Finished.

Finished
I'm home. 17 days and over 3000 miles later, the bike and I got back
late last night. The bags are unpacked, the bike has been cleaned,
her oil cap is properly on again, and I have one more day to get back
into gear before I go back to work to pay for it all.
The final day dawned clear enough, and we loaded up and woke the
neighbours all one mile from the hotel to the ferry port. We sat in
the queue for a while, watching the trucks inch through customs. We
met a triumph rider from the Wirral (and boy, was he surprised I knew
where that was) and a Scottish couple on a road king, also heading
home from Cascais.
We chatted a bit, as bikers do, and I begged some insulation tape of
the Harley rider.
My oil cap is temperamental. If you can get it off without breaking
it, you can check the oil, which I had to on Thursday. But to get it
back in, flush with the tank as per a pretty but wholly impractical
piece of design, is another knack altogether. One I lack. Which is why
I seldom check my oil. So since oil-light-gate; it had been 45 degrees
off flush, and I popped it out every time my leg bumped it taking the
bike off the stand. Tape was required before the bike got tied down on
board, and in the absence of gaffer, insulation would do. Hell, I'd
have used sellotape at that point.
The crossing was uneventful if choppy and Guernsey isn't where I
thought it was.
I passed some of the time practicing Kung Fu forms in preparation for
grading, much to the amusement of the Latvian goldwing club. I note
that they confined their pointing and laughing to one deck below and
well out of reach. Considering the size of these guys, I find that
very funny.
We disembarked in the dry and risked it without waterproofs. It may
not have been raining, but clearly it had, and the spray from the road
soaked us from the knees down long before guildford.
I made it home, having dropped off the bike and battled the tube just
in time to collapse in that position technically known as a heap on my
nice, comfortable bed.


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