August 8th - Real men don’t ride bitch

Evidently, the spring clean was exactly what was required. No sooner had I arrived home in Montréjeau, than Chards rang us with an offer on the house in London. In truth, the offer was far less than we had initially been asking. However, we had already concluded that Marsh & Parsons had done us no favours by wildly over-valuing the rental potential of the house and, frankly, lying about its likely appeal to corporate tenants. With a little give and take on all sides (including a reduced fee from Chards), the contracts were signed and all that remained for us was to hire a van as soon as possible and remove the remainder of our belongings to France.

So, less than a week after I had made my epic solo motorcycle trip across France, JR and I armed the automatic cat feeder, patted Tigger and Foggy on the head, and headed back, two-up on the BMW, to Blighty.

When making the 10 hour trip by car, John and I always share the driving, so it seemed appropriate that we would also share the riding. John took the first stint. While I naturally prefer to ride my own bike, rather than take the pillion seat, I spared John the indignity of being spotted by any of our new friends or neighbours “riding bitch” out of town. After Cahors, we changed over at regular two hourly intervals and the ride was fairly uneventful. It has to be said though, that motorcycle seats are not generally designed to accommodate a 6′1″, 14.5 stone (203lb) passenger. Getting off the bike at a service station in Limoges, JR caught one of his size 9’s on a fully extended side pannier, and stumbled to the ground - nearly taking me and the bike with him!

We broke the journey overnight at the appalling ‘Première Classe” motel in Vierzon, just south of Orléans: an ill-lit room that smelt of stale smoke, a non-functional lock, and a shower that looked as if it was designed to perform an enema. ‘Nuff said.

An administrative error on our part (we forgot what ferry we were booked on), and heavy traffic in Peckham, meant that we arrived in London later than expected. Nevertheless, JR decided we should stop in on the way to have a look at the 3.5 ton Luton van we had booked from the “Best Hire” outfit in Battersea. Just as well. Seeing the fleet of vehicles, one could see why they were so cheap. Ours was covered in graffiti. Nice. We made our excuses and left.

Having done two 700+ mile trips in less than 7 days, I decided that my bike could definitely do with a service. It was due an annual check up and a tyre change, and the intermittent power supply to the CB and Autocom was still a major irritation. JR (quite rightly) pointed out that I could probably save a great deal of money by waiting to do the service in France, but my mind was made up. In any event, the bike would be in safe hands while John and I made our return trip in the removals van. The bike’s computer, Hal, clearly agreed as the speedo and brake servo both failed inexplicably en-route to the dealers!

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