11/9 Little Britain
No, the title isn’t a reference to the British TV series. Rather, by circling Britain including Ireland with the AWO I made it a bit smaller than it might already seem from history. So now the last leg in left‑hand traffic, which I’ve managed pretty well despite a few small exceptions and all the worries. For example, I enter roundabouts dutifully clockwise, but perhaps I should still glance to the right now and then to see if something is coming from the side. I think I’ve caused a few wide‑eyed looks once or twice. Something I’m not used to is crossing the street as a pedestrian. It always felt odd to be right in the middle of the roadway and then wonder whether I even looked to the correct side. Well, I’m writing, so I’m probably still alive.
Of the many ways to get to France, I choose Portsmouth to Cherbourg. About a 300 km route, the ferry departs at 10 p.m. Plenty of time to take it easy. I plan the first part rather straight‑line, without detours into the green. Depending on how the day unfolds, I can still pop off here and there in the afternoon to find a gem off the main route. Even though sightseeing isn’t the focus today, my eyes stay alert for anything worth discovering on the right or left.
Kilometer 25, a tower hidden behind trees. I turn off to check it out and, joy of joy, a truly beautiful castle called Stokesay Castle. Not tiny, but not huge either. It’s very appealing, and instead of just snapping a photo from the outside, I even manage to get a ticket. And because it’s still early in the day, I’m also the first visitor. I even have to wait five minutes. The ticket clerk points to the castle and says that she can let people in only after a signal comes from there. The signal comes. She asks if I see it, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to be looking for. Anyway, I’m allowed in, even without recognizing the signal of the time. Everything looks beautifully done and you get a good impression of how people used to castle‑live in it. When I leave the souvenir shop at the very end, I spot a photo from around 1850 and can’t believe my eyes. The castle had fallen completely apart and was only gradually restored in the 19th century. Well done.
Kilometer 58, at a hall I spot three tractors from older eras. In big letters on the hall it says ‘Auction’. So I turn in and see if there’s anything to look at. At the reception desk I ask whether I may look around and take photos. I’m allowed, and I step into the hall, soon stumbling out of my shoes! For what lies directly at my feet, other halls – also called museums – sometimes charge hefty admission. Man, look at all the stuff that’s there. Completely mundane items like old Renaults and shabby BMWs, but also Lotus and Ferrari, English convertibles, and especially pre‑war vintage cars. I hadn’t expected that. You can even buy everything, and some prices seemed quite reasonable to me. I still left the Ferrari where it was. If you have an AWO, you don’t need that kind of frippery.
Once, around the corner, I was already standing in front of Hampton Court, almost actually inside. A castle‑like manor whose origins go back to the year 1427.
Kilometer 182, I’m right on schedule and decide to take a few side roads after all. No mistake, as I’ve found out. Only the weather seemed to slowly turn again toward ‘water from above’.
The hamlets of Netherton and Wield, each nestled in a green valley, had something enchanted that didn’t want – or shouldn’t – reveal itself. Artfully trimmed gigantic hedges concealed most of the charming houses. So romantic and remote, farmer John certainly doesn’t live here …
During a check of how far I could still extend my route, I noticed a massive dark wall looming behind me. Even in rain gear I didn’t really want to subject myself to that. So I quickly threw on my poncho, targeted the nearest petrol station, and gave the ‘Sport’ suffix of my AWO its due honor. And as chance would have it, fate led me into the right corner. With the first drops of rain I reach a dry spot under the station’s canopy and, from the corner of my eye, notice a gathering of perhaps 30 or 40 motorcycles parked on a lot beside the station. Who on earth organizes a big ride in the middle of the week, especially in this weather? Hmm, I’d just had coffee and the moped had just been refueled, so I’m not going into the station. Then I spot on the other side a food truck with three bikers under its awning, probably also seeking shelter. I hop over quickly, because besides some entertainment I could also have my dinner before the ferry there. We ate together and chatted, and I learned that the gathering of so many machines takes place here every Wednesday evening. I liked that, especially because after the rain stopped I could admire a few beautiful machines. Of course, the feeling was reversed when I fetched my little machine from the station to the snack bar. After saying goodbye, I finally set my sights on the last destination of my journey on English soil. What does one do without a plan and with little time to quickly find one or two things to admire in a city? Turn on the internet, type in the city name and go to image search. Wow, a sailing ship, not even that small. HMS Victory, warship of Vice‑Admiral Nelson. I recalibrate the bearing device and head straight into Portsmouth. Oh, a green zone—am I allowed in? I can think about that later. And what can I say, truly, a magnificent ship. Unfortunately it isn’t illuminated in the evening, so I miss details. It would also have been worth seeing the interior, since it’s listed as a museum ship. Well, shortly after 8 p.m. it’s long closed and my big ship is waiting in the next harbour. In the queue at the terminal, as always, I quickly strike up conversation with other bikers, which continues aboard with a glass of beer. Then it’s off to the reserved reclining seat and I collapse into my sleeping bag into a deep sleep. If the attentive reader wonders why the guy ends up next to the reclining seat instead of in it, it’s because in a reclining seat you can only lie down, not really sleep. I think I already mentioned that at the beginning of my trip. By the way, on overnight trips you’re forced to book a reclining seat or a cabin. And the latter is ruled out because ‘too expensive’.
And so I set sail around midnight into neutral waters, thereby finally concluding the Britain adventure. The journey itself continues for a few more days, but exhausted as I am right now, I can only say briefly that up to this point it’s simply magnificent!
