The English National Rally 2017 / Day 2 |
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Going to Tewkesbury | |
Around 4 o'clock I woke up from... something, though I didn't know what it was.
I almost fell back asleep again when I thought I heard or felt a soft
thud. After that I thought I couldn't fall asleep again, though when I woke
up again it wasn't even 5 o'clock yet. I figured I might as well look outside,
to see what I could find. Well, I found England. The view I saw wasn't just
sea or a vague shoreline, but a bleak and dismal Harwich port. It looked cold,
wet and dreary. English weather, no doubt.
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... dreary and dismal Harwich port ... | |
It was exactly with this English weather in mind that I had brought along my
thermoshirt. Unfortunately it was still in the left sidecase of the CX,
so I couldn't reach that just yet. I decided I'd probably have ample time to
do that before we'd depart. Right now, it was time to search for some
breakfast. And that was rather easy to find in the restaurant on deck 9. I
handed over my voucher, after which I could fill my plate with all kinds of
food. Bread and eggs and cheese and much more, and to top it all off, a cup
of coffee and a glass of orange juice.
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I searched for and found a place at the entrance, where I could keep an eye
on everything that was going on, and started my breakfast. Not long after that, Frans
joined me. He told me that he'd usually take the dayboat, and then brought
his own bread because the bread on board was rather expensive. It was, though
I did enjoy it, and most of all, it was easy. No fuss with preparing slices
of bread back home.
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The time for debarkation slowly drew nearer. After collecting my stuff, I took
the elevator down. There weren't many people in the elevator at deck 11, but
at deck 10 more and more people entered. I saw Frans standing in the back of
the crowd, turning around. I figured he would take the stairs. When I arrived
down at deck 3, I could easily find the motorcycle, though lots and lots of
other motorcycles had gathered around it. My little CX was now stuck in
between motorcycles and all other kinds of transportation. I managed to undo
the straps, and putting on the thermoshirt. I just had to put on my jacket,
and I was ready to get underway.
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Unfortunately it didn't go as smoothly as that, but at least it gave me the
opportunity to assist the motorcyclist behind me undo the straps over her
Ducati. And no, the man with the bike had to wait until I was out of the
away. Finally though, there was enough room to drive, once again going over
those blasted bumps, towards a circular exit. It was like a tower which we
had to scale by driving upwards in circles, until we came to the actual,
lengthy exit. I had to watch out for the cyclists, the cars, and the
motorcyclists in front and behind me, so I arrived at the customs
check, grumbling ever so slightly.
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... didn't go as smoothly as that ... | |
'Remove helmet', the sign said. Very well then. I removed the helmet and put it
in front of me on the bag. I removed the glove as well so that I could have
my passport ready. When it was my turn, the customs official did some checking
and apparently decided I wasn't dangerous, so I was allowed to enter the
United Kingdom. Of course, five meters after that I stopped to put on my
gloves and helmet once again. Once that was done, I followed Frans into England.
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Frans had already told me that driving in England wasn't such a big
deal: just follow the crowd. And that's exactly what we did. It didn't take
long for us to leave Harwich, driving onto the A120. I had asked to avoid
the 'M' roads for now, so this 'A' road, comparible with a motorway in the
Netherlands, was quite alright with me. However, less than ten kilometers
outside of Harwich we suddenly drove three-quarters around a roundabout, and, much
to the confusion of my Tom-Tom, ended up on a smaller road. It wasn't such
a bad one to drive on, mind you, with lots of hills and great vistas, but
I couldn't understand how Frans' Tom-Tom, a newer one with its newest maps,
could think this was the best road to take. It might have been half a kilometer
shorter or something, which is enough for the Tom-Tom to choose a different route.
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Twenty kilometers down the road, near Ipwich, we arrived at the A14. A 'dual
carriage way', as it's called here. Almost a highway, with two times two lanes,
and a maximum speed of 70 m/h, or 113 km/h. We were making excellent time.
However, Franks started to look out for a gas station, or 'service', to fill
his gas tank and an ATM to fill his empty wallet. Luckily, seventeen
kilometers later, we found one.
