Set off from Baigts bang on our noon schedule (13:07), filled up in Dax, and continued West to the N10 (or D810 as it also seems to be called). Some 40km from Bordeaux we encounter stationary traffic, which continues until we cross the Garonne, and head towards the bridge over the Dordogne. Stop/start traffic for over 50km. French drivers were very sympathetic towards the slowly filtering Wing, though our ETA at Tours for the evening was extended by over an hour. Once on the Peage bit of the A10 the traffic was still heavy, but a steady 70mph was achievable. Fairly brief queue to pay at Tours, then we hit the old town in search of some grub. Saturday was overcast and cool, compared to the previous two weeks, and the breeze got cooler as we headed up the A28 towards Rouen. Again, this is mostly a 2-lane autoroute, and we overtook endless caravans and motorhomes, as we wended our weary way home. At one fuel stop, I noticed a funny rattle had started down by my left knee, and instantly suspected the alternator bearings. Apparently these usually go at around 100-120 thousand miles. My Wing's now got around 110k on it. I resolved to have a good look when we got home. The rattle died away at steady engine speed, anyway. Through Rouen, and onto the A28/A16, into a stiff crosswind, and we made the tunnel in plenty of time for our train. It took ages to get through UK birder control, and we swept down the ramp, and were ushered straight onto the train. Unusually, we weren't thrown in at the end, but proceeded to the first carriage before stopping. Loading took another half an hour due a bloody caravan getting stuck, or something, and we set off twenty minutes behind schedule. At Folkestone we resolved to fill up at Maidstone services, and set about the M20 with relish. Very heavy traffic - and apparently heading toward the first black cloud we'd seen for two weeks. Fill-up was uneventful, and we swept past Maidstone, with an expected home time of around 19:50. Overtaking a truck, the Wing suddenly lost all power, the lights went off, and I managed to coast to a halt on the hard shoulder right next to an emergency 'phone. We tried to bum it into life, but it was having none of it. I checked battery connections, and fuses - all fine. Giving into the inevitable, I rang up motorway control, who contacted Auntie Carole's recovery service for me. "Be about 90 minutes" they said. This was about 19:15. After 90 minutes, I ran again to ask how things were going, and they were "on their way". Some ten minutes later we were visited by a pair of "motorway wombles", who checked again -apparently the recovery truck was stuck on the A20, and would be there "soon". The numbers of artics who seemed to pop over for a closer look, running along the rumble strips was very worrying. About ten o'clock a pair of flashing orange light came into view, and the young lad unwrapped one of those extending ladder-ramp trailers from the back of his Vivaro. Somehow we got the Wing's front wheel into the clamp, and then he ratchet-strapped it to the trailer from each grab-rail. A thirty minute ride home, with fingers crossed, and breath held (mainly on the APPALLING surface of the roads on the Isle of Dogs) and we were home by eleven. At which point I was sent out on the CB13 to fetch some milk. Woke this morning a broken man - everything ached - I'm not sure if was the ride the wing through Picardy, or manhandling the Wing onto the trailer. Fell a bit better after a long, sleepy, soak, and the afternoon fast akip, but still not 100%. I can't summon up any enthusiasm to look at the Wing right now, either - at one point last night I was almost hoping that a wandering artic would solve my problems for me. A new bearing is gonna be cheap enough, but a new alternator? Assuming that's the problem, of course.
