Journey from the holiday inn to the Eurotunnel terminal is an exhausting 2.5 minutes. It's some god awful time in the morning and I'm fuzzy headed, slightly bemused at what I'm embarking on, nervous and hungry as I've overslept and missed breakfast. Getting my boarding card and the bike loaded onto the train is surprisingly painless. The guy managing the process gets me to park the bike in a way that doesn't seem sensible but I figure he know's what he's doing so I go with it. As the train get's underway I review my detailed itinerary for the next 3 months. Get to Calais, head south to Morocco and ... er that's it really. Vague ideas about getting to Tunisia via Sicily flop around half-formed in what passes for my mind at this time in
... read more