With the tanker strike off, I finally decided to venture forth this Friday. Set off around noon, and took on the M11, M25, as usual. Tailbacks to the M1 started at South Mimms, so I abandoned that, and went up the A1, filled up (I'd last put fuel in on the way home from TOGTour)then to the A14. M6 was clear, too, and soon I was leaving the motorway, at J15. Through Stoke-on-Trent, then up hill to Mow Cop - where the first landmark - the finish marker to the Mow Cop "Killer Mile" road race was easily found. It was only about 10 yards from a landmark used in 2004. Oddly, that was the Cheshire Landmark, this year's was the Staffordshire one. Hmm. From there it was downhill into Cheshire proper, and off towards Oulton Park. Here, or in the village of Little Budworth, is an old plague stone. Where villagers would leave food for plague victims to claim later, or something. Anyway, it wasn't where I expected it. So I rode around for a it looking. I asked a couple of locals - who looked at me in the slightly quizzical manner that I've become used to over time. Whilst stopped to have a ciggie, I spotted a stone plinth thing in the undergrowth. Must be it, surely? Only two hundred yards away from where I'd expected it to be, too. Snapped, and off to the Wirral. Onto the M53, and then off into the hinterland. Quite nice round here, which came as a bit of a surprise. Found the windmill at Willaston, then off through the Mersey Tunnel, and into darkest Scousland. I wish I'd invested in plywood a couple of years back - I could have made a killing, judging by the way scousers seem to use it instead of glass for windows. That said, they've all been painted up nice, and is going to be part of a regeneration project. Into Wavertree, and the Salisbury Stone was *exactly* where I expected it to be. I got the piccie taken without the bike being stolen, and set off along the M62 to Warrington. The Wing was really running sweetly, and the run to Irlam was dispatched quite quickly - along the banks of the MSC and I soon found the little shunting engine that was landmark #20. From there it was M60/ M66 towards Clitheroe, then out into the countryside to Bashall Eaves. The landmark here was an old Wensleydale Cheese Press - a big lump of stone, in a wooden frame, that'd certainly squeeze the whey out my curds, thank you very much. Time was getting on now, so I trundled into Yorkshire in search of some legendary Tyke hospitality. The young lady at Skipton Travelodge had no rooms, but 'phoned a nearby pub, which did. Off to the Craven Heifer I tootled, and settled into a fine evening meal of three pints, and a couple of bags of ready salted. Nice pub, on the edge of the Dales NP, with well appointed rooms, and a fucking *continental* breakfast! In Yorkshire? My gast is still partially flabbered at the thought of it. Only 380 miles today. Must try harder tomorrow. With my furnaces fully charged with Special K, toast, and a couple of cups of tepid coffee, I set off into a grey Yorkshire morning. I'd filled up last thing on Friday, so I had a nice early run to Bramhope, to find an old milestone. Which I did almost immediately - except it was the wrong one. As was the next one. I collared a local, who only knew of one, which I had yet to see, so I went there. Still wrong - it didn't have the distance to Guisely church on it. But, what's that on the far side of the road, behind the bank of daffodils. Kerching! So much for the quick start, then it was back the way I'd come, before turning north up Wharfedale to Kettlewell. What a lovely part of the world - the sky had brightened considerably, and I was as happy as a sandboy. Not that I know how happy sand boys are, whatever they may be. The Hunter's Stone is on the moor above Kettlewell, and the road up there makes Hardknott Pass look like the Bonneville Salt Flats. Steep, and tortuously windy, it was a good test for the Wing's new clutch. It was drizzling up top, which got heavier as time went on.I spotted the stone at the roadside almost too late, and had to ride some distance before finding enough room to turn round and go back. As I did, I was joined by a chap on a K12SE doing the RBR for the first time. After we'd taken our piccies, we set off in opposite directions, into the ever heavier drizzle. It was about now I was rueing jeans as my choice of riding trouser. Down off the moors(sorry, Dales), then off north past Catterick