Europe by cake - MrsC's WDW 2016 tour report [Archive]

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 06:54 PM

Ok, technically it is Europe by Monster696, but the tour has developed a certain patisserie focus ...

Have finally got in front of a computer on day 12 of the trip. For the first time ever, this trip I wished I had a tablet computer or even a smartphone, rather than my trusty old Sony Ericsson. If any spelling goes hinky blame the Slovenian keyboard - less weird than a French one but still not quite right!

Day 1 - Saturday 25 June
Set off from home that afternoon, with a ride through Surrey & Wet Sussex (spelling deliberate) to Folkestone. The sort of conditions where you don't know what's round the next bend (how many inches/feet of standing/flowing water). As lightning struck ahead we took refuge in a McDonalds (shows how desperate conditions were) for a cheap cup of tea and blast from a hand dryer. Having set off in my leathers in good weather, by the time we stopped, there was no point getting waterproofs out. Andy was on a borrowed naughty corner bike, and enjoying it despite conditions - presumably exploring the urban/rain/max traction control modes. I was regretting having asked him to clean my Monster that morning, as it was now back to its usual state!

Checked into the Premier Inn at Folkestone, and had my last English beer &curry for a while in the pub next door. Ok, so pub curry isn't the real thing (curryphile methadone to Indian restaurant spicy heroin equivalent) but I wasn't sure when I'd get my next fix. Early night ahead of an early start.

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 07:27 PM

Day 2 - Sunday 26 June

A long day: 400km, 4 countries, 3 fuel stops and no motorways so slow progress, with rain on and off all day. First fuel stop was at the first station after the Chunnel (because muggins forgot to fill up in Folkestone the night before). Expensive and the only 95 octane was E10. My bike (unlike Andy's 695) gets grumpy on super unleaded (the engine was in a mood for a week after I gave it the Tesco super) so filled it with the plonk. Hope one tank isn't enough to induce tank mumps.

When crossing northern France I alternate between gritting my teeth, paying the tolls and hitting the motorway, and thinking there must be a better alternative (which in practice usually leads me to long for the motorway again).Satnav route (culled from Ride magazine) started by leading me along canals to get away from Calais, watching the local anglers & cyclists. Hacked through Lille, where my planned road being closed for some sort of street fair led to me ride in circles round a one way system clearly designed by someone who'd been on the limoncello big time. Euro footie championship clearly in evidence - lots of German fans wandering around.

Got lots of waves from fellow bikers passing through one town in the border zone - clearly an organised rally or ride-out, almost every single one waved. (Maybe it's a way of saying "we know the roads here are dull, but it's still good to see a fellow biker").

By early afternoon I was (a) in Belgium, and (b) getting quite peckish. I thought there'd be a simple solution - chips. What I hadn't expected was pretty much every friterie being closed due to it being Sunday. I thought the eating of chips was more of a national religion in Belgium than organised religion, but no. At one point I saw customers in a cafe, but when I turned up at the counter I was told they'd stopped serving.

Eventually, at about 4pm, I found my salvation, in the form of a strawberry custard tart. Not for the first time, when all else in Francophone Europe is closed, the boulangerie patisserie remains open. It appears the Walloons are as wedded to the need (knead?) for continuous access to baguettes as the French, so I found a cake shop, spilled icing sugar down my waterproofs and drank mediocre coffee.

Second fuel stop of the day was somewhere in Belgium, where at least there was a choice between normal 95 and plonk.

With around 100km to go, I was getting to the small-child-on-back-seat-of-car "are we nearly there yet" stage. However, around 35km from my hotel, a miracle happened: Luxembourg.

Part of my aim on this WDW tour was to visit new places, and having never been to Luxembourg (and read one or two good things about it in a bike magazine and on the other Ducati forum), I'd booked a hotel in Vianden.

Immediately over the border, the tarmac quality improved immensely. In my version of biker heaven (more on that later) the roads would definitely be surfaced by the Luxembourgeois. Bends swinging through wooded hillsides, hardly any other vehicles around, smooth tarmac and the cheapest petrol I've found in Europe - what's not to like?

