14/9 At the end?
The night temperatures these days drop to around 5 °C. No problem, as long as I stay in a sleeping bag that is quite comfortable down to the freezing point. A good piece, which I stole from Bernde back then for my first North Cape tour. The cold, however, makes everything that isn’t in the tent soaked through by the next morning. Today I only had to wait for the sun and calmly made myself a coffee and enjoyed my jam with French bread. In the process I had to note that my petrol stove is now also falling apart. It drips on all edges and corners. Hopefully the thing doesn’t catch fire someday …
Time to think about the day’s goal. The clutch is giving trouble, the brake I gave a makeshift service to last night. Should I dare something else or head home directly? Maybe go home in a zig‑zag and I decide to tackle the V3 bunker complex Mimoyecques in Landrethun‑le‑Nord in the ‘Zick’, and in the ‘Zack’ head towards the Ardennes. The clutch was readjusted again, yet it still felt strange and didn’t show the typical signs of known problems. The clutch plate didn’t seem to be worn down, and the pressure rod didn’t seem to soften at the square, which would have meant constant readjustments. So I set off, eventually stopped at a bakery for fresh bread and took a coffee break, with cake, two.
Just 50 km before my first stage goal, my plans fell apart. In the small village of Parenty the clutch refuses any further cooperation. No one should have told me beforehand that on a holiday trip I would have to dismantle the clutch twice. Now it’s routine. I put the luggage down, prop myself up, and 20 minutes later it becomes clear why I couldn’t make sense of the strange behavior. The elastic rubber buffers have happily disintegrated and the metal plate together with the driven gear has torn away. Not good at all! But what can you do, flying home isn’t an option. I need a welding machine, and at midday in a god‑forsaken nest in the middle of nowhere. Luckily I’m on a parking lot and not somewhere by the roadside. So I leave everything open and start walking down the street cleaning doorbells. Not every house has a bell, and around the houses it is usually very quiet. Either people are napping, at the fair, or staying silent because a steppe is in front of the door. At the sixth house I get lucky and someone opens the door. After a “Bonjour” I show, with the help of my translation app, a pre‑written text. Mother and son refer me to a workshop in a town I don’t know, which of course is closed on Saturday. I hesitate but don’t give up that quickly. Gradually more and more family members appear at the door. Seems to be a proper big family. One of them must have seen me on the parking lot, and now the head of the family has a lightbulb moment and everything becomes clear. I am asked to leave the property immediately, nonsense, to follow the three men into the garage. There the parts are aligned, deburred and welded. Unfortunately the tools for exact centric alignment are missing. It reminds me of 2019, when I could only weld the flywheel by eye. But what the hell, better than calling the ADAC. Back at the parking lot everything is reinstalled. Threading the clutch under the spring pressure is a bit tricky, but I already have practice in that. In the end I lose over two hours and gain in return a uncertainty: will it hold? And if so, for how long? Should I now quit and take the shortest way home? Either it won’t hold for 50 km, or it will hold for 1 000 km. So I continue steering towards my first stage goal.
The V3 bunker complex in Landrethun‑le‑Nord is another testament to German madness in the Second World War. On top of that it was a technical school that was still immature and, because of technical problems, was already on the brink of being shut down, until the Allies, thanks to novel bunker‑breaching bombs, were faster and put an end to it all. Since forced labourers were not allowed to use shelters during these bombings, there were countless victims. Overall this concrete behemoth is sheer madness.
Just before 6 a.m. I see daylight again and look at the map for further doable targets. Normally it would be time to head for the next campsite, but I’m no longer letting that happen. Despite the breakdown I want to put distance on the road and have drafted an approximate plan for the next few days on when I want to reach home territory. However, I won’t make it to the Ardennes today. 250 km by 6 p.m. is just too much for me. But there are still two hours of daylight, and thus it’s somewhat warm, so I’ll make use of that. In the possible destination area I try to find something. Again something with a shower, which I could really use after today’s tinkering. I discover Raismes and at the town’s entrance sign I’m a bit surprised: twin town of Eisleben, where I have family ties and often spent holidays. Raismes itself somehow also has a bit of Eisleben. I think the two go well together. A gray nest, and the youth here heat the village road up and down until the TV reception fades. Could be an interesting night. There was already a small fireworks display for that.
One more thing: what do you think, how many people stopped today at my tinkering on the parking lot, asked if there was a problem or if they could help? Or just said hello? In other words: the guy with the old car, sleeves rolled up and work gloves on, luggage and gearbox lying next to the planer, he must be feeling right at home by French standards. And it’s not like there was little traffic despite the village ambience. I hope the passing bikers aren’t angry that I couldn’t greet them back because I didn’t want to drop my gearbox.
