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The English National Rally 2017 / Day 4

How I went to find my limits, and tripped over them instead

Day 1        Day 2        Day 3        Day 4        Day 5


Back to Harwich
Breakfast wouldn't take place until 9 o'clock, so there was plenty of time to start packing up stuff and putting it on the motorcycle. I wasn't the only one who had that bright idea, because around me people were already walking around with bags and packs, which were also hoisted on the various motorcycles. To my surprise I actually managed to gather everything in one go. Usually I somehow misplace something in the few square meters that is my tent, but this time I got it all. The one problem I had though, was how to sort everything. What could go in the panniers, and what did I want to take with me in the tankbag, which would accompany me on board the Stena Hollandica.

Even before breakfast, so way ahead of 9 o'clock, the motorcycle was packed in accordance with the codes of practice. The pannier system was hooked in left and right, the tent was neatly packed in and was placed on the top, and only the tankbag had to be put on the right place. The motorsuit was ready to be put on as well. All that was needed now, was to get some breakfast.

And it just goes to show how things are organised at this English Rally: just as you know what to expect, the rules change. While we were served breakfast yesterday, today breakfast was laid out as a buffet, where people were invited, one table at the time, to take what they wanted. Still, it didn't taste any less for it. What was too bad though, was that when I wanted to get another cup of coffee after a visit to a certain place, all the coffee was taken away already.

...  motorcycle was packed ...
... motorcycle was packed ...

... saying their goodbyes ...
... saying their goodbyes ...

That meant that around 10 o'clock, breakfast came to a sudden end. It was time for the next item on the agenda, which was departing to Harwich. We weren't the first ones to leave the grounds. All over the place motorcycles were being started, people were saying their goodbyes and navigational systems were programmed to get their motorcyclists home. It was time for us to leave as well.

Less than twohundred meters later, I saw something blackish fly off of Frans' motorcycle, and disappear into a puddle of water. Should I stop? Continue? Frans went on, so I figured nothing serious happened. Later on, I heard Frans lost his fairing-based clock 'somewhere'. So that's what that had been. From the 'Lower Lode Inn', we travelled over narrow countryroads, over the somewhat wider A38 and then crossed the bridge into Tewkesbury. There, Frans pulled over: he forgot to put in his earplugs.

... forgot the earplugs ...
... forgot the earplugs ...

Now that we had left Tewkesbury behind us, we could drive on with ease. We had hours to spare, and it was more than likely that we had to wait quite a while in Harwich. So I didn't mind all that much when all of a sudden a man stepped onto the road, holding a 'stop' sign with the image of a bike portrayed below it. And indeed, moments later the pack of cyclists appeared in sight, turned left and then disappeared again in a matter of seconds, allowing us to proceed again.

... pack of cyclists appeared ...
... pack of cyclists appeared ...

The B4077 near Stanway was actually quite manageable now. The loose muddy places were dried up and most of the dirt seemed like it'd been flushed away. There were no problems with driving on this twisty road now. At that moment though, another difference between my TomTom and the one Frans was using, came to light. While my TomTom indicated that we should turn left, his was adament that we should go straight ahead. It wasn't a problem though, since we were now on a different route than we'd taken getting here. This route took us through the town of Chipping Norton, with a great view of the town and the old Bliss Tweed Mill, which was a peculiar building, and turned out to be an old 19th century factory for creating fabrics.

The weather is wonderful so we drove on quietly. Another roundabout, but instead of going straight ahead, Frans takes the three-quarter exit to the left. Huh? He pulls over in a small village, Tingewick, a few hundred meters ahead. Stretching the legs, is the explanation. Taking a few minutes to rest. Not a bad idea, it's just too bad that there's no coffeehouse nearby. I parked the CX neatly on a kerb on the edge of the road so that the whole contraption wouldn't fall down. Unfortunately it seemed that I parked it right outside a house's driveway, so when the gate opened slowly, I had to quickly move the motorcycle. It took some walking around and some chatting, but finally we got on our motorcycles again, and went on our way.

The next place we visited was Milton Keenes, the village with the most roundabouts in England. At least, that's how it looked to me. Still, after all the turning and turning and turning around we managed to make it through, despite turning left too early one time. A mistake that was easily corrected because of another roundabout a couple of hundred meters later. Perhaps those things aren't such a bad idea after all.

After several kilometers it was time to pull over once again. The motorcycles were getting thirsty, while we were starting to get hungry. Near Newmarket, at the A14, there was a 'Little Chef', a part of a chain of highwayrestaurants. There was also a BP gasstation. It was time to let man and machine rest for a little while. Not for too long: after that we took off once again. The A14 became the A12, which became the A120. Harwich lay before us.

