Homeward bound

17, 18 & 19 August 2015

Inevitably, after a fabulous time lazing in the sunshine, spending time with family and good friends, 2 am swims in the sea and more, the time for the return journey arrived accompanied by another early start. Malc and I departed from Porto Rafael while the remainder of our party slept. During our stay in Sardinia the temperature had dropped a few degrees, making travelling more comfortable. We arrived back at Santa Teresa about an hour before our ferry was due to depart to find a few other motorcycles would be on the same ferry. A friendly French couple on a BMW GS (think Ewan & Charley to picture the bike) came and chatted for a while. Strangely, they showed me photos on their phone of a trip to Bristol. I'm not sure I was ready to see those photos of the next ultimate destination whilst only just having started the journey.

We spent the whole trip across to Corsica out on the deck of the ferry, seeing all of the sights we had missed out on during the trip south. Coming in to the port at Bonifacio, we saw buildings clinging to the rugged, stratified cliff tops & what looked like a staircase down the cliff face. Quite where the stair case leads to I don't know. I have made no attempt to find out either. Some things are best left as an enigmatic mystery, as the answer could well be quite dull! All off the cliffs around Bonifacio are truly spectacular. Geology just showing off.

Arriving back at Bonifacio

It was also much cooler in Corsica on the trip north and during the journey I received a text message informing me that there would be a delay in the departure of the ferry back to northern Italy. However, the revised departure time wasn't clear, so we decided to head for Bastia as planned, just in case. Arriving at the Bastia ferry terminal, it was still unclear when we would be leaving and there seemed to be no reliable news. As a result we ended up just killing time at the port. It's a shame, because it turned out to be a few hours. We could have spent that time on a detour to the mountains on the journey up the island. Those mountains had looked fabulous and would certainly merited exploration.  As it was, we watched the world going by for a few hours, including a fire in a nearby building which was put out by one quick acting local man and a fire extinguisher. The boy done good.

There were lots of bikes in the queue for the ferry, but we didn't chat to others so much this time. We were tired after the early start, a bit bored after hanging around the terminal area for a few hours, plus we hadn't got the prize of heading to holiday time to keep us perky. The ferry was finally ready for boarding late at night. It must have been close to midnight. On the ferry, for some reason the personnel spoke to me in German, not sure why. I wasn't even dressed like your normal continental bike tourer. Although my German is mighty rusty, I managed to decipher the directions to our cabin. The cabin itself is was compact, but accommodated us for the truncated available hours of sleep.

Late night, still waiting for the ferry to Vado Ligure

Arrival at Vado Ligure was in the cool blue purple light of early morning. As we headed back northwards, we rode through mist in the coastal hills and anticipated the joys of hitting the roads on the outskirts of Turin at morning rush hour. The traffic at Turin turned out to be no problem, unlike the unpredictable Italian road signs. I was looking for signs to France, Frejus Tunnel, even Lyon. What got us off at the correct exit was a sign to Bardonecchia, a town I fortunately remembered passing on the ride south. Oh those crazy Italians!

We stopped for a coffee at a service station, where we got served with espresso which most UK coffee shops could only dream of - at a petrol station. As we headed back up into the Alps, we both saw what looked like a fortified church or a small castle on a vertiginous outcropping of rock, right along side the alpine road. If we had just been tiki touring, meandering around and exploring, it was the sort of place we would have definitely investigated. However, the need to pack the kilometres in meant it would have to wait for us to pass that way some other time.

The journey north through the Alps and central France, back to the same F1 hotel at Troyes, passed without incident. Not a wrong turn or delay. We spent a long lunch time break back in Chambery. This time we wandered around a little and saw the beautiful historic centre of the town. We took the time to sit in the sun and drink more coffee. We also nipped into a supermarket and grabbed the ingredients for a leisurely outdoor lunch, as well as food for the evening. 

Chambery

We awoke the following morning to a strange dampness in the air. There was light rain as we departed the hotel for the trip back up to Calais. After about an hour on the road we had to stop to add extra layers, put liners back into jackets and don our neck warming gear. It was as though northern France was trying to help us re-acclimatise for the return to the cold of an average UK summer. 

I spent most of the journey through France that day wracking my brain, trying to work out a way to spend a few months bike touring through Europe. Before this trip, my bike touring dreams had centred on further flung locations, but this ride had reminded me how much there is to see much closer to home. I decided that I would have to dedicate a portion of my meagre brain capacity to the subject of more motorbike trips once this one was over.

We hit the UK under grey skies and decided to ride together until our routes parted, me heading west and Malc continuing with the journey north. As I reached the London orbital motorway (M25) all I was thinking was “what the fuck am I doing here”. As the rain set in, I was depressed, properly depressed, at the thought of being back in the UK, of going back to work, of going back to the flat where I live. There's not really anything wrong with any of those things, but I wanted more. I wanted to carry on travelling. I wanted to go to new places. I wanted the unfamiliar and the exploration. Instead what I got was massive traffic jams on the M25 which continued without respite on to, and along the M4. Filtering, filtering, for miles. And filtering through slow moving or static traffic for long distances is tiring. You really have to have your wits about you.

So, as I neared Bristol, a thought occurred to me. Where is home? Have I got a place I unreservedly call home? There is a place I have lived for the last 14 years & have a job & good friends there, but I have never thought that I'll be there indefinitely. There is also a place where I was born & grew up, where most of my family live and where I have got more friends, but I can't see myself moving back there. Apart from wanting to be with family and friends, it is really only financial circumstances which keep me in the UK. There was a definite need to get my thinking cap on. Not in terms of relocating my life, but merely to satisfy that desire to travel and explore. It was unlikely that current circumstances would allow me to be heading off for adventures lasting months at a time, but there would be ways to plan shorter and more frequent mini adventures. I remembered Ewan McGregor talking during the Long Way Round trip and what he said had more meaning for me then than ever before. It makes complete sense to me and it's something I want much more of in my life.

"I really feel this is where I belong. To be on this bike, to be seeing what I'm seeing & meeting the people I'm meeting. I feel like I absolutely belong in this moment now, it's where I should be. And luckily, it's where I find myself.' Thank you Ewan, that sums up motorcycle travel perfectly.