Petit Dejuner

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I told you that this Chambres d’Hôte did great breakfasts. 

The spread for this morning comprises of;

Orange juice, real coffee, croissantes, bread, crêpes, yogurt, a sweet apple flan, melon, cheese, ham, six different confitures and two different types of honey. No wonder that I keep coming back! For info you can find the details on: http://www.chambredhotedelajunchere.com. If you are passing this way I can definitely recommend!

Madame makes all the confitures herself; my favourite is the Fig with Nuts, which last time I was here she told me how to make it, I sorry to report that as yet I haven’t tried.

I slept like a log and was woke by the delightful sounds of a cuckoo and donkey competing to greet the dawn.

It looks like a beautiful day, certainly the view from my bedroom is looking good. 

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, je vais manger!

Dookes

Strange but True

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These days I refuse to be surprised by anything I see on the road. 

Usually it’s idiotic driving that grabs my attention, but this one is right up there with weird!

Seen at the side of the road in Vern sur Seiche, one very contented looking Camel!

  

There was a very big bucket of water just out of shot, funny I thought he had brought his own!

Perhaps his name is Humph-Humph?

Well it can’t be Humphry, cos there’s only two!

. . . And Breathe!

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Tonight, “Baby Harls” and I are resting at a charming Chambres d’Hôtes near Vierzon, in the Berry Povince of the Cher Département. It’s a place I’ve stayed at many times before, because each time I am welcomed as an old friend and Madame’s petit dej is to die for!

The countryside from Roscoff, through Brittany and the Pays de la Loire is probably best described as “Pastoral,” it’s largely mixed farmland with the odd town thrown in every thirty miles.  Rennes is by far the biggest city and it’s older parts are really nice, but no time to stop today. After Le Mans the landscape begins to roll in a much grander way, this is the large sweeping valley of the mighty Loire, the longest river in France. The weather took a turn for the worse and got quite dull after leaving Tours, which is an OK sort of place, had the heart bombed out of it in 1944 and apart from the old Cathedral, the new building development doesn’t do much for me. The natives of Tours are renowned for speaking the purest form of the French language and they do love to revel in their linguistic snobbery, good for them I say! From Tours we crossed the Loire, turned left and traced the River Cher, a delightfully peaceful waterway nestling in its own quite grand wide valley carved in the limestone countryside. 

 Mennetou sur Cher seemed a good spot to take a stroll, it’s an old medieval walled city, actually little more than a village, that still clings onto bags of character. This fine stone bridge spans the Cher, but why did someone stick two such ugly lamps on it?

 The disused Berry Canal also passes through and just adds to the ambience. 

 

Jeanne D’Arc,  Joan of Arc, is reputed to have passed though this arch in 1429. That’s a bit awe inspiring!  

So it’s been the first really decent milage day, 393 to be exact, on my new baby and what can I report? Well I guess it’s true to say that Harley Davidson have done a stunning job with these “Rushmore” models, I my humble opinion anyway. 

I won’t say that after such a milage that I’m not tired; probably not putting my ear plugs in after lunch may have something to do with that, but after years being around and on all sorts of noisy locomotives and bikes something had to give! In comparison I have ridden the same route on my Softail before and been considerably more knackered than I feel right now. I could easily have done another 150+ miles today, but this is supposed to be fun, not punishment!  The bike has performed very well, cruising at 130(ish)kph, that’s about 81mph, with no effort at all; fuel consumption is around 45 to the gallon.
 I’ve played around with the cruise control all day, but it really came into its own when we hit the Péage, (Toll Road), where the traffic was almost non-existent. Then it was time to kick out the highway pegs and breathe! It’s amazing how not having to hold the throttle makes a big difference, on the Softail I used to have to sometimes strap up my right wrist on a long trip! 

Before I left Dookes H.Q. I switched the pipes and put the standard ones back on, she hasn’t been Stage One tuned yet and I quite fancied a quieter ride, it worked a treat and I even had time for a spot of music whilst cruising along. Poser!

Another big(ish) mileage day tomorrow, you up for it? Good, see you on the road, Mulhouse looks interesting!

