Removing the cold barrier.

Today the sky was blue, and the temprature crept up to 6 degrees centigrade (where is that pesky degree symbol when you need it?). Previously it would have been too cold for riding, but today I broke with tradition and donned my christmas present from Ali, a set of Keis electrically heated vest, gloves and boot insoles.

At first I wasn't sure how effective the gloves and soles were - I could feel the heat on my back but everything else seemed just OK rather than hot. I changed the setting from medium to high, and set off up the M55. I cold still feel the heat from the vest but everything just seemed comfortable. This is some acheivement when you take into account the windchill factor that motorway speed brings, driving through the digits until they hurt.

After 50 miles I thought I need to see what it would be like without the heating, and after a couple of miles at 30mph, my fingers were hurtingto the point of being dangerous, so the experiment has been a success. I made my way home, and after 80 miles my legs began to complain, my hips seemed to freeze and discomfort penetrated my knees. Next time thermals will be worn.

After 95 miles, I returned home, sharing the last part of the journey on the M6 and M55 with a guy on a Triumph Rocket. As we pulled up at the last set of light I could see the wires leading into his gloves. Electric heating - it's the way to maximise the bright winter days and cure the blues.

I washed the bike down to get rid of any residual salt, and by the time I finished the cold was making me shiver - I wa no longer protected by the Keis gear!

Where did the last three months go?

The last post was my Daughter leaving for Uni, and now she's back home, and my son is out at work, and the year is about to end, and 2011 is waiting to make it's debut.

Snow surprised December, and delivered a white Christmas, and after overstaying it's welcome, has almost disappeared. The seasonal colds and flu visited the house just as Grandad and Grandma arrived for the holiday, but it didn't prevent us having a great time. The enforced house arrest made the old folks restless, but it was far too slippery underfoot for them to walk out. We did have a stroll around the well- salted retail park on Boxing Day and Dad seemed very impressed with the iPad. If it had a camera built in, I think he'd go for it. Despite the press building up the day as the busiest retail event of the year, Blackpool was very, very, quiet.

Two more days left, then in to the New Year!

She's gone

On Saturday we packed the car with most of what we thought Charlie would need. Defining "would need" proved to be emotive, but tempers were kept in check and we eventually set off on the 220 mile trip to Cambridge. The journey was uneventful, and we stopped for lunch at a branch of Nando's in Kettering.

Cambridge was busy, and we reached the entrance to the old part of town which is pedestrianised, and a traffic warden checked our document then lowered the bollards to allow us to drive up to Trinity College.

Charlie's digs were located on the 5th floor of a nearby building, but fortunately there was a lift. The only snag was the Uni didn't have enough Ethernet cables until Monday, so after dropping the belongings, we set off to park the car, then find her a cable to connect to the internet. This was purely selfish, as I didn't want to wait until Monday to skype. All the shops had sold out, so I left Charlie and Ali and went further afield, eventually finding a Maplins and the right length cable.

On our way back to Charlie's room, she nudged me as I passed someone, who turned out to be Jimmy Carr. It's a shame I didn't notice him, we could have had a conversation to determin we were not related..........



We left Charlie with a guy from the year above who had been assigned to look after her. She had lots to do, and we were holding things up. It wasn't a sad parting, the accommodation was good, the town is beautiful and she is very well placed, so we know she'll have a great time.

Wow!!!!!

Charlies' A level results were revealed just after 6 am this morning. The school asked her to go in early because it was the only time they could get the local press there.

A * in Biology, Chemistry and Mathematics, and an A in Physics. She has secured her place at Cambridge!

The Nowhere Boy

We watched The Nowhere Boy, the biopic about the young John Lennon last night. I warned Ali that she would probably cry, and the film did indeed leave her a wreck.

It was very well put together, and the feel of 1958 was pretty accurate (even though I wasn't around at the time, I spotted the strange fences that were common when I was young, oddly shaped lengths of wood bound together with wire, and buses and bus shelters that rang true. I don't recall ever seeing anyone hitch a ride on the top of double deckers though, but I was on the east, and who knows what those scousers got up to!

The tale of loss and betrayal John felt is well documented, but this film brought the relationship with John, his mother and Mimi into sharp focus.

Well worth watching.

Tan Hill Inn

The annual meeting of Sportster UK took place over the weekend. We all agreed that the group should now be called Ex-Sportster UK, as there wasn't a single example of Harley's lean machine in attendance, but that's not the point, the group provided a common point for friendships to develop, and after ten years we still gather.

This year the meeting took place at the Tan Hill Tavern. The weather hadn't been good, in fact it's been very wet since the modern day rain making-spell (also known as a hose pipe ban) was cast. It didn't stop the progress through the land from points as far afield as Perthshire and Derbyshire on a variety of machines though. Rob Pete and were the first to arrive, travelling a paltry 90 miles, and we were soon joined by the brothers Andy and Richard from Derby, who had the fore site to book rooms in advance. Not too long later two Ultraglides pulled up outside, and Jim and Graham from Perthshire had arrived to complete our gathering.

As we were erecting the tents, a gang of guys pulled out a chest fridge, obviously full of beer, from a old red transit and six of them carried it to a large tent/pavillion in the camping area. Further inquiries revealed we were sharing with a stag party, so at that point the possibility of a good nights sleep in the tents, which was always a remote chance disappeared completely

The Golden Sheep ran out, then the Black Sheep, so Old Perculier was quaffed while we waited for the barrels to be replaced. The food was very good, Rob and I choosing steak & a pint, for £13. The steaks were enormous and cooked to perfection.

