Heggeness to Sel:  126 kms

Lattitude: 61.8

High: 6 degrees

Low: -1

We started the day with a short walk. But could you believe it? As soon as we arrived it started snowing. But we’d planned to do this walk, so walk we did!

It was quite a novelty at first, the snow drifting down, all pretty and stuff, but then it started blowing straight at us, all freezing and stuff. I had forgotten to wear my buff, so my face felt like it was being blasted by an ice machine. I was convinced I was going to end up with a frost-bitten face. We walked faster, trying to keep warm, wondering how on earth we thought this was a good idea. We made it back to the car a little soaked (yes, snow is wet) and cranked up the heater.

After our ‘exercise’ we continued our drive north, climbing back into the mountains, fluffy snowflakes drifting down on Bertie. As we approached a mountain pass, a flashing sign lit up through the haze. Was it warning us to turn back? We looked at each other, shrugged, and pushed on.

We passed a few campervans, and even a caravan, driving down. If they could make it, so could we… right?

The drive was breathtaking. The mountains loomed ahead, cloaked in thick mist, their slopes covered in fresh snow. As we climbed higher, the snowfall fell heavier with each twist in the road. Walls of snow, easily two metres high, flanked us, and any hope of a scenic view vanished into a blur of grey and white.

Then the wind picked up, howling through the pass and sweeping snow across the road in swirling gusts. A thick patch had settled in our path, a ghostly barrier of ice and the road ahead hidden by a haze of white. Off to our right, a BMW sat abandoned in the snow, a warning of what could happen.

‘That’s it, I’m not going any further,’ I said. The snow was coming down up too fast, and that abandoned BMW wasn’t exactly inspiring confidence. Mike, ever the optimist, was keen to plough on, ‘It’s probably fine,’ he said, but the road ahead looked anything but.

I climbed out into the storm, snow stinging my face as I stepped onto the narrow road. The wind howled around me, flinging flakes sideways like shards of ice. I guided Mike as he attempted what felt like the world’s slowest and most stressful 20-point turn, nerves fraying with each careful inch. I kept a close eye on Berties wheels making sure they stayed firmly on the tarmac. I did not want to get stuck up here!

Every crunch of tyre against snow had me holding my breath, but we managed it. Facing the other way never felt so good.

Then came the next challenge, getting back into the car.

I yanked the door open, but when I tried to shut it, the wind slammed against it. No matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. I clung to the handle with both hands, terrified the wind might rip it clean off the hinges if I let go.

‘Mike!’ I shouted over the roar. ‘I can’t shut it!’

He leaned across and grabbed my arm, pulling while I fought to wrestle the door closed. It may sound like I’m exaggerating, but I’m really not!

We headed back down the mountain in silence, just keen to get back to civilisation. By the time we reached the nearest town, the snow was falling even harder.

We made a beeline for the tourist information centre, hoping for answers, and maybe a little validation. The man behind the counter didn’t hesitate.

‘Yes, that pass is closed. Very bad weather.’ 

Mike and I exchanged a look. Just as well we turned around when we did, or we might’ve ended up like that poor BMW, frozen in time.

He pulled out a map and pointed to an alternative route. ‘You can take this road instead. Bit of a detour, about three hours.’

Not ideal, but considering the alternative involved being rescued out or sleeping in a snowbank, it sounded just fine.

As we stepped out of the tourist office, who should we see but the guy with the caravan we’d passed coming down the mountain earlier. He confirmed he’d turned around too.

Just then, a familiar little car came into view, barrelling toward the pass like it had something to prove. The Polski Fiat! We’d met those guys a couple of days ago and had been following their snowy escapades on Instagram ever since. Last we saw, their tiny Fiat was practically buried in snow and looked more like a snowmobile than a car.

They’re from Poland, and clearly built of sterner stuff. No hesitation, just full throttle, putt, putt, putting into the storm in all their 600cc 2-cylinder glory. We watched them disappear up the same mountain road we’d just bailed on, shaking our heads with a mix of admiration and concern.

‘Guess they’re a little hardcore,’ I said.

‘Or a little crazy,’ Mike replied.

They are both heading up to the Arctic, so we hope to see them again.

We sat in the van and had some lunch, followed by an afternoon nap. The sun came out, and we started to wonder if the road might open again. If we mucked around long enough, then just maybe…

A couple of hours later, we wandered over to the public toilets. The sign was still flashing: road closed. But when we came back out, it had stopped flashing. Had it just opened?

