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Une Soirée Française: A French Evening

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The autumn light is fading fast, it’s just turned seven in the evening and the town of Sainte Suzanne is falling silent.

This is the most important time of the week for many, as families gather for the Friday evening meal and the start of the weekend. I take the opportunity to enjoy a quiet stroll around the almost deserted streets and alleys to soak in the atmosphere and simply enjoy the still warm evening.

Earlier, Guillaume had tapped furtively on the kitchen window and handed me two large hens eggs.
“De vos oiseaux?” From your birds? I had asked.
“Mais non, de la ferme, aujourd’hui!” He grinned and tapped his nose. The provenance of the eggs is affirmed, but no more questions are asked! In exchange I give him a jar of Mrs Dookes’ home made strawberry jam and he is delighted. Last seen he was heading off towards the local Tabac and Bar, it is Friday evening!image

I turn into the main square and as I cross in front of the church one of the priests emerges. I wish him good evening.

“Vous n’étiez pas en masse!” You weren’t in mass! He comments.
“Non, je ne suis pas un Catholique.” No, I’m not a Catholic, I declare.
“Je suis désolé!” I am sorry! He smiles back.
We part friends, but somehow that meeting has given me a quiet inner glow. Maybe the greater power does work in mysterious ways…I don’t know.
I pass a old lady walking with her cat, really! As is polite, we bid each other “Bon soir’, the cat watches me suspiciously as I amble off into the growing gloom. Maybe he is her familiar, this is an ancient town after all!

The smell of freshly cooked food is beginning to fill the narrow streets. It’s true, most French cooking has the aroma of garlic and why not, even the supermarket in the next town sells five different varieties of the delicious bulb!

The tinkle of cutlery and the soft murmur of people gathering for their meal is audible above the roosting jackdaws.

If I had not eaten earlier I would be feeling pretty hungry by now, but no, I am feeling fulfilled and “très content.”

I rush back to drag Mrs Dookes out to savour the moment. She gets it, I think.

She also gets how her off the wall husband can become so immersed in the moment. The, “Joie de vivre.” The joy of life, as our French friends say.

“No, I don’t know where I’m going, but I sure know where I’ve been!”

Dookes

Cuisson…. À La France: Cooking… The French Way

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Tonight’s dish is Poulet rôti à l’ail; Chicken roasted with garlic, lots and lots of garlic!

As I brown off the bird in a heavy frying pan I have the kitchen door open, mainly for fresh air, but also to enjoy the lovely unseasonal weather.

“Hey, mon ami!” It’s our neighbour, Guillaume, standing looking over the courtyard wall. “Ça sent bon!” “That smells good!”
“J’ai quelque chose pour tu.” “I have something for you”

I move the chicken off the heat and walk out to greet him. “Ça va?”
“Oui, oui, ça va bien. Alors, pour toi!” He holds out his hand and proffers fresh walnuts, heavy with oil and smelling of the woods. I eagerly receive them from him.
“De près d’ici?” From near here?
“Oui, dans la forêt, près de la ville.” From the forest, close to the town.
I roll the nuts in my hand and inhale their earthy aroma, they smell wonderful…but it must be my turn to open the bar!
“Un bière?” Guillaume grins at the suggestion. Well, that seems to seal the deal then!
I knock the tops off two 1664’s and pass him one. We chink the bottles and smile at each other like a couple of guilty schoolboys. He has the look of a man who has spent most of his life outside, and often non to close to hot water. His hands are stained with nicotine and hard work, but his heart is honest and his smile as genuine as the sun.

“Tu aime topinambour?” He asks, holding up some Jerusalem artichokes.
“Oui, bien sûr, mais ils me donnent le gaz!” Yes, certainly, but they give me… well, you get the drift!
We laugh and talk of fishing, the woods and food.
Then I have to get back to my cooking, Guillaume understands that, after all he has his artichoke soup to make.

I nibble a couple of the walnuts whilst cooking, savouring their wonderful freshness and giving thanks for my French friend’s generosity and knowing that later we will both dine well on the fruits of this amazing country.

“Entendez-vous dans les campagnes”

Dookes

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Plus un Dimanche Française; More on a French Sunday

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“Bonjour Madame, Monsieur!” The raspy voice can only be Guillaume our bearded neighbour.
“Ça va?” I look around from my book of French recipes, that I have been engrossed in whilst enjoying the glorious sunshine on our balcony with Mrs Dookes. “Oui, ça va bien merci,” Yes, I’m good thanks.

Guillaume drops his load of fishing gear on the ground in the courtyard below me with an aplomb earned from a successful trip. He is itching for me to ask…
“As-tu attrapé quelque poisson?” “Did you catch any fish?”

It’s a bit of a staged question really, as he would have slipped quietly by had he not caught anything!

“Mais oui, un bon brochet!” He has caught a pike, a fish largely ignored by British chefs, but prized throughout the Northern half of France and this one is heading straight for G’s kitchen! But first the ritual of cleaning his gear and then gutting the fish.

As he busy’s himself and the sweet aroma of his French cigarette wafts through the air I savour the further richness of this lovely country and yes sometimes it is often all about the food. Not just about the eating, though that is pretty important, but more about the provenance, where it comes from and how it has been grown.

Seasonality is very important in French food and as we head into Autumn the richness of the game season is all around us, not least Guillaume’s pike. In the market yesterday were stalls creaking under the weight of fresh wild mushrooms; girolles, ceps, chanterelles to mention just a few. The butchers have pheasant, partridge and quail on offer, not forgetting wild boar, sanglier in French, It would be very rude not to at least try some of the seasons wonderful offerings.

Thinking again of my mate Floyd, he once said that to truly know a country, one must eat a country! I can’t say that I’ve tried everything that France has to offer yet, but I’m well on my way!

After a morning perambulation around Sainte Suzanne, just to work up an appetite, today’s lunch was a light prawn and crab salad, accompanied by a rather fine white burgundy.

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As you can see the little city is truly delightful.

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Guillaume has now finished his cleaning, the pike traps are drying in the late afternoon sun and the brochet itself is safely in the refrigerator. “Maintenent, un petit bu?” Guillaume asks. Now a little drink? Well, it would be rude to decline, for if one has to eat a country one might as well try to drink it as well, though please not all in one go!
“Oui, mon ami, un petit kir serait bon!”

Then I have to cook again, we bought a lovely piece of veal yesterday….!

“Non, je ne regrette rien.”

Dookes

An Autumn Break

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The bells of the village church are calling the faithful to worship, in the cacophonous way that French life has witnessed for centuries. Mellow autumn sunlight slowly burns the morning mists from the vale of the River L’Erve, where ducks noisily complain at the clanging bells. Autumn tints of green, gold and brown shade the landscape to the blurred horizon. It is unseasonably warm, encouraging vivid yellow and red hornets to gather precious food from rambling ivy that sprawls up the ramparts of the medieval city set high above the landscape of the Mayenne.

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I sit on the balcony drinking in the morning with my senses and silently appreciating the beauty of the new day. Today will be a proper French Sunday. Food will feature prominently, but not before “un petit faire du promenade,” a little walk around the delightful village of Sainte Suzanne. Our cottage is set right into the ramparts amidst the tangled cobbled alleyways and narrow streets that are wonderfully bereft of motor vehicles, but do see the occasional horse or pony trot by.

The bells fall silent and jackdaws chatter their appreciation as they reclaim their perches in the bell tower. A waft of coffee reminds me that I have not yet had breakfast, but no worry, no need to rush the day away! Mrs Dookes has just returned from the boulangerie, yes they are open Dimanche matin, Sunday morning, but not at all on a Monday the Bakers Sabath. Fresh bread, croissants and pain au chocolat bear witness to the boulanger’s labour and smell sublime. Time for breakfast. My old mate Floyd would probably have a slug of Marc de Bourgogne in his coffee, but I’ll pass on that, just black will do for me!

So I am back in France again, with Mrs D, but sadly not on Harley. This is strictly a holiday to relax and take stock. Well, it is also a way for me to say thank you for the freedom to bugger off so much on my beloved motorbike! I have promised that we will not be flying off on any major excursions. Yesterday we passed through Josselin and took in the wonderful street market, which was alive with seasonal produce and aromas. The imposing Château is very famous in these parts and rightly so.

