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<\/a>A toast to a new journey together. Travelling by pod is lovely.<\/p><\/div>\n
When last we were here, the motorcycle pickup happened in Wandsworth, a suburb(ish) of London (although it\u2019s pretty much subsumed into the City). You will have heard of Wandsworth before now principally because that\u2019s where Natalie (the prime minister\u2019s love interest in Love Actually) lives (the dodgy end).<\/p>\n
<\/a>They rent cars, too. Vintage Mercedes SL, anyone?<\/p><\/div>\n
This time around, the pickup is in Horsham. This is in Surrey. Which is also a suburb(ish) of London (in much the same way that Hamilton is considered a suburb of Toronto). But if it\u2019s the dodgy end of Horsham, I\u2019m going to arrive in style. The car that the hotel arranged to take me there is a chauffeur-driven Mercedes S-class.<\/p>\n
Mom had considered coming along for the ride. Ultimately, we decided that a combination of traffic and me getting used to the bike were probably good reasons for me to go alone. Given that it took more than a little adjustment to get used to its handling, that probably was a good idea. Which isn\u2019t to say that the handling problem is a fault with the bike. But it\u2019s a very different monster than I\u2019m used to. Rush hour traffic anywhere (let alone in London) is never a good time to get used to a new clutch.<\/p>\n
Nonetheless, I made it back to the hotel in one piece. This began the always entertaining exercise of figuring out how to get most of the contents of four suitcases into the panniers of one motorcycle. Much wishful thinking, creative folding, cursing, compromise and a few strategically abandoned items later, we managed it. And this morning we were ready to set out. Bags are checked with the concierge (and a former owner of one of the first BMW bikes outfitted with electric start. A fact that he gleefully shared with me on his arrival to work, when he came upon me getting the bike ready and sorted out. Nothing invites conversation quite so much as a motorcycle).<\/p>\n
<\/a>Getting ready to set out from the hotel. Largely ignoring signs.<\/p><\/div>\n
It wouldn\u2019t be a start in London without drizzle, and London didn\u2019t disappoint. Just as we were about to set up, the sky took on a distinctly greyer demeanour, and the world became decidedly more sodden. In motorcycling, though, there is no inclement weather; only inappropriate clothing. With several hours ahead of us to get to our destination, Mom and I saddled up and headed off into the gloomily dampish environs that travellers worldwide know as Heathrow.<\/p>\n
Of course, the first challenge is actually escaping the orbit of Heathrow. That\u2019s easier said than done. Most of the surrounding streets are either one way or heavily cordoned off in the middle. Meaning that if you want to go one way, you usually wind up starting in a different direction, finding a roundabout, and turning around. If you then miss your turn, you wind up doing that again. And again. And again. I think you know where this is going.<\/p>\n
<\/a>A lovely, quant little cafe for a mid-morning Americano.<\/p><\/div>\n
It\u2019s not that I didn\u2019t know where I was going. Well, that\u2019s not true. I didn\u2019t know where I was going, but I\u2019d programmed the GPS to tell me. And I wasn\u2019t expecting it to guiding me to the M25, but that is what it was largely insistent upon doing. For the uninitiated, the M25 is the main motorway around London; it is a ring-road, and a decidedly busy one. I had opted to avoid it and all other motorways resembling it.<\/p>\n
<\/a>Yep, Woodstock Coffee. In the UK.<\/p><\/div>\n
As it turns out, I hadn\u2019t communicated that intent, however. It was only after the M25 turned into the M4 and then into the M40 that I came to that realization. A check of the settings, and the GPS happily informed me that motorways were a totally viable option. Disabusing it of that notion led us quickly to some less travelled and more scenic bypasses.<\/p>\n
<\/a>Getting ready to leave Woodstock.<\/p><\/div>\n
All of that to say that I\u2019m not sure by the time we got towards the end of the ride that we wound up following all of the route that I had originally hoped. We got bogged down in Oxford just prior to lunch, before finding some lovely country roads beyond. Woodstock (yes there is a Woodstock in the UK, and\u2014quite familiarity\u2014it\u2019s about 30 minutes south of Stratford) led to coffee. Stratford led to lunch at a pub with a lovely outdoor garden. And the pub led to Mom\u2019s first (and likely not last) jacket potato (essentially a baked potato slathered in cheese, bacon and other goodness; apparently a UK staple).<\/p>\n
<\/a>Enjoying a pub lunch in the garden in Stratford.<\/p><\/div>\n
From there we encountered a ridiculous amount of rush hour traffic as we circuitously navigated through a largish and unexpected city, before finally finding some glorious roads for our last hour or so. Hills, cliffs, trees, and curves (with only the odd slow-moving vehicular obstacle) kept us entertained as we verged on Shrewsbury, our destination for the weekend. A lovely and warm welcome from friends, a cup of tea and then a restorative gin & tonic fit the bill as we relaxed and settled in.<\/p>\n