France/Spain Trip Statistics

Total Mileage 2237 Ridden

Cost of Tolls £86

Eurotunnel £29

Ferry £325 (Cabin cost £125)

Hotels & Meals £467 (6 hotels)

Fuel £185

Average speed Out 61 Back 69 (Averages exclude UK riding legs)

May 3 Well, despite all the volcano problems which messed up departures and visits of friends and family to the villa, we had a great holiday. Three weeks of sunshine right up to the morning I was due to leave Moraira and suddenly, in came the cloud and cooler weather. My trip back was going to be shorter in terms of riding as I really couldn't face just retracing my route through France. So, my first leg was to take me to Zaragossa in the middle of Spain. I was up early on the morning of departure to rebuild the bike. Well, actually the screen, bags and racks. The bike had been a handsome boulevard cruiser in its "undressed" state and was quite a feature of nightime Moraira for a few weeks. I set off at 10:30 and after fuelling up, headed for the Autopista and north to Valencia. I reached Sagunto after two hours and then peeled off East on the A23 to head inland. The landscape is very different here and after a few hours of riding, the rocky white ground started to give way to green hills and ochre earth. The Spanish have entered into the spirit of natural energy at a pace that should put the UK to shame. Literally hundreds of wind turbines dotted the gently rolling Rioja hillsides. I decided to take a quick stop at one of the rest areas to pay homage to a field of grapes whse juice would one day fortify an excellent bottle of wine.
Although warm, the sky was gettting darker and as my GPS steered me to the Ibis Hotel in the centre of Zaragosa, the first spits of rain began falling. The Ibis was magnificently worse than average with no restaurant and a small bar so I ended up going to a local Supermercado to buy some food to take to my room. No sooner had I returned, than the heavens opened accompanied by an ear-splitting thunderstorm.

May 4
Next morning I was up early as I'd heard the rain beating on the windows most of the night and wanted to make an early start for Bilbao. However, when I went out, although damp and drizzly, the sky looked reasonably clear so I just stayed with my textile gear. Bad mistake. Five miles down the road, it started lashing down so hard, I couldn't see. For the first time in many years I had to stop under a bridge and get the raingear on. Once again, I cursed the Harley Davidson brand manager for allowing the MoCo's name to be put on such a useless and incompetent piece of clothing.It's happening too much with HD clothing and people will soon start to walk away. The ride was pretty miserable and I was glad to arrive early into the Novotel in Bilbao which turned out to be an excellent hotel. For the first time on my trip, I was exhausted and with muscles aching, I fell into the bath and then slept like a top all night.
May 5
My ferry was due to depart at midday but boarding started at 10:30am so I decided to get over to the port and board early to settle down.Although my GPS did its stuff, strangely, there are few, if any, signs towards the port..certainly, I didn't see any Brittany Ferry notices. Hoping that I wasn't going to end up on a cargo ship to Panama, I rounded a few corners and there in front was the ferry and quite a small queue. I'd decided that I'd earned a Captains Cabin on the way back and this gave priority boarding so, before I knew it, I was watching the guys lash down the bike for the 30 hour journey up the Atlantic coast of France and across the channel. With various hoots, PA announcements and little bumps, we were on our way and leaving the coast of Spain in the distance. The boat offers a type of mini-cruise and for those who want it, there is entertainment ranging from floorshow's and disco's to palaegic creature watching from the top decks. The part of the Atlantic we were sailing in was, in some places, 9000ft deep and home to many Whales and Dolphins. Both species are sighted regularly on the trip and specialist members of the crew provide various conservation agencies with vital information. In fact, the ship is also a scientific station electronically uploading information on micro eco-systems and sea temperature changes. There is a wealth of information as amazingly, they have been surveying these data for more than 40 years. After stooging around on the top deck for twenty minutes or so, I too saw three or four pods of dolphins playing in the bow waves. Nice life.My cabin was a delightful affair with two windows looking out over the bow and situated just beneath the Bridge. It came with a free, stocked mini bar and lots of fresh fruit. Having stowed what I needed to and unpacked the rest, I headed for the restaurant and an early dinner at 6:30pm. My plan was to eat, drink and sleep. Langan's have the franchise on board and I enjoyed a good meal in the 1930's style restaurant. What better way to spend a few hours than in the company of a decent Chablis and a grilled Dover sole, next to a window looking out onto the Atlantic Ocean?
The first part of the crossing that night and early next morning was rough, very rough. Although I'm lucky enough to be a good sailor, it's hard to sleep in a normal bed when you're being thrown around. Now, give me a hammock and I'd have been fine. Eventually at about 6am, I just gave up and went for a walk round the ship. By the time I returned to the cabin, we'd rounded the Channel Islands, arrived into shallower water and everything calmed down.
May 6
After grabbing a couple of hours sleep, I headed off for a light breakfast at about 10;30am. We were due to dock at 3pm and I was starting to clock watch. Really, I just wanted to get home now. Luckily, my iPhone had started picking up UK signals so I was able to catch up on email and texts and call the family to let them know I was going to get in early. It seemed ages fromm sighting land to the time when we actually entered the portOnce the boat gets in,, there's a lot of faffing about before you can actually get off. In the end, however, as with all these things I was off and starting my 200 mile journey up the M3, around the M25 and then the final leg on the A12. Obviously, I won't bore you with that journey suffice to say the temperature dropped to 5c and I haven't been as cold since I stupidly agreed to ride to Cornwall, in January, on a Triumph T100c, in 1973. Still, I'd reached the end of the trip and as I sat there thawing out with a mug of tea and a slice of toast, I felt well chuffed!

