13. Rectifying an Electrical Problem in Italy - 13
13. Rectifying an Electrical Problem in Italy - 13
Because it is such a popular destination (it is the route to the UK), Calais is signposted from a greater distance away than you would expect for a city of it’s size. This lulls you into a false sense that you are nearer to your destination than you actually are. So despite seeing the signs, I never seemed to arrive. This problem was further aggravated by that fact that when I did arrived at Calais, I had forgotten that I still had a little way to drive to go past it and get to the Channel Tunnel terminal at Sangatte. I know its not far but by now I had had enough. The last hour was pretty much the most tiring of the trip. It was dark, I was hungry, I wanted to get home and it seemed like this hour lasted for days.
I finally arrived. My check in was flawless and I virtually rolled straight onto the train. I was pleased about this as there are no facilities here for a weary motorcyclist to take shelter, have a bathroom break or get a bite. Once you are lined up to get on your train you are trapped. Not even a place to sit. And the same goes when you get on the train. If you want to sit down you have to do it on the floor. But the great advantage over the ferries is that the train gets you home quicker. By now I was calculating that I could be back home at the latest by 10:00 pm. Thankfully I only live 25 minutes from the Port of Dover in the UK and 35 minutes from the Channel Tunnel terminal, so once you are on the boat or the train, you know you are pretty much home.
They always hold the bikes back when boarding the train, so that they all load together. There were 3 of us on this train and it was nice to finally have the opportunity to speak to someone in English and that had been travelling in Europe on a bike like me.
There was one guy and his wife on a well kitted out Gold Wing, who had travelled 700 miles to get the train that night. And the other guy on a beat up Bandit had done 4,000 miles in the last 4 weeks. Made my little trip seem trivial by comparison.
The Gold Wing was complete with lounge type seating, heated everythings and 3 Satnavs. One for the passenger on a moveable stalk, who would plot the routes as they travelled and 2 on the bars (the displays set at different degrees of enlargement) for the driver to navigate the roads ahead. It had more screens and buttons on it than the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. There was even a display to give a running read out of tyre pressures which was somehow wirelessly linked to pressure sensing air valve caps. The owner described how necessary this was as the bike was so heavy and traveling at speeds would cause the tyre pressures to nearly double in number, so he had to be careful not to over stress them. He had just given me another thing to worry about. What would my tyre pressures be like when I was doing 85 mph on those hot Italian roads? What would have happened if one of them had exploded? Now I could understand why flats were sometimes called blow outs. Perhaps I needed to get a tyre pressure readout system? Perhaps not.
The other guy was an oil rig worker who was on his months shore leave. He had bought a beat up old Suzuki Bandit for a few hundred pounds the week before he left and set off to visit friends in Norway (in the oil business) and other friends in Italy. Thus he racked up 4,000 miles in a four week period with an unknown bike and with just a back pack strapped on his seat. I never had time to recount any of my adventures (the train only takes 30 minutes to reach the UK), which were, by comparison to his, of very little drama.
These 2 bikers certainly brought me back down to earth. I had almost got to the point of believing my own publicity about this trip. That I was an heroic survivor of an epic journey and that without my ingenuity, skill and determination to get home, my trip would have ended in that town square in Italy. Here I was thrown back into the reality that there were plenty of guys out there doing stuff like this with bigger, better, harder and faster stories than my little, what now seemed like, school boy adventure.
When I rolled off the train in England, I did so with the knowledge that I would be home soon. I had a sense the other guys were still in the midst of their adventures and I’m sure they could see the relief in me that mine was about over. The Gold Wing guy was heading off to Manchester (another 295 miles away) and the Bandit Boy was going back to oil city Aberdeen (another 600 miles away). Both saying they were continuing their journey that night. I offered Bandit Boy a stay over at mine but he had to get back for work! That was impressive. We said our farewells and set off in the dark for our final destinations.
And 30 minutes later I drove straight into my garage, which was welcomingly open and waiting for me. Bike and rider and new rectifier and battery, safely restored into their rightful place. A lesson well and truly learnt. I should have known.
THE END.
