News From The Front Line

Well France was fab… Well cared for with immaculate Aires, beautiful towns and villages, everything you would expect, avenues of limes, fantastic gardens and a sense that the people care for their country with a sense of pride and belonging. Well groomed, clean and tidy. By contrast, Belgium was a disappointment on more than one level. If you were to compare France to Belgium by way of metaphor then France is the dashingly handsome, adventurous, well dressed, charmer d’Artagnan and Belgium is…. well, Tom Sawyer.

Almost every Aire in Belgium, that we visited, had no fresh water either as a result of vandalism or because the planners considered water a luxury, perhaps, that the travelling Motoroamer could manage without. As we had depleted our 120 litre freshwater tank and the 9 litres in the toilet flush tank, this led to our rapid departure from Belgium, as we travelled from Aire to Aire in an easterly direction in search of the illusive stuff.

Exit Belgium enter Luxembourg. Back to fab roads and the Aire we stayed on was top notch. It even had water.

From Luxembourg we entered Germany. Roads to dream of. The Autobahns are fab… all of a sudden the speed limit drops off the SatNav and it becomes a free for all, albeit a controlled one. German drivers are good. Very good… see Vettel and Verstapen. A lot of the Autobahns are two lanes and it takes a degree of acceptance that the inside lane is for transit and the outside lane is for going very very fast. Overtake and move over is the mantra and if only we employed this ethic in Blighty the motorways would be a lot quicker.

Then we entered Poland.

The roads, don’t get me started on the roads! After the winding rolling billiard table smooth ribbons of tarmac we had enjoyed in France, Luxembourg and Germany, crossing the border into Poland was worse than coming home to Blighty! Tired old strips of ex-communist concrete and terrifying tarmac, patch repaired time and again, with potholes the size of bomb craters (perhaps remnants of WW2?) and cracked, crumbling edges conspiring to lure the Squeakster and his occupants to an untimely end, upside down in the trees and scrub at the side of the road.

Squeaky could hardly be described as trim. Portly would be too harsh. I’d settle on generously proportioned at 8M long including the bike rack and 2.3M wide, not including the wing mirrors. I’m not saying that the Polish drivers are terrible or anything but you could be forgiven for thinking so as you are forced dangerously close to the mayhem that is the edge of the road for the thousandth time by the oncoming traffic.

In truth they, like we were trying to steer a course around the deficiencies of the Polish road ministry with as little damage to themselves or their suspension as possible. That doesn’t excuse the overtaking though.

We’ve all been in situations where we think we have plenty of road, pull out and floor it, then half way through the manoeuvre feel the sphincter clenching certainty that you aren’t going to be able to pull back in before the head on impact with the vehicle coming in the opposite direction. Get used to this happening, time and time again. Some of these guys (not all by a long shot) but a substantial number, have to get in front of the little line of cars, lorries in front of them at any cost and absolutely, one hundred percent rely on you slamming the brakes on so they can complete the manoeuvre.

I’m kinda expecting this more and more as we venture further into Eastern Europe and Greece. Who said Motoroaming is a slow leisurely lifestyle. I finished that first stint in Poland with a splitting headache and super tense back and shoulders and the phrase “That was an eye opener” foremost in my tired brain.

To appreciate the full Polish A road experience please visit our facebook page newsfromthefrontline where you can see a video of Polish A roads in action.

