I was dumbfounded. I had a perfectly good ticket, had busted my ass to get near the coast and there was no way they were going to let me on the boat. The port I was heading to was Calais. I checked my map. If I veered NW instead of NNW I would hit the port of Boulogne hopefully by morning. I had a friend called Gigi, who owned a fish shop in London. Every Tuesday he came to Boulogne with a truck to pick up fish. I had accompanied him on various occasions and knew the area where he parked. I changed plans and headed for Boulogne.
At the town of Lens, I saw a fish & chip stand at the side of the road. The lady serving was about 250lbs, with a formerly white headscarf. I thought that if she can get fat from this food, so can I. I bought 2 packets of chips and sat in the curb eating them. I needed energy for the long night’s ride. Gigi was at the loading dock usually between 9:30am-11:30am. That was my window of opportunity.
Predictably, the weather went from dull to damp, to wet, to storming. On the last afternoon I had noticed that my back wheel seemed to be not rotating properly. When I checked it I found that the wheel was slightly bent, with all the weight. I disengaged the rear brakes to stop them rubbing. Also my right knee had been steadily getting more painful as the trip wore on. It was a sharp pain in the outside of my knee as though someone were trying to pry it open with a screwdriver. I made myself a promise that I would not quit until either the wheel or my leg fell off.
I rode on into the night. The last 50 miles were across a desolate moor. Gale force winds and rain greeted me as I made a solo crossing of this wasteland. As I got weaker the storm got stronger. At times I had to check myself and say, “this is so ridiculous, it’s not happening.”
At last at about 4:30am I approached the final hill into the town of Boulogne-Sur-Mer. It’s a monster of a long, winding, exhausting hill. I made it half way up and had to get off and push. Funnily enough, after all the hours of agony that I had been through, this was the only time I had to push the bike. Near the top of the hill I was so tired that I was basically leaning over the bike and staggering with it up the hill. Reaching the top, I re-mounted and cruised down with my bent wheel at a meandering 5 miles per hour.
In Boulogne there is a huge castle made of granite. I was frozen and exhausted. I chained up my bike to a light pole outside the castle and got out my sleeping bag. In one of the outside stairwells I laid down in my bag and went to sleep for a couple of hours. There was no protection from the cold rain and I was damp when I woke up, but it was heaven to sleep.
Awakening to the damp dark morning I knew I had a mission. I had to meet up with Gigi, only first I had to get some food. I cycled around this deserted little coastal town and found a place selling doughnuts. I bought a bag and some coffee. I cycled to the area of the town where the docks are and prepared myself to meet Gigi. As the dawn came up the rain continued. Hours crept by and the loading dock was a beehive of activity with every space being filled with semi-trailers, and the road a major transit alley. I was waiting across the street under the cover of some offices that afforded me a good view. The time came for Gigi to appear, no Gigi. The hours passed and still no Gigi, my window had closed. I could not believe it. This guy comes to this market every single week, but this week he takes the day off! Can you Adam & Eve (believe) it?
What was left for me to do? I had about $7 to my name and a ticket that was unusable. How was I going to get back to London? The fish market is located on the main dock right next to a hydrofoil terminal. I chained my bike to a tree and decided to walk over to the terminal for the heck of it. I really had no idea what I was going to try.
