Trip to Italy

[bins]

Hello again everyone, I'll tell you about a long ride this time. Please excuse all spelling mistakes!!!
In 1979 I took a trip to Greece, riding across Germany and Austria, over the Grossglockner and into what was then Yugoslavia, I followed the coast all the way down to nearly Albania, then crossed away from the sea at Dubrovnic to Thessaloniki in Greece, that was quite a ride, high temperatures, poor roads, goats roaming about in the dark tunnels, I was 2 up fully loaded with camping gear etc. After a few days I crossed over to the Adriatic coast south of Albania to catch a boat to Ancona in Italy, that also was quite a ride, travelling many miles at a time without seeing any vehicles or people, plenty of wild dogs though, this was on my 2 year old R100RS, 5 gallon petrol tank as soon as it was half full I was looking for fuel, the roads were quite remote however fuel was not a problem.
Back to the what seemed like civilisation in Italy (Yugoslavia was still communist and I'd never seen poverty like I saw in central Greece), on the way along the coast of Yugoslavia there was a lake adjoined to the sea, for something like a pound we could take a ferry or do a 14 mile road around the lake, while I was waiting for the ferry to come across an immaculatly dressed young policeman (not much in Yugoslavia was immaculate) walked around the bike, looked me up and down, then went to the front and said "D", I gave him my best blank expression and shrugged my shoulders, again but with more aggression he said "D" and drew the letter D on the screen with his finger, (I knew perfectly well what he wanted, we did not have a G B plate on the back) I always used to have the union flag in the centre on the front of my helmet, I pointed to it and he realised we were from England (he may have realised we were from Norfolk and just thought I'll give up on this one), were was I? oh yes, he realised I was from England, almost smiled and walked off, if I had been German (BMW bike) there was now way I was going anywhere untill the was a D on the back.
I digressed, back to the plot, I had arranged to meet friends at the Stella Alpina rally, held each year, and I believe still is, in a little village in the Alps called Bardonnecchia (or something pretty similar) organised by a chap Mario Artuiso, real salt of the earth type, used to take the diehards trail riding along the highest alpine dirt roads the week after the rally on a 90S. Well part of any rally is buying the badge, to get the Stella badge you had to ride 5 miles or more up a dirt road to where Mario would sell them, I've never minded riding off road but even it those days the locals had serious moto crossers, they would fly past flinging up stones at you from their rear tyres, my RS was still in tip top order at that time, many of my friends would not go up the mountain because of the locals, after getting my badge I rode as high as I could get, the veiws were more stunning than the stones from the crossers!!! back down again to load up to go home. Had to ride back towards Turin to find the road over the Alps, 3 hours hard riding and into France, no Euros in those days, had to change some cash for Francs, (not even a credit or bank card, let alone ATMs) it was Sunday and the only place to change money was the train station in Grenoble. By then it would have been 3 in the afternoon, hit the autoroute and wound it up, past Lyon and towards Paris, cannot remember what time it was when I saw a sign, Paris 25 kilometers when the traffic ground to a halt, I rode all the way to the peripherique along the hard shoulder!!! Around the capitol of France and head towards Lille (was catching the ferry from Zeebrugge to Felixtowe) don't remember much about it except that on the Belgian motorway my passenger was asleep and I was riding one handed beating her left hand against her left leg trying to keep her awake, that was cruising at well over the 'ton', one thing a B M was is 'stable at high speed'. Rolled into Zeebrugge docks at 3 in the morning, 710 miles after leaving 'camp' . Not my longest ride but it was a long way at that time.

[bins]

