Heeeyho Readers! Another bit of history and adventuring in this world of ours.
Author's note: When writing this post, never came to mind I lacked proper photographs to illustrate this passage of my cycling trip. At the time, I was tired and wet and, most likely, the batteries were all dead. I hope the reader understands. I have incorporated one or two images from the web to illustrate what (I hope) is an honest text. Enjoy.
A descending arpeggio comes out on fire from the full-stack Marshall amplifier. No lyrics. Just a madman and his Stratocaster guitar sweeping the pentatonic scale.
I’m listening to Cliffs of Dover as I sit inside the ferry from Calais (France) to Dover (England). As the chalk-colored wall appears in the distance, a hundred meters above sea level, I question what inspired Eric Johnson, a Texan, from the wild USA, to name his song after that English landmark. Also on my thoughts is another Eric―the one nicknamed “Slowhand” Clapton―whose playing inspired Johnson. The UK is rock and blues. I’m excited to explore this humid, windy, sonorous island.
Lighthouse in Calais
Cliffs of Dover illustration as seen from the ferry. Photo by Niklas Weiss on Unsplash
I rolled down the ramp, on my bicycle, as soon as we touched the port in Dover. A fella stared at the loaded bicycle and shouted: “Oi, you travelin’ on that?” I answered yes. “Thing is heavy, innit? Hell, mate, if you goin’ up the cliff good luck.” I smiled. The port worker heavy British accent brightened my day. I was finally in the UK after cycling for more than 3.000 kilometers across countries where I could barely understand a word.
Dover is a town and major ferry port in Kent, South East England. It faces France across the Strait of Dover, the narrowest part of the English Channel, at 33 kilometers from Cap Gris Nez in France. It lies southeast of Canterbury and east of Maidstone. The town is the administrative center of the Dover District and home to the Port of Dover.
Dover is centered upon a pivotal moment in World War II history.
Those who have seen the movie Dunkirk (2017) by Christopher Nolan know about the great mission to evacuate British soldiers from the beach at Dunkerque, France. Named Operation Dynamo, the Dover-based war effort aimed to rescue more than 300.000 allied troops trumped by the Germans after the Belgium capitulation. Although complex, the operation is most known for the hundreds of civilian vessels―from fishing smacks and cockle boats to lifeboats and sailing barges―that answered the Royal Navy call for help.
As portrayed in the movie, the small vessels helped to transport soldiers from the shallow moles to bigger boats located in the canal. If not for that intervention―which saved Britain's most precious asset, the soldiers―, the whole conflict might have taken a different course, thus making it a critical moment in the Second World War history.
British troops lined up on the beach while awaiting evacuation, 26–29 May 1940 Source: Wikipedia commons.
A stretch of 140 kilometers separates Dover from London. After a series of ups and downs, I found myself cycling on a major multi-lane road with trucks warping by my side at the speed of light. I kept on going without bothering much, other than wishing to find a place to sleep somewhere safe.
After a while, I took an overpass into one of those classic British narrow roads. The countryside indeed seemed safer, cleaner, and quieter. The last thing I remember is that an apple field served as a campsite.
Little fella showed up during the morning
With no money at all, I continued in a desperate rampage to reach London. I don't remember much of the routes taken. Not any longer into the day, I crossed what appeared to be a cycling competition. The event was right on my way, so I decided to investigate. I sensed everyone was staring at me, after all, who on earth shows up to an event in a fully geared bicycle covered in mud.
A fella asked where I was coming from. "Brazil", I said. "Holy fuck mate!" came as a surprising response. "Well, I flew from Brazil to Frankfurt, then took a ride to Poland, from where I cycled down to Slovenia, across Italy, France and now here", I explained. The dude couldn't believe it. "So, there's a cycling competition going on?" I asked. The guy said it was the UK Nationals. Holy shit! Big event. I grabbed the camera and took some time to photograph as the girls raced.
Cyclocross race between Dover and London
Click to enlarge!
I knew the night would come before arriving in London. Major cities are always a problem for those who travel without money, which would prove true soon. I continued cycling until I found a place to pitch the tent hidden below a bridge. Sleep was terrible.
The other day I arrived in London. Those who read my blog for long enough will remember that my bicycle was stolen there. Because I had no money, the only accommodation option was a cheap ass hostel in Seven Sisters. What I didn't know is that this neighborhood is... let's say... complicated. Of course, my bicycle wasn't at the bicycle rack the morning after.
Good ole adventuring bicycle
I like to believe some tragic events in life are necessary to help us trace a different, better, more intense path. After having the bicycle stolen, I met people whose actions changed the course of those days in the UK. If not for their intervention, I'm not sure I'd followed the path I did. In the end, every aspect of my life improved, and I hope the impact in their lives was as positive as it was for me. Thanks for appreciating this short story.
What's your travel story that impacted your life the most? Share on the comments!
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Disclaimer: The author of this post is a convict broke backpacker, who has travelled more than 10.000 km hitchhiking and more than 5.000 km cycling. Following him may cause severe problems of wanderlust and inquietud. You've been warned.
