Honeymoon in England Part I

[Pawprint2104]

Email to friends and family about a bike trip on my honeymoon:
I had an amazing trip on the bike yesterday. I didn't get the Ducati 749s, too much $$$. So, I ended up with a Yamaha 600. I didn't bring my riding gear with me to London, because I wasn't sure if I'd actually be able to get a bike. And, I thought the shop (About Town Motorcycle and Scooter Hire ltd) would be able to rent the gear to me. Well, not quite, as they don't have gear to rent. Their customers usually bring their own gear. However, they were able to scrounge together some personal items and equipment to get me by. I ended up with a slightly oversized, yet high quality carbon fiber helmet (from the owner's, Michael, personal equipment); an xxl size of over pants (missing a cinch strap on the right ankle, so we improvised and used 3 rubber bands (from the top drawer of Michael's desk); a really cool, leather jacket (from the owner's assistant, Sam); an xl overjacket (found in the corner, stuffed under some other gear); an xxl set of gloves, accompanied by a set of interior liner gloves (to help fill the negative space inside the gloves left from placing my small hand into an XXL size glove). All of this equipment, in addition to what I could scrounge together from my travel clothes, gave me enough insulation and protection to attempt the ride.
By the time I got the two jackets over my two fleece jackets, the over pants, and the gargantuan gloves on, I was quite a sight. And, it's not so much how it looked, but more so, how it felt to have all the ill fitting equipment on. Anyway, I was not going to be deterred from my goal of seeing a bit of England by motorbike.
Oh, and one would think that all of the extra fabric surrounding my body would have kept me warm. No, no no. Far from it!
2140

The saga begins:
So, I set out, as usual, later than I had planned, at 1310 hours. I had a route, personally designed by Michael, written out on the backside of a business card, 3/4 of a tank of fuel, an unfamiliar bike, and the bass-ackwards streets of London to negotiate. Did I mention the friendly London driver's yet? Oh no, that comes later in the story... I suppose I should preface all of this with two thoughts, I kept the sticky side down and had an unforgettable trip.
The weather was agreeable, not exactly warm, but the roads were dry. I headed out of London, using Michael's directions. I made fairly good time and didn't take any wrong turns (which is important in London, as everyone knows, they drive on the wrong side of the street). I stopped at a BP an hour into the ride to re-fuel and take the chill off of me. Took a look at the map and continued on.
I made it into England's countryside. Green hillsides, farms, and horses munching on straw filled my view. I negotiated the roundabouts without incident, but always approached them with trepidation. I was rather proud of myself each time I made it unscathed through and out the other side. I made a few wrong turns on my way to the coast, but managed to quickly realize my mistakes and make the necessary corrections, thankfully, easy to do on the little Yamaha. It was beautiful and picturesque and met my expectations.
Made it to Horsham, at the southern coast in W. Sussex county. Turned eastward and continued anti-clockwise (as they say in England). I saw boats moored to anchor lines which seemed lonely and unfulfilled by their leashed condition as they floated in protected in little harbors along the way. The beach consisted of large pebble-size grains of rock and sand, seashells and the long-dead skeletons of other little sea creatures. I saw brightly painted, neatly arranged little buildings and boats along the beach and at the water's edge. The cold was getting the better of me, and I wanted to get some photos of the scenery over my right shoulder. I stopped at a little town called Shoreham-by-the-Sea.
I found a small driveway which led down to the water, just behind a small school. I positioned the Yamaha at the edge of the seawall with the boats anchored in the harbor as a backdrop. Using a wobbly passenger side mirror of a nearby van, I positioned my very expensive camera atop (in lieu of a tripod) and proceeded to snap a few self portraits with me and my ride.