An unexpected highlight was the fact that live music was scheduled, and the blue grass band Harpeth Rising played their final UK gig before returning to the States. An interesting combination, drunken Yorkshiremen (the stag parties) and a folk band, which resulted in men throwing themselves around the room in a desperate attempt to dance, which resulted in the expected spilt drinks, and much merriment.



Eventually time was called, much to everyone's surprise, but presumably as a way to control the stags, and we retired to the tent. Rob was sharing my tent which claims to be a two man, single skinned affair, but when two men are in it I soon began to doubt the description. The Inn is so high, it spends most of its time shrouded by clouds, and this night was no exception. I woke around 3am and apart from wanting to have a pee, noticed that my foot felt wet. The end of the sleeping bag had made contact with the wall of the tent and drawn the moisture, clinging in droplets to the tent, through onto the bag and then onto my foot. I rolled onto my side, curled up and went back to sleep until 6am, when the call of nature was too great to be ignored.

The sky was blue and the sun shone as I made my way to the toilet, realising that it was unlikely that I would get back to sleep. There were a few people up, and I decided to take advantage of the peaceful hours and strode out over the moor to take in the views over to the east.

Much later we forced our way in the pub for a much needed breakfast, and while enjoying the Tan Hill Sausage, I looked up and spotted the web cam ( http://www.purepcs-store.co.uk/tanhill/) . We speculated on the possiblity of viewers around the world taking bets on who would finish the meal first......

Andy and Richard left first, then Jim and Graham, and eventually after much more tea, Pete Rob and I completed packing and hit the road, heading down hill in a north-westerly direction to find the Hartside Top Cafe. Pete was riding a a newly acquired hard-tailed chopper , with no rear suspension and no front mudguard. He also hadn't established how much fuel the tank held, or how much fuel he had used, so finding a petrol station was a priority As we closed in on the target, the rain started. Having no front mudguard is fine when there is no water on the surface, but when it rains, Pete found that the front wheel fired a stream of water into his face. Not good. After re-fuelling, Pete decided to take a slow ride south rather than join Rob and I on the search for the Cafe.


Hartside Top Cafe is even higher than Tan Hill, at 1904 feet above sea level. The Tomtom took us through a variety of landscapes, then we began to climb, higher and higher into a cloud, the pattern of the weekend. We found the Cafe, full of motorcycles and cyclist, and warmed ourselves up with the traditional fare of steak pie & chips, then climbed aboard the bikes for the journey home, hoping the temprature would increase as we dropped down. It did.

As we passed by the Lake District, I suggested Rob could show me his new love, a sailing boat moored on Windermere, so we made our way there and found some mutual friends, Jon and Avril on their boat, moored near Rob's. As we chatted a Spitfire tore through the sky above the lake, part of an air display taking place.

Eventually we made it home, tired, but happy.......and dry!

The disappearing ticket

Last weekend I tuned into Danny Baker on Radio 5. I didn't realise he broadcast on R5, so it was a pleasant surprised, marred only by the lack of music - his old shows on Radio 1 (or it could have been 2, so long ago I can't remember) were always entertaining.

One of the topics he was investigating and ranting about was how things can actually disappear. Common objects, like a cat walking out in the snow, leaving prints, then nothing. The cat in question re-appeared some time later, but the owner never found out how and why it disappeared. One explanation offered was that it was picked up by a large bird of prey, possibly an owl, who managed to carry it some distance before letting go. We will never know.

With this in the back of my mind I had to drive into Blackpool to find something, and chose to park in the Houndshill multi- story, and old concrete monstrosity that has had some work done to try and make it serviceable, but still has the worse one way system ever to plague a build intended to house cars, along with very narrow ramps that make ascending and descending an experience fraught with expectation of hearing the thud of a wheel mounting the kerb and then falling down 5 inches. I drove up, collected my ticket at the entrance and stuck it in my mouth, as you do, while I drove in and closed the window. I then found a queue of cars while someone crawled around looking at the gaps in the bays to see if their VW would fit in between. Eventually I moved on and climbed ever higher seeking a bay. On the roof, there was plenty of space. I slotted in and prepared for the Blackpool shopping experience:

• mobile phone - check
• wallet - check
• car park ticket - ?

No sign of the ticket. It had been in my mouth, but wasn't there anymore. I must have taken it out and put it somewhere. Pockets checked, negative. All the possible places where I might have put it in the car? Negative. I could feel the effects of the heat ray of panic begining to turn on me. How could a ticket disappear? I tried to check under the seat but there wasn't enough space to fully open the driver side door, so I moved out of the bay I was in and found another bay with no neigbours. On my knees I continued the search, but found only a pencil. How did a pencil get in the car? I never use them. Never mind.

Nothing on the floor, I prised the joints in the drivers seat apart, nothing. This was was worrying on two fronts. 1) How was it possible to lose a ticket in a car and 2) how much would I be charged for this foolishness.

Having exhausted the search at the drivers side, I walked around and opened the passengers side. Nothing on the floor or under the carpet. Then in desperation I checked the plastic trim on the door side of the seat and there was the parking ticket stuck deep in the trim. I've no idea how it could have got, but it must have been down to either a freak gust of wind while the window was open or poltergeist activity, because I couldn't lean over far enough to bury the ticket where it was hiding while I was in the drivers seat.

Relieved, I set out on what was to be an unsuccessful shopping trip, but I continued to check that the mischievous ticket was still fastened in my jacket pocket all the time I was away from the car....................