[MrsC_772]

Day 17 - Monday 11 July

After waking early, to a rather grey morning, I hit the road to the Chunnel. Much as the prospect of a hop museum in Poperinge intrigued me, I just wanted to get home. I arrived at the Calais check in sufficiently early that I was allowed to select an earlier train.

Contrary to what some of my colleagues appeared to have expected, Calais, and the UK immigration officers based there, have not erected a Westerosi-style huge wall to keep people out, nor are there large crowds of desperate migrants hurling themselves at every passing car or bike. While the French immigration officers didn't actually shrug in the stereotypical Gallic manner, when I proffered my passport, they were clearly unconcerned about who left France. The UK ones did check my passport, and asked me to remove my helmet to see if my face bore a passing resemblance to my photo.

I was the last to board the early train, queuing up behind a couple of of other bikers, who had clearly swallowed the "Bike Shed how to be a hipster" book.
Open face or retro 70s (with press studs to attach visors) helmets, with goggles - check!
Big bushy Edwardian beards - check!
Blue denim (non motorcycle) jeans - check!
Brown (non motorcycle) boots - check!
Belstaff retro wax jacket - check!
On removing jacket, sleeve tattoos - check!
Motorcycles that are a triumph of style over practicality - check! (Triumph Scrambler and a hardtail matt black Harley).

I spoke briefly to the hipsters on the train, and to their credit, they'd been on a big European tour, having ridden as far as Prague, and then around Germany. They confessed that they'd tried to stay more than one night in any location, given how uncomfortable the Harley was to ride any distance. Its unfortunate habit of shaking itself to bits had led to the acquisition of a variety of tools in Europe for reattaching what they'd picked up from the road. The Triumph had to carry the satnav, since the Harley's vibrations made the screen illegible. I was impressed with how little luggage these guys carried, for such a big trip - apart from their tools, I presume their minimalist panniers/lashed on small rucksack must simply have contained their checked shirts (since that was the one item from the hipster uniform missing from their appearance that day).

Back up the M20, round the M25 (yawn) with the tea break rule (if on a bike ride, you're in 2 minds about stopping for a cuppa, stopping for tea is always the right decision) being invoked at Cobham Services. I'd not stopped there before, and it was a pleasant surprise (perhaps my expectations having been lowered by my Dutch experiences), not least, due to the Mint Leaves Indian food stand, serving not only your usual chicken tikka masala & samosas, but also the (far less common) South Indian idli sambar (steamed rice cakes with a runny tasty veggie curry sauce). I got my first proper curry fix in a fortnight for lunch, washed down with masala chai!

Finally at around 2pm I rolled up onto the drive at home, with the vague idea of washing my bike. Just after unlocking the garage, the heavens opened, so thoughts of getting the hose out were washed away, and the bike retains its patina of grime, encrustation of Belgian bugsplats, and Austrian motorway vignette.