Return to the Motor-index


The English National Rally 2017 / Day 5

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

Day 1        Day 2        Day 3        Day 4        Day 5


The road home
I woke up around 5 o'clock. A new day, with new opportunities. I tried to figure out at which time breakfast would be served. My clock was already set to Dutch time, and I figured it was nearly time for breakfast. I used the blue stairs to find the restaurant, and would you look at that, it was actually open already.

I started breakfast with good spirits. Unfortunately, after half an hour and Indian couple arrived. They looked at the chairs that belonged to the table, and apparently felt it was a nice spot. Without saying anything, they sat down as if it was their right to do so, and as if I wasn't important at all. Huh? Did they have reservations or something? I took my coffee and went to find a place where I could wait peacefully. But when I stood up to wave Frans over, my table was immediately taken over by other people from India.

The Hollandica gently slid through the piers. This had to be the Netherlands again. Sure, we were still on a ship, but still... I decided to go and get my stuff, so I told Frans "I'll see you down below, at the motorcycles." The plan was simple: get down there early, before all the crowds, gently, without any fuss.

... slid through the piers ...
... slid through the piers ...

I collected my baggage, locked the cabin, walked into the elevator at the orange staircase and pressed the button '3'. A Stena employee who also stood in the elevator apparently had to go to '5' and exited the elevator there. After that, nothing happened. '3' remained dark, and I started panicking a bit. After a minute or so I noticed there was a sign that said 'call locked' or something like that, and the only button that seemed to do anything was '9'.

At deck 9 the doors opened and I walked out. This was not what I had hoped: a whole bunch of people blocked the corridor. I found a place in the corner. More and more people started walking in...

The speakers now said something about 'go to your vehicle now' so I tried to do just that. I stood up and looked around. As far as I could see, there were hordes of people standing close to each other, all who had to take that tiny little elevator down. I could never go through all of that.... and my motorcycle was first in line, so I was blocking the way for everyone else! I could feel my breathe increasing, tried to suppress that, and not two seconds later I was panting again. Panic struck, and I tried once again to crawl into that tiny corner.

An employee of Stena came to me, got me up and brought me to... the same area that I escaped from yesterday, the very same place where I wasn't allowed! I tried to make them known I wasn't supposed to be here, but I had to sit down. Next came the man who sent me away yesterday, now carrying a cup of water. How was this possible...

At this time I was severely stressed out and panicking. But, someone told me, someone would come, and I would just have to drink some water.... and all of a sudden Frans was there, who came to find me. I was hoisted up and taken along down the stairs, to the motorcycle. I barely could walk, needed the support of the railing through the entire trip down, just to make sure I wouldn't fall down. The simple actions of putting my bag on the motorcycle were turning out to be extremely complicated, and I didn't dare to ride the motorcycle down the ramp myself. Using the bulkhead as support, and later when the bulkhead stopped, staggering, I disembarked. Getting onto the motorcycle was difficult. But I knew: once I'm sitting in the saddle I'll recover quickly.

There was just a problem at the customs check. How did I turn off the engine again, uh... stalling it, was my only possibility. Starting it up again a few moments later was a complicated set of actions. But I made it work. It wasn't until we were well underway that I calmed down again. The simple act of motorcycling, at least I could do that...

The first few kilometers were across a dyke, then there was a motorway. With a speed of 90-100 kph we made our way through the remainders of the morning rush hour, across the A20. At Gouda we stopped for a moment, to call forward to home that we were on our way. After that, we opened up the throttle... yes, I can occasionally drive faster than 100 kph...

The motorcycle was parked behind the house, the coffee was waiting for us and the first stories were about to be told. I waved Frans off about half an hour later, after which I went to lay down for roughly half an hour, to recover from the emotions I experienced this morning. This weekend had been arduous, sure, but at least I could put 'England' on my list.




Day 1        Day 2        Day 3        Day 4        Day 5


Return to the Motor-index