Act one

We are booked on the 4pm Ferry the next day, so decided to leave about half eight in the morning to allow for the usual cock ups, arguments, getting lost etc

off we go with only the EFI light occasionally winking ( Tony Checked everything but its poor fuel caused by lack of use), en route we find a Shell station and we fill up and ride away two large blokes on a little motorbike , after about 40 miles the Efi lights goes out for good as I knew and hoped it would.

We settle into a nice easy pace, because I always get butterflies before the off, but once in riding mode, with the gentle clatter of the V twin beneath me it all washes away and I look forward to the journey.

A quick stop for Bacon at High Wycombe with a nice fella from Turkey at his roadside place, and we chat to a Belgian Lorry driver about 7 feet of him, he is well funny and explains that he is from the North ( Walloon) and the people from the south of Belgium are all lazy **** and dont work hard enough?

Later on we see him again and he waves to us , a funny bloke with a good perspective on life

we stop again at the services on Junction 8 of the M20 just before the last leg, and grab a bite to eat, as we prepare to leave, Miss Daisy driving a Skoda asks us for Directions to Walthamstow ? Stuff me shes going a long way around, but we sort her out and tell her she needs to pay on the bridge, as she leaves a sudden shout, from the googler, some dozy middle aged berk is reversing into the Guzzi and me!!! , I start to fall over the bike as the car pushes me from behind, Googler fair shouts at him and bangs on the car, as he cant turn his neck to look as its so thick !!! he gets out of the car slowly and stands there looking confused ?

two large blokes wearing high vis by a motorcycle heavily loaded oh yeah easy to miss mate

if his neck did not have so much backfat he could have looked over his shoulders or used his mirrors !!!!

we leave the Pieabetic to waddle into the services suitably chastened

hey ho it can only get better

back on the road again and it starts to rain why me ??? but we press on, the miles clicking by at a steady 60mph and then at last we ride down the hill to the port , only to be greeted by a refugee holding up a sign saying Calais !!!! is GB really that bad ?( we have photo evidence)

Into the ferry port and we join the merry throng, now I know that some of you use the tunnel, but to me being old and raised on movies like Dunkirk and stories of operation Dynamo, shooting under the sea like a sperm in a fallopian tube is both unnatural and a little bit too easy.

we chat to a nice Lithuanian guy who is riding his newly purchased 10 year old BMW to Germany to see his sister then home for a holiday we chat about work and the British workman and we both agree that without the influx of skilled and talented hard working foreign labour this country would be back to the B.L. days ( been there never want to go back)

The ferry arrives and promptly unloads, a slick operation, I always get excited at ferry ports, its like being a kid and staying up late at night ,noisy bright and lots happening , the lines of an old poem come back to me , (Far off like floating seeds the ships diverge on urgent voluntary errands) soon us 2 wheeled vagrants are away up the ramp and locked into place by the big door thingy , next up comfy seat, and curry another Great British Institution,

the voyage is as ever a pleasure, and watching the coast of France as we run parallel to it is akin to meeting an old and much loved friend

Gravellines passes, the scene of much of operation dynamo and then the old working port of Dunkirk hoves into view ,excitement builds and soon we are on the bike waiting for the big doors to open, a massive sign says do not start your engine until the doors are open, however most car drivers lacking clarity of thought start their engines and we sit in a fog of exhaust fumes as a fleet of tired old VW campers spitting and belching unburnt fuel clatter away, soon its our turn, ignition on dials whirr round, one press and the familiar sound of tappets rustling and the burble of the silencers surrounds us

down the ramp carefully trying not to drop a fully loaded bike and soon we are out of the port and in France

Now we all have our routines and rituals

I do, I stop just before the main road, click my visor up, look around and take in the rich aroma that is France , mmmm, Cowshit and dodgy drains, yep thats France , a yellow ribbon around my right mirror reminds me to keep right, but both I and my motorcycle are more at home in Europe than the UK.

I had conceived a cunning plan, outward section of the trip we visit various WW2 sites, this allows us to say “during the war” a lot and don't mention the war accompanied by much hilarity, and to pay respect where its due

The proposed route out was south to Caen with an Overnight Stop at Abbeville ( where those rotters that shot Bader down flew from)

visit a few British and American WW2 sites then ride across to Italy in time for the big day

our first night was already booked at a Formul 1 near Abbeville, so we pick up the A16 from the port and head south arriving late at Abbeville.

now I like Formul 1s basic not too pricey, a decent room with a tele, sink, socket, double and a single bunk-bed, plus toilets and showers in the corridors, and Continental breakfast for a few euros if required ( we always do) they are a lovely melting pot, you get an amazing mix of long distance lorry drivers, tradesmen working away, the occasional Brit, illicit romances working girls and snake oil salesmen all mixed in with people from all over the world, the gates are locked at night, and they are usually near a Shopping centre or somewhere to eat within walking distance ( Half hour)

Now I had a slight problem, I was bitten by something big and hairy and my left arm swelled up like Popey , I visited the good doctor and she prescribed a course of Pills !! side effects nausea, hallucinations, paranoia, increased hear rate, sickness, oh and dont operate machinery or ride motorbikes , on the trip down I felt a bit queasy, but managed to keep awake.

We arrive at our first nights stop, sign in then a shower and a cup of coffee downstairs, the curry filled me right up, before bedtime I sort my gear for the next day, start writing a witty wedding speech , and then check the route 30 times before retiring ,as soon as my head hits the pillow I am gone, dreaming of open roads, pasta, and Sophia and Maria Loren !! ye I know I am greedy

3 am I wake up with a king sized headache wondering who I am ? And where I am ?

I manage to find some disprin swallow a packet and a cup of water then lay down to die

7 am my headache has subsided enough for me to notice that I feel like chucking up, my heart is racing and I feel sense of foreboding and doom??, only one more day of those pills thank god.

I explain my distress to the googler expecting sympathy but he replies with get up and get moving you fat old poof , oh yes due to us sharing a room ( he has the top bunk), most of the receptionists thought that I was an Iron Hoof, they didnt say it but the look told us !

We get showered and dressed and off or a long walk across the Somme, where I greet the morning chorus of songbirds with various belches and farts, eventually we get back and I cram down some coffee and few slices of French bread and Jam and begin to feel nearly human ,more piss taking ensues as I try to mount the motorcycle and work out why it will not move ,the disk lock is still on !!

I still feel a bit rough, but we decide to crack on and if I kark it googler will ride the bike and tie my scrawny old corpse across the panniers cowboy style and dump me in the lake.

Eventually we get moving, visor right up and a lovely warm day as various small insects smack me in the face and keep me awake , now the navigation is being handled by the googler as he understands technology, this is done by him sucking some maps out of the sky, into his telephone, and then using his crystal earpiece, but with his roaming thing turned off to save money, his phone hopefully tells him where we are , this he communicates to me via a simple system of a whack on the left should for left, or three whacks for third left. Whack on the right shoulder for right, and a smack in the spine to dislodge my false teeth and point to forward progress

three sharp taps on the back means stop for a piss, simples, so out of Abbeville and we pick up the

D928 towards Blangy sur Bresle , we trundle along in top gear doing around 50Kmh and after a few stops for a coffee and a pee and picture taking we move south through Neufchatel en Bray Rouen Beuzeville and then towards Caen our stop for night, a few times I came to a roundabout and receive no signals, but I notice that the idle sod has fallen asleep and his helmet is resting against mine ! har har

I cure this by either blowing the horn and making him jump or going over big bumps !

feeling a little better, its now midday Sunday and we see a small French town, we circle it twice looking for a cafe bar but all is closed, however near the church we sight a small bakery and join the crowd coming out from Sunday Mass, everybody is laid back and friendly, they dont treat motorcyclists as a threat just normal people, the googler parlais excellent French, myself only a few words that my Grandad ( an old contemptible) taught me , and as they mainly relate to a soldiers needs I leave it to the googler , the adorable ladies make us fresh jambon`s and we buy some drinks , waving oovwarrr to our new found friends we hit the road, and a few Kms away we stop in the peace and quite of the countryside and relax . France is beautiful even when you feel like death warmed up ( and I did) , food is consumed and we wave to a few passing motos , and short nap allows me to recover enough to carry on, soon the countryside changes, we avoid the peage not because we are tight, but because we want to be able to stop and see things and interact with the real world, a few more coffee stops and my last pill is history, oddly I begin to feel much better.

