Off we set to Dunkerque, but we ended up taking a tortuous route to the ferry, ending up with an 8pm sailing.
We pulled off-road near the port terminal to confer. Setting off again, we discovered some Brits in their saloons had followed us, assuming we were queuing for the ferry. More than mild amusement ensued as they extracated themselves across bumpy land and huge kerbs.
The sun set on board as we left foreign land behind, indicating a hard day's night ahead.
Fortified with good British stodge (chips, pies, sausages and beans, so good for you), it was time to go our separate ways.
Mick and John already home, it was our turn to head off into the night.
In the cargo hold we shared man-hugs as we bade final farewells.
Paul and Lance were to get home safely first.
Robin, Mike and Steve would take much longer, still having over 250 miles to go. Out came the Red Bull.
Robin made it home around 3am, nursing Patrick's carawagon home without a turbo.
Sunder was less fortunate. A good overland was cut short 10 miles from home as the overdrive gave out (we think). The ignominy of being transported the last few miles were tempered with the thought that it could have happened near Algeria.
The old land rovers had done us proud, and we all returned home safe and sound.
What an adventure!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone