Shadowfax's Somerset Sprint

Pressure of Light

John had left only moments earlier as I readied Shadowfax for our ride to Cheddar.

I had to pack light; one pannier for his cover and my wet-gear, and one for some clothes to augment those already taken forward by Ka. I added my light-weight riding boots (some ex-Army desert boots) but they'd not fit in. A back-pack was elected - the first time I've had to ride with one.

It was after 6pm; last light would be around 8pm, and the trip could take 2.5hrs. Shadowfax had suffered another low-battery level a night earlier on return from work in the rain. I'd commuted with his headlamps on for a couple of days through some grey stormy weather and on returning home noticed that his revs were dropping on idle with the unwanted dipping in lamp power. Something to get sorted soon; his alternator is on the return-to-base warranty and I don't know what bulbs are in place. In any case, I didn't want to ride in the dusk or dark for too long and risk loosing traction from the engine, or a non-start later.

Rabbits secured, fish fed, neighbours on watch; we started out. I'd opted to cut through Salisbury and Warminster and then to Fome, etc. I knew the route could be slow in a car after a recent family outing to Longleat but had hopes I could filter by on the bike. The weather was bright and I'd totally negated taking the drooping Sun in my journey appreciation where in the car I'd have sun-visors, and in my helmet; not. This proved almost painful as I crested the hills after Warminster.

Overall we were making great progress and only used headlamps at key junctions and on overtaking at pressure points. The side-lights aren't bad for others' vision of us on a white bike.

I found the long saddle time a bit of a strain on my back but relished the opportunity of a long ride on a route other than the A32! It was Bank Holiday Weekend too, of course. Something else I'd forgotten when I agreed to stay home an extra day to let John view the bike. Traffic is difficult to pas on narrow A-roads where it flows in both directions. I was resigned to making best progress I could; no silly chances. I wanted to get to my holiday.

At Shepton Mallet I suffered a lack of signs I later determined is a problem in the West Country. Perhaps this has something to do with their proximity to Wales where road signs are still a novelty outside the largest towns. I was travelling along the road I needed, entered the town's limits and then was directed along, "All Other Routes", and "Wells"; the next town to pas through. This route took me South, back out of town limits, and towards Southerly locations along the Fosse way (A37). Eventually I picked up the signs for Wells and again entered the town limits. Here I had to make an intelligent GDR (Godfrey's Dead Reckoning) navigational adjustment to head West; still demarked by the setting Sun. Finally, almost out of the town again I picked up a sign for Bath and Wells but then found myself travelling North on the A37 again!

I saw 3 of 4 of these signs in one pass!

Where the Bath road forked left I pulled over and pulled out my map. I can see why I need a tank-bag now just to keep vision of the map; or maybe a SatNav? Either has to be an improvement on stopping to pull a well-thumbed map out of your jacket! I chose a country lane West that would return me to track around Wells. The light was now degrading enough to have to turn on the headlamps over the side-lights.

The road wound on and should have met with a North / South road to lead me into Wells without any interruption. I came across an unsignposted T-junction. "Just go f$%&ing South", I breathed. Through slow villages behind a tractor, then slow traffic, then another tractor returning to base after a day in the fields, or whatever the lad had been doing. It was frustrating.



Eventually we dropped into Wells. The cathedral looked beautiful in the last of the evening's yellow light and quite took my breath away. Perhaps the distraction caused us to miss a sign but I was now on a corner traffic light controlled junction. I turned right, "All Other Routes", but up the hill I saw a sign for Bristol (North?). I turned round and returned to the junction. Across it was the sign, "All Other Routes". I stopped and swore against the West Country (again).

By force of will and slight of intelligence we eventually got onto a route toward Cheddar. I had no idea where the camp site was except "along here" and wound our way through some speedy but tight bends on the last of the Summer evening's light. To my left was a far-reaching vista of flat plain interspersed with hillocks and mounds. To my right were the beginnings of the Mendips and a steep escarpment to woodlands and grazing far above. Just as my mind was wondering about using the map again we flew past the Buckle-something site sign. A quick U-turn (feet-down) and I saw my kids shouting at me through the fence. We were there. Just then, it went dark.

Epilogue

8.30pm. We'd done 98-miles in 2hrs 15min. That's less than a daily commute pace! Tchsh!