As per usual, I had left so much to do till last minute. After a wonderful send off day (Thank you very much by the way), I started to pack and get the last things ready at 9. It was not till 4 the next morning, when I decided that I should get some sleep, as the next day was important. But I still had much to do.
Getting up at 6 was necessary, as I rushed up until 9:15, the time I had set to bike off for Malton. Literally up to the last second I was doing stuff. I had little time for goodbyes, and would be back in 19 days anyway. So without too much ado, I set off on my trip.
The first two trains went well, although I had to run to catch the one to London. The journey was very enjoyable, thanks to company via txt, some awesome music, and some much needed dozing.
Then it went to pot. I was already having to do a complicated method of getting across London because of my bike, but the weekend I happened to be trying that, was the same weekend that the Underground decided to do major repairs on most of the essential lines, and I was only allowed on one line with my bike already.
No matter, a couple of illegal tube journeys, several flights of stairs (hauling a 70ish kg bike up), and a longer bike ride, and I was at the station. I wanted a picture on the London Bridge, so I got a nice German man to take one, then circled round, so I could cycle over it.
I got onto the train to Dover, and a very kind young lady moved so I could be at the bike rack. Sat opposite me was a foreign lady, who comes into the story later.
Getting off the train, I cycled to the Dover Ferry Port, feeling very small on a bike, went through all the checks fine, and was told to wait at lane 110. This I did, outside for an hour, not able to leave my bike, as it would fall over.
The journey was good, I bought 2 maps that would prove essential, and a phrasebook, as I started to realise my french was nowhere near good enough. Guess who I saw? Yes, that foreign lady. I had some wine, and then thought I shouldn't have, because I would have to cycle to my hotel.
This was the hard part. My pitifully rushed maps that I printed out this morning weren't good enough, and I was not used to directing myself in France. Needless to say I got lost, and for half an hour cycled around industrial Calais at 10:30 at night. Adventure! Eventually I asked someone, which was unnecessary, as the road I had led myself to was the right one.
The feeling of relief at Bonsai Hotel was amazing. And guess who I saw there, the same young foreign lady. This was wierd.
I still had much to think about, so didn't get to sleep till 1. But I was there, I had done it. 3 weeks of sleeping an average of 5 hours a night, and only 2 hours on the last night, X amount of money spent on equipment, and enough nervous energy expended to sink a battleship, and it had begun!
