astronomy domine

post shift, post chore's, post dog walk and post some stickers off to jan, i set off on the ducati for a ride, it's 17.30hrs and i need some fuel, [dangerous has been caning the duc all week while i've been keeping the country running and the tank is almost empty] full tank and i'm slipping the clutch and trying to keep the bike running, it's on half-choke and coughing and weezing like a smoker with a forty a day habit, the traffic is heavier than i thought for this time on a friday, perhaps people actually work beyond my 1400hrs knock-off time after-all? i'm keeping a cautious eye on the temperature gauge, allowing the big old air-cooled lump to warm up properly, up past the 'hanging gate' at shottle, through the lovely sweepers dropping down to the 'railway' crossroads, bugger, there's a line of about six cars and at the head is a car towing a caravan, i just resign myself to sitting in line, the road is too narrow to 'filter' to the front of the queue, it's a 30mph limit and there's 'double-whites' down the centre of the road, as we make the climb out of turnditch i'm feathering the throttle and i'm past them in a flick of the wrist, good run into ashbourne, clear roads bar the odd car, despatched easily, the climb out of ashbourne towards leek and i catch more friday night stragglers wending their weary way home, speed cameras here so pick them off one at a time, into leek and turn right and right again and out past the 'roaches', the point where the gritstone of the staffordshire moorlands meet the rolling but white scarred limestone crags of derbyshire, the road is clear at last and i give the ducati it's head, oh my god, this is what it's all about, just clear road in front of me, well surfaced and the glorious views to my left and right, there's no tight, tricky corners on this stretch of road, just very fast sweeping turns, a few abrupt rises see's the front wheel pawing at the air but the ducati is never un-settled, into buxton and i resist the urge to tackle the 'cat and fiddle' and it's 'average speed cameras' and hang a right, bypassing the town centre and turn left onto my 'secret' road, a little 'b' road which god himself must have designed, there's everything here from adverse camber, downhill, suck-you-in-and-spit-you-out-sucker lefties to flip-flop left-right-left-right combo's where the bike is never upright for a second, cow shit strewn blind's and a terrifyingly narrow, between two cottages bit that look's for all the world like you are riding straight into a stone wall before the road widens into a gentle right hander and leaves you wondering what all the fuss was about and before you ask, no, i'm not giving it away, [ever since 'performance bikes' published two of my other favourite roads, there's always a police presence, easy pickings to tax the bike riders and the speed limit has been dropped to fifty emm-pee-aitch] onto the A6, probably one of the finest biking roads in this scepterd isle and again ruined by a combination of the over -zealous police, motorcyclists smashing themselves into the scenery in 'single vehicle accidents' and the sheer amount of traffic using the route, it's best enjoyed late on or early doors, after the climb out of buxton, it's downhill all the way to bakewell, i hit the dual carriageway and there's nothing on it, then i spot the police disco doing a u-iee across the central res, i don't know who's more shocked, me or him, he wave's an apology and i get a great run at the bends, fuck me, i don't think i've ever had these turns to myself before and i'm whooping inside, down into a deserted bakewell, the tourists and ice cream vans long gone, hit a right and past mock-beggars hall, a bit of sport with a mercedes slk who eventually bow's down to the superior power to weght ratio of the duc, [either that or i intimidated him through the combination of the intake noise and the unholy row through the carbon race cans] and he backs off and waves me through, via-gellia, damp under the tree's and getting dark, derbyshires own version of the tt course through laurel bank, anyone who's been to the island will get it, onto the wirksworth road, tractors are ploughing the old crops back into the earth and there's that smell of autumn, light fading fast now and i'm getting cold, lost the feeling in my fingers and toes long since, time to head home........