Checked into my hotel, had a pizza the size of a bike wheel topped with garlic & the blandest capsicums known to science, washed down with a German weissbeer, and went for a wander round the historic town centre. There's a river, a pretty hilltop castle, and the Luxembourgeois still seem to build stuff with proper round castle-ish towers.

The hotel staff had switched effortlessly between German & French. When I saw a road sign, I realised why perhaps the Luxembourg dialect hadn't really caught on. A road called, in French, "Rue de la Frontiere" in Luxemburgish was "Ruoder Wee" which frankly sounds like what the Mannequin Pis is doing in Brussels!

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 07:46 PM

Day 3 - Monday 27 June

Vianden being only a mile from the border, it was not long before I entered Germany, and headed towards the Black Forest. The Navigatrix must have been on the weissbier last night as she had trouble telling left from right in Trier (I could hardly have borne right, what with the river in the way - while Wet Sussex had tested the amphibious potential of the 696, I didn't want to push my luck in the Moselle).

Made it uneventfully to Baden Baden to pick up the famous B500 through the Black Forest. Like the Black Mountain in Wales, a once great biking road, ruined by maliciously low speed limits - 50 kmph, seriously guys? Scenery ok, but less spectacular than I'd hoped - of course there was forest, but boring conifers. Decided while in the region I ought to sample the Black Forest gateau.

The first place I stopped was called Mummelsee - a hotel with a lake, tacky souvenir shops (some themed on witches, mermaids/men, and also cuckoo clocks) and a cafe. Took a few pictures but thought against trying the cake there - not sure that there is a scientific rule about the quality of food increasing with the distance from pedalo rental availability but it wouldn't surprise me! The whole vibe of the place was a German equivalent of the sort of odd/faded tourist attractions sought out by the protagonist of Neil Gaiman's brilliant "American Gods" or else could have featured in the episode of Grimm where Nick and Monroe go to the Black Forest in search of a powerful artifact (must be some "wesen lore" behind the souvenirs!)

Headed on and found a pretty little town with an open cake shop/cafe. Well, proper Schwarzwald kirschtorte is a revelation. The emphasis, compared with the abomination which passes by the same name in England, is different. Proper BFG is a cream cake, not a chocolate cake. Sure, there are a couple of slices of thin fine chocolate cake, as well as plain sponge, and a few chocolate shavings sprinkled on top, but the hero is the kirsch drenched cream, and a layer of tasty cherries.

Suitably refuelled, I headed on in the sunshine to the fantastic Hotel Waldblick in Schenkenzell. I studied French & Spanish at school, not German, so had attempted to learn a little on a Memrise app while stuck on hold to pension & insurance companies at work. The check in process went as follows: "ich habe ein zimmer reserviert", followed by hotel lady responding with more German than I could cope with, followed by me: "mein deutsch ist nicht gut, ich bin Englanderin" followed by her responding in English (to my relief & embarrassment). She showed me a secure area (behind gates) where my bike could be parked out of sight.

Hotel was more luxurious than I expected, with a spotlessly clean sauna "wellness" area - the nicest in any hotel I've visited, with a choice of cooling down method from normal shower, bucket with rope handle to drench in one go, and a mysterious hosepipe (whose purpose I daren't imagine!)

Knots removed from shoulders, I sat down for dinner. Having seen signs for trout fishing ponds in several places on the way I fancied a fish supper. I was not disappointed: a whole trout, with lots of almonds, both fried in a quantity of butter that would have made James Martin proud. I washed it down with a dark lager, while chatting to 3 English bikers (the Multistroodle owner having got the others lost earlier in the day).

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 08:14 PM

Day 4 - Tuesday 28 June

I came to the conclusion that the Germans do the best continental breakfast in the Waldblick this morning: not just muesli, but a choice of 4 different mueslis, with lots of different seeds & dried fruit to "pimp your breakfast", as well as fresh fruit, an orange juicer and the usual cheese & ham. Coffee, however, should be left to the Italians ...

My route from Schenkenzell to my overnight stop in Austria took me along Lake Constance (Bodensee). The first of many beautiful lake & mountain combinations this trip. I rode past many vineyards & orchards - I find the sight of orchards strangely reassuring. The world may be going to hell in a handcart, but it feels less the case when surrounded by trees covered in cherries or apples. I stopped at a roadside fruit stall somewhere near Hagenau (oddly enough, next to a biker bar with a Monster for sale outside) and munched my way through the smallest punnet of cherries I could find (which was probably 1kg)! Vitamin karma after the fried fish & cake yesterday.

