A heavy lift, some advisories and a bacon butty.

When I got on-board last night I went to find somewhere to sit and write straight away, not because the ferry was full but because I didn’t want any of the drama to be diluted by a good night’s sleep.  After finishing yesterday’s entry it was nearly 1am and I quickly discovered that I shouldn’t have worried about having a “good night’s sleep” lying on the deck was very uncomfortable and I hardly slept at all.  At about 5:30am I gave up completely and wondered around the ship until I found myself on deck watching the arrival of the good ship Mv Mont St Michel in Portsmouth dock.  It was strange but I recognised the ship when I saw her and remember that I’ve been on her on family holidays some 17 years ago, she’s aged well.

Finally, the call came to re-join our vehicles and I followed the lines of people down stairs.  When I got to the bike she was lying on her side next to a lovely vintage car.  Luckily for me she hadn’t hit it, extra luckily I hadn’t parked one further back next to a new Range Rover.  With my unwelcome early morning workout complete (it’s hard work lifting a fully loaded bike off a slippery ships deck.) I strapped my tank bag back in place and waited to join the traffic heading onto British shores.

As the bike rolled off the ship I noticed that she wasn’t registering any fuel in the tank, I must have made it to the ship on fumes.  Fortunately, there’s a petrol station 500m from the port and I pulled in, filled up and realised that I must be back in the UK for, not only was it raining, but I could have filled the bike several times over in most of Europe for the price of a single tank in the UK.

The GPS told me the MoT station was 5 minutes away so I headed there and waited for it to open.  The rain had eased off and I sat outside and listened to some music while I waited.  An hour later and life was being breathed into the garage so I went inside and enjoyed a free coffee while the guys turned on the computers and opened for business.

I kept asking nervous questions about bike MoTs like;

“The exhaust is loud but it has a stamp.  Will it be okay?” and “I haven’t adjusted the headlight for the extra load.  Should I take everything off? Oh, and the clutch leaver is broken but I filed the end so it’s not sharp….”

The man behind the counter was ignoring me now and trying to get on with his work.  Time to shut up and stop playing the worried parent while my baby went for her tests.

By 9am the bike was done and given a pass with 3 advisories; 1 for the broken lever, 1 for the worn chain, and one for the worn sprockets.  I knew about all three and was very happy.  Next up; road tax.  The MoT wouldn’t be on the system until later so It was going to be a Post Office job.  “No problem, there’s one just down the road.” Said a helpful man in the waiting room.  So, heaping praise and thanks on the MoT team and the local chap I set off down the road.  By 9:30am the bike was legal and I was off to see my Godmother near Warminster. 

Protyre Portsmouth MoT station.

I pulled out onto the wrong side of the road and set off mentally chastising myself and shouting “Stay left!” into my helmet. 

It was great to see my Godmother and her husband after so long and we enjoyed a brew and a catch-up before I set off to stay with my sister near Cirencester.

The fastest route from one to the other takes in a huge number of road side “caffs”.  I could smell them before I saw them and I was longing to stop and indulge in a bacon butty (“cob” for those oop north) and a brew.  I needed to stop and call my sister and a friend who I was hoping to catch up with anyway; the perfect excuse for layby bacon.  I pulled in, made the calls and ordered a butty and a mug of tea.  Too good for words.  The butty was cheap white bread with too much butter, piled with bacon (including little crispy burnt bits) and ketchup.  The tea was the cheapest out there and came in a large white mug with a splash of milk.  The whole wonderful meal came to less than 4 quid and was the best thing I had eaten for ages.

Feeling wonderfully unhealthy I headed onto my sister’s house.

She wasn’t in and the house was locked so I chatted to an old friend of my brothers who was restoring a car in a shed nearby. He had a look at the bike and spotted the knackered chain and we set about tweaking and oiling to make it last a few more miles.  With that done he also helped to straighten out a pannier that got bent in a one sided argument with a dirt track in Romania.  As we were finishing Bruno, an old school friend, arrived and we sat around talking crap for a while.  Still with no sign of my sister we arrived at the only logical conclusion to resolve the situation and went to the pub. 

Two pints later my sister arrived and we finished up before Bruno went home and we headed into town to buy supper.

When we arrived back at her place it was nearly 6pm and I was finally able to grab a shower and change out of the clothes I had been wearing since leaving Pierre and Brigitte yesterday morning.

The evening was a relaxed affair and I even got to see my niece and sister-in-law before I crashed into a fitful sleep.