Nomads on Motorcycles

So, the great escape begins! We’ve spent the last few days in Essex catching up with friends and family and squeezing in a hospital appointment to get my bionic arm checked out. I also had a new cast made for my passive hand—you know, the “dress arm,” in case I need it if the bionic arm battery goes flat. My fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue are still giving me a run for my money, and let’s not forget the lingering shoulder and neck pain from the car accident in March. Oh, and just to keep things spicy, I’ve been getting pins and needles in my “good” hand too. Joy.

We rolled back into Lincolnshire around 1pm, ready to pack up our bikes for the next adventure: the Wild South West Rally in St Austell, Cornwall. More on that chaos later. For now, let’s just say our bikes are in storage because, well, we still don’t have a home. It’s tough going, but it’s also liberating and exciting. How long can we keep this up? Who knows, but we’re going to give it our best shot.

Packing the bikes was like starring in our own comedy show—minus the laugh track. Everything we needed was either in the storage container next door or just… missing. We can never just pack and go; it’s always an epic saga. The rain decided to join the party, so everything we were packing into our bags had to be thrown back into the car to stay dry. Then the sun came out, so we laid everything out again. As Neil tightened his panniers, he realised the tool he needed was back in the container. Cue the huffing and puffing as he trekked back and forth for the sixth time, unlocking and locking padlocks like it was some sort of twisted workout.

Meanwhile, I noticed my sissy bar was loose. Great. The tool for that? Yep, you guessed it—right at the back of the same container Neil was already raiding. I could practically hear his eye roll from across the yard. After a few hours of playing pack-and-unpack Tetris (I’m the Tetris Queen) and dodging the rain, we were finally ready to go. There were some choice words exchanged (mostly about whose turn it was to fetch the forgotten tools), but that’s just us. We might snap when we’re tired or hungry, what married couple doesn’t? but there’s no malice—he’s my person, and I’m his. Aww cute, love haha.

The skies were a menacing shade of dark grey, and we’d just invested in some new rain gear that, by the looks of it, was about to get a proper initiation. We fired up the bikes, ready to hit the road when—oh no, I need a wee. Seriously?! First stop: the garage for petrol and an urgent toilet dash. Why does this always happen the minute we’re all geared up and ready to roll? Trying to pull up bike trousers one handed is a mission in itself!!.

Finally, we’re officially on our way! But of course, the heavens open, and we’re drenched within minutes. We pull over in the howling wind, fumbling for our rain gear, when a lorry blasts past and blows my rain jacket right out of my hand. Luckily, it clings to Neil’s bike like it’s hanging on for dear life, and I scramble to grab it. But as I pull on the trousers, I notice both legs have gaps in the seams. Brilliant. Wet feet guaranteed. I also notice the bag I store it in is missing!.

We soldier on, making a pit stop for petrol and some much-needed fuel for ourselves—Burger King, because sometimes you just need junk food. We wolf it down and warm up with lattes, but soon I’m not feeling so great. Chronic heartburn kicks in, a gift from the medication I’ve been on ever since I almost lost my other arm. As I’m burping through the comms, Neil’s confused voice crackles in my ear, “Did you say something, Lizzie?” Nope, just trying not to throw up in my helmet!

It’s a losing battle. With a mouth full of sick, I manage to lift my visor and turn my head just in time to avoid a second taste of that burger. I signal Neil to pull over at the next services, and after a quick pit stop, I dash to the toilet to leave the last of my meal in the toilet, I check my bike hasn’t been covered in vomit, I’m a pretty good aim as I’ve missed it completely! we’re back on the road, with the rain still coming down in buckets. It’s cold, it’s dark, and my phone’s gone into “water detection mode.” Fantastic. But we’re almost there, and I’m dreaming of a hot shower and a comfy bed.

Neil counting down the miles and minutes!!.

We finally roll into the car park of the Travelodge in Burnham-on-Sea. I wait with the bikes, feeling uneasy, and decide not to start unloading. My gut tells me something’s off. And then I hear Neil over the helmet comms: “No way! It’s midnight?!” Turns out, our room has been sold on because we didn’t answer our phones while riding. T&Cs, apparently. No rooms, no space at their other hotel. It’s 12:30am, and we’re in the lobby frantically calling around for somewhere to stay.

Thank you, Premier Inn—you are the real champ! They had a room for us, and I swear, I know exactly how Mary and Joseph felt. Off we go again, me without a phone, and then “battery low” my comms battery dies. Of course. Now I’m following a faint red light down the country lanes of Weston-super-Mare, tired and grouchy after seven hours (not forgetting the few hours travel earlier from Essex) We finally reach the hotel, unload our gear, and drag ourselves to our room. The bikes are locked together right outside our window, and we collapse into the shower before falling into bed.

At 5am, I’m jolted awake by the sound of a truck. Heart racing, I peer out the window and see a truck with a tail lift right next to our bikes. I wake Neil, fearing the worst, only to realise it’s just a guy delivering clean linen. Crisis averted. We grab a few more hours of sleep, ready to hit the road again for St Austell and the rally.

Stay tuned—this trip’s only just getting started!

Lizzie x