Solo Across The Channel - Part 4

24 Apr

A shot gasket and no fuel

The unexpected journey home.

Sun and Lemons in Amalfi

From Rome I headed to Amalfi where the quality of driving and roads drastically decreased. I constantly read that the Amalfi coastline is one of the “Best Road Trip Roads in the World” but to be honest I’d have to disagree. Yes, the views are breath taking but the roads are riddled with potholes and traffic is always slow. Constantly stuck behind trucks and tourists with little room for overtakes due to twisty cliff hugging roads. I settled into my hostel in Sorrento. Dropping off the bike the next morning at a local shop for some new brakes while I toured the coastline. Spending a good portion of the day swimming in the Tyrrhenian Sea – which was a dream considering it was October. My freckles had fully come out to play and even with sunscreen I was suffering the joys of heat rash. The perks of being pale.

My second day in Amalfi I took a ferry to the Island of Capri. Touring the island and climbing an endless number of stairs to the top Mount Solaro to enjoy the magnificent views. Finishing the climb down with yet another swim in the Tyrrhenian Sea and of course gelato. The endless amounts of gelato were had on this tour. I’ve been home for months now and have yet to have any ice cream knowing that it won’t compare to what I had in Italy.

The following day I’d booked myself onto a small boat tour as a little milestone birthday present to myself. But let’s be honest… this entire trip was for that. The captain of our small boat with 8 of us in tow took us along the Amalfi coastline. In between small, gorgeous islands at sea, little coves and caves, then porting in picturesque towns along the coastline to give our sea legs a break. Finishing the day off with a swim in the sea and of course some limoncello (Amalfi being the home) spritz. It was the perfect day before preparing to head back north and home.

Evenings in Amalfi were spent having date nights with myself. Sitting outside amongst the lemon trees enjoying the local wine and cuisine. Walking aimlessly around the brightly painted town trying to not buy everything and anything lemon. Meandering my way to the cliffs to watch the sunset along the coastline before heading back to my hostel. Multiple romantic nights for one and it was perfect.

A Shot Gasket in Tuscany

It was getting close to the end of my tour, and I was re-packing my bags to start my way back to the UK. My first day back at work quickly coming upon me fast. My first day back on the road I headed as far north as Port Ercole. Camping along the coast enjoying the last of the coastal views. My next stop was Lake Como. I started fresh and early hoping to get to Lake Como with plenty of time to spare before the setting sun. I was only 50 miles into my day when suddenly, I heard a dramatic change in my exhaust. I pulled over to see that my gasket had blew. Equipped with some tools but not the right ones for a blown gasket I quickly checked for the closest garage. Luckily a custom Harley shop was just a few miles away so off I went. As I pulled into the garage, to ensure I made a dramatic entrance - I dropped the bike. I was too shocked to be embarrassed and before I’d even wiggled my way out from underneath the bike three Italian men were already picking up the bike and bringing it to the mechanic. I guess if you are going to drop a bike on tour it’s best to do it at the mechanics where you can get it fixed. Luckily the only damage was to the right-hand mirror.

We needed the bike to cool down before starting any work. So, we went inside the shop for some espresso, and he gave me a small tour. Showing me all the custom Harley’s, he was working on and his plans for one’s that had just arrived. The engine cooled and he got to work on jimmying the gasket into the exhaust to ensure I could at least get home. Knowing full well that I’d have to replace the shot gasket with a new one. When repairing the exhaust, which is an after-market TEC exhaust, he also explained how you only needed one gasket in the exhaust. With this after-market exhaust, it required two copper gasket rings in the headers and then an additional graphite gasket just along the section of the pipe. Though I didn’t argue, I just let him get on with it knowing full well he’d figure it out once he turned on the bike to check the exhausts. He removed the copper gasket rings. Hooked everything back up, turned on the bike to feel that air was still escaping. He silently took the headers back off, put the copper gaskets back in and hooked everything back up. With me maybe sitting there sheepishly. He turned on the bike it was back to working properly again. Not a word was said but I was having a silent chuckle to myself. Sometimes it’s best not to argue with someone and to just let them find out for themselves. With the exhaust fixed, he quickly did an “Italian” mend on my mirror. Personally, I love it. My bikes first battle wound, well you know what I mean… and a little bit of character. Plus, a reminder of my time in Italy every time I use it. With the bike ready to go, we continued a bit of a chat. We shared a beer, discussed the current cost of living crisis that seems to be affecting all of Europe and the UK. Then finally sending me on my way with a smile and some biker magazines.