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So that’s a little update as to what the life of Dookes is like just now, yes I’m sorry that there’s not much about motorbikes to report at the moment, but watch this space, I have a feeling that things will get interesting again real soon on that front!

….and what of the future?

Well, I do feel a wind of change blowing and maybe it’s time to do something new. You know; new directions, new challenges, new places….always new places that’s “de rigueur” for me!
Stick with me, this ride ain’t over yet, by a long way!

“Of course, I’ve had it in the ear before
‘Cause of a lust for life”

Dookes

Taking The Long Way

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The wonderful summer weather is fast becoming a mere memory as we slip firmly into autumn. Sticking out into the Atlantic Ocean our county of Cornwall certainly gets more than its fair share of storms and gales, this last week we got the first one of the season. To be fair it was more like 24 hours of squalls, but the leaves started to spin off the trees as the rain came down in whipping sheets.

Not surprising then that Harley and I haven’t been out much in the last two weeks. I’m not at all bothered by whatever the weather is when I ride, but sometimes if it’s just for pleasure and its chucking it down I’ll pass and wait for the clouds to scud by. Coupled with other life pressures I really have not had time to get out on the road. Actually its the longest period of time that I have not ridden her since March this year, shocking, absolutely shocking!

This weekend I have made sure I got everything else done and today I carved out some time to go get mellow, on my beloved Harley.

We needed a few supplies, so I took a right and headed up the A30, crossing the border into England and pointed to Okehampton on the northern side of Dartmoor. It was good to blow the cobwebs away, but hell there were some real jerks in cages out there on the road! A quick stop for supplies and a complementary coffee, some of you will guess which supermarket I shop at, then time for a decision.

I really wanted a chilled out ride, without having to street-fight the cages, so I took the West Devon Ride back towards Cornwall. This is the old A30 road, the one that existed before the dual carriageway trunk route was built. In fact it follows the old trade route that dates back before the Romans. It runs from Sourton on the west edge of Dartmoor to Launceston on the east edge of Bodmin Moor and is twenty five miles of really enjoyable riding. Today it was empty, very like some of my favourite French roads. Harley was able to sit at a legal yet quick pace and I was able to get stuck into some nice corners whilst enjoying the changing autumn colours and the great scenery. The air is beginning to get a bit of a chilly bite to it and I was pleased to be able to adjust my heated jacket to stay snug. Passing through a couple of villages the smell of wood smoke showed that we were not the only ones with the heating on! After Launceston we kept to the back roads, taking the long way and just enjoying ourselves. Those bends were just great! No photos, I was too busy having fun!

OK you want a picture? Not the best but hey, I’ve spoilt you all in the past!

Well, last Thursday evening at Plymouth Harley Davidson we were invited to the launch of the 2015 models. Big emphasis was the new Road Glide, which to be honest doesn’t really do it for me. There is a big boxy faring on the front that I just can’t quite appreciate, but each to their own. I do however, like the Rushmore Electra Glide and also the new metallic blue colour for this year. This is the blue on a V-Rod muscle bike.

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…and this is the 2015 model of the Electra Glide Ultra Limited.

P1020643.JPG Silver and black looks nice, but for me it really needs to be a solid colour. These are big bikes, 103cubic inch (1690cc) engine, dry weight of 398kg, 2.6 metres long and a top speed in excess of 120 mph. Nice!

Gotta say I’m pretty smitten, I think I feel a test ride coming on. Can’t hurt to try one, can it????

P1020644.JPG I can just see myself sitting here!

“I always find my way somehow, by taking the long way around”

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Love Affairs

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OK, so it’s no great secret and I think that I have said it in previous posts, I am seriously in love with that Harley of mine! It’s not just that she has great looks and sounds wonderful, but it’s also a lot to do with that undefinable thing called “Character”. My mate, Big John, once said about my Harley travels that it’s not where I go, but more the bike I go there with, that makes the trip more interesting. In a slightly egotistical way, I guess that it is also something to do with the way a Harley Davidson always seems to get attention wherever you go, not that I am in any way an attention seeker! Let’s just agree that for lots of varied reasons, I really do love that bike!

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I do, however, have to confess that long before I ever dreamed of owning a Harley I had and still do have, another mechanical love…steam locomotives!

