Woke up to the fire sirens going off! But no smoke or fire in sight, so we had some yummie bread and salami for breakfast, washed down with some fresh coffee Aidan brewed up on the sandy road (so as to not set fire to the forest).

Last night we had parked the bikes in the field down a steep slope from the road. The field was a lot bumpier than the knee-high grass had made it look, so we had left the bikes wherever they'd got stuck. This morning we had to somehow get them out again. Turns out Pippa had got caught on the grass and was in gear! No wonder she wasn't going anywhere. Aidan heroically rode the bikes up the slope, wriggling all over the place and kicking them upright every time they threatened to fall

Our trusty crappy Halfords foot pump that we had stolen from our previous landlords finally gave up this morning. But since we only did a few miles the day before, the tire pressure should be ok. Tomorrow we'll just use the electric one, that runs off the bikes' socket, but today it's just packed too deep in the bottom of the panniers! We loaded up and headed off east. The rush home meant big boring roads and lots of concentration. And I kept looking at the awesome landscape around us, yearning for the little winding roads, contemplating calling work and telling them we'd not come back before November.

Eventually we finally got off the motorway and I REALLY needed a pee! So Aidan led us off onto those lucrative tiny roads in search of a suitable bush or hedge to wee behind. A shepherd with his goats stopped us in our tracks and I fumbled frantically for my camera in the middle off a cross roads lest they disappear before I get a snapshot.


We found ourselves on a cobbled road amongst yellow fields enclosed by low stone walls and scrawny bushes dotted around. The fields were yellow because the grass had simply dried up in the scorching heat. So the farmers could simply mow the hay and bale it straight away without leaving it to dry first! As we rode on we watched cows and horses graze on hay. The fields were sprinkled with massive boulders and tiny trees and vineyards and sunflowers made a reappearance. And all the yellow and gold was topped off with bright blue skies! Stunning!


Then the gold was replaced by scantily planted rows of trees lining the mountain sides (olives maybe). The road twisted and turned its way through the landscape and a sign announced that we were in a national park. We stopped for coffee and stale bread with cheese by a water fountain.


After that the road started to climb and we had an awesome view of the lake (or was it a river?) in the valley. Took a few obligatory pictures of course.


Soon after we stopped again at a cross roads. Aidan's phone insisted that the road clearly signposted "Espahna" ended in the lake. But the map told tales of a bridge. From up the mountain it had looked like there was some sort of structure there, so we believed the map and rode towards the lake. It turns out it was actually a river and the bridge was the old border. Now the posts were deserted and we rode straight across. Welcome back to Spain!

The rest of the ride was rather uneventful. We drank too little water and spent ages trying to find a shop that was open. Turns out today was another Fiesta. A poster announced that everything would be closed today (2nd), 4th, 6th, 7th and 8th September. The fences were up and the towns were prepared for the bull runs. Sadly we didn't actually see any in full swing. we just remained hungry and thirsty. I am starting to think I want to find a job in Spain... they never work but always hang out in bars In the end we managed to find water, ice cream and tomato sauce.

Luckily we found a camping spot really easily that night as we were super exhausted. It meant riding down sandy paths through some pine trees. Of course I dropped my bike. So I jumped off and stomped after Aidan and stroppily told him off for riding on and on along the sand in the first place. He turned around and patiently helped me pick Seven back up. We wobbled on for a few more metres and just put up the tent in full view of anyone walking past.

You couldn't see us from the road and the guy walking past a few minutes later didn't seem to mind us at all. So we just pitched the tent and cracked open the wine. Aidan cooked a yum lil dinner and we wrote the diaries (not in the mood for that today, but its gotta be done, there is no way I'll remember everything otherwise!). Time to relax Another big ride tomorrow....

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I was daydreaming, hypnotised by a long, easy ride across scorching central Spain, when the sudden WHACK! of a dragonfly hitting my visor pulled me back to the present. My view of the reddened landscape suddenly blurry and blood smeared, I pulled over to clean myself up.


