England ? They would find a venue . Then another invitation popped into my inbox . Would I like to join friends from the Irish Veteran and Vintage Motorcycle Club on a rally to Donegal ? As usual , things fell into place . I booked the ferry .
It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me to learn that I went to the wrong ferry-port to ship me and my Enfield across the Irish Sea . My ticket said Pembroke , but my head was certain I was leaving from Fishguard so when I saw the sign to Pembroke , I rode past , even congratulating myself that I ’ d not been distracted by it and went another sixty miles only to find the ferry I thought I was catching at 2.30pm did not exist .
“ You ’ re not the first one to do that !” chuckled the man at the office when I bought a ticket for the overnight ferry at 11.45 , it now being too late to return to Pembroke .
I sent vague texts , masking the truth . “ Arrived in plenty of time to have a look around ...”
I wondered if my previous nightmare voyages on yachts with my Enfield now included large ferries but concluded the ferry captain would be unlikely to threaten to cut me into little pieces and throw me in the sea or demand to use my motorbike as an anchor .
Whilst I waited for the ferry , I had a pleasant afternoon , chatting to people who showed an interest in the bike . I ate a sandwich on a bench overlooking the harbour where seabirds selected newly revealed morsels on the beach by the receding tide . Great black-backed gulls ruled supreme over other gulls and oystercatchers . It felt strange to have nothing to do but wait and I was reminded of some lines of the poem ‘ Leisure ’ by William Henry Davies .
“ What is this life if full of care , we have no time to stop and stare ...”
Hours passed . The tide changed and I observed people preparing for a late afternoon sail . Despite the early May sunshine , it wasn ’ t a warm day and when the sun went behind the hill above the harbour I rode to a splendid pub and sat with my beer , nose against the window from where I could see the jetty . I was not going to miss this ferry .
At 4am , we docked at Rosslare on Ireland ’ s east coast in darkness . Excitedly , because riding off any ferry is always exciting , I set the Enfield ’ s tyres on Irish soil for the first time . I followed the road signs westwards towards Tralee . It was dry and I liked having the road to myself once all the ferry traffic had overtaken me .
In the early light I passed the Magners cider factory . A friskily cantering horse pulling two drivers in a lightly framed two-wheeled cart appeared eerily from the gloomy dawn . Because of the journey across the sea and the different currency , I
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