Words by Cezar
To get some background on this ride, you need to understand why I was going, to do this, read the news post about fighting the proposed new motorcycle training laws. The link is at the bottom of this article. My journey starts here...Saturday morning, 8am to be more precise, not that I'm not used to getting up from bed early but this time was different! I was heading to Brussels, Europe in order to join few hundred other bikers to hand our protest in to the European Parliament. 'We are not happy with the hard laws on the new driving licence regulations, mister'. Well, I was actually only putting my signature onto the petition, but to me, it was like I was saying that.
I got to my garage by 8:30am and the street was completely empty, I live on a private road, but usually there's someone there at this time. Well, never mind! The case is that I just love the look on my neighbours face when he sees that I'm going to travel by bike. He's one of those that aren't very happy with their life and keeps saying to me that what I do is 'dangerous'. If only he knew? If he could become a little mosquito and sit right there on the top of my ZX6R instruments panel and watch the trip I had… Nah! He probably would die from a heart attack or something; anyway.
I had my final check in the clear outer pouch of my Oxford tank bag luggage, and went through all the stuff I carefully had packed the night before. This is not the time for mistakes.
• Map, with my planned road; check
• Clear visor as I would for sure ride at night; check
• Chain and padlock, as I never know if I will need to leave my baby alone; check
• Camera for the photos, battery, extra battery; check
• Few plastic bags for the extra waterproofing, I never trust the tank bag; check
• Notebook, pen, watch; check
• Puncture repair kit, duct tape; check
• Passport, V5, insurance, driving license. (Yes, you do need it all); check
• My laminated card with my blood type, addresses and phone for contacts (We never know); check
• Sandwiches prepared by my wife, as shit happens and I don't want to be angry and hungry at the same time; check
• Money, credit card, ferry ticket, mobile phone; check
Yes, I do go through this check list system as I have been let down by, er, myself before. It was all okay, off I went! Not for very long though! At the very first roundabout I have just noticed that I had no mirrors! I just didn't put them back since my last trackday where it's advised to remove them. Back to the garage, now a bit annoyed, I fitted the mirrors back onto the bike. The morning was beautiful, very sunny and quite warm. A quick stop for petrol and check out the tyre pressure and finally I was off to the port, at Dover.
Ten past eleven, and I was on the ferry parking my bike under the iron stairs on the 'Orange floor' deck of the P&O ferry. I was pleased that I got my tickets £5 quid cheaper than MCN were advertising as a 'massive' deal. All I did was call and ask for lowest price.
Don't you hate it when that man wearing the funny bright jacket gets near your bike and just throws a cable-tie over your seat and tie it up like my baby was a potato bag? Why don't they take more care? Never anything happened, don't get me wrong but, a bike is not like a car, and we are bikers! We are definitely not like the majority of car owners. We love our bikes and whoever touches it better do it gently.
Anyway, my mind became distracted very easily; there were other bikes here, oh, yes! Ducati's, BMW's, Suzuki's, Kawasaki's, Honda's, you name it! They were there. Very quickly I started a conversation with a bunch of fellas. Nice people as usual, they told me that they were going for the ride as we probably wouldn't get there in time. MCN didn't advertised what time we should be there. All we knew was that we should meet in Brussels by the Atomium. That was enough to me! Road! Road! Road! That was what I had in my heart!
I met the guys again when docking, back at the bikes. It then clicked in my head 'hey the French are one hour ahead' it was 13:30pm when we touched Napoleon's land, never mind.
How nice is it to be a biker? I spoke to these boys only once and very heartedly, and now they all come back talking to me like we were travelling together. In fact I asked if I could ride with them. Off course they said, yes. Hey, French roads! For those of you that haven't ridden on French roads yet? I will spend all my English and won't be able to put it in words. Guys! France is large, smooth and I haven't seen one police car or camera in all of the 400 miles I did there during this trip. Better than that is the French drivers! Do you think you will find a driver that will think he owns the entire road and stay in your way, in the fast lane at 60 miles per hour? No! They just move out of the way. Beautifully, without you even need to flash the beams or sound your horn. I love that!
I have to confess that I'm terrible with names and some of the guys that were with us were Bulgarians putting me in a difficult position here. Sorry I can't remember the names of you all. To prove that I liked you all the same, I won't mention names here. I will address you guys by the bike you rode. There was a Ducati 749, a Honda Super Blackbird, a Suzuki Hayabusa, a Triumph Daytona T595, a Honda Hornet 600 with a pillion, another Honda Hornet 600 and an SV650, also with a pillion. The Blackbird guy was supposed to be leading so we all followed him.
Now, I'm no master with navigation but I had a route planned and that definitely wasn't on my map! We stopped for a chat and I found out that they didn't have a plan and when they told me that they were there for the ride, it was actually literally the truth. Deep inside me I was mad for a blast too, so I called P&O and extended my ticket from 5pm to 10pm, same day off course.
Turned out that I had the best map out of us, at least it was the biggest one. Quickly we found that we took an alternative route. We were heading towards Lens on the A26. After a short chat we decided that it was better to keep going this way rather than come back all the way. The new route would be; A26, A43 up to junction 6.1, N17 up to junction 18, E17 up to junction 20, D941, A8 and finally the E429 to Brussels.
On the N43 we met one of the problems of travelling abroad. The differences in the way they sign-post the motorways, to be kind with the French government. We all needed petrol and so we agreed to stop at the first petrol station which was supposed to be only 2km from the point we had stopped. Well so said the huge sign by the road. Funnily enough the next sign was displaying the petrol prices, followed by another sign stating that the petrol garage was 20km from there, not 2km like the first sign (ed: at least you found one, last time we were in France we only found automated stations which took French debit-cards only!).
