There was no going back. And a week in Normandy, even a challenging one, seemed OK: that’s why I’d signed up for the tour in the first place. Rock up, do the riding, head out.
That is until everything else happened.
Some family members whom I don’t see very often wanted to meet up in Barcelona in late June. And on the other side of the Pyrenees lies Biarritz, which hosts the famous Wheels and Waves Festival. So suddenly I had places to be on a relatively linear trajectory. I thought I’d ride to from Normandy to Barcelona, spend a bit of time there, meet up with family, ride to Biarritz and then home on the ferry from Bilbao via some cheeky pintxos in San Sebastian. I also thought it’d be good to have some business meetings en route and it appeared briefly that one important business connection, Jorge, was resident on the French side in Toulouse.
Except he wasn’t. He lives in Leon in North West Spain, as does another colleague. And my family members changed their plans and no no longer wanted to meet me in San Sebastian after Wheels and Waves and wanted to have a few days in the hilariously named Peniscola.
My itinerary therefore became something like
Essex to Poole, and then the ferry to Normandy
1000 or so kilometres around Normandy
Normandy to Leon in the North West Corner of Spain
Leon to Barcelona
Barcelona to Biarritz
Biarritz to Peniscola
Peniscola to Bilbao, followed by the ferry back home to the UK
6,500km. Six and a half thousand.
There’s an old Jewish joke. Rabinowicz comes up to his friends, old boys playing dominoes in a cafe. He’s sweating, foaming at the mouth, his hat is on at an unnatural angle and his clothes are dishevelled. His friends ask: “Rabinowicz, what happened?” He replies: “Vell, I vent to ze racetrack to have a little flutter, and suddenly zis little guy comes up to me, puts a saddle on me, jumps on and starts vhipping me!” His friends are shocked. They ask: “Rabinowicz, what did you do?” “Vhat could I do?” he replies, “I came in third!”
What could I do? I may as well try to come in third. And I had to plan how to do that.
The first thing of course was to ensure that the bike was safe and comfortable for the person I was due to transport around Normandy. I still didn’t know who it would be and the organisers said they wanted people to swap around, so I had little information to work with. The best we could do was to ensure the Hagon shocks were in the right position and everything else was mechanically sound. The front fork seals needed some attention which, when looked at, improved the front suspension. I’d had a new backrest installed, alongside a luggage rack. I was hoping the Airhawk cushion would improve the comfort of the actual pillion seat.
Bike Tours for the Wounded sent through a long, thorough, and quite complicated kit list which included some things I wasn’t expecting such as camping cutlery and crockery among other items. As an avid and frequent camper, countryside walker, and survivalist I had most of this. Still I had to research and purchase a couple of items, which I did online preferring “used, as new” ones both for financial and environmental reasons. I also decided to purchase a hi viz backpack cover to go over the motorbike luggage bag which might hopefully make me more visible. But I had no idea which size was the right one, so I ordered two, both “used, like new”.
Next came more complex matters.
The world had changed since 2018, predominantly for the worse. Pandemic and geopolitical upheaval aside, local politics and situations were no longer the same either. I read horrifying reports of a new so called “clean air” zone in Barcelona: a city with a cruise ship port and an airport within the city boundary whose cars and motorbikes account for a tiny proportion of emissions. Thankfully motorcycles of the Euro 2 standard and above are exempt. But, nothing is ever straightforward. Non-Spanish registered vehicles have to apply for an exemption via the Barcelona city government website, uploading documents (in the case of the UK usually the V5 registered keeper form).
Ah, but after I moved and obtained a new V5 form, they’d inexplicably removed emissions data from it. With ten days to go, the only way to get the appropriate proof was to write to Honda to get a certificate from Honda about my specific bike being of a certain standard. To their absolute credit Honda, after requesting some information, got the document to me in a little under a week. I uploaded it to the Barcelona city government website with no apparent means of appeal or response and paid 7 Euros to their bank. I kept the PDF of the receipt as I had no other documentary proof that anything had happened.
The next day I logged in and there it was : “accepted”… Well… one thing less to worry about. I could now enter Barcelona city.
But that wasn’t all. I’d read on various fora that riders with custom exhausts were being caught by Spanish police, especially in the foothills of the Pyrenees around noise regulations. I rode to Zenith Motorcycles and we attempted to refit the original Honda exhaust, removed in 2016. A part was missing! Karen called Honda who said they’d deliver it in 5 to 7 days, which then suddenly changed to 7 to 10. We could only hope. On the Friday before I was due to leave, Karen called me and told me that the part had arrived! I raced to Zenith and Claudi got to work fitting the original exhaust. Claudi comes from a Honda background, and he did this, with 5 minutes before closing time!
And then, finally I was ready for my 6,500km (or more..?) journey. Karen and I hugged, almost certain that she wouldn’t join me for Wheels and Waves. I mounted the Veronica and rode out of Rainbow Works which houses Zenith Motorcycles with my traditional “toot toot” farewell, on the Road to the unknown.
Blac Ridere 