Late afternoon we are in Normandy, long sweeping bends, immaculate farms and towns its, like Somerset, Wiltshire, Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire and Sussex and Surrey and Yorkshire all melded into one without the traffic , trotting along we descend a hill and observe a huge bridge all new and shiny, now had I have been equipped with brains, I would have pulled into the viewing area and we could have taken a picture and found out that its free for motorcyclists as they use a particular gate ! , instead we arrived at the toll and an alarm went off, over to our right some young French soldiers looked around and fingered their rifles expecting trouble, but a nice young lady came across and unlocked the barrier for us, at the same time a group of French motorcyclists went through the free one with a large picture of a motorbike above it !!DOH

The army lads were friendly and waved at us and laughed once they realised that we were Brits, there really is a bond of friendship in France with British people

soon a bit of navigation on his part and we hit a ring road around Caen and then follow the signs for Ranville, we notice a fair few GB plates now, and some of the roads have names commemorating the men of the Ox and Bucks.

The county I now live in provided many of the Horsa gliders for operation deadstick, and our local museum has a replica cockpit that is being constructed, for some 40 odd years I have wanted to come here, but for a working class lad its a long way when you have other responsibilities.

Soon we see the new Pegasus bridge and locate the museum where the original bridge that Major Howard and his men stormed now resides in pride of place, the museum staff were lovely, we arrived rather late, but they looked after all our riding gear and told us to visit the outside exhibits first and they would call us when the film show was ready to start.

Now having read the book about this mission, and several others, and seen the Longest day

I was excited as a schoolkid and was not let down, its very humbling to see the body of one of the original gliders in a glass case, and view exactly how flimsily it really is, so flimsy that when Darryl F Zannuck wanted to replicate the original flight with a reproduction glider for his film the CAA said NON

no way

Grounded

its too dangerous

it was then dismantled and shipped to France, where the more liberal and Brit loving Europeans said Oui.

Now in spite of watching the film and reading the books, I still went to the wrong side of the bridge to look for the landing ground. its on the East side !!!, small memorials mark the exact spot where each glider landed.

We walked into the field and marvelled at just how Don Brotheridge had landed an overweight flimsy glider exactly where Major Howard had asked him, in fact I parked my Guzzi on the exact same spot where he nutted France on the 6th June ( give or take a few feet), for those of us too young to have grown up with uncles and grandparents involved in that awful conflict, the seizing intact of the bridge at Ranville meant success or failure for a greater part of the D days plans , and many thousands of men and materials would have been trapped on the beaches and slaughtered had the bridges not been captured.

We came in and watched the film, then had a wander around the museum, to see Major Howard's effects was humbling, and it brought perspective into our journey and the small discomfort we endured , I would recommend a week in the area to get a good look at everything.

After a wander around and a few pictures, we headed to our nights stop, another F1 in Caen

here as we unpacked we were surrounded by about 100 young people all chatting and laughing and full of life, hearing their Atlantic accents I greeted them with howdy Yanks, at which they replied laughing howdy Limeys, but were Canucks !!!

well they didn't kill us or burn our bike, so we apologised and chatted to them about their trip

what a great bunch of young people from the same mould that came here 70 odd years ago

they also gave us a Canadian flag to remind us !!, its on the bike still ,well after a quick change and a shower we trotted around the corner to the Texas rib eye steak house ?? Yeehaar, and filled our faces with some American cooking but with a distinct French touch, result.

I started to feel a little better for the meal until the googler slipped me the big one !

he had miscalculated the mileage !!!!( I simply supplied a list of places to see, and locations)

no way would we see them and get to the church on time, other than for my funeral ,so a slight re adjustment of the itinerary meant a 3 day blast across France and Italy, and on the map it looked a loooong way, but hey ho what's to lose ( it was a bloody long way)

before bed I write a few more lines for my weeding speech, the googler listens in and comments that I have got to three pages now ( I know he is going to report back on my speech)

So Monday bright and early after a continental breakfast and a goodbye to our new Canadian friends I filled the Guzzi up and away we went, half an hour circling Caen ( its a big place)

then we were rolling along the D roads and the odd N road and smelling the crisp clear air of Normandy, I was getting into the swing of the journey and frankly enjoying the sudden change of plans.