“My uniform is leather and my power is my age.”

Dookes

Hard Miles

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Last night’s ferry crossing was so smooth that you could have been forgiven for thinking that we were sliding across glass; Mrs Dookes would have approved, she’s not great on ships!
The only downside was waking to thick fog that lay across the sea and land like a big, wet, grey blanket. This is nasty stuff when you are riding a motorbike; not only is visibility reduced and therefore, if you are sensible, so is your speed, but the tiny droplets of water coat everything, including your visor and so visibility gets even worse! It’s ok for car (cage) drivers, they have windscreen wipers, us bikers have only our fingers! On top of that, the road can also get nicely greasy . . . I hate fog!
So progress this morning has been a tad trying, not to mention slow, until we got to St Brieuc when surprise, out came the sun and the temperature went up 5 degrees. Currently stopped for fuel for both bike and boy at Vern sur Seiche. 136 miles in two hours ten, so I guess we weren’t really hanging about! 
What I can report though is that my new girl rides like a dream in mile munching mode.

I had a quick blast on Harls, my Softail, on Tuesday. That was fantastic, in a totally different way. . . so noisy and windy and fun!
Anyway gotta dash!

“I hear that highway a callin’ .”

Dookes

I Need a Shot of Salvation

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I sit contemplating the keyboard, choosing the next key to tap in an effort to articulate my message.

After over two weeks of shorts and tee shirts todays cool breeze and low cloud are a bit of a shock, but the fleece and jeans are as needed as the urge hit the road again is pressing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not spontaneous, but I can mark the calendar by the intervals that will pass before I have to hit the road.

Travel is something that seems to be part of my DNA, I’ve always done it and probably always will, I really don’t function too well without it. I used to work in the railway industry where transport and travel is the name of the game; in those days the mileage I clocked up was unbelievable, but I never grew tired of it. Maybe it’s the ever-changing vista or the feeling of motion that lifts me, I really can’t put my finger on it. All I know is that I like it, especially on a Harley! Strangely though car travel really does bore me silly, weird.

Anyway, the rather dull morning that I am looking out on is only a temporary downer . . . I’m hitting the road this evening and grabbing the overnight ferry to France. It’s gotta be time to give my new Baby Harley a really good work out.

Two cylinders of pleasure.

Two cylinders of pleasure.

We’ve been getting along just fine as we settle in together. She’s beginning to loosen up nicely and shake off some of the factory fresh stiffness, so lets stick another few thousand miles on the odometer and see what difference that makes!

Once we get off the ship tomorrow morning, we are going to head East. Rennes, Le Mans, and then Tours all look to be on the way; stick around and take a ride with me, you know you want to, let’s go looking for some adventure!

“I need a shot of salvation, baby, once in a while.”

Dookes

Land of History

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There are occasions when, as I ride around the Cornish countryside, I am frequently in awe of the rich history that is cradled in this small part of the world.

In recent posts I have travelled back to the times of legend and the Bronze Age. Let’s “shoot” forward a few years, drop in on the times of Henry the Eighth then fast forward to the Twentieth Century and do that all in one place and what a place it is! This is Pendennis Castle.

Perched atop a rocky headland that juts out into the open sea close to the historic town of Falmouth on Cornwall’s southern coast, the imposing fortress of Pendennis protects the sheltered mouth of the River Fal and the deep water anchorage of Carrick Roads. Over 400 years ago work began on this great fortification by order of King Henry VIII; by the 1540’s the elegant gun tower was built followed in 1600 by the ramparts which today still define the perimeter of the site.

PENDENNIS CASTLE Aerial view of the castle looking North West

Aerial view of the castle looking North West


The castle played an active role in the nation’s defence until the 1950’s, since then Pendennis has been treasured and conserved as a site of great historical importance. It is open to the public all year round, (weekends only during the winter) and should be on the “to do” list of any visit to Cornwall.

A couple of weeks ago I was lucky to be invited to visit by the staff of English Heritage, who are the custodians of the castle. Passing through the massive gatehouse on my new Ultra Limited was a thrilling and privileged experience, I must confess to wonder if this was the first time a Harley Davidson has entered the castle in its long history?

