Italy: Day 2 Cutting the mustard

I slept, not well but sufficient, recharged unlike my phone and navigation device. My electronic charges have fallen out and now refuse to talk to the two battery packs, they were working intermittently when I left them to their own devices overnight but I awoke to disappointment. They appear to now only favour the 12v bike battery via a dodgy Chinese adaptor. This strategy is a little fraught as the bike needs the battery to start and by appeasing Apple I may rob myself of mobility.

Moving on, I packed my paltry possessions while the poultry looked on. Dispatching yesterday’s blog I found a familiar name on the map and set the sights on a campsite near Dijon, then departed. I didn’t get far, spluttering to a halt in the village and cursing my caution and memory, I’d turned the fuel taps off the night before having seen that the top of the gearbox appeared wet, I’ve had a bad time recently with carburettor float valves leaking.

The weather threatened to rain then backed down, perhaps intimidated by my look of grim determination. The bike was much happier with my “No Tolls” route preference although the 7 hour predicted duration was daunting, perhaps rightly so. I too was enjoying the empty roads and towns, hoping to find a cafe I found only shuttered stores, perhaps this is an August in France thing?

Escaping Saint Quentin I headed south through Sézanne and on through the Champaign Region to Troyes, stopping only for fuel and occasional cigarettes. The Guzzi is blessed with a large capacity fuel tank, I estimate about 200 miles from full to reserve, however the back roads are not blessed with many gas stations so I’d stop and search when she hits about 180 miles. My first stop was fully automated (de-humanised) which gave me angst, unjustified in this case, my card worked so well that a young french motorist asked me to use it to put €30’s worth into his car. Not a knife point, and he did pay me.

On through golden fields of stubble we crossed and re-crossed the Seine river right up to its source where my fuel also began to run dry. I checked the map and threw the dice, a stop on the route or a 10 mile diversion, time was short, I took my chances, She spluttered out at 201 miles and I switched to reserve about 10 hilly miles from the stop, I did extreme “lift and coast” freewheeling down the hills and was very glad to see the, again automated, stop.

Freed from range anxiety I could worry about the bike, in my mind she rattles a lot, something that I put down to a worn out cam chain tensioner that I’d intended to replace, should be OK. In other news oil is weeping from the right hand cylinder head gasket, oil leaks always look worse than they are, I tell myself.

I made it to the campsite and was allocated a premium spot next to the shower block with a copious supply of mosquitoes, still glad to be here. Had a beer by the Saône river, an inland waterway that flows to Lyon where a marriage to the Rhône frees it from its name. My french is good enough that when ordering a large beer to have sitting on the deck chairs outside I end up in a conversation about where I have parked my boat and how long it is. I dallied and the kitchen was “ferme” to the likes of me so off to bed with no food.