Picking up Sherbert
To recap, we'd been awake and travelling to Offenburg, Germany since 2:30 am. Bikemoto's offer of a free coffee felt overwhelmingly generous while we waited for Sherbert's paperwork to be readied. There was a hire agreement to cover our ride back to Ireland, the ownership documentation, Certificate of Compliance, manuals, sales agreements, and more.
It all took time. All the time I was taking stock of the enormity of the day and second-guessing the plan.
Self doubt
I'd not ridden for nearly 5 years since fixing Arod's speedometer sensor and finding his fork seals were leaking. COVID 19 and working from home were little motivation to set things right. Now I am about to ride a new-to-me model of bike I've not ridden before.
Sherbert is heavier than an ST1300, a weightier insurance liability, and has a dual clutch transmission (DCT). He's extra expensive to buy and more-so to fix. I'm riding on the right side of the road in Europe and with my wife riding pillion.
There was every reason to run back to the hotel and then to run back home. Mrs G was very supportive and without her encouragement Sherbert's future with us hung in the balance. That and my natural instinct for completing out the most incredible and high-risk plans most people wouldn't believe possible.
Setting out
It was already 5:30 pm and the store closes at 6 pm. The bike was wheeled out into the rain and onto the forecourt. I suited up and donned my helmet. Mrg G volunteered to hang around while I took Sherbert for a familiarisation ride and gave more words of encouragement.
I mounted Sherbert. In my dreams we connected instantly and just now I only felt awkward. There are enough YouTube videos to instruct what buttons and switches do what and for a moment my borrowed knowledge deserted me.
The ignition switched on, I pressed the starter button. I don't remember hearing the engine and I do remember a couple of staff, Mrs G, and a handful of customers stood around. I remember too the small-looking gap between curb-parked cars leading toward the foreign road. It was wet and raining only slightly and enough to give the tarmac pavement a sheen.
I naturally grabbed a left handful of air and missed a gear leaver that wasn't even there. Fool! I tried to cover the moment with a laugh and repeated the same mistake. It may be 5 years since I rode and my muscle memory seemed pretty up to date.
The throttle felt jerky and I forgot how to use the GoldWing's walking forward trick. I pressed D for drive and hesitated. Now or never. We lurched across the crowded space and threaded between the vehicles in an ungainly and foot-down wobble, crossed the curb boundary, and stopped pointing straight across the road. Again, that throttle.
I tried to check both directions were clear of traffic and to work out what side of the road I should ride on. The left turn onto the right side seemed the easiest and proved difficult. For a moment it seemed obvious I was to either drop the bike, mount the far curb and drop the bike, or freeze where I was.
The pressure of an audience has never been so great. Actually, that's bollocks. There have been times, of course, where scrutiny was a part of what I did for a living. That written, it was only a relief when Sherbert allowed us to jerk into a reasonable position on the road and I got both feet up.
Practice
The industrial estate had a T-junction and a short curve to a turning space. I rode up and down with an occasional oncoming heavy truck for company. I practiced stopping and failed to halt more than once with any grace. At each end of the run was a U-turn, which I managed to make into a W and an M. Each circuit was improved a little and I returned to Mrs G.
She was now alone and the store shutting up. My audience had squirmed at my ineptitude and retreated to avoid any feeling of responsibility, or need to fetch a broken machine should the worst happen. Mrs G offered more time. There was no rush and we both felt how scared I was now the reality had not only set in but been proven grim.
I thought for a while.
As long as Mrs G was happy to board I was ready to ride us back to the Holiday Inn. I was equally happy for her to grab a taxi and if honest, I hoped she'd do just that. Bravely, she mounted Sherbert with an awkward aerial spits and caught her boot on the seat and on the arm rests. There's more to adapt to on this here GoldWing than only missing a clutch.
Retreat
I poured every ounce of prior knowledge and guile into our ride to the hotel. Balancing us all two up was an immediate barrier at the very first junction. Thereafter, I judged what I could to avoid stopping and thank goodness for roundabouts! The concentration on keeping the black things down was hampered by navigating too.