Heading into Austria, I stopped to buy the talismanic vignette (for motorway riding) on the basis that if I have one, I won't accidentally find myself on the motorway and needing it. Seeing the mountains and chalets, strangely, the theme music from a childhood Heidi TV show was running through my head. (Yes, I know that was set in Switzerland ...) It worries me the garbage that my brain retains, which has no doubt stopped some useful work-related knowledge from sticking.

I'd booked a room at the hotel Enzian in Landeck, part of a group of Tyrolean hotels who market themselves as "let's bike together" at the Birmingham bike show. However on arrival, I was told by the dirndl-clad blonde they had overbooked, had no room for me, that "I'd have to cancel" but that the Mozart hotel over the road had a room. I queried why no-one had told me before, and a feeble excuse about not phoning due to "pronunciation difficulties" was made. My suspicion was that I'd been bumped by someone joining the official BMW test ride group operating out of the Enzian.

I therefore trudged over the road to the Mozart, not a happy bunny and checked in. The hotel had a secure underground car park, the room was ok, although the hotel muzak was 70s & 80s cheese (not, I don't know, Mozart) and the decor rather 80s cheesy as well.

After a shower I wandered into Landeck, looking for dinner. The town is strung out along a railway line, road and the river Inn, and my hotel was at one end. The town seemed strangely quiet, the Donau Chimie chemical plant in the centre didn't exactly improve the view, and I'm sure that political poster I passed was for the worryingly popular far right party. It was odd: while normally in life I'm a pessimist, solo travel often brings out a glass-half-full side. Not tonight. How does the song go: "People are strange, when you're a stranger, faces look ugly, when you're alone ...."?

Having not found anywhere inspired, and not fancying a late walk back along the main road, I retreated to my hotel, and the restaurant there. Far from the happening biker filled place I'd hoped to be eating in, it felt like the sort of place a pensioners' coach tour would end up, and worse, there was only a set menu with no marked price. However, the hotel person was able to translate enough for me to see that the 5 courses did sound vaguely edible (even for fussy me), and on checking out the next morning, the bill was pleasingly low. Including a bland Austrian lager, dinner can't have been much over 15 Euros.

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 08:32 PM

Day 5 - Wednesday 29 June

The sort of day I come to Europe for, that makes it all worthwhile. :)

My WDW2014 plan to ride some Swiss mountain passes being thwarted by an extra day in Mulhouse waiting for an alternator, I had unfinished business with Switzerland.

Not after today!

Setting off from Landeck, I was soon passed by my first WDW fellow-pilgrims (4 French bikers, 3 Monsters & a streetfighter). Over the border into Switzerland, I headed towards Susch with a view to riding the Fluelapass. Glorious sunshine, though still pleasantly cool, little other traffic, sweeping bends, and even when I had to stop for roadworks (some involving riding a few metres over gravel - eek ) I noticed that the Swiss seem to employ a disproportionate number of rather attractive roadmenders (although the high-vis orange doesn't really do it for me).

Although at Susch it turned out the Fluelapass was closed to traffic - unattractive orange high-vis guy stopping anyone heading right there - having consulted the map I realised I could make a loop of the Albula and Julierpasses. There followed a morning of playing in the mountains - again, on quiet, beautiful roads, through splendid scenery, rarely having to stop. At the cafe on top of the Julierpass (hot choc and stodgy nut pastry) I got chatting to a local on a Panigale. As I got off my bike, I stretched - I think he interpreted this as a sort of cheer/sun salutation/victory gesture, which it might as well have been.

Back down the mountain, with a splendid view of the kitesurfers on the Silvaplana lake near St Moritz (and a less fortunate view where a German lass on a metric cruiser had dropped it mid-hairpin - she was ok) I thought I must be nearly down to earth. There followed the insanely switchbacky Malojapass, and eventually the Italian border.

I bimbled down the west bank of Lake Como, stopping for ice cream in Dongo (yes, do go - there are lovely views of the lake there) before eventually arriving at about 6.30 at the Visconti hotel near Gallarate.

