As I write, I’m sitting by a reservoir in the Derwent Valley. I’m taking a few days off from a day job of writing and driving in pretty places like the Peak District by, er, riding in the Peak District and writing.
Anyway, it’s more peaceful this way because there’s no photographer shouting at me and it doesn’t matter that there’s no phone reception.And it is peaceful. The sound of birdsong and gentle lapping water, the quack of ducks attempting to drown one another; all very idyllic. But every now and then, a car or motorbike fires up in the nearby car park. Nothing seriously quick and not driven or ridden away quickly, but for a few moments, it’s all you can hear.
Then, less frequently, there is the rasp of something fast, being revved and ridden or driven quickly along some good driving roads.
I don’t mind it, but I can imagine thatif you’re here for the peace and quiet, it might get your goat. Not everybody likes machines as we do, and I’m more aware than ever that fast cars and bikes are, if used to anything like their potential, massively antisocial.
That’s a pity. I recently spent a weekend perving over extraordinary machinery at the Goodwood Festival of Speed. I admired supercars that are more powerful and that can go faster, harder, louder than ever.