Five senses clearly not enough. When the totally unexpected occurs and leaves you unable to make no sense, you hanker after that elusive sixth sense. Hindsight never compensates with its ‘if only’ finger pointing attitude. Like the fortune cookie, foresight can never reveal future’s full futility.
Preparations for today’s off complete. We make our exit on time. Like a couple of trapped greyhounds bursting to fly out after that rabbit. So no excuse and none necessary. Beastie’s bursting too. He’s loaded to the hilt. A full quota of supplies along with every ‘weather’ option on board. We’re leaving in silly season. Don’t want to be caught without snow-shoes and mittens close to hand.
At one point, it seems we might need them sooner, rather than later, as we’re bombarded from above. A cloudburst of hail, hails down on us. White musket shot pounds Beastie on all sides. He’s under attack. In seconds the lanes are transformed into a winter wonderland. We don’t put our skates on.
Our first three-nighter at Graffham, just south of Petworth, offers a good excuse to catch up with Kevin & Jacqui. They live 30K from the site. Beastie’s onboard LPG cylinder supplies gas for the fridge/freezer when we’re not plugged in. Three hours flash by. As we climb aboard to leave, we’re hit by an overpowering smell of gas. Despite our soapy water efforts and plenty of other suggestions from Andy, the local MOHO fixer, we’re unable to get the leak to blow any bubbles our way. Fortunately all pre-booked pitches have electric hook-up on tap, so until we can get to a dealer, we’re silently slipping into Tesla mode.