Hello again, had a long ride home from Ullapool once, got packed up about 10 in the morning and went south and looked at the Corrieshallock gorge and walked over the rope bridge, just for old times sake, (went there with my parents in 1964, five of us in a Standard 10 van, no bigger than an Escort van and we had all the camping gear with us), turned right onto the A832 and rode around to Gairloch, then on to Shieldaig, then along the one track road to Applecross, from there up the Pass of the cattle, while I was at the top I noticed the track up to the radio mast on the top of the mountain, there was a lack of no entry signs and the gate was open so off I went (I'm on an R1100RS BMW), the track was made of crushed concrete and crushed tarmac, towards the top the lumps were getting bigger and I stuggled to keep the front straight and find grip with the rear, nearly at the top the gradient increased and I stopped, knackered, I should have took my oversuit and gloves off, also the top box and left them at the start, might have made it then! I was faced with the problem of turning round, the track was only wide enough for a single vehicle, if I went over the edge I'd never get it back, after 5 minutes rest to enjoy the veiw I had to keep rocking the bike back and forth, wiggling the bars left to right, gradually turning round, by the time I was half way the sump had grounded as the rear wheel had scrabbed out a deep groove, at least I could get both feet on the ground! after 10 or 15 minutes I was far enough round to tackle the way down, harder than going up but still easier than riding in deep sand. Back onto something resembling a road I rode down the other side of the pass and back onto the proper tarmac of the A896, A890, A87 and A82 to Glasgow, by then I wanted to make better progress south, (I was working next day) so I took the M74 to Carlisle, by the time I got there I could not stand the boredom any more, I had to get off the motorway and do the A6, right down to Preston, then I put up with the M6 to bypass the cities, I know the route from Knutsford to Macclesfield so no contest as to which way to go, I always enjoy riding the 'cat and fiddle', must have done it nearly 50 times, turn south at Buxton to Ashbourne and suffer the A52 to Derby then it's the 6006 (now 50 MPH), carry on eastwards, Melton Mowbray, Bourne, Spalding and Kings Lynn, then I still do the twisties through Swaffam, Watton and to near Diss where I'm home. 750 miles if I remember correctly, suppose I'd had enough for one day!

[bins]

I've 2 challenges I've wanted to do on a bike, one is cover 100 miles in an hour, I've tried a few times but not suceeded, got pretty close once with 80 miles done and 15 minutes to go, road works slowed me down and I clocked 100 in about 62 minutes. The other is to do 1000 miles in a day, no big deal on motorways, especially on the continent but I set off at 4.40 one morning and headed north, Attleborough, Swaffam, Kings Lynn, Lincoln, then I'm far enough from home that the roads are not so familiar and it gets more interesting, there's a good road through Gainsborough to Goole, then over the Humber and to Selby, up to York and I ride through the city centre (it's Sunday and still before 8.00) I decided to try and do minimum dual carriageways, the A19 is a reasonable road, then at Thirsk if you take the 168 then the 167 it takes you to Darlington, good, fast and scenic. Across the A1 and up the 68, done this road overloaded in a Bedford T K once, you don't notice the hills so much on a bike, the T K was in crawler a couple of times though. Anyone been up the 68 through Toft Hill and Tow Law in winter? it's so bleak and dismal but this time I was there in mid summer and the weather was perfect, at Carter Bar Scotland starts, I turn left after the border and take the A6088 to Hawick then the A7 to Edinburgh, I have no choice but to do a bit of motorway which gets me up to Perth, decide to carry on up the A9 to Pitlochry then turn right, A924 to Bridge of Cally and turn left up the A93 where there is a club meeting at a pub so I stop for eats, if I remember correctly it's about 2 ish. I look at the miles and I do remember seeing 478 so I ride up to Breamar, one of the best roads in Scotland through Glen Shee, 500 shows on the trip meter so I turn around and ride the exact road home. Cannot remember the exact time I parked up but I do remember I was away from home 19 hours with about two and a half hours break, average for the riding time about 60 I think, done on a trusty R1100RS with a Corbin comfy seat, wasn't that comfy when I get home though!!!. No more long rides to bore you with, next I'll tell you about some of the times I've run out of petrol!

[dave the german]

I've been thru Toft Hill in winter - I live about 6 miles from Tow Law - a village close to Tow Law has the most inappropriate name of Sunniside

[Boxermed69]

Great stuff bins. Makes me realise what a wimp I am

Mike.

