The journey

The flying time to Hong Kong is about 11 hours. The plane arrives at 7 am local time and we have a two hour stopover. Hong Kong airport is a modern, bustling place. Of course they offer free Internet access throughout the buildings, so these two hours pass quickly - if you disregard the fact that my evil and apparently violently anti-Chinese website is blocked by the Great Firewall of China - apparently due to my numerous links to the Wikipedia website. So I am unable to upload my latest exploits in New Zealand from here. Sometimes it is rather impossible for me to understand what it is about the Free World that pisses everyone else off.

[Postscript: The Chinese government has relaxed its censorship on Wikipedia, so in 2011 my pages were accessible from China - you can test it yourself in real-time by simply clicking the link above and see for yourself how open the firewall currently is for my little blog.]

The second leg of the flight to London Heathrow takes 13 hours. We arrive on Tuesday, April 24th at 2.30 pm. What therefore appears to be just a 15-hour trip is in reality a 26-hour journey due to the 11 hours time difference between Auckland and London. Add to that the fact that I already had a 15-hour day behind me by the time the plane took off from Auckland on Monday night you can easily work out that I haven't slept for over 40 hours.
But luckily I am not really affected by jet lag, so I still feel quite good. Passport control and baggage reclaim work smoothly. The distance to the central bus terminal is about two miles away from the aircraft. That I think is the price one has to pay when landing on the busiest airport on planet earth.
The express bus service to Reading gets me to that city's railway station by 4 pm. For once British public transport works on time and I catch the next train to Newbury. By 5 pm I shake hands with Martin again, with whom I am going to stay for a few days.
He has to work until 6 pm, so I have time to buy some groceries and enjoy my first real ale in a long time at the Catherine Wheel pub in town.
Later we drive to West Overton where Martin lives. A few more pints at the Bell Inn pub, and I am ready to go to sleep after 50 hours without any.

Next morning I feel right as rain. In Martin's garage I am then re-united with my motorbike and immediately take Kitty out for a ride around the countryside. It feels great to be back on two wheels.

There is a large meeting of Volkswagen fans at the Santa Pod raceway near Northampton this weekend. Some friends of Martin from Hungerford have founded their own VW club and converted an innocent 1969 beetle into a mean racing machine. But they did not replace the original engine with a Porsche engine or similar - they have connected the wheels of the rear axle with two electric motors, each pushing around 200 horsepowers:

So we decide to camp out there for the weekend. Martin leaves on Friday morning, while I first finish cleaning the bike of its winter dust and grime. I leave at about 2 pm.
It is only 100 miles to the raceway, but being back on two wheels is fantastic. The bike runs perfectly, and having again over 100 horses at my disposal by the slightest move of my wrist is terrific.

I arrive at 5 pm. By then I am so excited about biking that I tell Martin and the boys that I rather continue racing my own toy instead of watching others race theirs.
So I ride back through the blossoming shires and counties of England in gorgeous springtime. The weather is fine, the roads are immaculate and my GPS navigation system (nicknamed "Sally") is guiding me flawlessly through the winding back roads and byways of England.
It also becomes obvious that my "sixth sense" for motorbiking, that inexplicable ability to foresee danger, has not suffered from six month Down Under; at an intersection of two small roads surrounded by high hedges that sense urges me to slow down to a walking pace and approach the intersection with extreme caution. And yes, a big SUV driven much too fast by a mentally challenged female driver (aka: a silly, stupid bitch) who is talking into her mobile phone at the same time, is mercilessly cutting the corner while turning into my road. If I had just driven up to that intersection normally she would have run me over.
Luckily my Italian twin monster horns have also survived the winter in mint condition. The infernal noise returns that female into this world and she jerks the steering wheel around, though that would have been much too late if I had approached the crossroads normally. The left side of her car skims the hedge before she can regain control. My finely tuned ears catch the sweet sound of tough British thorns scratching expensive metallic paint. I can only hope she knows a good panel beater. That'll teach you, you dosy cow.

I also spend all Saturday on my bike, but have to give it a miss on Sunday; my knees, back and behind are all signaling that they need some more time to adjust yet again to a life on two wheels and are not in shape to do 300 miles every day.
During last night a mail came in from Neville in Auckland; they have sold my Toyota van for 2100 Kiwi-dollars. So my preparatory work has paid off. The money should be in my account within the week.

If you had asked me before my journey to New Zealand what I am going to do this summer, then I'd have told you that I would go and visit the Land of the Formerly Free with my motorbike. But six month Down Under have taught me a lesson; I need that cultural diversity that only this mad "Euro-Pudding" can provide here in the Old World. The same language, same culture and same food for six month in a row is not for me.
And being in North America would be just like that, regardless of me being in Toronto, Tampa or outside Tommie's Cleaners on 4th Street in Tillamook.
So for the time being I have shelved my plan to go to America. Instead I want to go to Germany and Switzerland to give Kitty new tyres (remember, the last time I changed them was nearly 20000 km ago) and have Hans doing the 140000 km service.
But the weather in England has been exceptional nice the last week and the weather forecast is promising that this fine, sunny weather will continue for at least another week. So I decide on the spot to take my bike for a week to Cornwall. The distance from Martins place is just 200 miles.
So I say good-bye to Martin after a week and set out westwards. As usual you can download the route here as a Garmin ".gdb" type file. If you use a different GPS unit, then do remember that you can convert my files to suit your GPS unit by using the free "GPSbabel" tool.

