This story began after the VX800 Owner's Club Ken Rally in June 2000. On his return to the US, Ken offered to get shirts made for members of the Club. Orders were duly placed, payments made, and in due course Ken received the shirts. Arrangements were made for him to send those for Europe to Andre in Belgium, and before Christmas Ken posted them.
The US Postal Service lost them.
Some time in the New Year - February I think - they found their way back to Ken, and were sent on their way again, this time arriving safely in Stenokkerzeel, near Brussels - together with a hefty bill from the Customs. At this point a mini-Rally was arranged, many of the European members going to Andre's to get them instead of having him post them. To my disappointment I couldn't go on the date chosen, but rather than missing out completely I foisted myself on Andre and Veerle's hospitality at another time.
Thus it was that the Tuesday of Easter week saw me southbound on the first long trip on my newly-acquired Diversion 600. It was sunny and dry, with a promise of showers which was happily not kept, but not warm; and just past Kettering I left the A14 and made my way pleasantly via B-roads. I passed through Higham Ferrers, St Neots (coffee and warm-up), Saffron Walden, Great Dunmow and Chipping Ongar, then had a meal at West Thurrock services on the M25. The journey was enough to satisfy me the the Diversion would be everything I had hoped - capable of making good time on fast roads, comfortable enough for long distances and flexible and forgiving enough to be trickled quietly along back roads without having to forever change gear or correct over-sensitive steering.
It was not a good idea, though, to avoid the M20 by taking to the A2/M2. They are upgrading the A2, so it was a dozen miles of roadworks and speed restrictions, then back on the motorway anyway. But I got to Dover in good time and good order about teatime. The Tourist Information Bureau found me an adequate, inexpensive Bed-and-Breakfast; they showed me a small box with a bed in it, took a small amount of money, gave me the room and house keys and left me to it - which is how I like it. So I walked into Dover looking for entertainment for the evening.
Funny place, Dover. A mixture of the fascinating historically, and the sort of grotty concrete that goes with modern major developments, like ferry terminals. I found a restaurant run by a chain I patronise at home. It wasn't as good as the local one - the best that could be said is that I got a meal and a pint. Then I took a walk up to the castle.
It's a stiff climb up to the castle, which was closed, as I knew it would be at that time; but one could look at the exterior and admire the view. Then I went back down, and found another pub.
A young lady detached herself from her newspaper long enough to pull me a pint. The beer was better this time, but I could hardly call the company friendly. A couple of blokes playing pool barely spoke to each other, let alone a stranger, whilst a group of girls discussed their intimate affairs in voices the rest of us could hardly help overhearing. However, the young lady did direct me to the sea (yes, I know it's big and you can hardly miss it, but it's finding how you can get to it past the buildings which line the shore), and I went for another walk. The tide was in, and I crunched along the shingle enjoying the sound and smell of the sea and the call of the seagulls, whilst keeping out from underneath them...
The young lady was paying more attention than I thought: she knew what I was drinking when I went back to the pub, and asked if I'd found the sea. "Yes", I said, "Nobody's pinched it". She didn't even smile.
And so to bed, as a former Comptroller of the Navy reputedly remarked.
Next morning I got a good English breakfast from my hosts, and had time to go up to the castle, riding this time, for a daylight look before going to the ferry terminal. I was early. The gate was still in use for a previous sailing; did I want to go early? No, I didn't, because I had a 24-hour ticket and didn't want to have to come back early. Could I come back in ten minutes?
So I did. Someone different was on duty. The gate was not open yet; they were still busy boarding on another gate. Could I come back in ten minutes? I went off, and had a coffee, and made it twenty; and this time, the third person on duty let me in, and I boarded almost immediately, and was conveyed without incident to Calais.
I followed signs for Brussels initially, but I don't like motorways: after an hour or so I turned inland and went to Diksmuide, which is twinned with Ellesmere, a Shropshire town I pass through from time to time. It's beautiful town, with the Dutch style architecture of the Flemish part of Belgium. At this point it dawned on me that the ferry had been late arriving, and that coupled with the time difference meant I had none to long too get to my rendezvous with Andre outside Brussels. I was, in fact, a few minutes late, despite a mad dash up the last twenty miles of main road, mainly because it's so much more difficult to keep a route in mind on the back-roads when all the place-names are both unfamiliar and in an unfamiliar language. And I arrived wet - one of the showers promised the previous day finally came, and a cold, vicious little hailstorm it was, too.
Andre led me at speed through the rush-hour traffic on the Brussels Ring Road, filtering with the aplomb born of long experience and understanding of his local traffic, and I followed as close as was safe. Just as well I was no closer - without any warning, a learner driver in a driving-school car moved into my lane about a metre in front of my front wheel. I am happy to report that the Diversion has good brakes and a front tyre with a decent degree of wet grip! It wasn't a full emergency stop, but it was nice to feel there was plenty of braking left if I'd needed it.
Veerle and Andre are marvellous hosts, and I spent a very pleasant evening with them, and obtained the shirt which was the excuse (who needs a reason to ride?) for the trip.
Thursday was cold, and gray. I set off back about 8:00, and once again avoided the direct route, going instead via Ieper. I was fortunately off the bike and in shelter when another shower struck - it had become, briefly, bitterly cold, and the hailstones lay on the road like pebbles.
I left Ieper by the wrong road - I knew immediately that the sun was in the wrong place (and wasn't it a good thing it showed up?), but I prefer to find my way round rather than go back if I can - and I had the advantage of passing through several very pretty villages. It was rather sobering, though, to realise what a mess of blood and mud this place must have been in wartime. I made for Veurne, and so back to Calais.
As I wanted to get home in the day, I avoided the B-roads this time. A20, M25, M11, cross country to the A14. And this time, the showers I had been dodging all day caught up with me. For a solid, cold hour it rained furiously (not hail, thank God!) I found that the fairing on the Diversion does keep the worst off your hands and body and even goes some way to protect your face and legs; but by the time I reached Corley I was cold, wet, hungry and cross. And as soon as I stopped, the sun came out.
Corley to Telford is only an hour, and I completed it without the weather attacking again, and (for a miracle) without experiencing serious congestion round Birmingham: there was just enough to realise the advantage, when lane-splitting, of the Diversion being a little narrower than the Acrybre-faired VX.
This bike's going to be fun!
10th May 2001