This is a love affair that stretches back more than fifty years and was, without doubt influenced by my late father who was a steam locomotive engineer. Not an” Engineer” in the American sense of what we call a Driver, but rather he used to build and maintain those behemoths. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting beside railway lines excitedly watching steam trains thunder by. In later years I was fortunate to learn to fire and drive steam trains myself, both on heritage lines and most exciting of all, professionally on special excursion trains on the main line. I never forgot that small boy standing by the line side and often had to pinch myself that I was actually getting paid for what I was doing! Having left the rail industry some years ago now, I am occasionally lucky enough to be invited to keep my hand in on a heritage line from time to time, which is nice.

Last week I got news that an excursion train would be visiting Cornwall and as the railway line is only about twenty minutes away from Dookes H.Q. by Harley, it would have been a shame not to go and watch the train go by… and so there we were, Harley and I, enjoying the evening sun near Bodmin Parkway last Sunday.

The railway line here winds and climbs eastwards through the oak and beech woodland. It really was a lovely evening, birds sang in the trees and the air was still. Then from the west I could make out the syncopated beat of a three cylinder locomotive working hard against the gradient and coming our way. The distinctive sound signature told me that this was a type of loco known as a Bullied Pacific, (O.V.S. Bullied was the designer and “Pacific” refers to the wheel arrangement of 4-6-2) and one of my favourite classes, both to work on and as a youngster, to watch go by! Time then seemed to rewind, there was no-one else there and this really was just like watching trains go by as a kid again. The steady beat grew louder, echoing through the trees and calling attention to the train’s progress. The steels rails began to sing announcing the imminent arrival and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, this really was just like the old days!

Then she was upon us, a quick photo and she was gone, like the poem says, “Each a glimpse, then gone forever”, wow and what a glimpse!

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34067 “Tangmere” a Battle of Britain class Light Pacific, originally built by the Southern Railway in 1947 and named after the famous World War Two airfield. She was hauling nine carriages, about 315tons and doing mighty well at approximately 50mph up the grade. Her shrill whistle sounded as she flashed by and the exhaust smoke hung in the air long after her passing.

I stood savouring the moment and the lingering smell of hot oil and coal smoke as she chattered her way eastwards. The years rolled back as I walked to my time machine and fired her up, only two cylinders this time, but one big, big, smile! It really is love you know!

“Just be right there when the whistle blows…all down the line”

Dookes

Black Stuff

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The season is certainly marching on here in the beautiful South West of the UK and although I have been pretty hectic work wise, Harley has not been forgotten and we have still been clocking up the old miles! The late summer sun and Mrs Dookes’ spearmint has certainly found favour with the butterfly population as well.
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Whilst carrying out a pre-ride check the other day I noticed that the tyres were starting to look a little worn, not at all dangerous as there is still plenty of tread depth left, but I don’t like to let them get down to the legal minimum before replacing them. This set of rubber were put on the old girl earlier this year around the time of her service, which got me thinking…

The tyres on a motorbike are one of the most safety critical components that there are. They have to handle every control input that you ask of them; acceleration, braking and cornering, and do it in all conditions be it wet, dry, hot or cold. Unlike a car they don’t just prop up the corner of the machine in a constant plane, they have to work just as well, if not better, when they are leaning over at speed through a bend as they do upright and trundling. They also have to do this keeping the motorbike under control with only a couple of square inches, or centimetres if you’d rather, in contact with the road surface. No wonder all sensible motorcyclists spend plenty of time looking after their tyres, keeping them at the correct pressure and checking that they are in good order.

If you drop in on most good motorbike forums dotted around the internet, sooner or later you will find pages of discussion on the subject of tyres. Yeah I know, it all sounds a bit sad and boring, but believe me when a motorbike tyre decides not to grip with you on board, boring it ain’t! So it’s not at all unusual to find discussion on the Holy Grail of tyres in a seemingly never-ending quest to find which is “best”.

For some time now I have come to the conclusion that this thing “best” is a very personal matter and it really depends just what you want to do when you ride your bike. For most riders, it is, like life, all a bit of a compromise! There are literally hundreds of different tyres on the market these days and finding one that does exactly what you want can take a bit of trial and error. Let me at this point be clear on one significant factor; providing that your choice of manufacturer and tyre model conforms to one of the international standards it is unlikely that you will find a “bad” tyre…its just that some are better than others, way better!