April 10
Today was going to be a 360 mile sprint to Moraira. By now the weather was hot. I opened all the vent zips on my trousers and jacket and at my steady 65, this provided enough cooling. I'm glad I was on the Autopista because on the one occasion I stopped for the autopista peaje, the heat from the bike was immense. In fact, Harley have thought of this and you have the option to set a cylinder cut-off in the engine management system for just such an occurence. The idea is that one less cylinder firing in traffic will reduce the amount of heat being pumped upwards. Maybe it works in major traffic jams but I didn't notice much difference on a short stop. Having cleared the toll, I now set my head down and wound the speed up to 75. The Classic leapt forward as if to ask why we hadn't been doing this before. Further and further south, the miles clicked by and just past Tarragona, I caught my first glimpse of the sparkling Mediterranean sea. Weather started to get hotter and hotter and now I had to keep my jacket and visor open.
After another hour or so, Valencia appeared on the nose and I knew my journey south was nearly at and end. I hadn't been exactly rushing things but there is something satisfying about setting off on a journey near Ipswich, in cool, green surroundings and arriving 1300 miles and four days later into a sunbaked, white and dusty land where palm, orange and lemon trees grow. So it was, an hour later, I pulled up to the Villa in Moraira.
It was 4pm and after all that distance, the only injury I suffered was to my back as I lifted the RiggPak off for the last time!
For now, the sissy bar, screen and rack came off and I gave the bike a good wash down. A quick photo and I left her to rest for three weeks.

April 9
The problem with riding on the Autoroute, is that the only good views come while you're in transit so apologies for the rather boring one here. I'll try to do better later!
Despite the rich dinner the night before, the portions were sensible..taste being the key not quantity. I slept well and was able to manage a light breakfast before the off. As I stepped out of the hotel towards the underground garage, it was into a clear blue, warm morning. A perfect biking day. The electric door of the garage hummed up and parked at the back, uncovered, was the Road King Classic. Without getting soppy about it, I was beginning to form an affinity with the bike. It's one thing to have a motorcycle in your garage at home for the odd weekend rideout, it's another to live with the bike on the road for five days. The Harley delivered every time. Starts at the push of the button and carries on, eating the miles without complaint. With another of those happy, contented feelings, I loaded up the Rigg Pack and wearing just a t-shirt under my jacket headed, once more, for Autoroute E15 and South.
Today, I would leave France, enter Spain and the last 550 miles of the trip down. Next stop Girona. After about 100 miles, I saw the signs for Millau and knew I was about to see one of the greats sights of France. The Millau Viaduct.Designed by Norman Foster, the span is 2.5km and it weighs 36,000 tonnes so, heavy as the Harley is, it seemed safe enough...
Having paid a fiver for the privilege of crossing (very worthwhile as the detour is about an hour)I decided to stop at the next Aire for fuel and a cup of coffee. Once again, there was a sharp intake of breath as I paid the equivalent of £25 to fill the tank. For God's sake, it doesn't seem that long ago you could fill a car for that amount. The coffee however, was much better priced and as good as any in a top restaurant.
After giving the bike a quick check, I was ready to head for the border. The countryside was beautiful and very slowly, I started feeling the change. The trees were becoming smaller, there were hints of blossom in the air and there were no chilly little draughts around my neck or legs. The GPS, which had seen me straight for the last four days with direct routes and early warnings of speed cameras, was finally defeated by major roadworks on the last stretch of the French autoroute near Perpignan. By generally following the compass, heading south and translating as best I could some strange diversion notices, I was back on track after thirty minutes or so. Funny though, as I waited to traverse a roundabout, I saw day running lights in my mirror that looked remarkably similar to mine and sure enough, up arrived a pristine diamond-white Road King with coordinated rider and lady pillion even down to their tans and perfect white teeth. With the dust of the road on both me and the bike, I felt a little "inferiour" in such company. However, with a flash of knashers and a flick of long blonde hair, Mamselle called out something like "Vive la soleil" and off they went.
Twenty minutes later, I started seeing signs for the border and shortly, the road widened out for the crossing.
Although I was now quite high in the Pyrenees, I hadn't really noticed the climb or any temperature difference, unlike my entry to the Massif Central a day earlier. Shortly after crossing the border, I started the slow descent towards Girona. The French roads are kept in top condition which is amazing given the thousands of kilometres of autoroute they have to maintain. Spanish roads..well, they are OK but less so. There is definitely a hint of Manyana in the air but that's fine, it's why I'm here. Little else to note on the run to Girona apart from the difference in the service stops to France. Petrol is the same high price but the standard of catering has just dropped about ten notches. I'd like to have stayed in the centre of Girona but this is a timed mission and I need to stay near the E15. The Novotel Girona Airport is comfortable, roomy and as with all Novotel's has a good restaurant. Sipping a cold Rose with a plate of delicious Calamari's, I reflected that I'd come a long way and tomorrow was the last 360 mile leg.

April 8
The Ibis Hotel provided another nights satisfactory rest. I only had a snack for dinner as I ate so well at lunch so, after a good breakfast I made my way out to the Harley. Well, first thing to note, the weather has changed. Damp road, dull sky and spitting with rain but, not cold. First chance therefore, to wear the Harley Davidson Rainsuit. At £85 a pop, one would expect some sort of "special" rainwear. This one was disappointing. Thin, no pockets and one of those small fiddly zips that splits open from the bottom at the first opportunity. Apart from that, it was a bugger to put on the trousers. The leg openings are wide but nowhere near wide enough to accomodate Harley boots. The legs close with Velcro which, on an open touring bike, is about as much use as the proverbial chocolate teapot. As soon as there is any sort of windstream, the flaps open. This kit was made in China by the bidder who'd obviously pay most to slap the logo on and then scrimp with the product. Having staggered around the car park, I at last managed to get the trousers on and headed out for the E15 for a dead straight 300 mile run to Aumont-Aubrac. It would be nice to head away from the autoroute for a while but this trip isn't a tour, it's about getting to the southern sunshine. Apart from stopping for fuel and a rest, I kept going and this is where the Road King Classic earns its spurs. The bike is very comfortable for long distance cruising. I was taking a break about every 90 minutes and felt no real discomfort. If I were to tweak just one part of my bike, then I think I might bring the handle bars back slightly to give a more upright seating position. After a quick sandwich and coffee just outside Clermont-Ferrand, the weather had improved enough for me to take off the rain suit. This was good news as by now, the road was imperceptibly starting to climb as I entered the Massif-Central region. I would now keep climbing to about 1400 metres or 4500 feet until I started my descent the other side of the Pyrenees. For now, I felt a distinct chill in the air as we passed 500 metres. It was like a giant staircase. Steep incline for 3 or 4 miles and then a plateau followed again by another journey upwards. The land here is mainly formed from extinct volcanoes and the views are, quite frankly, huge.

