utopia
03-09-2012, 02:07 AM
Tonight was the monthly pub singaround, so I took the back route out of east leicester as evening was approaching and the nearly full moon was rising in front of me (a blue moon as it happens, or so I'm told).
Having recently sidelined my car, I was on the Ducati and banking on borrowing a guitar from someone there.
I was heading for possibly my favourite stretch of road... Tilton lane is a winding, two mile country climb around Billesdon Coplow, to Tilton on the Hill.
Its, neither fast nor slow, but that gorgeous bit in between where the 750 is rarely above fourth gear and each bend just swings into the next in the manner of the woodland section at Cadwell. It has a sort of consistency of character throughout its entire length.
I guess you'd call it a major B-road and as such, its of decent width and good surface, with mostly good visibility as long as you set the bends up. There's little more than a single dwelling along its length, and a couple of sideroads with good advanced visibility, so it contains few hidden surprises and allows a moderately spirited ride. There are open sections, and others where the termis rasp under the trees, and the whole stretch has a varied wholeness from one end to the other, like getting on and off a roller coaster ride.
A couple of rabbits froze up ahead, ready to dart, but the road was bone dry, my senses were alive and merely a single braking finger was enough to cover all three of the options that they would eventually choose at the last minute.
I love riding in the evening. It has a kind of cosiness to it and, by now, a kind of warm nostalgia too.
Anyway, I parked the bike in the light below the pub sign, borrowed two lovely guitars, sang songs by the grateful dead and little feat, and then as it seemed an appropriate occaision, gave my 3yr old song (about the monster) its first ever public outing. ("..her heart beats deep and soulful boys, it makes mine skip a beat..").
When I came out, there she was in the now deserted carpark, in her own little pool of light under a sign saying "rose" and "crown". I decided that "rose" was the more appropriate, though it was a close call.
The return down the rounded contours of the coplow was even better. Its a little quicker that way anyway, and now I knew that there were no muddy field entrances and suchlike. Also, it was dark, and so the same speed became that much more of a challenge without being any less legal.
I wasn't being fast though, just moderately quick.
I held back a little at first, with Sarah's words "watch out for the muntjack on the coplow...they WILL run out on you" ringing in my ears, but then I put my faith in the boom from the termis to scare them off.
At 11.30ish, it was still warm enough for leather jacket, boots and Levis (yes, I know, but if you play guitar wearing leather jeans it looks like you think you're some kind of rock star). There wasn't even a hint of a chill as I left the warm air of the village.
It was probably fourth gear nearly all the way, and often with little more than engine braking being required, so I was free to concentrate on other issues.
As one bend swung down-around into the next, the monster became ever more alive and part of me (like they do) and a delicate dance ensued, where footpeg weighting, countersteering and body position gently rose and fell in harmony with the torque from the motor, as the full moon hung high in an open sky.
The warm night air seemed to bring out the bass tones from the termis. I could only imagine that the owls that I'd heard earlier were still hooting as I dropped through the more heavily wooded section and on down to where the road opens out and a joyous blast to the junction completes the scene.
It would be a good ride on any bike, but on the monster its some kind of nirvana.
And the muntjack kept their distance.
Tilton lane...A47 to B6047.
Two miles of balmy heaven on a warm summer night.
As long as you're on a monster.
Having recently sidelined my car, I was on the Ducati and banking on borrowing a guitar from someone there.
I was heading for possibly my favourite stretch of road... Tilton lane is a winding, two mile country climb around Billesdon Coplow, to Tilton on the Hill.
Its, neither fast nor slow, but that gorgeous bit in between where the 750 is rarely above fourth gear and each bend just swings into the next in the manner of the woodland section at Cadwell. It has a sort of consistency of character throughout its entire length.
I guess you'd call it a major B-road and as such, its of decent width and good surface, with mostly good visibility as long as you set the bends up. There's little more than a single dwelling along its length, and a couple of sideroads with good advanced visibility, so it contains few hidden surprises and allows a moderately spirited ride. There are open sections, and others where the termis rasp under the trees, and the whole stretch has a varied wholeness from one end to the other, like getting on and off a roller coaster ride.
A couple of rabbits froze up ahead, ready to dart, but the road was bone dry, my senses were alive and merely a single braking finger was enough to cover all three of the options that they would eventually choose at the last minute.
I love riding in the evening. It has a kind of cosiness to it and, by now, a kind of warm nostalgia too.
Anyway, I parked the bike in the light below the pub sign, borrowed two lovely guitars, sang songs by the grateful dead and little feat, and then as it seemed an appropriate occaision, gave my 3yr old song (about the monster) its first ever public outing. ("..her heart beats deep and soulful boys, it makes mine skip a beat..").
When I came out, there she was in the now deserted carpark, in her own little pool of light under a sign saying "rose" and "crown". I decided that "rose" was the more appropriate, though it was a close call.
The return down the rounded contours of the coplow was even better. Its a little quicker that way anyway, and now I knew that there were no muddy field entrances and suchlike. Also, it was dark, and so the same speed became that much more of a challenge without being any less legal.
I wasn't being fast though, just moderately quick.
I held back a little at first, with Sarah's words "watch out for the muntjack on the coplow...they WILL run out on you" ringing in my ears, but then I put my faith in the boom from the termis to scare them off.
At 11.30ish, it was still warm enough for leather jacket, boots and Levis (yes, I know, but if you play guitar wearing leather jeans it looks like you think you're some kind of rock star). There wasn't even a hint of a chill as I left the warm air of the village.
It was probably fourth gear nearly all the way, and often with little more than engine braking being required, so I was free to concentrate on other issues.
As one bend swung down-around into the next, the monster became ever more alive and part of me (like they do) and a delicate dance ensued, where footpeg weighting, countersteering and body position gently rose and fell in harmony with the torque from the motor, as the full moon hung high in an open sky.
The warm night air seemed to bring out the bass tones from the termis. I could only imagine that the owls that I'd heard earlier were still hooting as I dropped through the more heavily wooded section and on down to where the road opens out and a joyous blast to the junction completes the scene.
It would be a good ride on any bike, but on the monster its some kind of nirvana.
And the muntjack kept their distance.
Tilton lane...A47 to B6047.
Two miles of balmy heaven on a warm summer night.
As long as you're on a monster.