to Richmond. The next landmark was a plaque commemorating another bloke who hadn't died when his horse jumped off a cliff - "Willance's Leap", and was reached via trudge through a sheep infested field. In jeans, with wet grass. Quite why the lambs ran away as I passed, I don't know, I don't even look Welsh. I took this when I got back the bike, as a reminder of the great English Summer. That was around noon on Saturday. [URL]http://www.flickr.com/photos/38219192@N00/2600709835/[/URL] From Richmond it was East to the A1, the round Darlington, the via Yarm and Guisborrough to the North York Moors. Or Dales. As the A171 leaves Guisborough, it goes up a very steep (1:7) slope, and I gave the Wing the full treatment: Beans, berries, rhubarb, the lot. Not a whimper of protest from the clutch. At the top I celebrated with a burger from Jean's Bank Top Cafe. Not recommended. I mean, it was warm, but that's about all the good I can say of it. Some interesting roads, in the wet at least, and I soon found myself in Heartbeat country. Right outside Scripp's Funeral Parlour to be precise. Thousands of tourists roaming the area, and more than a few bikes - including one lot of what must be an FJ fanciers club. Picture of the shop taken, I trundled south over the Moors once more in search of fuel. I found some at the foot of the Moors, in Pickering (£26.50? For a tank of unleaded? Bloody Hell), then found the coffin rest in the churchyard of Old Malton. Apparently, in th'olden days, they used a communal coffin to transport the deceased to the grave, whereupon he (she) would be unpacked and lowered into the ground, and the coffin returned to it's resting place in the churchyard. Only one Yorkshire landmark left then (for today - I've postponed the Sheffield one for EOSM weekend) - trouble is, it's on the sticky out bit of Yorkshire past Hull. So, off through Wetwang ( always makes me chuckle) Driffield,and won the coast from Skipsea. The landmark was an ornate old water tower just inland from Withernsea. Right then, homeward bound. West through the Yorkshire Riviera to the Humber Bridge, then £1.20 lighter in the pocket, into Lincolnshire. The next landmark was just past Louth, and there appear to be no main roads on the way. The landmark itself wasn't immediately apparent, seeing as how it was a font from a demolished church, but a second run through the village revealed some tombstones in a walled enclosure, and it was in deed there. I took some pics with the bike shot from the road, then went into the field to get a better pic of the font. The churchyard was full of sheep, but there was one lot of bleating that seemed more concerned than the other. It was coming from a copse at the side, and one poor animal had got its head stuck through a wire fence. To make things worse, there was a nylon netting involved as well. Much knocking on doors later (I had nothing with which to effect a release) I found a woman who knew the owner, and she was calling him up to tell him about it as I left. Now, I'm no animal lover, but it did upset me more than I expected - both the plight of the lamb, and the fact that I was powerless to help it. From there it was a simple cross-county jaunt to Cranwell, to revisit Bayard's Leap (lots of "leap" landmarks this year for some reason), then onto Staunton in the Vale to get the memorial to the crew of a crashed Lancaster. Onto the A1 at Claypole, then the fun began. Finally arrived home at midnight, after 530 mostly drizzly miles. With slightly damp jeans. And no aches and pains. RBR: a third done. Only the distant ones left. The Wing still has a few wrinkles that need ironing out, but nothing serious, and the joy of riding one with a working clutch after all that time cannot be expressed in words. The new Michelin Pilot on the front is sufficiently good that I didn't think about it, and is stable enough to allow hands off cruising at seventy plus. I'm looking forward to fitting the rear now. The front brake is not an improvement over the old caliper, and I'll swap back to the original when I sort out the antidive [still not sure whether to butcher the forks for the antidive, or fix the seals on the new ones and fit them complete] It even looks quite presentable in the photos (the ones on Friday, anyway - now it's filthy) All I need to do now, is find out why the Blackbird's battery loses charge in two days, and get an MOT on the CBX.
