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Home Travel StoriesWatford 2015 - Meeting Monk

It Never Rains Down South

By Ren Withnell

Regular readers will have noticed a gentleman using the name "Monk" has posted lots of comments and even contributed his own story to this fair website (see Thoughts On The CBF 125). We'd emailed a few missives between us and he mentioned in passing that perchance we may meet one day. Upon reading this I thought "Yeah, why the hell not?" I sent him a reply and a cunning plan was formed. 

Monk, the man I am to meet, giving the thumbs up next to his Honda.
...well he doesn't look TOO dodgy...does he?

So I find myself on this Saturday morning loading the bike with all the usual camping gear. The plan is to ride "daan saaf" today and camp up at a site not far from Leighton Buzzard so I then only have a short ride to Monk's home town of Watford on Sunday morning. Of course this being mid-June the weather will be warm and dry, especially "daan saaf" as it never rains there and the streets of London are paved with gold. The weatherman is telling me a different story but I've been "daan saaf" and it never rains so he must of course be wrong. Weathermen, they're always wrong.

It is rather grey here "oop norf" but that's to be expected, it's grim "oop norf". After a half hour on the motorway network it starts to rain, lightly. By the time I take a short pee break at Keele services the rain is persistent. By the time I pull off the M6 at Junction 12 Cannock it is lashing it down. That said this is summer rain, while my hands and feet are as wet as any swimmer's they are not cold and by some miracle my waterproof overpants and overjacket are keeping the bits that really matter dry. It is far from ideal but I'm not suffering, much.

Hinckley is famous for being the home of Triumph Motorcycles. I have a friend, SL, who owns a Street Triple and is besotted with it, perhaps he'd appreciate a picture of a REAL bike (my Honda CBF 125) outside the factory gates? It is far too wet to get my phone out and research where the factory is though, in fact it's far too wet to even eat the sandwich I've just purchased from the Aldi (remember that Aldi) just outside Hinckley. However because the only thing that Hinckley is famous for is making Triumphs, I expect there'll be a small town centre and a great big "TRIUMPH" signs everywhere leading to the vast emporium of British two wheeled perfection. I'll eat my sandwich there while men in Triumph boiler suits and shirts busy themselves with shiny bike parts.

Hinckley is just like any other town, in fact it's quite pleasant as towns go. I don't see any Triumph signs nor do I see a ray of sunshine breaking through the heavy skies to lead me to the holy temple of UK motorcycle production. All I manage to do is get lost in the countryside east of the town, have a pee behind a portacabin in an overgrown run down petrol station and receive useless directions from a foreigner stood in the rain outside another petrol station in a pretty village. I give up, the rain is that hard now I wouldn't even risk getting my camera out to take a picture anyhow.

A rain soaked road and car with spray at a drab petrol station near hinckley
I say! Gorgeous weather for this time of year.

I end up back on the A5 by accident rather than good navigation. The A5 is proving to be something of a revelation which is welcome after my failure in Hinckley. The road has a few confusing junctions north of Birmingham as it passes across the motorways but here it flows smoothly and swiftly through the lush green countryside of middle England. This is perfect 125 territory. 50 mph is fast enough to not bother the traffic and there's plenty of dual carriageway to let those in a rush pass by. There are gentle hills to climb, lots of arable and diary farms, small villages and towns to pass through and an overall sense of moving gracefully along what is mostly the ancient "Watling Street". The A5 I am told follows the Roman road where gold from Ireland was taken from Holyhead on Anglesey to London and beyond.

At a random truckstop I take a break to eat my sandwich now the rain has abated from "deluge" to merely "wet". Inside I partake of a hot tea and a sit down. I'm changing as I get older, I am becoming more mellow. I'm happy to sit here drinking tea as time is on my side, I feel less urgency than I would have done even just a couple of years ago. Back on the road I ponder this as the trees, bushes and fields roll gently by. Why? Am I maturing mentally, learning to relax and enjoy the day or is it a physical thing? Are my raging hormones fading away or am I becoming a more experienced and grounded traveller? As Towcester passes by I have to settle on the notion that it is a combination of all these things and many more that I haven't even considered.

trucker with pot belly outside a large modern truckstop cafe
The modern cliché of a modern trucker outside a modern truckstop. 

Luckily the A5 doesn't get involved with Milton Keynes, rather it passes through in such a manner that you barely even notice. I pick up the signs for Leighton Buzzard then I have to refer to my phone map to zero in on the campsite. The rain is now "light" so my phone doesn't get too wet. I'm ready to stop now, my backside is sore and my hip is giving me some grief but all things considered, especially the weather, I think today has been a good ride.

The campsite came well recommended by reviews on the internet, but it's not what I expect or perhaps hoped for. I was thinking it would be a smart petite site with bowling green grass and sumptuous toilets, I find a what looks like a working farm, two very large fields filled with tents, cars, occasional campervans and lots of families with their associated delightful screaming offspring. Damn and blast. I'm too tired now to start the search for another site, I'm sure this will do just fine.

farm building and a muddy track into field filled with campers
It's not what I expected, but then it's not a disaster either.

I'm instructed to follow an off-road working buggy. I slither up a muddy track and slide across the grassy field up to a ridge. Here I'm relieved of £10 for the night and told there's little chance of me being able to return the following night as they are expecting a large group of walkers. As I pitch up I look around. This place is massive, there's room here for several hundred tents, I can't imagine it ever being full. I'm curious as to whether this is true or they just don't want me back again. Who knows.

There is nothing actually wrong with the site. The toilets are kept very clean, the shower works well, there's a kettle and a fridge for the use of and mud is just a fact of life when the rain has been this heavy. It's me, not the campsite, It's my high expectations. I make a cup of tea from the kettle, much easier than the stove. I sort out my gear in the tent and I settle in, I'm going to be fine, just fine.

Remarkably I spend the evening just pottering around inside the tent and the campsite. This is not like me at all, I get bored oh-so-quickly and the idea of doing very little for an evening is a complete anathema to me. It is true to say that everything in a tent takes twice as long as it would at home though. A shower takes an hour not 10 minutes, washing up is more a logistical challenge than a simple chore and finding ANYTHING I put down 10 seconds ago takes several minutes to locate, it's usually under my wet bike jacket. Even with the noise of parents and children playing football I am calm. 

I must be getting old. 

a pan of spaghetti bolognese and a pan of rice on the grass
Campsite food. Canned Spag Bol and some rice to bulk it out. Food of the gods.

It Never Rains Down South Ren heads south on a mission to meet BAT reader and contributor "Monk". Contrary to popular myth it definitely DOES rain "daan saaf".
Meeting Monk Ren meets Monk. But...what if Monk is a psychotic axe murderer?
A Taste Of England Ren returns home after stopping at Monk's place. The sun is shining and there's time to think on the way through Middle England.

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01/01/2000 00:00:00 UTC

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