Hayling Blat.

Saturday : Web page shows good meteo conditions for the early morning Sunday : T - 17hours and counting..

Objective: Breakfast by the sea.

Usual RV.

Call up messages sent to Sunrise Squadron Conspirators, 0630 briefing.

0530 alarm call...Jeeez! 

At that time of the morning it takes a while to work out whether it's grey or just early and dark.

It takes the same amount of time to work out whether the grey is just how you feel... until you realise that the moon is crisp and sharp in outline and one of the squadron would already be on the road to maintain his reputation as the earliest of sunrisers. Any possible thought of a 'no show' would be just plain rude by the rest of us and the previous evening's messages of signing in for the job is a gentleman's word and that.

Coffee and a banana suffice before the semi's in suburbia echo to the start up alarm call of a X-flow stuffing the cold air through the webbers. (Some would consider that a good way to be brought into the day, I suspect the numbers are few.)

I'm still amazed at how many people are up and about at this time of the morning. Cyclists wobble as you pass, the roads usually their's alone at this time? Horses in their boxes try to turn their heads to catch a look at you chuntering at the lights waiting for green : are they coming back from a night ride? Do horses get tired if they're up this early, did it have a banana and coffee?

Up, onto the Hog's Back (once the most dangerous road in Europe), but today just a straight road to Farnham and high enough to give a good view and to catch the sun coming up in the rearview... and a Fiesta doing 80. There's a long blat to come, she can have this one, hope her friend can hear what she's saying at the other end of the phone line.

RV: and the flight today is 3 X-flows and a Superlight lookie like. It's a 'Stealth 7', carbon that's gone nicely matt (low radar signature), polished ally and with such a quiet 'K' engine we can use him to scout for wildlife. Or he can take up the rear so we don't run into the coolant slipstream when the head gasket goes!! 

Destination Hayling then, there's a good breakfast to be had and the cafe opens in an hour! It helps to have an objective and a time constraint, so the route was briefed in order to allow us to push the envelope a bit so as to not be later than when we get there.

Surrey was despatched fairly promptly, as was any semblance of a cruise to the coast. Hampshire gave us the long shadows and long corners of the Lasham curves and then the compass swung south along the classic Meon Valley in an unbroken song of on-cam energy through well sighted and rolling countryside. 25 mins in and the temperatures are rising both on board and out there, tyres are better now and each of us has found the groove. 

The semi hypnotic state of concentration in doing this driving thing has got to be good for you...nothing else is going on other than 'right now', there's no tomorrow or yesterday , just the turn in , power on, change up and the cool clean air of that moment. Unless you're in the Stealth 7, at the back behind 3 X-flows, then it's not such clean air! (Sorry Ian) 

A panda car passes the other way, apparently he waved by the time the third 7 skimmed by.

The trance momentarily broken to review the speedo.

In full flight we pass a few bikers coming the otherway , always a good indication of a decent road ahead, occasionally they wave ... probably in shared sympathy of being up so early.

 

But the next reverie is broken by the familiar front outline of low nose, high lights and exposed wheels of a Caterham coming north, this soon turns into a chain of  low noses, high lights and exposed wheels of at least a dozen 7's ! A flurry of main beam, horn and hand waving ensues... probably in shared sympathy of being up so early.

This opposite travelling blat was later to be identified as the Solent 7's doing their thing and making money for charity at the same time! 

And so to breakfast , Delia's Cafe: he's a bloke, but his food is tasty and safe.Hayling offers little other than seascape and sustenance before a new route home. We found a spot to get the 7's on the beach, not the most natural of environments for them, but a photo opportunity non the less with art direction by Bob Speilbergcombe.

                                          

Short of a 'dead end sat nav moment', the return blat established some great roads for permanent record and inclusion in the pre-breakfast part of future blats. 

Any time beyond 8 am sees the cyclist and eyeing horse numbers reach a level that has the formation split and off cam, and a certain wind down and 'head for the lines' objective creeps into the conscience. Slowly there is a yesterday and a tomorrow, the grass needs cutting and someone needs to go to Sainsbury's... but there's another 30 miles still to go, and blatting, when shared, is not entirely selfish surely?

The Blatgland is happy, but do horses eat bananas?

NatBlat: ( Doing the National Trust thang and blagging a blat at the same time!)

A sun barren set of meteo outlooks for the south east promised a weekend where the 7 would not be taking advantage of it's RS15 status (vehicle ready in 15 minutes, car should be pre-blat checked fully fuelled and ready to launch.)

Normal Easter bank holiday then.

Until Monday that is. A glimmer of clearing sky and the covers came off the mood and the car. The so far uneaten weekend snacks and deli specials were packed, wrapped and basketed.The credit crunch thermos joined the kit for it's Easter outing and the Tom Tom itinerary (North Loop) was pre-loaded for the carefully disguised recce patrol north of base via the National Trust's Georgian manor Basildon House near Pangbourne-on-Thames.Hence: NatBlat.

Half doors, tonneau and wind deflectors have to come off for the true NatBlat configuration of full doors, floor mats, umbrella and half hood: sun's out, the current Miss Carrots duly installed in the observer's station and all is set.

In the cruise, and at sub 4k revs, Chapman's 7 and the Ford 4 pot do their best to settle in to the lazy torqued pace of the Easter bank holiday Monday. Cool air keeps the webbers fed, but the rubber cold and hard. The shocks need clicking to soft on these bloody roads too. Did we lose the basket in that last trench? I think I've lost a tooth.My spleen feels bruised... are we following the 'nav? What's it doing now? (Don't try to pick up a Tom Tom Tyre itinerary half way along ... it really insists you do the whole thing and will drive you back until you jolly well do!)

