Edited extracts from my other blog, regarding the past three days. (Annotation – much of this was written on a palmpilot in cafes and behind trees; forgive me if the prose style is not so hot when i am out and about)

Hello all

here i sit in a cafe in Aberystwyth, relaxing quite thoroughly. The 208 mile ride to get here passed pleasantly – lovely sunny weather, a couple of light showers, nothing bad. Given that i was meant to suffer horrible storms, i should have expected no less…

Stopped with Jim and Catrin at http://www.harrysaberystwyth.com/ for dinner last night – had a very good rack of lamb; given the choice between a couple of desserts that I fancied, Jim said they were both excellent, and seemed surprised when i therefore ordered both of them. We shared the food around a little, and had a lovely walk down the prom to Alex Hall, afterwards.

Crashed out, and then up and out this morning to try out the bike on the sandy beaches around Ynys-Hir (prep for upcoming Scotland holiday) – and then visited my old systems mgr/boss, Rob Ash. Nice to see him again, though he’s been worryingly ill of late.

I will finish lunch & take bike up into the hills to lightly off-road. More later.

Idea for next trip – run a #2 clipper over all hair so that need to carry heavy wet towels is reduced.

Radical idea but may have merit as an improvement for serious tours….

I am now in a cafe in Rhyader having elevenses. When i left you i was off to go thru the Elan valley. I did so, clocking up 100 miles in the process, of beautiful moorland, lumpen mountains, burbling whitewater streams & falls, dams & wildlife.

The best bird was a Red Kite, a huge raptor wheeling & diving to my right as I ascended the valley road. I’ve seen two now, and have had some of the best scenery to be had in the UK. The trailbike lineage of my bike is a blessing – some of the tracks i’ve been up, you’ld be insane to attempt in anything other than a 4×4.

Ah! That was a good brunch.

I am theoretically en-route home now, panoramic pictures in the camera, for development and processing, later. I intend to pootle along, may stop off to visit family, and get home after teatime.

Then, tomorrow, I am assaulting Wembley Ikea with a friend. How terribly middle-class. The contrast with where i am now could hardly be greater.

Well, i am home. just. mostly intact.

I left the cafe in Rhyader as-per my last entry, and was accosted outside by two of the cafe’s staff whilst getting my kit on for the bike, asking me the nature of the bizzare device that i was playing with whilst eating my meal.

Don’t they have palmpilots in mid-Wales, or something? 😎

There were four french bikers pulled-up in the town, evidently also on a tour; there was a new BMW R1150GS (a bike i might eventually get, or it’s road-themed brother) – plus a Cagiva Navigator, an XJ1100 (iirc?) and – bizzarely – an MV Agusta F4.

Who the hell goes touring on an F4? it’s about as practical as flying a F-18 down to the local supermarket.

Anyway… they ignored (or possibly giggled) at me, I can’t think why, so I rode my measly 125cc bike (on which I had just completed 300 miles of outstanding mountain and off-road biking) onwards into England.

Fie upon them.

I stopped at the house of my 94-yr-old uncle Arthur (living in Herefordshire) who promptly phoned my parents with the excitement of it all, meaning that I would have to detour to go visit them too.

Bother. I was planning to see the parents next week. Oh well.

En route to home-home in Droitwich, I got thoroughly lost, pulled up at the kerbside of a backroad in order to read a map and get my bearings, hit a hidden patch of gravel and dropped the bike onto my left foot.

Ouch.

We hit the ground with me still astride (technically, this would probably be referred to as low-siding it) and skidded for about five feet; this was sufficient to crack a panel, shred a couple of pointy bits on the fairing, scratch some paint, tear my jacket sleeve, and sprain my ankle.

Having done something similar before, I knew the drill: hit the big red kill-switch, check for safety, pull self out from under the bike and relax for a few minutes before trying to ascertain damage.

I popped a 400mg ibuprofen to act as an anti-inflammatory, chatted to an elderly couple who had kindly stopped to see if I needed help, but were alas both too frail to actually help me lift the bike, eventually got it up, set it on sidestand, and checked everything over.