[bins]

Let me introduce myself properly, first name Robert, 1952 vintage, welding and fabrication engineer and self confessed motorcycling addict. Particularly enjoy long distance journeys on an R1100RS and track days on either an F800s (suitable for learning new tracks) or the S1000RR when I know where I'm going. Done a bit of club racing in the 80s on an R100RS, then stayed away from race tracks until more recently. Had a hankering to do the M G P about 10 years ago but various complications, like having to qualify from novice status again put me off. A different challenge (learning the Nurburgring) was taken up and I again found myself enjoying track riding, this time with a different attitude, no longer is it all important to knock those 10 ths off lap times, now my priority is smoothness and accuracy.
After learning to ride a bicycle along the pavements in the Wimbledon Park area, a while ago, I longed for something that throbbed between my legs, at the age of 10 or so I got a throbbing but it was not going to propel me up the A120 at 100 MPH! (by then I'd moved to Essex). In the bad winter of 62/63 the family moved to Norfolk where one of the lads had a D3 Bantam to ride the fields and lanes, (not much of a throb, more a little tingle).
In 1966 I was taken to Snetterton for the 'Race of Aces' where I caught a glimpe of the Honda 6 and the Yamaha 4s, the sight and sound of 40 Manxs and G50s in persuit had an influence on me to this day.
My motorcycling career was to start for real in 1968 on a brand new BSA Starfire. That bike did it's best to cure my addiction, first by refusing to stop no matter how hard I pulled the lever, (7" single leading shoe), then by disheartening me every time the big end broke. A real good looker though and the throb was what I'd longed for!
At 17 I was bike less for the winter while I made a runner from the van load of 500 single AJS spares I'd bought for a fiver, (high compression piston, no advance and retard, let alone valve lifter, pig of a thing to start, one hell of a throb when it did though), (I worked out I could machine 1/8" from the bottom of the barrel by putting plasticine on top of the piston and turning it over to see the clearance), best part of 100 MPH with worse brakes than the BSA!
A year later a friend let me pay by instalments for a pre unit Bonneville with a 6T Thunderbird engine, gem of a bike, ran like a little bird (7.5 to 1 pistons in that one) But any 18 year old bike nut wanted a real throb! So I spoilt it by fitting 10 to 1s, e3134s and advancing the timing. I toured the continent on that bike but money could not buy a good magneto in the early 70s, (even a new K2FC (at 2 weeks wages) let me down in Germany). In 1978 I bought the dogs unmentionables, a wire wheeled R100RS BMW (one careful owner, and one who told me "London to Canterbury is all 120 plus") (would you believe he was banned at the time), rode that bike to Greece and back through Italy.
My first experience of riding on track was in the early 70s when, if you were marshaling, you had to ride to your post by the track, we all thought we were budding superstars, wearing our boots away on every corner, then in 1980 I obtained an ACU licence and for a fiver you could ride Snetterton all day to your hearts content!

[Mister C (Marsh)]

Good bit of reading I really enjoy other folks travels and such like.

Many thanks regards Marsh

[boxerscott]

I recognize that Mug shot Is Bins the infamous Mr Bensley from the BMW club? Sure looks like him

[bins]

What the bloke who rode up to Lochearnhead in January one year and the next year broke the gearbox and had to be recovered, Steve (recently passed on) warned the driver he'd be in for a story or two by the time he reached Norfolk!!! or was it the one who went for a thrash with 2 others early one June morning from Ullapool to Tounge and back, when he got back there was a continuous canvas line showing on the rear tyre! surely not the wimp who won the weakest (strongest actually) man competition at a rally hitting a nail with a 14 lb hammer the most times before his arms gave up (it's all to do with technique), or the one who had all the girls attention one night after walking into a rose branch and getting a thorn in his hooter, Gretna that time!

No not me, must have been my brother, unless of course you can offer some other evidence?

[boxerscott]

What the bloke who rode up to Lochearnhead in January one year and the next year broke the gearbox and had to be recovered, Steve (recently passed on) warned the driver he'd be in for a story or two by the time he reached Norfolk!!! or was it the one who went for a thrash with 2 others early one June morning from Ullapool to Tounge and back, when he got back there was a continuous canvas line showing on the rear tyre! surely not the wimp who won the weakest (strongest actually) man competition at a rally hitting a nail with a 14 lb hammer the most times before his arms gave up (it's all to do with technique), or the one who had all the girls attention one night after walking into a rose branch and getting a thorn in his hooter, Gretna that time!

No not me, must have been my brother, unless of course you can offer some other evidence?