Royal Garrison Artillery barracks.

Royal Garrison Artillery barracks.


The first imposing building that greets visitors dates from 1902, it was the regimental headquarters and barrack block of the 105th Regiment Royal Garrison Artillery. The building is fronted by a parade ground where it is easy to almost hear the historical echoes of soldiers marching and the gravel crunching under their boots. The barracks today houses various displays showing facets of life in the British Army throughout he ages, at present there is a super exhibition to mark the centenary of World War One and is well worth a look.

Central to the inner bastion is Henry VIII’s keep, or gun tower.Pendennis_CastleBegun in 1539, this was built as a response to the then threat of invasion by French and Spanish forces. It has four sections: a guardhouse, a fore building, a central round tower and a surrounding gun platform known as a “Chemise.” Not only is it one of the finest examples of one of the first purpose-built Gun Forts, but it also has one of the last drawbridge and portcullis installed in a castle other than as a decoration.

You see the most fascinating thing about this place is that it is not a castle from the days of knights on horseback and bow and arrows, no, Pendennis has always been about guns, very big guns! Everywhere around the place you will find artillery pieces from the various ages of the castle’s history and most impressive of all, a lot of them are still in working order and are regularly fired; much to the excitement of any children visiting, this one included!

Today, the main reason that I was visiting Pendennis Castle was to watch the firing of the Noon-Day Gun. This is a tradition that was only resurrected only last year. Pendennis has long marked the accurate passage of time; for many years a time ball was dropped at 1pm every day so that ships could set their clocks, so vital for accurate navigation. This in turn led to the firing of a gun at noon and later still to the use of a siren.

The Pendennis Time Ball

The Pendennis Time Ball

Today the Castle staff use the historic artillery pieces to mark the passage of time, during my visit the chosen gun was one of two Quick Firing 25 pounder British field guns that date from World War Two and were still in service until the early 1960’s. It was the first time that I had ever been up close and personal with such a weapon, despite descending from two artillery serving Grandfathers! There must be some artillery in my genes though, as I was handed the firing pistol and asked to cock it, without hesitation I did just that and I’d honestly never even seen one before, strange!

The firing pistol.

The firing pistol.

Anyway, we all got excited as the gun was loaded with it’s blank round and waited for the signal to fire. Then wait a minute, we can’t fire because there are a couple of dog walkers beneath the ramparts. . . Henry VIII never had this trouble! The we got the “all clear” and boom, the gun was fired! The photo really doesn’t do it justice, but it was a good bang!

The Noon Gun Fires!

The Noon Gun Fires!

Then all that was left was to unload and clear the breach ready for tomorrow.

Smokin'!

Smokin’!

The collection of artillery pieces also includes an American 155mm “Long Tom” field gun, one of only four on display outside the USA and the only one that works.P1030908

Towards the Southern perimeter of Pendennis Castle can be found more recent defences. Known as Half Moon Battery because of its distinctive shape, this emplacement was first constructed in 1793. Over the years it was repeatedly rebuilt and modernised, from 1911 six-inch calibre naval guns have been in place. The guns were replaced twice during the Second World War the first time because they were worn out and the second occasion improved versions were fitted with greater range and power. The last time that these guns were fired in anger was in 1944 when Nazi surface vessels were engaged. The latter guns could fire a 100 pound shell to a range of 12 miles and were radar directed.

6" Mark 24 gun in Half Moon Battery

6″ Mark 24 gun in Half Moon Battery

Above Half Moon lies a low concrete building sunk into the rampart, this is the Battery Observation Post which controlled the two guns and provided accurate target information to the gunners. It has been restored to its wartime appearance and even houses an optical depression position finder, an early sort of computer for plotting the course and range of a target which was surprisingly accurate.
Inside the Observation Post, depression position finder in the centre.

Inside the Observation Post, depression position finder in the centre.