My route through Wiltshire, Somerset and Devonshire leads me mostly along backwater roads with very little traffic. But of course it takes much longer to get anywhere on these roads, so it is 4.30 pm and five hours ride before this friendly sign appears:

And by the time I reach Bodmin, my target for today, it is 5.30 pm. I have programmed the local tourist information centre as my destination, but it is already closed.
This is just me, stupidly thinking that I am still in New Zealand where these places are open until 6 pm at least. Never mind, Bodmin obviously does not need my money. I just continue northeastwards past Wadebridge and find a nice and comfy farmhouse Bed & Breakfast just south of Little Petherick.
Six month ago I would have laughed at spending seven hours on my bike and riding 200 miles. But today I can certainly "feel the mileage in the bones". I just need a few more days to get used to this life again.
In the evening we have a great "sundowner" here at the farmhouse:

Today I have programmed Sally with a nice ride along the North coast of Cornwall all the way to St. Ives. From there I ride down to the South coast and take a short diversion from my planned route to see St. Michael's Mount, a small peninsula just off the coast of Marazion. As usual you can download that trip here.

Then I ride back inland via Camborne, leaving the rest of the south coast for one of the next days. By 3 pm I am back. Far too early, so there is time to visit another local landmark, Restormel Castle just outside Lostwithiel. Here are a few snapshots from that place:

The first castle was built at this spot around the year 1100. The current castle dates from around 1300 and the original drawbridge has been replaced by a permanent bridge.

After my time in virtually history-free New Zealand I find it soothing to read in the castle-leaflet that the damage one can find in the room of the castles gatekeeper is "modern"; the room was apparently blown up by Cromwell's roundheads during the Civil war - in 1645. It is always the same, funny story; in the New World people think that a thousand years is a long time, while here in the Old World we tend to think that a thousand miles is a long distance.

The hearty English breakfast tastes even better after a look out of the window; sparkling spring sunshine out of a deep blue sky - there has been hardly a drop of rain since my arrival in England two weeks ago.
I have not done any routing today. Instead I let Sally guide me to some of the local attractions that are included in the software package.
First on my selection is the mighty beam engine pump at Agar Road in Pool near Camborne. You may think you have seen Cornish steam engines, but you haven't seen anything unless you can say that you have seen a stream pump which is three floors high:

The piston of this monster has nearly 8 feet in diameter - you could sleep in this machines cylinder without getting claustrophobia.
My next port of call is 40 miles away to the west, the Levant steam engine near Pendeen. Unfortunately for me this time of the year the engine is open to visitors only on Wednesday and Friday - and today is Thursday. But the surrounding countryside compensates for that; it is littered with open pits and studded with smokestacks from the victorian era .

There are no access restrictions and one can freely explore the various buildings - though care should be taken; these things are old and partly instable and the ground is littered with holes and caves dug by the miners of olden times.
At that stage I remember to switch on the route tracking system of Sally, so you can see where and when I went from here by downloading this GPS tracking log.
The historic harbour town of Porthleven is my next scenic target. In mid-summer you will find droves of tourists here, but the surprisingly good weather this early in the season has yet failed to draw large crowds to this picturesque spot.

I took the picture above about two hours after low tide. Nonsense, you may say, look how low the water is. But out here the tides are gargantuan, easily exceeding 20 feet between low and high tide at many places.
My last scenic place for today is Pendennis Head at the Southern tip of Falmouth Harbour. The nearby castle is not much to look at, but watching the ongoings in Carrick Roads, the harbour inlet, is very interesting. I am smoking a pipe and chat with the local bikers. Like most British bikers they ride superbikes. Touring bikes like my Tiger are surprisingly unpopular with the common UK rider. Of course, they do not cover great distances, so the mileage on Kitty as usual causes a big "Wow" with them.

After well over an hour I finally quit this lovely place and return to my farmhouse digs near Little Petherick.