Ursa turned up shortly after (following the "Pompone-tours" rideout to Mottarone) and we exchanged smugness about our hotel having aircon, while the UKMOC boys' frathouse B&B did not.

After a shower, back into biking kit and Ursa & I rode off to Tradate for the 100HP knees up, meeting the rest of the UKMOC WDW contingent (the boys apparently taking even longer to do hair/make-up/get organised as they turned up later). My first grilling about Brexit this trip, as well as the grilled sausage patty (salmella) and an attempt to convince one of the 100HP that his girlfriend should get a Monster.

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 08:58 PM

Day 6 - Thursday 30 June

Ursa and I left the Visconti 9 ish, for the long slog down the motorway to Bologna and then Cattolica. The Milanese equivalent of the M25 in rush hour will never be on anyone's list of great rides. Fortunately Ursa (newbie to continental riding) put her "London head" on, and we made some progress filtering past the queues. (The idea of riding in central London scares me far more than dealing with the Italian tailgaters of the A1 and A14!)

First fuel, coffee & water stop at Piacenza services (Italian motorway coffee fortunately living up to my positive recollections) and we were already getting hot and bothered. The plan was to stop next at the Ducati factory (where if nothing else, there is always good aircon). However, nature called, and we stumbled on an oasis in the desert - namely the services about 25km before Bologna (Secchia Ovest?) We walked into what felt like a particularly posh John Lewis or Waitrose food hall, piled high with gourmet delicacies, artisan beer in bottles, luxury toiletry gifts. As Ursa put it - "this is even better than Tebay on the M6!" But as we were heading for Bologna, with limited luggage space, and only stopped to spend a centesimo, we bid arrivederci to the mirage.

Arriving at the Ducati factory (taking Ursa's Edna back to her birthplace, just as I'd done for the first time with my 696 in 2012) we were delighted to be able to get on a factory tour (the first time in my 3 attempts at doing this). Judging by the production lines, clearly the Scrambler is still a top seller, with a new bronze framed version much in evidence. Also an awful lot of X diavels & Multistradas (Multistrade?) The current generation of Monster doesn't seem nearly so popular (well, they shouldn't have given it ugly plumbing, should they). Lots of emphasis on the amount of testing they do before letting every bike out of the door to customers (suspect Multistroodle owners might have something to say about that).

Next on to the recently revamped (or should I say dumbed down) museum. Side rooms now more like white boxes - very art gallery, but then the 916 is a work of art. Less explanatory text, fewer bare engines & technical info, more emphasis on road bikes (including a classic Monster in its rightful place). Ok, we might not all be interested in Taglioni's drawing board, but it still seems a shame to have removed a lot of history from the museum.

Back on the road, and it was getting unbearably hot. Having earlier found the "better than Tebay", we now found a services with Leicester Forest East levels of glamour (or lack thereof) for more water and an ice cream, with no proper seating area.

After the last 100km or so slog to Cattolica, we arrived at the Luxor beach, and obtained the code for the underground carpark. Bikes safely tucked up for the night, and aircon in the bedroom cranked up to arctic, we then retreated to the hotel pool to cool down (you couldn't actually hear the steam coming off me as I went into the water, but it wouldn't have suprised me if you could). Ursa managed a couple of smug-girls-in-pool selfies of us, before we got changed and headed out for dinner.

I must have been developing heat exhaustion, as I was feeling absolutely shattered, slightly queasy and headachey. I managed a plate of penne arrabiata before heading back to the hotel for an early night.

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 09:34 PM

Day 7 - Friday 1 July

What we'd actually come for - WDW itself.

A fairly early start, as Ursa had booked a track session for the morning, and needed to report to the signing in desk some time before.

We sat outside our hotel, with a nice sea view, eating breakfast. Whether or not a pancake with banana and Nutella is truly the breakfast of champions, we both thought it worth a go! There were also delicious fresh peaches (one of the things I look forward to at WDW is the superior stone fruit available in Cattolica compared with back home).