Beneath the battery are the powder and shell magazines; superbly preserved these chambers are open to visitors as part of informative guided tours, they include audio recordings of the guns in action together with the experience of being under attack from an air-raid and very interesting they are too, I’d certainly recommend tagging along if you ever visit Pendennis.
The powder magazine, bagged charges for the six-inch guns to the left.

The powder magazine, bagged charges for the six inch guns to the left.


Leaving the subterranean chambers behind I enjoyed a stroll around the ramparts and on the eastern side spent some time at Nine-Gun Battery. Overlooking Carrick Roads, the deep water anchorage, this dates from 1730 and is armed with nine classic muzzle-loading cannons from the late 18th and early 19th Centuries, Captain Jack Sparrow and his mates would certainly recognise these guns!
Nine-Gun Battery.

Nine-Gun Battery.

I see no pirates!

I see no pirates!


That reminds me! Pendennis Castle holds various events throughout the year to interest visitors of all ages. Pirates will next be attacking on Tuesday and Wednesday 28th and 29th July, whilst Medieval Jousting is held every Tuesday and Wednesday in August, for more details click here.

All that then remained was a visit to the rather excellent tea room for a spot of light lunch then hit the road again.

With particular thanks to Kirsty and Kate of English Heritage for facilitating my visit.

“Do you ever see in your dreams all the castles in the sky?”

Catch you soon.

Dookes

PS It was OK for me to handle the firing pistol, I hold a firearms licence.

Sorry that some of the photos are a bit dark, but I hope you get the drift.
Does my gun look big in this?

Land of Mystery

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Lovely early summer days have arrived here in Cornwall and for me the best way to enjoy them is from the saddle of one of my beloved Harley Davidson motorbikes!

On my last post I took you to the times of Arthurian Legend, this time lets go back further in time. . . a lot further back.

High on the South Eastern edge of Bodmin Moor is the small and incredibly named village of Minions, yes honestly that’s the name of the place! Here can be found evidence of human habitation that stretches back to the Neolithic Period, at least 2500BC, or to put it another way, thats over four and a half thousand years ago! Around the parish can be found burial mounds, standing stones, ditch-ways and a host of other mysterious works.

Most impressive of all can be found on the Western edge of the village where three intriguing stone circles laid in a straight line lie. These are known as “The Hurlers,” or in the local Cornish language, “An Hurlysi.” They are probably the best example of ceremonial circles in South West England and folklore has it that they are the petrified remains of men punished for playing Cornish Hurling on a Sunday.P1030830

The three large circles are aligned on an axis running NNE to SSW. The largest circle is the centre one and measures just over 41 metres in diameter, with its flanking neighbours both just over 30 metres across. Just off to the West are two separate stones known as “The Pipers,” possibly they were playing for the Hurlers when they were set in stone! The whole site is big! 

 

Now don’t go expecting another Stonehenge, the more famous site on Salibury Plain, the Hurlers are nowhere near as grand, but to the Ancient people in this part of the world, probably just as important.

It is fair to say that what they represent is, today, a mystery. Some scholars have suggested that the layout of the stones concurs with stella alignment particularly linked to the stars Vega and Arcturus, or at least where that combination would have appeared in antiquity. Others have linked the layout to the stars in the constellation of Orion, specifically the “Belt,” though as recent archaeology has revealed that there once was a fourth circle I guess that kicks that theory into touch! 

 The stones that remain show clear signs of being crafted and hammered smooth. Originally there were 28 in the centre circle but now only 14 survive, whilst the North circle has 15 out of 30 remaining.

As a place to visit it is certainly worth the effort, particularly on a nice clear day and if industrial archaeology also floats your boat, there are countless reminders of Cornwall’s tin and copper mining heritage to be seen as well. More on that in a future post. I couldn’t resist a bit of monochrome either! 

 About half a mile South of the Hurlers is another fascinating relic of ancient times. This is “Long Tom” also known as “The Long Stone,” an ancient Menhir that possibly pre-dates even the Hurlers. Again the original reason why this 2.8 metre tall stone has been placed here is lost in the mists of time. The most fascinating thing about Long Tom is that at some time the rather phallic stone has been “Christianised,” a simple Celtic Cross has been roughly carved in the head. I found it quite hard to define in a photograph, but trust me, there is a cross there.  