One slight disadvantage that us Harley riders have, is that our choice of tyre is quite limited as not many manufacturers cater for our big bikes. Original equipment and therefore Harley Davidson approved, is covered by just Dunlop and Michelin who supply “Harley Davidson” branded tyres that have been specifically designed for specific bike models. One common complaint that I have heard many times is that these branded tyres whilst excellent for longevity are a tad “lively” in the wet. Certainly my own experience with the bog standard Dunlops confirms this.

My quest for the perfect rubber for Harley has taken us through a number of manufacturers and tyre models, but now I believe I have found the best yet and its all down to my mate Kirk at Plymouth Harley Davidson.

…and so back to when Harley was being serviced in March. I knew that I needed to buy a new set of rubber, but I was not over happy with the idea of a standard set of Dunlop “boots”. In discussion with Kirk, he suggested that I try a different model of Dunlop tyre, the GT502, which it is claimed is more suited to the “sporty” Harley rider. Now, I have to say that I was a bit sceptical as the set of Dunlops that I was replacing were awful on wet roads and I wasn’t sure if Kirk was just going for a sale! When he offered to get in any other tyre that I wanted I was finally persuaded and in due course a new set of the 502’s were fitted.

I think I have probably said on previous posts that all new motorbike tyres need careful bedding in and so these were given about a hundred miles to settle down. Initial impressions were good, but as time went on these tyres just got better and better! They have now done over 5000miles in all weathers and temperatures, off-road in a desert even sleet in the Pyrenees and all without the slightest hint of loss of grip. I am both very impressed and very pleased. So thank’s to Kirk for the advice and guess what, I’ll be back for another new set soon!

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Please note usual disclaimer; other than as a very satisfied customer I have no connection to either Dunlop nor Harley Davidson nor am I saying that these tyres would suit everyone, but they work for me…

“This wheel’s on fire, rolling down the road…”

Dookes

 

Sometimes You’ve Just Got To Breath The Air!

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These last few weeks I have been mega busy, for all sorts of reasons.  A real plus is that unusually for a British summer, the weather has been pretty good and as a result I have ridden Harley nearly every day since returning from our last Continental trip! Yes sometimes even in the rain, it never takes the smile off my face when I’m on that motorbike of mine…

Although I have been riding so much and racking up the miles, it’s always when I’ve got to get somewhere in a hurry, which is OK, but no out-and-out pleasure rides. Last Friday, as I rode across Bodmin Moor in glorious sunshine, it occurred to me that it was time to stop for minute and just take in the beauty of the area where I live. I turned off the A30 trunk road and diverted only half a mile to Colliford Lake. This is the largest lake in Cornwall, a reservoir covering more than 900 acres and located in an area of outstanding natural beauty.
IMG_0409The morning was, as you can see, really very pleasant indeed. The fresh moorland air was scented with the coconut aroma of gorse flowers and filled with birdsong. I took a few minutes just taking in the beauty of the place and breathed in the fresh air. Yes, sometimes you do have to stop and just breathe it in, because it’s fantastic!

Harley looked pretty good in the morning light too! I think she appreciated the pause as well!IMG_0412

“We can run to the far side of nowhere, we can run ’til our days are done.”

Dookes

Silly Season and Slippery Stuff

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Living in the beautiful County of Cornwall in the South West of England has it’s advantages. For example, we are surrounded by sea, well on three sides anyway! The scenery is generally fantastic, not like the French Alps, but very easy on the eye. The local produce, particularly the sea food and the famous Cornish Pasty is renown the world over. All of which at this time of year leads to one thing, yep that’s right, hoards of visitors, holiday-makers…or as we call them in these parts, Emmetts!

Most of the time these in-comers are pretty benign. They add millions of pounds to the local economy, which in turn provides jobs in tourism, catering, hotels and other service industries. The cost, however, is borne by the infrastructure and most noticeably the roads. We have a joke around here about public holidays, the extra day off is provided because you need an extra day to get anywhere! The last week most of the schools finished for the summer, so this weekend has heralded the beginning of “The Silly Season” as the liberated masses headed off on holiday.

