'Nip and tuck' : Three days of 7.

Good, it's Friday, it's not rained and the met check is showing yellow things and bright symbols. 

Bodes well for the end of a week at work and thoughts turn to more important numbers, well, just one : 7

So, reports sent, the VPN umbilical to corporate puppetry is severed and the lid is slammed on that energy drain, at least until the world does a couple of revs and I spin up a few thousand revs more, courtesy of Messrs Colin Chapman and Henry Ford.

Clear evening out there too, 9pm, I'm not out downing some 'sociables' and the current Miss Carrots is out endurance karting with clients (?! Where's my wild card ticket for that ?!).

Mmm...Wonder if any of the Sunrise 7 crew are up for a NightBlat. I know one who'll not even need asking.

RS 15 and normal RV? Red light on, green light on: go! The weekend begins.

And so the two man X-flow formation fired it's way south , the usual roads and a few made up bits delivered us through the Sussex evening to Brighton sea front some 80 scalp twitching miles later. Notwithstanding a brief altercation with what we think was an eco-mentalist at the traffic lights, who was stared down by Bob of the B's best Taliban melting glare, we landed at the Market Tavern for a burger and tea.  BST 23.30.

... and so to the main event, the NightBlat (v) home! 00.30 and the roads should be clearer by now, the route down having suffered the constipation of Friday night drivers.Who's out on the roads at 10 at night on a Friday? 

Really tho', who? 

Friday, after a week at work, you want to be where you're going by then surely? And if you're coming back from somewhere you've clearly had a bad evening, or come down with something, to be on the road at 10. Even if you've been to the cinema it would have had to start at 6 so as to be finished and get you to the middle of Sussex for this hour in your : Metro, Yaris , Micra etc... in which case you must go and make some friends. So, the stage is set for the run home. Cool, crisp and eighty miles to go ... like other things, it's the anticipation that's half the joy.

Up over the downs via the cartoon switchback towards Hurstpierpoint, the sharp left bend before the open stretch to Henfield and the sudden '30', which extinguishes the frantic action of a few hundred yards earlier.

Typical sleeping Sussex 'no-where land' village that never actually wakes up. 

A no-name supermarket in perspex green signage , lit but rarely open. 

Some other shops, that once sold stuff, that won't do in the morning or the next. 

A fox standing in the road is the principal town dweller tonight... and probably tomorrow.

30 it is though, in case we wake the dead.

A mini roundabout with the new paved 'halo' thing around it, I'll use the paving and halve the circumference, but thanks for the choice. The modern 'build by numbers' estate, that is the now statutory issue appending every small village, reflects blankly in the sodium vapour lamp haze... national limit, the black diagonal: escape.

And here we find it, the 30 minute un-interrupted flow of choreographed moves reponding to the changing score that the road finally, after all it's promises, allows you to play. It's a lead solo with no audience, it doesn't include any one else, it can't do: me time, now time, in time. 

A flash of overrun flame, white and yellow, lights the hedgerows, pops and bangs accompany the display of indulgence and, ahead, the reflected light of occasional eyes slink back into the anonymity of night.

The flare of narrow 7-spaced headlights a few bends back and the drive is duplicated with the same zeal. Two separate performances, seeking mastery in execution, to an audience of self, continues on across this county that really does have some perfect '7' roads in the clear of night. 

BST 1.30

B of the B peels away to make the best of the rest of his way home... I turn north and the reality of over familiar roads checks the anticipation of less well known territory behind enemy lines. The NightBlat begins it's natural energy wind down. Lean off the mixture , pull down the hat, come back down the revs. 

A parked police car in a layby near North Chapel, steamed up wndows, chips, perhaps... or new found love on the beat?

BST 02.00 Engine off, nice warm tyres , cold ears and hot smells in the garage.(Bit like in that police car.)

Alarm set for 8am... more to come,but, for now, the BlatGland rests. 

Saturday: History on Wheels Museum, Eton Wick.

Up and out to re-establish formation with the Ball and a (Lite)blat to Eton where, somewhere behind a row of houses, is a peculiarly interesting collection of cars and memorabilia from the 2nd world war period. Organised by the Reading and Hampshire 7's (ReHab),  the guided tour for 30 offered up, in detail, the rivet's arse story of  every exhibit in the converted riding school.The horses had long since turned to glue in a voluntary act of selflessness, we wished a similar escape as the sun shone outside and the moths ate more of the manikin's serge battle dress faster than the anecdote was ever going to conclude!

Gruber's little tank from Allo' Allo' lives here now: one of the highlights, along with a bicycle from 1912 with a two speed shaft drive,front and rear suspension and wooden lightweight rims.Now that was a piece of work.... as was the tested patience as Glenn Miller, on loop, did the thing over and over and over.No drip tray in sight was deep enough to self harm into.

An escape party was organised as I had plans for Thursday.

A LiteBlat home.Traffic and blood sugar levels preclude engaging the enemy at anything above decent manners... that 'between shift' clunk is becoming more noticeable. A  sloppy power-on oversteer drift around a roundabout confirmed the 'A' frame bush wear. 

So, the rest of the afternoon plan: trim the hedge, replace bushes and prepare the 7 to RS15 for a Sunrise Blat 'cos the forecast is good and everyman must do his duty!