Tibenham Airfeild (Norfolk Gliding Club) ex ww11 bomber base of the USAF 8th" Come and try it day" organised by yourself (Gliding not Bombing) Amanda and I had a memorable day thanks

[bins]

Some of you may remember that a year ago I wrote about a trip to Italy, I did it again this year, similar plans, travel there on my own, meet up with 14 others, ride about and come home on my own. It all started at 6 a.m. on a Thursday, (after finishing work at 9 p.m. on the Wednesday evening and packing a bag), jumped aboard the S1000 and set off for Dover, had a little drizzle half way there but not enough to concern me, booking in at the booth I am told I’ve booked the crossing ‘back to front’ (I’d booked to cross from Calais to Dover), “now what’s this going to cost me” I thought, (on a previous trip I’d turned up early and was charged £50 to change the time, it’d only cost £48 for the return ticket!), as luck would have it there was a tunnel train break down, all crossings were disrupted and they changed my ticket for free, only drawback was I could not cross for another 2 hours.
> I p.m. and I’m in France, after studying the map on the boat I decide to do Reims by autoroute and pay the toll, (something I rarely do), the sun is shining, the kilometres are counting down but I’m so tired! I don’t know if it’s the heat or the boredom, I stop in an aire, flake out on the grass with the key to the bike in my hand and sleep for an hour or so. Back in the saddle, after Chalons on Champagne I leave the monotony of dual carriage way and take to the route national roads, I feel the holiday has begun, the S1000 with flat bars is perfectly comfortable at 75 – 80 mph, the wind pressure balances my forward lean and I can sit there all day, although the bit to Bar-le-Duc is mainly straight there’s always something to look at along the way.
> I find a hotel by the station and shower, it’s just about dark and I wander into the town centre to find food, it’s deserted! I really enjoy travelling on my own but entering hotels, eating and walking around towns alone is not much fun, I find a pizzeria, enter and wish the proprietor a “bwonoserra” (well that’s how I pronounce it!), I get “serra” back in an unimpressed fashion and realise that this is going to be a silent wait for tea! I wander to the bridge over the river and eat the very tasty bolognese I chose, tossing a crust into the water now and again to see if the fish would rise to the bait! I had more entertainment from the fish than the Italian who took my order! I wander round the eastern European sector, look in a few empty bars and turn in for the night.
> I declined the offer of breakfast at an extra 8 Euros, (I never normally eat before 10 in the morning) and head south east in quite thick mist, after a couple of hours I find a delightful village on top of a hill and buy a ready made jambon sandwich in real French bread, perfect! A few hours later and I’m at the Swiss boarder, the customs officer greets me, (I’m not sure what language he speaks so I just say “hello”), there are signs in big letters warning about buying a ‘vignette’ I ask to make sure I can travel to Italy without using the motorway and he assures me it’s possible. I really miss not being able to attach a map to the tank bag to read whilst I’m riding, I now have no tank bag, I need glasses to see ahead and different ones to read with so I keep the map under a bungee holding the luggage on the back seat, all very well but with a failing memory by the time I’ve read the map and started the bike I’ve forgotten where I’m heading!
> Approaching Interlaken, (in the heart of the mountains) I look for somewhere to ‘lay my head’ for the night, it all looks extortionately expensive so I take a side street towards the lake, hoping to find a zimmer, a friendly chap with a biker ‘t’ shirt and ‘Iron Maiden’ sticker on the rear of his car beckons me to stop and asks if he can help, he tells me of a place further along where there are rooms, he tells me he likes my bike but he looked more of a Harley type to me! at Matten I’m looking at anything that’s on offer and see ‘Balmers’ it looks inviting so I draw in the yard and walk in the reception, I ask if it’s a hotel and the very friendly receptionist ( with a stud in her tongue) explains it’s a hostel, she shows me the 6 bunk room where I share with a 19 year old from Canada and a 20 year old Korean, 34 Euros including breakfast.
> I cannot speak highly enough of my accommodation for the night, as I mentioned earlier I love travelling on my own, the advantage of a hostel is you are sharing with other adventurers with enthusiasm for life, the fact I was 62, riding a motorcycle and had slightly longer hair than normal must have made me approachable.
