leave them all behind

guess my invite for the 'distinguished gentlemens ride' won't be turning up anytime soon then? today, i'm mostly wearing long johns, three base layers, leather jeans, thermal socks, my alpine stars cordura jacket and gloves, balaclava and dutch army paratrooper boots, hardly sartorial i know but a lot more practical than a tweed hacking jacket, bow-tie and plus-fours, it's fucking cold in derbyshire, there's frost in the gutter even at 1100 hrs, the roads are white-over with salt, fallen, mashed up slippy leaves and the mud strewn from farmers tractors and trailers add to the heady mix of anti-motorcycling conditions, single magpies, a harbinger of doom for sure, i get cramp saluting them, 'one for sorrow,,,'  but, you know what? it's brilliant, i'm slightly suspicious of the bonneville given the teething troubles, i set off waiting for the problems, but i'm very, very pleasantly suprised, the bike doesn't miss a beat, the handling is neutral, no drama, the bike just goes where you point it, the bars are too high and i would like them a bit lower and more widely spaced but that's easily solved, likewise the footpegs, four inches too forward and two inches too low, the front end feels a bit vague to me, it needs a bit more weight over the front wheel, it's not dangerous, just needs a little tuning, the exhaust note is just ridiculous, so quite, one of the first jobs is going to be opening up the stifled pipes, theres no 'bark', no induction noise, just linear power from nothing to flat out, the bike needs to breathe, scrap the airbox, flat-slide carbs and a less restrictive exhaust and i reckon it's going to be a different animal, i reckon theres too much weight, too high up on the front end, the clocks, big headlight, big headlight brackets, standard mirrors, indicators etc are just wrong, it makes the steering slow and cumbersome. the reg/rec is just pig fucking ugly mounted off the bottom yoke, that certainly needs moving, along with the ignition switch, oh dear, it all sounds negative reading it back, but, truth be told, i really like the 'inckley, bbbllloooddddeey'elll it's cold, i stop to warm my frozen digit's, [funnily enough, both my middle fingers are frozen into a 'fuck you' salute, take from this what you want, i like to think it's some sort of connection with the ancient spirit world, especially as i have stopped near to one of the numerous ancient standing stones that dot the derbyshire landscape] the road is deserted, i decide to take a 'comfort break' [or a piss as we call it in derbyshire] low and behold, as soon as i get out 'little tim' a volvo estate drives past, yours truly, cock in hand, shrivelled by the cold, standing, dribbling into the hedgerow, nowhere to go, kid's laughing and pointing, mum and dad pointing out 'points of interest' yeah, you've all been there haven't you? back on the bike, the sun is low. strobing through the leafless tree's, pale blue sky, winters coming, would you rather be anywhere else? nah.......