The damage is cosmetic (barring the crack) but would probably cost a bomb to repair / get replacement panels. This would be a problem if i actually cared. Since i intend to keep the bike as a commuter / winter bike (until it falls apart) this is actually an opportunity to test my DIY bodyshop-repair skills, especially since it’s only me who has to look at it.

Medically, everything would have been a hell of a lot worse if I had not invested in really good kit; everything did their respective jobs. I feel generally OK, if a bit battered in places.

Anyway – I got to the parents, drank tea, relaxed, and then did the 110 miles homewards; i’ve just now decamped, deplugged, will have some food, a bath, and pop-over to the local A&E (aka: “ER”) for an X-ray to check that I haven’t done a Beckham and broken a metatarsal.

530 miles (850km) in three days. Not bad.

I knew it was going to be bad when it took me three attempts to find the door into the hospital that was meant for use between the hours of 8pm and 8am; it was the door with the prominent sign on it, saying: please use other door.

I walked up to a likely looking reception area (in the midst of some building remodeling) and said hi, is this checkin? – one of the two ladies behind the desk smiled and said it depends on where you’re flying to.

i took this person to be the good cop of the feature.

that the other one was the bad cop was proven to me when she asked what it was that was wrong with me, and when i told her that i had dropped a motorcycle on my foot, she replied that was very silly.

challenged thusly, i could not resist responding: yes, that was what i thought at the time. very silly. you know, a thought like that cannot but go through one’s mind, that having dropped one’s own motorcycle on one’s own foot is a very silly thing to have done to one’s self … and i continued somewhat in this vein, until – magically – she spontaneously apologised.

funny how that always happens…

then i had to wait (screaming children, lung-wrenching coughers) for an hour to see a jolly woman who asked me what i had done – again – and whose job, essentially, was to make sure that i really had something wrong, and wasn’t timewasting.

being as i was demonstrably damaged, this process took about 60 seconds, after which i was turfed back into the waiting room. i finished two copies of marie claire (a sort of lightweight version of cosmo) – including the article written for women, by a group of men, about how men view womens’ feelings and needs regarding sex; the only conclusion i could draw from this being that (a) neither sex really truly understands the other in a way that can be usefully portrayed in a mass-media magazine, and (b) the sub-editor was definitely a woman.

i also managed to read my way through about a quarter of neil gaiman’s american gods which i had started after the magazines, desperately trying to read, over the clattering noise of the coke machine’s fan. i briefly considered switching the offending device off or similarly hacking it, but there were too many interested bystanders.

so, after another two hours (screaming children, lung-wrenching coughers, fistfight participants bleeding all over the floor, more coke machine) my name is called and i go for examination. the doctor prods, pokes, bends and twists the foot, and after five minutes pronounces it to be sound and tells me that the only time he’s ever dropped his bike was likewise whilst stopping, this time in front of a pub filled with several dozen of his mates.

elapsed time: meta-wait + eval + wait + checkup = a little under 3hrs. is this good? i dunno, but for some parts of britain it would be miraculous, especially as no money nor paperwork had to change hands.

i sometimes wonder why the company pays for a healthcare scheme for me – and, more importantly, why i get taxed upon it – when i have no idea how to use it and never have an illness of the sort where it’d be useful. either i am bleeding copiously (A&E) or i need antibiotics with no followup (GP).

maybe i need to do more, dangerous hobbies, so that i am getting my money’s worth?

so anyway: home, more ibuprofen, and rest with my feet up. should also help with the sore head from headbutting multiple doorposts in jim’s house last night – most of them are less than six feet tall. ouch. bedtime in a mo.

the ikea trip got cancelled anyway (other person == busy++) so i have a week to stay at home and pretend to be a jungle explorer, and machete my way through the weeds.

night night.

ps: have returned to find that the cats, whilst i was away, have taken to sleeping on my pyjamas which were on the bedside table. choices: either (a) they missed the scent of the pride leader, or (b) the evil-minded little sods are trying to make more laundry for me, as penance for abandoning them. i suspect that i shall have to give them the benefit of the doubt on this occasion.