Although the temperature had dropped, it wasn't really cold as the sun had appeared into a clear blue sky and I really started enjoying the views. Another hour passed and the GPS warned me to take the next exit to Aumont-Aubrac. By now, I was on another plateau, this time around 1300 metres high and five minutes after leaving the E15, I pulled up into the Chez Cammillou hotel car park. Again, the manager here graciously invited me to park in his underground car park. "Not", he said "because of theft but to keep the beautiful machine warm". Now there's a man who understands the priorities in life.

Having checked in, the receptionist advised me that the restaurant this evening, was only offering the d'gustation option. Oh well, a walk before dinner is probably going to be a good idea. At 7:30pm, I entered the busy restaurant and it was packed with local couples and families. I was led to a nice single table by a window and served with warm home made breads and butter.
Having been told that a dry white would probably be best for the meal I took the waiters advice and settled for a 2006 Sauvignon that had only travelled a few hundred miles from Bordeaux. So started two hours of gourmet heaven. Cornets of seafood served with anissette, delicate spoonfuls of sorbet to clean the pallet followed by tender crowns of lamb with asparagus and mushrooms. Finally, a banana and green lemon compote. I tell you, these people know how to live!

April 7
Checking out of the Hotel at 09:30 was made easier by the fact that the bill for my stay was 95Euros. Good value indeed. Having strapped on the Rigg Pak and stowed the lightweight bike cover and security locks, I turned my attention to today's leg of the trip. I had only planned to ride 280 miles today mainly because it was my first long sector but also because the route took me around the east of Paris so I expected some delays. Plugging in my destination as Orleans and after a quick check, I was off. Within a minute I was on the spur road leading to my first major intersection and shortly afterwards I was joining the E15 or as it is rather welcomingly named, L'Autoroute des Anglais. This road would take me down to Paris where I would take the Boulevard de Peripherique and finally the famous Autoroute de Soleil.
For now however, I was settling down to the ride. The Harley felt completely at home on the Autoroute and so I flicked in 65mph on the cruise control. That would keep me at a reasonably comfortable speed on the inside lane and was also quicker than the trucks. The buffetting I had experienced the day before was back with a vengence. However, my new foam earplugs were woking well so noise wasn't an issue. The high frequency vibration on my head however, was not very pleasant and I started experimenting with my position behind the windscreen. Lowering my head beind it helped a bit but, as I noticed from my road shadow, I looked like Quasimodo. Sitting very upright also changed the harmonics but that became tiring after a while. My favourite position is slouching on the bike - or anywhere else for that matter. A temporary breakthrough came when, lifting my visor to scratch my nose (the vibration also seemed to set my nasal foliage a-rustling in an intensely itchy fashion, I noticed that the vibration decreased substantially. So there was the solution. Leave the interior sun shade visor on my Caberg down and lift the exterior completly up..result, happiness. The ride now settled into a pleasant experience. I'd found the correct speed and I was comfortable. The weather was far warmer today so I was just wearing the undersuit, a t-shirt and the textile trousers without liners. A number of bikes passed at various intervals, both sportsters and BMW's. The BMW's, with their boxer engines, just seemed to hum past at over 100mph. Another little discovery was the French (and as it happens, Spanish) biker salutation. No waving of hands, just a lifting of the right leg as they sped past. The driving standard is good, with one exception, the British. Probably because they are sitting on the right hand side, British cars are passing and pulling in uncomfortably close to me. I cure this in short order by pushing the bike up to the centre line when I see large white plates approaching in the mirror. This little nuisance soon passes as I extend my distance from Calais and my next challenge awaits 1000m ahead. The Peage. The roads in France are truly excellent but, this comes at a cost and unlike good old blighty, the price for a motorbike is the same as for a car. Boo!
