Friday, 13th June
Home to Folkestone - 186 miles, 3h 52 mins
The original plan for today was to travel down to Folkestone with TP's friend, Charlie. Charlie had advised that he wouldn't be able to leave work until mid afternoon. This meant that we would hit the M25 during Friday evening rush hour. He also wanted to go across the Cotswolds rather than take the M40, which would further prolong what was going to be a lengthy trip anyway ... I should have taken note of this, as his predilection for poor planning became apparent during the following days.
Fortunately he managed to get out of work early, and I managed to persuade him that we would make better time if we stuck to the motorways. We left home shortly after one o'clock and arrived at the Travelodge in Folkestone about four hours later.
The traffic on the M25 was predictably heavy and some aggressive filtering was needed to get through the congested sections around Heathrow and the M3 junctions.
TP had already arrived in Folkestone, and was working his way down a beer as we pulled up in the carpark. We checked in, and had a relaxing evening, before hitting the sack early, in preparation for the Channel crossing tomorrow.
At this point I should mention that my back had stood up to four hours in the saddle rather well. I was cautiously optimistic that I could manage ten days of riding ... provided I took precautionary painkillers each day.
Saturday, 14th June
Folkestone to Liege - 199 miles, 5h 3 mins
It was a short run from the hotel to the Channel Tunnel terminal, where we met up with TP's cousin, Rob. It was then a matter of checking in and waiting in a holding area before being called to board.
One comment on the boarding process, is that it is a bit of a faff on a motorcycle. There is a need to stop and remove your gloves to check in and then you are given a boarding pass that is supposed to be displayed. We noted that more seasoned travellers had come prepared with a clothes peg to fix them to the screen of their bike.
British and French passport control booths are separated by a 50 meter stretch. One needs to stop, remove gloves, locate and hand over one's passport and then remove one's helmet for identification verification purposes. It was then necessary to reclothe, drive a short distance and do the same all over again.
While negotiating passport control I forgot the width of my bike's panniers and managed to scrape the right one as I left the UK booth. I also managed to get separated from TP, Charlie and Rob, and ended up completing the crossing solo on a completely different train.
The tunnel crossing was uneventful. After descending a very steep ramp, the motorcycles were directed on to the train. We parked up, and left our bikes on their side stands, before dismounting and relaxing for the 35 minute journey. The vehicle carriages are not brightly lit, and have a distinct aroma of rubber and vehicle exhausts. It was vaguely reminiscent of a suburban bus station late at night.
After arriving in France it was a case of following the exit signs towards the motorway. Fortunately there was a service station immediately outside the French terminal and I waited there for the chaps to arrive about twenty minutes later.
It was then a long motorway slog towards Liege. The French and Belgian countryside was flat and mostly agricultural. Much of this area was heavily impacted during the Second World War, and rebuilt during the 50's and 60's. The flatness and similarly aged buildings and infrastructure gave me the sense that I was riding across a huge model railway ... even down to the small herds of cows in little fenced fields.
Our first night abroad was spent in the Yust Hostel. The heat of the day brought on a terrific thunderstorm this evening and we watched the storm from the rooftop bar of the hotel. It is fair to say we were relieved that we weren't riding in such torrential rain.
It had been another long day and we were all glad of a comfortable bed that night
Sunday, 15th June
Liege to Heidelberg - 222 miles, 4h approx
It was another long day in the saddle as we headed towards the Black Forest. The riding times I have indicated are approximate and do not take account of the breaks that are needed to rest aching shoulders and sore backsides.
As we left Liege the landscape and roads started to change and we were rewarded with the sight of rolling, forested hills. The roads were high quality with very little traffic. They featured fast sweeping bends and we crossed high bridges over verdant valleys. It was a welcome change after the motorways of the preceding couple of days.
We actually spent much of the day riding; eventually arriving and checking in to the Meininger Hotel on Carl Benz Strasse in Heidelberg.
