Setting Sail

Storms caused all ferries from Newhaven to be cancelled yesterday; angry winds raging 60km per hour found not just boats, but even trains on a reduced capacity; the weather was so poor we found ourselves bracing for a delay in our journey.

It is hard not to get a certain fever regarding schedules, this stretch is the only that has any firm planning and the loss of a day mounts the pressure to get through difficult to impossible volumes of kilometres one we hit French soil. Our accommodation is booked in Paris, ready for us to roll into the vibrant city right past the mighty Eiffel Tower and on down the Seine, so we can't realistically absorb a reduction in time planned for the trip on the route down from Dieppe.

You would think this alone would make us somewhat inclined to be prepared for the ferry crossing....

For those that know us, know that we have a tendency to fly by the seat of our pants and today was no different.

In true Fogg and Passepartout style, we flew out the house to catch our train to the harbour; bags trailing, garments flapping, legs pedalling furiously with an element of slight delirium and chaos.

We must have looked like two maniacs, cycling down a closed road at a rate suggesting our panniers were stuffed with riches we just obtained in some unlikely heist.

Our disarray is charming, I tell myself....though I still apologise to those that are subjected to it! Why we can never seem to get anywhere on time is genuinely a thing that baffles me.

In my mind, we would have screeched dramatically into the train station, wheels skidding, a flair of adventure and importance that caused people to scatter so we could pass, we would have blown through the barriers and chased that train down the tracks as it inched out of view. We would have got aboard somehow.

What actually happened; In an effort to keep up with James, I squeezed into an impossible gap through traffic much to the delight (annoyance) of a driver with a wonderful moustache and a knitted mustard cardigan on who nearly clipped me. I cut up a Golf on the roundabout and almost plowed into a wall of students near the station entrance, dismounting in the most ungraceful way (picture sprawling limbs and Einstein hair)  before running in to find James standing under the departures board shaking his head.

One minute too late.

Red faced and sweaty, we stood for a moment before realising we had in fact got the timings completely wrong anyway, that train we had just missed would have got us to the harbour, with 45 minutes to check in and board....which is half the amount of time they tell you is acceptable. This next train would have us arrive with 16 minutes before the boat floated away.

They were not going to let us on.

We decided to take a shot in the dark anyway because irrespective of our total lack of organisation we had two things on our side; optimism and a packet of custard creams that are perfect for bribes in my humble opinion. (See Lou for the root of this viewpoint; Tracker bars will indeed get you a car wash, no money need be exchanged).

We got to the check-in office, I held the bikes outside whilst staring hardcore through that glass window at James and the woman behind the counter, both of them nodding or shaking their heads sporadically. I wanted to shout to him, that whilst his smile is genuinely wonderful, I still had the custard creams and would give them up if things got really desperate.

I've been told that it was a concoction of smiles, wit, charisma and compliments that allowed James to talk us aboard and as we sped down to the entrance, I distinctly recall feeling like we had indeed become the characters of Around the World in 80 Days, just like I had always hoped.

Sometimes, the best bits are the moments that happen right after it almost falls apart or perhaps it is the jeopardy that tastes the strongest. I can't really tell you. All I know; we are floating on bottle green seas heading towards a place I've never been, with the intention of saying goodbye to Britain for a long while.

One thing I can be sure of: I'm not in Kansas anymore.