Original writing read by John Dunn

Sometimes it is the smallest stretches of road, in unexpected places, that can make for the most pleasurable motorcycling, and I had to share this.

I had to get out of the chaos of Bicester’s ring road system, if for no other reason than to identify where I had been spat out of it geographically.

I was on the A41 heading for Oxford, whereas I had intended to be on the A41 towards Aylesbury.

I pulled off the main road to follow the old, pre-war route, to Oxford via Wendlebury.

There’s a bend in the road before Wendlebury, and a lane leads of from this, blocked by bollards to cars, but open enough for a motorcycle to slip through. Once through, I stopped , pulled the flask from the pannier, and enjoyed a coffee.

I had been on this spot before on a couple of occasions, and knew its history. The now defunct lane was blocked off when Graven Hill became an ammunition depot during the Second World War.

But there was more history. Through the gate in the field, before which I now stood, there was once a Roman town known as Alchester; completely invisible now to all but the archaeologist and his trowel.

Pondering the map, as I am wont to do on such occasions, my eye caught the name of Chesterton and Akeman Street; the former a village (a few hundred yards from being swallowed up by the the voracious field eater which is Bicester these days), and the latter, which is a famous Roman road.

All these ‘chesters’ and ‘cesters’ smack of the Roman activity that existed two thousand years ago round here, and I was drawn towards them.

I would take my leave of Alchester, ride over to Chesterton (crossing the busy A34 on the way), and follow Akeman Street on the short metalled stretch westwards towards Kirtlington.

That was my plan, and once on the Akeman Street I knew it was a plan that was meant to be.

We men of the wheel, we travel hundreds of miles with historic places of interest to see, race tracks to enjoy and ‘meets’ of various kinds to compare machinery, forgetting often that the most interesting place is most often under our wheels wherever we travel.

Akeman Street, so close to the chaos I had left behind, was empty of traffic. I could choose my speed, neither held up in front or harassed from behind, whilst savouring the history of the ancient route; the Roman soldiers that constructed the route, the legions that marched up and down it, and the many generations that have used the road since the Romans departed these isles. And beyond the road there was the gently rolling Oxfordshire countryside to refresh the spirit as I rode along.

Yes, a short stretch, a departure from my intended way, but a happy one, an uplifting one, when the road, history and nature came together to offer sheer motorcycling pleasure.

There was a bonus. Just before Kirtlington, I turned off Akerman Street (out of necessity, the metalled section finished at this point) and turned northwards to follow the Cherwell Valley, which I kept to my left. The lane followed a low ridgeway with the Cherwell to my left and the Gallos Brook a mile or so to my right. This is hardly a dramatic landscape, and yet the lowish elevation was sufficient to give views over the Cherwell that gladdened the heart.

I rode on to the former RAF airfield at Heyford. Wow hadn’t things changed around here since last I passed by, not all for the better. And yet I was buoyed through all the developments by the joy of the ride up to that point. I knew that beyond was the ‘Larkrise to Candleford’ country, made famous by Flora Thompson's pen, and it was there that I re-settled into the rhythm of country lane pottering that I relish.

No grandiose landscapes, no famous landmarks, no bikers’ cafs, just sunshine and a few thousand years’ worth of history under my very wheels at every turn, to make an ordinary ride special.

© John Dunn.