So, what's the strategy for dealing with Peage? Drive up, glove off, get ticket, put in pocket, pull-up zip, glove on, move off? Nah, too long with impatient French drivers queuing up behind. How about, pull-up, grab ticket and pull over to side to pocket it. Nah again, ticket, throttle/clutch..too much. You'll drop the ticket and then it's fun and games...
My strategy is to stop on the side of the road just before the toll. Take off the left glove and sit on it. Grab ticket and put in teeth. Move to side of road and adjust everything there. This is good practice for the next stage - paying, when a wallet and bank-card have to join in the fun.
For now, the Peage has been negotiated and my aim is to travel around the Peripherique before stopping for lunch. I've decided that 90 minutes is the longest I should ride before a short break. My riding day is going to be about 6 hours so that's a break in the morning, lunch and a break in the afternoon. In fact, as the trip progresses, I find I need more breaks in the afternoon. Soon however, I am coming to a forced break. I need fuel. The Harley is many things but frugal, it ain't. At 65mph, I'm getting about 48 to the gallon and that means I need to fill-up about every 230/240 miles. For peace of mind, I try to make it a rule never to go below 50 mile range on the display. Now in France, on the Autoroutes, Diesel is about 95p a litre but elsewhere "of piste", it can be found for 85p. Petrol on the other hand is £1.27 litre..! So, to fill the Harley's 19 litre tank costs £24. To that, add another £12 for the toll. On fuel alone, the Harley is costing me 11.5 pence a mile. My car, a 3.6 V6 diesel Jaguar, would do it for 2p less. Funny old world it's become innit? Anyway, the bike is still much more fun.
After filling up, I get my head down and 150 miles or so later, I've negotiated the Peripherique and its mad, completely mad, drivers and bikers and I'm on the last long leg to Orleans. It's 1pm and the somewhat deserted roads remind me that France has stopped to partake in its second favourite occupation, lunch.

A lot of the stops on the Autoroutes are Les Routier recommended. This is good. Routier is the French name for truck drivers and they are very, very different in the food requirements they have compared to their British counterparts. A routier will require a three course lunch and not so long ago, a half bottle of wine with a little after lunch digestif to go with it, all included in the price. They are very selective in where they eat and it is important to provide all the facilities. One feels that if something is lacking in the gastronomy department, these chaps will be off, tout suite, to blockade a port or two until things have been put right. Thankfully, custom has changed somewhat and while the food requirement is exactly the same, the post-prandial has disappeared and the wine is now a more reasonable third of a bottle. This is normally served in a quite dinky little carafe and it is amusing to watch a burly trucker delicately pour his vin du table with a light hand before sipping it with an appreciative grunt. So, my advice is to follow the Les Routier sign, the food will be excellent. With the bike outside the window, I sat myself down in the company of some truckers. There is a "public" restaurant area for motorists but I wouldn't have been able to see the bike and luggage from there and the truckers didn't seem to mind. I enjoyed some cold-cuts of meat (charcuterie) to start served with warm French bread. A tasty beefsteak with pomme frites followed with a mini cheese board to finish. Much as I wanted to, I just couldn't bring myself to drink wine so, much to the bewilderment of the lady on the till, I swapped the carafe for a bottle of water. I'm sure she is still telling the story today of the motorcyclist who changed wine into water. "Pah, crazeee Angleesh.."
13 Euros later (!) I was ready to start the last part of the journey.
The weather was by now a pleasant 18c and after a couple of further stops to break the journey, I pulled into the Ibis Orleans at 4:45pm. Again, a very helpful manager allowed me to park the bike close to the main door and ten minutes later, I was comfortably sipping my first pression.

