Ready for departure

How easy everything seems once it all falls into place. The weeks of fretting over the various visa processes were all for nothing, as promised they were obtained and my passport arrived with days to spare. With a bank holiday weekend facing me there was little chance I would get the relevant documents through until Tuesday morning at the earliest. Much as I’d like to have them safe and sound, the false hope of receiving them earlier was sure to be dashed if I gave it any credence. Better was to concentrate on the BMW, finish fitting the tank and get the damned thing ridden, acquaint myself with the new bike before setting off. I may well have ridden it for a short period before the tank conversion was started, but I’d hardly even settled into a comfortable rhythm with it. Three weeks after buying it I’d begun stripping it to fit the large tank. So, unfamiliar with the feel of it, I began to feel apprehensive, dreading the weight and handling of the heavily encumbered beast. In fact severe doubts plagued my tired little mind, with almost nothing yet sorted I didn’t have the confidence to commit to any particular ferry. That would have to wait until everything was finalised.

Only a week before departure the sprayer had to rub down and chemically scrub clean one half of the tank, oil contamination in the plastic had totally ruined the plasticising coat. Frustration mounted and only by a herculean effort did I keep my cool; there wasn’t anything I could do about it, nothing I had any control over. And as it lashed down with rain morning after morning, the chances of preparing the bike looked slimmer with each passing day. Miraculously, afternoons saw bluer skies, as soon as the howling wind blew away the heavily laden clouds; so all was not quite lost. More important, I got a phone call from Jamie the Sprayer, the tank would be ready for collection Friday 27th, giving me a mere five days to fit it, check everything thoroughly and acclimatize myself to a completely different machine. Bearing in mind the absence of necessary paperwork, it could be said I was stressing out for no reason, but it was the only course of action available to me.

Friday came, and with it my fresh painted tank, and boy didn’t it look lovely! It sorely tested my patience, the paint was so fresh it hadn’t hardened up properly, taking the last of my meagre reserves. I like being master of my own destiny, but I haven’t felt like it recently, more like a victim to the whims of all and sundry. If there were lessons in perseverance to be learnt, that was the chore set for me in these last weeks of preparation. And I learnt them, never giving up hope, never succumbing to abject despair and never veering from my chosen path. How virtuous of me, surely a case for canonisation: St Leslie, Patron saint of dreams turned nightmare. In case I need to push the point, life isn’t a bed of roses, every cloud does not have a silver lining, and nothing can be taken for granted. You can lose everything you hold dear at the drop of a hat, with neither rhyme nor reason. But let’s not labour that particular point at the moment, suffice to say, treasure that which is important because nothing lasts forever.

With effortless ease things can fall into place, they can’t always go wrong, the world requires some measure of balance. Whoever fate shafted last Saturday, they have my heartfelt thanks, it wasn’t me, I was on the perfumed end of the shitty stick. My passport arrived Special Delivery by mid-morning, chockablock full of visas; the only one missing was Tajikistan, we ran out of time. I think that was the first expression of unadulterated joy to brighten my demeanour. I was on a roll, my green card insurance documents arrived too, it even gave me the chance to take out the BMW and pick it up from Anglesey. So in a matter of hours, a dismal picture of organisational ineptitude changed to relief and, dare I admit it, excitement. A break in the weather saw a swift completion of the tank conversion, and a full compliment of paperwork filled my document case. There were only four days left, physically everything needed for the trip was in my possession, so why did I feel so apprehensive?

Having bought the BMW six weeks before, it spent more time being worked on than ridden, and not once had it sported more than the scantiest of its mountains of luggage. Compared to the Kawasaki it felt heavier, though more stable and relaxed to ride. I desperately needed to stop comparing the two, the choice had been made and I was cutting it fine to accept my choice. Yet still my worries dogged my every thought, the petty paranoia posed my most immediate threat. I was as nervous straddling the finished BMW as I’d been riding the Kawasaki for the first time after my accident. It wasn’t just my imagination, it felt very different, the enlarged tank made it feel enormous and I was terrified of putting the tiniest scratch on the new paintjob. A day’s riding hardly detracted from this inexplicable fear, I almost expected to drop the bloody bike whenever I came to a standstill. Another day changed little, except I loaded more weight onto it. The third day and I actually filled the tank to capacity, a monstrous 39 litres of fuel, and much more weight.

How nice it would have been to slowly add more luggage, and go through a gradual transition of manhandling more and more weight. It was done in stages, but only two and not until the morning I left Wales. I’m beside myself at how badly organised I’ve been with this trip, it isn’t like me, or so I claim. So it was a huge relief when I first loaded up the bike with the tank panniers and rear saddlebags, I could feel little difference. It lifted upright with negligible extra effort, it rode sure and steady, as quick off the mark and as sharp round the bends. After only a short test ride the remaining bags were strapped on; my tank bag, folding chair, top box and camping roll. It still feels great on the move, only slightly unsteady at walking speed, but I’m still terrified of dropping it, almost holding my breath when I come to a standstill. No doubt once it’s been dropped once or twice that won’t be a problem anymore. And let’s face it, I’ve plenty of time to get used to the way it feels!