'Mountain Magic' French/Spanish riding holiday - Greg Dyer.

The recipe…

Pasties, clotted cream, fish 'n' chips, mackerel & Rick Stein - yep, I'm from Cornwall.

This is the story of how we got from about as far South West as you can go, to Catalunya and back on a diet of hi-octane fun, laughs, gastronomy par excellence and bends... second helpings of bends, with extra bends and a side order of bends. Oh and waiter, we're ready for the bends trolley now.

First take 1 Apple laptop, 3000 miles, 14 days in France and Catalunya. Add 4 different hotels, 1 van, 2 van drivers, 1 hospitality guide, 2 route guides, carefully blend 14 customers, 5 twins & 9 fours and cook at 37 degrees in full leathers, then carefully peel.

'Mountain Magic' they called it. Was it? You decide…

Let's start in Portsmouth were we are all packing our luggage around Tim Big's GSXR 750 in the back of the van. I had already done 350 miles to get there from Pasty land via Cirencester (home of Tim Big & Su Rock).  After stuffing our faces with a good square meal in a pub that Su had chosen and then stuffing the van with our kit, we commenced our luggage-free ride, heading for the ferry.

Not a bad tub. Big Rock had booked a meeting room on-board, so with a beer in one hand and maps in the other we all met up. Highlighter pens were chucked around as we marking up routes for the ride the next day. Tim went through some safety points and explained the group riding system he uses. New to me, but hey.

The cabins are fine for the short time you're in them, but the steady stream of ‘bing bong’ announcements do your head in.

Day 1 Saturday.

We arrived in Le Havre, unpacked Tim's GSXR from its luggage cocoon and sorted ourselves out for the days ride ahead in the incredible, almost eerie glow of the dawn light. As we rode over the sculpted marvel of civil engineering that is the Pont de Normandy caught in that peach-orange iridescence.

We navigating through the sprawl of Le Havre onto the route that was to punch us down into Central France so we could get onto the twisty stuff as soon as. We hit the wall of cold, grey dense fog lying inland, which didn't burn off for several hours. By our late breakfast stop, everyone was glad to be sitting outside in bright warm sunshine.

The rest of the day zoomed by on a combination of toll & N roads. Fuel stops were measured in VTR SP1 tanks (that's a Japanese fluid unit, only slightly bigger than a shot of Sake) so they were mercifully regular. There were however a couple of unscheduled stops behind us; Deej (Andrew DeGeorgio for short, which he isn't) had a kneeslider fly off and miss Jonny Blade's helmet by inches. Some miles later and the back end of Deej's Blackbird was squirming around in a way that can only mean a puncture at speed.

(Later, when the group was reunited, we learned that Su had phoned ahead to the hotel for the numbers of tyre shops within easy reach of the Chateau. In the time it took to get the tyre plugged on the hard shoulder, there was a replacement tyre waiting to be fitted in Vichy. Finding the shop was to be the hard part.)

RICK PARKIN:
"Good research pays off coz you can waste a lot of time on crap roads looking for something better, or looking for a good hotel... At the end of the day, when you're tired from riding it can be a real drag."

We all pulled into a long gravel drive, which snaked it's way through a golf course. Then BAM! The drive straightened out into formal gardens with an immense Chateau beyond. It's the kind of gaff where all sorts of pre-revolution debauchery took place (more of that later) and was home for the next 2 nights.

Our luggage was already unloaded. No checking in necessary either. Everyone quickly lost themselves in corridors, huge rooms (well ours was), fantastical wooded staircases and fairytale towers. Meanwhile Tim & Deej set out with the waiter towards Vichy. Getting your meal from the kitchen to the table can sometimes be a bit taxing for waiters, so getting our boys to the tyre shop proved to be Mission Impossible 2, but without the speed triple, or the replacement tyre.

