Belgium, it seems, offers little fun even on the ‘fun’ route, I made the most of it, the farms and fields better than the grinding monotony of the motorway. A surprise was how much top topiary got practiced here, precise privet perfection turned my thoughts to our destination, home where my own unruly hedge would require a trim. Often tracking waterways for miles, we retreated towards Dunkirk, quant towns at the few bridges, we rolled on in the windy sunshine in search of coffee.
Into France, the passion for precision pruning of borders unaffected by borders apparently, I don’t know how they do it, my own efforts with the shears result in lumpen loaf shaped forms, perhaps the plants are different here. I finally found coffee and embarrassed myself with pre-schoolboy french and the ultimate surrender, proffering payment as a handful of change in a ‘pick your own’ admission that I have mastered neither the language nor currency. On to the Eurotunnel terminal, at least that is what I thought, the sky opened and drenched me in an instant, no time or place to stop and put on waterproofs. The French appear to have concocted a perfect plan to frustrate and befuddle those bold enough to visit and naive enough to expect to leave. The signage is impenetrable, the massive shopping mall sucks in the traffic, the sat-nav, even give the What3Words from the website, misdirected, soaked I circled and cursed.
Motorcyclists, delicate flowers that we are, accept that into every life a little rain must fall, we don’t like it, thankfully the authorities had provided a shelter. Here I met Aran, returning to Dublin after a trip to Turkey, his wife and kids had taken the plane, remarkably he would be stopping over in Barnet just up the road from my home. His Honda was slowly dripping oil into an iridescent puddle, these things always look worse than they are, I told him and myself. His enthusiasm brightened my day.
‘Face’ proprietor and tour guide for ‘Freedom Motorcycle Tours’ boarded the train behind us along with one of his customers, both on big ‘Adventure’ bikes. Their colleagues presumable still baffled in the maze of malls. We were at the back, last to load, last to leave, behind a Jaguar F-type that rocked disconcertingly as if the driver had left it in Park but not applied the handbrake. We chatted, they changed into dryer clothes and I rolled a cigarette to savour on home soil.
We arrived, the cars started and left, bar one, the Jaguar, apparently an issue with not being able to get out of park, a nice French train guard attended but, the boys behind were going for the pragmatic option of turning around in the tight space and getting out of the rear door. I started to follow the guard protested and then ‘Face’, half way through his manoeuvre, unceremoniously dropped his 2024 BMW R1300GS motorcycle (dry weight 237Kg). This drama, quite rightly, disturbed the guard and she began berating us, I stopped my 300 point turn and helped pick the bike up. They left, I waited, a recovery van backed all the way down the train to attend the Jag, who was not having a good day either.
With permission I tentatively backed out over the wet checker plate and then nothing. Ignition on, kill switch off, press the started button, nothing, bugger! Lifting the seat I could see no action from my transparent started relay, checking the starter button and following the loom I came to a detached plug, bingo! My earlier attempt at an about turn must have dislodged the connection, I sent it home and was fired up to be homeward bound again. Up the M20, no longer a motorway in any real sense reduced to 50mph the majority of the way, the lanes altered to provide space for lorries to queue on their way to our major trading partner.
Louise was pleased to see me, she expressed it in a very feline way, by which I mean barely at all. I shaved and showered and headed down to the Catcher in the Rye where Bill, Don, David, John, Matt, Holly, James, Henk, John, Cate, Kieran and Niamh were more expressive in their pleasure to remake my acquaintance. John, the first one, deserves special thanks because he made this whole trip possible by generously dropping in to attend Louise every day, John and I went on to Annie’s. There the Guinness is good and the company of Deano, David, Ignacio, Steven, Kirsten and another David capped my day.
Le Mans man 