> I had retired to my bunk early as the next day some serious altitude was to be reached, while eating breakfast I watched the cctv from the tops of the mountains, we were in mist down below but the receptionist guaranteed me it would be clear over 1000 meters, I ride the Susten pass, the Furka, then find a lower one to the southern side of the St Gothard, I knew from a previous holiday with my parents in the 60s that this was a spectacular pass, now there is a modern road over the top but I was sure the old road was still there, a French couple on an R T were also trying to work out where we could join the old road from the southern end, we ask some Swiss bikers and they point in the general direction of north! (well it was away from the sun), the road leads up to the new one but there is an unmade road the other side, I cannot resist exploring it and it takes me along a bumpy track cut into the mountain side, after a mile or so there is a serious drop over to the right, I have confidence but do not get too close to the edge, amazingly there is an elderly gent sitting on a rock, resting with his walking stick, I ride as far as I can to an abandoned building site, stop to admire the view, do a ‘u’ turn and retrace my wheel tracks but this time away from the periculose edge! I ride to the top of the pass by the new road and then there are 4 road options to choose, (the new road north and south, and the old road north and south, even I can work that one out), I take the old road south and it’s cobble stones all the way, tight hair pin bends with only short straights in between, as it levels out a bit 2 black Ferraris are making quick progress to reach the top, an awesome sight and sound!
> Time is slipping by and I’m booked into a hotel near Monza that night, there is a strip of land like a peninsular into Italy which is still Switzerland, the road signs are in Italian and I realise I’m in the Italian speaking area, I stop for fuel and a very attractive cashier smiles and askes for “saydeechie” francs, goodness knows how she knew I was English, (she could not see my registration plate) but she said “non parlay eengleesee” “ah, non probleemo” I reply “me parlay Italiano perfecto!!!” I tell her about a trip around the coast of Italy I did “quatro anni far” (four years ago), when she spoke I had to say “ralentire” she pronounced it a bit differently and did a very sexy, slow walk, one foot in front of the other, someone else entered the shop, her attention was diverted and she wished me “bwon viaggi”. As I looked at the bike I noticed something was missing, I’d bought some two piece waterproofs to put over the top of my one piece that leaks, I’d had them in a plastic bag under the bungees and they had slipped out, I was 50 miles from the track around the mountain which probably vibrated them out and hoped that a mountain goat makes good use of them.
> I get to the southern tip of Switzerland around night fall, the hotel Fossati in Cannonica near Monza is not easy to find in the day light, so I take the autostrada, then the tangentiale (ring road/bypass which is free) turn north towards Lecco and find said hotel and meet with some of the other members of the party arriving a day early who are either retired or self employed.
> Next day we visit the circuit of Monza, walk up the extreme banking which has been restored and then go for a ride in the mountains. The other members of the tour join us that evening making 15 in total, Monday morning we set off for Imola, our base for 5 nights. We visit Imola and Mugello circuits, find some stunning roads, views and cafes, the hotel proprietor arranges for us to visit a private collection of bike, cars and memorabilia, an example of things on display was a crankcase made to take 2 x 250cc 4 cylinder Honda top halves. to make a 500cc V8, apparently made by Moto Guzzi. A very early square 4 Ariel, a Matchless Silver Hawk and a row of 6 cylinder bikes! The owner, Benito Battilani and his wife were a pleasure beyond description to be in their company. On the way to Imola we had a narrated tour of the Ducati museum, we saw Mike Hailwoods first racing 250 single, then the spare TT winning bike, most important to me was the 750 SS Paul Smart rode at Snetterton in about 1972. The young lady doing our tour was also super friendly, when she spoke she had an infectious accent, the Italians do not pronounce the letter h, so when they speak in English they tend to drop their h, also they tend to pronounce all of the other letters in a word, so when she was talking about a specific machine she would say it like “theesa bika waas the bika that” and so on, afterwards I told her that her voice was music to our ears! I think she took it as a compliment, she also had a lovely smile.