Out of my leathers, I dived straight into the mini-bar for a cold beer and then into the massive tub. About 1/2 hour later I was feeling very refreshed and looking forward to a slap up dinner & plenty of wine...

We couldn't have wished for more: dinner was very slap up - lasting the full 5 courses - and the wine flowed as freely as the conversation. It's worth saying that while some customers knew each other from previous trips, there were some new faces and some had been on different holidays. Despite this, within an hour of sitting down to eat in our own private dining room, everyone was gassing away like we'd already been on holiday for a week and I realised that Tim and Su are most happy when their customers are.

Shawn, who lives in Cologne, had ridden down in a oner to 'rendezvous dons le Chateau'. He arrived with the second course after 550 miles and making very good time. He looked a lot better after a good meal.

After more chatting over cognacs and coffee, the first big day was finally over and here we were in this monumental hotel, already deep into France. Everyone seemed to share a sense of achievement mixed with the anticipation of more adventure to come.

Continental breakfast…

Day 2 Sunday.

After a late start followed by a generous and slow breakfast, we were leathered up Chateau with the promise of great roads ahead as the sound of 14 bikes starting up, echoed and thundered around the walls and spires of the immense. What a way to start your day!

Tim took us out on some excellent fast, sweeping open bends. The surfaces were smooth and the weather balmy - like a hot English summer day (we weren't really far south yet). This was the first day out on twisties and it started to reveal the differences in riding styles and machines. There were 3 GSXR 750’s on the trip. Tim Big, Busa San and Pete Dyer had all recently gone over to these precise, devastatingly quick, howling hooligans. Busa had succumbed after his namesake Hyabbusa had refused to obey his instructions to take a blind bend at 80, and Pete tried one on a track day and traded in the famous Clarabelle 916 for one soon after.

PETE DYER:
"It's all organised. Plus, mates drop out, change their minds at the last minute and generally **** you about. This way you get to go whatever happens."

Mixing it up with 'em was; Steve Chuck on his 996 SPS, Deej on the Blackbird (still on a plugged rear... it's the french food) Mike Worger on his Blade RRT, big Tim Bycroft on the RSV Mille R and John Lamborne on his R1100GS, Rick Parkin on the VTR SP1, Shawn on his Suzuki TLS, Jonny Blade & Tracy on their RR Blade with Rob Davis rode the other 996 SPS. Jo Burage on the Thunder Cat, Nicky Whiting on the CBR & me (and sometimes Ce) on the ZX6R represented the 600 class, which didn't disgrace itself at all in the presence of such cubic company.

All that hardware, differing levels of experience, confidence and skill, yet our large group stayed together well throughout the day. Ce and I were pretty new to 2 up riding (haven't done much in the 2 years I've been riding a sports) so we were off the pace. Even so, there was no pressure to not loose sight of the guy in front for fear of missing a turning and getting lost. The group riding system Tim was using worked well for me (I rode at the pace I wanted to) - and everyone else (coz they didn't have to ride at my pace) yet we all kept together without anyone having to playing catch up.

DAY 3 Monday.

"Greg, don't look out of the window. It's raining."

Breakfast kinda dragged as the truth soaked in. The rain wasn't going to clear. Tim Big had a fantastic route planned that would have taken us through hilly, twisty country with excellent views of a landscape dominated by extinct volcanoes. Sounds great!

But instead it was waterproofs on, brave the elements on toll roads and just get down to our next hotel. No one enjoyed the ride, but what could we do... it was torrential and visibility was bad. About 3 1/2 hours later we arrived at our Southern French hotel after dodging past a long tailback pointing down a hairpin section into the huge, lush green river gorge below. It was no coincidence that the hotel had a cavernous lockable garage, so at least the bikes were out of the weather. Tim Big was disappointed that we had all missed out on the route he had planned (especially as it enters the gorge from the other end to spectacular views) and so were we.