... little chef ...
... little chef ...

... a BP gasstation ...
... a BP gasstation ...

Obviously, we arrived way too early, and when you do there's nothing else to it than to watch some ships sail by. Not without a cup of coffee though, at a terrace, enjoying the sun. We decided to go to the rather posh restaurant 'The Pier', where the coffee was great, the terrace not too crowded and the sun shone brightly.

After a tonic and a coffee though, Frans felt it was a good idea to have a look around. There isn't all that much to do in Harwich though, and the only things that were even remotely interesting were the harbor and the sea. A containership was carefully turned around, and in the distance we could see the route that the Ferry would take. A long way out in the distance, there was a dot that just might be the Hollandica.

There was a place in the harbour where we could see the ship arriving, and so not fifteen minutes later we stood opposite of the 'Trinity House', waiting for what would come. When you're watching, such a ship looks quite impressive, with its large white mass sliding gently past the houses of the little village. The Hollandica had arrived, so perhaps it was time to make our way to the terminal.

At the terminal we were directed all the way to the front, because there'd be a large group of more motorcyclists arriving soon. They took their time getting here though, so we walked around and waited patiently, just like all the people in the cars. One of them decided to approach us and have a chat, and once again my sidecover was a topic of conversation. All good things come to an end though, and we were allowed to enter the premises. I was asked if I needed any help, but no, at this time everything seemed to be alright still.

And so starts the long, long wait in the front of row 1. Frans seems to be worrying about the 'tower' that we have to descent soon, and that makes me a little nervous. The cars are allowed in already, but the motorcycles have to wait for the large group to arrive, and that takes a long time...

At that point we finally get the word to set off, en-route to the Hollandica. I have no issues with riding up, I just know that I can't hit the cyclists, that there's a motorcycle just behind me and that stopping while going down on the round slope is a very bad thing, because then it'd be my fault if everyone falls down. You can stop with a car, but with 40 motorcycles behind me there's only one thing to do: keep on driving.

Then we get to the plate used to drive onto the ship. I really hate that thing, with its curved edges. It's great for cars, and I'm sure there's no other way to make these things, but for a motorcyclists it's no picknick. You can't just move on easily. We were directed to a spot in the front of the ship. I placed the motorcycle there and stepped off, only to notice that all the other motorcyclists were grabbing the straps which were placed at a nearby wall. I didn't get a chance to get me one of those. Thankfully I saw a basket filled with additional straps, so I used one of those. It was a smaller one, but hopefully it'll do the trick.

... I saw all the other motorcyclists ...
... I saw all the other motorcyclists ...

In the meantime, my stresslevel was rising rapidly. It was crowded here at the cardeck, and I wanted to get away as quickly as possible, away from the noise and all those people. I decided to go to the elevator. The elevatordoor closed just before me, so we had to wait for the next one. While we waited more and more people joined us, all nearly fighting for a spot in this small hallway. When the elevatordoors opened again, I didn't need to walk in... I was pushed in already. Most people exited at deck 10, and I left the elevator at deck 11. With difficulty, I managed to find the cabin. Finally, a place to rest.

I removed the hot motorsuit, and placed all my stuff neatly on the table. It was time to find Frans. I walked through a corridor, but found myself lost within seconds. Through the door I stood behind a group of busy young people, who said all kinds of things that I couldn't understand anyway. They were blocking the hall and filled the entire corridor. When they finally left, I walked ahead, while at the same time looking through the glass door, trying to find Frans.

Hey, I thought, they didn't have this at the Brittanica, where is... At that moment I was addressed by a Stena man standing behind the counter. But what was it he was saying? Did I want some dinner? I told him I didn't, but that I was waiting for a friend. Was I a lorry driver then, was the next question. Eh... no... I answered. Slowly I began to get the feeling that I had done something horribly wrong.

"This is drivers only, you are not allowed to be here," the man said. It sounded as if he was angry, or at least stern.

As fast as I could I moved back to the door, because that had to be it: I wasn't supposed to be here, I was on forbidden ground. I wriggled myself through the door as fast as I could, and tried a next one, but one door went outside, the second door I couldn't open, it was only the third door that I managed to open. I had no idea where I was, and I had no idea if I was even supposed to be here.

Opposite the service counter I found a place in a corner, and there I sat, shaking in shock. Perhaps I should return to my cabin, I thought. But where was that, and how was I supposed to get there? Finally, Frans found me sitting in that corner. He got me a coffee and a sandwich, and texted home that we were on the boat. Before the Hollandica left, he brought me to my cabin.

It took me a while, but at one moment I found myself laying in bed. I was exhausted from all the emotions. It is time for sleep now, I figured. Tomorrow there'll be another day.




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