We checked the website and it was still marked as closed. Not very helpful. So we headed back to the tourist office to ask again.

This time, the news was different: the road closed signs had disappeared. It was open!

Although by this point, I was a little nervous about heading up there again. What I’d seen earlier had stuck with me. Icy roads, thick snowbanks, an abandoned car half-buried in white. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight, and I think it gave me a touch of PTSD.

But the sun was still out, and the wind had dropped. We decided to give it a shot. Worst case, we could always do another twenty-point turn and come back down. We’d done it once, we could do it again.

But this time, the views were even more incredible. The mist had lifted, unveiling the mountains in their full glory. Instead of a hazy white blur, we could see clear down into the valley, layers of snow and rock stretching out far below. It felt like the mountain was showing us its best side.

But I didn’t fully relax until we started the downhill run and dropped below the snow line. As much as I love being in the middle of nowhere, with no one else around, this time it felt eerie.

The rest of the day was spent driving alongside rivers and beautiful turquoise lakes. We are low enough now that the snow has stopped and it’s just rain. The weather is supposed to be worse tomorrow so we are camping in a carpark near a small town, listening to the rhythmic patter of rain on Bertie’s roof.

Heggeness – 226 kms

Lattitude 61.1

We woke up to a van that felt more like a fridge than a home. Two degrees outside, and not much warmer inside. Thank goodness for the diesel heater and strong coffee. It was time to break out the winter-woolies we bought before we left. And to think we were worried about our air-con not working!

Today we wound our way higher into the mountains, climbing steadily until the landscape changed. Snow appeared on the hills and pine trees were sprinkled in white, just like little Christmas trees. I love how we leave home chasing summer, and end up finding winter!

There’s always something fascinating about the culture in a new country. While we were admiring  the view, we spotted something really cool: a man on a quad bike being pulled along by about eight huskies, all charging ahead like they were in a movie scene. We wondered if  this how he keeps them fit in the off-season, when there’s not enough snow for a sled? Whatever the reason, it was a brilliant sight that made us smile.

We kept climbing, winding our way higher into the mountains, the road curling through forest and rock until everything opened up. We’d reached a wide plateau, where the land flattened out covered by a soft blanket of snow. Scattered across the landscape were little ski huts, standing still, unoccupied for the summer, There was no one around. It felt like we’d stumbled into our own private wonderland. 

But the illusion didn’t last. By afternoon, we were rolling through one tourist town after another, the kind where outdoor shops and ski signs blur into one. We pulled in for supplies, but as we stepped out, the sky opened up. Real snow this time, not the pitiful flurries we’d seen earlier. It came down fast, pelting us in icy bursts and settling on Bertie and I wondered if this was his first time seeing snow.

As we drove on, the snow fell harder, blurring the world outside. It got thicker with every kilometre, and for a moment, I thought, what if this turns into a full whiteout? 

But then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. The clouds parted, the sky turned a crisp blue, and the mountains reappeared like nothing had happened. 

We pulled over beside a lake, with snow-capped mountains rising in the distance. It was meant to be just a short break, and we stretched out for an afternoon nap with the sun warming the van.

But when we woke, the view hadn’t lost its magic, so we decided to stay the night. Technically, it’s just a rest stop by the side of the road. But with that view out the window, it might as well be a luxury resort! We’re just missing the hot tub! 

Lake Byglandfjorden to Atra – 250 kms

Lattitude: 59.8

Welcome to Day 11 and another day of stunning Norway. Nobody joined us at our camping spot overnight, and it was a very quiet night. Possibly too quiet!

Today, we kept to narrow roads that wound along the edge of beautiful lakes. Slick rock walls rose up on either side, shaped possibly by glaciers a long time ago. The scenery shifted constantly, and each turn offered something worth pulling over for. Reflections on the water. A waterfall. Or just a short nap.

Then we climbed higher into the mountains, navigating tight, twisty lanes that clung to the cliffs. Traditional wooden huts with grass roofs dotted the landscape, and goats grazed in the paddocks.

Before long, we hit the snow line  and the air grew sharp and cold. We pulled into a small town, where the locals warned us the weather was about to turn nasty, maybe even bring snow.

We continued to climb up and up, until we reached a peak. We felt on top of the world as we looked down on the town of Dalen. To drive down was a series of hairpin turns with sheer drop offs to the side, reminding me of the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado. We stopped at Dalen, a small town in the valley, to refuel, and everyone town looked very miserable. So we didn’t linger. 

