September 27, 1992

10 km to a field campsite outside Folkstone, England, where I am surrounded by a herd of sheep.

A truly wacky day. I went to the ferry terminal to buy my ticket at 10:00 (for a 10:45 ferry) and was informed that the ferry was full but that I would be put on a waiting list. So after waiting until 11:15 I went back and purchased a round trip ticket (which, bizarrely, was half the price of a one way fare) for the 2:00 crossing. After I had made the purchase I was informed that it was actually only 10:15 as today was the first day of daylight savings time in France. I then wandered the streets of Boulogne, which has a wonderful medieval walled city, before heading back to the docks.

While waiting to board I met a young English couple, guitars in hand, who had been touring the Benelux countries and France for the past three months. They were real 60's style hippies and it gave me a sense of deja vu talking with them. They were the kind of people I use to meet up with when traveling 20 years ago. We had a nice talk before boarding the "Sea Cat", a catamaran hovercraft that goes in excess of 40 mph. This particular craft holds the world record for crossing the Atlantic as a passenger boat. It sped us across the channel in less than 50 minutes.

When I got off the boat in Folkstone my instant reaction was "who let the inmates out?" What a collection of bizarre genetic experiments - and that’s not counting the punks with neon mohawks. The English certainly have a way of expressing themselves through their appearance.

I managed to change money at a cash machine and then got a map from the very helpful tourist office. I then climbed a steep two miles out of Folkstone before coming to this "campground". The site is a sheep pasture, complete with about 50 sheep who are currently grazing contentedly all around my tent. The caretakers house was surrounded by what looked like a century's accumulation of garbage and debris, and she (the caretaker) was straight out of the Addam's family. But I paid my two pounds and actually have a very nice site with a fine view of Folkstone in the distance. One nice thing about cycling in England is that it does have magnificent panoramas unmarred by pollution.

It felt really odd to speak English and to be understood immediately (and I'd just managed to learn how to pronounce Gaulloise Legeres).

The proprieter just uprooted a 40 foot tree and, with a forklift, carried it over to be dumped in the field. As a result all the sheep came stampeding toward me.

To live life fiercely!

It is now the hour of the wolf. I woke with a coughing fit (from smoking) and had difficulty breathing for about 10 minutes. I knew that I have been smoking too much and the Gaulloises are powerful. It is a beautiful clear moonless night. Since there are no lights in this field, many stars are visible. But it is the hour of the wolf because of the sense of utter isolation and hopelessness that I feel. It is not the physical isolation of being alone, but the sense of being locked into the self and being surrounded by others locked into their selves. Henry Miller says that one becomes a healer when he forgets about the self. I believe this is true. All of this striving to accomplish is pointless. If it is intended to impress others it cannot succeed. If it is intended to resolve some inchoate yearnings for freedom, it also cannot succeed. Only when the self has disappeared can there be peace of mind. But what an impossible task!

September 28, 1992

88 km through Ashford to a campsite near Worsham.

A fine fall day with high hazy clouds. I spent the morning meandering through narrow, hedgerow-lined, one lane roads following the sun rather than my ridiculously inadequate map. I stopped at the beautiful and friendly town of Ashford ("it's a town, not a city" said the woman at the tourist office) and had a McDonald's lunch before setting out on some more back roads. As I got closer to London the traffic began to pick up considerably, and so I had numerous close calls on the winding one lane paths.

When I got near Maidstone I had to go on the major roads and the traffic was atrocious. The twenty miles into Maidstone were some of the most difficult I had been on during my entire journey. I spent about 2/3 of my time on the bumpy, debris filled sidewalks which, fortunately, paralleled most of these roads. Many of the sidewalks were extremely narrow and followed only the right side (facing traffic), so I had strings of cars whizzing by less than a meter away. Once I got into Maidstone the traffic was in gridlock as there was construction going on in the north part of the city.

Finally, it is nearing dusk and I am comfortably ensconced in my tent. This will be the last night of my cycling journey in Europe, so I am feeling a bit sad.

This morning I had to wade my way through a herd of frightened sheep to get out of my campsite. The manager had penned them in the exit in order to cut off the "blowfly maggots" which, according to her, literally "eat the sheep alive".

September 29, 1992

32 km to Lynn's flat in Willesden Green, London.

At Woolwich I took the ferry across the Thames to Silverton and from there on the underground to Willesden Green.

My last day of European cycle touring--a total of 12,802 kilometers. A very foggy morning which became overcast until noon and then partly cloudy. I spent the morning meandering through a series of narrow, but heavily trafficked one lane country roads until I arrived on the outskirts of London. Then on the subway to Lynn's where I will spend the next few nights.