Orlando

12 February 2024

After an unusually serene cruise around the M25 against a low sun under a blue sky, I easily find Moto Freight, a few minutes from Hatton Cross Underground, south of the airport.

Unbidden, Marcus comes out to greet me and check the bike over and then takes me into the hangar to explain what will happen. It’s immediately clear by the scale of the operation this company know exactly what they are about.

At least twenty bikes are in there either being prepared for shipping or collection by customers. Several mud-splattered GSs feature, suggesting some are actually used off-road, other than being parked on the pavement outside Costa Coffee on a Sunday morning. 

I chose Moto Freight as from the first contact with Shane, extended email correspondence with Kathy and the various reassurances and explanations from Marcus this morning, it’s clear that Moto Freight are individually interested in their customers and the journeys they are making. There is a collective awareness that most of us are first-time customers, so both curious and nervous in equal measure. Consequently,  friendly professionalism is everywhere: no question is too stupid and every email is promptly and precisely answered. 

So after Marcus shows me the custom crate they have built for my bike and explains how to unpack it armed only with a cross-head screwdriver, we shake hands and I go off in search of the bus stop. And It’s only then I realise there is no going back now…

28 February 2024

I’ve been keeping a beady eye on the shipment, courtesy of the tracking device fitted to the bike at the demand of the insurance company and can see it’s been loaded on the same Virgin Atlantic flight I’m on.

Eleven hours later, coming into Orlando, the lights of the 22nd largest city in America stretch out as far as the eye can see and, not for the first time, I wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew…

As customs clearance for cargo starts on a ‘wheels up’ basis (i.e. as soon as the plane is in the air) the import paperwork is completed by next morning. The bill from the customs agent has climbed to $1085 as fees and customs bond fees have increased dramatically since the original estimate of $750. So after settling the bill and a gentle prod by email to the freight handlers, I hand over the release form to one of the burly, bearded, baseball cap-wearing chaps who look like they’ve stepped off the ‘Sons of Anarchy’ set.

Once they realise what’s inside and my planned journey, they couldn’t be more helpful: many have Harley’s, it seems, and so I’m suddenly at the head of the queue.

There is no faulting Moto Freight for the thoroughness of their packing. Two hours later, my little Bosch electric screwdriver has given up the ghost as I free the bike from its protective cocoon and break down the container into flat panels for disposal as instructed. It’s in perfect condition, so after a bit of re-arranging my stuff to distribute the weight evenly, I find the Florida Turnpike and head south.

Immediately, space and scale are in evidence. This isn’t even the major road but it’s three lanes of perfectly smooth tarmac in either direction, separated by a central reservation the length of a football field with grass verges to match.

After leaving the Orlando suburbs, the minimal traffic dissolves and the 120 miles to Port St Lucie is complete by mid-afternoon.