South on the '23

Sunday morning greeted me with glorious sunshine and a plan. I was going to fight through my hangover and ride to Burgess Hill to visit an old school friend, JW, at her house. Having not seen her for a few years I was a little nervous, understandably.

I left home at about 10:30 and took the South Circular around to the start of the A23, pointed the bike south and basked in the the weather.

The journey was about a 90 mile round trip, and the first 10 miles passed in minutes, over the dreaded Purley Way flyover with barely another car on the road. As I passed Croydon airport that all changed, the traffic was solid, not merely moving slowly, but not moving at all. I filtered past seemingly endless miles of this until I got to the front of the hold up at Russell Hill. There was a police car blocking the road. I asked the officer how long would be shut for, and why it was shut and just as I was getting the usual non-commital answer I heard his radio chirp into life, the road was being reopened. I jumped back on to the SV, hit the starter and. Nothing. It was cranking over but not catching. I turned the lights and other electrics off and tried again. Still nothing. The PC stopped the traffic for me to push to the side of the road, where I stood baffled. A new battery went into it a week before, it was certainly warmed up. What was going on? I grabbed my mobile phone and began to think of options. I didn't have the breakdown service's number, it was at home, but FlatMate was away for the weekend. Scrub option one. I could call directory enquiries, but they never have the right number. Scrub option two. I could phone a friend with the internet and ask them to look. Viable, but it was early on a Sunday morning. Scrub option three. Then it hit me.

The fucking immobiliser.

Oh yes, it self arms after 20 seconds. I wasted 10 minutes because I forgot about it. Fires up first time and I sheepishly continue my journey, cursing myself obscenely.

It's glorious now, the tyres are gripping, the bike's on form, the sun is blazing and before long I'm at the start of the M23, the short motorway, seemingly built just to go round Gatwick Airport. I work up through the gears and sit the bike at a nice steady 85mph or so. It likes this territory on the speedo, a bit more pull if needed, not too windy and some good comfort. I pull over at Pease Pottage services to strap the tankbag strap around the headstock, just in case, as I'm still a little paranoid that it'll fly off the bike at speed taking my mobile, my wallet, my life with it.

All too soon is was pulling off onto the Burgess Hill road and arrived at my friend's a short distance from the motorway.

I stayed for a few hours, had a fantastic time catching up with the last few year, had a delightful lunch in a village pub and reminisced over some old photos, until it got late in the day and I had to bid a very fond farewell.

On the way back I decided to avoid the nightmare of the A23 and took the M23 up to the M25, then followed it one junction to the A22 at Junction 6, a quiet little road that takes me most of the way home, up to Purley, through South Croydon up to Shirley, then Elmer's End and up the hill to Crystal Palace, down Gipsy Hill admiring the simply stunning view of London it offers; and home.

The bike was looking pretty grubby after yesterday's rain session so she got the works, wash, scrub and a rub down till she was gleaming like new again. I really need to invest in a paddock stand soon, the chain is in need of a scrub and relube, after 600 miles it really should be done soon. I'll pop it on the wish list.