The excitement and heat built, as we queued to get on site, ogling the interesting mix of bikes all around. As in previous years, the Brits were boiling in leathers, the Italians in shorts, skimpy T-shirts & trainers. Once we got in, Ursa wanted to get her bike's brakes bled/looked at before hitting the track, so we reported to the Ducati service desk. The service desk is worth a visit even if your bike doesn't need any work, as the combined fans/mist sprayers there are the most effective on the whole Misano site when it comes to cooling down - I agree with Emily's Driver who had conducted extensive research. The service guys only charge 35 Euros an hour for work which is pretty reasonable.

Ursa headed onto the track, for a good 20 minute session, while I bought several bottles of water, and headed up to the top of the grandstand to view the action. Apart from quarantining the Hypermotards to separate sessions, there is no splitting of track riders into novice, intermediate and fast groups at Misano. This meant there were Multis, Diavels, Panigales and other sports bikes, as well as Ursa on her 695 on track for the very first time. Hunched forward in a racing crouch ("tits on tank" being her poetic description) Ursa made it round without crashing (unlike another rider that session on a sportsbike).

Relieved to be rid of her leathers after the track session (removed with some assistance, and not much dignity) we were onto Ursa's second mission of the day. Apart from her love of bears (not a surprise from the user name and avatar) Ursa's other passion is following MotoGP, and in particular Andrea Ianonne. Having downloaded the WDW app on her phone, she was alerted to Ianonne making an appearance for an autograph signing session on the Dainese stand at 2.30. After briefly running into Slob & Thuli near International Village (where Thuli presented us with the inspired gift of folding fans emblazoned with UKMOC logos) it was time for the other kind of fan. Queuing behind the rope, we waited half an hour in the heat for the man himself, there to demonstrate the airbag jacket technology. Ursa had an official Iannone fan club hat & t-shirt to be signed, and gave me her phone ready snap the momentous occasion, but it kept conking out in the heat. Just when Iannone was 2 people up the line from us, it gave up completely. Iannone was too hot for her phone! Fortunately, for once, I had my own phone handy, rather than buried in the bottom of my Kriega waistpack, so I was able to snap a couple of shots of Ursa and Iannone, which she then bluetoothed to her own phone.

Her life's work accomplished (well, until tomorrow, when there were other MotoGP stars available for autograph sessions), Ursa & I were able to relax a little, potter round admiring the bikes, until it was time for the unpleasantly sticky business of getting leathers back on for the ride home.

That evening we caught a taxi up to Tavullia where we met the rest of the UKMOC WDW group at Pizzeria da Rossi. A most convivial evening, and surprisingly tasty & good value for money food, especially for a "celebrity" place. My enjoyment of the evening was enhanced by remembering my mosquito repellant, and by Ursa taking one for the team and finishing the limoncello shot that inevitably appeared in front of me towards the end of the meal.

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 10:08 PM

Day 8 - Saturday 2 July

Back to the circuit, but a later start, and it being Saturday, meant a much longer queue to get in. The air temperature reading on my clocks was 46 C at one point!

An equally frustrating time at the lid & jacket check in desk, having joined the slowest of 4 lines, we got to the front, only for the woman who had been exchanging kit for tickets to now be just carrying kit to the storage area behind. Having waited 20 minutes in the heat, and eventually depositing our kit, I abandoned any plans about maybe test-riding a Scrambler.

My plan for the day was to photograph most gorgeous and hideous bikes in show. Lots of customised Scramblers this time round, some really well done, some nice Monsters (quite a few blue ones caught my eye), a Giordano Loi Mako sports bike fairing ... and then ... the bikes that taste forgot. Hypermotard with flamethrower exhaust, a surfeit of carbon & gold bling, the bright orange X diavel with a "Lamborghini" sticker, and a Monster I recognised from 2 years ago, which looked like someone had dropped baked beans on the tank. Also of note was a bike with a weird shaped customised tank, in the same pale blue Gulf colours as Utopia's 750 with "Utopia" on the side.

Meanwhile, Dave (of the other parish) having very kindly loaned her his "Special Customer" VIP pass for a pit lane walk and rider autograph signing session, Ursa headed into the pits. She emerged, somewhat frazzled, about 45 minutes later, with signed pictures of Danilo Petrucci and a (surprisingly smiling) Casey Stoner, describing the experience as mayhem. ("There were people passing kids over their heads as if it to be blessed by the Pope, and the bouncers had to start physically pushing people out of the way".) Sounds like she was lucky to come out with all teeth and bones intact, never mind with signed photos!

