After the wettest April on record, imagine our collective delight on Saturday morning when the skies were blue-ish and the predicted rainfall was saving it for another day. Our trip started almost on time though the crowds at Markeaton were somewhat less than expected and 'Top Box' Tony had failed to live up to his nickname.
I would love to own a business selling petrol cans. The road from Calais to Paris is littered with them, as now is the M25. The poor motor-bicyclist runs out of petrol. A friend, if he can find one at that juncture, travels 20 miles in search of a can and some fuel to put in it, then returns as a knight in shining armour to the rescue. Yes, Digger had problems reading his fuel gauge (though later tried to blame it on faulty German engineering...) and an unscheduled stop occurred near Thurrock. This was only slightly upstaged in the nominations for the daily prize we will henceforth refer to as 'the Reidy' by Richard wanting to see what his bike looked like lying horizontally in a petrol station though Pete's '20 miles in 4th gear', while not a serious contender, should get a special mention.
The journey, thereafter, proceeded with little further comedic event and the night spent in Reims was very pleasant although the hotel being described as 'rustic' on the internet was being perhaps a little kind, not that it mattered much... enough anaesthetic was consumed on Saturday evening that we could have slept anywhere.
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