Here is our original write up (the thread was deleted in the big clear out). Not sure if the pics still work though.
Sorry it's taken so long, but here goes:
The adventure started on a Saturday, when our target to leave my house at 11am sharp kind of got extended when we realised that taking the absolute minimum amount of stuff was still going to be hard work. It seemed that a set of panniers (thanks Keith and Charlotte!), a tank bag and a backpack was pushing it to house 8 days worth of clothes, cameras, maps, toiletries, waterproofs and other associated crap. I will point out at this juncture that it was not myself, but Col (McJam to everyone else), who insisted that we take a hairdryer (that was never used – ahem). Anyway, by 11.45am the Ninja was loaded up, intercoms switched on, and we were on our way to Dover to catch the 5.45pm ferry. After what seemed like hours and a couple of stops, I began to realise that an entire week riding pillion on a ZX6-R was not going to be as easy as I thought. 65 miles to go and I was lying in a car park to ease the pain in my back and legs. Colin was also getting pretty tired by this stage, and had achey-back syndrome too. We realised that we were going to miss our ferry, mainly due to the high winds meaning we had an average motorway speed of about 60, so there was not much we could do except hope they’d let us on the next one. The funny thing was that despite all the pain I was in, getting waved at by bike admiring drivers and thumbs up from kids in the backs of cars seemed to numb the pain somewhat, and kept me going. 267 miles later, we managed to get the 7.30pm ferry and were soon in Calais.
Amazingly, Colin took to riding on the wrong side of the road like a duck to water. I was very impressed. By this time we both just wanted to get to the hotel after such a long day. We were booked in a Formule 1 hotel, and managed to find it quickly. As we turned into the car park, Colin almost dropped the bike as he took the corner too wide, which was quite funny (but only because he managed not to drop it!). We got a room on the ground floor so parked the bike (who I call Betty) right outside the room so she wouldn’t feel lonely.
Sunday morning called for only one thing to start the day – McDonalds of course! Luckily we were right next to one so we were sorted for a day out to Dunkirk town centre where we discovered these weird things which looked completely out of place next to the town hall [photo]. It was so quiet with it being a Sunday, which made the whole place even more bizarre. We continued to a War Museum called Memorial Du Souvenir. I was impressed with the rusty old BMW bike they had in there, so posed with it [photo]. On Sunday night we decided to celebrate our time in Calais with some bison meat and ate out at Buffalo Grill.
On Monday, it was time to get packed up and move on to our next place of interest – Caen. Yes, bloody miles away! The thought of another full day of travelling was not making us too pleased, and we did not begin the day very well – as Colin was loading the bike up with the panniers, he forgot that the seat key was still in and bent it to a right angle! Good job we had the spare with us! Then to top it all it started to rain and the wind was high again. So dolled up in our waterproofs we went on our way. After about 50 miles we were drenched – I couldn’t feel my hands or feet and the strong winds were really making the journey slower for us. Col even told me that they were the worst winds he had ever had to ride in. So we took it slow. When we got to Le Harve, the sky cleared up and we had great views as we crossed the bridge. Almost there, we cheered up and 210 miles on we had arrived in Caen. Yet again Col didn’t get even slightly lost (it must be a man thing!)
On Tuesday, we had a hardcore day of museums. First stop was Pegasus Bridge. I think this is where my true understanding of the Second World War started to hit me [photo]. There was an excellent museum with the original bridge, and we ate lunch in the famous family-run Gondree café, which was liberated on D Day after the gliders had captured the bridge, and was full of bits of interesting junk from the War [photo]. Second stop was the Merville Battery, which again took my breath away. The batteries and casemates were scattered around almost untouched in 60 years [photo]. Colin attempted to get in one that was full of water, but decided it wasn’t worth getting his Sidi’s wet for. Next was Ouistreham, on the coast at the edge of Sword beach which was a strange little place, to visit a massive German bunker in the middle of a housing estate [photo]. Col got a great panoramic picture from the top [photo] and some funny looks off an old German couple for his pose [photo]. After this we were fairly knackered, it had been a long day. So back to Caen it was, except we got horribly lost in the city centre and the road signs kept disappearing so we couldn’t get back on the ring road. We seemed to have hit rush hour too, so the whole experience was pretty stressful. Betty almost overheated too, which concerned me greatly, but she was ok once we found the ring road.
Wednesday morning saw us on our way again after a brief stop off at Caen to sniff around the castle because I do like a bit of castle now and again [photo]. We then went on to see the remains of the Mulberry Harbour at Arromanches [photo], and then to the Longues-sur-Mer battery which was the most spectacular site full of German bunkers with guns in such good condition – it was amazing that they hadn’t been trashed and the place had the most sense of untouched history that we saw all week [photo]. After we’d recovered, we decided to go out for a good old Curry. It was our last night in Caen after all. This is when we realised that going out for a curry in France was very different from going for a curry in England. Cheese naan anybody?