> All too quickly the time passed and it was time to head north again, I’d decided to spend another night back at the Fossati near Monza, as it was only a short ride I did some sight seeing, I rode into the town centre of Parma and Piacenza, even get off the bike in Parma to inspect the church interior! have a menu del journo in Lodi town square, with an hour or two to spare I head for Bergamo, big modern city but there’s an old part high upon the hills to the north, the view to the south would have been amazing if it was not misty, I find a tiny route northwards to avoid the city centre to the south, as I turn west the clouds are black and the inevitable rain starts to fall, it makes map reading difficult, I take the signs to Milano which take me towards Monza on a road I’m not familiar with, I waste a fair bit of time finding my way.
> After Friday night in Neil and Anns company it’s time to start the journey home for real, there’s only one thing certain about Saturday’s forecast, heavy rain, Neil lends me Ann's water proof jacket and I head north aiming for St Moritz, at least it’s dry when I’m in the tunnels, October rain seems heavier than September rain and Septembers is heavier than Augusts, I miss the straight on smaller road and am heading east towards Sondrio, it seems wrong and next time I fill up I consult the map, I’ve only covered about 10 miles but there’s a high pass into St Moritz from the south if I carry on another 30 miles, not being one to turn around it’s onwards I go, it’s slow progress in heavy rain, (have I mentioned how heavy the rain is?) through small towns and villages, in one of them, (try and picture the scene) there are high buildings to my left, I’m riding on the right hand side of the road which takes a long curve to the left, it’s persisting it down, I notice there are train tracks to my right, in a second or so (I’m probably doing less than 20 mph), I think, there is not enough room for a car to pass me on my left should one come around the bend, should I be riding on the right in between the train tracks? next thing, don’t worry about a car coming, there’s a big red train coming! (trains do look very big when they go past the other way 3 feet from you!!!) 100 yards further there are lights stopping the oncoming traffic, I never saw any pointing my way a quarter mile back.
> My hands and feet are saturated but my body is dry as I turn left for the passo Bernina, after the highest point as I start the decline the wind chill on the northern side is like riding into a freezer, it’s a long way to St Moritz and when I get there I recognise nothing, (it was sunny last time I was there), I find the Julierpass road and press on, there are a few other bikes about and they give a hearty wave as they greet me, (we’re all as crazy as each other), after the summit at 2284 metres the sky is brightening and a few miles later there is a dry line in the road as it starts to warm up. The thought enters my head that it takes a lot longer to dry gloves out than to make them wet! I’m not cold so what does it matter?
> Next task is to refuel and head westwards to spend the night at Balmers hostel, my maps are of Italy and France, the Swiss bits are only where they overlap, it’s very vague around the town of Chur, I need to find the road west, after a bite to eat I head for the valley that looks to go in the general direction of west, I waste an awful lot of fuel and time searching for roads and getting confused with village names that begin with ‘t’ and sound similar, my map shows the road just south of the town and I just cannot find it, eventually I take a road towards the motorway, (it’s now about 5 p.m.), making sure I don’t leave two way traffic, (I have no vignette), a Swiss lady is cycling with two small children and I ask “I am trying to find the road to Interlaken” “Interlaken?” she replies in astonishment, “that’s in another region and there are 3 high passes to cross” “you want to get there tonight?” (now, I love Switzerland and the Swiss people, but I must say they don’t have a great sense of adventure), she tells me the road I want is 10 miles back towards the Julierpass and easy to miss, the place names on the signpost are not on my map, the road takes a steep climb up the mountainside so there is no valley to give me a clue. When I find the junction I realise I was there an hour ago, never mind steep hills are not a problem to an S1000rr, you just twist the control on the right 2 more degrees and it’s going skywards! I’m making good progress until I start to climb the second pass, the Oberalp, the black tarmac is wet and shiny, I wave a couple of cars past that I overtook a mile or so back, on the downhill side I pass them as it’s dry road again. At Andermatt it’s right turn then 10 miles and left for the Sustenpass, the opposite direction that I rode it a week previously, on the way to the top it’s almost dark, I see a bike travelling in the downward direction in the bends way up above me, a minute or so later it’s a Goldwing, 2 up and going incredibly fast. On the descent it’s dark, at the various cafes and guesthouses there are many people drinking beer and watching the traffic, it would be very tempting to try and put on a show, at one of the venues on a right hand hairpin I keep my eyes firmly focussed on my chosen line but raise my left hand and wave mid corner!
