wheeled right and left as we swept up to Lockinge Kiln, I could have gone all the way to Newbury but I had no phone and was expected back home. Reluctantly I turned back making a circuit through Faringdon. The run up to Faringdon church was on a battered B road bursting with wildflowers, a break in the hedge showed green wheat and poppies beyond, in sharp chromatic contrast. It was as if all of England was aching to be France, or is it just me?
Time is in short supply now and I can only pray for good mechanical fortune. The weather forecast is dry on this side of the channel, on Wednesday, with light showers expected in St Malo the next day. There’s a bit of wind to contend with which makes for tiring riding but I tell myself it’ll be good to feel tired, man and machine battling the elements, etc.
We trialed the tent this morning and I’ve packed a box of bits; spanners, plug, contacts, oil, oily rag, cables, cable ties, inner tube, foot pump and so on. I shied away from installing vibration reducing grips, something I may yet regret, I think I will take my gauntlets and hope they reduce the numbness. It’s probably just as good for the bike as the rider to take regular breaks. Must just remember to stop on a slope, though, she doesn’t kickstart well from hot but will bump easily enough.
A very nice man gave me a push start outside the bank in Wantage, after my ride up on the downs. Some people just know what the deal is and don’t need to make a fuss about it. As he loomed to my right I thought, uh-oh, here comes a chat, instead he leaned in and quietly said, “Would you like a push?”
“Er, sure, that would be great. She doesn’t start so well from hot.”
“We can go into the town square, or up that way if you’d rather, if you think it might not...”
Several people in the queue for the cashpoint were now looking over. “No, I’m confident, thanks, it’ll work.”
And so it did, I swung round wildly to give him a wave as the bike jerked away, it was a nice scene, a good lesson in manners to the cashpoint people and a good omen overall.
Now that the trip is imminent, though, I begin to nag myself with doubts. Should I have de-coked the head with Old Pete, bought new drive chains, installed the new cables while I have a workshop facility? This is normal, however, and I mustn't let it spoil the fun.
It's been a journey getting to this point as it is. I've managed to get road legal, sorted the carb, the wobbly clutch lever, the slow puncture and the recent fuel leak. I've made myriad decisions on both a technical and strategic level and these are about to bear fruit, one way or another. In a funny sort of way I'm about to find out if I think straight, or talk shit. Heck, no wonder I'm a bit nervous.
