Final Leg

 The English based P and O ferry offered a full, greasy, nasty, double egg, bacon, sausage and tomato breakfast. Our conversion to French cuisine expelled without debate ejected via the nearest porthole: five ‘full’ were ordered. The breakfasts were gobbled down without a word being spoken, occasionally the odd approving grunt could be heard, but it was only after the last morsel had been wiped from the plate the pot drained of PG tips that we began to come around a little from our ‘punch drunk’ state. Tales of our adventure flowed between our selves so as the White Cliffs approached the realisation of returning to the vehicles and a further six hour journey north started to sink in. However, the breakfast, the warmth the welcome comfort of the boat, the fond, sometimes hilarious, antics of the last few days would spur us on through the final chapter of the run. We dragged on the weather gear for the last time strapped ourselves into the cars, having forced Jack back into the boot of Graham’s Volvo we breezed through customs, climbed the hill to join the A20 outside of the port and headed for London.  

It was around 10.30 when we had left the docks comfortably overflowing with a mixture of assured fulfillment yet still pensively dominated by a sense of trepidation. The English roads unlike the ones we had not long left seemed mercilessly congested. Forty ton articulated trucks relentlessly intimidating the tiny Burlington, instead of gazing over well cultivated, manicured farmland the industrial expanse that was the Dartford tunnel crossing was the ugly urban picture that presented itself. The route would take us via the M1, then onto the M6, around Birmingham, Stoke, Knutsford, over Thelwall, passing east of  Warrington, to junction 27, off at Standish and finally Rectory lane, Worthington and the Crow.

Again the Burlington responded with an average speed of 85mph travelling north on the M6. We were making good time, determined to reach the Crow well before schedule but predictably we could arrive much too early for the invited guests to greet us. Leaving the M6 around 6.30pm, at Northwich, a simple decision was made to ‘mark time’ with a pub break at the Windmill on the A556. I suppose surviving without any alcoholic beverage for the last 18 hours was too much to ask for seasoned drinkers. After all we had now clocked up 36 continuous hours without sleep. The pub was tiny but it boasted a roaring open fire in the parlour. This was perfection, heat, beer and time to relax before the final 20 miles. The ‘Robbies’ beer definitely lifted our slightly dulled spirits: probably for the first time, on reflection, we were all coming to terms with what we were about to achieve. The arrival time had been arranged for 8.30pm on Monday 15^th. of November 1981, we drove onto the car park of the Crow at 8.15, casually strolled unannounced into the pub where we were met with well deserved applause.

Back safely at the crow. Geoff toasts the trip with a glass of 1981 Nouveau with our new ‘road’ friends of Graham Crompton, John Murphy and Jack Daniels.