On Friday last week my senses kicked in again after almost a week of simply not existing at all. Not all my senses: I could still see and hear and feel things, but my sense of taste and smell had left the building and there's nothing worse than not being able to taste what you're eating. But as I was walking to work, the sun shining, the skies blue, my lost senses returned and I felt that I could smell everything: the flowers, the air, the whole lot. It was a great feeling as I wasn't feeling good at all last week and had to leave the bike in the garage – not this weekend.
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| Summer had arrived early... |
The added bonus, of course, was the weather. It was perfect. On Saturday we rode the long way to the Tatsfield bus stop and on Sunday we headed for Westerham. Both rides were perfect in every respect. The slow run to the bus stop was good because it enabled us to chat about this and that as we made our way along Beddlestead Lane and you know what? I think there's some kind of secret bunker towards the end of it, on the left hand side. It has slide-back heavy-duty metal doors that presumably would be pushed back to reveal steps leading down.
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| Andy's tee-shirt... |
At the bus stop we both discovered that we were wearing tee-shirts with silly slogans so a couple of photographs followed and then, having sipped tea and munched BelVita biscuits, we headed back along Clarks Lane and then the 269, eventually parting on Warlingham Green.
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| My tee-shirt... |
Sunday it was Westerham. We'd decided to take tea and biscuits with us rather than sit in the Tudor Rose, which wasn't open when we arrived, but showed signs of life around 0820hrs (a young girl and an older woman arrived and set up the tables and chairs outside).
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| Vintage BSA motorcycle... |
But we were too busy chatting to a white-haired man in a Belstaff jacket, the proud owner of a BSA motorcycle and side car that he'd owned since the late 80s. He was on his way to a café near Brands Hatch but had stopped off for a coffee at Costa and noticed us admiring his bike. Andy had already taken photographs, one of which accompanies this post. The man talked about how he acquired the bike, its history and so forth, claiming that Gloria Hunniford and Sir Cliff Richard had both been photographed on the bike. He'd even had Father Christmas sitting in the side car, he said.
"He'd come all the way from Lapland, the cunt."
He asked us about our ride and we told him we started in Croydon and that it was a 22-mile round trip. We said we'd be riding home soon because we had stuff to do, giving the man a chance to moan about women. "They always want you doing something," he said, adding that it was not a problem he suffered from, which we took to mean he was a single man, probably a divorced man, I thought, but he was a nice enough bloke, somebody that might be described (by a woman) as a lovable rogue, perhaps, a bit of a cheeky chappy.
In truth he delayed us for about 20 minutes from sitting down and drinking our tea, which was waiting in my rucksack – the flask of hot water, the milk and the teabags – and Andy had our biscuits in his along with a few innertubes. Eventually he hopped on the bike, kick-started it a couple of times and then rolled off along the A25 towards Brasted. He was heading first for Eynsford and then on to Brands Hatch before riding back to Brockley where, no doubt, he would leave the bike and head for the pub.
We sat on the green, watching various classic cars and motorcycles rumble past and eventually we packed up, jumped on the bikes and headed up the hill towards Botley. Andy said goodbye at the Ridge because we were running late so I rode the 269 alone and didn't stop when I reached Warlingham Green. I reached home at gone 1030hrs.
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