On the Harwich ferry

I was under the illusion that I had all day to travel to Harwich so it would be a leisurely affair. However, by the time we'd packed the panniers, tidied the house, cycled into Covent Garden to buy a Danish cycle map and guide (and Scotland stickers for the bicycles), and cycled to Liverpool Street, time was ticking on. We caught our train, which had a bicycle carriage (very rare these days) right at the front of the train. I asked the guard about the five-minute change to the Harwich train at Manningtree. He said that it was a small station and the changeover would be fine, despite there being steps and no lift. Fine, my foot. The Harwich train was already at Manningtree when our train arrived and it announced that it was leaving in a minute.

Taking a deep breath, Fred and I, with two other cycle tourers, grabbed our panniers and dumped them on the platform, then ran into the bicycle carriage, grabbed our vehicles and lifted them to the platform, loaded on the panniers and raced down the platform (of course the front of the train was nowhere near the steps to the other platform), unloaded our bicycles (far too heavy to carry down steps when laden), carried the bicycles down the steps, went up the steps and carried the bags down and across to the bottom of the other steps, then went back for the bicycles and raced them along the underpass and carried them up the steps, then went down for the bags and carried them up to the platform, then... the guard blew the whistle. We shouted and a nice lady held open the doors with the guard scowling at her while I loaded my stuff into one carriage (no space for bicycles on this train - the one for the ferry to a cycling nation - bonkers) and the two other cycle tourers loaded into another carriage. Fred was saved by 50 Danish schoolchildren who were carrying luggage and needed to catch the train, too. I rescued Fred's bags from being stampeded by panicking Danes and the guard reluctantly gave way to his passengers and stopped blowing his whistle. it took some time for my beating heart to calm down. Looking back on it, this changeover from one train to another isn't feasible unless you have no luggage and are fighting fit. I might send a complaint to the train scheduler.

Still, it made for a good ice-breaker between the other cycle tourers and us. We were all catching the ferry to Esjberg and we spent an hour or so in the check-in queue chatting. A couple more cycle tourers joined us there. We had been told to stay in lane three behind a couple of classic MGs driven by Danes. For an hour, we watched lanes one and two go through check-in. Then we watched new cars joining lanes one and two and going through check-in. Two of our fellow cyclists decided they'd join lane one, too, since it was rubbish (and unfair) that we were being overlooked. They rode into the distance. Seeing their wisdom, we cycled after them, followed by the third set of cycle tourers. The MGs followed us and eventually the entire lane three barged into lane one. It was absolute chaos!

Eventually, we were onboard. We undertook a bit of ship-spotting as the ferry sailed out of Harwich and past Felixstowe. I was impressed by a huge wind-turbine construction ship (I didn't know such a thing existed). After watching the sun set while eating delicious fish in the restaurant, we found the other cyclists up in the bar. One couple were sampling a beer-tasting menu. They'd been given four wine glasses (?) of beer - Carlsberg, two Danish microbrewery beers and a Newcastle Brown. We had a good laugh at the size of the portions and the choice. Fred had some schnapps and I had a less stronger schnapps. We chatted routes and kit. Two of the cycle tourers we taking the train to Odense and cycling the islands to the east. The two of the beer-tasting fame were on a six-month cycle tour of Europe starting in Denmark. We had no plan at all, but after quizzing the cyclists on their research, we decided we'd go west to east, taking in the old city of Ribbe.