Thunderbirds are Go!

In the beginning, there were a dozen or so of us; but in the end there was only one...

Ace by name, ace by breakfast. By 7.15am the team of expedition riders - 10 of us, plus two guides and a support van - are lined in a neat row outside the famous north London cafe. I feel calm: no more preparing can be done, no mistakes can be fixed and no new solutions can be dealt with. Ain’t nothing left but the doing of it all. 

My friends Ali and Lou turn out to check I’m actually leaving, not just pretending, and a few texts come in too. Yet another farewell and I say bye to them - it’s been really fun catching up with close friends this past 5 weeks or so, and I’m very sorry to be leaving them. I’ve seen lots of people this time, but few for more than a few hours when I’d happily chat to them for days.For years now I’ve only been back visiting London, and I have escaped the grind of daily life here. But I’ve also missed the chance to spend that time with my old time buddies. Friendships stretch easily when required, but they also need something to keep them going. I worry about neglecting this truism, and today is no different. Even with the bike next to me, shiny and ready to go, I can’t help regretting that I haven’t spent more time with friends, and with my family too.

But my new family are around me now. After meeting at the hotel yesterday, I’m reassured by familiar faces. I joined the Globebusters group to enable me to complete my first couple of months: the leg to China. From the experienced guides and from my fellow riders I hope to learn enough to get me through later adventures on my own, on the American continent and beyond.

For now though, it’s comforting to meet up again with the team. We’ve started comparing bikes and kit, like the bunch of geeks that we are. It’s easy chat and we’re mentally sizing one another up - trying to get a feel for personalities. Who’s reliable; who’s organised; who rides too fast, or too slow? Who’s my roommate, who’s going to lend me gum? 

There are many hidden talents in our group, but today it’s like any other gathering of strangers - we each just want to find someone we can get along with, and who makes us laugh.
Enough chat, it’s time to go. Early adrenalin and nerves (of what I’m not sure - dropping the bike? crashing? getting lost?) are quickly settled as I pull away and the riding habits come to the fore. Out to the M4 and the miles start to roll by. I’m rather enjoying ‘doing’ the trip now, and the phoney expedition is consigned to the blog. This is the real deal, I tell myself... and wait to see if that makes the motorway any more interesting. Not by much, it turns out.

So, for the Nth time I take the M25, M26 and M20 into Kent. Very dull. After a quick diversion to pick up one last item from dear ol’ Dad, I catch up with the group just outside of Folkestone. After briefly lining up like a squadron of Spitfires, we peel off one-by-one and roll neatly onto the Eurostar train. We stand by our bikes, a little nervous... but gradually relax and look forward to France. So far, so good!

Leaving the train there was no drama as we headed into northern France. I was familiar with the wide canals, huge fertile-looking farmland and blissfully empty roads. But it was good to go gently into the continental driving environment - roundabouts and t-junctions can catch you out so easily.

The French towns and villages are fun to travel though - so similar to our own, yet with an unmistakable Gallic flavour. Or was it just that the signs were not in English?

After a few more hours riding - including a nice downpour to test our wet-weather gear - we enter Belgium and eventually pull into the town of Bouillon, where we are staying for the night.  One day, three countries - not a bad start!



A.M.    This is a beautiful place: on a wide shimmering river and overlooked by a brooding fortified castle. There was no time for an evening stroll last night as our debrief meeting, and unloading the bikes took quite a while.  But I crept out at first light this morning and clambered about the battlements.

In an attempt to kick start my video blog I've knocked up the following - it's very rough around the edges: First thoughts from the road. Give it time to download...

Thank goodness for... Bournemouth

This won't stay clean for long...

Without having sat still for very long since long before I left Hong Kong, the packing and preparation for this trip has seemed relentless.  No sooner do I get one thing finished, than another thing needs doing - or chasing up, or doing again.  It’s not just biking kit, paperwork and mechanical issues.  It’s calling the bank to stop them blocking my card, calling the tax office to find out how best to handle my tax assessment (er.... do it before you go, was the unhappy advice), finding a post office that could issue an International Driving Permit... that sort of thing.

Early mornings and late nights, lots of riding practice, a fair bit of fitness work.  The best remedy for all this was to enjoy a few days’ break I’d set up with some friends.  Momentarily the to-do list looked in control so I took the bike on a final reconnaissance trip, and headed to the beach for the Bank Holiday.  The sunshine was glorious, the sand soft and warm, but the sea still frekkin freezing!  You’re not in Hong Kong any more, Dorothy, so don’t pretend the sea is warm enough yet.  Great BBQ from Abby’s friend Claire, and lovely company.  Just what the doctor ordered, quite literally.

Bluebell woods in Kent.

Back in Kent it was full on in the preparation game again.  I’ve been trying so hard to keep all the plates spinning... there are a few ‘last minute’ items that I’ve ordered off the internet, but some of these haven’t arrived.  The postal delays caused by the Bank Holidays have caused a problem I ought to have safeguarded against.... so I’m a bit annoyed at myself, but too tired to fix it up.

At last, I can pack all my kit.  Steve helps out and keeps things ship-shape and condensed.  Mum helps with some discreet sewing of secret pockets and design improvements.  Dad wisely keeps his head down, issues medical advice and ensures I have a clean helmet (and windscreen).  Jess wonders why I haven’t found more time to meet the niece and Grandma tells me again about the trip she did to Italy in 1946....  Or was it India?

A final few walks in the woods to admire the bluebells; another succulent piece of steak; chance meetings with family and friends.  The days and hours have rushed by and suddenly it’s time to go.  For once I’m ready on time - even the tax form was submitted - and with the sounds of Kate and Will’s wedding in the background I’ve got to go.

All at once this is overwhelming.  Suffocated in my biker suit, sleep deprived and stressed, it takes just one watery-eyed look from my Mam and suddenly I’m blubbering like a child again.  Big hugs all rounds as I gasp for a deep breath and some toughen-up tonic.  I’ve ‘left home’ to go travelling so many times, but this one feels different.  The unmentioned danger of motorcycle riding is suddenly on everyone’s mind.  Everyone wants me to go safely, and for a very intense moment, nobody wants this more than me.