Lake Como and an Empty Fuel tank

This little unexpected issue had put a dent into my day and I was pushing to get my way to Lake Como. Surpassing the outskirts of Milan which I had originally wanted to spend a few hours looking around and heading straight to Como. I arrived after dark and the campsite I wanted to stay at which was frustratingly closed. They say bad things come in three, I guess. Luckily, I found a small B&B down the road which catered to bikers. They took great care of me. Ensuring the bike was safely stored in their garage and making sure I was fed and watered. The next morning, I spent some time exploring the twisties and tunnels surrounding Lake Como. Maybe going up and down some of the tunnels more than once for the fun of it. At this point my rear tire was properly on the way out and was needing replacing as soon as possible.

I couldn’t suss out a tire when in Italy, any tire fitting the bike would have taken, 3-4 weeks to arrive. Someone on Instagram had kindly sussed one out for me in Bern, Switzerland and I was headed there to get it changed before continuing the rest of the ride home. Crossing the border into Switzerland and back to maintained, pothole free roads I made it to Bern in one piece. Even taking motorways though Switzerland is a lovely experience. Pristine roads with lovely views. With a break at a Yamaha dealership and a new tire fitted I headed on my way again. Straight into a downpour. I stopped for a break from the rain and a quick pee. I was obviously getting tired because I placed my helmet on the sink not even registering it was an automatic tap and then further took a few more seconds to realise that my helmet was not being used as a bucket as it filled with water. It was time to find a place to call it quits. I found a cheap hotel an hour further along my route and donned my soaked helmet and headed there. Hoping for a night to dry out before making the last stretch to the tunnel the next day.

I planned to make the last stretch to Calais in one day. Catching the Eurotunnel home first thing the next morning. The closer I got to Calais the harder it seemed to find fuel. I later found out that France petrol stations were currently undergoing strikes. Halfway through France I was at half a tank of fuel and began my search to fill up. Every fuel station I stopped at was empty from Reims to Cambrai (45 minutes south of Calais). I’d come off the motorway to widen my search for fuel. One fuel station where I asked one of the attendants if there was any fuel in the area very bluntly told me in her thick French accent that “It wasn’t her problem”. Typical. I was now almost on E, and the panic was starting to set in. I was so close to the euro tunnel yet without the ability to get there. I started researching if there were any petrol stations in the area that could potentially have fuel. Spending a good portion of the evening walking to each one to check so as not waste the little fuel I did have left. Around 10 pm I called it quits. Taking a shower and heading to bed. Hoping things would be better in the morning. In the morning I was having a chat with a couple guys at the hotel who had suggested a spot I’d most likely be able to get some fuel. Off I went with the little fuel I had left. I found the petrol station which had been taped off but… there was a fuel truck refilling the station. I parked the bike and walked in hoping I was lucky enough to get a hold of some fuel. I was wet from spending some of the morning walking in the rain to fuel stations. I must have looked a little sad and pathetic with wet hair and a slightly panicked look in my eye because my luck had finally turned. The wonderful lady took pity on me and even though the fuel was for emergency vehicles only she let me fill my tank to help get me back to the UK. I was beyond grateful. I was a mix of laughter and tears. I probably looked borderline mad. I filled up and thanked her repeatedly then headed straight to Calais to get the Eurotunnel home. Ready to be out of France and back on home ground.