We took a tram in to the city centre for our evening meal, and dined at a fairly anonymous Euro Restaurant. I think I had a gourmet burger. I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that there is some damned good food on the continent, but their beef is quite average, neither good, nor bad, just average.
Monday, 16th June
Odenwald, Heidelberg - 95 miles, 4h approx
Our plans* included a two night stay in Heidelberg, and this meant that we could enjoy a day riding without being encumbered with our luggage.
Today we headed up in to the Odenwald. This is a region of low mountains to the North West of Heidelberg and we had a quite splendid day riding lovely twisty roads through forests and mountains.
By this point the structure of our days had become established. We would leave the hotel or hostel relatively early and fill up with fuel. We would then ride for about an hour, before hunting down a bakery or patisserie for a breakfast pastry and a coffee.
A further hour, or two, of riding would follow, and another break would be taken to rest aching bums and have some lunch. In the afternoons we rode until we decided that we had had enough for the day.
Now back to the circuit of the Odenwald. As we headed back in to Heidelberg late in the afternoon, Rob and I became separated from TP and Charlie. Charlie was becoming quite overbearing and had insisted that Google Maps would be ideal for navigating the final leg of today's ride. After becoming separated, Rob and I found that it, most definitely, was not!
The bloody software was trying to take us out of Heidelberg to a previous way point, rather than back towards our hotel. We pulled up, and this is a convenient point in my narrative to mention the weather. It was abso-fucking-lutely sweltering. The temperature was in the mid to high twenties,** and helmets, gloves and riding gear meant that we were dripping!
Now back to the narrative, Rob and I pulled in to the side of the road by the river within sight of the castle. After a few minutes with my phone and BMW satellite navigation software, we soon had a route planned back to the hotel.
This was the first time that I had used the BMW navigation functionality "in anger" and it performed faultlessly. The phone and bike screens work in tandem providing a map view and turn by turn instructions. My helmet intercom also provides audio instructions.
Rob stuck to my tail light like glue and we were soon able to see the familiar sight of the hotel looming in front of us. It wasn't long before we were able to park our bikes, shed our riding gear and sink a very refreshing beer.
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* When I say "our" plans, it was rapidly becoming apparent that I actually mean "Charlie's" plans. As the days passed it became clear that we were doing exactly what Charlie wanted. He would ask for the group's views, but the final decision always seemed to be what Charlie proposed in the first place.
** ℃
Tuesday, 17th June
Heidelberg to Baden Baden - 50 miles, approx
Today we left Heidelberg behind and headed down the Rhine valley towards the spa town of Baden Baden. We elected to take a twisty route and ended up riding through the back streets of, seemingly conjoined, villages and towns that were scattered along the bank of the river.
In the hot weather it wasn't fun and a decision to use faster roads didn't seem to make much difference.
We stopped short of Baden Baden in a town called Rastatt and spent an interesting hour taking a tour of the Schloss Rastatt; a baroque palace built between 1700 and 1707.
After that bit of culture, we lunched nearby at a pleasant pavement eatery, before travelling the final few miles to The Tribe hotel in Baden Baden.
Rob (the bastard!) called shotgun to share a room with TP, which meant that I was bunked with Charlie. Now Charlie has sleep apnoea, which meant that I would need to wear ear plugs to stand a chance of getting a decent nights sleep. He is also of Hagrid like proportions and can easily fill any room! I was also becoming less enamoured with his company, as his overbearing know-it-all nature began to grate. It seems that he had holidayed in Germany with his parents as a child, and was, therefore, an expert on all things Germanic!
Wednesday, 18th June
The B500 - 180 miles (min), 5h 57 mins
We were scheduled to stay in Baden Baden for two nights, so, today, we were able to remove our motorcycle luggage and explore the twists and turns of the B500, without bulky panniers. The UK motorcycle press has extolled the virtues of this fantastic road, and our plan was to see just how good it was.
It is fair to say that it is a beautiful road, well surfaced, with very little traffic, that took us through beautiful Black Forest scenery. The road really did have it all; mile long tunnels, hairpin bends, exquisite views and, without doubt, the most complicated corners I have ever encountered. Some of them were blind 180° turns that seemed to go on forever!