The Daytona guy started to shake his head in denial; something wasn't going well for him. The Ducati stood at his side and they started that funny sign-talking that we have probably all been through before. Good knows what they were saying, er, signing, but not long after they both shook their heads positively and slowed down our pace to a boring 60kph. Yes, he was running out of petrol, Triumphs! Are you sure they are British? They drink like an Irish man.
I swear! The 595 run out of petrol only 300 metres before the petrol station. The poor sod had to push it! I didn't know their personal story, how long they knew each other before but I couldn't avoid noticing a kind of pleasure in their eyes when the Blackbird, the Hayabusa and the Ducati were waiting for the Daytona to arrive. The guy was warm inside his leathers. Perhaps if it was Jay in that situation I would take my piss out of him too! (ed: my tank is bigger than yours, so unlikely!) Come on? You didn't know we were travelling? No petrol? Haha! Blame the French government that kept an old road sign by the road.
It wasn't a day to own British bike. Something went wrong with his clutch! I was highlighted as 'the one with the map' and 'the one who knew the route'. My first thought was 'if only they knew my friends, I would be chosen as the guide'. Actually, it's not fair because I may take the longest way but I always get to the place I'm going. We left the three of them doing the mechanics and went off down the road.
I was a bit concerned, as I felt as a part of that group now. After all, what's it to be a biker? If not to help each other? Stay together? We couldn't just leave the guy there! I slow down the pace and rode at 60/70kph, waiting for them to catch up. Surely enough no more than 30 minutes after that, Blackbird pass flying by me, he shuts his throttle up to get parallel to me and gives me his positive thumb up. I look in my mirror and see the Ducati heading towards us on a considerable speed, followed by the 'Busa and the now-repaired 595. My heart was beating faster, I want speed! I want a blast! It was saying inside my chest. I looked behind and signed to the rest, pointing my finger to me and them to the road and making a not logical sign that I was going to follow them, or, I'm going to have a blast! I don't know why I move my lips inside my helmet as they couldn't read it, or even see it.
Man it was nice! Fastest speed on my bike many times! Which for legal reasons is no more than the permitted 110km per hour? The Ducati guy was mad for a corner I could easily notice that by his body position, as he was on a track and needed to corner fast, knee on the floor type thing. We had a series of blasts mixed with low speed to wait for the rest of the pack. It felt good! Like a bunch of friends going out for a long ride! At many occasions we rode besides each other and gave the 'yes, it's fun' nod of the head. We need petrol again.
We arrived at Brussels near to 6pm. After a quick stop to check out the map and a body count, we found out that the Daytona was missing. Oh no! Their friend? My new friend? A biker! After a long wait a phone call just told us that he was ok but the 595 was in trouble. The clutch went this time. Our return ferry was for 10pm, we had to make a quick decision. Go back there all of us? Or some of us try to make it to the Protest? The two Bandits, the SV and I decided to go for the Atomium. After a good bye and hope to see you again, we left.
How nice is it to be a biker? I can't even remember the guy's name but I was worried about him as if he was a very close friend. Though I knew that I wouldn't be able to help him with the clutch, I turned my mind back to the protest!
My wife always says to me 'Don't worry! Everyone speaks English!' Yeah, right! We couldn't easily find someone who did. But the directions to the meeting point weren't that hard. 'messier turne to the rightee and get losteee!' I hate not knowing what they say! Never mind we found it in the end. Unfortunately it was well passed 6:30 and a kind BMF representative told us that the protest was scheduled for 12pm. MCN 'forgot' to publish it. There were no other bikes there apart from us! The SV and the Hornet decided to go home immediately. The Hornet with the pillion decided to stay over night and perhaps enjoy Brussels a bit. I went back to my map.
I got the original route back to Calais, on the A40 all the way down there. In total I rode 500 miles, door to door. On my way back I was confused with my thoughts, what I'm going to do? I completely failed to come here to Brussels to cover the event! What am I going to write for the LB article? I kept thinking that way for a few dozen miles.
After stop for a bit of petrol, a French biker stopped by my side and said 'God knows what' I mean, only him and god knew what he said in French but I understood that it was 'nice bike mate!' I felt good! Not because that French guy liked my baby but because it's universal! We are all bikers and have a common thing linking us together, the bikes! Never mind where you come from! Never mind what you ride, where you ride it! We all are friendly to each other. I felt that my mission wasn't totally lost! I maybe couldn't sign the petition but I have the opportunity to write to you guys about this experience and I hope that someone in power of doing something reads it and stops this bike extermination mood that the governments seems to be thinking about lately. All we want is to ride our bikes, to feel the wind, to communicate to each other like no others hobbies allow you to do.
I'm proud to be a biker! I'm proud to ride to work! I'm proud to ride for pleasure and leisure! I can't state here that I signed the protest book! I can't state here that I went there and succeeded with my mission to cover the event, but one thing I can tell you is what it felt like to be a biker!
To the guys I rode with, I hope you all read this and come to chat to us at LB, I know that you said that computers are not your kind of thing but I leave here my thanks for your time and kindness with a stranger, with strong Brazilian accent! By the way, Mr. Daytona, that smell you said my bike was emitting and we couldn't identify? Perhaps that was the Brazilian dust smell! Haha, once a biker, always a biker!
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