repiV
Tank
- Joined
- Sep 11, 2006
- Messages
- 4,283
- Reaction score
- 2
As I'm sure I must have mentioned a few times, I went on a bike trip a couple of weeks ago with a good friend of mine up to the Lake District in north-west England and then on to the Scottish Highlands.
I was expecting it to be fun and memorable, a good holiday. In fact it was so very much more than that, a genuinely life-changing experience that was, for reasons I hope to articulate, much more than the sum of its parts.
I've been waiting to get my hands on the pictures (and a couple of videos) from the trip to write about it, but it's my friend's camera and he's very busy studying for an important exam retake, and he lives 200 miles away so I don't know when I'll be able to get them. I'll just use pictures from elsewhere of some of the places we went.
Day -1
I say day -1, because by chance I started my trip a little early for other reasons. I had a call from my cousin a few days earlier, saying he was in Devon for a while (Devon is like the Florida of the UK, for the benefit of non-Brits). He works in films so he goes where the work is and never knows when he's going to get time off. He was going to come down from his campsite at Woolacombe and visit me on the Friday night before I left.
Unfortunately, some twat decided to vandalise his car and wreck his windscreen, so he was stuck there until the middle of the next week when they could come and fix his windscreen. I decided to pack all my stuff for the trip and go up and stay with him for the night instead, then leave straight from there.
A couple pictures of Woolacombe:
What with getting home from work, eating, packing, getting lost (as always), I didn't get there til about half 9. I met him at the holiday park reception...a pretty chavvy place on first glance, one of these really naff package resort type places. Smartly, he was staying right at the other end away from the entertainment and the lodges and in a really quiet corner with just the tent and the car, overlooking the beautiful coastline above.
I stuck the bike next to the car on the grass and it was bizarre really, definitely had a sense of adventure to it and being "far away".
We took a cab to town and had a few pints at this great but obviously touristy pub which had an amazing Muse cover band playing. You could close your eyes and think they were Muse. The rest of the night was spent sitting in the car drinking JD and smoking weed. Which is the first time I've ever done that, but man it's great. And had practically the whole bottle between us aswell. I was supposed to get the comfortable bed in the tent, but I was happy to just drift off to sleep in the car. A brilliant start to the trip, kind of a warm up to the adventures ahead...
Day 1
Unfortunately, despite it being the month of June, we chose a shite week to go away and I woke up at about 5am, quite cold. The weather up north was forecast for rain or showers and max temperatures between 9 and 16C all week, which had me on quite a downer before we left.
Sure enough, even down south, the weather turned as soon as I went away. The previous week was amazing. After dozing for a few hours I got up, not hangin' at all fortunately - felt fine from the night before.
Took me three hours to get breakfast, get ready and get out...I wasn't particularly motivated to leave, as I enjoyed spending time with my cousin, it was fairly cold and grim out, and I had a 386 mile ride to face on dull, dull roads. Unfortunately, coming to Woolacombe first added an extra 40 miles to the journey. So I finally got going just after 11.
I brought my expensive summer race gloves, and my cheap, warm, waterproof(ish) winter gloves. Unfortunately I don't own anything that's a happy medium. Today I decided to wear the race gloves, because they offer much better feel for the controls and are far more comfortable. It seemed to be dry.
What happened literally five minutes up the road? I got caught in a torrential downpour worse than anything we've had since...probably last November. The rest of my kit is waterproof, but my hands were soaked and it's a horrible feeling. And even though the kit is waterproof, when it gets drenched, I get cold. I was cold. I slogged it down the North Devon Link Road to Tiverton (near where I live), and pulled in to get petrol.
From under the shelter of the forecourt, I watched in disbelief at the rivers at the side of the road, the ferocity of the rain and the spray so intense it was like fog. How could I be so ****ing unlucky? We just had three weeks of clear blue skies, blazing sunshine and beautiful weather. And it was forecast to continue being cold and rainy for the entire length of the trip. I was soaked, cold and miserable - and I hadn't even left Devon yet.
Thoroughly fed up, I wasted no time - petrol in, pay, get on with it. As luck would have it, the rainstorm seemed to be a local thing and as soon as I got out of Devon it was dry. Unfortunately, a delay to my journey was necessary in that I needed to stop at Fowlers Motorcycles in Bristol (110 miles or so from Woolacombe) to pick up a couple of bolts that were missing. Bristol is a fairly large city so even though it's off the motorway, it cost me a lot of time. Over two hours in the end. When I peeled off my soaking wet gloves, my hands were purple. It was gash. Those gloves, in the end, took three whole days to dry. At this juncture I changed to my winter gloves, even though the weather had improved - they were dry.
