The JCB’s woke me up bang on 7am, even though I’d set my alarm in case it was a saints day or something. A walk in to town to the Carrefour Market, a bit like Tesco Express, got some breakfast provisions, and soon the kettle was boiling and hands were wrapped around a hot cup of coffee. After chomping down a couple of pain au chocolat, while watching air balloons drift over the campsite, it was time for the final pack up. I don’t know where all the time went, but it was almost 10am when I rolled out of the campsite, headed for home, which turned out to be 650 miles away.
All the good twisty roads started happening almost straight away, stopping occasionally for a photograph. But, by Vichy the fun was over, as I well knew, and now the rest of the journey would mainly be a grind. I had plenty of water and a few nut bars in my tank bag, and wasn’t planning on a lunch stop as I’d rather get to Calais early with the chance of an earlier train, than get there just in time.
All was going swimmingly until Auxerre. I’d plotted my route on the Garmin as a belt and braces measure. A handy feature of my new satnav, was a distance display to the next petrol station. I’d kept one trip meter zeroed at every fill up, so I knew my distance travelled on that tank of fuel. When I turned onto the N77 out of Auxerre headed for Troyes, the “next petrol” indication changed from 0.5km to 28km, a distance I couldn’t make with my available petrol. No problem, a quick U turn and follow the directions to the Leclerc garage. On arrival it was obvious the last time petrol was pumped here was in about 1964. Never mind I’ll choose the next option 3 Kim’s away, which it turned out, didn’t sell E5, and as I’m an E10 sceptic I gave it a miss. Third time lucky…..not this time, the site had been redeveloped and was now a national diy store. The trip meter was now on 190 miles with the low fuel light burning into my visor. My next nearest choice was a Total garage, very near the peage that I didn’t want to go on. On nearing the Total station the satnav suddenly displayed an exclamation mark in a triangle. Mmmm, never seen that before, I’ll ignore it, it’s bound to go away. Rolling, almost literally onto the forecourt the problem was obvious. Every pump had a canvas hood over it, both petrol and diesel. The garage had no fuel whatsoever. The E10 would have been worth the risk in hindsight. Fortunately the lady behind the counter spoke good English and gave me directions to a Cora supermarket nearby, that had fuel. I was suddenly spoilt for choice as the Cora garage even had E5 super. Boy, was I relieved.
I let the satnav get me back to the N77, where the saga started, as my brain was fried and didn’t have a clue what part of the city I was now in. My Calais eta on the Garmin had increased by almost an hour, so pressed on more enthusiastically than normal to Troyes, and the peage. I knew I’d have to make one fuel stop on this stretch, as the motorway is far longer than the Fazers range. Time wise I’d got back around 20 minutes on my Calais eta, which was more than acceptable, and grabbed a sandwich, gave the chain a lube and gassed up just north of Reims. Now it was just a matter of watching the trip meter miles increase and the Garmin kilometres decrease. The fuel gauge was of course heading towards zero. It was a tough hour or so, but with the peage terminal looming in to sight, Calais was just around the corner so to speak. With the peage fee paid, I pulled up at the Eurotunnel check in, to find I’d missed the earlier train by 5 minutes. If the Auxerre drama hadn’t happened I’d have easily made that.
An hour or so’s wait was an opportunity to wind down, before boarding the train for its 35 minute whizz under the Channel. A quick gas up at the Folkestone terminal, and I was in the boring 50mph average speed camera section of the M20, in next to no time. Once clear of Maidstone, normal service was resumed, and was home by about half past midnight. The Fazer having devoured 650 miles since breakfast, and 2369 over the week. The bike was no doubt ready to do it all again, unlike me, I was totally knackered.