For the man sound in body and serene of mind there is no such thing as bad weather; every day has its beauty, and storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously. ~George Gissing, "Winter," The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft, 1903
Like I said before, it's no coincidence that pies and the Earth have a crust, and what a beautiful piece of art when they are combined. Mark Wallis has excelled himself once again. Sometimes you don't appreciate the beauty of something until it's destroyed. And destroy it we did. Great pie and great company, a perfect evening.
The sun was actually shining when we left Sunday morning, heading for London to locate some 'man-sized' boots. I decided to take my old waterproof gloves as a spare pair, opposed to buying new ones.
The ride across Oxfordshire was amazing, chosen by the satnav, sweeping 'A' and 'B' roads through picturesque villages, until we hit the motorway into London and a hailstorm. Fortunately it didn't last long, turning to heavy rain. By the time we reached a slip road to stop for waterproofs, my toes were already submerged inside my steadily filling boots, so opted to continue, just for the pleasure.
After much chin scratching beneath a doubtful expression, the shopkeeper produced two pairs of boots, neither of which could I squeeze my dripping socks into. As soon as I mentioned we were in the Riders Digest and would put in a good word if he helped me, he morphed into something resembling a Spanish waiter, being as helpful and courteous as possible. Not even his mate 'Pedro' at the other branch had anything suitable, so the Geoff led me to Sondel's via the visa office, which was shut.
Sondel's did have some decent goretex boots, the assistant offered to dispose of my old leather buckets, but they are fine in the dry and were duly perched atop my overladen bike.
A quick break at the A120 rest stop to stock up on copies of Riders Digest, just in case we need to resort to the 'Don't you know who we are' routine, then home. I showed the 'Gordon Bleugh' grill chef our picture, he pushed it away grunting, 'Don't like bikes, jus' stock the mag.'
We won't be going back there very soon then.
No comments:
Post a Comment