A largely uneventful trip until I reached Birmingham, where, quite fittingly for such a miserable place, I got caught in another torrential rainstorm. Got to Stafford Services in the midlands, where I met Danny - who took about 45 minutes to get there after me. This is about half way to our destination. We were thoroughly wet, cold, and miserable. And we had Burger King.
After that, the weather improved again, and we had a fairly pleasant ride from that point. Stopped once more at Lancaster services for fuel, and got chatting to a few other bikers - there were loads of people heading for the ferry to the Isle of Man as, of course, it was TT week.
The last leg of this oh-so-long journey, was very worth it. As the M6 enters the Lake District you start to see these mountains on the horizon, and then you're amongst them and the motorway snakes through what is an incredibly beautiful and striking scene, definitely the best motorway I've ever been on. It felt like we had accomplished something to be there. We spent as much time admiring the scenery as we did watching the road.
Some pictures from the motorway:
We discovered that the Lake District is quite a vast place, as we were staying at the northern end and this entailed about 50 miles of motorway straight through the middle from where the Lake District begins. Coming off the M6, dusk was well and truly setting in and as we followed our route through the Cumbrian countryside, we saw some striking scenes - cavernous lakes that looked like oceans, surrounded by mountains, and with the lights from residences reflecting brightly off the surface of the lakes.
Equally striking was that it was now 10:30pm and there was still light in the sky. We were most definitely up north.
The town we were staying in is not actually in the Lake District, but just north of it (cheap B&B, convenient for getting to Scotland). Arriving in the town on a Saturday night, it seemed like a slightly dead place...except for a couple of small groups of teenagers, and a very eccentric man who we asked for directions. Impressions were definitely...odd.
But we found the place, chucked the bikes in the barn, and went to bed as soon as we could. The B&B itself was very grand, and with a very nice Dutch owner. Arrived at 11:15, almost exactly 12 hours after I left in the morning...very tired. This morning when I was at the campsite in Woolacombe...felt like a lifetime ago. We were a long way from home. But happy, and at peace with the world.
I was expecting it to be fun and memorable, a good holiday. In fact it was so very much more than that, a genuinely life-changing experience that was, for reasons I hope to articulate, much more than the sum of its parts.
I've been waiting to get my hands on the pictures (and a couple of videos) from the trip to write about it, but it's my friend's camera and he's very busy studying for an important exam retake, and he lives 200 miles away so I don't know when I'll be able to get them. I'll just use pictures from elsewhere of some of the places we went.
Day -1
I say day -1, because by chance I started my trip a little early for other reasons. I had a call from my cousin a few days earlier, saying he was in Devon for a while (Devon is like the Florida of the UK, for the benefit of non-Brits). He works in films so he goes where the work is and never knows when he's going to get time off. He was going to come down from his campsite at Woolacombe and visit me on the Friday night before I left.
Unfortunately, some twat decided to vandalise his car and wreck his windscreen, so he was stuck there until the middle of the next week when they could come and fix his windscreen. I decided to pack all my stuff for the trip and go up and stay with him for the night instead, then leave straight from there.
A couple pictures of Woolacombe:
What with getting home from work, eating, packing, getting lost (as always), I didn't get there til about half 9. I met him at the holiday park reception...a pretty chavvy place on first glance, one of these really naff package resort type places. Smartly, he was staying right at the other end away from the entertainment and the lodges and in a really quiet corner with just the tent and the car, overlooking the beautiful coastline above.
I stuck the bike next to the car on the grass and it was bizarre really, definitely had a sense of adventure to it and being "far away".
We took a cab to town and had a few pints at this great but obviously touristy pub which had an amazing Muse cover band playing. You could close your eyes and think they were Muse. The rest of the night was spent sitting in the car drinking JD and smoking weed. Which is the first time I've ever done that, but man it's great. And had practically the whole bottle between us aswell. I was supposed to get the comfortable bed in the tent, but I was happy to just drift off to sleep in the car. A brilliant start to the trip, kind of a warm up to the adventures ahead...
