Motorbike RTW: Norfolk, Jersey and Home again.

To Norfolk, via Jersey

Our Eastern European tour was a great success. We tested the bike and ourselves for 2months and 15,000kms and are pleasantly surprised at the outcome. We can pitch a tent for 57 days. We can survive in rain and cold and heat. We can eat cold spaghetti out of a glass jar and we still love each other.

However, there are a few modifications to be made on the bike: the most pressing one being to install a Scott Oiler. B is meticulous about regularly oiling the chain at 100 kms intervals. When the bike is unloaded it’s an effort. When the bike is loaded it’s a BIG effort. “One, two three, heave” we call as we synchronise feet placements, arm movements and shoulder pushing. For our RTW (Round The World) trip, which is looming, this is not something we want to do. After a bit of research on the internet, a Scott Oiler is purchased, delivered and fitted. We plan to try this on our next adventure to Norfolk, via the Battle Flower Show in Jersey. We had struggled a bit on the steep uphill curves when tackling the mountain passes in Romania and Central Italy, so B put his action plan to swop

front-ends of the X-Country and Sertao into place. To boost our finances we participated in the annual Bric-a-Brac that takes place in the rural French village where we live. The proceeds go into the RTW fund. It’s now the middle of August and we have a chance to test the modifications.

The 410kms ride on the highway to St.Malo was cold, wet and windy but ended in glorious sunshine at the ferry port. Whilst waiting for the ferry we dozed off in the warmth of the afternoon sun. We have pre-booked a campsite on the East side of Jersey island as the population swells during this grand event. It is held on the 2^nd Thursday of August, having started in 1902 to celebrate the coronation of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra. The storms that challenged us on the French mainland riding to the ferry port continued during our stay in Jersey. Wearing full rain gear we circumnavigated one side of the island, spotting the WW2 bunkers and lighthouses and getting our bearings for parking the bike during the show. We ventured into cosy harbour cafes to

sample traditional Jersey Ice Cream, Potatoes and Black Butter (Spicy Apple Preserve). The day of the Flower Show arrives and still in our hi-vis full suit rain gear we stand in the queue. We are approached by a rather frantic Marshall who mistakes us for part of the missing skydiving team. We assure him that motorbikes are our thing, not jumping out of planes. Coincidentally, he is also South African and takes the joke one step further by introducing us to fellow Marshalls as part of the sky diving team, who have now been found. The language of Jersey is a Jersey-Norman dialect with an unusual accent that has a strangely familiar

South African twang. We checked with our new friend that he is indeed from SA and not a Jersey man.

The show was brilliant, full of colour, fun and noise. The marching bands led the flower-decked floats up and down the parade road for at least 2 hours. The sun came out for the show and the wind blew the storm clouds away. The three nights under tent had seen the tarp blow away and tear a bit, the challenge of a different tiny 2 man tent suffocating and cramped and the need for 100% waterproof panniers paramount. We are now narrowing down the specifications for our RTW.

· B needs a chair with a back, not a Tripod chair

· 3-man tent, imperative with vestibule

· Waterproof front panniers

· Waterproof liners for back sling overs

· A bigger platform over the back to double up as a table, with holes for cups

· More efficient lighting fuel for the petrol stove

· Repair my heated vest

· B needs bigger gloves

· Collapsible pots, kettle and plates

· Windshield for stove

· Lighter weight ground sheets.

After three days where we encountered all weathers, bar the snow, we continue the journey and catch the ferry to Poole. The bad weather continues, which is rather disappointing for mid-summer, so when we land at 19h30 we question whether we will make the 200kms journey to our friends near Gatwick before the storm breaks.

Well the decision is made for us. We stop at a café to top-up our UK sim card and I switch the Garmin Navigator on to add addresses and compare distances and routes. It drains the battery: the same battery that caused us so much trouble in Belgrade. We are now stuck in Poole late on a Friday night with a loaded motorbike and no power. “Push”, says B as he foots it down the level road and I do my best. Surprise,

surprise, we are at sea level and there are no hills. We get further and further away from the café and then spot a slightly uphill driveway. No-body is at home and some very kind unknowing people have lent us their driveway. We push the bike up and with an almighty push back down the driveway, it starts. The relief is huge. A decision is made to re-route ourselves to family in Worcester, where we will tout the bike shops on Saturday morning and invest in a brand new battery. We set off in the dark, and complete the 250kms, arriving just past midnight to a warm, if not surprised welcome.

Battery purchased and fitted and after a few days

catching up with our South African family, we set off again to do the 320kms cross country ride from Worcester to Norwich. This is another mega South African reunion with a week of partying and some shopping. We can tick chair, pots, plates and gloves off the ‘to buy’ list. We catch up with a fellow biker at a bike-show-in-a-field-pub. The homeward route takes us 300kms south to our friends near Gatwick, another ferry and home to our lovely rural French village home. The ferry arrives in Dieppe at 5am, again cold and very wet. What happened to the sun this summer? We know it is 540 kms to home, but having only semi-dozed on the carpeted floor overnight, by 8am we are getting tired and hungry. A quick boil-up of coffee at a laybye restored us for a few hours, but when we spotted a patch of grass bathed in sunshine next to a

parking zone in the cropped wheat fields, we could not resist a zizz. Parking the bike on its centre stand, we hopped over the Armco barriers and flopped onto the grass, hitting the sack immediately, keeping our helmets on, which are perfect pillows.. About an hour later, we heard a very concerned voice “bonjour, bonjour” calling us. As soon as we responded with “ merci, je suis fatigue, je suis d’accord “, our rescuer nodded and departed. Such a kind act, the poor car owner had probably thought we’d been flung over the edge. Suitably refreshed the remaining few hours ride to home was pleasant enough, where we put the bike in doors, closed the shutters and went back to bed.