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It was by dawn’s early light that I heard the rain on the conservatory roof. Waterproofs donned, tea drunk, passport packed, checked and checked again I set off to meet Paul at Bradbury services. I had fitted 90-degree valves on both tyres to aid inflation. At Bradbury we filled up and I checked the pressures on the tyres. Petrol and tyres full to bursting we set off at 6am. Quick dashes down to the Aycliffe turn off to meet Bill, Mick and Keith. One further traveller to collect at Rippon.
All massed, the posse set off for the sunnier climes of ‘down south’. Early morning traffic is easier to slice through and good time was made. As we were merrily heading south in the constant pouring rain, I felt a vague drifting at the front of the bike. As we intended to stop after 100 miles, I thought I would ride through it and sort it out then. As we left the A1 for the services and pulled up to the roundabout, I noticed that the front tyre was totally flat! Going round the roundabout to the services was a hoot. Me and the panniers going one way and the rest of the bike taking it’s own route to France. Thinking I had a puncture, I wobbled to the air-line. Tyre was almost off the rim. I must have ridden 30-40 miles on the motorway at 80 mph on a flat. Balls of steel or brains of bellybutton fluff?
The 90 degree valve had worked loose and let all the friggin air out. I just removed it and blew the tyre back up and hoped for the best. (Worked fine, no further problems encountered).
Off we went again after the first coffee of the morning. The weather was picking up by now, the rain slowing and the temperature climbing degree by degree.
We stopped for breakfast near Peterborough, a truck stop special, full English and a mug of tea. Next stop Dover for our 3.10pm sailing.
Good time again over the Dartford crossing and down into the sunshine of Dover by 1pm. We pleaded to the P & O bods for an earlier crossing. They let us on the 2.20 sailing.
DOVER TERRY FERMINAL
(ALL ABOARD THE SKYLARK!)
One hour forty minutes later we docked in Calais. Did you know you can see the White Cliffs of Dover from Calais? (There’s a song there somewhere)
Remember to drive on the right was the battle cry; it becomes second nature after a few minutes. Hit two oncoming lorries in the first few minutes though!
Its now 5 pm in France, we’ve been on the road since 6am and still got another hour to go. Our first night was to be spent in Abbeville.
A quick blast down the peage and we were in Abbeville. The town was beautiful, so much so, we spent almost an hour riding around it looking for the hotel. The group got split up in the town centre and we found the hotel first. We just had time to check-in and grab the beer before the other three arrived.
Dinner in the little restaurant over the road and off to a typical bar the other side of the hotel. Strange little bar, strange people and even stranger drinks. Half litres of homebrew in small ‘Yard of Ale’ glasses with its own wooden stand. The barkeep was as bent as a dogs back leg! Hew (the barkeep) took a liking to Dangerous Paul and when he bailed out (First, which became the norm!) The barman started eying Gordon up. It didn’t take long before we started dropping like flies on Mogodon
Gordon and me off to our cosy little twin room and off to sleep in minutes. (That’s what Gordon told me to say and I’m sticking to it!!)
The next morning, after a continental breakfast, croissants, what the fuck are croissants? (Keep us out of freaking Europe!!!) we set off for the next leg of our journey. The next three nights were to be spent in Reminiac, at MOTOTARANIS, some 300 miles further south and west. The roads in France are a bikers dream. We traversed the two new bridges at Le Havre, what a fantastic sight they are, and after a couple of hours on the motorway, we headed off onto the ‘B’ roads. The roads, road users and pedestrians are all biker friendly, especially the pedestrian spread-eagled on the front of the Pan for 330 yards (I mean metres) down the road from the zebra crossing. How was I to know the black and white strips on the road mean the same thing on the continent? They should have their own fucking laws!!!
Southbound past Caen and Rennes into the Brittany countryside to our destination at Reminiac, not before stopping for the specials at Lidl! You meet the strangest people in a Lidl carpark. We were molested by the Bates family who wanted us to visit their hotel. Not as long as my arse points downwards man.
WE ARE HERE
Ken and Lesley, our hosts at Mototaranis, were at the door to meet us. English speaking, English looking and English thinking, the beers were in our hands before the helmets were off. I knew I was going to like it here! Ken showed us into the garage where our bikes were parked securely and we were shown to our rooms. Single for me, though it turned out to have a double bed, “you calling me fat?” Leather trousers and boots disrobed, another beer pushed into my hand, Ken told me that he and Lesley had had the Taranis for a couple of years. Business is picking up gradually he told me and that they were very busy around the place. Lesley doing the cooking and cleaning and holding down a full time job back in England. She works as a nurse week on – week off!! What an angel.
There were another three lads staying, from the Cheshire area. One was a policeman, affectionately known as ‘Dibble’. They had travelled across to go to the Moto GP at Le Mans, a two-hour ride from Reminiac. At 8pm, Lesley served dinner, or tea to those who live under the stairs, and the FREE wine began to flow. After a superb 4-course meal, that’s 3 salads and a crispbread for me then, the table was awash with witty repartee and empty bottles.