Harley and I hit the road very early on Saturday morning and headed West along the A30, the main arterial highway through Cornwall. Every lay-by across the fifteen miles of Bodmin Moor was jammed up with caravans and motorhomes and even at six thirty in the morning the traffic was both heavy and driving along like total morons! The outside lane was busier than lane one as the overloaded masses lumbered towards the seaside disregarding all laws of the road….you all know my views about most British car drivers by now, but this was my worst nightmares all rolled out as one and right on my doorstep! Oh the joy of another six weeks like this, until they all go home for the winter! That said the weather was superb and it was great to be out, mind you I have ridden Harley just about everyday since returning from France…I just can’t get enough of that bike!

Later in the day we headed up to Plymouth Harley Davidson, via the A38, to buy some bits and pieces, the traffic was still heavy, but as we were generally heading against the flow of holiday traffic it wasn’t too bad, especially in ‘street fighter’ mode! Unlike In France, the British car driver always seems determined to make life difficult for us bikers; little tricks like driving over to the right as much as possible, blocking at junctions and racing at the end of a dual carriageway. Pretty dumb really, as most motorcycle riders are going to be quicker, much more nimble in an overtake and yes, better trained to boot and also as car drivers ourselves know the difference in relative performance between the two machines! Rant over, for now!

I said I needed some bits, actually I wanted to give Harley an oil change as we have been racking up the old mileage since the service in Spring. It has been said that oil is cheap, but engines ain’t, and I certainly buy into that sentiment! This afternoon I jacked Harley up on the workshop stand and set to work. It’s not a difficult job, nor,  if you get it right, very messy…except for removing the old oil filter which is as messy as it gets, cos H-D designed the thing to lay on its side and when you unscrew it at least half of it’s contents of old oil have got to run out, it’s a gravity thing! This what it looks like when the filter is off.imageYes, I’d cleaned up the majority of the spill! And with the new filter fitted it looks like this..image

Three point three litres of this good stuff later.imageOnce all the work was done and the engine was bench tested it was time for a road test, just to make sure all was well. So we headed out onto Bodmin Moor for a gentle(ish) test ride.

She felt fine, but the Emmetts were still in evidence! As I put in an overtake on a heavily loaded Peugeot, with a big Wigan Athletic sticker on the rear window I was treated to cigarette ash being flicked out of the window into my face, nice. Passing the idiot, I gave the driver a suitable glare as he flicked more ash out of the window with his right hand, whilst holding a mobile phone to his ear with the left hand! I can only assume that he had very cleaver knees or was concealing a midget in his crotch who was steering for him!!!! Perhaps his name was William, William Anchor!

I stopped Harley for a quick check, all was well, so I grabbed a quick photo and headed back to Dookes H.Q.. Time to get the barbecue going!

image“I need a shot of salvation baby, once in a while…”

Dookes

 

Looe, Fish and Chips!

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One of my “must do” events every year is the HOG Plymouth Chapter (UK) annual ride to Looe, in Cornwall, for fish and chips!

Early last Friday evening, eighteen Harley’s met up and growled into the tight narrow streets of the small fishing village on Cornwall’s south coast. I suppose it is quintessentially British to make an evening of riding to the seaside for deep-fried battered Cod and Fries, but in Looe this simple meal is probably the best example of such that you will find anywhere. The fish is not just fresh, it was probably still swimming in the sea that morning and it certainly tastes that way. The restaurant is just a few feet, or if you like metres, away from the quay where the boats land their catch, so I guess that there is no excuse for anything other than fresh! Anyway enough of this blithering, the food was brilliant and the company pretty good too! There’s an alley next to the restaurant which is perfect for parking the bikes and always draws an admiring crowd as we pull up and later move off.

imageIt was nice to catch up with a few friends and share stories about our various travels over the meal. A brief walk to the quay followed before we rode off into the sunset, Biker Patch Phil and I having a spirited run back along the A38 to Bodmin before we went of separate ways. Harley’s wonderful V twin music filled my head as we tore the night air across the Moor, I had to muse that it didn’t get much better than that!

imageIt’s really good to do something like this, because sometimes when your are busy tearing around the fantastic roads in the Alps you’ve got to remember how lucky you are with what you have at home….. and I do count myself very lucky!

“Life’s been good to me so far….”

Dookes