We had arrived very early and some of the rooms had to be sorted out and there was a bit of shuffling around to get everyone settled in. Meanwhile Su & Ce headed up the road to liberate a Boulangerie of everything it had for an impromptu lunch. For some, it was nice to have the excuse to relax and do nothing that afternoon. For others, chess, cards, chatting and running up a huge bar bill helped blur the afternoon into evening and dinner. The constant ribbing and banter that pervades a group of bikers was really kicking in by now.

NICKY WHITING
"You can be who you wanna be, with who you wanna be with, doin' what you wanna to do."

Tapas...

DAY 4 Tuesday.

"Mate, don't look out of the window. It's raining... again."

We were determined to get something good going and not get stuck in the 'I can only have fun when I'm on my bike, coz I'm on a bike holiday' mentality. (Busa just went out for an all day ride in it, but then he was a dispatch rider for 12 years, so he's built up an immunity and enviable wet weather riding skills.) Some of us jumped in the pool. We had a crack at canoeing up and down the stretch of river which passed lazily by our hotel. It was beautiful in the warm sunshine between light showers -a lot of fun. Rick & Jonny joined in and within minutes had capsized and fallen in the river. After getting warm and dry, all of us strolled up the road into the village for a big lunch and a few beers. As we ambled back, Tim Big, Su Rock, Mike, me & Ce decided we would walk up the side of the gorge and hoped to dodge the showers. It turned out to be an amazing afternoon. We climbed up high and very quickly got the most amazing views of the deep gorge and its tree clustered rock formations and ancient dwellings. The conversation meandered as much as the narrow rocky path - thankfully not all about bikes. A few hours later, as we wandered back down onto the road that led the short distance to the hotel, a shower came over.

DAY 5 Wednesday.

The sky was mostly blue, but the temperatures expected of Southern France in July were illusive. Everyone was glad to get on the bikes and enjoy a day of twisties. The riding was technical and focussed. I searched for a smooth rhythm of weight transfer, braking and acceleration for each bend to carry myself through. Ce and I were starting to get it together and found ourselves zeroed in behind 2-up gods Tim & Su for a long section of tight uphill switchbacks, hairpins and sweeping curves. It felt great. We were climbing higher, the BT56’s were getting stuck in as we hit on a good rhythm. Fantastic!

It was all brought to a dramatic halt as we were waved down at a right hand, uphill hairpin by Steve Chuck and some of the other guys, their faces serious. Something bad had happened…

Minutes before, Nicky's front end had dived away without warning on the bend which was slaked with diesel. There was nothing she could have done, it was one of those. Some of the quicker guys had taken it wide and so hadn't gone across the smear. Nicky had followed but on a tighter line and wham! She was OK, but a bit shaken. The bike suffered only minor slide marks down the faring. The bar end, can and brake lever had taken most of the force. She took it easy for the rest of the afternoon.

When the group rolled up outside the hotel's garage, we were all full of chat about the days riding. Pete D really missed the engine braking of the Duke especially on the really tight stuff and this is after Busa and Pete had both got set ups to fatten the mid range. We were all still struggling to comprehend just how high revving the GSXR’s are.

TIM BYCROFT
"Freedom to ride with a group or not, balls out or not, without the pressure to do either."

The bikes were lubed up ready for the next big push south, over the Pyrenees and into Catalunya, and the promise of better weather. (The French Alps had a freak snowfall of 72cm that day. Bizarre!)

DAY 6 Thursday.

I woke very excited to be going over into Spain. I think we all were including Mike, except as we were all wheeling our bikes out of the garage he discovered he had a flat front tyre. Arse!

"Errr... right, " says Tim "chuck the blade in the van. Mike, you go with it. Travel down via Millau, get a new one slapped on and we'll meet you in Spain. Gimme your map and I'll mark up a route."

So within minutes 4 or 5 of us set to and unpacked the van, got the blade strapped in, packed the luggage around it and Mike, Su and Ce were off.