Navigation was handled by the googler, so a few times we passed and re passed the same places !!, eventually familiar names started to appear, and then the town of Falaise and its castle appear ( the birthplace of willy the conk ) a stop for pictures , then we ride on through the famous gap and then climb out of the ancient city, passing through Argentan we grab provisions for our lunch stop and then rolling along we feel the machine losing power a little as we start to climb even higher into the Forest of D Ecouves, suddenly we espy a Sherman Tank,. Valois, left here as a memorial to its crew, the damage to the Barrel is striking, and we take a few pictures before sitting down in the nearby shelter and observing the wildlife around us, lizards crawl up the walls and we admire the poster showing us the big hairy things that would eat us given half a chance !! big pig things, big stags,and martins or polecats,and more hairy things ,after that the googler decides he wants to test the motorcycle out in case of my demise, so I sit and enjoy the peace of the forest as he rides off into the distance, upon his return half an hour later we are just deciding to leave when a bunch of cyclists arrive to join us, they had overheard us speaking English and stopped to converse and chat about the journey, they were only cycling from Benidorm to Redditch !! it made our journey look relativity minor in comparison

after we bade them farewell back onto the tin donkey and away towards Alencon on the old Departmental route 26 ( a much more pleasant way to travel) onwards towards Le Mans , but by 1.30 our stomachs tell us to stop and eat, finding a small gateway back from the road we stop and eat our picnic and then catch a few Zs, himself more than me, as navigating with his pocket supercomputer takes a great deal of mental energy. After a few swift kicks he awakes from his slumber and we rejoin the old road and head towards Le Mans, arriving at Le mans late in the afternoon I feel disinclined to visit the museum so we stop and watch the gliders landing , and the nutcases taking their supercars in for a spin, getting bored with all of this modern technology we meander along and stop a short distance away on the old Mulsanne straight, now part of a normal road, but where my heroes once thundered along in W.O, Bentleys famous motor cars, a different breed I fear to the modern media obsessed racing celebrities

a quick snap to prove that I actually made it this far and onwards again towards Tours and our night stop at Bourges, now I must admit that the route chosen did not allow for much high speed riding, probably just as well given my lack of skill, so we trundled on till early evening when a stop for fuel and food was required, after this we rode on until we found a nice forest to stop and rest for an hour while the evening traffic died down send a few text messages and just recharge our batteries

then a gentle trundle along ever more narrow roads as the evening drew in followed by a pleasant ride along the banks of a river, then up and over some hills to our night stop, by 11.30 we were both tired out, a hot drink from the machine and a good nights sleep finished off a long day having clocked nearly 400 Ks

Tuesday morning dawns, a little overcast, but no rain, a decent continental breakfast then its away out of the hotel and heading towards Macon, fuel anxiety keeps me nervous as the tank is getting lower and the warning lights are on ( we have a 2 litre reserve can) however riding gently averages 65 to 70 mpg and we find a small village with an old fashioned garage and pumps, quick oil check and tyre check then away again feeling more confident, as we missed our evening meal yesterday a decision is made, find a place to stop midday and eat a decent meal, you can only eat so many McDs in a week, the town of Chevagnes appears and I pull up outside a chemist while himself quickly dismounts to check out Le Cheval Blanc, looks good for our lunch as its just past midday

I need some plasters for my arm to cover the crocodile bites, so expecting a little assistance with the French language I turn round to ask the googler for assistance to notice him laughing outside, well the ladies in the chemist must have liked me, and after using all of the French words of greeting that I knew, I managed to ask for Plasters in French, thanking them profusely I wandered across the road and took a seat outside the bar , The lady of the house appeared and the googler chattered away in French and it was explained that we could not eat outside ( we both felt a little scruffy in our bike gear) no it was expected of us to eat inside, so in we trooped to find a lovely old building , the wallpaper dates to the 60s, the furniture pre dates me, but the place is roomy and clean and everything I would want of a decent restaurant, you see in France the surroundings are a mere accessory, the food is the thing , spotless white linen, fresh bread, fine eating irons are laid out upon the table, we order the plate of the day, and are not disappointed, soon the place fills up with everybody who is anybody, farmer, taxi drivers, the vet, the doctor,plumbers a brickie two sparkies in fact most of the community is gathered here for lunch and to pay homage to fine food

