Like descending into the steamy bowels of hell, ten miles of diabolical duodenum

6am in France. Why are these road markings so difficult? Ahh, my first lesson. Doing a roundabout clockwise at is not correct. Roundabouts are anti-clockwise on the continent sonny-boy. D’oh. Gives me a mantra for each time I get on the machine: “drive on the right, nice and steady”.

A beautiful start along the Loire. Plumes of autumn mist rising off the river. Pottering along enjoying the warm low-sun orange shades of autumn. All quite idyllic. Manage a whole 89 kilometres in a day. India by 2020.
Delays in Nantes near an outdoors shop mean I have now bought just about every feasible knick- knack conceivable. Can’t stop that ‘what if?’ question now it has gotten a grip. There have been miles of what-if thinking across France. Today I added CO2 canisters for quick inflation of tyres. The luggage sticks out both sides now.

Never done a tunnel before; hell, I’ve never ridden a motorbike before. The ones under the Alps are like descending into the steamy bowels of hell. Ten miles of diabolical duodenum. I wanna get off, I wanna get off. Catch a big rain on exit and find that all the waterproof clothing in the world can’t stop that chilled gonads moment. That first trickle to reach the family jewels is an unforgettable experience only bikers can understand.