 

 Now here’s an interesting thing, if you take Long Tom as the starting point a line can be drawn right along the axis of The Hurlers and it leads to an ancient burial mound known as Rillaton Barrow. Local legend says that that Rillaton is haunted by the spirit of a Druid Priest, who offers travellers a drink from an undrainable cup. During archaeological excavations back in 1837 a variety of finds were unearthed. Human remains, obviously, but also “grave goods” including a bronze dagger, beads, pottery and a wonderful gold cup. Now known as The Rillaton Cup this beautiful, 90mm high, relic of an ancient time can be seen in the British Museum, London; could this be the cup of the Druid Priest? 

 Pondering the past and happy to be a Druid, I eased Harley into gear and nodded a distant salute to the Priest as I rode away; luckily I wasn’t thirsty!

“Forget about the cheque we’ll get hell to pay, have a drink on me!

Catch you soon.

Dookes
Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Someone in the village of Minions has a sense of humour and I fully approve!  

   

Land Of Legends

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The County of Cornwall, home of Dookes H.Q., nestles at the extreme South West Corner of the United Kingdom and juts out into the Atlantic Ocean.

The name “Cornwall” is believed by some to come from the Anglo-Saxon “Corn-Wallis,” meaning Land of the Welsh. This stems from the time when invading Saxons pushed the indigenous Celts out of England into what we now know as Wales, Scotland, Cornwall and Ireland. In the old Cornish language, the County is known as “Kernow,” though strictly speaking Cornwall is not a County, it’s really a Duchy, but that’s for another day! Confused? Welcome to the club!

Cornwall is also known as “The Land of The Saints.” It has an incredibly high number of saints associated with it, over fifty to my knowledge. There are numerous villages and places named after various of them; St Neot, St Minver and St Teath are just three that spring to mind.

All that aside, Cornwall is arguably most famously associated with King Arthur, the legendary King of the Britons.

The big trouble with Arthur though, is that the real man and the legend have become totally separated. It’s not just Hollywood films to blame for that either, the Welsh cleric Geoffrey of Monmouth was “bigging up” Arthur way back in the 12th Century!

There are two main sites in Cornwall that are indelibly linked with the Arthurian Legends. The dramatic, yet forbidding Tintagel Castle and the remote, hauntingly beautiful, Dozmary Pool.

Tintagel is reputedly the place where Arthur was conceived, though some people also believe it to be the site of his famous court of Camelot. The truth, not surprisingly, is a little different! Located on the peninsula of Tintagel Island and standing high above the Atlantic surf, there is evidence of habitation going back to the Dark Ages, well before the Romano-British period over 2000 years ago. It is believed that the regional Kings of Dumnonia may have built a summer residence here as well.

The real Castle that we know today, however, dates from the 13th Century when Richard Duke of Cornwall began construction and it is the romantic ruins of this castle that people from all over the world are drawn to visit.

Tintagel Castle ruins.

Tintagel Castle ruins.

Leaving the legend for one moment, the place is stunning and no wonder that it attracts hundreds of thousands of visitorsP1020885. . . who I must admit mostly come to look for King Arthur!
Barras Head.

Barras Head.

Looking due north from Tintagel Castle is Barras Head a strangely shaped headland that some say is a slumbering dragon, have a look at the photograph and you might be able to see what they mean.

The other place I mentioned is Dozmary Pool. P1030794

Situated high up on Bodmin Moor, this is one of the few natural inland bodies of fresh water in Cornwall. Way back in 1951 it was designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest for its biology, ecology and wildlife. Evidence of human activity around the lake stretches back to prehistoric times, that’s over ten thousand years ago. More than 2,500 pieces of worked flint have been found including many implements, tools and arrow heads. Interestingly the nearest source of flint to Dozmary is nearly twenty miles away whilst some examples appear to have originated over one hundred miles further east. Clearly our ancestors were not afraid of a good walk!

According to legend Dozmary Pool is where Arthur rowed out to the Lady of the Lake to receive the sword Excalibur. The Pool is also where Sir Bedivere returned the sword, as Arthur lay dying.