As we parted for the day, Ce threatened to hijack the van and push through to the Med coast. Su Rock laughed with a hint of nervousness that she may not be joking. She was determined to find some really baking weather (and she was missing her usual daily Cornish pilgrimage to the beach).

We filed out of the gorge and carved south across the Black Mountains, blasting fast open sweepers through incredible country taking us up over the Pyrenees and down the other side into Spain... Instantly we were riding through balmy, fragrant, warmer air. The quality of roads was fantastic - but as we got near to our third hotel, even after 350 miles of twisting, snaking roads, the word ‘fantastic’ was to take on new meaning.

The Catalans had not been idle in the 2 years since I was last in this part of Spain. They had resurfaced one of the best sports bike roads in the world, and as if that wasn't enough, build a whole new one to follow it. On sight of it, whatever fatigue had set in over the course of the long day was replaced by the roar of induction and the thrill of chasing the rest of the pack along this tarmac paradise to our destination. I got off the bike buzzing after that final dash. The journey had been a real milestone for me. It's not every day you get to go on such a wide variety of open sweepers, hill climbs, spiralling descents and hairpins carving through stunning scenery (except on a Big Rock holiday it seems). The sense of satisfaction and achievement was immense.

We were greeted by the familiar smiling face of our jolly hotel owner holding a tray of cold beers served in glasses fresh from the freezer - top! It took a while to 'come down' even in the relaxing environment of our rambling, intimate hotel and realise how knackered I actually was. But I was here! in Spain! ...and so was my luggage! Ce hadn't grabbed the wheel and yanked it left (much to Su's relief). The girls had had a good run down too. Despite the detour to fix up Mike's front tyre.

Home for the next 6 days in sports bike heaven was a small mountain hideaway perched above a small Pyrenean village, West of Barcalona. It's basic but honest, if you know what I mean. The atmosphere is just as I like it; very relaxed and informal. The cluster of buildings nestle in a quiet tree lined vale with stunning views out over the blue on blue foothills of the Pyrenees running down onto the hot arid plains of Catalunya. Plus, you can be enjoying some of the best sports biking roads in Europe within 2 minutes of the hotel.

JONNY BLADE
"It's a very worthwhile challenge that you'll never get back home - Very satisfying but You have to work for it"

Salsa...

DAY 7 Friday.

The next day we started late after a leisurely breakfast. Tim had a 160 mile loop taking in all the best local roads planned. We cut a colourful swathe through clear, traffic free, black, smooth roads that buckled and twisted their way across rocky, barren, arid land, which reminded me of California. It was comfortably cool for riding in full leathers, especially the non-vented ones.

By this stage of the trip a few people had fallen foul of 'Bycroft's Disease'. This highly contageous flu'ey, yuchy, oocky illness was running rampant through our ranks - all thanks to one man who contributed more to medical science than any other - Tim Bycroft (bless). The symptoms varied from person to person, but it all ended up the same way... with them hating Tim Bycroft. I held out for a few days longer than most but I got me too in the end.

DAY 8 Saturday.

We headed south down from the foothills and onto the hot, dry planes of Catalunya. On the way out someone who looked a lot like Deej pulled a stonking great wheelie... in front of 2 cops he’d failed to spot. They were fine about it, about £60 fine in fact, but they took their time over it. Deej asked for 17 other similar offences to be taken into consideration before Tim Big could shut him up, but luckily the cops didn't ‘comprende’.

After the group was reunited at a fuel stop, it was obvious we weren't going to make it to Tortosa, our intended destination. 2 riders had gone on ahead earlier. Shawn and Rob both made it to the famous Parador. They said later that the roads were blinding.

By this stage of the holiday, Me and Ce were getting into the 2 up thing a lot more. We used to ride 2 up years ago before we were married, but that was on trail bikes round Cornish lanes, not Sports stuff. She had had a really bad argument with a Volvo about 1 1/2 years ago and still has a titanium plate and 6 bolts holding her left arm on to prove it. She hadn't ridden since, and this holiday was the first time she'd been on a bike. I was trying to ride smoothly and not do anything daft to wreck her confidence. She was giving it all she had and that was good enough for me.