Well France was fab… Well cared for with immaculate Aires, beautiful towns and villages, everything you would expect, avenues of limes, fantastic gardens and a sense that the people care for their country with a sense of pride and belonging. Well groomed, clean and tidy. By contrast, Belgium was a disappointment on more than one level. If you were to compare France to Belgium by way of metaphor then France is the dashingly handsome, adventurous, well dressed, charmer d’Artagnan and Belgium is…. well, Tom Sawyer.
Almost every Aire in Belgium, that we visited, had no fresh water either as a result of vandalism or because the planners considered water a luxury, perhaps, that the travelling Motoroamer could manage without. As we had depleted our 120 litre freshwater tank and the 9 litres in the toilet flush tank, this led to our rapid departure from Belgium, as we travelled from Aire to Aire in an easterly direction in search of the illusive stuff.
Exit Belgium enter Luxembourg. Back to fab roads and the Aire we stayed on was top notch. It even had water.
From Luxembourg we entered Germany. Roads to dream of. The Autobahns are fab… all of a sudden the speed limit drops off the SatNav and it becomes a free for all, albeit a controlled one. German drivers are good. Very good… see Vettel and Verstapen. A lot of the Autobahns are two lanes and it takes a degree of acceptance that the inside lane is for transit and the outside lane is for going very very fast. Overtake and move over is the mantra and if only we employed this ethic in Blighty the motorways would be a lot quicker.
Then we entered Poland.
The roads, don’t get me started on the roads! After the winding rolling billiard table smooth ribbons of tarmac we had enjoyed in France, Luxembourg and Germany, crossing the border into Poland was worse than coming home to Blighty! Tired old strips of ex-communist concrete and terrifying tarmac, patch repaired time and again, with potholes the size of bomb craters (perhaps remnants of WW2?) and cracked, crumbling edges conspiring to lure the Squeakster and his occupants to an untimely end, upside down in the trees and scrub at the side of the road.
Squeaky could hardly be described as trim. Portly would be too harsh. I’d settle on generously proportioned at 8M long including the bike rack and 2.3M wide, not including the wing mirrors. I’m not saying that the Polish drivers are terrible or anything but you could be forgiven for thinking so as you are forced dangerously close to the mayhem that is the edge of the road for the thousandth time by the oncoming traffic.
In truth they, like we were trying to steer a course around the deficiencies of the Polish road ministry with as little damage to themselves or their suspension as possible. That doesn’t excuse the overtaking though.
We’ve all been in situations where we think we have plenty of road, pull out and floor it, then half way through the manoeuvre feel the sphincter clenching certainty that you aren’t going to be able to pull back in before the head on impact with the vehicle coming in the opposite direction. Get used to this happening, time and time again. Some of these guys (not all by a long shot) but a substantial number, have to get in front of the little line of cars, lorries in front of them at any cost and absolutely, one hundred percent rely on you slamming the breaks on so they can complete the manoeuvre.
I’m kinda expecting this more and more as we venture further into Eastern Europe and Greece. Who said Motoroaming is a slow leisurely lifestyle. I finished that first stint in Poland with a splitting headache and super tense back and shoulders and the phrase “That was an eye opener” foremost in my tired brain.

It’d always been a dream…  Until 26/06/2016.

 

When I first met Sian I almost lost her Edit by Sian: Never ;-D . Bound for the US of A she was (or Spain). That was the plan as far as it went. Somehow I managed to convince her that a life of mundane sensibility was a fair trade. Balanced against the premise that tomorrow is another day.

As life progressed and our eldest got all grown up, sprogs spawned and we settled into a comfortable life. Cocooned in a blanket of fantastic family, fine friends and a smattering of foreign adventures; we drifted into societal sleep.

Cometh the day. Aaron was nine years old and Tom six. It dawned on us that, if we left it any longer, we’d miss the proverbial boat. In short actions, not wistful wishes, were required.

Wistfulness! Let me go back three years… A good friend bought a Talbot Bedouin and named him Edwin the Bedouin. This was a present to self on her 40^th. We were, I’m ashamed to say, more interested in the Motorhome than the four decades passed. A year on and lovely friend had bought a new steed and as luck would have it (Lady Luck often follows us it seems. Edit by Sian: I’m touching a lot of wood after reading this line) decided to bequeath the older model to us. Would you Adam and Eve it! This was our passport to freedom.

The taste of the road was good. Not exactly Sunday roast. More a continental breakfast kinda thing. You know. Maybe some cold meats, olives… new and wonderful cheeses.  Anyway we were hooked.

We went all Secret Squirrel, apart from the kids school and close family and friends. We told the kids school that we’d be home schooling for a year and outlined our plans. They were really supportive, but more of that later. We did the house up and put it on the market and started looking for another in the Midlands, near to Sian’s Mum and Dad.

Stress. Buying and selling a house, storage for your life’s belongings, buying a motorhome you’ll be comfortable in for a year, and still holding down jobs and keeping the family sane. The relief when it all started to come together was palpable. Resignation of our professional positions followed, and we were 100% completely and utterly, committed (some think we should have been).

So… Here we are. Up to our necks in Europe. Just Sian, Aaron and Tom and I… Oh and of course our home on wheels… Squeaky. We’ll keep this blog light hearted, hopefully informative and if you have any questions, or just want to chat, we’ll reply as and when the WiFi allows.

Cheers from the Front Line and Happy Travels.

Tony, Sian, Aaron and Tom