Table of contents

• Motorcycle tour in the south of England From Dover to Land’s End
• Single tracks are pretty tricky
• Oncoming traffic rarely
• Sections of the coast tightly sealed
• Tradition or cliche?
• Only 5066 kilometers to New York

Jo Deleker

14th pictures

Jo Deleker

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The plan is simple: I want to cross southern England, from Dover to Land’s End, and use these single-lane roads as often as possible.

Jo Deleker

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The limestone cliffs at Beachy Head rise 170 meters out of the English Channel.

Jo Deleker

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The Lizard, the southernmost place on the island. There is never any hectic here.

Jo Deleker

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Steam operation as in 1940: Bishops Lydeard station on the West Somerset Railway.

Jo Deleker

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Take a look: Britain’s southernmost cafe at Lizard Point.

Jo Deleker

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Everything is so beautifully green here: a typical single track winds its way through the Exmoor National Park.

Jo Deleker

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Sun in the gruesome Dartmoor, yes, that actually happens sometimes.

Jo Deleker

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Cornwall can be so beautiful: at the end of a cul-de-sac in the tiny town of Porthgwarra.

Jo Deleker

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Summer in England: pubs bursting with crowds on St. Ives’ seafront.

Jo Deleker

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The tiny village of Two Bridges in Dartmoor has two bridges. This is the beautiful one.

Jo Deleker

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Bathing in Mousehole harbor. But only with a neoprene suit, at 14 degrees in the water.

Jo Deleker

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Medieval charm in the village street of Corfe.

Jo Deleker

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And in the evening there is fish & Chips and a pint. Once in a while.

Jo Deleker

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The end of the world is sometimes closer than you think, just follow road B? 3315.

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Motorcycle tour in southern England: From Dover to Land’s End

Motorcycle tour in the south of England
From Dover to Land’s End

The plan is simple: I want to cross southern England, from Dover to Land’s End, and use these single-lane roads as often as possible. This guarantees excitement, loneliness and many surprises even in the high season.

Joachim Deleker

December 29, 2019

The end of the world is less of a geographic than a mental experience. Because, as is well known, a sphere, as it is our earth, has no end. The carnival-infected Cologne resident makes it easy for himself: “Everything has an end, only the sausage has two.” This story is certainly not meant to be about the same. Rather, it is about a journey across the south of Britain to Land’s End, the westernmost point of England and one of the many ends of our earth.

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Single tracks are pretty tricky

Today it is hardly surprising that many things are different on the island than on the continent. But that the weather crashes from a sunny 30 degrees to a foggy 13 degrees during my two-hour sea voyage with the DFDS ferry to Dover. Cliche? Unfortunately not. Get out your thick gloves, start the Tenere and off to the island. The most important thing: Keep left! Which is much easier on a motorcycle than on foot, where you keep forgetting that the danger comes from the wrong side. Still, especially in the first few days, I adjust my concentration to maximum.

Jo Deleker

The plan is simple: from Dover to Land’s End and as often as possible on these single-lane paths.

Course west, but not just like that, rather I want to try to use the typical British single tracks as often as possible. It’s slow, sometimes a navigational challenge due to the lack of sufficient signs, but good for the spirit of discovery when you come out somewhere five times a day and have no idea where you are. In addition, driving on these trails is simply fun, and I avoid the annoyingly crowded A and B roads. The nature of these single-lane connections is very special. Single tracks are often ancient paths from the time of horse-drawn carriages, some are barely two meters narrow, meander like a tunnel between high and very solid hedges or unyielding stone walls that block any view to the side. The middle of the path, where practically no one can ride except theoretically a biker, has become a massive green or gravelly wall over the decades, in short, single tracks are sometimes quite tricky.

Oncoming traffic rarely

It’s just a good thing that oncoming traffic is rare. And if you do, you hardly have a chance to be the first to navigate to an alternative niche. English are faster. Always. I have seldom seen such a polite and considerate driving style. The only worry is that a motorhome pilot from the continent will wander over such a single track and the free width of the green hedge walls will fall below that of the caravan at some point. Which is hard to avoid. Game over.

Jo Deleker

The Lizard, the southernmost place on the island. There is never any hectic here.

But not only these paths are special, the historic small towns such as Sandwich, Rye or Alfriston also show such a real and rustic townscape that you could easily roll a historic ham there. Picture book England. During the day in summer, however, these places are mightily overcrowded, and calm only returns in the evening, even for a relaxed visit to the pub. Then again meadows, hills, hedges and deciduous trees, here and there garnished with ruinous castles or spacious country estates of the money aristocracy. Countryside, love of the countryside, seldom as relaxing as here in Kent and East Sussex. But only for those who avoid the main streets.

