I’d slept well. Suspecting the painkillers had helped. The fan heater had tripped out during the night but, snug in my down sleeping bag, I’d not noticed until the morning. Woken to the local radio weather forecast. Snow expected overnight, couple of inches and likely to stick, even on lower ground. But sounded like Friday – the next day – might be marginally warmer, rain or sleet. If I’d stick to main routes should be able to reach Taunton by nightfall.
But first I had to reach Thornbury, a little north west of Bristol. Expecting to meet up with old friend Pete, riding north to rendezvous with me. I’d not seen him since there’d been a bit of a send-off in an inn on Dartmoor, my last night in the UK before I’d taken a ferry to France. I’d an idea we’d meet up once more in a pub. Late lunch. Warming coffee. Less than forty miles to cover but there was Gloucester to negotiate. And with just a hundred miles or so left back to my village I was beginning to feel pretty cautious. So close…
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