Day 1
Unfortunately, despite it being the month of June, we chose a shite week to go away and I woke up at about 5am, quite cold. The weather up north was forecast for rain or showers and max temperatures between 9 and 16C all week, which had me on quite a downer before we left.
Sure enough, even down south, the weather turned as soon as I went away. The previous week was amazing. After dozing for a few hours I got up, not hangin' at all fortunately - felt fine from the night before.
Took me three hours to get breakfast, get ready and get out...I wasn't particularly motivated to leave, as I enjoyed spending time with my cousin, it was fairly cold and grim out, and I had a 386 mile ride to face on dull, dull roads. Unfortunately, coming to Woolacombe first added an extra 40 miles to the journey. So I finally got going just after 11.
I brought my expensive summer race gloves, and my cheap, warm, waterproof(ish) winter gloves. Unfortunately I don't own anything that's a happy medium. Today I decided to wear the race gloves, because they offer much better feel for the controls and are far more comfortable. It seemed to be dry.
What happened literally five minutes up the road? I got caught in a torrential downpour worse than anything we've had since...probably last November. The rest of my kit is waterproof, but my hands were soaked and it's a horrible feeling. And even though the kit is waterproof, when it gets drenched, I get cold. I was cold. I slogged it down the North Devon Link Road to Tiverton (near where I live), and pulled in to get petrol.
From under the shelter of the forecourt, I watched in disbelief at the rivers at the side of the road, the ferocity of the rain and the spray so intense it was like fog. How could I be so ****ing unlucky? We just had three weeks of clear blue skies, blazing sunshine and beautiful weather. And it was forecast to continue being cold and rainy for the entire length of the trip. I was soaked, cold and miserable - and I hadn't even left Devon yet.
Thoroughly fed up, I wasted no time - petrol in, pay, get on with it. As luck would have it, the rainstorm seemed to be a local thing and as soon as I got out of Devon it was dry. Unfortunately, a delay to my journey was necessary in that I needed to stop at Fowlers Motorcycles in Bristol (110 miles or so from Woolacombe) to pick up a couple of bolts that were missing. Bristol is a fairly large city so even though it's off the motorway, it cost me a lot of time. Over two hours in the end. When I peeled off my soaking wet gloves, my hands were purple. It was gash. Those gloves, in the end, took three whole days to dry. At this juncture I changed to my winter gloves, even though the weather had improved - they were dry.
A largely uneventful trip until I reached Birmingham, where, quite fittingly for such a miserable place, I got caught in another torrential rainstorm. Got to Stafford Services in the midlands, where I met Danny - who took about 45 minutes to get there after me. This is about half way to our destination. We were thoroughly wet, cold, and miserable. And we had Burger King.
After that, the weather improved again, and we had a fairly pleasant ride from that point. Stopped once more at Lancaster services for fuel, and got chatting to a few other bikers - there were loads of people heading for the ferry to the Isle of Man as, of course, it was TT week.
The last leg of this oh-so-long journey, was very worth it. As the M6 enters the Lake District you start to see these mountains on the horizon, and then you're amongst them and the motorway snakes through what is an incredibly beautiful and striking scene, definitely the best motorway I've ever been on. It felt like we had accomplished something to be there. We spent as much time admiring the scenery as we did watching the road.
Some pictures from the motorway:
We discovered that the Lake District is quite a vast place, as we were staying at the northern end and this entailed about 50 miles of motorway straight through the middle from where the Lake District begins. Coming off the M6, dusk was well and truly setting in and as we followed our route through the Cumbrian countryside, we saw some striking scenes - cavernous lakes that looked like oceans, surrounded by mountains, and with the lights from residences reflecting brightly off the surface of the lakes.
Equally striking was that it was now 10:30pm and there was still light in the sky. We were most definitely up north.
The town we were staying in is not actually in the Lake District, but just north of it (cheap B&B, convenient for getting to Scotland). Arriving in the town on a Saturday night, it seemed like a slightly dead place...except for a couple of small groups of teenagers, and a very eccentric man who we asked for directions. Impressions were definitely...odd.
But we found the place, chucked the bikes in the barn, and went to bed as soon as we could. The B&B itself was very grand, and with a very nice Dutch owner. Arrived at 11:15, almost exactly 12 hours after I left in the morning...very tired. This morning when I was at the campsite in Woolacombe...felt like a lifetime ago. We were a long way from home. But happy, and at peace with the world.