We'd made a fairly slow start to the day. Despite wanting to hit high miles, we were still both exhausted from a weekend of partying and by the time we'd had a long breakfast and had a cat wash, an hour had passed. Then we had to work out how to use our new battery powered compressor to pump up our tires, since we'd beaten our foot-pump out of commission. Our new gauge was reading much higher than the old one, and not knowing which one to believe, we figured we'd ignore the problem for now and just crack on.

At the next town we found an open supermarket and pulled over to stock up. There was a strong bovine smell lingering in the air to remind us of the previous night's festivities, and we hurried inside. We stocked up on the usual bread, wine and cheese, and then decided to just go mad and splash out on fish, chorizo and other luxuries, as well as some fresh garlic, peppers and potatoes that we used to make some kick-ass patatas bravas that night.


We also bought a massive five-litre bottle of water, since one of our expandable water bags had given up the day before. Whether through filling up and emptying on a regular basis, or through friction from lashing to the panniers everyday, the seam broke and started pissing water everywhere. Not ideal, especially since I'd just spent an hour filling it from a trickling well we'd come across in the mountains. Anyway, we strapped this huge bottle of water to the back of Maria's bike and got on with repacking the panniers to fit the rest of our shopping spree in. Out of the corner of her eye, Maria spotted a small wisp of smoke rising from her bike. We frantically ran around the bike looking for the source, and eventually realised that the water bottle had focused the sun onto a spot on Seven's vinyl seat, which promptly caught fire! A half hour later we had wrapped everything refractive in unused black bike leathers and were finally ready to meander on.

Back on our way to Pamplona we got into a rhythm of stopping every hour to rehydrate and wipe the bugs off our visors, which gave us the only break from a fairly monotonous road.

There was no motorway leading to Pamplona from this end, so we were sharing the road with some seriously big articulated trucks gunning across the north/south spine of Spain. It was fine, but made for some nerve wracking overtakes.


Eventually, about 30km south of Pamplona we started looking for camp. The first small road we investigated turned out to be not-all-that small. Even though it was unpaved and winding around hills and valleys, it seemed to be a through-road that connected a few farms together, so it looked to be well used, and on top of everything it didn't really offer much in the way of cover for us to hide behind. In spite of that, Maria was keen to set up camp rather than wandering on any farther. I wasn't so sure; our success so far on the trip had been down to the fact that we tried hard to stay out of everyone's way when finding a place to camp, and I didn't want our complacency to cause us any problems later in the night. I couldn't come up with a better alternative though, so I bit the bullet, and we picked a spot that was at least slightly out of the way - an unused triangle of land between the field and the road.

After doing some washing,


cooking the aforementioned kick-ass dinner,


and fighting another a futile battle with the mozzies (literally this time - with a frying pan)

we eventually decided that anyone who would want to kick us out would have arrived by now, so we opened our wine, did the washing up,

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As we packed up the tent, a lady in a 4x4 and a guy on a tractor drove past. We smiled and waved and they smiled and waved back. Aidan needn't have worried about being told off for wildcamping. We got going quite quickly though, as we had another long ride ahead. We would reach France and do a good few miles into the country. In Pamplona we took a wrong turn and ended up on the road to San Sebastian, instead of on the more direct way home along the N135. So we decided to turn east and cut across to our original route.... only to get lost in the Pyrenees!

Oh well! These little mountain roads through tiny villages were stunning, so we didn't care. In some places you had to squeeze between the houses. Everyone drove at a snail's pace as there is only ever space for one car at a time to turn around the bends. A huge flock was circling above a barn, but we couldn't figure out what they were up to.


At lunch time, many little fields and bendy roads along tree covered mountain sides later, we still hadn't found France. But we did find a huge supermarket and shopping centre in the middle of the forest. A guy came over to us in the car park and said something including "moto" in spanish with a huge smile on his face. We must have looked rather puzzled so he pointed straight at the shopping complex, mimed eating and said "bene". So we grabbed a yummie spanish omelette and a cold from the bar and consulted the atlas.