> I roll into Balmers at about 8 ish, the receptionist welcomes me and allocates me a room with 2 bunks and no room mate, as I push the bike into it’s parking place an Indian chap says “nice bike” we spend 20 minutes chatting about travelling, Enfields and food, he said his wife finds the European food so bland and uninteresting, it appeared to be quite a problem, I apologise because I’m so tired and leave him to chew on a chilli. In my room I eat the rest of a sandwich, drink some water and think ‘sod’ the shower tonight, I tuck up under the duvet thinking if I get to sleep this time of night I’ll be awake at 3 until the morning, I awake at 12 then sleep till 7. a good night.
> I leave Switzerland on the road from Neuchatel, La Chaux de Fonds to Maiche, as I climb to the highest part of the road there’s a hotel, shops and massive car park, I look to the left and I feel very privileged as to what I saw, the valley was covered in low cloud but the Alps were clearly visible some 30 or 50 miles away, it seemed they stretched all the way across the horizon, I tried to assess the highest ones which would have been in the Interlaken area and thought a few hours ago I was there in the valleys, I didn’t want to go home! however I followed a very minor route north west through dense forest and beside some beautiful rivers and lakes. The rain starts again and I do a bit of dual carriageway to Belfort, some soggy map reading gets me to Bar le Duc on single roads, rain all the way but I’m not cold and only my hands and feet are wet, most importantly I am still actually enjoying it and certainly not bored. That made 2 days my hair had been inside a crash helmet, I washed it three times before it felt unknotted. If one was to spread a map out and see the distance to Calais, it could be quite daunting, (especially when it’s raining) I never do that until I’m home, I just do one town at a time, step by step, when it was cold at the top of the high passes I thought to myself this is what I do, as long as the bike keeps firing and it’s shiny side up there may be sunshine after the next pass.
> The final stretch of France is all done on the Route National highway, the first part is Champagne country, avoiding Reims via roads I’ve travelled before, it’s perfect weather, I’d had the heating on in the Ibis hotel room all night drying my gloves and boots, this is really enjoyable, all day to do 200 odd miles plus detours, with 100 to go I notice a noise down below, a sort of grinding, rumbling sound, it is quite worrying, the chain has become slack so I stop at a small garage, borrow some spanners and adjust it, the noise is still there, I stop again and check the wheel bearings, cush drive on the rear wheel etc. I was then convinced it was running a gearbox bearing! I dare not go on the AutoRoute even if I wanted to, I was certain it was serious, I just hoped to reach Calais, about 10 miles before I did, the rain started again and the noise stopped, I haven’t used a chain drive bike since 1978, I could never imagine a dry chain could be so bad, the vibration was horrendous as well!
> At the port a chap with a VTR Honda has a puncture, turns out he’s an Italian living in England, he’s on a different boat to me so I advise him to try and find someone with a compressor that plugs into a cigarette lighter, I tell him about my travels in Italian, he’s just returned from visiting his brother in Amsterdam, it’s raining but we are laughing and joking, telling each other about all sorts of things, two people who have just met but are like life time friends, there are rows of cars lined up but none of the inhabitants even nodding to the next car, in the words of one of the guys I spent the previous few days with, “nothing is quite so much fun as motorcycling”
> Got home at 11 p.m. 3160 miles.
>

[Blackal]

Without wishing to appear critical.........

I think most people will struggle to read that - can I suggest that you edit it into logical paragraphs?

(for best results - throw a photo in, between paragraphs )


Al

[bins]

Do you mean they'd struggle to read it 'cause it's so boring, or because they read it on a phone?
I wrote it for the club magazine and thought I'd copy and paste it here, I'm from Norfolk, that's stretching my computer skills to the absolute limit!

Perhaps tanneman can do it for me! hi joe, hope the move went O K

[bikemad99]

Bins,thanks for the brilliant write up,enjoyed every word,no problem reading it at all.Looking forward to your next trip.

Reg

[RoLoo]

I think most people will struggle to read that - can I suggest that you edit it into logical paragraphs?

(for best results - throw a photo in, between paragraphs )

...I had to put a ruler against my screen...
...carefully reading it, line for line...