Another brilliant day has dawned. It is a bit hazy today and the wind has turned from East to North - which means it is a bit cooler than yesterday. But still perfect for another ride on my bike.
Today my route explores the southern shores of Cornwall. You can download the route and my tracking log here. The tracking log of my ancient Street Pilot III can store only about 2000 points. This is usually enough for about 200 kilometres of route. This route was a bit longer, and as a result the first few miles of my track log are missing.
Many years ago, when I was living in England, I bought a set of maps at a car boot sale. These maps were made in 1937, and of course all modern roads were missing on them. But these maps made me understand the biggest secret about the British road system; after World War II most European nations began expanding and widening their road system to cope with the increased traffic. But Britain did no such thing and for decades after the war British motorists had to cope with the same network of single track roads that was already there when Willy Shakespeare used them.
In the 1960's the British Transport ministry suddenly woke up. By that time Britain was so far behind everyone else in road construction that it was decided that widening the existing roads would take too long and disrupt traffic too much. Instead they build a brand new system a major A-roads and motorways, leaving the old roads practically untouched.
For a biker on a touring bike this old network of single track roads is sheer bliss. Using these old roads (which are of course kept in good nick) you can virtually sneak into any place in the country without ever encountering as much as a traffic light.
Today's route is a prime example for these kind of roads, and though the entire length is just under 250 kilometres it takes me seven hours to bike it.

British Single Track Roads - A Warning for Bikers

The UK single track road system is nothing for the Newbie Biker. These lanes are extremely dangerous. Their layout usually dates from the Middle Ages, and in those days the collision of two ox-carts usually ended less serious than these days the collision of your bike with the local school bus.
Add to that the fact that these roads are mainly flanked by high hedges on both sides, which makes looking 'around the next corner' practically impossible.
These roads do often rather wind about a lot. Farm traffic uses them all the time, and given that decades of EU subsidies have enabled even the smallest farm to own numerous air-conditioned mega-tractors the size of a tank, usually driven by some Kamikaze lumberjack listening to Heavy Metal music - need I say more?
These vehicles also kick a lot of dirt and gravel from the unstable road banks into the middle of the lane, especially in curves.
Many of these roads are often less than seven feet wide, and passing places are generally rare.
Take extreme care when using these roads. They are great fun to bike, but do not underestimate the dangers. They will not only require the full alertness of the biker at any time, they also put significant stress on the bike; the clutch, cooling system and brakes of your bike should all be in prime condition.

My first destination is The Lizard, the southernmost place in the United Kingdom. For my liking the place is too much of a tourist trap, so I ride on eastwards towards Falmouth Bay. The Helford River has cut deeply into the land here and I have to drive about 20 miles around it.
The enormous tides in this part of the world have funny effects. This boat is currently four miles away from the sea - but in a few hours the sea will be back and it will float again:

Further on the river Fal has cut an even longer gorge into the country. But this time I do not have to go around this gorge, as there is a ferry service just north of Feock. The "King Harry Ferry" used to be horse-driven. But a few years ago steam power was introduced (in 1888). The current ferry is diesel-powered and was built in 2006, and it is one of five remaining chain-ferries in the UK:

Two long chains run parallel from bank to bank, and the ferry is basically creeping along these chains.
By 5 pm I am back at the farmhouse.

The weather is turning hazy today, a sure sign that the high pressure ridge that gave me this excellent weather is on its way out.
I take another scenic ride, this time to St. Austell and the Eden Project site. I just want to have a look at these futuristic plastic bubbles. I have no urge to visit the place, as I am far more interested in machinery rather than living things - and 14 pounds entry fee are fairly steep.
In St. Austell I find a Triumph motorbike dealership where I buy new weatherproofs - my old one's are not overly watertight any more, and due to the British weather British-made weatherproofs are of very good quality.
I could also change my front brake pads, as there is just one millimetres left on them. But Triumph Tigers are such a rare breed in their home country that the dealer has to admit to have none in stock - incredible. Well then, it'll have to wait for Swiss craftsmanship.

My destination for today is Newhaven in East Sussex, which means that I have to travel along most of the English south coast. It is drizzly this morning, so I may find opportunity to test my new wet gear right away.
I have prepared two different routes to Newhaven; a fast one via A-Roads and motorways in case of bad weather, and a slow one via backwater roads in case of fine weather.
I set out on the fast one, but soon the weather improves and the roads are drying up, so I switch over to the slow route.
It is still overcast and very murky, so taking pictures of the beautiful Dorset countryside is useless. I take a small diversion through Tolpuddle, just to see what has happened to the cottages where we used to have wild parties when Nick owned them. Then onwards through the New Forest towards Southampton. The country from here to Portsmouth is full of towns and factories and large harbours, so I bypass the lot via the M27 motorway.
From there onwards the A27 winds itself along numerous seaside resorts; Bognor Regis, Littlehampton and Brighton disappear in my rear mirrors. By 4 pm I arrive in Newhaven. I would have taken the Speedferry boat again from Dover, but for unknown reasons they won't take motorbikes at present. But searching on the Web a few days ago I found another newcomer in the cross-channel game. Apparently a French company called Louis Dreyfus has bought Transmanche which used to operate the Newhaven to Dieppe service. They have added a service to Le Havre, and for £27 I will not complain to get a five hour crossing - especially if I compare that with the 165 Kiwi dollars I paid to cross the Cook Strait in a 30 year old wreck, while this boat is just nine month old.
Newhaven has not any digs to my liking, so I divert five miles to the village Alfriston, where I get a room at the Star Inn, a 700 years old place with lots of character.

England, my England