The feeling of being held up was upon me. I couldn't find the drive, the impetus to do anything. It was more than the dredging grasp of the heat. The fatigue came from inside me. Maybe a couple of hours in the saddle would blow some dust out of my pipes. As I am a founder member of the Dorset Nomads, I felt that dropping in on their 40th anniversary bash would do the job. Although it is only 85 miles away, I managed to 101. I like the scenic route, but I think the 'hold up' feelings were to blame. When I finally found the place, a football club, they told me there would be a match later. It is the only thing in the whole wide world I hate more than smoking.
With the bar only catering for the poofs that watch that type of thing, I found they only stocked 'nancy' cider. Fruit flavour? Yeah, apple please. Not papaya and loganberry or strawberry and kumkwat for Christ's sake. Apple. Dry. Cloudy. What else do you need?
I got to chatting to the guys on the field. All friendly and just what you would expect at a small rally. The heat being a major topic, I was thinking my army poncho draped over the bike would be too much. I may not even use the sleeping bag until at least three in the morning.
Gnawing hunger pangs wormed their way through my lower torso. I hadn't eaten since my breakfast smoothy so strolled to the catering wagon. Nothing except chips in the gluten-free range. I don't eat carbs so that was out too. There seemed to be no one there that I recognised, no food or drink I wanted, I decided to look for grub on the road and head for home. Any way, I had a barbeque to attend on the Saturday.
The ride back up through Dorset and Wiltshire hit the button. I love the open landscape and the curve of the road. On a lonely stretch of the A36 I saw a chop pulled over in a layby. I'd seen it a few hours earlier on my outward journey. I thought he may have just stopped to cool off or have a fag. On pulling in I saw that what I had perceived as a Shovelhead Harley earlier was in fact an S&S Shovel. £38 grands worth, according to Malcolm. It put the Horridly Bumpyson to shame. The only reason he'd broken down was the battery he had bought in Portugal went under. Boo! Once we got talking I found many similarities between him and I. We will probably never meet again, but I'm glad I helped the RAC to find him in my small way. Better luck on the next voyage mate and I hope you don’t get held up.