On the way back that afternoon we dropped back to a cruise. We went through the route with Tim just to be sure and the rest of the pack went on north. We stopped often for photo's and to look at the numerous views, the most incredible of which had to be a huge slab-like escarpment that rose out of nowhere as the road swept round to ascend its sides, and beyond - the Montserrat Mountains rising abruptly from the plane like a Queen's rocky crown who's splendour is visible from seventy miles in almost all directions.

We returned to see the rest of the group languishing on the patio or by the pool, enjoying the evening and a few beers. We all convened later for another huge dinner with lots of chatting and joking around the tables.

JO BURRAGE
"I had just started riding, a Big Rock trip meant I could go on holiday with my partner and I wouldn't have to try and keep up with him"

Being Saturday night someone said "Let's go down into the village & challenge the locals at table football"… A bizarre sequence of events unfolded, culminating in a member of our group being rushed back to the hotel at 4am with suspected fractures…

The atmosphere in the village bar was very relaxed. Needless to say we were thrashed at table football. The locals were really friendly about it and we all got to chatting in broken English. Jonny Blade discovered to his amazement that after 7 Red Bull and Vodkas, he could speak fluent Catalan!

Through the confusion of intercontinental alcoholic banter, it became apparent that we were all invited to a party in the village hall which was due to start around 2am. Some drunk teenagers insisted they drive us to the venue. We politely refused and said we'd walk. After about 10 minutes we arrived to the sound of rumba rhythms at full volume and crowds of people. The place looked more like a luxury villa than a village hall with its manicured lawn and swimming pool. It looked like the whole village was down there strutting their stuff. It was surreal! We asked them what the special occasion was, 'It's Saturday!' they replied, mystified as to why we were enquiring after the obvious.

The night was really going off by about 3am. Everyone was having a great time. I was trying to remember Salsa steps, Su & I got a kind of Latin thing happening... and there were lots of people doing a twirling, clapping dance that looked a bit like Flamenco. It was great!

I was outside having a beer when it happened: I looked up to see Su helping Tim Big out of a side door with the sound of “walking on sunshine” escaping into the night after them. It was immediately obvious that despite the drink, he was in a lot of pain. Tim had been dancing like a loon when CRACK! - He came down hard and hurt his foot... badly.

We started helping him across the lawn when it became obvious he wasn't going to be able to walk back to the hotel in that state. One of the local lads with a car (who we had earlier refused a lift from coz he was off his face) offered to drive us. So Tim, me and Su arrived back at the quiet, dark hotel in a blaze of headlights and Techno.

By now Tim was in agony. We laid him out on a couch and got his shoe off... the outside of his foot was really swollen so Su and I started rooting around in the kitchens for ice and settled for frozen peas.

Venison...

Day 9 Sunday.

Early that morning Su took a now sober Tim to hospital in the van. They confirmed Tim's worse fear: the foot was badly broken and would have to be plastered from the knee, down. No more riding or guiding. Pete D was to take Tim's place for the remainder of the holiday. Also feeling lousy that morning was Jonny Blade. Making up for his earlier international diatribe the night before, he was so hung over that he couldn't speak. For the first and only time on the whole trip, he had nothing to say.