we have a starter from the big chiller cabinet, it tasted like heaven followed by the main course

half a chicken and green stuff with French bread, simple tasty filling and nutritious

the day can only get better

After this fine and inexpensive feast we two happy souls clamber back up on the bike and away towards Macon, the day is warming up and as we climb up and open the throttle to build up speed the bike cuts out ?? we pull into a layby but can find nothing wrong, perhaps the machine is jealous of our lunch ? It fires up again we pull away and the problem does not recur, perhaps altitude and leaving it in the hot sun has affected something

The heat is steadily rising as afternoon wears on, so another stop under some trees, a few soft drinks and a rest until we are ready to proceed again, its going to be another long day

rested we ride on through Macon then stopping once more for fuel we ride on until our last stop for the day Saint-Julien-en-Geneve , finally we arrive at our F1 its half past 7 and after riding 400 Kms we are both dog tired, however a quick shower and a change of clothes make us feel human again and we walk into the town to find a meal, our second decent meal of the day

we sit at an open air restaurant and enjoy a 3 course meal as the sun begins to set, my lethargy and queasiness is starting to wear off, so the googler celebrates by me buying him a strong drink !, then its a short walk back in the cool alpine air and to bed

Wednesday morning and I am up at 7 and ready for the day, himself not so ready, so I amuse myself taking pictures and watching the news, a heatwave is setting fire to France and the flying fire extinguishers are called into service, as usual the googler manages to eat everything on the menu, like his dad he has hollow legs and a vast capacity for food, eventually I prise him away, we load up and away for the big scary bit, the Mont Blanc Tunnel, now we have never used this before and given the problems with lunatics with bombs are unsure of the check in procedure, himself of course was given plenty of time to study this using his supercomputer but other things kept distracting him ? We approach Mont Blanc only to find massive tail backs, not sure what to do we sit patiently, until passing French motorcyclists beckon us to follow them, we trickle up the long winding road and encounter no traffic coming down, all rather odd, soon we appear at the ticket area and it becomes obvious, vehicles are being escorted through in both directions and let out in blocks

sitting there in the hot sun I look around and see enough guns to start a small war, so we are perfectly safe here, soon we are beckoned on through the security check, a credit card payment and we join the queue for the next tour through

the tunnel is quite fun, but at 11.6 Km long and its easy to let your attention wander a little, so I clip my visor right back and the cool air keeps me awake, soon we escape the narrow rock walls and the most amazing vista greets us, as does a rush of hot air, otherwise known as Italy, we park up and shop for a few snacks and drinks then take in the view, and watch the cable cars climb above us, the same ones that a few weeks later get stuck and make the news, helicopters pass us on the long climb to the peaks, but I can resist the temptation of climbing into one of those scary things

feeling refreshed we ride out and down the pass and towards our final destination of the day Malcesine a mere 600 Kms away!!, navigation being handled by the googler, we avoid toll roads for a while and click along at a fair rate of knots, the first problem as we descend down from Chamonix to Aosta the high winds bumping us about, then we ramp up the speed a little until a lunch and fuel break around Turin, then back to it Milan Passes in a blur and the temperature rises off the clock, a motorway hold up shows us just how hot, when we both notice the Lorry tyres next to us melting on the tarmac, of course the locals ride along in a tee shirt, but us idiots wearing leathers and a huge touring screen start to melt, another stop is called for and much water is drunk while sitting in the shade, then its back to it and a clear motorway, picking up speed now for the final leg up towards Brescia, I look in the mirror and notice flashing headlights, so pull over quickly, we both fall about laughing as we are overtaken by a hearse !! we are doing around 130Kmh he must have been nudging 180 !! but he waves to us cheerfully as he zaps past, perhaps touting for business ?? Brescia is soon behind us as we look for our turning before Verona then onto the SP31, a winding scenic and picturesque road above the lake, another and our last fuel stop and then by evening soaked with sweat we reach our destination, Jonathan decides to walk the last bit and meet my brother ( his dad) myself feeling stiff from the ride I manage to stagger into the hotel and find my family, and after a shower and some clean clothes we walk into town for refreshments