Diary and Photos

What a day- and not in a good way either. The south coast was a nightmare- busy as hell (it was a Sunday after all…), and the route consisted of town after town, and speed camera after speed camera.To top it all off, my arse was hurting even more than ever.

The day was another misty one up until around 1pm or so, and the tent was soaking wet when I took it down (and wet when I put it back up again, but it soon dried out in the evening sun). The mist made for a distinct lack of views, not that I really had much time to appreciate them anyway.

Orfff to Maargate!

It was a real slog- mile after mile of pain, and again I found myself questioning why I had decided to do this- was I mad? I adopted a technique of riding for as long as I possibly could before the pain made me stop. Just repositioning myself on the seat took an enormous effort of will, and each time I did it, I gave a semi grunt, semi whimper of pain, and it brought tears to my eyes- it really was that bad.

There were some highlights on the journey, despite the pain- the QE2 bridge over the Thames was a giggle- the Cub struggled on the way up (as far as bridges go, it’s pretty steep!), then went like stink on the way down- fun!

I enjoyed the decent into Dover and seeing the docks- I hadn’t been there since a school trip to France in the early eighties. I wanted to get a picture of the cub with the cliffs in the background, but sadly, every opportunity was foiled by ‘no stopping regulations’.

Several friends wanted to ride with me for a bit , but my ‘keep pushing on’ attitude, a breakdown of communications, and some on the fly route changes put paid to that.

I got to the campsite at around 5.45pm, after almost eleven hours of non-stop riding. The site was pleasant enough, nothing fancy, only a few tents, but thankfully a decent shower block. I had a shower and felt at least semi-human again, but abandoned the idea of a shave as there was no hot water in the sinks. I considered letting my beard (and my hair) grow during my journey, in a Ewan McGregor style. He had done it during ‘The long way round’, so why shouldn’t I? the idea of myself with hair was entertaining anyway- it’s been a long, long time since it grew longer than stubble.

My friend Victor caught up with me at the campsite- she had been riding pillion with a friend, and with another mate on a second bike, had been trying to catch up with me all day, but had failed to do so. When you consider they were both riding Hinckley triumphs, at first this sounds impressive. In truth, the reality was less so. Whilst I was going flat out, stopping only when it was absolutely necessary, they were stopping regularly, going for a wander, buying chips and ice cream etc. as took their fancy. Their encouraging words at the campsite really helped me a lot though, and the visit, however brief, was a very welcome one. She also made me a sticker for the bike, so the charity’s name was now emblazoned proudly along it.

It began to occur to me that I was passing through (and often passing by) a lot of places, yet sadly I was getting to see none of them- they just came and went very, very quickly. I promised myself that someday I’d revisit at least some of them, and have a proper look.

The campsite was blissfully quiet, so at least I got a decent night’s sleep- whether anyone did after I inevitably started snoring (I snore like a V8 chainsaw), was another matter entirely...

Next: Day 3

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