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We left the A14 and ended up on a roundabout. The entrance to the 'service'
wasn't found easily though. I felt as if we drove at least two full circles on
the roundabout until it was clear where the entrance was. Now, it was time to
fill up the gas tanks. Even though it wasn't entirely necessary, I did feel it
was a good idea: at least now we both had a full tank, and since both our
motorcycles had identical tanks - even tough Frans' was just a bit more
economic than my motorcycle - we'd be able to drive a long way once more.
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Via the roundabout we reached the A14 again. It almost seems as if they really
love their roundabouts here in England. But anyway, I started to get a little
used to watching over my right shoulder and entering the right mirror. At the
A14, Frans decided to drive behind a truck. After all, I have the reputation
of driving carefully... yes, even slowly. It was a tranquil pace we were
driving at now, and kilometer after kilometer passed as we came closer to that
still distant Tewkesbury, which lay behind the horizon.
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What awaited us before that horizon though, was a completely different story.
The bleak sky that had greeted us in Harwich, remained bleak. At times it
lightened up a bit, with a glimmer of the semi-possibility of sunlight, but
for the most part the weather was cold and dismal. The English landscape
didn't seem all that inviting when covered with those dark and grizzled
clouds. And to top it all off, it started to drizzle. | |
A couple of kilometers further, Frans decided to take a break. He felt it was
best to rest a bit, and not long after, not far from Cambourne, he found a
'service' where we could do just that and have a drink as well. And who knew,
perhaps the drizzle would cease down the road. So, with that thought to
encourage us, we mounted our motorcycles again and drove on, because
Tewkesbury was still one hundred and fifty kilometers away.
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And that was when things almost took a turn for the worse. While Frans drove
off, I watched over my shoulder just like I always do. I thought it was
strange to be standing on the wrong side of the road, but at least there
wasn't any traffic approaching, so I could cross over to the right lane. Just
before I did so, I realised... I'm in England, so I *am* on the correct side
of the road...
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The rain didn't stop. Well, it did, for a brief moment, but overall the trip
remained wet and bleak. Thirty kilometers further, at another service at
Marston Moretaine, we pulled over. Franks had bought a new raincoat, and now
was the time to put it on. Since the weather couldn't possibly be called 'dry',
and seeing how there was obviously a lot more water in the air, I decided to
get my rain equipment out of the bag as well. At least now we were ready to go
on.
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We approached Milton Keenes, a rather large city. The A421, which we were
using for quite some time, waved through the city. What I said before about
roundabouts was twice as true in Milton Keenes: during the eight kilometers
through the city, we encountered a staggering number of 18 roundabouts.
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Near Stow-on-the-Wold we left the A436 and moved onto the B4077. A lovely road,
were it not for the fact that it rained here as well, from time to time.
Still, we did pass some old English cottages and drove through an English
landscape that looked as if it had escaped from a documentary. At the hamlet
of Ford we took a wrong turn, though we quickly corrected that by turning
around. As a result, I briefly took the lead.
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We followed the B4077 to Stanway. The B-road here was literally a B-road at
times. While it twisted around lovely hills and through forests, it was often
littered with small stones, twigs, mud and much, much more that I can't even
describe. Add to that the wetness of the rain, and it should come as no
surprise that near Stanway, Frans took a sharp left turn and ended up besides
the road on the right side. Still, that's a better than trying to take the
turn at high speeds, with potentially worse consequences.
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All in all, we did get closer to Tewkesbury. Occasionally we even spotted it
on signposts. Still, we would need to fill up the gastanks again before we'd
get there. We decided to do that at the Alderton Garage. While there, we
stored the rain suits in our bags and cases. It's one thing to take out your
rainsuits from the bags when you've already neatly folded them back home, but
it's quite another to quickly put them back in again while you're on the road.
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Finally, we entered Tewkesbury. My TomTom indicated that we had to turn right,
so we did. We had to wait for oncoming traffic, though. When the road was
clear, I pulled up into the road that I intended to go, when I almost collided
with a car waiting in front of a traffic light. I quickly reminded myself...
left! I need to drive on the left side here!
