Simultaneous with the discovery that my ‘stay dry’ trousers were actually designed to absorb the contents of rainstorms (presumably to preserve the dryness of others around me) was the crushing wave of realisation that if the Black Bullet had a weakness for water it was about to be found, not only on the cusp of my ‘great’ outset, but on the fastest, least hospitable section of my route.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I muttered as a truck sloshed past, like a log in a giant flume. It may only be a short step over to France and back but as one biker at a petrol station said, when he thought I was out of earshot, “Christ, mate, look at that, that’s dedicated riding.” When I returned from the cash desk my ride looked suddenly old and fragile - one pot, one spark, one rider with a fearful heart.
But the Black Bullet didn’t stop or even splutter in the downpour and when the rain stopped and the road ceased looking like a great sheet of wavy glass I felt the first small counter-swing of confidence. I may have thought a good deal about preparation but I hadn't really done much and never been out on the bike in a rainstorm like that. Even so, the test of man and machine, if not trousers, had begun with a positive outcome.
The ferry out of Portsmouth was at eight but I'd left after lunch thinking I'd either blow up and have time to organise recovery of the bike by the time the village Le Mans posse swept by, or I'd simply dawdle along and stop on the way. After surviving the rainstorm, Winchester didn't seem like far enough to stop and once I'd circled a while in the mean and senseless grip of the town's one-way system, I'd lost interest in the place. Anyhow, I had to find somewhere that I could get my trousers and boots off to try and dry them out.
It turned into a fine evening and the sun came out so I stopped in a field near the pretty town of Wickham and hung my wet gear on the bike (click photo). I felt happy at last, I was on my way, it had been a long time since I'd been on the road like this and I hadn't really lost my appetite for it. Vulnerable is a fluid state of being, which is closer to the the way things are, whatever we might think, however we might try to apply protection or preservatives to our affairs. Another person said it was brave to attempt this trip on that bike, my pre-trip wobble aside, I could only see it as foolish not to.
