mcmiles.net Plymouth to Hanoi, the slow way round!

From a biking perspective, this ride didn’t pan out well. I took my first tumble and I lost my only set of keys.

These were big setbacks for my ego but there was plenty to learn. The morning started out well. I was once again waved ahead of the queue snaking off the Stena Hollandica and out through Dutch customs. Being early, the roads outside of port were clear and I couldn’t resist a litle swervy dance through the pretty if boring town of Hoek van Holland. The sunshine lasted about thirty minutes before ceding first to drizzle, then to heavy rain and finally to a full blown storm.

I had been going over every detail of the bike, checking fluids and tensions both on the ferry and at every pit stop along the way. Something felt not-quite-right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The weather didn’t help and about three hours into the stormy ride, I pulled off the highway. I was cold. The waterproofs were doing their job but with no heated grips and soggy gloves, my hands were in pain. I’d been holding out for a rest stop that looked inviting. Somewhere warm and with the prospect of good food. But I couldn’t take another ten miles and I’d settled for a pair of golden arches rising from just beyond the roads horizon.

I came to a complete stop at a roundabout and when it was my turn, I moved out under control and slowly. Then it all went batshit crazy. I saw a driver on my right, impatient to join the roundabout and I leaned over and twisted the throttle. In an instant, the back-end fishtailed on the drenched asphalt. I struggled for control. The front wheel slammed into the curb and launched the bike into a wheelie. I must have mistakenly applied more throttle because when the wheel came down, I was picking up speed and flying out of control over a wet, muddy field. The front wheel was acting out the little bar of soap dance and eventually twisted too far for my wits and abilities. The bike was lying on its side. We were both caked in mud and the downpour finally had a purpose I could make use of.

Adrenaline from the crash made righting the bike easy but did nothing for my wits. I was completely confused. It took quite a while to work out that the reason I couldn’t heave the bike forward was that it was still in gear. When it was finally back on the blacktop and propped on it’s stand I calmed down enough to assess that the bike was in fine shape. The top box mount plate had shattered making the luggage unsecurable and my left indicator was hanging by it’s wiring but no other damage was evident. Finally out of gear, the starter was also willing to cooperate and I left it running while I sat in the cold wet grass and contemplated my own stupidity.

My left hand throbbed and swelled but I too was in better shape than I could have been. I was disgusted with myself and wandered back to the roundabout hoping to find a long oil slick or suitable justification for the accident but there was nothing. With both the bike and the road in pristine shape, the responsibility for the crash was obviously mine and I had another two hours of riding in the torrential rain to let that sink in.

I missed a turn and reached Groningen via the long dike road that collects all the rage of the sea and storm and directs it into round gusty punches that shift the bike sideways unpredictably. I passed many wind vanes being torn to shreds and was passed by many drivers who could not disguise their delight at being sheltered by windows and car heaters and Bach in surround sound.

When it was over, I parked and walked a few meters to my aunts lovely home where hot soup and fresh bread started to undo the damage done by the elements.

Sadly, in the relaxation of the moment, I misplaced my keys and despite the best efforts of all my extended family, they never materialised and I was forced to leave Holland the following Monday in fine weather but with the bike still parked outside my aunt’s home.

I haven’t yet learned all that I’m going to from this unfortunate weekend because I still have to somehow retrieve a locked bike from Groningen and I have yet to understand fully the reasons and causality behind the mistakes I made, but this blog is simply a record of my efforts and it seems it must also document my failures.