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Frans' TomTom sent us through a coutrysideroad with a lot of corners, through
a residential area towards the main street of Tewkesbury. After some
inconclusive twists and turns we finally made it to the bridge over the river
Severn. We turned left, and realised it couldn't be all that far anymore. It
was even written down on the signposts already: 'Lower Lode Inn', thataway.
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A long twisty road was the last stretch we had to drive before we arrived at
the 'Lower Lode Inn'. When we came there though, we had to search for a
welcoming comittee. We were welcomed and shown the place where were could put
up our tents. All in all it was a warm welcome, because for the last twenty or
thirty kilometers, the sun had been shining, and the temperature had been
rising steadily.
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... Lower Lode Inn ... | |
I'd let the organisation know in advance that my back often hurts, and that I
need some time at night on a heated pillow to relax my back. So, especially
for me, they arranged a place where I could tap into the power grid, so that I
could create a warm place for my back. It had the additional benefits that I
could charge my phone and all the other equipment, though for me the ability
to power the heated pillow was most important.
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We unloaded the motorcycles, set up the tents and hooked up the power. It
didn't work immediately, despite the travelling plug I had brought with me,
but thankfully with Frans' help I managed to get it to work. After that, it
was time to have a look at where our journey brought us, and what we could
actually do here. The promised 24/7 coffee and tea service was especially
appealing, but unfortunately there was no coffee or tea yet. The organising
comittee slipped up, apparently.
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Even though the coffee and tea weren't here, Fritz was. He and Marian were
touring England on their CX650/CX500, from Germany. They didn't stay at the
grounds of the 'Lower Lode Inn', but had booked a hotelroom in town.
Unfortunately, their English tour had come to an abrupt halt a few kilometers
ahead of Tewkesbury, when the CX650 cam chain tensioner broke, causing quite a
racket.
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So, what to do then? Someone from the CX/GL club had taken a van and tracked
down the missing components. Fritz then started disassembling and repairing
his engine block on the site of the 'Lower Lode Inn'. The right tools were
brought to him, the right torqs for tensioning it up were searched for, and
the concentrated CX/GL knowledge that was on site gave advise and a helping
hand. The only thing that might be missing, so I heard as I stood and watched,
was a set of feeler gauges to adjust the valves. Maybe they'd arrive tomorrow.
However, I always take along things I probably won't be needing, included a
set of feeler gauges. Another problem solved!
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Six or seven hours after Fritz had started his disassembling, the 650 was back
together again. The moment had arrived when he pressed the starting button. It
took two or three seconds, but the engine started running again, purring like
a kitten, which caused everyone present to applaud.
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... purring like a kitten ... | |
That night I tried to order some food at the bar. The 'Lower Lode Inn' has a
great kitchen, people old me, so I figured I'd give it a try. However,
desciphering the menu in such a crowded room was too much for me, so I
stressed out. With difficulty, I managed to order some food, before I crashed
down in a corner with a glass of water. It took a while for the dinner to be
brought to me, which gave me a chance to calm down a bit.
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After dinner I drank another cola. It was getting rather late already, and I
thought it was time to hit the sack. It'd been an exiting day, filled with new
impressions such as driving on the left side of the road, speaking English,
making sure I knew where I was and where I was going. It really was time for
me to get some sleep.
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Maybe it sounds childish, but I know my sleeping bag isn't the best, and
certainly not the warmest around. For that, I had brought a hot water bottle,
which I filled with hot water in the bathroom of the 'Lower Lode Inn'. When I
returned to my tent, I put the hot water bottle at my feet and the warm pillow
at my back. That made this temporary home a little less uncomfortable. All I
had to do was make sure I wouldn't fall asleep yet, since the heated pillow
could cause me some ugly burns if I fell asleep on it while it was still
powered on. Finally though, my back was nice and relaxed, so I powered down
the elctric pillow and fell asleep, holding the hot water bottle close to me. Every
time I woke up again, I noticed that the night had gotten colder. So, I just
refilled the jug with hot water, and that allowed me to sleep again through
this cold, cold night.
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