We met a couple of Polish guys today driving Norway in their tiny little Fiat. It was all painted up and they have a following on instagram and tiktok. They gave us a couple of stickers and a cardboard thingy of their car which we have to make. We are doing it in style compared to them!

Then we went up again, over another mountain pass. It’s a little bit scary being in the passenger seat where the driver would normally sit. I’m constantly telling Mike to keep over! As we drove down another narrow, winding road with hairpin turns, a massive hydroelectric power station loomed on our right. Thick pipes ran straight down the mountainside, channelling water into the turbines below.

We drove into the town of Rjukan and I instantly felt the history oozing from its pores. I had no idea what history, just that there was a creepy vibe emanating from the town. We drove to the spot I’d marked to stay the night, but I already knew I wouldn’t be staying here. I can’t quite pinpoint why. Maybe it was the shadowy old buildings, or maybe it was just a gut feeling. I decided to Google the place, and wow, Rjukan has some interesting facts.

For starters, the town doesn’t get any direct sunlight from September through to March. That’s six months of the year living in shade! How freaky would that be? They actually installed giant mirrors on the mountainside to reflect sunlight into the town during winter.

But Rjukan’s past is even darker than its winters. During World War II, the nearby Vemork power plant was a key site for Nazi heavy water production, essential for developing nuclear weapons. In one of the most famous sabotage missions of the war, Norwegian resistance fighters blew up the facility, crippling the program and stopping a shipment that could’ve changed history.

And we drove right on through!

We continued on, looking for a place to camp. And then it started snowing! Okay, not real snow, just a light flutter. But it was falling ice, hitting the windscreen! There was a shortage of places to stay along this stretch. We eventually found a place off the main road (yes, less main than the twisty things we’ve been on.) It overlooks a river… and bonus, there are pit toilets here! 

Oh, and it’s freezing! We are thankful for our diesel heater!

Vigeland to Lake Byglandsfjorden – 175 kms

Lattitude: 58

We had a surprisingly great night’s sleep at a scenic carpark right off the main road. Today, we’re heading to the southernmost tip of mainland Norway.

It was another glorious, sunny day as we wound our way along narrow roads skirting fjords and charming boathouses. I don’t know why, but everything here feels ultra-saturated. It’s like seeing the world through an iPhone with the filters cranked up. The colours are incredibly vivid, almost surreal. Maybe it’s to do with how far north we are, but it’s probably just my imagination.

We reached the southern tip of mainland Norway and set off on a steep hike up to the lighthouse. As we climbed, the salty air grew stronger, and my lungs grew tighter. I must do more exercise! At the top, the lighthouse stood tall against the brilliant blue sky, offering endless views over the North Sea. The original lighthouse was powered by a coal fire, and we had the chance to explore the nearby caves where the coal was stored. They were dark, cool, and moody, still with a hint of coal smell. It was a fascinating glimpse into the past and added a unique layer to our visit.

Afterwards, we spent some time plotting our next move, keen to head north, but eager to avoid the major cities. Finding a route through Norway without driving through long tunnels is trickier than you’d think. But the upside? We get to drive through some wonderfully wiggly backroads with stunning scenery at every turn.

We stopped at a small museum, where a lovely local woman gave us some brilliant tips for road-tripping north. I’d been torn about skipping the major tourist hotspots like the Lofoten Islands. Part of me didn’t want to miss out, even though crowded places aren’t really my thing. Thankfully, she confirmed what I’d suspected: they’re beautiful, but seriously overrun, and there are plenty of less touristy spots that are just as stunning, if not more so. Most of them were already on my radar, but it was reassuring to have that insider validation.

We continued our journey north, searching for a camping spot for the night. We found a little spot which seemed perfect. It was a bit of a tight and bumpy squeeze, but Mike wrangled Bertie in, balancing us nicely on a rock overlooking a lake. But when we stepped out of the van we were swarmed upon by ants. And they weren’t little ants either, these were big brown man eating things! We needed to leave! Now! Lake view or not, we weren’t about to become part of the ant smorgasbord.

The next trick was to reverse out of the tight spot. I tried to help but as per standard, Mike ignored all my arm waving, yelling, etc. and then he almost got stuck in a groove, wheels spinning, kicking up grit and ants. A moment of fear crossed my mind of getting stuck here and being eaten alive. But, the professional driver he is, with the help of our adventure van, Bertie, they both made it out. It might not have worked out so well if it was wet.

