It was never going to work. Never.
I was taking a full load, including this bike, from London to Colchester. I wheeled the bike out first, and opened the boot. My friend’s father ran out: “No no, you should pack that last!” “It’s awkward shaped. Everything else is easy. I’ll get it in the boot and then pack around it.” “No, pack it last. You attach it to the back of the car.” “Really?” “Yes, really. I have a thing.” “I’m not sure, you know. Can I see it?” “Yes, but we will pack first.”
I should have stuck to my instincts.
We packed. We could have got it all in with the bike, but not now. I closed the boot and here comes dad with his contraption. It is well used … It is doomed.
He hooks it under a bit of faring. I don’t get a look in here, he’s a dad with a gadget. He doesn’t like my car though. “It is easier on a normal car,” he accuses me. He eventually arrives at something he is happy with. I’m skeptical but … I’m willing to give it a go. I set my route to avoid motorways though. I don’t trust this thing.
I’m right not to trust it. Bastard of a thing. Five minutes of driving, and the bike goes dunk and something has happened but I’m not sure what but there’s a huge great van behind me. The bike is still attached but barely. I almost immediately luck into a huge loading bay on the red route. The sign tells me I’ve got twenty minutes. There are people everywhere and a lot of police and warden activity. This is East London.
That stupid contraption ripped up a bit of faring and the bike scratched Bergies back. I take the damned thing off. I try to reattach it in a way that won’t pull any more bits off my car, but it’s not designed for my damn car. It needs to be a car with metal to hook into. It’s only going to further hurt Bergman if I try again. What to do?
I don’t know if it took twenty minutes or more. I kinda hope my friend doesn’t read my blog. Swearing like an absolute trooper and sweating like a piggy I pulled everything out of the boot and wrestled the damned bike into the empty boot. This is what I should have done in the first place. I knew it too.
It worked but I had time pressure. Cameras and a warden on me. I repacked carefully so as not to put pressure on the bike. It all got in. I really hope my friend never sees this photo.
I was drenched by the time it was all done. Adrenaline and rage. Thankfully driving calms me so I switched off avoid motorways and screamed up fast roads until I had to empty the lot while half parked on a buslane pavement in Essex.
Lesson 365573: Always trust your instinct over the certainty of the dad who has the thing. Should’ve learnt that one a long time ago.
Now I’m in Brighton. Lou and I snatching some time. We went to a Greek restaurant to remember the lovely week in Kefalonia, and now a remarkably early bed.