April 6
The sun was setting in a milky dusk sky as I cleared the Eurotunnel exit and found a small layby. Switching on the Tom-Tom, I pressed on the itinerary button and good as gold, the first stop popped up. Confirming I wanted the The Cottage Hotel in Calais, the unit informed me I had a whole two miles to ride. After setting off, I quickly realised that the voice commands were excellent and I really didn't need to look much at screen of the GPS. Within five minutes, the unit told me I had arrived at my destination and sure enough, across the road on the other side of a dual carriageway stood the hotel. I did a U-turn at the next roundabout and felt pretty pleased with myself as I pulled into the car-park and stopped in a space right outside the front door.
As I was unloading the Rigg Pak, the door opened and the manager came out to welcome me. He spent a few moments admiring the bike and then offered me the opportunity to pull the bike right up onto the area in front of the reception window which I gladly did. With the hour advance, it was nearly 7:30pm so after checking in, I had a quick shower and headed to the bar and restaurant. There were only one or two business groups and another couple of British tourists looking at menus so I was soon downing a very welcome "pression". In France, pression is our equivalent of draft beer on the pump but there is normally only one beer on the tap which is the establishments choice. You can order un demi (half), which is 8 ounces, un serieux (serious!), which is similar to a UK pint or Une formidable, which is a litre. Whilst I was thirsty, I was not formidably so, I therefore I settled for a "serious" pint. What is it about that first mouthfull of beer after a long day on a motorbike...?
Settling into a comfortable chair, I took a look at the menu. The restaurant offered a magnificent buffet table which was groaning with salads, soups, pates and breads at one end and delicate fondant deserts at the other. However, as this was my first night in France, I decided to have a relaxing meal served to the table. First choice however, a bottle Clos de Sixte Rose. Years ago I spent some time near Avignon in the Lirac region. Know more for the famous heavy Chateau-Neuf-du Pape, the area also produces stunning Rose's which range from light pink through to almost red. They don't seem to appear much in the UK so whenever I can, I take the chance to sample one. Having been led to my table, the wine was taken from the ice-bucket and poured straight into my slightly chilled glass. None of the pretentious rubbish of examining the bottle, sniffing the cork or tasting. The French are straight-forward in these matters. You ordered a bottle of wine, they are quite able to deliver the wine you ordered to the table. All that you will ever smell from sniffing a wine cork, is cork and when you taste the wine, it's going to be fine. If the unimaginable happens and it isn't, then without fuss, they'll just change it. Mine was perfect. Light, very dry and perfectly chilled. Just right for my appetisers of Coquille St Jacques on a bed of chive stalks and a white sauce. For the main course, I chose a plain grilled Dover Sole in butter with fresh vegatables and finally a moist Tarte Tatin with a rich cream sauce. Having re-aquainted myself once more with simple but excellent French cuisine, I finished my bottle of Rose and after checking email on the free wi-fi, went to bed satisfied with the first 180 miles of my journey.

