I check the time at a Peage - 0040. That's much earlier than I thought. This Peage is on a very long stretch that I remember seeming to take half a day on the way out. For this reason I expected it to be around 2 or 3 am. I think about this at my next fuel stop. I don't feel tired as yet and wonder if this is because of some 'second wind' type thing or if riding the MZ just isn't that tiring, despite the weather. Certainly I don't have a numb bum at all, as that deep and wide seat is very comfortable. I decide to stop keeping fuel receipts as I already know what the bike's fuel consumption is and I also know just how far the journey is, one way at least!

Suddenly, riding the MZ becomes very very difficult indeed. The strong wind becomes a gale coming mainly from the front and left. It also sometimes has a driving rain with it. The big fairing keeps most of the rain off and my gear is more than waterproof enough for the rest (although my hands get cool, but not cold). A serious problem is that I can't see much by the dipped beam (and the motorway isn't lit, of course) - hardly desirable in these conditions. Also, that wind is catching the fairing and panniers and tossing the bike from side to side like a leaf. I keep thinking I'm going to lose it and the Grand Adventure becomes quite frightening indeed. I am acutely aware that I'm in the middle of nowhere and that my mobile phone is turned off and locked in one of my panniers. Of course, should I have an accident with my mobile in my hand, I've still got my lid on and earplugs in, I don't speak French, the mobile is out of credit and I don't know the emergency number anyway. Still, 999 would probably work. Probably.

I pull over into one of the rest areas and adjust the headlight so its just a little too high for normal but not quite high enough to blind people. This means that main beam is useless but then there's too much traffic coming the other way to use main beam that often anyway. I can now see enough to make progress without having to repeatedly flash the headlight just to see where the road is going. Oddly, there's very little traffic going my way, just the odd lorry and a few fast cars, but plenty in the opposite direction.

The weather conditions really tax the bike's strength. On hills I'd normally expect to cruise up in top at 70, I'm down to 45 in 3rd or 4th gear. At one point I have to struggle to hold 35 mph! Every so often there's a large illuminated sign showing a windsock and some words that I take to mean 'warning, crosswinds'. I struggle on because I've started and want to finish regardless - and there's nowhere to stop anyway. Given that when I last spoke to my beloved Julie back home she said that there have been gales and rain for days in England, I somehow doubt I can wait it out. The rest areas are freezing cold and very exposed and all the cafes at the petrol stations have closed, so stopping would probably just be a quick route to hypothermia.

When I next stop for petrol, at around 120 kms, I realise that the bike is using fuel at a right old rate - putting in half as much again as I expect. The same thing happens at the next fill up, which I wisely do at about 100 kms. Something rings a warning bell in the back of my mind and I check the 2-smoke oil tank. It's virtually dry. I put in all the oil I have but it still only just registers on the dipstick so I buy another litre (10 bloody Euros!) and bung almost all of that in. I bitterly regret bringing so much stuff that I haven't used when I could have filled the space with the vast amount of good but ultra cheap Repsol oil I have at home. Another lesson learned.

Fighting the bike is pointless of course, so I spend a lot of my time telling myself to relax my grip and my arms. I try to just guide the bike against the gusts, hoping to stay in towards the line between the lanes. This will give me, I hope, room to be blown about without actually going off the road. It seems to work but it gets close at times. Its also punishing on my arms and torso and I'm not exactly known for my upper body strength. Putting the heated grips on seems to help for a while but I flick them off every time I feel the engine's being exceptionally overworked. It probably makes little or no difference but I might as well reduce the load in any way I can.

Pung pung punging its way along, the bike drags me up over one hill after another. I can't help but be impressed at the way it just keeps on going. This is a 1989 bike with 136,000 kms (85,000 miles) on the clock, operating in gruelling conditions whilst carrying a lot of excess weight (my fat lump of a body for a start) and it never misses a beat. I guess this is exactly what those knowledgeable German engineers designed it for. Slow, yes but also sure.

Graham had seriously considered riding through the night on his outfit. I think it was only his cold that stopped him. I wondered how he and his slipping clutch would have fared. Badly, I think. Without a fairing he'd have frozen and the Honda's clutch might not have coped with many of the hills at all, once the gale force winds came out to play. On his outfit, he and I have a similar pace and attitude to time and he's a very competent rider (certainlymore so than me). Whilst I would have enjoyed riding on with him, I think it would have ended badly. I hope that they all have a much easier journey today, especially him as the others were (I think) planning to leave him to his own much slower devices. No doubt they will revise this if the weather stays the same.