A short way up the road we found a better spot to camp for the night, also overlooking a lake and under some pine trees. And no ants! We sat on the rocks at the edge of the lake, enjoying the quiet, the breeze, and the simple feeling of having nowhere else to be. So far, it’s just us here, no other vans, a stunning view and a few flying bugs which we weren’t sure were bitey or not. It feels like our own private slice of Norway.

The days are getting longer with the sun now setting at 10pm. I’m going to start putting the lattitude at the top of the blog. We are currently at 58 degrees. The arctic is at 66 and we hope to go as far north as 71 degrees. Hamilton sits at 38 degrees.

It was one of those gorgeous blue-sky days, and the four-hour ferry crossing was smooth as…until we docked.

No sooner had we rolled off the ferry than my worst fear happened: tunnels. Boom. Boom. Boom. Three in a row, not even time to catch my breath. And not your average tunnels, either. This was an underground maze, with forks and offshoots going god knows where. Mike missed our exit, and suddenly we were hopelessly lost in Norway’s underground. 

Eventually, we resurfaced and pulled into a shopping centre so I could calm my rattled nerves. We also picked up a Norwegian road atlas, because sometimes you just need to see the entire battlefield.

Mr Google kept trying to herd us onto the highways so I did my zoomie trick where I zoom in on the map and follow the wiggliest lines I can find. That led us to the coast, and oh wow, what a detour it turned out to be.

Norway’s southern fjords are absolutely stunning. Clear blue water and red timber houses perched at the water’s edge were just what I expected from Norway. It’s picture postcard, chocolate box and every other cliché you can imagine.  We couldn’t stop grinning at the sheer beauty of it!

But we should give some credit to France, Belgium, Holland, and Denmark. Their flat landscapes set up Norway to wow us as soon as we got off the ferry. It was like we’d been transported into another land (we literally had).

The afternoon was spent driving along narrow winding roads, every turn another beautiful scene. I found two really decent free camping spots, but Mike was loving the drive so much he didn’t want to stop. The weather and scenery was too nice.

We continued on but couldn’t find any decent camping spots. Thankfully, with the long evenings (it doesn’t get dark until around 10 p.m.), we had time on our side. Eventually, we found a free spot in a rest area just off the main road. Even their rest stops are ridiculously picturesque. We’re overlooking a pond, with picnic tables, chairs, and even toilets. Just a bit of traffic noise, but it didn’t bother us at all.

Today we woke up, buzzing with excitement to explore Denmark. First stop:  Ribe. It’s not just Denmark’s oldest town, but one of the oldest in all of Scandinavia. We wandered around the cobbled streets marvelling at the different architecture and wonky chocolate ripple buildings. We were keen to sample some authentic Danish cuisine for lunch, but neither of us could make a decision so we gave up and returned  to the van for a salad wrap.

We drove to the next town, Esbjerg, but couldn’t find a parking spot so we left in a huff. But just outside the city, Denmark redeemed itself with Man Meets the Sea: four enormous, ghostly white statues sitting on a dune, gazing out over the North Sea. They were very cool.

Today, we tried really hard to be tourists, but we just weren’t feeling it. I don’t want to sound mean, but driving across Denmark has been a bit like road tripping across the Hauraki Plains, with a few windmills and old buildings thrown in for variety. The cow shit smells the same.

But this trip was never about Denmark. Norway has been calling us from the start, and now, we’re finally ready to answer.

Tomorrow we catch a ferry to Norway!

Today, we’re going to Denmark!

After a peaceful night’s sleep in a carpark in Holland, we hit the road around 10 a.m., feeling refreshed and ready for a new country.

We’ve decided to experiment with our navigation. Google Maps wanted to send us to Denmark via the busy city of Hamburg. No thanks! Keen to avoid the chaos, we zoomed in on the map and spotted a small ferry crossing the River Elbe. It looked like a much less stressful option, so we took a chance.

The Elbe is a mighty river, stretching over 1,000 kilometres all the way to the Czech Republic. As we crossed, we dodged three container ships making their way out of Hamburg. It was a little tense (not really), but we made it safely to the other side and carried on our way.

We stuck to our plan of avoiding motorways and eventually crossed the border into Denmark, arriving in the town of Tønder. It was quiet, eerily so. As we wandered the cobbled streets, I wondered if the whole town was taking an afternoon nap.

We found a large gravel parking lot to sleep in, but I wasn’t feeling The Vibe. That’s my personal radar for picking good overnight spots. It wasn’t a bad vibe, just not The Vibe. Hard to explain, but it’s a feeling I’ve learned to trust.