Sunday BST 05.15 

Scramble! All clear above and behind? All out!   

Excellent, tucked up in bed one minute, out on a Sunrise Blat the next. The instant jolt into action when there's an empty road ahead and a clear empty sky above is not hard... roll call 0615 normal RV ... deja vu? To right too.

We're three up and a Westie joins us to make four at the RV this morning, Anton brings another X-flow to the squadron that still only features one of the 'k' series variants. However, Ian does offer a stable de-dion camera platform and the 'six speed light fly wheel gear change wrist action' of a floor trader...so the modern engine error is forgiven. 

Wonder if there's a correlation between engine type and a 'use' pattern... there's many more K's out there than X-flows. So why the pre-dominance of the much simpler and heavier Ford powered cars in this small group seeking the best of driving opportunities for their cars?

We complete the 5 craft formation with CB Bob at Lasham who had a lie in this morning. This was duly noted in the records by Andy from Coastal Command (Worthing) who again was on the road by 5.15 to report for 6.15! 

The sun is up, the roads (reasonably) clear, little could be wrong with the world as the Lasham bends and the road to Alton blend the cocktail that tarmac, 7's and sunshine makes.

Flicking through the long early summer shadows in cool temperatures soon dispatches the ribbon of road that is our winding way to Goodwood race track,our venue for breakfast at the Aero club.Breakfast has become our outward objective in driving somewhere for these early excursions and, as time has progressed, we are beginning to form a collection of eateries that suit the 'breakfast hunter' . Night blats have orientated around a snack stop it seems too... the Sunrise Seven BlatGrub Guide will clearly need to be published soon!

And arrival at Goodwood reminded us that this venue's eatery doesn't open until 9am on a Sunday... Core blatting time is defined as viable anytime up until 8.30am, that is the tipping point before car booters, cyclists and horse people coagulate the roadstream to an extent where you might as well be on a bike, towing a horse box heading for a boot sale.This is when breakfast really does become a good alternative to succumbing to that level of road use. And anyway, we've been up since 5.30 and it's 8 o'clock, so time for blatgrub.

Some snaps taken to prove we'd been there... (like a reconnaissance mission or something? No, just 'cos they always look good at Goodwood.)

Sunday 8am

Delia's Diner for breakfast then, Hayling Island, red on, green on,GO! The groan of disappointed stomachs is drowned by the majority roar of weber breath and something that's particular to K series induction sound, that isn't a roar really. Either way, the infield tunnel at Goodwood plays the sound back just nicely!

A big plate of the essentials with the steaming mug as a support act were the stars of Delia's stage. The wookie on a rope guarded the front door and the bearded dungaree clad family maintained their seat in the stalls as per previous visits , but the food led the audience in chorus.

Second cups of coffee were ordered upon the arrival of an SV R300, who was drawn to the stage by the 'breakfast of 7's' decorating the pavement outside. And then there were six 7's.

It was then that recon spotted what appeared to be another of the bearded dungarees on chauffeur duties. CBB identified him as clearly to be Santa doing his summer temp job in the next best thing to a sleigh!

It's still only 9.00 and the free pass is good for a few more hours and, so, the lure of the road has us reversing the previous Hayling Blat route back across the downs to the A32 and the glorious run up the Meon valley. 

Lesson one: outside core blat-time : avoid all known biker's routes.

Lesson two: don't follow bikes to show them how good the 7 is. Especially when they're showing you how fast their bike can go... in a 30 limit! 

Lesson three: Try to limit the clutch of NIPs to one or two every few years. Not two in one morning!

The argument and debate runs wild on this matter, the tactics used by current enforcement is effective, but somehow below the belt. Up a hill out of the village with the national speed limit post in sight invites the resumption of pace... out of sight behind a side turning hedgerow lurks a motorcycle and tripod. Pointing up hill and away from the village he's reeling off  tickets like rides at the fair.With barely time to 're-load' between snaps it's like shooting at paratroopers,but without the rules of engagement of the Geneva convention.

Subsequently, we have a man down who received two separate direct hits in the morning, a later one from an ice cream van completed the pair, and reduced capabilities in meeting future mission objectives will mean he is assigned light duties.Unlucky.We've cleared the things from his locker and his family have been informed.

We learnt of even more non-conventional tactics employed by the 'paratoop shooters' from fellow commiserators at Loomies Cafe, where the need for sweet tea had us amongst the 2 wheelers. There are resource funds being spent that cost more than moat cleaning and duck islands it would seem. Soft target? Easy revenue.

Nip and Tucked up.

So, ended the three day run and not on a good note really. 

Highs and lows and all that, but a sharp reminder that there is a limit to everything we're involved with... which is a shame, the  sense of freedom and opportunity for self expression is harder to find these days and remains one of the key ingredients of the Sunrise Sevens and our simple pleasures.We remain 'Questio Liberum Via' in all senses. 

Check the met for yellow things and bright symbols. RS60.

(In memory of the loss of one man's exuberance and loyalty to his wingman until the end.May the rest of us continue to be lucky b**tards.)

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.

Sunrise Sevens,wass'it all about?