MIKE WORGER
"A great bunch of like minded people. Coz at the end of the day, no matter how good the roads are, you want to have fun with the people you're with. Tim & Su don't feel like tour organisers, but like people on holiday with you"

The riding carried on seamlessly. Pete was briefed on Tim's routes and took us all out, this time towards the high peaks and passes North West of our base. We shot down through the now familiar new road (not too familiar though, as it can bite back) then split off west. Hitting the base of a steep ascent, we started climbing on the kind of tight bends that I love. These followed each other in rapid succession, blind left, right, right, open left, closed right... each slightly different

Shawn's trip out was to prove unlucky. He had been off the pace on the climb due to a spongy and unresponsive front brake. It got steadily worse as he got to the top and decided to give the plunging descent a miss. Su picked him up in the van on her way down. We met up for a coffee stop at the entrance to a high plateau. Deej offered a pillion seat to Shawn and we blasted off across the plain on open sweeping fast sections which carried us on further towards the high pass that was our goal.

The group settled into another ascent whose upper section was made up of hairpins. It was on one of these that Pete collided with a deer that jumped the barrier just at the wrong moment. Pete winged it but managed to keep the GSXR upright. The deer bounded off the road and then pegged it in the bushes cracking the front fender and faring panel in the process.

Day 10 Monday.

Didn't feel anything like a Monday morning. Nice.

Shawn waited at the hotel to take calls about his recovery or repair of the TLS. The rest of us took a tax free shopping trip to Andorra. The main drag in town is exactly that - a drag. It's not far and the kit is cheap, but do yourself a favour, go with a van! Ce and I were pulled over at the boarder checkpoint, just routine. We were out of there in minutes and on our way back into Spain to meet the others for a ‘Hydrospeed’ session.

When the Spanish hosted the Olympics, they built a river sports centre at the foot of the Pyrenees. These days it's used by crazy English visitors who voluntarily chuck themselves down man-made rapids while clutching onto a large floating plastic thing! If Tim & Su ever suggest it to you, go with it... it is absolutely fantastic fun, especially in a group. It's not everyone's idea of a good time though. Nicky looked tense and nervous from the start. She made it down one section, but that was enough. Credit to her though, at least she gave it a go, unlike some lilly livered land lubbers.

You know who you are!

Day 11 Tuesday.

Bloody knackered and feeling really rough. Hadn't drunk that much the night before, so it must be Bycroft's disease. (thanks Tim). No riding today. Just take it easy.

Ce struck off into the mountains with a map and a small bottle of water. (She's big on the outdoors and getting stuck in.) She was gone for the day. Dunno how many miles she must have covered.

The others went off on the bikes to do local routes and enjoy the hot weather.

Day 12 Wednesday.

Head for home, but the holiday isn't over yet!

We left our Pyrenean hide out for the last time and headed for the boarder with Pete leading. The now familiar roads around our hotel took us out onto Tim's selected route North into France. It was a good combination of sweeping ascents and fast toll roads through long tunnels to get us over the top of the mountains, descending into the blue hazy plains of Southern France stretching out North of the Pre Pyrenees which we were about to tackle.

We all arrived in very good time at the Chateau selected for our return journey. Well all except for Shawn who was now safely back home in Cologne after some argy bargy with the breakdown insurance people with the TL being repaired.

The day had gone really well. Pete hadn't put a foot wrong (which is more than can be said for Tim several days before). This was a magnificent castle huge double wooden doors that looked positively medieval leading to an inner walled courtyard. We lined the bikes up & got down to some serious relaxing.

Everyone was in high spirits at dinner and Pete decided that this was to be the night of the Pop Quiz. After dinner, we were ushered through to a huge lounge where the fun commenced. Teams were divided into 4's and twins, with pillions making up the odd numbers. Bizarre and surreal are 2 words that immediately come to mind when now recalling the chaos and fits of laughter that followed.

ROB DAVIS
"The independence to ride at your own pace and do your own thing is right. We are advised of good routes but it's up to us - I like that freedom. You meet people you would never ordinarily meet and the social side of the holiday is really important. It's not just a bunch of bike obsessed, one track minded people."

Dessert…

Day 13 Thursday.

After breakfast, we re-arranged the bikes for a photo shoot of the whole team before heading off to the Chateau we had first stayed at 12 days ago. Wow, so much had happened since then.

