“Where’s your sister live?”
“Brittany - south Brittany.”
“So where you stoppin’ tonight?”
“Er..........Brittany, her house - where she lives.” I felt it demanded a bit more explanation but where to start?
My new found friend and bike steadier looked at me intently. “No I mean tonight, you know, after the tunnel.”
“Well that’s what I mean, I’m off to Brittany tonight.” I noticed a couple of others in the carriage looking at me.
“Tonight? That's gonna take you - well all night - you can’t do that!”
“Well I guess I’m committed now eh, what with me being here and my sister’s place being there.”
I briefly explained to him and most of the carriage who were now listening, that my original intentions had been thwarted and this was a last minute change of plan. Indeed, without the actions of the French fishing fleet, I would have been at 'La Pierre Longue' with a glass of red wine in my hand rather than about to cross under the Channel.
“You can get a room in our hotel - can’t he Mick,” said a woman two bikes down. Her partner looked over at me. “Yeah that’s right mate, we only booked yesterday and they still had plenty rooms. Bound to be one available.”
One by one there seemed to be a consensus of opinion that I was to get off the train in France and immediately find one of several hotels which were sure to have rooms available. What was the point of riding all that way in the dark when I would see so much more if I waited until tomorrow? What if I broke down? What if I got cold? What if I lost my way? What if I ran out of fuel?
I pondered these things one by one. Yes it would be dark - I thought I would cope with that. If I broke down I was pretty snookered, dark or not. I had no breakdown insurance but I did have my socket set..... for nuts and things. I wondered whether I would be warm enough as I didn’t have my winter liner for my jacket. It was true, I could lose my way as the only map I had was a few photocopies of the route from St. Malo to my sister’s place. My route strategy for northern France was pretty much exit the tunnel and turn right! The only thing I felt confident about was not running out of fuel. I had filled up just before the tunnel and the GS has a good range and there were bound to be 24 hour service stations en route weren’t there?
“Listen guys I appreciate your comments but I really want to get to my sister’s place as soon as possible. I’ll drink loads of coffee and take plenty breaks - I’ll be fine.”
I think they could see I was determined (slightly bonkers), so there was a general mumbling of “good luck” and we started to chat about other things.
None of us had realised but as we had been chatting, the train had started moving. One of the lads pointed towards the narrow windows where outside, we could see faint lights passing by at an ever increasing speed.I looked at my watch and saw that it was exactly 9:50pm - what precision!
Approximately forty minutes later, the train slowed and gently stopped. The whole journey had been smooth, quiet and uneventful. We all agreed that this was indeed the best way to cross the channel.
I turned to the the guy who had helped me with my bike. “Just one question mate?”
“Yep, what's that?”
“Why do you call your bike Scooter, I mean it’s nothing like.......well you know?” I gestured over at his large Yamaha touring bike.
The big grin appeared again. “S’easy mate, I named it after my dog. Not the one I’ve got now, the one I had before. He died a while back.” He looked thoughtful for a second and then looked at me again. “Yeah we called him Scooter cos my missus was into scooters. Not the one I’ve got now. She can’t stand scooters but you can’t go changing a dog’s name can you?”
“I guess not.” (Yes I was confused too)
“So the bike’s called Scooter after a dog I no longer have, named by a missus I no longer have. I s’pose it sounds a bit barmy really.”
“No not at all - really. What’s your ….. er.... new ...er.”
“Alfie.”
“No I meant your ….er...girlfriend.”
“Yeah that’s right, Alfie. Met her eight months ago now. She loves big bikes so we get on well.”
We started to get back on our bikes ready to disembark so the conversation came to an end. Such a friendly and helpful guy and I’ll never know his name, the name of his second dog, or for that matter, his first missus. It occurred to me that during his relationships with two women and two dogs, the one constant thing had been his bike. Perhaps that’s what being a biker is all about
Now I like to think that I have a reasonable sense of direction. I imagined that when I got off the train, the carriage would be pointing, well - south. Having since consulted Mr Google’s map, I can see that this is far from true. The tracks emerge from the tunnel and turn left, then left again - and then a bit more. Also it was dark. Enough of the excuses, suffice to say that I was well and truly disorientated.