'Route would be good if there wasn't any traffic on it' says the usual driving head, but we're in cruise mode... and the webbers sip frugally onward.

Oooo, nice bend that, wonder if you could drift it, smooth tarmac and a little bit banked... but we're in cruise mode.

'Tom of the itinerary' steers us around Reading , which is good , I see a sign for Aldermaston : that'll be nuclear stuff and that, cool, nice village.... it's a NatBlat, keep it cruiser styleee.

Wonder if we get pork pies.

Pangbourne.

A glimpse of the river... it's the Limpopo! I'm informed that the Thames is a more likely candidate.No hippos then?

Even the chance of 4k revs would be nice right now.

Basildon House, turn left, hope it's got a long drive.No luck, short and gravelly, but the paint faced children in the MPV's like the 'red car daddy'. Wonder if the lesbians in the face painting tent will make me up like the front of the red car daddy?

Lunch-on-the-grass-next-the-Seven (A small Cotswold village or a place to scoff pork pie? The latter.) And the sun shone,cars always look good on grass.

Basildon House was full of ice cream attached to children, or the floor. Bet it wasn't when Keira Knightley filmed stuff in posh dresses here. An unsilenced Tom Tom continues to navigate us around the Georgian splendour in muffled bag tones.

And so to the rest of the North Loop: and with Tom Tom freely bellowing pent up commands, we join the 'cartoon' road section across the downs. The type of roads that ribbon-curve, dip and climb into the distance. Briefly, only Wiley Coyote with his ACME speed camera in the small linear villages will see the webbers tuned back an octave before I'm thus reminded that we're still on a NatBlat...damn.

Didcot power station off to the right... it's not doing the steam thing where it makes it's own weather, and it's a lot smaller as you get closer to it...bit like the 7 , and that pork pie.

Nice road, over-run : pop, bang, nice.....shhhhh.

100 miles through Surrey,Berkshire and Hants. A mix of roads and changing scenery that'll add to the portfolio of choices for the Sunrise Seven Blat collection... the jury is out as to whether it'll be up there with the greats.That is until it's tested , in context, at blat pace, with clear roads, objective and focus.

NatBlat? Well it's cultural and sociable, but the 7 is a tool in the box for one job, and one application, and they have nothing to do with the aforementioned interactions!

Wonder how I'll get the paint off my face before work tomorrow.

NighBlat: (Nox noctis coegi)

The good thing about giving it some beans in the dark is that you can't see the things that'll normally slow you down!

Despite the obvious pace of any spirited blat with like minded enthusiasts, there is a strange serenity to what has become known as a NightBlat.Unplanned and unchecked, there's a run-away-train energy to the NightBlat experience as the momentum pours relentlessly into the dark. And yet the energy and action are cushioned and softened, like viewing the event after failing to heed the warning to 'not operate machinery when taking these antibiotics'.

The dark is the key ingredient to this antibiotic.It has the effect of removing what you don't need to worry about yet, that T-junction quarter of a mile ahead, that odd building that would normally be on the skyline about now, the less than enamoured local trimming his hedge when you pass close to his ladder by day.The field of concentration is narrowed: just to the car in front or, if your leading the formation, the limit of the headlights and the road map in your memory... like modern work load management in a glass cockpit airliner, you're presented with the essential information only.It's binary decisions, left or right, on or off, chicken or beef ... simplicity in making the 'now' choices leading somehow to a sense of serenity.

That's not to say it's easy, the pace is up and the 'events' change rapidly, you've already lit the fuse to the big firework and you're waiting for each explosion , but in a linear fashion that has you ready for the display. You're on your toes, awareness is heightened and the stream of input is welcomed as each is thrown at you and dispatched with a flick of the wrist or a squeeze of accelerator.

NightBlats are an activity that seem to occur with the alignment of a number of known factors in combination with a mix of elements that can probably never be identified.

It needs the basic platform of dry weather, a post '22 hundred hours' time window, a convivial meeting of suitably 7 equipped crew and some bright spark to throw the mere suggestion into the ring!

There it will sit amongst other topics of more comfortable subject matter growing in possibility as less mention of it is made. Moments before you were to be on your way home , all finished for the day and with another work day looming... then: wallop, you're hitting the dark, empty roads with senses tuned to max , your blat gland on full spleen and the firework box lit.

Maybe it's just the contrast that 7 driving affords us from our daily experiences? The onslaught of noise, wind, speed and involvement can certainly be inviting, but not after a convivial evening's wind down over some snacks and a drink.

So, what is the extra ingredient that would be the catalyst in the NightBlat decision sequence... it's the same one that gets you out of bed at 5.30 am on a weekend to check the weather for a SunriseBlat, the same that has you in the garage on a Friday night, rather than up the pub, 'cos you need to be ready for that 5.30 chance.Whatever it might be it's a good job it's not available over the counter... it'd be illegal.

Cheers to Cannonball Bob and Rob W for a great Hampshire and Surrey borders NightBlat last week.Empty roads, flaming X-flows, a Chinook night execise overfly,coffee and debrief at a Wildbean Cafe (read petrol station!) and home to sit around for 2 hours trying to calm the Blat Gland! Perfect mid week entertainment,some people play 5-a-side football or go fishing.Me?

I'd go for a dose of:

NightBlat : the antibiotic to cure the day... warning: addictive.