I awake expecting to have the most terrific hangover but feel absolutely fine. Somewhat amazed, I stagger out of the tent to find Simon and Graham already up. Tea and some of that hard bread, together with cold sausage gets me sorted to start thinking about packing. While I'm thinking and just starting, everyone else is doing. Eventually my stuff is all that's left so I decide to bring Ugly into the site and carry some stuff down to Graham's sidecar or Simon's bike (I forget which). Graham becomes convinced that his outfit has been stolen as it seems so far from the gate to our bikes. When he tells me about this, many days later, I am relieved to find it wasn't just me that had this bout of paranoia. I had spent some moments thinking I'd either walked past Ugly or had it stolen. Before leaving the site, Graham gets asked by one of an Italian couple to take their photograph. As they pose, one falls into a deep hole in the snow!

Riding the bike down the slope into the site is worrying at first, but I can see lots of others managing it, so see no reason I shouldn't be able to do it. Its a little slippery but nothing serious. Rob brings his bike (the Tiger) in next to mine.

I load up and ride back out of the site to meet Graham at the gate. The others have already moved on to the crossroads and we expect them to leave us behind, frankly. As it turns out, it is just me that gets left behind. The chaps are waiting at the crossroads (although the Latecomers have already gone, setting off back to Munich for a night of drinking) and set off for the motorway. I don't feel like going quickly at first and follow them at a rather slower pace than even Graham's sidecar can manage. Graham and Simon are patiently waiting for me at the motorway entrance. Graham says that the others will wait for us at the next services. We set off and soon pull off at a junction with an 'Autohof' sign. They're not there, so we get back onto the motorway and do the same at the next one. Again, so sign of them so we fill up with fuel and set off for the next junction. Before there's another proper motorway exit, we find a service station and there they are, just finishing their lunch.

By this point, we're really starting to notice the vans and cars parked up (and on the motorway) that seem to contain an awful lot of motorcycles and mud. It finally dawns on us what is happening: a lot of people are taking their kit and bikes to the services (or even nearer) and then getting their carefully pre-muddied bikes and kit out and riding the last few miles to the Treffen! Cheating b*stards! None of us (having ridden 800+ miles to get there) can see the point in this curious behaviour. If you're not going to do it properly, why bother?

Graham and I decide that we aren't able to keep up with the newer machinery so we shouldn't try. We agree to meet the others at Saabruggen and they set off at a much higher pace than we can sustain. We take our time leaving the service station eating another pleasant lunch from Graham's Tupperware box and then get back on the road and up to a comfortable yet leisurely 60-65 mph. We keep this pace going for a whole tankful or so (150 miles, more or less) and then stop to get fuel and coffee. We jokingly discuss the concept of time fascism and then, as we're riding straight into the Western setting sun, Graham looks for a pair of cheap sunglasses. There are no cheap ones to be had so he settles for insulting tape across the top of the visor. i do the same and am impressed by the difference it actually makes.

Earlier, as we talked at the service station, Graham had briefly mentioned riding through the night to Le Havre for the early morning boat. He immediately dismissed the idea but somehow it settles in my mind. I turn it over and over, wondering if I can do it. I decide that if I can't, I could don my warmest clothing and sleep in a lay-by. This objection covered, I resolve to try it. I've never rode that kind of distance before, but the MZ seems up to it and I'm strangely not tired.

Apart from a brief stop for fuel, where I don't get a chance to mention my thoughts, we don't cease movement till we get to Saarbruggen. We pause to ask for directions (which Graham does in French as the German bloke doesn't speak English) and have a pee (Graham waits till we're in full flow and then says "of course, you know this is illegal in Germany, don't you?"). I drop my bombshell on Graham. He's a bit nonplussed but sees my reasoning (I'm also rapidly running out of money and can't easily afford the money for the hotel and the fuel necessary to get home). We set off again - not far to the hotel now. Nevertheless, we have to stop for directions again and notice a shady looking club with some, er, ladies of negotiable virtue outside. Blimey, the things you see! When we get to the hotel, the others are already in the bar.

They're not awfully surprised by my decision. Simon very helpfully works out a route on his HandSpring Visor for me, which he writes on a piece of paper while I warm up with a coffee. Julian gives me directions for getting out of Saarbruggen and onto the road for France and within 30 minutes I'm off!

I stop almost immediately for fuel. I'm strangely excited. I've never ridden this kind of distance before and I've never ridden abroad on my own before either. I'm quite looking forward to it as I follow the signs for Metz and France.

Almost the moment I cross the border into France, the weather worsens. Bugger. The wind gets up and there are occasional squalls of rain. Too committed now, I press on regardless and let the steady beat of the MZ soak up the miles. At this sort of pace, you can soon add up the distance, surprisingly enough. My speed was pushed down into the 50s or so in places as the bike fought the wind, and I was blown about in the lane a little, but nothing too awful. I am quite awake and measure my time only by asking at the Peage stops.

On into the night ...

end of day 6

 

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