Rob had a problem with his 996. It wouldn't turn over. Steve Chuck (996 owner) & Pete D (veteran 916 rider) had the fairing off and in minutes were twiddling the notorious wiring loom. Not long after the familiar booming throb erupted from the twin's back end. It was the only time Rob smiled on the whole trip. (Hey, some people are happy on the inside!)

The group split into the volcano crew (who did the route we'd missed on the way down due to bad weather) and the 'we're knackered, let's stick the bikes on a toll road and get in the pool early' crew. Ce & I voted in to the sunbathing option and a few hours later, we were back at the First Chateau by the pool with a beer.

Everyone had arrived by late afternoon and we all got changed and ready for the last dinner of the holiday. Boy was it a night to remember!

We had been given the formal dining room this time and after the meal, Tim and Su presented the awards for the holiday. Pete hadn't had his for an hour before he stuck it on the end of the ring piercing his bell-end while running round the swimming pool naked…

Most of the girls had done the 'little black dress' number that evening, Steve Chuck was looking very nice too. The rest of us had made no effort at all, but were enjoying the view.

Don't ask me how, but the girls managed to establish that they were all wearing G strings. So a photo lineup was in order. Not to be outdone, the boys joined in, Nicky and Jo jumped in the pool, Tim B and I stripped off and jumped in with 'em. Su was in there next, then Rick with what remained of his clothes. Pete tried to wrestle Steve Chuck into the pool (who was wearing his smart shoes, so therefore was quite keen to stay dry, to the point of kneeling on Pete's neck).

Within half an hour we had dripped gallons of Chlorinated water all over the dining room's antique, King Louis-the-whatever floor.

With typical French indifference, all the hotel owners had to say about it all was to politely ask us to turn the music down a bit as it was 2am.

Day 14 Friday.

We woke late having sacrificed the twisty route back to the ferry in favour of our antics the night before. Pete led us out onto toll and major roads across the Northern region to Le Havre. The group split and rejoined in different combinations along the way but we all made it to the meet up point in Honfleur in good time and in one piece. Including Rob who parked up, took his helmet off, turned and walked straight into the leading edge of a metal roadsign slicing his forehead open. Over 3000 miles of the best biking in Europe without a scratch, and then this, just hours before getting on the ferry home. Bad luck Rob.

We spent the early evening on a leisurely meal of seafood, crepes and Ben & Jerry's before riding over the pont de Normandy as evening fell, leaving a beautifully clear afterglow right across the sky. Even though it has only been 2 weeks since we had crossed that bridge, it felt like a lifetime away, so much had happened. What a trip.

The channel was in a state during the crossing, not too bad though. We all hit the bar, some of us hit it hard and didn't stop until almost dawn, grabbing a few hours kip before the 'bing bong... bing bong' of the early call. In the morning Jonny blade looked green, really, actually green!

We all said our goodbyes on the deck and went our separate ways. It took 16 people, 14 days and over 3000 miles to do the holiday.

But it was over in 1 moment.

The after-dinner cigar…

It's kind of a vacuum and it takes the journey home to adjust. The trip is over but you're in this no man's land between the adventure that has just ended and your regular life.

It's time to go home, time to ride defensively again on crowded roads full of car drivers who ignore you and GATSO’s that don’t. And in the cold half-light of an English morning, you're riding alone for the first time in weeks with no mates up ahead. Just you, on your bike, on the left hand side of the road heading west and home.

But as you ride you start remembering stuff that happened, jokes that were told, conversations you had and the people you met and got to know. You recall the good time you had together, across those days, those roads, those miles, those evenings of laughter and wine. All the places you’ve been, moments of brilliance where your riding really came together and you just rode through bend after bend and it all worked perfectly... it all comes flooding back as your pulse quickens.

You glance down at the clocks and realise how fast you’re going. But what the f**k! You click down a gear and wind back the throttle anyway…

...yep being in those mountains was magic!