The Peage stages are a real pain. I have to remove my right glove to get to my money and thereby immediately lose a lot of heat. Such traffic as there is (which seems to be invisible in my mirrors as I ride) is not actually that far behind because as I fumble for change and sort out my gloves etc it all bunches up at the one operating gate, having to wait ages for me. I think Justin and Viv were generous when asking for 7 Euros each to cover all the tolls they paid for us, as I seem to be paying out a lot more than I thought. Certainly the total is way over 7 Euros before I get anywhere near Paris. An unexpected kindness from these nice people.

All along the road from Metz I hope that when I finally get down to the plains on the last stages to Paris these winds will stop. In fact when I fet there they seem to get stronger, although this could wll be me tiring. There are several larger signs that say a lot more about the gales - probably something nice and French for 'if you thought the winds were bad before, you're not going to believe them now'. Just to add insult to injury the rain turns, briefly, into hail.

I plough on, no longer daring ask the time. In the dark I start to suffer from mild hallucinations, suddenly becoming convinced that there is a large dark vehicle with no lights on just ahead of me. I wonder what Mik Reed (who has done a lot of distance riding) would make of this. I quickly decide that what he'd say would be something along the lines of "time to stop" so at the next fuel stop (only about 10 kms away) I have a couple of espresso coffees and rest for 15 minutes in the shelter of the petrol station. Feeling a little better, I ride on and it doesn't reoccur, thank God.

I derive great pleasure from watching the distance to Paris get less and less. I decide that I can't get further than Paris and remain convinced of this for some time, but when I get there I feel that maybe I can. I ride into Paris for miles, getting mildly concerned until I remember how far into the city the Periferique actually is. I recall from Simon's route that I have to take the south turning onto this road and do so. I am almost immediately terrified by some mad French driver attempting to join from my right by basically not looking and trying to drive straight over me. This happens several times more and I move into the centre lane and stay there. After a while it dawns on me that I have no idea where to turn off to get to Le Havre. I keep going, hoping to see a sign for the port but when Metz comes up on the signs I realise that I've virtually ridden right round and back to where I joined in the first place. Needing fuel as well as directions, I turn into the first petrol station I see. There's a hand written note that I don't understand stuck to each pump and the young idiot behind the counter says he doesn't speak English. As I approach despair, a French gentleman in his 60s draws into the garage. I ask him if he speaks English and to my surprise (why?) he speaks it very well indeed. He explains I have to pay in advance for my fuel and negotiates this for me with the bloke behind the counter. It is this chap that decides the garage attendant is an idiot, by the way! He also tells me to go back the way I came and to take the turning for Rouen. Thanking him profusely, I follow his instructions and 10 kms later am on the right road. Shortly afterwards there's a sign for Le Havre. It is well over 100 miles. Again I think I can't make it, but reviewing my options in my head as I ride reveals that the only one I realistically have is to keep going. It also whiles away a few kms :-)

This last section of the journey is pure hell. I'm cold now, the wind hasn't really slackened and I feel dead in the saddle. I keep on having to mentally slap myself back into concentrating on my riding. I tell myself how I can't get this far and have an accident or incident now. Somehow this works and I arrive at the dock gates at 0535 at almost exactly the same time as two English blokes in a van and an elderly Spaniard in his car. They've all done huge distances too and just like me are hoping to catch the early boat. The only fly in this particular ointment is a series of signs saying that the first sailing to Portsmouth is at 1545. Bugger. I sit on the ground outside the ferry terminal and doze until that opens at 0645. The staff confirm that there is no early Monday morning sailing in Winter. Double bugger.

I doze until 0800, hoping the terminal's cafe will open but despite the sign announcing its opening hour as 0730, it stubbornly refuses to do so. I go for a wander round town and decide that as she'll be up now, I'll phone Julie. I walk to every public phone box I can see but even the ones in the terminal only take cards. There is a sign saying the terminal sells phone cards but the lady on reception says they don't. For God's sake! She takes pity on me and says that if I'm quick I can use the office phone. What a refreshing kindness! So I get to chat quickly to Julie and let her know I'll be home earlier than expected. As I hear her voice I am overcome with a wave of homesickness.

The Spanish chap and I wander the town chatting and drinking coffee for an hour or so. Delightfully, it starts to rain a bit,although not too hard, I'm glad to say. After taking the bike off to the local garage for a tankful of fuel, pop into a tabac for Julie's cigs. Its a good job I didn't follow my original plan to buy them in Germany as I was going to put them in a bag and lash them to the pillion seat. They'd either have been soaked or lost, I reckon. They haven't got any in the shop and at the next one the bloke just looks blank. Joy. I decide to buy them on the boat, return to the terminal and then settle down to catch up on this journal and wait for the boarding gates to open.