We were both pretty tired, so we cooked some dinner and mulled it over. I found another parking spot just eight minutes away, so we decided to go and check it out. And I’m so glad we did.

It turned out to be a dedicated free camping area for campervans, complete with a grassy patch and even toilets! Now this was The Vibe.

Later, we took a stroll through the town. It’s basically one long cobblestoned street lined with trees. But these are not your average trees. They had been carefully manicured into what looked like furry green fingers reaching for the sky. The cottages were straight out of a fairytale: old, quaint, with thatched-roofs and wonky bricks. It looked different from any street I’d seen in Europe, and that made me happy.

That, and the toilet. The toilet made me happy too.

Holland to Bad Bederkesa, Germany

It was another fast-tracking day in our quest for the midnight sun. Holland flew by in a haze of flat farmland and windmills. The highlight was cruising over a ridiculously long dyke that stretches across the top of the Netherlands. The Dutch built it to stop the North Sea from flooding the land. 

It’s called the Alphabet dyke (or Afsluitdijk in dutch) and it’s 32 kms long! It closed off the BackwardsAlphabet (Zuiderzee in dutch), and over time, the salty sea turned into a freshwater lake, now known as the IJsselmeer. It’s how the Netherlands keeps the sea under control. We cycled this exact route a few years ago, but it was much slower and sweatier.

Out on the lake, rows upon rows of windmills rose from the water like a futuristic forest. Stretching into the distance, these sleek white turbines turned in the wind. Was it sight pollution? Was that even a thing? I wasn’t sure, but at least the cows weren’t complaining. (No-one cares about the fish!)

Today, there were no major disasters, no surprise detours and Bertie’s mirror stayed in place. But we did eat a lot of junk food. Chocolate, chippies, and some sweet sour things which made me feel sick. I’ll start my diet tomorrow.

We’ve now crossed into Germany and are parked up in another glamorous carpark. This one’s charging us 6 euros for the night, but it’s in a lovely spot, close to a peaceful canal that looks like it belongs on a postcard.

For dinner we had the obligatory schnitzel and chips. Was it only two days ago I decided to go vegetarian? Like I said, diet starts tomorrow. (It’s more of a mantra than a plan at this point.)

After dinner, we walked alongside the canal. Houseboats lined the banks, their windows open to the warm air, with bicycles leaning against their sides and people sipping wine on the decks. The water glistened, mirroring the soft glow of the late afternoon sun.  A heron stood in the shallows, still and watchful, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting fish. The path beneath our feet crunched with each step and put me in a reflective state.

I reminisced about our cycling trip three years ago. Back then, we swore we’d never travel Europe by campervan. Cycle touring was our thing. But to reach Norway and chase the midnight sun, the sheer number of steep climbs and bike-unfriendly tunnels makes it impossible to do in just 90 days (and probably outside of our skill level.)

As much as we loved the simplicity of life on two wheels:  Pack up tent, hop on bike, cycle, pitch tent, cook dinner on ground, repeat; there’s a different kind of freedom that comes with campervan travel. You can pull over anywhere for a cup of tea, take an afternoon nap, and carry refrigerated food. And at the end of the day, there’s real comfort in having a bed off the ground, shelter from the weather, and a house that moves when you do.

Walking beside the quiet canal, I realised you don’t have to be immersed in nature all day to enjoy it. It was just nice to stretch the legs and feel the excitement of being somewhere new.

We found a seat and sat, listening to the silence. Not the absence of sound, but the presence of stillness. It wrapped around us like a welcome hug, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant boom boom of a party on the other side of the river. After 3 days of driving on manic motorways, it was nice to just sit and be.

If all goes well tomorrow, we might make it to Denmark!

Todays mission: Fix Berties mirror

We had a great night sleep in the carpark in Belgium but we woke up to freezing! Well, not quite, but it was pretty cold. Our first stop was a Mercedes dealership just outside Ghent… only to find out they don’t deal with vans or stock the parts we needed. Luckily, the kind receptionist called their city branch and confirmed they had what we were after.

A quick detour into Ghent, and Bertie was soon the proud owner of a shiny new side mirror. The best part? Fitting it was a easy. A quick pop-in job and Bertie was as good as new, ready to hit the road again. 

But no road trip goes completely to plan. Not long after we left, a warning light flicked on the dash. Time for another detour, this time to Antwerp and another Mercedes dealership. And, you guessed it, they didn’t handle vans either. The nearest van specialist was 30 minutes away… in the wrong direction. Strangely enough, when Mike restarted the van, the warning had vanished. Mysterious, but we weren’t complaining.

