In retrospect, flying in the day before you have to ride the width of England isn’t the best idea.
then again, maybe it’s not the be worst either. I flew in last night and eventually found my hotel. It was small. noisy and very cheap. I barely slept at all and this morning, I picked up my ride. It seems to be a 2005 FJR1300. The luggage space is ample but the bike sure does feel heavy. Moving into London traffic, it feels even heavier, but once I get moving, I start to get the hang of it. My daytona it is not.
Heading for the M25, I start to see what big bikes are about: comfortable cruising speed and ample torque so you don’t have to change gear often. Hitting slow traffic makes me realize what they are not for. The KTM 690SM which was following me has now threaded through gaps in the stationary traffic that I couldn’t make even without the luggage. Minutes later, I am moving again, but I am hot after sitting on the bike for a short time. This does not bode well…
The m25 is all that it is supposed to be: a orbital road and as such, it goes nowhere and promises nothing, so heading south from it feels like a relief. I’m on the M something or other headed past Gatwick to Brighton. Like all British motorways, it’s best avoided but hitting the south coast, things improve. it’s a coastal road, so the view is quite plesant and I alternate from inland to exposed cliff top. The weather at 20 celsius is perfect. The FJR is now starting to feel right. There’s too much traffic for a sports bike to be effective and the FJR is happy to plod along through small towns. When the open road beckons between hamlets, you can open it up and enjoy some progress though it’s stopped all too soon by a tractor, motorhome or another village.
I happily spend the next five hours around the south coast and Kent, stopping only once to refuel and ultimately finding my way to the channel tunnel and my companions for the next eight days. They seem amiable enough, but what can you learn in 20 minutes on a train? In my case, enough to proceed and from there we hit the hotel in Calais. It’s late, we’re tired and we need a beer. We’ve earned it.

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