Poised

Wow, was I up early this morning. Surely the time change had something to do with it, but maybe the excitement didn't help. Who is to say? I can say that day one looks to be a wet one. There's so much rain that flood warnings have been issued all over the south of England. I pick the bike up in Wadsworth, so should know if my 15 year old gear is still waterproof by Croydon.... maybe sooner.

When you have only a limited sense of what's to come, you go back other experiences and I find myself returning to my arrival back in 1999 and the bike prep that I undertook with dad at that time. I arrived in the UK with a lot of kit. Considerably more than the tank bag I have this time around. Dad picked me up and we traveled up to Norfolk. I can vividly remember collecting the bike last time. It was stored in a garage of a friend in the village. We walked over to the garage. It was hundreds of years old, flint and brick. As we rolled open the door, the roof's shortcomings became apparent, allowing light through the old tiles in several places. The bike was very damp and covered in a mucky dust and stood no chance of starting. It was a 1980 BMW R65: a real testament to German engineering. I called it Fred... and have written about Fred before, back when I lived here last.

We walked it back through the village to dad's house and stripped off the seat and tank, spraying and re-connecting wires, charging the batteries, changing the oil and the like. We got it going in a cloud of blue smoke and considered the luggage options. It had two hard side panniers and I had a tank bag, but I felt we needed more. A back rack was the decided option. I looked online and my dad searched his soul. My option could be delivered in 48 hours from BMW and would cost 150 quid. My dad's option cost us nothing and could be completed in an afternoon. So, the welding started. Two pieces of scrap metal were welded to the pannier frame and stood out beyond the seat at the back of the bike. Bolted to them was a.... baking sheet. His wife was impressed when that was taken from the kitchen. Then, bolted to the baking sheet were two wall hanging brackets, so that the very heavy backpack wouldn't slide off the back. It looked incredibly homemade. This was entirely appropriate because it was entirely homemade. It may have drawn some attention over the course of the trip. Few people commented on it. A salesperson at a BMW dealership in Kassel, Germany actually patted it like a small but potentially vicious animal.... but didn't comment.

I remember, too, the first foray out. Down dad's drive, (which was just two very narrow strips of concrete), where I took the corner slightly wide and knocked the wall gently, dislodging a bit of the capping. I didn't see dad shake his head, but was later informed by Sue (his wife), that he came back in the house and predicted my ruin. I rounded the lane and pulled up to the intersection onto Beach road. I let the gear into neutral and put my hands on my legs. Facing the ocean, I just took it in. I paused a further moment to consider which side of the road to pull onto. Happily I got it right. I turned right and pulled away slowly, down the lane and through the old village centre an off onto the most incredible trip one could imagine.