Everything was in place. Veronica was as ready as she’d ever be. I went to the local Turkish barber and had a very short haircut and cut throat razor shave.
I had the necessary clothes and equipment set aside and a broad idea of the route, although little by way of detail. As well as a few t shirts, underwear, two shorts and a pair of non armoured jeans (as opposed to the Rokkers which I’d wear when riding), I had the usual kit needed for travel in Europe: a warning triangle, spare bulbs, breathalysers and a yellow hi viz vest. I’d stuck a little blue “UK” sticker to the number plate and had purchased a couple of large oval white ones which I planned to attach to one of the panniers once en route to Spain, as these are not compulsory in France. I also had the “fish eye” headlamp focus adjuster to make the beam suitable for riding on the right hand side. The last time I rode around the EU I put it on as I was getting ready to leave the ferry having reached the Netherlands.
I also, as before, decided to carry two spare innertubes due to my oddly sized wheels, an old clutch cable in reasonable condition, a single barrel pump because I’d have to adjust the tyre pressure for riding with and without a pillion, cable ties as previously advised by Ted Simon and a small toolkit which I’d modified to contain a few more bits which I found were useful. There was also a small canister of WD40.
For me, as well as personal hygiene items, I packed some basic medicines like painkillers and diarrhoea relief tablets, a small medikit and a few pouches of baby food and energy bars. I’d also read that a good way to protect toes during long days in hard boots was to paint the toenails with long lasting nail polish, so a small bottle of that in lovely deep purple colour was added to the personal items. I also purchased a used Trtl travel pillow, a sort of stiff neck half brace lightly padded and covered in felt, whose purpose it was to keep one’s neck more or less straight whilst one slept in an aircraft, train or ferry seat. I did not have a cabin booked for the outward journey and figured I’d be able to sleep in a seat with this contraption.
Previously I also obtained a “used, as new” item of cruiser luggage. Shaped like an aircraft cabin bag the idea was to mount it upright on the luggage rack using a complicated array of straps which put one in mind of a straightjacket or perhaps that character from the film ‘Hellraiser’. There was then a flap to go over the clamps and buckles and cover them up if they were tightened across the pillion backrest, so as to prevent them poking the pillion passenger’s lower back. The luggage also had a sort of cylindrical holdall which attached to the top of it with straps and could be detached and carried as a shoulder bag. Since I was planning to work after reaching Leon, I tested it to see if my small 11 inch travel laptop would fit: it did. So my plan was to have the laptop and a few survival essentials in this top bag and the other items (clothes, underwear, travel crockery and cutlery, consumables like shower gel and detergent, and so on) in the larger bag. I was also planning to put the Almax chain at the bottom of that bag as there was a little compartment divider which was hard and could be used as a sort of shelf to sit on top of the coiled chain. The panniers would house the sleeping bag and travel pillow, and the spare inner tubes, clutch cable and toolkit respectively.
The plan was to get the ferry from Poole to Cherbourg with the “advance party” a day before the official start of the Normandy tour, and assist with setting up camp. The sailing was at 8.30am, which meant being at the port at around 6am to meet people, join the queue, go through passport control and so on. I had to make the decision of whether to ride through the night or to seek accommodation near Poole and at least get a few hours’ sleep. I posted online to see whether anyone near Poole might put me up and cope with me getting up at 4am. An old friend, Tiffanie, responded. Her and her partner Greg (whom I’d not met before), and their lovely cat Ratchet didn’t seem to mind the threat of a biker bashing around their lovely house at some crazy hour of the morning, and even offered to feed me a vegetarian dinner! They live in Salisbury, which is about 35 miles and an hour’s ride from Poole.
Despite the Monday when I was due to depart falling on a Bank Holiday, I had pretty much a full day’s work, so I decided to head to Tiffanie’s around 5.30pm, filling up nearby so that I’d arrive at the ferry with the tank 80% full. I finished work around 4pm and began packing the luggage, pausing for a shower during. My plan was to apply the toenail varnish to protect my toes from long days inside heavy motorbike boots after the shower. But that was not to be: it turned out it had a drying time of an hour or so. I figured I’d have to do it at the campsite in France.
I packed the main bag, and then the smaller holdall strapping it to the top, and took the entire rig outside. It was very heavy and very very tall. I set it to one side and packed the panniers, which went reasonably well, with the right one not actually sagging onto the refitted fatter original exhaust, which had been a worry. I turned my attention to the main luggage. Heaving it onto the luggage rack, it appeared off centre, and the small holdall looked precarious and just odd. Several attempts to adjust it produced no noticeable difference. It was obvious that the plan would have to change.
About 10 years previously I bought a magnetic tank bag at the London Motorcycle Show, for cheap, close to the end of the show. It seemed like the obvious container to replace the holdall, which I’d removed by this point and placed on the ground. I retrieved the tank bag, placed it on the tank, wide open, and transferred the contents of the holdall into it, dlling my best to keep things in some kind of logical order. It seemed to work. Moreover, the orange bag cover fitted somewhat better over the main luggage without the holdall strapped to the top.
Looking at my watch, I’d lost about an hour messing about with the unplanned adjustments. I texted Tiffanie apologising and letting her know that I’d be late. Then Vicky and I sat down in silence for 30 seconds as tradition dictates, I kissed her goodbye and rolled out literally into the sunset, as I was heading West.
Following an uneventful ride and a petrol stop somewhere in Dorset or possibly Wiltshire, eventually arrived at Tiffanie’s and Greg’s in Salisbury. I unloaded the bare minimum, taking care not to disturb Ratchet. After catching up for a few hours, it was bedtime. Leaving the door wide open for Ratchet to wander in and out of the guest bedroom, I went to sleep quickly. Being woken occasionally by a little furry missile dashing around my head was quite cute and pleasant. Soon enough the alarm let me know it was 4am, and I rolled out of bed. Tiffanie woke up and gave me coffee and breakfast. I reloaded the bike and rolled out a couple of minutes after 5am.
The ride to Pool along countryside Roman roads in a stunning maroon sunrise was possibly one of the most enjoyable I’d had in years. Upon reaching Poole, the signs for the ferry port were a little confusing, but I figured it out. When I arrived on the concourse it became clear I was the first. I was soon joined by others: a dozen or so motorbikes, a car and a van. Among the riders was Darren, the organiser and charismatic leader of the tour. A septuagenarian Arizonian veteran on a Royal Enfield stood out as he seemed frozen. It transpired they’d ridden from Derby or thereabouts overnight. I chatted with some of the others, including a Welsh guy called Tim on a Harley with whom we hit it off quickly and went for a coffee, and Jez Hardcastle MBE, a legend in his own right whom I’d previously spoken to online.
Eventually it was time to board. A very respectful official asked me whether I was carrying sharp articles, I gave the now standard answer that I had a motorbike toolkit on me. We were waved through. Brittany Ferry staff were waiting with straps for the bikes. The whole process was quick and efficient. I made my way above onto the deck with the others, found my seat which was comfortable, strapped the Turtl neck pillow to myself and promptly fell asleep. Next stop Cherbourg.
Blac Ridere 