Time well spent

I wrote a ridiculously long email to a very good friend yesterday - nothing new for me - recounting just a tiny portion of my travels through France. I thought I was being quite sparse on the details, leaving out plenty, until I looked back over the email and realised it was probably in excess of 1500 words. Ok, I just copied and pasted the email into MS Word - 2,345 words.

Considering that it would take me a good day and a half to produce a decent 2,000 word academic essay, or perhaps a good couple of hours to produce a credible 1,000 word news article, this email sure didn't feel so huge. It only took me about an hour to write (and it felt like much less), and it wasn't terribly written.

Looking back, it is exactly the same with my motorcycle journey. It didn't take all that long, and it didn't feel as life-changingly epic at the time... But reading back over what was just a simple re-telling of a much-told, shortened story, I was inundated with waves of happiness, laughter, excitement and, most of all, nostalgia.

I may not have fully recognised it at the time, but riding through France on a half-broken, fully-loaded motorcycle has brought me some of the best memories of my life. And being the best memories means they were also some of the most valuable learning experiences, merely because I remember them!

I now know how to use broken French and comical miming to explain to a French mechanic a suspected fuel supply problem on a motorcycle; I know that dipping a fresh croissant in a cup of steaming hot coffee creates a warm, dripping, heavenly breakfast; I know that just a sleeping bag on the groundsheet of the tent is not going to keep you warm enough through French autumn nights; I know that hard work, compromise and an open mind can make any dream come true, no matter how seemingly naive; I know that I am lucky enough to be dating the best (most beautiful, intelligent, patient, and understanding) woman in the world, without exception.

The list could go on for well over 2,345 words.

These memories-turned-lessons, not just from France but from all of 2008 and 2009, are what have been driving my 2010. Thus far it hasn't been the best year, but it was never going to be after the highs of life in Europe. 2010 was always going to be about working, rebuilding, and learning how to act on these lessons learned; how to better embrace and appreciate the important things in life, whilst still acknowledging the hard work needed to have them.

Life isn't ideal now, but it will be soon. I know that, because I have had it before - and idealism can lead to the ideal, even if that ideal is different to what you had hoped. In the mean time, I still have the most amazing memories and lessons to call upon whenever I need...

Excerpt from the aforementioned email...

Now where was I up to with telling you about the UK and about the mad travels over there? Basically, after living in Edinburgh for just over a year, I decided to blow all my money (which was not much money) on a motorcycle and a decent tent and head to France. The aim was to see how far I could get before I ran out of money (which wasn't all that far in the end). But it was amazing.

The bike was pretty shit. I remember taking it on the first long-haul test run, taking it from Edinburgh to London (400mi) and back for the weekend, just to see how it would go. I left Edniburgh at about 6am in driving rain and high winds on a bike I had ridden less than 20mi on, only to discover that it didn't like water at all. Hahaha once I crossed the border into England and the rain stopped, the bike ran fine. I got it to London, and a mate helped me pull it apart and fix it up a bit, and it didn't miss too many beats until I got to France a couple of months later.

I crossed the channel into France sometime in September I think it was. And it was amazing. I was planning to ride south, avoiding the motorways as much as possible, camping wherever possible, and doing really whatever I felt like. I had two dates to keep to - I was meeting my parents in Dijon about 4 days after I got to France, and then I was meeting Monisha in Nice about 4 days after I met my parents.

My parents were going to Dijon to visit old friends who had bought an 11th century French abbey in this gorgeous little farming valley and converted it into a luxury hotel - http://www.abbaye-dela-bussiere.com/home.shtml - so I said I would meet them along the way. They, of course, were staying at their friend's hotel, while I was planning on just camping up the road at the community camp ground.

I met them on the evening they arrived (I'd turned up a little earlier in the day), and they were in a rush to go meet their friends for a birthday dinner for somebody. So they went off to eat an 8 course meal at the hotel (the chef has a michelin star or two apparently), while I made a cup of soup in my tent in the pouring rain, read a book, and went to sleep.

I got a call in the morning from my mother - she was quite embarrassed. Apparently her friends didn't know that I was camping out up the road until they asked after me towards the end of the night, and so mum got in a shitload of trouble. Hilarious. So they invited me to come stay at the hotel as well and oh my god, I have never stayed anywhere so nice in my life. It was amazing. I can't even tell you how amazing it was. When you are rich, go stay there for a week or two. I still entertain the thought of applying for a job there or something like that... its a little piece of heaven.

