More notes from a Harley

Sometimes it seems that happiness is as simple as these three things: sunshine, a full tank of fuel and a sweet running motor. It feels like that today.

I'm sitting in a field overlooking blue sea, a stone's throw from Britain's smallest city. All is still and quiet after five hours of noise, movement and mini-adventure. I've just found a campsite. Not the one I planned to visit, which was full, nor the one I stayed at previously, which I couldn't find, but this one will do.

Me and the bike are sunning ourselves. A hundred and seventy miles are behind us. Two hours ago we stopped off at a cafe in Llandovery, where I had an impromptu chat with a complete stranger over a mug of tea. That's how it works.

The cafe in Llandovery was the one that I thought was in Brecon, where I couldn't be bothered to stop. I spotted it just in time on a sunny corner at the end of a thrilling fifteen miles of twisting, climbing road, where the bike and I had been getting ourselves more fully acquainted. We took just about the tightest lines we could, working engine, gears and brakes hard and trusting the tyres. Focused concentration and exhilaration for fifteen miles, and the sound of that exhaust on the cam throughout.

We did ok. Even picked up a friend for a while. Another Harley. Don't ask how I knew. Something with the headlight and the riding position - showing me the soles of his boots. He stuck like glue. Sometimes dropping back a little when we overtook a couple of cars. Sometimes snug up behind, headlight in my left mirror. Fuel was low and I was concerned the tank might run onto reserve and cut the engine in mid-corner. That wouldn't be good with him so close. But the engine kept running.

Underneath all of that leather and shiny helmet, motorcyclists are really like lizards sunning themselves on a rock. Except the rock's moving at 80 mph.

Now I'm sitting here on a camping stool looking at the bike with ghostly oil tankers lying at anchor in the hazy sound behind. I wish you could see it quietly reflecting the sun and looking pretty, leaning on its chrome stand, bars turned slightly into its lean. Completely still and silent. You would never suspect what it had been up to a couple of hours ago. Makes the JD in the hip-flask taste good. Or maybe that's the fresh-air.

You know, there are two things I like to talk to when I'm out on the road. I talk to the bike. Bikes are like horses and it's ok to encourage a horse, so it's fine talking to the bike. I talk to God. God is destiny and all the possibilities of life - perfect love or a front tyre blow-out at 100 mph. It's good to speak to your destiny.

And I listen, too, to that little voice asking all the awkward questions. It's good to listen to your conscience.

Now, back to the field...