I have been tetchy all weekend thanks to feeling deprived of my Easter trip to the mountains. So when I woke up this morning to see 2 good omens: blue skies, and the windsock on the balcony opposite not about to tear free from its tether, and only one bad one: big puddle of ice on the roof next door, I decided that it would be Highwaylass 1, Weather 0, and got the thermos out of the cupboard. Of course, by the time I'd made my coffee, the view of the windsock was blocked by the falling snow. But I am practising being of stern stuff so I decided to press on regardless. (Not forgetting a hearty upbringing where the traditional cry on a Bank Holiday was, "Get your jumper, we're going to the beach.") So, resolute but not reckless, I prepared by adding an extra layer of clothes. Like a Russian doll or an onion, if you peeled off my top layer you'd have found a slightly smaller version of me underneath (this time in furry aquamarine north face top instead of black fleece) and if you'd peeled off that layer you'd have found another smaller me, this time in superwool thermals. Fortunately I have lost sufficient weight since Christmas that there's room inside my Belstaffs for the extra insulation! - and just for good measure, 2 pairs of socks. Hands I had to trust to the heated grips.
I've never ridden in snow before, the only time I nearly had to was when I had a service and MOT booked for the Triumph, and the flakes started drifting as I crossed the North Circular - but Flitwick let me bottle it on account of being a girl. So it was a new experience, and it started off not too bad - small flakes that are a bit more like hail than snow bounce off better than raindrops and don't make you wet or cold, and as I headed out of London the clouds split and the sun came out. So determination was rewarded....but it was still pretty chilly and I had forgotten that Ipswich exists in some kind of fold in spacetime meaning it takes three times longer to by-pass than it deserves on account of its size, and by the time you get out, your helmet hurts, you're hungry and in need of some coffee - shelter, warmth and caffeine all admirably provided by the farmcafe on the A12 and their fantastic woodburning stove.
The sun held out as far as the coast (LM 45) but my luck ran out on heading back inland. Big soggy snowflakes may look pretty but they plaster themselves over your visor like a wet white alien facehugger, and the turny-head slipstream trick doesn't work, so it's a one-handed swipe every few seconds, leading to cold wet gloves :(
Of course, none of this is apparent in my RBR photos, as every landmark bagged today was basking in bright chilly sunshine by the time I got there - so I can't claim extra points or sympathy for hardship endured! Though I do think that nothing makes you appreciate riding into the golden evening sun so much as the previous 20 minutes riding into a blizzard. There's a book of cheesy biker wisdom in there somewhere...