It was apparent that either the R1250R, or me, was off the pace,* when compared to the rest of the group, and I spent my time bringing up the rear.
I will, however, maintain that this was a key riding position, as Rob had neither satellite navigation nor an intercom. It was therefore vital that the last man was able to a) find his way home, and b) alert the front-runners of any problems.
I'm not sure that TP or Charlie are particularly strong on group riding etiquette, as would become apparent later.
As the day wore on physical fatigue set in,** and I was also becoming weary of Charlie's manner.*** After a break for lunch, I decided to leave the lads to another run along the B500 and made my own way back towards Baden Baden.
I found it incredibly liberating to be making my own way about the country. I was dependent on no-one and had no pressure to maintain a pace I didn't feel comfortable with. My route back was fantastic and featured a long winding stretch through a valley alongside a little river. It was quite beautiful riding past farms and hay meadows with the mountains and forests rising around me.
I found my way back without incident or wrong turns and was showered and sinking my second beer by the time the others got back from their ride.
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* Probably me!
** I am twice the age of the rest of the group
*** I mentioned to both TP and Charlie that I wanted to stop for breakfast quite early in our day. This was promptly ignored and we didn't break until just before midday! This is not great for a Type 1 diabetic.
Thursday, 19th June
Baden Baden to Verdun, France - 165 miles, 5h 14 mins
Yesterday evening Charlie attempted to persuade the group that we should stay a further night in Baden Baden and explore the area further.
This was the point that I lost patience with him and call it out as a fucking stupid idea. Our train through the Channel Tunnel was early on Sunday morning. This meant that we had three days to cover approximately 650 kilometres ( over 400 miles).
I pointed out that the weather was extremely hot and that attempting to ride four hundred miles in two days would require extended rest stops and left no contingency in case of accidents or break downs. I also pointed out that Rob had an earlier crossing on Saturday evening, which would place further pressure on him.
Allowing three days for the journey back to Calais was a far better plan. It would allow us to take a more leisurely run through the French countryside, rather than a two day slog up motorways.
Charlie's proposal was typical of the crap he had been spouting all week. Ill thought out, not taking account of the group's wishes and only aligned with his personal desires and agenda. As the tour progressed it had become apparent that it really was all about what Charlie wanted to do.
So, yesterday evening I had proposed Verdun as our destination for today and after much debate Charlie grudgingly accepted that Verdun looked like a nice place to stop. A hostel was booked and we decided on an early start.
We checked out of the hotel shortly after eight in the morning, and were soon navigating our way out of the town. I have already mentioned the lack of group riding etiquette, and within a few miles TP, Charlie and Rob filtered down the outside of a narrowing two lane system, leaving me stuck behind heavy traffic.
I continued, hoping to catch sight of them, but it became apparent that we had taken different routes. Fortunately I had entered our destination in to the BMW's satellite navigation system, so I just kept heading towards Verdun in the vain hope that I might bump in to them.
After about half an hour TP called, and asked where I was. I pointed out that I was now a good distance further on and I could see little point in attempting to find each other. I told him, possibly quite abruptly, that I would make my own way to Verdun and see them later.
Again, I had a tiring, but quite splendid time riding through the French countryside. I had chosen a twisty route that was predominantly on D (minor) roads. The roads were mostly equivalent to UK B and C class roads. All were quiet and I swear that I saw more cows than cars today.
Much of my route was comprised of twists and turns and there were times when I seemed to be going back on myself. I rode through beautiful countryside and deserted villages. I had hoped to find a pavement cafe, for refreshments, with elderly French Gentlemen smoking Gauloise cigarettes, but I saw nothing for hours on end. At certain points the roads straightened and went for miles over rolling hills without a single bend. These straights were quite incredible to ride.
I really was enjoying riding on my own. I am a capable person but sometimes lack confidence in new situations, and was taking a great degree of satisfaction and pleasure that I was making my own way through France without support or direction.
