JC's Traveblog

I never had a remote controlled anything when I was a kid. My father, being a joiner, did build a couple of sailing boats that we took to Verulamium (St. Albans) lake but they were free-sailing with no more than some rudimentary rudder control that I failed to understand. I once built an aeroplane with a glow plug engine that took for ever to start but that was a control-line plane designed to zoom around in circles on the end of two wires that operated the elevators. Eventually the time came for its inaugural flight and my father struggled gamely to start the recalcitrant engine. Once started, yours truly grabbed the control lines in preparation for my patient father to release my new toy. Being a complete and utter novice, as dad let go, I unwisely applied a handful of elevator whereupon the hapless balsa wood plane left the safety of my father’s hands, flew straight up, arced over my head and smashed itself to smithereens into the ground behind me. Its maiden flight was all of ¾ circuit. It never flew again. Given my apparent piloting skills, I certainly didn’t want to break anything as expensive as a remote controlled aeroplane, not that I could have afforded one.

On Wednesday, a delivery van arrived with three boxes containing the components of a mover for Billy Bailey (our caravan). I’ve been watching such devices increase in popularity over the last few years but until recently had resisted. They looked very handy for the infirm or those who can’t get their head around the logic of reversing an articulated unit but I didn’t put myself into that category. However, we did seem to have increasing situations when we’d like to have pitched Billy differently were it not for having to have the car attached. Occasionally a “discussion” would arise revolving around where someone would like Billy pitched versus where I could actually pitch Billy. Flexibility overcame reversing pride and we placed an order with Powrwheel.

This morning soon after 8:00 AM a fitter arrived to fit Billy’s mover. It consists of two electric motors, one to drive each main wheel. These are powered by the on-board leisure battery. I decided to go the whole hog and order the power actuator too, the device that puts the motor’s drive shaft into contact with the wheels and retracts them. That’s frequently a manual exercise. The fitter was delighted with Billy’s pedigree since the Bailey Pageant Monarch is apparently a straightforward fitting job. He clearly knew what he was talking about ‘cos he was done by 11:00 AM.

After a little instruction I managed to drive Billy off our neighbour’s driveway (borrowed while they are away for the    fitting job because it’s flatter than ours) and park him in his usual space to prepare for the off. Billy didn’t hit anything and Billy didn’t crash. Much better than an aeroplane in lots of pieces!

Later, heart in mouth, I even managed to drive Billy out of his parking spot and up to the towing hitch of the car, and all without the aid of a safety net. Brilliant!

I’ve got a remote controlled toy at last.

The Tour de France is managing to keep the excitement level up. Two days ago I watched an incredulous Frenchman survive what became an independent breakaway from the peloton to take a stage win. It was delightful to watch: as he approached the line he kept glancing around and shaking his head in utter disbelief that the main bunch of riders had messed up their chase and failed to catch him. Yesterday the Tour moved into its second foreign territory, Spain, and headed down to Barcelona. It looked for a while as though another independent move from 30 kms out would survive but it was not to be; this time the peloton reeled him in for another frenetic sprint finish. The really weird thing yesterday was that it was raining in Spain. Shock, horror! The weather is supposed to be better south of the Pyrenees.

I can’t quite believe today’s stage. The organizers, who can only be described as sadistic, send the hapless competitors up into Andorra (foreign territory three) and the heights of the Pyrenees. Not only is this said to be one of the highest finishes ever at 2240m/7350ft, but there are four further climbs to warm up the legs along the way covering a total distance of 224 kms/140 mls. 140 miles with a killer finish – strewth! It should be fascinating.

All this French activity is making me champ at the bit to get back to France myself. With that in mind I have managed to find time in between Tour de France coverage to spend yet more money. I have finally weakened and ordered a caravan mover from Powrwheel Ltd. This will enable the van to be positioned independent of our tow car, even up quite steep slopes. Whilst I pride myself on my caravan reversing abilities, it should give a lot more flexibility when choosing a pitch position. There have been occasions when we’ve had to reject an appealing-looking pitch simply because there wasn’t room for the combined car and caravan to manoeuvre. Movers are also very handy accessories for the elderly and infirm, so I should be fine.

Now, on with Le Tour.