I wake to dappled light flickering on the tent. Suddenly a shadow flashes past and then a bird lands on the nylon above my face. I reach up and tap it's feet and it flies off with the unmistakable chattering alarm of a blackbird.
I crawl out and stand to look at the sun rising above the meadow. It's a beautiful scene.
The grass is covered in the white fluff from the trees. My sandals are covered in fluff from the trees. In fact, everything is covered in fluff from the trees. I try to brush some of it off the tent. The tent is sticky. The fluff smears across some syrup-like droplets and sticks more. I start to look around. Everything is covered in droplets of the sticky syrup: tent, bike seat, my stool, the tool bag... I look up. It's the tree. It's been dripping this stuff throughout the night. Syrup and fluff. I'm starting to turn into the abominable snowman.
I'm crouched behind the bike fitting the water bottle when I glance up and see two large hares lolloping along the cut stretch of meadow just in front of me. They stop. I freeze then reach for my phone. I turn the camera shutter sound off. They turn to look directly at me, sensing something but not panicked yet. I watch them for a few minutes as they graze. Hares are magical creatures.
I'm on the road and my work on the carburettor has done the trick. It's running smoothly and I settle down pleased with my work. Slowing to a halt at a junction, I realise that it's still pulling slightly, even with the throttle closed. I need to bring the tickover down a fraction. I'll do that next time I stop.
I look in my mirrors. The right hand one is a bit dirty so I give it a wipe with my fingers. It smears worse than before. Of course, it's that sticky stuff again. I stop and pull the bike onto its centre stand. First I get a small screwdriver out of my tool bag and adjust the idle screw until the bike doesn't pull when stopped, then I pour water onto a cloth and clean the mirrors. At least the stuff dissolves in water.
After a couple of hours I'm finding Hungarian roads smooth, easy, but frankly a bit dull. The landscape is flat and unchanging. I speed up, hoping to move on to more interesting roads. The extra pressure of the wind pushes my mirror backwards. I'll need to tighten that up. I slow down a little. Hungary feels more 'western' than the previous countries. Cars follow rules of the road. I start to see familiar shops - not just Lidl and Aldi but Spar and Tesco.
I pass a lorry that has jack-knifed off the road. A recovery truck is already with it. I ride on into the busy, tram-tracked roads of Budapest. My destination is the 'Bikercamp Budapest' - a city centre campsite designed for bikers of all kinds: motorbikes, cycles - even Honda C90s. It's early in the season and two British cyclists are the only other people here. They are heading South, back through where I've just left.
There's a thunderstorm. As the sky turns purple-grey, we sit and watch the lightning flash over the city skyline, amid the rumbling thunder and noises of Budapest at night. I hope the rain will wash all that syrup off the tent.
No comments:
Post a Comment