I got a few extra shots of the bike and the boats in the harbor. The cloudy sky, at 1630 hours, provided a dramatic touch of wildness and color. A storm approached and I seemed to be just ahead of it. It seemed as though mother nature menaced me, but, I hoped she meant no real harm.
After my photographic stylings concluded, I decided I needed something warm to eat. Some soup and hot cocoa would take the chill off. Perhaps, some delicious pub stew. Well, let me tell you, the quaint eateries along the shoreline in England all stop serving food between 1500 hours and 1900 hours. What's a girl to do? Have a half pint of Guinness, I did, at a local spot called The Bridge. Followed that with a cup of "white coffee". Checked my map. Made two phone calls: one to Michael and Sam (at Michael's request, I think he was a little worried about me and his Yamaha), telling them I had arrived safely, in spite of my American way of driving; the second to my husband, also, telling him all was well. Spent more time than I had planned, and realized it was late in the day. Time to head back from whence I came. So, I quickly planned my route to Brighton then back to London.
I hopped back on the Yamaha. As I drove along the coast, it just kept getting more beautiful. The sky offered brilliant colors of orange, gold, silver, gun metal gray, and blue, while the Atlantic ocean had this emerald green quality about it. It reminded me of the books I read as a girl about mermaids and ships. The Brighton Pier revealed itself to me as the road turned. What a sight. Gracefully perched atop pilings extending out into the ocean, it seemed so inviting. Its white paint and decorative lights cast an alluring and ghostly hue about it. I wanted to stop and greedily snap photos of the pier and the shoreline. However, I was quickly losing daylight and a storm approached. I needed to return to London. I hated to leave and, one day, I intend to return to get the photos I missed.
The road north out of Brighton wound through green countryside, small farms and an occasional petrol station. Did you know they run 95 - 97 octane in their vehicles? As fast as they drive, I suppose they need the extra boost!
Anyway, my small country road quickly turned into the M23. The M23 could be compared to our I-5; straight, fast, and undoubtedly a little deadly. It was now dark and raining. I squeezed a little additional acceleration out of the little Yamaha just to keep up with the other traffic. At least, there were no roundabouts to negotiate. It was cold, wet, and a little frightening. I wished I had my R1100RT with me to protect me from the onslaught of the wind and the rain. Although, I was able to tuck into the tank which provided some relief, I really missed the full fairing, the heated grips and the electric vest. And, although I missed the creature comforts of my sport tourer, I missed something else more important that I wouldn’t find out about until I returned to the city streets of London. With the average speed on the M23 running 80 mph (don’t ask me what the metric equivalent is, I don’t know and my speedo read mph, so there! I’m sure all the Jaguars, Mercedes and Audi’s passing me had kph on their dashboard, go ask them!). It was all I could do to keep up on the wet, unfamiliar roads. If you haven’t figured it out yet, the first half of the journey was more enjoyable than the last half.
I saw the lights of London growing near, and was quite happy to turn off the M23 for the more tourist-friendly speed of a smaller road. However, my troubles were just beginning. It took me approx one hour to drive from the southern coast of England to the outskirts of London. It would take me another 1 ½ hours to make it back to the safety of my hotel; a drive that was a fraction of the distance of the drive to the coast. No worries, mate.

(Continued on next post)

[Pawprint2104]

Part II:

Sorry the pic below should have been with the first post.
2141
This is where the fun begins! So, now I’m driving in the rain, in the dark, entering the congested streets of London, in unfamiliar territory on a bike I’ve never ridden before…but, still, no worries. I’ve got a GPS, 2 maps, and, well, uh, ok that’s all I had, but that was certainly all that was needed. As I drove along, I followed the street signs directing me toward my destination. Everything went well, until I took that wrong turn, which turned into another wrong turn, which turned into, yet, another wrong turn. Ok, it was time I admitted it, I was hopelessly lost and extremely cold. My fingers tingled and began to cramp from the cold. I decided to find the nearest open business, and hopefully, find my way and a hot cup of tea. Ahead, I saw the lights of a building and cars in a parking lot. As I approached, I realized it was a shopping center. Great! Hot tea and a dry, warm place to orient myself. Well, not so great. It turned out to be a huge multi-purpose food center. I thought I was going to have to ask the manager if I could use their employee lounge microwave to heat some tea or coffee, but I saw a McDonald’s at the back of the store. Ok, so it wasn’t a quaint British tea shop, at least it had something hot to drink and a few clean tables. I ordered a coffee and a bag of fruit (yes, a bag of fruit. I wasn’t desperate enough to try a mad cow McBurger). I found a corner table and removed my wet outer garments. As the hot coffee warmed me, I scanned my map for something familiar. I was tired and it wasn’t easy. I decided I needed some assistance. I could find my destination, High Street Kensington, on the map, but I couldn’t find myself on the map. (There’s probably something profound in that sentence.) I knew where I wanted to go, but I didn’t know where I was. So, I approached the counter and asked the smiling cashier to point out on the map where we were located. She looked at the map, then looked at me, then looked at the map, then looked at me. All of this looking up and down did not instill me with confidence. Finally, she called the Manager out to assist. The boy wonder that arrived wearing the “Manager” badge had the same difficulty assisting me. It seemed unusual to me that two employees could not look at a map and find our location on it. So the cashier, without batting an eyelash, tells me she doesn’t know where we were. I held back the chuckle that welled up in me. Then, she asks me, “Where do you want to go?” And all I can think is, how can you ask me that question when you don’t know where we are. I told her my destination was High Street Kensington. And she says, “Oh, that’s a long way from here.” And I ask, “So, where are we?” And she says, “I don’t know, but I can tell you how to get where you’re going.” At this point, I lost all confidence in my ability to communicate my needs and in her ability to competently assist me. She finally told me the name of the street we were on. Ok, so now I have a starting point. I looked at the map and found my place on the map. I was several miles away and it would take several turns to get to my hotel. I figured I would head in the right direction and as I got closer I could stop and re-assess. I remembered I stored the hotel as a waypoint in my GPS unit upon our arrival in London. I thought the GPS would be useful if it was attached to the bike in a fashion that allowed me to view it as I drove. I purchased some tape and returned to the bike. I taped the GPS to the handlebars, turned it on and headed northwest.
I traveled a few blocks and stopped at a red light. A bloke in a car to my left rolled down his window and said, “Hey mate. Your taillight is out.” As I thanked him for the information, the light turned green and off he sped. I realized I must have been driving all night with the taillight not working. Hmmmph, not good. I realized the other motorists may not and have not been able to see me. As I drove and other motorists approached me from behind, I tapped the brakes to alert them.
The GPS mounted on the handlebars gave me a great sense of relief knowing I could readily refer to it. However, as I soon found out, I could not accurately push the buttons through the two pairs of oversized gloves I wore. I felt like one of the astronauts on a moonwalk trying to do needlepoint. I had these great big mits at the ends of my arms trying to delicately select the right button on the GPS to provide me with accurate information. Instead of pushing the “light” button, I kept hitting the “page” button which would switch from my map view to another completely useless screen. I zoomed out the GPS until the hotel’s waypoint appeared on the screen. Great! I saw I was only 8 miles away.
At another intersection, a bloke says, “Hey mate. Did you know you had a taillight out?” I thanked him, he sped away. As I drove, I used my big mit to check the GPS, after several button pushes, I got the information I needed. Only 5 miles away. At another intersection, a bloke says, “Hey mate. Your taillight is not working. You should get that fixed.” I thanked him. He sped away. Only 3 miles away. Getting closer. Had problems manipulating the GPS, so I pulled to the side of the road several times to check my progress. And everytime I pulled over, I thought isn’t this the place where Jack the Ripper started his career? But, no worries, mate.
I drove and drove and drove and, yet did not seem to be getting any closer. I checked the GPS. On the screen, I saw the letter C with a dot in the center. Let me explain. The “dot” was the waypoint for the hotel. The letter “C” was the track of my route, which meant I drove all around the neighborhood of the hotel, but couldn’t seem to get closer. I hit dead end streets, I turned onto streets that appeared to head in the direction I wanted to go, but after only a few hundred feet the street would make a 90 degree turn and go the opposite direction. Again, I pulled over to check the map and the GPS. According to the map, I just needed to make two left turns and one right turn. Ok, two lefts, one right. Two lefts, one right. I can do it.

I saw my first required turn approaching. I signaled, I turned, I did it. Ok, one turn down, two to go. I saw my second turn approaching. The light turned red. I stopped. A bloke pulls up beside me to my right and rolls down his window. I say, “Yeah. I know, my taillight is out.” He rolled up his window and sped away. I turned and continued, eagerly awaiting my final right turn to get me into the right part of Kensington. I saw it up ahead, just a few blocks more. Just then two of the strangest cars I had ever seen pass me on the right. They were very short, as if the factory forgot to attach the trunk to the back of the car. I later learned they were small commuter vehicles; small enough that two could be parked in one space. As I watched them disappear up ahead, I realized I missed my turn. I couldn’t flip a U-ey, because I was on a One-Way street. Feeling quite hopeless, I continued to the next intersection. As luck would have it, I recognized the intersection from a jog I took the day before. Finally, I knew where I was. Two right turns at the next two intersections would get me to the hotel. Whew!

As I approached the hotel, my anxiety faded away. I made it to the hotel. Wet, cold and tired. Just as I reach a parking space, the bike died. I assumed my fatigue caused me to not give it enough gas. So, I pushed the start button. It ran for a second or two, then died. I checked the kill switch. It’s on. Checked the fuel gauge. It read half a tank. Try again. No luck. “Fine!”, I mutter. I pushed the bike into the parking space.

