OK, this blog is supposed to be, mostly, about travels on my beloved Harley… and yes just at the moment there hasn’t been much of that to report on.

I’m getting motorcycle withdrawal syndrome.

Its like cabin fever, I feel boxed in, almost unable to breathe and all because I haven’t been out on two wheels!

Let me explain, it’s not a weather thing per se, I hear cries of “fair weather rider” from my friends with “Adventurer” type bikes. Then I hear the sniggering of my Trial Bike Champion nephew Chris, who not only rides in all weathers; but also rides across/along logs, barrels, rocks, old cars and anything else that will stand still. Chris does not have a good day out unless he can pressure wash his motorbike off at the end of it and leave a ton of mud on the driveway! No, I’m not afraid of the weather, but it’s the amount of salt that the Highway Authority throws on the road during the winter here in the UK, I am afraid of that damaging my dear Harley…

The not riding thing is, therefore, self-generated and self-enforced, but I am climbing the walls to get out.

One day last week, as I was driving across Bodmin Moor I felt the urge to stop and dream of what was to come.

It was a beautiful afternoon, a tad chilly, the hills were bathed with a gorgeous clear light and there was a brisk north wind blowing in from the sea. The journey is one I had made countless times before, this time was a little different. About halfway across the moor is a narrow lane that leaves the highway and heads north into the heart of the high moor; it only serves a couple of farms and is for the most part gravel and pot-holed. I’d often wondered what was down that lane, so I turned off to find out!

After a mile I parked in a gateway and got out of the car. The keen wind and clean air made me catch my breath, but then so did the view and the silence. I stood drinking it in with my eyes.
In the distance I could hear the mewing calls of a flock of Golden Plover as they wheeled on the breeze; other than that, just the buffeting of the wind.

OK, so it’s not the Rockies, the Alps, nor even my beloved Welsh Mountains, but it is only three miles from home and it ain’t half nice!

I may not be out on Harley for a few weeks yet, but places like this put a bounce back in my stride; sort of “re-springing my step,” if you like!

Catch you all later, all down the line…

Dookes