First solo motocamping weekend.

I’d been looking forward to this weekend a lot. Life has been pretty rubbish for everyone during the last 18 months.
I don’t pretend my own difficulties are worse than anyone else’s, goodness knows they’re not. I haven’t lost anyone to the pandemic, I haven’t caught COVID, I haven’t lost my job, so I fully get that things could be worse and yet that doesn’t minimise my own personal fallout from the pandemic either.
At the start of last year I was working a job I didn’t like for a boss I didn’t really gel with. He wasn’t a malicious man, just impersonal and not particularly a good manager. All that was making me ill and then the pandemic started.
Permanent home worked ensued and the best summer for ages was spend in lockdown, unable to go anywhere, see anyone or do anything beyond a trip to the shops for essential supplies.
Boris opened up the country temporarily under pressure from the tourism industry and lockdown eased a bit. Was it safe?
We felt not and despite having the chance of a summer holiday in 2020 as a family we decided it was too risky. The virus hadn’t gone away so we stayed home and tried to stay safe.
By the end of the summer infection rates were rising again and the two week firebreak lockdown in October did nothing to stem the second wave of COVID-19.
By the end of the year we were back in lockdown waiting for cases and infection rates to fall before Boris, Drakeford and Sturgeon felt it was safe to begin loosening the reins. Each country keen to be seen to outdo and better the other, so much for a United Kingdom, the end of lockdown was a long time coming.
Kids had been off school for months. The wife and I had been working from home for well over a year and the sanctuary that is home began to feel like a prison.
Then at the end of this spring I finally was offered a new job which I started in early June. Lots had happened in just 12 months!
Signs were looking good for relaxing lockdown and the chances were we might be able to book a week away somewhere as a family. Kids eased back into school and some resemblance of normality started to recommence.
We took a week away as a family at the end of July but it quickly turned into disaster. I underestimated the fallout the previous 12 months had on everyone.
We needed a break, yes, but we needed a break from each other, not just a change of scenery.
Five people confined to a touring caravan in west Wales, pretty as it is, but where there’s very little to interest a trio of bored teenagers, was bound to go wrong. And it did, quickly.
We abandoned the trip mid week and came home vowing never to do it again. I still don’t know if we ever will.
By then I was bored, fed up of the same four walls and, as much as I love my family, desperate for some time alone to decompress.
That’s when I came up with the idea of taking myself camping on the bike. It seemed like a good idea, just the bike, the road, enough stuff to last a weekend and me!
I booked the trip and started acquiring what I’d need. Camping was a gamble, I’d only ever been twice before and each time ended up sleeping in the car, so it wasn’t as if I could call previous camping experiences a success. That was camping with mates twenty years ago, though. This time would be different because I would be in control of everything except the weather.
If the tent leaked, it would be my fault, if I got lost, it would be my fault, whatever there was to go wrong would be down to me. So I planned meticulously.
I booked a site I knew from previous holidays with the family in an area I love, so for my first solo camping trip on the bike I could at least guarantee a pleasant destination.
I knew the route well, having driven it many times and it was a nice rice east, briefly on the M4 to Chippenham and then south on the A350 as far as it would go. I had everything ready to go for weeks in advance.
Friday afternoon came and at exactly 1PM I finished work and set off, panniers full, top box loaded and an extra roll bag and tent strapped to the pillion seat.
Traffic was moderate but the weather didn’t know what it was doing. It has rained all morning and the roads were still damp when I headed out.
By the time I got to Chippenham the roads were dry but the air was muggy and the sky looked threatening. A few spots of rain fell as I headed towards Melksham but came to nothing.
By the time I got to the Deverills, though, the heavens had opened and a drenching ensued and I regretted wearing the lighter RST Kevlar jacket I’d chosen for the journey. The downpour lasted until Shaftesbury by which time I was suitably soggy and chilly.
Pressing on all the same, the warm air and forward motion dried me out by the time I reached the outskirts of Poole at around 4PM.
Traffic was busy through Organford and the road narrow enough that I didn’t feel confident filtering with panniers attached to the bike.
I made a bit of progress at a couple of roundabouts where the extra room allowed me to nip around a bit of traffic.
A quick stop for fuel in Sandford before the last three or four miles to my destination at Wareham Forest.
I booked in at reception where I was told I could pitch up pretty much anywhere I wanted. I found a clearing in amongst the pines and made camp. The afternoon air was warm and the ground was dry and once I worked out how the tent went together it all happened quite quickly.
I was here! In my own space, alone, tired but with a sense of achievement.
As soon as I left earlier that day I felt immediately guilty and selfish for wanting and needing to do this. I missed my family lots over the weekend but I’m glad I took the opportunity to find some time to unwind and decompress.
Solo motocamping was a success!
Did I learn anything? You bet!
Would I do it again? Totally
Would I do it differently? Almost certainly.