Just before the appointed hour I fired the engine &
headed out to the north-western out-post of civilisation that is Basingstoke.
Arriving at Mr Mango’s in plenty of time, the Mango-fury was coaxed into life
& we headed north. The rest of the SKCC were heading round the eastern half of
London which would’ve added quite a bit to my journey & a huge amount to Mr
Mango’s, so we elected to pass London on the left-hand-side & make straight
for the first coffee stop. We were quickly joined by Mr & Mrs Florin &
ChrisL, then the rest of the SKCC’s eastern contingent appeared.
No matter, I found some other running mates & we chugged
along happily, but one by one they turned off, following the official routes & I
was left on my own. After a few miles I decided to “sod this for a game of
soldiers” & pulled into a farm track for a wee & to reload the “official”
route. The trouble was I didn’t know how many way-points to delete. Then Mr
Mango went past. I hastily
re-re-loaded his route, then I had the same waypoint problem, so just deleted the
first two pages & off I set. It took me 30 miles up the motorway &
completely skipped the lunch stop!
However, all was not lost, as I then encountered Kenton –
strangely – in a petrol station (he has a V8 seven with a legendary thirst)
& a few more popped up while I was paying. However, as soon as we set off
we were in trouble. The roads had all changed & in next to no time we were
delivered back to the petrol station. Oh how we laughed.
We headed into the Peak District, the next exciting thing
was that one of our No. broke a throttle cable, soon our mobile repair man
& all round guardian angel Locost 220 appeared & after a frantic ½ hour
during which an unfeasibly large array of tools appeared from the apparently
small confines of his car, a repair was effected & we were off.
Shortly afterwards we rounded a corner in a small,
stone-built town, to find Mr Mango & Our Leader nestling in the kerb. Our
Leader’s car had stopped & the high pressure fuel pump was getting the full
force of a collective “hard stare”. The problem was traced to a blown fuse
& while friendly locals came & went, the fault was diagnosed &
mended. We set off – for perhaps a ¼ mile, when it did it again. More hard
stares, more friendly locals, another fuse. I was the last into my car &
when I pushed the starter button, there was what can only be described as a
“CLACK” followed by silence.
A couple of the afore-mentioned locals helped me turn the
car round to point downhill & it bump-started easily, so I sped off in pursuit
of my comrades. I found them pretty easily
- at the side of the road, next to Our Leader’s car, holding another
blown fuse.
This time there was to be no messing & the seemingly
cavernous depths of Locost220’s car produced not only reels of wire in a choice
of colours, but terminals, PVC tape & a crimping tool. Soon the system was
re-wired & while I fended off what must be described as the-local-loony who
appeared with a broad grin next to a bright blue car, one in pale blue &
orange “GULF” colours & two in yellow & announced “THAT’S HARRIETS FAVOURITE COLOUR!!!!!!!!” (she actually
said that many exclamation marks!!!!!!!).
So, roll on tomorrow when I’m quite expecting to see
Locost220’s car produce a two-post lift, a lathe & a medium-size wind
turbine to power them.
Oh – there was some fantastic scenery too.
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