April 6
Two pairs of socks, Harley boots, one-piece thermal suit, long-sleeve shirt, long sleeve fleece, padded lining for trousers, armoured 2-piece textile jacket and trousers, Harley neck-tube, Harley soft-leather gloves and my Caberg helmet. If I'd worn the equivalent of that when I first started riding, I'm fairly sure I wouldn't have been able to stand up. Clothing today however is light and efficient and although it sounds a lot, I didn't feel uncomfortable. The weather overnight had improved and while the roads were damp and sky overcast, the temperature was 10c so as I started the bike at 11:30am, I felt that this first leg to
the Eurotunnel would be in reasonable weather. Having lashed my fully loaded Rigg Pak to the sissy-bar and said my goodbyes to a tearful (not) family, I started the Road King Classic, slipped the clutch and headed for the A14. Almost immediately, "Tim" the chosen voice on my Tom-Tom, came through loud and clear on the Scala earpieces giving the first of many instructions on this trip to Spain.
I'd decided that an investment in a GPS would be a good idea and after some research, I purchased a Tom-Tom Rider V2 with a Scala earpiece. They've designed this for motorcyclists and as such, it does a reasonably good job. I tested the unit on a run to Black Bear in Newmarket where I get the bike serviced. Once you've used technology from Apple, such as that with the iphone, you tend to expect every other piece of electronics to operate in a similar fashion - ie completely intuitively. Well, the Tom-Tom is not like that. It's not that difficult to master but I did have to refer to the manual for the first few times. The website that can be linked to is really not up to standard. Tom-Tom need to get some interface technologists working on it because currently, it has all the user friendliness of a cornered rat, as incidentally, does their "customer service". My advice? If you have any problems, go straight to Google and one of the many internet forums for the product will sort you out far quicker.
Once you have managed to turn the unit on using the rather strange and non-tactile, on-off button, the main map display is excellent. Some of the ancillary infomation, such as time/distance left on the journey, is quite small and initially was hard to locate but as with all technology, you start to get used to it after a while. I was wearing my full-face Caberg for the journey so the Scala headset and mouthpiece all fitted comfortably. With earplugs, I had the unit turned up to full volume and with the male voice set on "Tim", I had no problems with listening to directions or hearing incoming phone calls. After a bit of practice, I was able to set the Tom-Tom to Bluetooth both the Scala and my iphone without difficulty. After getting the hang of the route planning/itinerary set-up screens and the various options allowed, the unit really does work simply and efficiently in normal operation. Just slot it onto the handlebar carrier, press your pre-planned destination and off you go. Tom-Tom will transfer your phone address book into its memory and you can then dial numbers by using the touch screen. However, while the unit will allow you to take calls (again by tapping the screen) on the move, it won't allow you to make them although if say, you are stopped at traffic lights, you can push the number you want on the screen and then carry on the call as you move off. I guess it's up to the individual rider to decide whether being on a phone call while riding is a good idea. Overall, nothwithstanding the problems previously mentioned and a limited "gloved hand" operation, I'd give the unit 8 out of 10 and certainly wouldn't be without it on a long journey.
Traffic on the southbound A12 was light and both the damp road and sky were clearing. The bike was purring along at a steady 60 but I noticed that I was getting a lot of wind noise and vibration around my helmet. This was to plague me for the whole of the trip and I think it is to do with the height of the windscreen, the fact that the Scala unit sticks out of the bottom of the helmet and possibly, some back turbulence from the Rigg Pak luggage. As I would find out in Spain, when I was wearing a half-face helmet with no luggage, the problem reduced considerably. The earplugs I was using were not doing a proper job either. They were plastic rather than foam and I could feel them slipping out of my ear as I was travelling. Deciding that I'd sort it all out later, I peeled off the A12 and onto the M25. Interestingly, as I turned east the wind direction shifted and the vibration and noise diminished to a point where I didn't really notice it after a while. Apart from a distinct chilly draught on the shin of my left leg, I was comfortable and enjoying the ride. As with most Harleys, the King Classic does not exatly sip fuel and a five gallon tank means frequent visits to the pump so I pulled into Thurrock services to fill up and get a coffee. So now some of the major questions of motorbiking life arise. Do I drink the coffee quickly in the shop while the bike is on the pump or do I move the bike and come back and pay separately for the coffee? Nah, pay for both, wrap the cup in napkins, shove down the front of my jacket and pray it dosen't pop as I make the 50 yard dash to a parking space. I could travel the world, win money on the premium bonds but at that moment, leaning back on bike with a coffee and watching all the busy people go past in their trucks and cars, I get an extraordinary feeling of happiness and wellbeing.
Starting up again is a process. Check trouser lining is pulled down, put in earplugs, pull up neck tube, strap on helmet, check all pockets zipped, pull on gloves. Sounds daft but life is easier when I do it properly. In the distance, I could make out four towers reaching into the sky and shortly, I approced the Dartfor crossing. I enjoy going over the Dartford Bridge (or through the tunnel) on a bike. There is something immensely satisfying about not having to pay the charge! Turning onto the M20 at Swanley, I now started the last leg of the UK side of the journey down to Folkestone and about an hour later, I pulled up to the Eurotunnel check-in. It is impossible to ride a bike in a queue with documents in your hand so it was at this point, I was very glad that I had bought a simple piece of kit. A textile, zipped pouch which I put round my neck and pulled out when necessary. In here went passport, etickets and boarding pass. Another tip is to undo the strap of your helmet as various officialdom will want to look at your mug as you pass through the checkpoints. In the event, I was through very quickly. On a bike, it pays to keep a good lookout for the electronic boarding signs as it is nearly impossible to hear the PA system which calls motorists to the trains if you have the engine on and earplugs in. I was nearly caught out because I had arrived at 2.45pm, my train was due to go at 3:30pm but I had actually been give a ticket for the 15:00. I only noticed this after I had stopped and glanced at my boarding card. Starting up again, I headed for the train and realised from the hurry up waves that I was the last on. "Making progress", I freewheeled down the ramp and onto the train. The train was seemed empty and I guess I must have ridden through four carriages before I slowed to a stop and that was it. The interior doors closed there I was, all on my own. The carriage in front was empty as was the one behind and I neither heard or saw anyone until I disembarked at Calais.

