I had a bit of fun this afternoon. My step-daughter and her family were returning to Ireland after the funeral, and stopped with us for a while on the way. About an hour after they had left for the ferry, I got a phone call from her husband. Could we see her coat anywhere in the house, as they had boarded the boat and she couldn't find it, and her purse and mobile phone were in it? Of course, there it was, next to the front door.
I asked him what time the boat sailed. It was in 40 minutes. Thinking of the hassle (and not inconsiderable cost) of posting an adult's winter coat to Ireland, I said to him:
Give me 20 minutes.
The A40 has a lot of heavy traffic, so the car was out of the question. The XT was too slow, and it was a cold day anyway, and not ideal for an unfaired bike when wearing jeans and trainers. So I pulled the Honda round to the front of the house and went on that.
Sixteen miles. Eighteen minutes. And that was on a road full of lorries, tractors, caravans, motorhomes and slow rural buses. I spent more time on the wrong side of the road than the right side. But I got there before they drew up the gangway, and she got her coat, and phone, and purse.
I had fancied a ride out this afternoon anyway, but I couldn't think of a decent excuse to give Anna. Sometimes the biking Gods smile on us.