Ursa and I headed for the grandstand near the exit to watch the lap of honour by assorted racers. Someone (showing off doing burnouts) managed to bin their bike right in front of us! Doh! I headed back to the hotel to cool down while Ursa watched the Diavel drag race and added to her sunburn.

That evening, Ursa & I met Slob & Thuli & Nonnie & Emily's Driver in Cattolica for dinner, the complication being that it was the Germany v Italy football match, and most of the bars & restaurants in town were packed solid. After finding an airconditioned pizzeria not showing the match, and eating (my pizza being washed down by an Italian craft beer appropriately named "Stoner", probably not after Casey though) we headed into the streets for the sport of watching Italian football fans.

Ursa started running forwards, a big grin on her face. I assumed it was because she'd spotted the Kursaal hotel (where, according to the taxi driver bringing us back from Tavullia the previous evening, a certain Andrea Iannone was staying) but no. It was a balloon seller with a bear shaped helium balloon, which she had to have (and which, I am pleased to report, has made it safely back to England in Pompone's van!)

Now accompanied by a bobbing Masha e Orso balloon, we headed to a square where the most enthusiastic/raucous footie fans were gathered. While my Italian vocabulary extends to the boring stuff involving hotels & food, Ursa's more esoteric Italian comprises animals and rude words, so she was able to translate some of the football chants. Some of us wanting to sit down, strategic purchases of gelato were made so we could occupy a table outside an ice cream shop. The table became a balloon-bear sanctuary as well.

MrsC_772

06-07-2016, 10:54 PM

Day 9 - Sunday 3 July

Instead of heading straight to the circuit after breakfast, Ursa and I rode to Coriano, bouncing along country lanes definitely not surfaced by the Luxembourgeois - more Le Marche or Surrey County Council standard!

Coriano is home to the Marco Simoncelli museum & memorial. The small museum contained wonderful arty photos of Simoncelli, both close up and in action, as well as artifacts from throughout his career (including mini-moto kit held together with gaffer tape). I couldn't help but contrast the dignity in the pictures of Marco, with the immature gurning of a certain Mr Iannone in his social media feed, to which I was subjected by the presence of Ursa's smartphone...

Then to the circuit. As WDW activities tend to finish on the Sunday lunchtime, it was a lot quieter: no queue. At the International Village tent where Desmo Owners Clubs have space, we arrived in turn for the presentation for the club competition prizes. Ursa & I being the only other UKMOCers in the tent at the time (and despite not having taken part in the events), Slob very generously invited us to join him as Scott Redding presented the prizes: see http://www.ukmonster.co.uk/monster/showthread.php?t=53316 Even better for Ursa, the prize included a little model Iannone race bike each!

While Ursa wanted to check out the shopping bargains, I wanted to check out the project 1312 2017 bike sneak preview. A 40 minute wait (under shade and with fans), cameraphone handed in (not that that had prevented spy shots appearing on MCN's website the previous day), and into the big white box. Surrounded on 3 sides by massive screens showing some very Americanised images of cities and roads, with an American accented voiceover with even more marketing waffle/lifestyle BS than I recall from the Scrambler preview 2 years ago, the bike was finally unveiled. A sports bike for the road. Token red trellis frame, under white Panigalesque fairing. We were allowed to sit on it, with warnings that it was just a mock up not a production version (presumably the mirrors and indicators were made of a weaker grade of cheese than road bike ones).

Having seen what we wanted to see at Misano, now time to hit the beach. To say the beaches at Cattolica are regimented is an understatement. The spiaggia is one area where the Italians out-German the Germans in organisation. (Possibly very deliberately, to avoid the stereotypical towel reservation of sunlounger tactics). We first had to purchase a ticket from the hotel, with boxes ticked to say we wanted 2 loungers and a parasol. This ticket was presented to the man at the beach office/shower building for the appropriate numbered beaches used by our hotel, where he checked a board to see which loungers & parasols had not yet been taken, and we were walked to our allocated spot. A couple of hours of paddling in the warm sea, reading, lounging and watching the Italians followed. Spotless loos, enough bins for rubbish - I can kind of see the point in the Italian way in a crowded resort (though I do still prefer West Wittering!)