I arrived in Verdun at about three o'clock and entered the town over the canal bridge that faces the fine turreted gateway to the old town. A few minutes later I pulled up outside the hostel on Avenue Garibaldi.
The hostel reception did not open for another couple of hours, so I grabbed a pain au chocolat and some water from a nearby bakery and relaxed and read in the shade in a nearby park.
I was eventually able to practise my school boy French and check in to the hostel shortly after five. Having carried my bags to the room, I was parking my bike in the underground carpark, when the boys finally arrived.
Over dinner our plans for the next couple of days were discussed. It became apparent that Charlie thought Calais was a dump and was planning to spend Saturday night in Lille. Now Lille is over an hour from Calais, which meant that the Sunday ride home would be well over five hours of riding not counting breaks. That might suit TP and Charlie, but my new found independence had given me a far better idea.
Friday, 20th June
Verdun to Fourmies - 109 miles, 4h approx
TP selected our destination for this evening's stopover.
Fourmies is a nondescript little town, with little to recommend it other than its convenient location within striking distance of Lille and Calais.
As we prepared to set off, I informed the lads that I would be riding solo again today, and that I would meet them in Fourmies that evening.
I had another splendid day riding twisty roads through deserted villages and hamlets. Traffic was minimal, although I did have an exciting moment when I met a milk tanker on a single track road. I pulled in as close to the side as I could and the driver was an absolute gentleman ... he pulled right on to the verge to give me ample room.
At one point my route took me along a kilometre of road that was so badly degraded that barely 15% of the surface was tarmac. The remainder was rutted and covered with loose gravel. There was, of course, the obligatory strip of weeds up the centre of the track. I can now claim that I have definitely ridden my bike off road.
At this point I should add that the terribly clunky, grinding gearbox of the R1250R seems to be finally smoothing out. It isn't perfect, but, over the last couple of days, the gear changes seem much smoother, although in and out of third can still be unpleasant. The Dealership advised that I just needed to get through some miles on the bike, but, in response, I ask "what manufacturer would put out a product that was initially so unpleasant to use?" The current BMW Boxer engines seem to be constructed to create an initial, and possibly long lasting, negative perception by their owners.
I arrived in Fourmies mid-afternoon. The town looked as exciting as Bromsgrove,* but the hotel was pleasantly located in woodland next to a small lake. I was soon checked in and enjoyed a long shower to remove the sweat and dust accumulated after many hours in the saddle.
As I reviewed my day, I realised that I had ridden over a hundred miles on roads that were the same quality, or worse than the Three Miler.**
After cleaning up, I wandered down to the lake and enjoyed an enormous ice cream. This brought on instant fatigue, and I took a long afternoon nap. I woke just before the arrival of TP, Charlie and Rob.
Fourmies dining options were incredibly limited, so TP and Charlie were dispatched in to town in search of sustenance. They returned with beer and pizza, which was consumed al fresco.
As already mentioned, TP and Charlie planned to spend tomorrow night in Lille, wake early on Sunday and ride for over an hour to get to Calais; the mandated hour before their 10.24 tunnel crossing.
Rob needed to be in Calais for a Saturday evening tunnel crossing, and I thought that Calais was the best stopover for me too. There was no way that I wanted to extend my Sunday ride unnecessarily by over an hour. I therefore booked a room in Calais and let the TP and Charlie know of my plans.
I think Rob was relieved to know that he would have company on the ride to Calais, especially as I had satellite navigation.
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* i.e. "not very"
** A UK "C" class road, less than 4m wide.
Saturday, 21st June
Fourmies to Calais, via Lille - 143 miles, 4h approx
So Saturday panned out as follows.
We left Fourmies relatively early in the day and headed, via a fast route, up to Lille.
Again, the weather was roasting, and we were all melting by the time we arrived in the city. The crawl through the midday, city traffic added to the discomfort and I was glad to shuck off my jacket when we eventually parked.
We lunched at a little sandwich bar in a slightly scruffy area away from the city centre. The food was great. It was just unfortunate that the aroma from the local plumbing was less than savoury.