Sections of the coast tightly sealed

At some point the urge to go to the sea comes through again. Many stretches of coast are so densely populated that I prefer to drive around them lush. But in between, highlights such as the magnificent limestone cliffs at Beachy Head near Eastbourne lure you to the sea. This white wall protrudes 170 meters high out of the English Channel, the red and white striped lighthouse below in the water, itself 44 meters high, looks tiny and also a little cheesy. But it is one of the most popular photo opportunities on the entire south coast.

Jo Deleker

Take a look: Britain’s southernmost cafe at Lizard Point.

Many single tracks later the roll Yamaha in Portsmouth on the ferry to the Isle of Wight, where the famous music festival is taking place this weekend, an event in a class of its own, as Jimi Hendrix, the Stones and Joe Cocker have played here. This year, it is the 50th birthday of the IoW Festival, Liam Gallagher, Depeche Mode and 60,000 fans have announced themselves. No wonder the island is a bit busier than usual on these days. Nevertheless, I find beautiful paths, corners and views over the green hills to the sea, where I feel the island atmosphere much more strongly than on the big island next door. And on Sunday evening even the “Queen Mary” passes the Rye promenade, one of the world’s largest passenger ships with a length of 345 meters, also built for the legendary North Atlantic route from Southampton to New York, which she still uses regularly. An imposing sight and a trigger for the mental cinema: My Tenere and I cruise on board the QM2 to NYC. But of course.

Tradition or cliche?

Traditions, hardly anywhere else are they given so much importance as in Great Britain. The royal house and the lower house, transatlantic liners and afternoon tea, historic cars and steam trains. I have never met so many old Triumphs, MGs and Jaguars as in these weeks. And for decades I haven’t seen so many steam locomotives that are on the road here every day on exemplary restored museum railways. Time travel, in England it is easy to do. With a tradition – or is it just a cliche? – the summer of 2018 breaks decisively. It just doesn’t want to rain. Lots of sun, up to 30 degrees, campsites without shade – nobody else asks about that! -, crowds of people fleeing from the overheated cities to the beaches of the Atlantic, very white bodies with a lot of tattoos. And yet the Englishman does not lose his composure even in the most annoying traffic jam. How does he do that? Valium in Breakfast Tea?

Jo Deleker

The limestone cliffs at Beachy Head rise 170 meters out of the English Channel.

Enough of the busy streets, away from the sea, into Dartmoor. Scary images crawl out of the corners of my brain, scary stories, gloomy mood in black and white on 220 annual rainy days. And today? Bright sun, no fog far and wide, no scurrying ghosts, no Baskerville dog. Instead, an almost deserted expanse with heather, pines and hard grass, sheep and horses within ancient limestone walls. Summer idyll. On to the next stage, my XT single gets single tracks for breakfast again. He likes them, thunders comfortably west in third corridor, the aluminum boxes occasionally pick flowers or grass from the edge of these narrow paths. Motorcycle hiking at it’s best. Welcome to Cornwall, Rosamunde Pilcher Country. The travel guide raves about picturesque coastal towns such as Polpero, Mevagissey or Portloe. I don’t look at any of them. What annoys me, but the lines of cars and crowds on this sunny June 27th with just as many degrees Celsius make me sweat first and then drive me on.

Only 5066 kilometers to New York

To the Lizard Peninsula, where in the evening I park the XT in front of the southernmost cafe in Great Britain, high above the cliffs in the calm ocean, protected by the snow-white lighthouse at Lizard Point. End-of-the-world atmosphere on the bare plateau and in the small town of the same name. Hardly anyone here, everyone rushes past the Southern Cape, only having the famous Western Cape – Land’s End – in their sights. And so miss the beautiful sandy bays of the Lizard Peninsula and south of Penzance. Only two hours to the end of the island. Good timing is essential, because the Penwith Peninsula channels the visitor caravan towards Land’s End like a funnel. So I set up my tent in the pretty bay of St. Ives, sit on the quay wall in front of the pub with a pint of stout in the evening and roll westwards along the lonely north coast the next morning at seven.

Jo Deleker

Steam operation as in 1940: Bishops Lydeard station on the West Somerset Railway.

Once again the end of the world atmosphere, old, gray and weather-beaten farms on treeless, dry meadows, exposed to the eternal west wind without protection, rusty car wrecks behind crooked hedges and numerous ruins of tin mines, which in the 19th and 20th centuries, 50,000 People busy. There has long been no industry worth mentioning here. And then Land’s End. The amusement park does not open until 10 a.m., the huge parking spaces are empty except for two German Womos. Yet. Only from the luxury hotel in an exquisite location are a few early risers out and about, enjoying the calm, hubbub-free atmosphere and the endless view over the calm Atlantic. America is back there. I simply maneuver the Tenere between the houses right in front of the famous Land’s End sign, a motif that everyone wants to burn onto their chip. Only 5066 kilometers to New York. It’s a shame the XT can’t swim.

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