Procrastination, Football & Carnival Chaos

I’d planned to leave on Saturday… but then I remembered I’m on Holiday!. So I delayed the trip to Monday, which conveniently freed up time for Swindon Town at home (we won and I won a bet!) and the Devizes Carnival. A couple of beers with mates, some football, some carnival noise — basically the universe saying, “Mate, you weren’t leaving today anyway.” Plus the ferry was cheaper Monday!

Sunday was dedicated to “bimbling,” which is the technical term for wandering around the house pretending to pack while actually doing very little. Wanda popped over for a beer — she’s an old school friend turned riding buddy who shares my passion for motorcycle touring. She’s convinced she can’t tour solo, despite being more capable than half the people I meet on the road. One day she’ll realise it… or maybe I’ll drag her along.

Monday: The Dover Odyssey (feat. Waze Being Waze)

Bright and early Monday, I inhaled a coffee and set off. Dover is simple: Andover → A303 → M3 → M25 → M26 → Dover. Even a mildly confused pigeon could navigate it.

But I, in a moment of pure idiocy, opened Waze.

Waze immediately decided I should visit Heathrow. Why? No idea. Maybe it thought I needed a holiday. Too late to change lanes, so I ended up on an eight‑mile detour. Prior to that it had dragged me through Basingstoke with the promise of “saving time,” which was a lie so bold it should run for Government.

By the time I reached Dover, I’d added 30 minutes and 20 miles to the trip. Waze is now officially demoted to “hazard warnings only,” because it is good at telling me when I’m accidentally doing warp speed.

Check‑in was blissfully empty. The ferry crew then made the baffling decision to send motorcycles up a wet metal ramp to a higher deck. Nothing says “welcome aboard” like riding on a surface specifically designed to make you fall over. Wonder what P and O’s risk assessment said about this, when locating it?

Weather Panic & Ypres (Again)

On the ferry, I obsessively refreshed weather maps like a man trying to win a staring contest with a storm. Heavy rain was incoming, so I bailed on riding much further and booked two nights in Ypres — familiar, easy, and conveniently dry.

Cabin One again. Unloaded the bike, wandered Aldi for beer and snacks, and inspected the “refurbished” showers, which looked exactly the same but a wee bit shinier. They’d also moved the entrance to a side door with a keypad… and…. no light. At 3 a.m., half asleep and desperate for the loo, I had to stumble back for my phone torch just to see the keypad. I’ll suggest they install a light before someone else ends up peeing in a bush (which is what I’d normally do, but I’d spotted a young lady staying in the cabin opposite the night before and didn’t fancy a night at the police station after being arrested for indecent exposure).

I lay down for a quick nap and woke up at 3 a.m. Then again at 9:30, where I fought the pod coffee machine and lost twice before finally producing something vaguely drinkable.

The Great Belgian Tyre Quest

I Googled motorcycle shops and found one closed on arrival, then headed to Power Wheels. The owner rummaged around like a man searching for treasure and emerged with a slightly older Kenda tyre — a 90/100/21 instead of my usual 90/90/21, but close enough.

He could order Metzeler Tourance, but the price made my wallet cry at €500 compared to £312 in Blighty. So Kenda it was: €70 fitted, done immediately, and perfect for wearing out the rear before replacing both.

A Quick Blast Before the Sky Exploded

The rain was creeping in, the sky turning the colour of doom. With a fresh tyre and zero desire to reenact Bambi on Ice, I squeezed in a 20‑mile loop through country lanes I’d never ridden. Filled up in Belgium (cheaper than France), and rolled back into the campsite just as the heavens opened.

Made a proper coffee on the stove, sat under the cabin’s covered decking, grabbed the Kindle, and started planning the next leg.

New Plan: Follow the Sun

The Alps are about to get hammered with storms, lightning, and temperatures that scream “absolutely not.” So the new plan is: Reims → Loire Valley → Massif Central → Spain. If the weather improves, I’ll swing back toward the Alps as I’ve got almost two weeks. For now, I’m doing the most sensible thing a motorcyclist can do:

Chasing the sun.