April 5
With route temperatures ranging from 9c in the UK to 27c in Spain, this trip was going to require a little bit of planning as far as clothes were concerned.
I was taking the Rigg-Pak and also had the bikes saddle-bags so I didn't really see a problem. However, I also had to take a bike cover, suspension-pump and various cable locks and bungees. Once I loaded them into the left hand bag, I then started to think about clothing. Into the right hand bag went my new HD wet weather gear, heavy duty gloves and a couple of old fleeces. Into the main Rigg-Pak, went the following:
- Wash gear
- 4 T-shirts
- 2 Shorts
- 2 Polo's
- 1 Pair jeans
- Deck shoes
- Underwear/socks
- Laptop
- Fleece (to roll the laptop in)
Into the roll bag:
- E-tickets for the Tunnel and the four hotels I'd pre-booked
- Ear plugs
- HOG Breakdown details
- Insurance certificate
- Iphone stuff/cables
- Laptop cables
- Tom-Tom Rider handbook and charger
- Carlo Scala handfree headset cable
In my pockets I'd be taking my wallet, passport, shades and proximity key ring.
With the rain driving down outside and the lounge woodburner roaring to keep heat in the house, it would be wrong for me to suggest that I didn't feel a little trepidation as I headed for bed.

UK to Spain via France

View Larger Map Before heading out to California, I had agreed with my wife that we'd spend a few weeks in Moraira, Spain during April. H and his wife have a lovely rental villa down there (see link in sidebar) and we stay there from time to time. My wife couldn't spare the whole three weeks so I had a brainwave..why not ride down through France and Northern Spain returning by ferry? The total journey is about 2000 miles with 27 hours or so on the Ferry. This would give my 2009 Road King Classic a good run out and give me the opportunity to sample a little French cuisine on the way and the family could join me later.
So, the planning started. I decided to break the journey into fairly easy legs with a straight run to a Calais Hotel via the Eurotunnel then stops in Orleans and Aumont-Aubrac before entering Spain and a stop in Girona, then the final leg to Moraira.
After two and a bit weeks in Moraira for family visits, cross country to Zaragoza and up to Bilbao for the ferry back to Portsmouth and home. That journey meant that most legs would be between 250-280 miles apart from the final run to Moraira, which would be the longest at 350 miles. So came Easter Monday 5th April. The night before departure....