Refreshed and with a new plan we set off again, and got lost straight away, ending up on the NA6200 instead of the N135. The road started twisting higher and higher up the mountain with ever tinier hairbend turns. Little ponies, who seemingly belonged to no one, clung on to the edge by the roadside, grazing nonchalantly as if they definitely didn't look like they were about to slip down the steep slope.

It was real difficult to heave the bike round the bends. I didn't even get a chance to wave at the bikers parked in a little passing spot half way up the mountain. Sorry guys! The issue wasn't helped by the fact that I was so busy enjoying the view, I didn't really concentrate on the riding. The road was really narrow, so an oncoming white van suddenly drew my attention back to the road, as we edged around each other in a sharp left turn - me on the outside with a big scary drop!


The mountain just didn't seem to peak and the road went higher and higher, growing ever steeper. Then round another hairpin bend, it suddenly flattened out to reveal a restaurant and stunning views down either side of the mountain. We stopped for a breather and to take a couple of pictures, before we tackled the descent on the other side.


As we were winding our way down the narrow road on the other side, the road signs looked different. And then it dawned on me: we found France! The border must be back at the restaurant, although there were no signs, as far as I remember. At the bottom of the mountain my suspicions were confirmed. There were signs for the Patisserie and the Boulangerie and everything had a proper, well-kept, northern European feel.

We were still lost though, and now running low on fuel on small roads in the middle of nowhere. So we stopped outside a little village supermarket. I went inside to fetch ice cream (it was around 32º and we were boiling in our bike clothes) while Aidan consulted the maps on his phone. There wasn't much choice so I grabbed a packet of six Mars ice creams. The shop keeper sat behind the counter, reading the paper. I asked him in broken French about the nearest petrol station and he launched into a comprehensive description of where we should be going. I sort of got the jist of it and reported back to Aidan.

There was no way we could finish six ice creams. So I gave the rest a bunch of kids messing about outside the shop. They were a little surprised and a little shy. I apologetically mentioned there were only a couple of ice creams left for eight of them, but they didn't seem to mind sharing. We rode off with them waving and yelling "Thank you!" and some other school english after us smiles all round

Aidan had of course decided to go an entirely different way to the shop keepers elaborate suggestions, but we finally found a petrol station (where we queued up for ages only to find we'd picked the broken pump that took aaaaaaaages to fill both bikes). Our map suggested that the near-by motorway was free so we decided to make up some miles. But times had changed and the signs warning of the looming toll booths a few miles ahead had us turn off onto D-roads again.

Suddenly Aidan's riding style became all confident so I assume he finally figured out where we were. Nowhere near as close to Bordeaux as I had assumed though and there was no chance of us passing the city today. So we started looking for a camping spot instead. As is typical for this region, we were surrounded by pine trees, pine tree plantations and more pine trees. So we just turned down a tiny road into the trees and pitched the tent on an unused path in between the trees.


We had brought lots of extra water today so I hung the water bag from a tree, stripped and had a shower right out in the open. That felt good Meanwhile Aidan cheffed up a yummie dinner of patatas bravas, chorizo and peppers. (My panniers now stink of peppers as they basically roasted in there all day in the sunny heat!)


Then I did the washing up and Aidan had a shower. I was going to take pictures of the shower, but it had got too dark.... sorry guys!


Then we curled up in the tent with some wine and Spanish cinnamon biscuits, writing our diaries to the soundtrack of a fox yelping in the distance (Why do they always sound like a screaming child?). I hope he doesn't decide to tear through our tent when he smells our food! But I was too exhausted to worry and just fell asleep as soon as the wine was finished

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Sorry in advance that there are a couple of word-heavy posts coming up, but I think we ended up focusing a bit too much on the road, and not enough on the camera...I suppose on account of the ferry booking lurking in the back of our minds....

So, we had a fairly definite plan for today. Leave early, have a 'dry' breakfast to save time, don't get lost, don't take detours and just get the miles done and stay on schedule. With our departure day fast approaching we wanted a bit of contingency in case anything went wrong with the bikes, and things started well enough. We got up early (not as early as planned, but that's par for the course), had a quick breakfast of bread, peanut butter and nectarines and I played around with the compressor to get our tires pumped up. A bit of fiddling with the pen gauge and I worked out that we were getting about 2psi every ten seconds from the compressor, so now that we had control over it, that job took a bit less time.

