Last Exit from Calais

My last full day in France was a slog from near Beaune, round Paris and up to the town of Bethune, where I rode round and round in circles trying to find the trip hotel du Golf, a grey and boring dump on the outskirts of town.  That evening I checked out the news and found that more trouble was brewing at the Channel ports where a ferry crew strike had broken out for the second time in as many weeks.  I was glad of an excuse to leave early next morning as the previous strike had led to disruption at the Channel Tunnel as well.

As it happens there was no problem and I was checked onto an early train.  While waiting I had a chance to inspect a couple of other bikers.  Middle-aged blokes (like me?) with all the gear and BMW "adventure" touring motorcycles.  I'm growing to hate these things.  They look mighty and purposeful with their robust chunky looks and square aluminium and black luggage, but most of them only ever tour on motorways and other tarmac roads, when they're built for rugged off-road work.  The people that ride them are as ridiculous as the families that keep a range rover in Chelsea just for the school run.

Anyway, I was back in the UK in no time and riding up to Canterbury towards the Dartford tunnel and Lincoln.  I didn't find out until later that the Tunnel was again closed later in the day, so I had a lucky escape.  Back at dad's bungalow I gave my old Bandit a friendly pat, having carried me eighteen hundred miles without missing a beat.  Next morning it sailed through an MoT, allowing me to sell it's clone to my mechanic for a few hundred quid after having cannibalised it for the odd part.