As we lunched, TP and Charlie attempted to reserve a room for the night and found that there was nowhere economical available in Lille. They, instead, decided to head in to Belgium and stay at a cheap Airbnb they had found.*
After eating, and relaxing in the shade of trees within sight of the Museum of Beaux Arts, we went our separate ways. Rob and I headed on to Calais,** whilst TP and Charlie nipped across the Belgian border.
It was another couple of hours riding to reach Calais, and I waved farewell to Rob as he headed towards the Channel Tunnel terminal and I peeled off the autoroute in to the town.
Within five minutes I had located, and checked in to my Faulty Towers esque hotel. Any remaining pressures lifted as I knew I was only a nine minute ride away from the Tunnel terminal. I got myself clean, changed in to fresh clothing and had a damned good snooze before heading out to find something to eat.
Earlier in the week Charlie had turned up his nose at the idea of staying Calais, describing it as "a shit hole." TP had parroted this opinion, although neither of them could offer any evidence to back up this opinion. I decided to explore with an open mind.
I selected a nearby brasserie for my evening meal and wandered in to town. Within about eight minutes I was presented with a loud dance music and a group of impressive drag queens posing outside a club. As I rounded the corner I located my chosen eatery, which had a live synth rock group performing 1980's covers just outside.
The town was absolutely pumping, and I had a splendid evening. The live band was brilliant, performing numbers by The Cure, Joy Division, Depeche Mode and many others. My meal was very good too and L'Hovercraft deserves a special mention as they were quite happy for me to dine alone, despite the fact that the town was rammed and, by the time I left, people were queuing for tables.
After the band had finished their set, I headed back to the hotel and had an early night, after setting my alarm and configuring the sat nav to take emergency to the Terminal.
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* When they tried to contact the owner, they discovered that it was a scam rental posting, and ended up spending the night in Bruges. The cynic in me thinks that this is exactly what Charlie had wanted all along, as he had been proposing that we stay the last night in Bruges since day #1.
** Rob had no satellite navigation, and admitted that he was glad to have me guide him out of Lille and on up to Calais. He hadn't looked forward to attempting to get there using Post-it Notes with scrawled directions.
Sunday, 22nd June
Calais to Home - 190 miles, 4h 30mins approx
I had a reasonable night's sleep, but it was very hot and humid and my room lacked any form of air-conditioning.
On waking, first order of the day was to pack, and then I wandered outside to put my bags in the bike's panniers. On my return I enquired what time breakfast was served* and, fortuitously, had asked just as the restaurant opened.
A couple of croissants and a pain au chocolat were selected from the buffet, and washed down with a strong black coffee.
I then headed back to my room and had a quick call from 30%. I realised that I wanted to get home, and there was no point in waiting another hour for my scheduled train. I checked out, got on my bike and ten minutes later I was riding in to the Calais Tunnel Terminal.
I checked in and was allocated a place on a train leaving an hour earlier than my planned departure. The Channel Tunnel operations process seems to group motorcyclists together, so I had like minded company to chat to as I waited for my train.
I departed Calais on the 09.24 train**, and arrived in Folkestone shortly after nine o'clock. The M25 was the usual ball ache, and even with filtering, it took me a good four and a half hours to get home. I had a brief stop at Clacket Lane services for fuel and a coffee, but the rest of the time was spent in the saddle, riding as fast as the traffic would allow.
I was amazed at how congested the M25 was, considering I was riding around it on a Sunday morning.
It is fair to say that I was glad to be home. I had enjoyed the trip, particularly proving to myself that I was able to travel independently abroad on my bike.
Would I do it again? Yes! But next time I will be setting my own agenda. I'll happily ride with the lads, but if I don't fancy their route or destination, I'll do what I want instead.
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* "Bonjour Monsieur, le petit déjeuner, a quelle heure est il?" I am amazed at how much of my schoolboy French is still lurking in the recesses of my mind, and that I can manage to hold a basic conversation ... Note: Basic conversation!
** local time (BST +1hr)