We were off by 10am and back onto the crazy-straight roads. Almost immediately I was almost killed by a granny who arrived at a junction, watched me barreling towards her at 110kmh for about five minutes, then decided at the last minute to pull out in front of me and motor along at 30kmh. At least now I know my ABS works. Just after that we arrived in the town of Sanguinet. The next place we were headed for was posted east, but I'd seen a sign for a supermarket straight ahead, and I wanted to stock up on supplies early so we could get a few hours of solid riding behind us. After a bit of cruising around, getting outsmarted by the one-way system, and being directed past a really cool lake, filled with miniature sail boats and kayaks, we eventually said **** it, let's just get on and worry about shopping later. Of course, around the next bend was the supermarket we'd spent an hour chasing.

Suitably stocked, we had to find our way back to the signpost and get back on the right track. We hit a roundabout on the edge of the village, and stopped. Maria was sure it was down this road, I was sure it was the other. Since I've got a history of getting us lost whenever we get anywhere near civilisation, I decided to trust Maria's instinct and veered off in the direction she was pointing. A half hour of looking for anything familiar, and not finding our signpost and we decided to head back into town. Back at the roundabout we took 'my' road and around the first bend was our signpost, looking very much like victory for me. Shame I couldn't be too smug, since she's got a pretty long list of my navigational disasters by now.

From there to Bordeaux was pretty straightforward. We had a plan to turn eastwards and skirt around the city, then back north and towards Saintes. As we neared the city, there was very little in the way of signage and the only thing that looked familiar was a small inconspicuous sign for Thouars. Assuming there must be a better option, I pressed on north. Bad idea: I led us straight into the centre of Bordeaux, and a half hour of creeping along between traffic lights. Not a huge problem though - we just waited for the first available east-bound road, followed it till we could cross the river to head north, did that, and eventually we were back on our way towards Saintes where, being the clever guy I am, I made exactly the same mistake again.

Never mind, we were slowly making our way north, and we were actually getting a sense of the towns we were passing through, instead of just skirting around the peripheries. Bordeaux is nice enough, if a bit on the large side and with the ring road encircling it, it's a bit too traffic oriented for my liking. Saintes seems a lot more laid back; quite fashion conscious by the looks of things, with a big student population to keep the bars looking beautiful. Shortly after that we reached Niort - a town we'd passed through on our way south. I'd been impressed with the style of the place and the architecture and even though progress through the town was held up by traffic, it gave me another chance to look around. We ambled through the modernised central square we'd seen before and soon ended up in a cool old part of the town, full of little bars and cafés. This was definitely a town to earmark for a future trip, since this time round we were pushed for time, and we couldn't afford to stop for the day of we wanted to make the ferry.


Around about this point I came across a fundamental truth of travelling. No matter where you are, how long you've been on the road or how zen you think you've become, you'll very quickly see red when you're stuck behind a truck doing 20 below the speed limit that Will. Not. Move. The ****. Out of your way. We spent a good two hours on the roads north of Niort stuck behind trucks, camper vans and learner drivers, and the inside of my helmet heard some creative new swear words. Mercifully the French had started experimenting with the Spanish system of including an overtaking lane incrementally for each side of the road. The French ones are considerably shorter though, which made for some fun, derby style riding. Since you only have about 500m to overtake before the two lanes merge again, everyone who has somewhere to go prepares themselves at the first sighting of a signpost, we all go full throttle for half a kilometer, then swerve back in at the last second hopefully having cleared a few trucks in the process. Maria was racing to catch the ame gap as me so she wouldn't lose me and then she almost got killed. The one British van on a road full of French trucks decided to pull out straight in front of her at 60mph, as she was overtaking at about 80mph. Thank **** for good brakes and lady luck!

