Europe 2013: Onna Boat

September 16, 2013

I am not yet actually on the boat. I am, in fact, sitting in Chunky's Pizza, which is heavily America-themed, while waiting for the motorcycle store to open at 2.

But to start at the start, and begin at the beginning. As my previous entry should have left in absolutely no doubt, it was not a calm, restful evening last night. I must have slept, because I certainly didn't stay awake the whole night, but I didn't sleep well, and was more or less on a hair-trigger for the sound of my rain fly liberating itself to flap in the breeze again.

Fortunately, my reinforcements, despite the shift in the wind, held. I stayed dry all night, with the exception of my one shiver-inducing foray to re-install the rain fly after it tugged itself loose from one side. I was up several more times to check the status of everything and re-tighten or re-stake as necessary. I felt very much like I was on a sailboat and anchored in a particularly un-sheltered anchorage, alert at every moment for that tell-tale grinding noise of the anchor dragging.

I awoke to the alarm at 7:30 (the Mad Men theme, as usual) not feeling particularly rested. I was up pretty quickly, and got my stuff together, rolling the tent up and depositing it in its more or less waterproof sack about two minutes before a huge squall passed through, drenching me before I could get into my riding suit. There were numerous more or less dire threats issued against the weather, France, fate, etc. before I got myself into my suit. I did, in fact, spend about 5 minutes crouched in the lee of my loaded motorcycle, trying with limited success to avoid the worst of the downpour, cursing the while. It was not a happy and pleased Ian who rolled up to the office to pay for the privilege of staying at Le Cros Martin last night.

I was on my way as quickly as possible, stopping once to get gas and some lunch/dinner groceries at an InterMarche (which is as much like Fred Meyer as I've seen in Europe so far, but with a distinct grocery focus). I pretty much rode straight through to Cherbourg, getting drenched thoroughly once, but otherwise getting by with mere sprinkles or very nearly dry conditions.

I rolled up to the Irish Ferries check-in line at 11 pm. There was no one there. No cars, no check-in people, just me. I don't recall now when check-in starts, just that it ends for me at 4:30. I stayed there for about 20 minutes, so disgusted with the whole process that I was considering just waiting until they opened. However, by 11:30 I was getting antsy, and decided to roll through Cherbourg and see what I could see.

I got the wild idea to see about getting new tires installed (the current ones are absolutely clench-inducing around roundabouts, and I wouldn't be comfortable selling the bike like that). After a bit of unsuccessful farting around with the GPS, followed by asking at an actual tire store. I was, more or less, across the street from a motorcycle store, although I wouldn't have recognized it without knowing it was there. It was, of course, closed.

Which brings me to now. I was sitting at the closed motorcycle store, looking at the GPS and pondering my options when the shop van rolled by, and the driver got out. We established what I was looking for, and he said that it shouldn't be a problem: they open at 2, and it should take half an hour to change the tires. I should be rolling well before three, and it's a ten minute drive to the ferry from there. I wish I'd done this two weeks ago, but so much for hindsight. The new owner will get some lovely new tires.

I'm now passing the time in the aforementioned Chunky's Pizza, awaiting my Oregon pizza (sans jambon, sil vous plait). It's already past one, so the plan is working. Now to hope I can get out by 1:50 or so.

----

The plan worked, pretty much, without a hitch. I'm actually cheating a little, it's the 17th just now, but I wanted to finish out the entry even if I'm technically late.

The tire swap worked well, although I forgot how expensive it is to buy real-bike tires and have them installed by someone else. The guy was very helpful, though, and worked hard to make sure I wouldn't miss the ferry. We chatted in English about the difficulty of remembering high school language lessons (he was doing better in English than I would have been able to do in French).

Once that was finished, I very gingerly rode out to the ferry (new tires have a mold-release compound on them that can be fairly slippery). Then it was about 20 minutes of waiting before I was loaded onto the ferry, where I sorted through and pulled out the stuff I might want overnight, locked the rest to the bike, and headed up.

The ferry is large, perhaps 200 feet long, and has three decks for loading vehicles. My bike was positioned over some tiedown points, and I was invited to wield the ratchet strap myself this time. There are several decks with cabins, and I could have gotten one and approximately doubled my costs, so I elected for a free "reserved seat." This ended up being a moderately comfortable seat like you'd find on the older style of Amtrak car: in other words, pretty miserable to actually sleep in. Most of the people in the room ended up sleeping on the floor, as did I, although I wasn't really able to sleep until I put on my riding suit, it was so cold in the room. I didn't get much sleep.

A woman sat behind me, and we ended up striking up a conversation, and I gave her a mini presentation on my trip, pulling out the big map of Europe that has my route marked on it in pink highlighter. She is coming back from an extended, "Wait, work is dumb, why am I doing this again?" trip to Italy and France and possibly other places. Her family's in Belfast, and it sounds like she's spent the last year or two just wandering around, doing what work she could find. Oh, for an EU passport...

I thought real hard about eating dinner, but realized that the level of queasiness I was feeling suggested most strongly that maybe waiting would be best. I didn't used to get seasick, but apparently that's changed with time. I didn't actually get sick, but it was clear that if I did anything too upsetting (like eat food), that might change. You win this round, overdeveloped sense of balance.

When I got up this morning, it was to the news that delivery of my cello has been attempted twice, and after the third time, they'll send it back to Vienna, no exceptions at all: there's a COD charge pending due to the customs passage. I've got a message out to everyone on the mailing list, hopeful that someone can hit the UPS Store (where it's to be delivered) with a check. I've tried dealing with it online, to be greeted with unexplained error messages. I've tried calling UPS, to have my phone throw its metaphorical hands in the air, unable to process the call (I may try that again, with the Irish SIM card). I'm going to be *really* unhappy if that cello gets sent back to Vienna because UPS isn't sufficiently coordinated with The UPS Store to allow them to take on the COD charge. I don't think I can stomach spending another 630 euros to get it sent to me *again*.

We arrive in Rosslare in about an hour and a half, at which point it looks like I get a three-plus hour ride through more overcast at least, and probably rain until I land at Motofeirme. Martin (ie, Motofeirme) has confirmed that he won't be there, but he'll leave me a key hidden under a plant or something. This is after he confirmed a week ago that he *would* be there. It's clear he's running this motorcycle wheeze as a side-line, and giving it a minimum amount of attention at that. I can't really blame him, he already has business enough with his agricultural stuff. I just wish he'd made it clear the extent to which it really is a side-line.

In any case, I'm off to slightly compulsively check my email despite the fact that it's just past 2 am in Seattle. I should be back online by the time 9 am rolls around, and with any luck will even have time to make phone calls and try to work this situation out on my own.

Return to the Europe 2013 page

Created by Ian Johnston. Questions? Please mail me at reaper at obairlann dot net.