Well, this is a turn up for the books isn’t it, after weeks of rain during what should have been the Summer, as we start to move towards Autumn it’s 30 degrees and wall to wall sunshine. What’s that all about then?
Whatever the weathers up to, hopefully it’ll keep doing it for a few more days and I can reap the benefit next weekend, but until then I suppose that we had better get up to date with last week’s exciting adventures. And I’m afraid that you might be disappointed on that front, because the weekend was neither exciting nor adventurous. I have however been out and about, instead of just sitting at home complaining about being bored, and in fact I spent most of the weekend in the New Forest. Saturday saw a return of the International Autojumble at Beaulieu after a hiatus due to the Covid kerfuffle, so I took the van down on Friday night and Saturday morning joined the thousands of others heading towards Beaulieu. Now, before we go any further, I know what your all thinking. An Autojumble, isn’t that just a massive car boot sale for car parts and other assorted junk? What’s our intrepid adventurer doing there? Well, bear with me on this one, because it’s a bit of a trip down memory lane. Back in the dark ages when I was in my early teens, my stepdad (Ernie) was heavily into the Vintage and Veteran motorbike scene, which with my inquisitive nature and mechanical bent, fitted in well with my formative years. Tinkering with old engines, visiting motorbike rallies and riding round the countryside on the pillion, or in the sidecar, of whatever old motorbike he had at the time, was all great fun as far as I was concerned. Finding spare parts for motorbikes etc, which have long been out of manufacture, is a problem though, and that’s where the Autojumble thing comes in. Everyone that’s got surplus spare bits gets together, and you go on a big treasure hunt searching for the bits you need, that hopefully someone else might have. Now, having not only an interest in old motorbikes, but a predilection to collecting anything that didn’t move, meant that we always had a house full of stuff that Ernie had collected, and my mother wanted shot off, and that’s where my initial involvement with the Beaulieu Autojumble came in. Because what better way to get first dibs on everyone else’s junk, than by trying to shift some of your own by having a stall at Beaulieu! I’ve got fond memories of the years that we went with the caravan and trailer full of stuff to set up stall and spend the weekend trying to flog most of it. So, when someone told me that the Autojumble was back on this year and it transpired that I didn’t have anything else arranged for the weekend, I thought a trip down memory lane might be in order. And you know what, It was, and I had a really good day out. Unsurprisingly, because I don’t need a rusty cylinder head for a model T Ford, or a fuel tank with a hole in it for a 1912 Triumph, I didn’t buy anything. But from the moment I got there all those memories came flooding back. The joy of hunting through boxes of rusty spanners looking for the ones with bike manufacturers names on whilst Ernie directed proceedings. The delight of wandering around the stalls of old engines, car and bike parts, and other paraphernalia, which probably helped to cement my love of all things mechanical, and the willingness with which those stall holders would impart their knowledge on an impressionable teenage lad when I showed an interest. The haggling over price which always seems to be a part of any non-shop transaction, whether that be buying or selling. The dirty fingers from a day handling old bits of metal, the smell of old oil and grease, and maybe on a less positive note, my mother’s desperation as yet again we went home with more treasure than we had arrived with! Oh yes, happy memories indeed, and whilst I probably won’t rush back again next year, I had a really good day out wandering around the various stalls and poking through piles of rusty old metal, it was just like being a kid again. Although, I suspect that if you ask “The Emma” she’ll tell you that I’ve already got enough rusty old metal and projects to last a lifetime and bringing home more is strictly forbidden. Which sounds very similar to my Mother, and just like Ernie did with my mother, I’m turning a deaf ear to her too. Although, come to think of it, that approach didn't work out too well for Ernie, so maybe that's not the best idea!
Whilst I was down in the New Forest it seemed like a good idea to take advantage of the journey and get a bit of cycling in. So, after my fun at Beaulieu and a lazy evening watching a game of village green cricket whilst having my tea in the van, and a quiet night, I was up early for a few miles of bike fun.
Nothing to strenuous, just a gentle 100K around the periphery of the New Forest on quiet country roads amongst the ponies, trees and open moorland. On the road before 07:00 there was a distinctly Autumnal feel to the morning with a low-lying mist obscuring the sun and adding a heavy dampness to the air.
It didn’t take long for the late Summer sun to work its magic, and by the time I’d reached the coast from my start point, the mist was long gone and the sun was burning down brightly from a cloudless sky. Sail boats, their white sails standing out against the blue water dotted The Solent as I made my way towards Lymington, before turning inland to leave the coast behind, as I made my way around in a large loop.
I’ve ridden these roads plenty of times before and spoken at lengths about the joys (or not) of the New Forest, so I’ll let the few pictures that I did take do the talking for today and just say that the entire morning was a joyous experience. The sun shone, the roads were quiet and smooth, the hills gentle and the wind on my back for most of the day. Brilliant!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
March 2024
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