The cafe eventually opens at 1230 but despite the fact that I haven't eaten anything more than a Mars bar and 2 pretzels since Saturday evening, I don't want anything they have. I pine for a bacon sandwich with lashings of HP sauce and a strong cup of tea for a while and then at 1300 go to see if they gates have opened. As I walk downstairs, I notice its raining again. I don't mean a light drizzle, this time. As I might have expected, the gates are not open. A chat with the terminal staff reveals that the gates will open at 1330 but boarding will not begin until 1500. As going to the gates seems only to offer me a less than delightful opportunity to move my bike a few hundred yards in the rain, I decide to pass.

I sit about, along with various other passengers. Once 1330 comes, I am slightly surprised to see that a fair number check in reasonably quickly, of whom a number elect to stay in their cars for the following 90 minutes. The terminal may not be the most exciting building in the world but if I were the architect I think I would be most offended by this palpable snub. I talk household pets with a bloke that has been in France for a few days laying a wooden floor. Fascinating. Or something.

1500 arrives and we're invited to get our vehicles to the gates. Through I go and following my allotted lane I come to a splendidly thoughtful but barely useful bike shelter. Whilst I appreciate the effort and thought involved, there are lots of gaps in the walls and as the far end points out to sea the rain and wind drive straight in. I decide to kill the engine so that I don't waste the precious very cheap 98 RON (less than 1 Euro/litre) fuel I bunged into the tank earlier. About 2 minutes later I realise that the sharp wind is cooling me down rather and that it will undoubtedly be doing something similar to the engine. Not wanting to be summoned and unable to start the engine straight away (oh, the embarrassment that would cause) I decide to take the loss of fuel and start the engine. This is a good thing because they direct me to go on board just a few minutes later. The bike is lashed down by the crew, which is nice.

I immediately head off to the cafe, anticipating a slap up meal. This means passing a window and therefore a look through it. The sea looks quite, er, choppy. A wave breaking over the harbour wall does it for me and I decide to forego the meal. Instead, I go to the shop for Julie's ciggies and some anti-seasickness tablets. Tragedy - no Dunhill International! I buy her some Toblerone & nice looking chocolate biscuits by way of compensation. It's not the same, I know but every little thing help.

The sea is indeed choppy and while contemplating my navel, I hesitate to make any form of food related decision wait for a while. Once we get underway Spanish bloke wanders past and reveals (yet again) that he used to be in the merchant's navy. This time, however, instead of boring me rigid he imparts some useful information. He says that its best not to eat at all but if I must (and I now think I must) then I should have something dry or moist at best. On no account should I have anything more to drink than the smallest coffee. I elect to eat and have a Lancashire hot pot with chips, but leave the sauce on the hot pot. I follow this with some crisps to soak up any moisture.

I put my head back and close my eyes for a moment and sleep for half an hour or so. I don't feel any better for it and awake with a very dry mouth. I've probably been snoring horribly but it can't be helped. I shall sleep like a very sound asleep person tonight, or whenever it is that I get home.

The ship is now rolling rather and making very slow headway against the wind that they announce on the Tannoy as force 6 to 8. The sea slowly builds up some interestingly substantial waves - or at least so they seem to me. Feeling quite unpleasant, I go out on deck to have some fresh air blasted into my lungs. That helps for a while! The rest of the journey is passed in deep sleep on the sofa in the main reception area. I wake up to find the sea and wind have calmed down and that we are approaching Dover. Very soon I am sat on the bike and riding off the boat.

A Police security cordon is stopping all the vehicles and the officer that asks me where I'm going and where I've been is clearly unimpressed by my answers. I get sent into the customs shed where an attractive woman asks me to open the panniers and top box. This takes a little while and as I wait, I realise that Spanish bloke and the 2 English lads that arrived at 0530 with me at Le Havre have also been stopped. Must be the haggard looks of having been awake for 36+ hours that alerted them. Silly sods.

To add final insult to injury, after the customs woman has found nothing and sent me on my way, there weight of the bike isn't enough to set off the sensors for the traffic lights to allow me out of the docks. After waiting 5 or more minutes, I end up getting the security guard to guide me through the red lights. I head off onto the motorway and towards home. One and a half hours later and I'm rolling to a stop outside my house.