That went on for about 40km or so until we made it past Thouars. By this point we'd been in the saddle for nine hours, to do a hard earned 240 miles, and we were both exhausted. I jumped on the first dirt track I saw and Maria, following behind spotted a second track branching off and broke away to explore. When my track narrowed to a tiny path and turned up nothing, I got off to turn my bike around and follow her. A few attempts at pulling the bike backwards, jumping on to ride it forwards, rinse and repeat, and I was starting to break a sweat. Eventually I figured bollox, I'll just gun it up and over the ditch I'm wedged in and either I'll come unstuck or fall over and be done with it. Luckily I managed the former, and I made it down to where Maria was waiting by a nice spot where a cornfield met a hedge and some mature trees gave us a bit of cover. That'll do nicely.


No sooner had we made camp and opened our wine than a toot and a rumble signalled an approaching train, which came screaming right past us. We hadn't spotted the tracks since they were hidden by the hedge, but by now were were in no mood to pack up and start the search again. It'll be an interesting night...

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A full day's riding down and a in my belly, and I'm feeling pretty good as we head out of Le Mans. Trip-wise it was a good day anyway. I'd been looking at the map and doing some calculations the night before, and it seemed that because of our mad dash north over the past few days we were getting to Calais quicker than we needed to. All well and good, but we didn't want to get too complacent since we still wanted some contingency time to deal with any bike issues that might arise. So the plan we came up with was to carry on riding full days, but to treat ourselves to a long lunch in a cafe somewhere. By lunch, we meant . Cold in a glass. We'd both been craving it for ages, but we couldn't really stop at a bar in the evening, where one would turn into twelve, and usually when we found camp it was miles away from anyone willing to get us drunk. Lunch would put a nice one-hour cap on proceedings.

We shot off to Saumer without issues, got diverted to Bauge via Noyant, but all good since it was well signposted and all the slow-ass lorries opted for the toll free motorways instead. We rolled into Le Mans at about lunch time with Maria's front brake squealing horribly. We had a quick look and her pads seemed to be bare. She was sure she'd changed them just before we left, but they were definitely gone. We speculated for a bit on how it could have happened. Maybe the intense heat messed with her brake fluid? If it expanded a bit it might be enough to hold the brakes on, without causing much resistance, but enough to wear out the pads? Maybe the disk warped a bit? Of course it was always possible that she put the old pads back in the bike and threw the new ones away - happens to everyone now and then. Either way we needed to find a shop that sold parts for a bimmer, and we were both up for practicing something that we'd doubtless have to do plenty of times on the world trip.

Luckily we'd arrived in Le Mans through the industrial quarter so we just rode around 'till we spotted a car parts shop. Maria actually speaks very decent French - a fact she'd kept hidden from me 'till now - and she managed to hold a conversation with the shop owner while I looked on uselessly (my brain's a sieve for foreign languages). We were given directions to a bike shop that sold parts, and as it turns out it was only a mile down the road. We found the place easily enough, and arrived just as the shutters were going back up after a lunch break. Nothing like a lucky streak, is there. The guy at the desk spoke some English and had a catalogue of parts so we pointed out what we needed and ten minutes later we were out in the car park stripping down the caliper. We checked the pistons - which were fine, and the disk - which was ****ed, and put the new pads in.


After a quick test ride to make sure the bike wouldn't fall apart after our efforts we headed into the centre of Le Mans for our 'lunch'.

As per usual we stuck the bikes on a bit of pedestrian square, grabbed the tank bags and wandered off for a bit of exploring. All I knew of Le Mans was that it's been hosting a 24hour endurance race annually for 90 the last years. It's a cool town though. A big cathedral dominates the hill, with so many flying buttresses the architect must have been compensating for something, and a big change in ground level across the city means you often find yourself riding over or under cool brick arches holding up the roads.


We sat down at a pizzeria in the main square and ordered our s. We were then told by the aloof (even by French standards) waiter that they weren't serving food. Apparently unless it's precisely lunch time or dinner time, the French just aren't having it. Fine by us, we can just drop the pretense that we came here for anything other than . We finished our half pint of cold leffe and wandered back to the bikes where, to the amusement of the kids milling around, we dug some bread and smoked pork out of the panniers and made ourselves some sandwiches.