I left them after a couple of days to go and meet Mon - it was a day and a half trip to Nice, and I didn't want to be late. I camped out that night, and then when I went to start the bike in the morning (with 500mi still to go to get to Nice), the bike wouldn't start. Hahaha it took me almost two hours of jump starting and fiddling and pushing this bike around the caravan park (where people were hurling abuse at me for making such a noise so early in the morning) before I finally got it running and to a bike store to get a few new parts - a whole new experience in itself when dealing with a French mechanic in my very, very limited French.

To make up for the lost time, I jumped on the motorway and screamed down to Nice... I swear I did an average speed of about 95mph the whole way, which is moving fairly quick on a fully-loaded 600cc bike...

I got to the airport about 10 minutes after she came out of the gate, we packed even more stuff on the bike, squeezed Mon in, and set off for our campsite for the night. Brave girl that one. I took a wrong turn (didn't have maps, was only going by French street signs), and we ended up on a highway going in the wrong direction with no turnoffs and no space for u-turns. Thats fine, I had done that a few times before - you just wait till the next turn off, turn around, come back and start again.

But then the bike stopped. Monisha gave me a funny look, I shrugged my shoulders, started it again, and off we went. In another few miles it stopped again. Shit. Hahaha after a long discussion, we decided to stick wtih the original plan - get to the next turn-off, and either look for a hotel there or turn around and get back into Nice and find a hotel there and deal with it in the morning (it was dark by this stage).

So off we go, stopping occassionally, restarting, going, stopping, restarting, making very slow progress. We searched around at the next town but couldn't find a hotel anywhere. So, by now cold and very frustrated, we decide to try to get back into Nice. Back on the highway. We made it about 4mi back towards Nice (it was about 25mi away) before the bike just wouldn't start again. Hahahaha now we were stuck on the side of a highway, in the middle of nowhere with no towns or turnoffs or anything. And I have the best girlfriend in the world. She calmly decided that she would use one of those roadside phones to get a towtruck driver. He came, and spoke not a word of English, and struggled to understand our French. We finally got him to take us and the bike to the nearest hotel - which we had just missed out on getting to ourselves.

It cost us 300 euros for the tow truck, another 100 euros for the hotel, and I still had to get the bike fixed in the morning. Hahaha I think I cried a little that night...

The next morning was a comedy of errors. The local mechanic spoke no English, no one spoke any English, and my French does not included mechanical terminology. So after hilariously acting out the problem with the bike, and what I thought might be wrong with it, the mechanic makes out to me that he can't fix it now, and it would take 5 days to get the part (this involved about 4 people helping to translate) and it would cost over 200 euros. The next nearest mechanic who might be able to do it sooner was in Nice.

I was pretty much out of money already, so I called my uncle in Australia (a bike mechanic) and described the problem to him. He offered a few ideas over the phone, and I thought they were worth a try. So in the hotel carpark, with Monisha handing me spanners and holding bits and pieces as I pulled the bike apart, I finally isolated the problem and put together a temporary fix.

We made it in to Nice that afternoon (holding our breath the whole way) and set about finding the next mechanic. He was also out of parts, but would have one in within 2 days, and, combined with my dodgy fixing and a few extra bits and pieces, I could get the bike fixed up for about 50 euros total - and I could keep riding it in the meantime. Hahaha so we did that, and from then on had at least two problem-free weeks of riding up and down the Cote d'Azur. And I still have a girlfriend. Unbelievable.

Hahahaha I had the time of my life. The most beautiful countryside, gorgeous towns, history everywhere, friendly people, and amazing food. I can't wait to go back to France. And it was so perfect on the motorcycle... You'd ride into a tiny little village early in the mornings, and all you could smell would be the bakery. And the French people love motorbikers, so everyone would be extra friendly. And you could almost just reach out and touch vineyards while riding through gorgeous back lanes in the middle of nowhere. Absolute paradise.

We had to cut the trip much shorter because of all the money spent fixing the bike, which was unfortunate, but probably for the best - it was October, and it was starting to get much too cold for camping already, and it was only going to get a whole heap worse in Europe over winter.

So we slowly worked our way back up north, stopping everywhere, still camping (although we were having to wear almost all our clothes at night to stay warm), until we got to Lyon where we met Monisha's Edinburgh flatmate, Sam, and stayed with his family for a couple of days.

We made it back to London in once piece, just. By the time we left Lyon the bike was starting to limp quite badly, and it was a bit of a push to get it home - I didn't have the tools to fix the current problem, and even though some nice French mechanics fixed it for free at one stage, it quickly returned. I found out why as soon as we got back into England - the chain was completely stuffed. Hahaha we're lucky we made it back. There are so many more stories to tell... But I'll leave it at that for now...