Romford to Baden Baden
Fast forward one day from COUTC. It is now Monday. 3.45am.
Alarm: Beep.
Me: Go away.
Alarm: Beep.
Alarm: Louder beep.
Me: Swearing.
I grab and turn off the phone alarm in a daze, ready to sleep on, but lucky for me somehow I catch myself doing it and sit bolt upright. If I'd have gone back to sleep I'd have been there for hours and I definitely have things to do.
It is fair to say I'm a little disorientated and when you're facing a pretty long day in the saddle that doesn't bode particularly well. I fill up with PG tips, and then more PG tips while slowly getting together. Lucky for me I laid everything out last night even though I felt shattered.
Just after 4.30 I'm on the road. All to schedule.
It's still very dark and there's not a soul about. I zip through the suburbs of town without a fuss. I float over the Dartford bridge and breeze down on to the M20. There's the merest suggestion of daylight and I am towards the emerging light. No need to rush so a gentle cruise. There's something about the cool air that works very well with the boxer twin and it purrs along at a leisurely chat.
Fast forward an hour and the approach to dover set against the rising sun was very special. I tried to catch a picture of the splendour.. something that would do it justice.
Yes, I failed miserably.
I'm ushered straight on board without even stopping, I can't even take the mandatory pre-ferry entrance shot. I'm on the only bike on the boat and a friendly chap emerges with the necessary tackle to lash the beastie down.
On board I settle out on a nice sofa in the forward starboard corner of the boat. Stretch out, relax. The ambience is shattered by arrival to the next seats along of a family with a squeaky kid who is throwing tantrums, hopping up and down and going totally bonkers. The whole lounge is goggly eyed and looking at the show. Oh, FFS, give me peace. This lasts a good twenty minutes before I'm driven to some music to drown out the noise.
Tango in the Night, Fleetwood Mac.
Foreground: Carolaye ayee aye aye aya aye aye ayeeeene. Background: Squeak/scream.
Adjust volume. Sorted. Relax.
We sail off into the direction of the Sunshine and the view is just lovely so I take it in.
Le preperation. Set speed cameras to 'Non'.
What with the squeak-o-rama and all I don't feel much like writing on the ferry, so I don’t.
I have a quick look over the bike and we're off the ferry with a minimum of fuss. I was up at the front off to the side and the guy doing the unload sought me out and dragged me to the front so I was first off the ferry which is always a pleasure. Calais port quickly deposits you on the A26 so the ferry fast becomes a faded memory as I cruise through the various UK number plates, Wobbly boxes, VW T5's with bike racks, Estate cars with everything possible bunged in to it. You get the picture.
I hadn't specifically planned a route today. The game plan was to get past aim for the Black Forest part of Germany by the end of the day. I was kind of apprehensive about the day today, a) that I was tired, b) that I had to cover a reasonable amount of ground. The difference between the rambles in this is that most days the distances have been modest, what with having no time limits as such and the riding always relatively leisurely.
But here's the quandry. I don't like motorways. I mean on a bike who does? (ZZR1400 owners need not reply). But I've a real problem: I need to cover miles.
So. We will take the peage to be the tarmac of choice until Cambrai, and then heading South East, skirting Belgium, and then dipping down to Verdun for a spot of lunch and then to continue South East to make Germany, again mixing up a little motorway when needed.
Is it me, or does anyone else ride their bike according to how it 'feels'? Today the bike feels great. It is positively purring in the morning sunshine and 85-95 is just floating along. It wants to motor briskly so we motor briskly.
Off of the peage, around Cambria and to the D roads. I always get a great feeling when heading on a trip through France. A place so near, but everything so remarkably different to home. I'm in a jolly mood, so I match with some music- cue Lester Young and the Oscar Peterson Trio, the jazz matching up to some brisk and highly enjoyable riding. Hit a village- sit pleasantly at 50. Outside the village- twist the fun handle.
Ah, we're in Verdun now.
A random Verdun snap.
Strange. There are a lot of odd sorts in Verdun. I remember a night in St. Omer with my brother Nick a couple of years back where he termed a group of local 'yoofs' as 'Les Fuds'. It reminds me and makes giggle to myself. Now I'm getting a few funny looks.
Lunch by the river.
I buy a sticker for the bike from a man that rides a new 1200 WC. "Do you like it?" I asks. "Yes, but we'll see how it goes" is the response in a very much 'Cest La Vie' style. Curious. He doesn't seem particularly impressed. Maybe he's just very laid back.
Bollocks. I noticed that I've lost my oil bottle and my pack with my jump leads in that were attached to the rear carrier. Where I packed at night I put them on the wrong side, the wrong rack as it were, and they've fell off the bottom. Silly, silly boy. The moral of this? Don't pack in the dark.
I've been using some Mindfulness techniques to analyse my feelings about stuff and it helps. Normally I become very, very pissed off at doing stupid things, and that can play on my mind and affect my mood, spoiling my day. But I react quite well, philosophically thinking about how and why, and in the grander scheme of things it isn't a big deal. Very helpful. More of that later, too I should imagine.
Out of Verdun and some Motorway, before cutting across the North of the 'Reserve Nationale de Chasse de la Petite Pierre' and the amusingly (to me) named Pfaffenhoffen. Another splendid ride and then over the border into the Deutsche Bundesrepublik as the sign says.
I roll into Baden Baden just short of 6pm. Today is declared a success.
Booking.com finds a hotel just outside. The owner seems a bit odd but the place was well reviewed. Dinner is an absolute cracker. Pork thingamybob.
Just a couple short of 500 today and I finish up feeling remarkably fresh. Dinner in the restaurant and bed by 10 though as something very similar to do tomorrow. Can I get it to work tomorrow- a mix of great riding and motorway? We'll see I guess.
Beer of the day: Hatz Dunkel. Even though the waitress completely didn't get my 'Men without Hatz' joke* when I said no more thanks. Where has she been.
*Sorry about the 'Men without Hatz' joke. That was in aid of 'Give an elderly joke a home' week, 1st-8th September.