Two Wheels, One View: A Pillion’s Ride to Portugal (Part 1)

Day 1: Nottingham to Portsmouth Ferry Port

A lazy start to the morning, getting the last of our bits ready for the journey. We packed the bike, moved the car so we could get the bike off the drive, and then put the car back again. As I was getting my motorbike gear on—having just put the car back on the drive—we had a last‑minute issue (I can’t even remember what it was now). This meant we had to turn the bike off to deal with it, and when we went to start it again, it wouldn’t start. The bike wouldn’t turn over; we’d got a flat battery.

After several attempts with a starter pack that wasn’t fully charged, it was still doing nothing—not even trying to turn over. So, we took our bike gear off, moved the car off the drive again, and got the jump leads on the bike. Fortunately, after a bit of revving from the car engine, the bike jumped into life on the second try.

Whilst all this was going on, a neighbour came out walking her dogs—one of them a large bulldog type. The bulldog saw us at the car and, no matter what his owner did, he wasn’t moving. He’d already spotted us and wanted a fuss. So we stopped what we were doing and fussed the dogs, who were very grateful (as was their owner), and then they went on their way.

We put the car back on the drive, got our bike gear on again, and finally set off. The rain started then, and it absolutely poured down. Visibility was very poor; with the rain and spray from other vehicles, you couldn’t see many yards in front of you. We were so glad we’d decided to start the journey in our wet‑weather gear.

There was so much traffic en route, even on roads without roadworks—perhaps because it was a Friday. We ended up filtering through at least five miles of traffic on the M40 where three lanes went into one. It was hard on the clutch control and concentration, and as usual when travelling by bike, not all drivers want to move over to let you pass.

We only stopped once on the way down to Portsmouth, and that was just for a toilet break; by then we simply wanted to get to the ferry port. Whilst riding along the M3 towards the M27, our fuel warning light came on, and to our dismay the “next services” sign informed us there were no services going east—the direction we needed.

On a wing and a prayer, we made it into Portsmouth, managing to miss the turning for the ferry port on the way in. Fortunately, that worked in our favour, as there was a petrol station on the other side of the road. We had to hold up the traffic so we could cross three lanes to get into the right one for the junction. Through the lights, no traffic coming, so we did a U‑turn and waited at the lights to join the road with the petrol station on it.

After filling up, I got off the bike to pay for the fuel—and promptly slipped and fell straight onto my bum! (I’d just said to him that I was paranoid about falling off.) As an experienced pillion passenger, it might help to know that this whole getting‑on‑and‑off routine is necessary because I have a bad knee that doesn’t bend the way I’d like anymore—oh, the joys of getting older. Because of this, I get on by putting my left foot on the foot peg, pushing up, and swinging my right leg over the panniers and top box to the other foot peg. Getting off is the reverse.

After filling up—and falling on my bum—we went straight to the ferry port. We waited to board, and luckily the rain had stopped while we were in the terminal having a hot drink.

We were pulled aside going through customs and had one of our panniers checked. They asked about knives and guns, whether we’d packed our own bags, etc., and then sent us on our way to the next waiting point. After about 30 minutes, we were told to board the ferry, so we rode up the ramp and onto the boat.

There are two rows of pads on the floor, and a deckhand waves you into the right space. A pad is placed on the seat, and the bike is ratchet‑strapped to the deck (side stand used). This is where you take everything you’ll need for the next two days, as you’re not allowed back onto the car deck until you dock in Santander.

We had a four‑berth outside cabin with a shower, toilet, and sink, plus a small desk with a stool and a little hanging space behind.