As luck would have it we'd parked next to the road we needed to take out of the city so after a bit of maneuvering around pedestrians we got off the square and back on the road. While we were stopped for petrol a French guy who spoke no English took an interest in my bike, and we struck up a conversation-by-mime. I'd managed to convey that it was 650cc, and was trying to explain 'single cylinder', when he started to look a bit worried, and made his excuses to leave. I was a bit confused, till I realised that I'd been performing a fairly convincing mime for fisting. Never mind - onwards and out of town and since we were only about 300 miles away from Calais we decided to call it an early night.

Our first few forays down dirt roads yielded nothing but gates and private property signs. Eventually I started following a track that, while getting narrower by the second, was heading towards a nice cluster of trees that I was sure would be a good spot. As the track shrank to just the width of the bike I stopped short and realised that we'd circled around and were sitting right by the main road, and about six feet above it. No way to get down there, we climbed off the bikes and slowly backed each one into the ditch, revved it forward and repeated, eventually squirming our way round till we were facing more or less back the way we came. Then back on the bikes, a last bit of welly to get 'round and over the ditch, and back on the search. Just a day in the life of a nomad biker.

Not long after that I spotted a small track leading between two fields and heading towards a quiet looking copse, so off we went. Busy dodging rocks and tree roots, I happened to look in my mirror just in time to see Maria career off into the field and over on her side in spectacular fashion. While we were picking the bike up she explained that she'd tried to switch from one side of the track to the other not realising how big the rut in the middle was. When she hit it and swerved, she overcompensated and shot off into the freshly ploughed field!

The track eventually opened into a field a nice distance from the road.

While we usually like to camp on unused ground and this field had plastic bales waiting to be collected, we decided to just park the bikes in a little nook out of the way and pitch the tent in such a way that we wouldn't block the entrance to the field. Anyway, we hoped that we'd be packed up and gone before anyone came by. A horse and rider did stop by to check us out, but then just carried on to a nearby farm and since no-one came back to follow up, we looked to be ok. Two days to go, then it's all over....

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Last night was the first night that got really cold. I'm usually not bothered by it, but last night it kept me awake. One more sign that we're nearing England and the end of the trip I guess. It didn't help that I was troubled by weird dreams, mixing my inability to communicate in foreign languages with weird, half-forgotten childhood memories. That's the thing about these extended trips - you've got a lot of thinking time while you're on the road. In between negotiating towns or stopping to eat or fuel up you're left with a lot of time just for introspection. You tend to square things away in your head, arrive at conclusions about yourself, your life and the people around you. Then when you've dealt with that stuff, all the demons from your past start making their way to the surface. Your mind starts digging up old shit that's been buried for years, just to have something to play with. It's probably healthy, psychologically speaking, but man it ****s with your dreams.

Packing up the bikes was fairly standard by now and after porridge and coffee we were on the road by ten. Two hours seems to be the time it takes us to wake up, eat and pack, and I don't really see the point in working too hard to reduce it. Back on the road, and we had to find our way back to the chosen route, since our shenanigans the night before had taken us off course. Easy enough though, and a combination of luck and the navigational skills we were slowly picking up soon had us winding our way through little villages on our way north. The villages were slowing us down but I wasn't too bothered.


We were 300 miles south of Calais and the plan was to treat ourselves to lunch and a (attempt number two) and just keep riding 'till we were within 100 miles or so of the ferry. We had pizza and s in a really nice little village called Conches, just south of Rouen.


I'd noticed as we were heading further north that the villages were taking on a real 'storybook' kind of look. The streets were narrow and winding and the locals relaxed in the sun smoking cigarettes and chatting. Since we'd crossed the river in Saumer and passed a huge white Chateau, everything had felt quintessentially French. Maybe that's what makes northern France a good spot for a short weekend ride - it conforms to your expectations, in the best kind of way.