I'd not set up CarPlay and I'd messed up the Honda navigation, which was ultra zoomed in anyway. I reacted to Next Left and Straight Ahead.
Yes, I recall it was stressful and difficult and I also remember a moment when I "got it". I was riding. It felt overall good and positive despite self-recriminating over each and every mistake. Mrs G's voice in the headset was a blessing though and it was useful being able to share my experience and learning. It was less comfortable for Mrs G knowing that a collision or other calamity sounded imminent with each breath I took.
Taking stock
At the hotel I parked. More accurately we careened into a parking slot with a huge cry of relief having just used Reverse for the first time when we missed the parking ticket machine at the barrier.
We checked in and I was worried that despite fitting the new disk lock, I couldn't see Sherbert from the window. I set to moving the bike to a spot under our room. Boarding Sherbert felt more natural; reversing was a pinch; riding down the car park to the new spot was a breeze. Parking was easy. Cool.
Changed, we were ready for a curry and after, I wanted to call my brother-in-law, Martin.
Martin lives in Germany and was eager to help make the deal with Motobike for us before we realised they had everything under control. When he learned what bike we were buying he'd become quite excited for us and I think, amused at the bodacious plan, and assured that we've taken leave of our senses.
Although caught in listening-to-sister mode in the photo, my memory is of his grins and laughing every time our faces failed to hide our own surprise at what we were doing.
We chatted for what felt like ages and spun the camera around the bike for Martin while getting ready to say goodnight to Sherbert.
Saying goodnight
I walked around this GoldWing and tried to familiarise myself with his form. Martin was surprised at the size of the GoldWing close up. Now I thought back to my first encounter with an ST1300 (Pan European) when rider training with Paragon in the UK.
It was dry now and he was splattered with light droplets of dirt all about his engine covers and his rear. I fondly recalled my Shadowfax covered in winter filth like he'd rolled around a muddy paddock and Sherbert's collection of grime didn't seem so bad. I'll have to watch him, mind.
He was–and is–big. Martin's right.
Stood looking along Sherbert's spine from the trunk I recalled the huge scale of that first ST1300 I stood next to when rider training; long, tall, and wide. I'd sworn I could never ride a bike of that size. I've owned two ST1300s since.
You get close to your bikes and I wondered if I would be as close to Sherbert. He gave us those big bug eyes and begged us to return him to the comfort of indoors. It was a wrench to leave him. I explained the scale and weight limits posted in the hotel lift and I'm not certain he understood. I'm not certain he's ever slept out, even.
The disc lock double-checked and handbrake dutifully applied, we took stock of our day. It had been quite a day and the exhaustion was taking over.
We bought the lock the week before up in Dublin and I've not used one before. Keep that in mind.
Walking away and just before loosing sight, I looked back over my shoulder to catch a last glimpse of my new bike. I could hardly make out the screen behind the veil of parked cars.
Fear feeds challenge
Back in our room, after checking on Sherbert out the window, I confessed to Mrs G how worried I was about the plan. Riding 600 Km a day for 3 days felt miles away from the reality I now imagined wobbling through the countryside. She was OK with it and we agreed that if needed we could ride directly to the ferry 900 Km away in Cherbourg and accept paying a little more VAT. I could even drop her off at the airport if her being pillion was a problem to my riding. "You're shattered. Let's see how you feel in the morning", she coached.
I kept to myself exactly how worried I was: the vision of Mrs G lying hurt by my oversight, stupidity, or passing the limits of my talent. At that moment I almost slipped into despair and failing to step over the barriers my mind was creating.
It's the right time then to stop fearing the future and to re-evaluate the present built over a past:
- I've 10-years and over 150,000 Km experience of riding sports touring bikes.
- I've 37 years driving experience.
- I've driven on the right side of the road many times before, including with a pillion.
- I've driven a lot with automatic gearboxes.
- I had grabbed a handful of air where the clutch should be and even looked for the gear shift–riding muscle memory is there!
We slept and not before my mind reminded me of just how dangerous a task still lay ahead for me and how that curry demanded its attention!
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