Thursday morning saw us on our way again so packed up were the bags and off we went to St-Lo via Bayeux. Bayeux seemed like a nice little place, although we didn’t have time to look at the tapestry. We popped into the cathedral to try out the digital camera on the stained glass, and attempted some arty angle shots [photo]. The locals are a bit scary though [photo].
On we went to the famous Omaha Beach with its American Cemetery, which was very moving seeing all those graves, some of which had no names on them [photo]. We had a wander down to the beach which was quite a trek, especially in leathers with a back pack, but we got some cool shots on the beach [photo]. It was so spooky standing where hundreds and hundreds of soldiers died all those years ago and looking back up the embankment knowing that it was the last view some men ever saw [photo]. Being in our bike gear didn’t stop us from appreciating the seaside (Beach wear by Sidi ). After a brief chat with a Dutch biker on a V-Strom who wished us a safe journey, we continued along the beach to Pointe Du Hoc. This was a breathtaking collection of casemates and huge craters [photo], which really brought home the extent of the bombings and again was a very spooky place, especially with the phallic monument. [photo] We got a bit snap-happy and silly with the camera and our mascot (a frog, naturally) became very mischievous by climbing in and out of the tobruks [photo] and wanted a ride on Betty[photo].
After this, we headed to St-Lo, our next destination, which seemed like a lovely town - very small compared to Caen. The Formule 1 was easy to find (not that I would have been able to find it, I admit that not only was I chauffeured round France all week, but Col did virtually all the map reading so I left him to it!). Luckily we were within range of a McDonalds, which saved the day yet again.
Friday was our last day to go to War related sites, so we made the most of it by going to Utah beach and Sainte-Mere-Eglise to see the church where the paratrooper hung for some hours before being captured [photo], and to visit the Airborne museum. This had a replica Glider and a C-47, as well as a very good video which put the events of the War in perspective. We watched it in French and English, although Col did seem to be nodding off during some of it! We also noticed that we were being followed from site to site by some Swiss bikers, once of which was riding a massively tall KTM 950 Adventure (which looked even more uncomfortable than Betty!).
Saturday was our last full day in France. We had made a last minute change of plan to travel up to Cherbourg to see the Submarine and Aquarium and to make our Sunday ferry catching experience less stressful. The submarine was amazing [photo] (I’d like to try living on one!), and I particularly enjoyed the fishes and jellyfishes and weird spider crab thing! [photo](Bottle for scale). I think we managed to fit another McDonald’s into the week too at this point. Our last night in France had arrived so we decided to go out for a meal. After walking around for a mile or so and not finding anywhere decent or not jam packed, we got on the bike to find ourselves back where we had walked at a Pizza restaurant. This is where our lack of knowledge of the French language became apparent, when Colin ordered a mushroom pizza. He detests mushrooms! I thought it was quite funny, since it really was an entirely mushroomy pizza. We won’t forget the word champignon in a hurry!
On Sunday morning we were as prepared as we could be for a pathetically long day of travel. First things first though - a picture of Betty, which has come out really bizarre and arty [photo]. By 8am we were leaving Cherbourg and heading for Poole in a 4-hour crossing. It was about half an hour into the journey when we both realised that we suffered from seasickness. Col spent the entire trip with his head in his arms on the table in a desperate attempt not to be sick [photo], while I sat still trying not to vomit. We were so relived when we saw land and realised we could soon get off the damn boat! Then it was back on Betty for the last stint of our adventure. Only 210 miles back to Congleton, a piece of piss! Not. After a road rage incident with an old guy in a pink Fiat (he was talking on his mobile phone so we showed him our displeasure in his actions, to which he decided he would try to follow us and attempt to have a fist fight), we were edging closer to home. It was this journey as pillion that I found by far the worst. I cannot even begin to describe the agonising pain I was in, and 50 miles from home I am not ashamed to say that I broke down in tears and didn’t think I could carry on.
What a wonderful week we had – for me personally I learnt more about the Second World War than I ever thought possible, and it really made me think about War with a new perspective. We learnt that we are both crap at the French language and the culture difference was certainly an eye opener. The French are much more welcoming to bikers – almost all of the museum staff that we met offered to look after our lids on the occasions where we didn’t lock them to the bike. We also had to adjust to the biker wave and foot shake, which I found hilarious at first, but soon got used to seeing. We got quite a few admiring glances from all sorts of people, and often had audiences when we were moving on (which was not always welcome when I had to swing my leg over the panniers without making a fool out of myself!). I feel that I’m a much better pillion and even my riding awareness may be improved by the trip. I’ve learnt a technique to stop myself from leaning for instead of with, and I think that riding abroad for a week can only have improved Col’s abilities as a skilled rider – not only was he abroad, but with a pillion and panniers for so many miles – that deserves respect in my book! The week seemed to last forever because we were always on the move, and despite the pain of being a pillion on a sports bike for approx 1100 miles (and I’m still hurting from it) it was worth every second for the sheer experience and we were still smiling [photo]. If nothing else, my leathers are well and truly worn in.
Would I do it again? Without a doubt…but I have to say, maybe not on a Ninja.
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