Saturday dawned and the sun was shinning, the bikes were given a quick spit and polish to wipe away the road grime of the previous 2 days. The six of us set off to explore the beautiful Brittany countryside. The bikes, free from their luggage and baggage, were in fine form for at least 800 meters. Keith’s Kwak ZXR900 began dropping onto 3 pots. Well, that was his excuse and he stuck to it.
(Had nothing to do with the beer and wine excesses the night before.) The remaining five toured the local towns and villages via some of the most fantastic roads. Imagine Teasdale with smooth tarmac and no cars! Some of the sights were amazing too. We headed back early afternoon to see how Keith’s bike repairs were coming along. It was diagnosed that it required new plugs to begin with. He said they had only been in there for 4 years though!!
THIS MUST BE WHERE SOME OF THEM POSH FROGGIE FOLK LIVE!
Paul, Gordon and myself set off later in the afternoon to a pre arranged appointment at the local bike shop to have a rear tyre fitted. (Thanks Ken) Though why someone would go touring on the continent with a rear tyre with less tread than Rab C Nesbit’s trainers, I will never understand! After Paul had paid for the tyre 240Euro, that’s about £170 in real money, the shop owner laughed all the way to the private school for his kids! His last words were “take it easy on that back tyre for the first 100kms.” Strange then, how we were chasing Gordon at 100mph within 1 mile of leaving his shop.
We proceeded to explore the twisties within the area. We did about 80 miles in glorious sunshine.
After getting back to the digs, it was shower shave and time to go out to the next village, about 3 klicks away, for dinner at a restaurant. Lesley kindly ferried us there and back. We then went to the local beer shop for a couple of cold ones. At 1am we left to walk the half mile back to Taranis. It’s difficult to describe how dark it was. Imagine being totally blind then some bastard pokes you in your eyes with a stick and shoves your head up a black Labradors’ arse, that’s how black it was. We could not see a house in front of us. We were walking into cars, walls and each other. Oh how we laughed!
Sunday dawned wet and grey. We stood around for an hour deciding on whether to go out or not. We eventually plucked up the motivation to ride. (Pussies)
100 metres out of the village, the roads were dry and 200 metres the sun was out. Fortune favours the brave eh! Another 3 hours riding and back to watch the Moto GP infront of the telly with a couple of beers. The Cheshire Dibble and his mates had ridden there early morning; it was pissisting down at Le Mans. It was much drier infront of the TV.
That evening saw eleven of us around a massive farmhouse dinning table to eat a fantastic meal prepared by Lesley, a few more bottles of wine (each) and an early night.
Monday breakfast at 8 and on the road by 8:45, homeward bound, we headed towards the Normandy beaches. A long standing interest and ‘Need – to – do list’ of mine. It was a little bit of a detour and the 4 or so hours we spent there cannot do it justice. Our first port of call was Omaha Beach (Saving Private Ryan territory) they didn’t stand a chance! The German gun emplacements are still there, or many of them anyway. The yanks had almost a mile from the shoreline to the German positions, uphill as a minimum and cliff faces at its worst.
THIS IS ME SAVING RYANS PRIVATES ON OMAHA BEACH
Nazi emplacement, Omaha Beach
American Sherman Tank
British Churchill Tank
German Panzer
After looking around the assault areas, we headed off to the US Cemetery, which is just above the beach.
This was quite an emotional moment, which I fully expected it to be. White crosses as far as the eye can see. Beautifully manicured gardens and memorials, and a little post script at the bottom, ‘Oh and the British, Canadian and French were there too.’
Still, it was moving – and so were we. Off to Arromanche, the site of GOLD beach where the British towed the Mulberry Harbour. (Portable harbour which secured the beach-head). In one of the tourist shops on the front, it is possible to buy a genuine German helmet for a cool 290Euros. A short ride into Bayeux to see the British cemetery and the graves of many Durham Light Infantry casualties.
By this time it was teatime and we still had a couple of hundred miles to ride back to
Abbeville. More rain, more peage and more trying to loose Dangerous Paul in deepest darkest France but to no avail. I think he must have clicked-on! We arrived at Abbeville around 9.30 in the evening and found the hotel straight away. Paul with the map at the back. (a ruse we should have realised earlier). A quick shower and meal in the hotel and then back to the bar across the road to see Paul’s beau. The guy’s smile when he walked in was a picture. Only a few sherbets and an early night due to the early start and dash up to Calais for the 11 am ferry.
http://www.mototaranis.com/
The rain started as soon as we set off on the 70-mile dash to the boat. We got a right soaking. The spray off the lorries was almost impenetrable; eyes closed, throttle open jobbie. Once we got back to Dover the sun came out and the trip up the country was uneventful if a bit boring and slow. It’s a harsh reminder that our roads are crap compared to the continent. So are the drivers! Especially nuggets in 3 series BMW’s, twat!
Arriving back into beautiful Fishburn around 6pm and having travelled 1741 miles I was knackered.
I had an absolutely fantastic time; the group of lads were a good set and are planning a trip to Germany next year. Should be a blast too!
If anyone is looking to go to Northern France for a trip I would recommend Ken and Lesley’s place – MOTOTARANIS, the hospitality is second to none and all for a great price. Just see the web-link or give them a ring.
That’s shallot