Back on the road and I was having one of my introspective moments. I'd missed some big occasions during the trip - a best mate's 30th birthday, his engagement to his girlfriend, another best mate deciding to move to Costa Rica indefinitely, his leaving party. Hearing about all these things over the phone and not being involved was disappointing. It was interesting though that it never made me think twice about leaving to travel 'round the world. Missing out on landmark events in my friends' lives is unfortunate, and there are some people that I'm sure I'll miss when I'm away, but the world is out there to be seen, and I aim to see it. Maybe the nomad's life just suits me...

Skirting around Rouen and jumping on to the motorway meant I had to start focusing on the present again. It was straightforward enough though, until we hit Dieppe - a labyrinth of roads and water. I circled around it for a while looking in vain for the road marked on my map, until Maria pointed out a 'toutes directions' sign. We followed that and a few other roads intuitively and eventually got back onto roads marked by the map and en route to Abbeville. We've been travelling with a very small scale map - 1:900,000 - so sometimes roads that seem to lead straight into a town are actually connected by small bits of other roads, or just change their name at some point. It's ok if the towns are well furnished with signposts, but that's not always the case.

We decided that it was getting too late to go all the way through Abbeville and look for camp on the other side, so at about 6pm we started looking for good spots. I had this naively romantic idea that on our last night of wild camping we'd find a perfect spot instead of just settling for any old place to throw up the tent, even if it meant searching for longer than usual. A small price to pay for a comfy piece of ground, a good view of the sunset and a blanket of stars to lie under. About five minutes into the search I stopped at a small side road to see if it looked promising. I wasn't too keen, since the track seemed to bend around and run back parallel to the main road, but Maria wanted to have a look. The track ran as expected, but a few hundred yards later a smaller path branched off to the left, ran up a hill and ended at a rectangular grove of tall trees cresting a hill and giving us exactly the spot we wanted.




With the sun going down in front of me, the stars just starting to shine at my back and a soft floor of ivy to lie on, and a bottle of wine to wash the whole scene down, I can definitely see the appeal of staying on the road for good...

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Today we would be catching the ferry and going back home. I really didn't want to and thoughts of just heading east from here crossed my mind. Knowing that wasn't really an option, I resorted to simply refusing to wake up. Something that Aidan soon fixed with a strong coffee.


We packed up sleepily and pumped up the tires for the last time. I finally learned how to use the electric compressor.

Back on the road towards Calais we stopped at a supermarket and bought as many bottles of wine as we could fit into the panniers. There was a tiny old lady milling around the supermarket. She was using one of the childrens' shopping trolleys, she was so tiny!

We were closer to Calais than we had thought - only 50km! But this time we found the D940, a beautiful coastal road we had been meaning to take on the way down. It rolls along the grassy hills through tiny villages and around sand dunes. Shame it was so busy. There was some sort of race going on and the runners had priority over everyone. Spectators lined the roads. And if there was a couple of kilometers free of people, we were stuck behind some Belgian car or other, who insisted to drive exactly half the speed limit! And when I stopped to take a picture of the white cliffs across the channel, they would attempt to run me over in slow motion.


Despite that we arrived at the port sooner than expected and for an extra £20 each we were allowed to squeeze onto an earlier boat. Bumped into a German couple who were off on a one week trip along the south coast of England. We ended up chatting for the whole crossing. He rides a yellow V-Strom and is taking all her luggage too. Apparently he is an electrical engineer and travels loads. She just passed her test and this was her first big bike trip on a lowered 650 Bandit. When asked for recommendations, we sent them to Brighton

Back in England it was sunny along the coast, but inland above London where we were headed, it was cloudy. No sooner had we stopped to put all our extra clothes on, did it start pissing down with rain! All the while, to our left and to our right and behind us the sun was still shining. Eventually the sun started shining again, but it still rained and the reflections off the wet road blinded us. I almost rode into a traffic light. Grrrrrrr! Welcome back to England

After a loooooong freezing ride we finally got home and dropped the bikes off in the garage.Then exhaustion took over and we curled up in bed with an Indian takeaway, a huge tub of ice cream and a movie

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