(Continued on final post)
Pic of the harbor by Shoreham-by-the-Sea2142

[Pawprint2104]

Part III

I spoke with the handsome English valet, adorned in his perfectly pressed uniform, (did I mention the very dapper hat?). I asked where I could park the bike for the night. He explained I could drive it around the rear into the parking garage, and that there was a spot for motorcycles, and that I would not have to pay. Great! He told me I could squeeze the bike past the gate to enter and exit. So, I return to the little Yamaha and start her up. She ran. She ran fine. So, why did she die only minutes earlier. Personally, I think she had a little mule in her. I think she got tired traversing the greater and not-so-greater parts of London, and simply refused to go any further. Really, I couldn’t blame her. Anyway, I drive around to the rear. The gate, the valet spoke of, extended completely across the roadway. There was no way the Yamaha was going to “squeeze” around it. I got off the bike and inspected the gate. Judging from the black rubber marks along and over the curb, I surmised I was going to have to jump the very tall curb like all those that went before me. Let me tell you, I was, in no way, going to return a broken and busted bike to the rental company with the explanation, “Well, you see, I jumped a curb to circumvent the gate, and after jumping the curb, I lost control and accidentally drove it into the trash compactor. Apologies.” No way. Wasn’t going to do it. Luckily for me, another motorist pulled up to the gate. The gate opened, I pulled in behind and proceeded through the gate. I parked the little Yamaha and thanked her for her patience and courage. I think she was grateful to be at the end of her journey. I know I was.

The moral of the story is: If you ever go to London, by all means, hire a motorbike and drive it to the coast and back. You’ll have the time of your life! :wootrock:

How do I condense a seven page story to one page? Rewrite it. Here it goes:

Got married. Honeymooned in London. Ditched the hubby for a one day ride in the country. Rented a Yamaha 600. Borrowed some gear. Headed south. Got lost. Got hungry. Saw Brighton Pier at sunset. Returned to London. Got rained on. Got tired. Got lost. More rain. More lost. Got dark. No taillights on bike. Did I mention the rain? Survived the trip. Found my hotel. Slept. Returned to San Francisco. Decided I want to do it again.

[msyzf2u]

Fabulous! Simply Fabulous! I laughed until tears. I applaud your courage. Well done!

[ridingAK]

AWESOME report! I too enjoyed it thoroughly, especially the summary at the end. :rofl:

[KCDakar]

Ever get the tail lights fixed? :devilsmile:

Great story! :thumbsup:

[Unforgiven]

That was great! One day I'm going to venture out and see some more of the world on two wheels.

[Pawprint2104]

All I know is when I return to England and Michael's shop, he will definitely let me take the Duc! And, I plan on checking ALL the lights and equipment prior to the ride. Those guys were great (except for the light issue). I don't know if I mentioned that the custom leather jacket was Sam's personal jacket. I just couldn't imagine what they must have thought when an American woman entered the shop with no gear, no helmet, jacket or boots wanting to rent a bike. Just a California License with a motorcycle endorsement and an insurance card.

The ride an amazing experience and I have nothing but good things to say about the food and the people of England. Shepherd's pie and ale, yum! :thumbsup:

[KansasKawboy]

What a Honeymoon to remember. :thumbsup:

[Astir]

:thumbsup: Awesome! Thank you so much for posting this amazing experience!

[KCDakar]

What a Honeymoon to remember. :thumbsup:

:iagree:

[Luna Tique]

:thumbsup: Awesome! Thank you so much for posting this amazing experience!


:wootrock:Awesome is right :cheers:

I :clapping: your courage

and I agree with KK truely a honeymoon you will never forget,
Thanks so much for sharing :D:

[jfike]

wow girl you got guts!! if i ever win the lotto, that's what i want to do. tour europe on a bike. that is my dream trip even though it scares the ----- out of me!!

[Abosit]

What a wonderful report. Your description was so vivid that it was like riding with you.
How long did it take to get used to traffic on the 'wrong side'?
Do you have any more pictures?
Would love to see them

PLEASE!!

[bikerbunny]

I wish I'd known you were here as you were riding in my backyard !-I would have LOVED to have ridden with you and shown you some of the great roads we have round here ( & not the M23)
Next time you come over please get in touch and as I've said before that goes for any of you.

For the record I work in London & live in East Grinstead, West Sussex which is halfway between London & Brighton( on the coast.) I am also only 20 minutes from Gatwick airport and just over an hour from Dover ( for cross channnel ferries)