We Storm the Beaches of Normandy
We woke up this morning to a light smattering of dew and frantic avalanches of cortisol. After two months of patiently waiting for our motorcycles, lovingly called “Sammie” (Tay’s XT250) and “Katie” (Scott’s KTM 500 EXC), it was finally time to flee the UK via ferry to Normandy, almost 81 years after D-Day and 71 days since we left on our adventure.
Our host Darren emerged from his house at 6:30 a.m. to find Scott frantically removing the seat from his KTM. In the ten or so years since she was built, Katie had developed a short in her harness and was leaching power from the battery, slowly but surely. We only realized this, of course, once we were 15 minutes from boarding the boat. So, with shaky hands and deep breaths, Scott worked tirelessly to jump Katie with the kind help of our host and his battery pack.
Tay was cool-headed enough to call the ferry company and check if we could still make it, which took an immense amount of pressure off Scott as he tried to solve an electrical issue under the gun (or clock, as it were).
Darren took pity on us as Scott sweated into the guts of his bike, grabbing a jump pack and saying, “Here mate, you need this more than I do!”
After a rushed and grateful set of goodbyes, we headed straight to the port, hoping there was still a boat to the land of baguettes and loose women.
Et voilà! There was! We shuffled onto the deck and took our rightful place in the onboard diner. The deck crew had a raucous time pointing back and forth, directing us where to scoot the bikes until one of them grabbed what looked like a gymnastics crash mat and cinched it down across our seats. It didn’t damage the bikes and kept them secure to the deck, which was a relief.
Once aboard, we dined on a sandwich and a croissant, already enjoying the vast improvement in food quality. It was something we desperately missed in the UK: flavor.
After a lovely six-hour ferry ride (including another jump-start for Katie so we could disembark), we devoured our first savory, gooey, cheesy galettes and crêpes. Fueled by adventure and carbs, we rode through Caen and into the woods, where we set up camp under an abandoned water tower. Sheltered by graffitied walls and the sound of happy little birds, we fall asleep feeling accomplished and excited for the days ahead.
Finally, after a decade of waiting, saving, and preparing, McQueensRide is alive and well.