Legend says that the sword was received by a female hand, Tennyson wrote;
“Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, that caught him by the hilt and brandished him three times, and drew him under in the mere.”

On a sunny day it is certainly very pleasant, but when the mists roll across the moor it’s waters take on a forbidding leaden hue and it is best left alone with its ghosts. Could this really be Avalon?

Of course there is another Legend seen around these parts too. . .

An American Legend!

An American Legend!

Another day I’ll tell you about more Cornish Legends, like Knockers, Spriggans and the Beast of Bodmin Moor; gotta dash, gotta ride!

“. . . and your destination, you don’t know it, Avalon.”

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Celebrating Freedom by Riding

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I sat struggling to start this post, not for want of what to write, but actually deciding what to leave out, such has been the emotional roller coaster of the last 36 hours and our little trip to Brittany.

So I suppose the beginning is a good place to kick off . . . 

The night ferry from Plymouth to France was the usual fare offered by Brittany Ferries, yes it was the MV Amorique again; not my favourite ship by a long way,  but hey, better than a six hundred mile motorway thrash via the Channel Tunnel!

We were rudely roused at  6am by the ship’s awful “wake up” music, it’s a sort of electric version of Breton folk music, I sure some people love it, not me. On the bright side, breakfast was served in our cabin shortly afterwards, travelling in Posh Class has it’s benefits! 

I couldn’t resist popping up on deck to stand in the grey dawn and watch the French coast grew nearer, reflecting on how my Grandfather must have felt exactly 100 years ago watching the same landmass appear on the horizon. 

 

Of course the big difference was that he was going to war, I was just riding a motorbike. . . 

Once off the ferry and through passport control we were free to ride; well we first had to deal with the usual bunch of inept Brit car drivers panicking about driving on the “wrong” side of the road and mixing it with the French locals trying to get to work. The weather was a bit subdued and to be honest kind of related my mood.

Cutting across Brittany we rode onto the Crozon Peninsular crossing wonderful Pont De Térénez.

Regular blogonaughts will know of my love of brilliant bridges and this little beauty is right up there! At just over 500metres long it’s not the longest cable stayed bridge in the world, but with it’s curve and location it’s got to be one of the sexiest! The photo is bit dark, but you’ll get the idea! 

  

It was only another few miles to our first destination, the cemetery at Lanvéoc, but in those scant miles the sun came out and the day cheered up immensely. 

We parked up outside the cemetery gates and I tentatively walked inside. The place is typical of a French village graveyard, they are always immaculate and absolutely crammed full of stone memorials, headstones and family vaults; we had come to remember the young men who had died in the skies above us 71 years ago and initially I couldn’t see any sign of their headstones.

An elderly lady was tending one of the graves, I nervously approached her and asked if she knew where the airmen lay. Without hesitation she stopped what she was doing and took me across the cemetery to where the graves were clearly visible against the perimeter wall. We stood together and she looked at the poppy wreath that I was carrying.  Madame went on to explain that the local community took pride in maintaining the graves and remembering the young men lying there. I thanked her for that and said that I was sure that the families of the men appreciated their work. “Êtes vous famille, monsieur?  “Are you family?” I explained that no, we weren’t, just a couple of guys who wanted to say “Thank you.”  

Seven Brave Men

“Vous êtes deux hommes très spéciaux, il est bon ce que vous faites.” “You are two special men, what you do is good.” I felt humble and muttered an embarrassed thanks, congratulations was not what we had come for however well intended, but on reflection I realise how much it means to those people in the village and in a way we were also honouring them and their devotion. Madame left us and we stood in reflection of the young men buried at our feet, yes, we had a small chat with them as well, laid our wreath and walked back to the bikes.

Free. Free to ride because of young men like them. I put my helmet on and fired up the engine, sat and said a quiet prayer of thanks before kicking in first gear; freedom is a wonderful thing it means you can shed a tear whenever you need to.

