Life in the slow lane

You might have noticed that the ground was wet in the picture at the end of the last section. It had been raining on and off all the way to Dover but what greeted me as I came off the ferry was rain of biblical proportions driven horizontally by a 30-40mph wind. I'd misjudged the amount of time needed to get all my various protective layers back on before the boat docked and half of it was still strapped to the bike as I rode into this deluge. I needed to find shelter quickly before I was soaked. Those of you that know the ferry port at Calais will know that they funnel you straight from boat to autoroute with nothing in between and the best I could find was shelter under a bridge just outside the ferry port that I accessed by riding the wrong way round a roundabout (fortunately empty of traffic at the time!). How difficult it is to remember to ride on the right for us English (add wink smilie here)! No sooner had I got off the bike and started pulling on various overtrousers and jackets than there was a loud crash and I turned round to find the wind had blown the bike over. I was less than half a mile into France on the first day and I was already wet through with the bike lying in a heap on its side.

Fortunately only my pride was damaged and with everything upright again I was able to head off on the 200+ mile ride to Amsterdam. Those of you with any sort of knowledge of the layout of Europe might be thinking that going to southern Germany via Amsterdam doesn't seem like a very direct route - and you'd be right. It adds about an extra 100 miles. I was taking the opportunity to visit my son who is at university there and who'd offered to put me up for the night, thus saving the cost of a night's hotel. Did I mention this trip was on a very strict budget? Soon after leaving Calais I was buzzing along happily at just over 50mph. The bike seemed quite happy as well and it was just a matter of trying to stay dry and count down the miles. After a few of those miles it came to me that the increased performance was due to the tail wind and I started to wonder what speed I'd be able to manage if I was going the other way? Still, if things went to plan it would be nearly a week before I'd be on the other carriageway and the wind must have died down by then.

Fifty miles later I could feel water starting to find its way in round my neck and not long after via the puddle I was sitting in on the seat. No sooner had I started to come to terms with that and the engine cut out. Thanks a lot. It chose to go onto reserve in the middle of a motorway junction with cars and trucks passing and repassing on all sides. With soaking wet hands and cold fingers I couldn't find the tap and turn it to reserve before I ground to a halt at the edge of a filter lane with cars coming past at 120kph inches from me. Trying to find the kickstart in a hurry with my right foot I misjudged things and put my foot straight into a deep puddle. In a few seconds I could feel the water trickling in ...

After another twenty miles or so of splashing along in the slow lane I found a service area and pulled in. The filler nozzle went into the tank - and nothing happened.

Eventually, by reading the instructions on the pump, I worked out that you had to prepay for your fuel and I could do this by either giving the cashier money in advance or by using a card at the pump. My wallet containing various cards was deep down in a dry area of the luggage that I didn't want to expose to the rain that was sweeping across the forecourt so I trudged dripping in to the shop and gave the lady €10. That didn't get me much fuel but to ask her what would happen if I overpaid would require me taking off my helmet, balaclava and removing my earplugs. Not to ask her, but to hear the reply. The earplugs in particular were difficult to get back in properly so taking them out was a last resort. Of the five countries I visited on the trip only Belgium had this prepay requirement. Maybe they've had a spate of drive-aways or something although it's not as if their fuel was any cheaper than the other countries or anything like that. Maybe they're just less trusting.

Hours later I arrived in Amsterdam.

The rain had eased slightly although the wind was just as strong as ever and I was slightly concerned about where to park when I arrived at my son's apartment as the gusts had the bike rocking on the stand. We eventually decided to leave it in the lee of the fire escape, not because it was particularly sheltered but if it fell over it wouldn't damage anything else. I fully expected to find it on its side in the morning.
We covered the radiators with all of my wet clothing and took the train into the centre of Amsterdam for the evening. Shortly after we returned I heard a loud crash from outside and was convinced that that was the bike going over but much to my amazement it was still upright when I went out to start loading the next day.