It is late night on 16 August 2012. Our motorcycle, Just Sue, is strapped down in the belly of a Dutch ferry. Jo and I are settled into a small inside cabin ready to catch a few hours sleep on the way to the Hook of Holland. We have been in the UK for more than five weeks which is three weeks longer than we had intended. The delay has been a misadventure bordering on farce; one of those sequences of events that seem so exceptional it is hard to believe it happened.

But, let me start at the beginning. We kept Just Sue wrapped up in plastic covers in the front yard of our daughter and son-in-law's house in inner London and had taken exceptional steps to ensure the bike was prepared for the winter. It was coated in preserving oil, had special marine oil sprayed into the cylinders, the fuel tank was filled to overflowing to keep condensation from the inside walls, the air intakes were blocked, the battery was removed and placed indoors on a trickle charger and 10 kg of desiccant was packed inside the covers to keep the air as dry as possible.

When we left Just Sue in September 2011 the clutch had developed a nasty shudder under load and I had decided to replace the necessary parts this year before our 2012 adventure. I decided to buy the parts in Australia and bring them with us as they would cost twice as much if we purchased them in the UK. I have no idea why this is so, but I am sure it has a lot to do with taxes and tariffs. I took the parts and the bike to the local bike shop. The owner agreed to do the clutch repair and some other due maintenance. Included with the parts was a powerpoint printout showing exactly what needed to be done, including 41 photographs and instructions covering every step.

When I returned to pick up the bike the next day, the mechanic handed it over and told me everything had been done.

     “The oil light was on when you brought it in, wasn't it?”
     “No, it was working fine.”
     “Oh well, it is just the sensor. I will order another one. You take the
      bike now and bring it back in two days and I will fit a new sensor.”
     “No, you fix it and let me know when it's ready.”

The next day:

     “We changed the sensor but it didn't make any difference. It must be the
      pump.”
     “I doubt it. The pump is mechanical and they never break. What does the
      manual say?”
    “Oh, we don't have the manual.”

The next day, after I had provided an electronic copy of the manual:

     “Could you bring around the old parts you took away. We forgot to take the
      oil pump drive gear off the old clutch and need to take it all apart
      again and fit it.”
     “Certainly.”

The next day:

     “It is almost ready. We just have a small oil leak we need to fix.”

Another two days:

     “Look, there is a crack in the crankcase where the oil pump sensor screws in
      and we are having trouble getting it sealed. We have some special
      stuff for the job but it will take two days to harden and then it
      will be fine.”
     “You have had the bike a week. I need it done quickly now.”
     “No problem, it will be right on Thursday.”

Friday, standing in the workshop looking at oil dripping from the engine:

     “Um, well, arrr, it just won't seal.”
     “I see that.”
     “What would you like us to do?”
     “Me? I just want my bike fixed.”
     “Right, well we could try getting it welded. We know a specialist.”
     “Good.”
     “It will only take a day.”
     “Good.”

The next day:

     “Is my bike ready?”
     “Um, they haven't started on it yet.”
     “What?”
     “The specialist welder isn't available yet”

The next day:

     “The bike?”
     “This afternoon, for sure.”

Later, the phone rings:

     “Your bike is back and it's ready.”
 
I walked around to the shop. The manager was sheepish. He stood between me and the bike. When he stepped aside I saw a large scar on the side of the engine as though it has been melted; like a Dali Suzuki.

     “What the...!”
     “It runs ok, I rode it back from the welder...”
     “It doesn't have an oil pressure switch any more...”
     “That's not a problem if you check the oil!”
     “...and it doesn't have an air bleed!”
     “Well, you don't need one anyway.”
     “The Suzuki engineers thought I might.”
     “What is that coming out of your ears?”
     “Smoke.”
     “You should put down that tyre lever...”

I left before there was violence. Back at the house, Jo and I borrowed a couple of packs from Mike and Sarah, threw in a few bits and pieces from our motorcycle gear and drank some red wine. The next morning we caught a train south to
Winchester in the rain and started to walk the South Downs Way.