We hit the road, the sun was warm and now the day seemed much brighter. The road to Châteaulin seemed to fly by, well actually it really did as we were not hanging about! The appearance of a Motorcycle Gendarme did cause a moment of concern, but he seemed to be enjoying the day as much as us and sped off. Time for a coffee break.

Suitably caffeine fuelled, we set off to Carhaix, a pleasant little town slap bang in the middle of Brittany and a regular stopover of mine. The N164 road certainly gave me chance to really get the feel of what my new steed can deliver when it comes to touring; miles and miles of effortless road munching, this bike is superb and soooooo comfy!

There’s an old friend of mine in Carhaix, apologies if you’ve seen her before, but here’s another photo of her! 

My Old friend In Carhaix.

More fun in the sun followed as we turned North back towards the ferry port, this really was a brief trip, but time enough to enjoy the run over Roc Trévezel, the highest point in Brittany, via the ‘bike friendly D764.

Time then for a quick bit of shopping in Morlaix, well this is France, so cheese and fine wine featured heavily. Then things went a bit sort of “pear-shaped.” If you see me in a supermarket queue, always go to another one, because I’m cursed . . .tills break, people faint, loose their wallets, forget their card codes, that sort of thing and it happened again.

We got out of the car park at 14:00hrs, last check in for the ferry 14:15hrs and we were 18 miles away with a small town in the way as well! Lets just say that after a “spirited” run we made it with one minute to spare! That new bike of mine doesn’t half go well when she needs to!

I stood at the stern of the ship watching the French coast recede into the horizon and reflected on our visit.

Land clouds mark the French coast disappearing.

Land clouds mark the French coast disappearing.


Yes it was a bit of a dash and we weren’t there very long, but we achieved all that I had hoped and more. In retrospect, meeting that French lady was almost preordained and you know, I didn’t see where see disappeared to; perhaps, just perhaps, Angels come in many different forms.

Another thing that made this little trip so special was my travelling companion, known in these pages as “Vifferman.” He’s my oldest friend, we go back over fifty years and first met before we could each walk. Some people would say that we are to each other the brother that we never had, but it’s not like that at all.
No. We are the brothers that choose to be brothers. Sure we have our ups and downs, mostly always my fault, but then I am the annoying younger one. . .by all of seven weeks, but our bond is so strong it can be a bit scary! Anyway, “Viff” gets it, he knows why I had to do the trip and certainly feels as strongly as me about doing what we did, but I do have to publicly say, “Thanks mate, your support means the world to me!”

This morning I wandered in glorious sunshine around the garden here at Dookes H.Q. and found this little gem brightly standing out against the green of the kitchen garden hedge. Narcissus poeticus, Old Pheasant Eye Narcissus one of the last narcissi of the season to flower and certainly one of the most fragrant.

Narcissus poeticus.

Narcissus poeticus.

Nothing special really; except that is was my Grandfather’s favourite flower.

Thanks for riding along with me on this real roller coaster of emotion!

Catch you all soon.

Dookes

A New Girl In My Life!

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By the time this post is published I should be on the ferry to France, for our little trip to commemorate the landing there of my Grandfather exactly 100 years ago to the day on the 12th May.

Now I have a small confession to make. . .

I have a new girl in my life and I’m travelling with her on this trip!

(Pause for frantic rustling to subside from The Mid-West and The South-West!)
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May I introduce to you all my 2015 Harley Davidson Ultra Limited!

She's a bit of a "looker!"

She’s a bit of a “looker!”


I ordered her back in November, but only took delivery a month ago and in between life stuff have been getting to know her.
Comfy seats!

Comfy seats!


Last Saturday I popped out for a few bits of shopping and stopped on the Moor for a quick photo shoot.
Nice bright lights!

Nice bright lights!

I hope you all approve, but frankly it don’t matter much if ya don’t!!!!

I love her.

I’ll bore you all plenty about how great she is to ride over the coming months and years, but for now, wish us both well out on the road!

So hot, she's on fire!

So hot, she’s on fire!


“I’ve got a silver machine!”

Catch you all soon.

Dookes

PS
I’ve still got my beloved Softail as well.
I could never part with her, we’ve shared so much together!