The Bookworm Abroad

Bookworm's Not So Excellent Adventure. 

Bill and Ted have got nothing on me.

If you just read the story of my horrendous journey back from the UK last year* (2012) you might guess that I approached time to drive back again in the early summer of 2013 with a significant lack of enthusiasm. Beam me up, Scotty, I don’t want to drive any more.

The trusty van had been on the drive for over 6 months, and whilst I’d fully intended to start it up every so often, well you know, opening and shutting the doors for so long took its toll and before you know it the battery is flat and no point dealing with that until I need it again……..

So part of the preparation was to start it again. Which I did once. Ran it for ages. The second time I tried, it needed a portable jump start. Ran it for ages. Sorted. Packed. Ready. But no, on the day itself the battery is again flat. Bugger. My trusty local garage man comes, starts it and takes it away for a new battery but can’t get one til later…….shades of the tyres on the last trip. I have a Eurotunnel crossing booked and things to do, I haven’t got half a day spare………I mean, I’m at a Bruce Sprinsteen gig in 3 days time…..but just like the tyres, being pathetic pays off and he comes back sooner than he said. Ok, I can go……….

Meanwhile the cd playlist had been assembled in boxes for the front seat, but ah. There is a problem. The battery has been flat, therefore the code has been lost and needs inputting. I know where that is.

Well I know where it was.

So close to leaving now but what is another half hour compared to 3 days with no radio or cds??? I even phoned Ford. Contact your local dealer. Grrrr. I phoned the one garage main dealer I ever went to, sorry they didn’t record the code. I phoned my usual local garage in Derby. Sorry, no he checked and he hasn’t got it either. Then, one last bad tempered furk through the file it should have been in and this scrap of paper flutters out. Eureka!

Not so fast. It says use the buttons to enter the numbered code. There is no way to key in these numbers as the buttons are numbered 1-4 and my code includes a 7 and an 8. Maybe I can find a garage along the way.

Martin in Derby and his staff laughed at me when I sheepishly asked for help 4 days later. He did it just like that. The numbered buttons were not the numbers in the code, the instructions were not clear and I had completely failed to guess how to do it. Grrr.

But I digress. So off I went, 4 hours late. Sound familiar? This time no bookings ahead for hotels, I was aiming for that nice one this side of Barcelona with the swimming pool. But would you believe it, two hours of driving round the same streets of the same town and not a sign of it so ironically I end up on the motorway through Barcelona and aiming for one I can see by the side of the opposite carriageway. This time at the exit, surprisingly, it is referred to as 1.5 mins away but no arrow to help decide which direction. Another bumble around the industrial estate revealed it quite by chance. They charge for parking but I am knackered, so I pay up and reckless me, go for breakfast as well. Gosh.

In the morning, Bruce Springsteen “Wrecking Ball” is on the telly at breakfast. Good-oh. My first appointment when back is his gig at Coventry. I set off in a good mood albeit not as early as I should, so now 5-6 hours late.

I do build breaks into my schedule, and plenty of them, but even missing several I’m running late. Where to stop the 2^nd night - it almost always ends up Orleans whichever direction I’m going and as often as not, now I’ve stopped getting lost trying to find the hotels I know about, I find them just fine but they are always full. This night is no exception. Now, this stage of the journey is marked by towns and cities an hour apart (mostly) so it is a gamble how many more hours I can stand before I fall asleep at the wheel.

Now I’ve mentioned the French speed merchants, and the limit on country roads is 70 so after over half an hour of deserted country road in the dark, one set of headlights rushes past me and disappears into the distance. The next thing is I’m startled by a great big flash of light in my face and it seems I’ve been copped by a speed camera. The sheer cheek of it, and I’m sure I was only doing 70 and I mean km not miles this time. Can they find me in the UK I wonder? And what about that blighter who overtook me??

Well the long and short was the next few hours were spent trying to decide whether to stop and sleep and then make a dash for Calais or the other way round but into the small hours and then there is little point in getting a room even if there was a bloody hotel around………..and eventually I give up and curl up in the front of the van by the side of the road towards Rouen, noting those interesting flashes in the sky along the route.

Which turned out to be the biggest loudest thunder storm since the one over Alicante the previous trip, and the hail stones sounded like half bricks landing on the van roof. I tried to sleep, I really did. And would you believe that spiteful storm followed me all the way to Calais?

I arrive muttering darkly that I never want to do this journey again. Especially without a cd player or radio.

But I will of course because I have to go back after the summer. My cats are waiting for me.

And I know how to programme the code into the radio now.