The rest of the day was a fast-paced sprint up the motorways, bypassing Belgium’s and Holland’s major cities – Antwerp, The Hague and Amsterdam.

Since freedom camping is banned in the Netherlands, we pulled into a campground north of Amsterdam. It’s not cheap at €27 a night, but the showers and toilets are super-flash, and it seems like a peaceful place to rest up.

Right now, it feels like we’re racing through Europe, but with limited time and many miles to cover, we’re skipping over the countries we’ve explored before. Things will slow down once we reach Denmark.

The day did not start well.

As I mentioned in the last blog, today’s “big adventure” would probably not be the ferry to France. Turns out, I was spot on. The real challenge was driving to Dover.  The question wasn’t when we’d make the ferry. It was if.

On a good day, the drive to Dover takes 3.5 hours. Our ferry check-in time was at 3pm. Mike, ever the optimist, suggested leaving at 10am. I, ever the contingency planner, said no later than 9. Sensible, or so I thought…

We got up at 7am, feeling super excited and fully prepared. That’s when Mike noticed Problem #1: the rear tyre pressure was down. Apparently, he’d seen bubbles on the valve the day before when we were faffing about washing Bertie and checking his tyre pressures. Probably should have dealt with that then. 

I could feel a minor panic brewing deep in my subconciousness. Not quite anxiety, but definitely potential. The Hitch-hikers Guide to the Galaxy came to the rescue. Don’t Panic, and… something about fish. Details were hazy but the message was clear. I was thankful we had options. If we couldn’t get the wheel fixed today, there would always be another ferry!

A quick call to a local tyre shop quickly stomped on our impending doom and thankfully they squeezed us in straight away. Sure enough it was a dodgy valve. Thirty minutes later, 20 pounds lighter, and we were back on the road by 9:30am. Contingency intact.

Then came Problem #2:  The M25 carpark was full. Because of course it was. There had been an accident and they had closed it off causing mayhem. Google decided to help with a scenic detour right through London’s Ultra Low Emission Zone. Two immediate problems with this:

1.  I didn’t want to go anywhere near London traffic.
2.  Bertie is many things, but a “low-emissions” van he is not!

In my panic to avoid London, I tweaked Google’s settings to avoid tolls and motorways. That was a mistake. A big mistake.

Next thing we knew, we were zigzagging through every back road, country lane, and goat track in southern England. Bertie was getting far too intimate with the hedgerows.

Then Problem #3 happened. Somewhere along the way, one of the sneaky bushes stole our side mirror. It was super-stealth about it too as we didn’t even notice until much later. How on earth was Mike going to handle driving a massive van on the wrong side of the road without a side mirror? But this was a problem for future me.  Right now, I just wanted to escape this maze from hell!

Eventually, the roads widened just enough to unclench, and for a glorious moment, it felt like we were back on actual roads. Almost. But then Mike missed a crucial turning. I told him to take the next one. We pulled over to regroup. Mike wanted to stay with the traffic flow. Google disagreed. In my frustration, I exited the navigation and tried to re-route. Rookie mistake. We were in a data dead spot, and now we had NO navigation.

With no signal, I had to navigate the old-fashioned way: zooming in on offline maps, squinting at the tiny roads, and hoping for the best. Meanwhile, our 2-hour buffer had been chewed up at an alarming rate and we only a 25 minute contingency left!

Eventually, we stumbled back into signal territory. Google found its bearings, but we’d lost precious time. To make matters worse, I realised I’d forgotten to uncheck the “avoid highways” setting. Things were starting to make sense now.

Once that was fixed, it was plain sailing down the M20 to Dover. But by then, Bertie was short one mirror, we were short on nerves, and our “relaxing” drive had turned into the Great Dover Dash.

At least we made it. Just.

The ferry from Dover to Dunkirk was nearly empty. Just a handful of cycle tourists, a couple of vans, and a few trucks. The crossing was smooth and uneventful, and we arrived around 7:30pm.

Then came the final challenge of the day: finding somewhere to sleep.

We had no plan, no destination other than heading north, and a vague idea that heading towards Ghent in Belgium might be smart, since there are a couple of Mercedes dealerships there. Hopefully one of them has a mirror for poor, lopsided Bertie.

I managed to find a carpark in Belgium for us the sleep in for the night. Not glamorous, but we’re tucked in now, hoping nobody knocks on the window at 2am.

Tomorrow? Your guess is as good as mine!