I had a mission too; to return some riding trousers for Gordon to Harper's in Leigh on Sea. Our stuff is getting shipped to Oz early next week, so the quicker we can do the turnaround, the more likely it is that all of his stuff can go in the crate.
It's about a 50 mile/80km ride from home, but unfortunately, there is no nice way to get there as it is either through central London, over Tower bridge, and eastwards, or round the M25 and the Dartford crossing, then eastwards. As it was so warm and sunny, I decided a nice, airy fast zip would be the thing, to blow away some cobwebs and test out my new riding pants.
They are a bit light, which I very much doubt will last for long, but they are very cool which will be great for desert riding. And it was either that or black which was not going to happen.
I did wonder whether it looked like I was riding along in a pair of old long johns, but as I don't care anyway, I didn't dwell on the thought.
Just for a change, I headed to the M25 via Bromley. Not particularly interesting, in fact not at all interesting, but it made a change from Junction 5.
The first 35 miles/50 km was fine, but then the ominous signs started to flash up on the overhead gantries: "delays - incident", and then gradually, vehicles slowed and stopped. This is exactly why I ride a bike, and filtered past them, smiling to myself.
It was stonkingly hot by now too, and even I began feeling sorry for the drivers as they got held up. But then they did have their radios and stuff, and at that stage were blissfully unaware of the jam that lay ahead.
The jam went right to the crossing, about 5 miles by that stage, and I copped some glares as they raised the barrier for me, free of charge. Another smile fest from behind my visor and another very good reason to ride a bike.
The road to Southend was almost as uninteresting as the M25, except for a bit of excitement when I realised that the bike was running on fumes and there was no servo in sight. But then, just on the edge of desperation, one of Mr Texaco's fine establishments appeared on the horizon. Third smile fest of the day.
I didn't really have any idea of where I was going once I got to Leigh on Sea because my husband had filed the bike satnav somewhere in the house, using a system known only to him, and then failed to answer either his texts or his phone when I tried to find out. But as I remember life before husbands and satnavs, and know that the usefulness of both is questionable once the novelty wears off, so I decided to wing it, use the maps on my phone or the tongue in my head, should it all go really tits up. But in the event, I stumbled across the shop very easily and very quickly.
Harpers of London Road, Leigh on Sea. Excellent service, helpful and knowledgeable staff and well worth the ride. The sort of bike shop that you want, and completely devoid of the (Get Geared, Leatherhead) fools who say things like ' well love, all m/c gear is unisex', or " we could probably order you some if you really want it". Yes of course I want it, that's why I asked you, but as you're obviously a lazy arse as well as an incompetent, then I'm going to spend my £500 somewhere else.
So, mission accomplished, I went in search of the sea front. Perhaps not the most exotic of resorts, what with the oil refinery in the background, but still a pleasant stop in the warm sunshine, in a sort of genteelly faded Victorian sort of way.
And then there is the pier at Southend, the longest pleasure pier in the world at 1 3/4 miles/ 2.16kms.
And being on the main shipping route into London, I got to watch the boats and remember how my old nan used to tell me that all the water in the world was joined up, so if you got on a boat one side of the world, you could get off at the other. That's providing you didn't sink on way of course.
The ride back round the M25 was similarly dreadful, but a bit better by the Queen Elizabeth bridge and then further on, round by Clackett Lane where one carriageway was dug up. But it was good filtering practice.
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