In 1963, I was 12 years old. We lived in South London and were travelling to Norfolk (east of England) for Christmas and New Year. In good weather, and light traffic, the EMC2 Motorcycle and camping on the mountain shirt would have been about 4 hours I think. There were no motorways then, and our route took us right through London and then up the A11. It started snowing before we were out of central London and by the time we reached Newmarket which was more than halfway, it was really thick on the road and Dad was getting worried about reaching our destination. We stopped and he went into a pub to phone the friends we were staying with. They said it was not so bad where they were and Dad decided to carry on, but the snow seemed to be following us. I was in the back seat, wrapped in coat and a blanket, Mum was wrapped in travel rugs in the front seat. I don’t recall our arrival, I had been asleep for ages, but I know it took us at least 6 hours probably 7, it was a real nightmare for Dad driving – even though he was very good as he was in the police and had had done an advanced driving course. The whole of the UK had a really cold snowy winter that year. Mum and I stayed on longer in Norfolk, Dad went back to London on the train to go to work and came back to collect us the following weekend.