Howard, anxiously clockwatching, informed me as we moved off after a quick motorway sandwich that we needed to get a move on. Immediately afterwards we left the péage and headed up a wet and broken single-track upon which I was very slow indeed, making me concerned that if we did miss the boat it would be all my fault for being such a rubbish rider.
We still managed a quick go on some of Normandy's best bits and a whizz around a hypermarket for essential supplies (Calvados and BNs) before arriving at the port in plenty of time.
After a leisurely crossing spent reading, dining and staring at the sea, we landed in Portsmouth to driving rain. Because I'd lifted my visor to go through passport control, both it and my glasses misted up as soon as I hit the motorway and I could barely see.
I did manage, however, to make out the big sign that said A3 CLOSED.
I left the motorway at the first exit, pulled in at a petrol station and wiped visor and glasses thoroughly. Resolving not to open my visor until I got home under any circumstances, I went back the way I had come and took the M27/M3 instead.
Now I could actually see, things weren't so bad, but by the time I got in at nearly midnight everything I was wearing had let in water except my overtrousers - even my expensive and previously reliable Daytona boots.
Shedding my soaked gear in the hall and lugging my top box upstairs, I resolved to worry about it all in the morning. It had been a fabulous fortnight, but my own bed was a welcome sight.
Total mileage: 3176