Ursa was starting to get antsy about logistics for the return journey to England so we showered & headed to Tavullia so her bike could be loaded into the van. Huge thanks are due to BigOz for loading, and for riding his own bike up to Malpensa the next day as space in the van had been taken by 100HP Andrea's bike which had died on the way down. The Tavullia boys all getting a bit hot and stressy (missing persons, endless packing and unpacking) Ursa and I retreated to Cattolica for pizza and prosecco.

singletrack

07-07-2016, 06:32 AM

Really enjoying reading this.
Thanks x

Ursa

07-07-2016, 06:44 AM

Hehehe it's all true, I can't deny any of it. Hats off to Mrs C for keeping me in check and booking particularly well air conditioned hotels.

For the record apart from lovely Iannone, I also met Davide Giugliano, Casey Stoner (who looked unusually cheerful) and very lovely Danilo Petrucci (which prompted some Daddy or Chips style pondering between him and Iannone heh)

slob

07-07-2016, 08:43 AM

... with a bear ...

http://www.thelasturl.net/wdw16/wdw16_bear.jpg

BLUNT

07-07-2016, 11:26 AM

Thanks from me - quite a good read.

Dirty

07-07-2016, 01:27 PM

Great write up, thanks.

Did you take notes each day?

Darren69

07-07-2016, 02:51 PM

Yes, great write up. I enjoyed reading it and I really enjoyed my time Firenze/Bologna and surrounding area too a few years ago and vowed to go back sometime maybe on a bike, maybe WDW, but I couldn't imagine leathers in that heat. Have they really spoilt the Ducati museum then?

And who'd believe Casey smiling, I think we need proof! :)

slob

07-07-2016, 03:27 PM

I don't think they have, they have most of what was there before, arranged for better access. You can now get at both sides of the race bikes for instance. Livio (Lodi) was very interested to hear what people thought, both good and bad. He was worried if preparing for the 90th was this much work, he only has ten years to prepare for the centenary!

MrsC_772

07-07-2016, 04:39 PM

Thanks for all the positive comments so far.

Dirty - I wasn´t keeping notes, but I was sending lots of text messages to my mum & Andy, and referred back to these when stricken with verbal diarrhoea in my Slovenian hotel late last night. Mum in particular worries when I´m off on my bike, so sending text messages lets her know I´ve not yet crashed! Next time I might be forced to drag myself kicking and screaming into the 21st century with a tablet computer so I can write every day.

Tonight, I am mostly fighting an Austrian keyboard. This has the unfortunate habit of inserting a lot of initial capitals, which I have to go back and remove!

MrsC_772

07-07-2016, 05:20 PM

Day 10 - Monday 4 July

After Pompone collected Ursa, I hit the road about 10 am. No dry clutch rattle background music from the streets of Cattolica this morning, many WDWers having already left.

Another motorway slog back up the A14 towards Bologna. A hideous jam near Faenza led to me filtering through the lines of traffic, passing Capo & Mario´s white van (much horn honking at that point) I stopped for lunch at Services north of Bologna (where the choice appeared to be any flavour of sandwich, as long as it included ham) and talked to to 3 Australians who had been to WDW as part of a European tour (having rented an 821 Monster and 2 Multistroodles in Holland).

My plan was to stop next in Padova. But the heat, and it being 2 pm when my body clock is at a low point (I am one of those people for whom the siesta was invented) meant I was struggling to stay awake on the bike, so stopped for a coffee.

As I sat sipping my cappuccino, worrying that even with it I'd still be too dozy to ride safely, someone sat at the other end of the table with his lunch, and asked (in Italian) if I was Italian and had a Ducati (having spotted my T-shirt). He was a Bolognese truck driver and biker himself (new Honda Africa Twin, which he did take off road). We ended up chatting about 10 minutes (all in Italian!) about bikes, touring and adventure travel. He also advised that on Italian motorways, it is apparently bad form ('un pecato') to filter between lines of queueing traffic: the Italian way is apparently to ride up the hard shoulder, which I had observed. By the time I´d finished my coffee and he'd finished his lunch, I was feeling a lot brighter. If the biking gods have messengers on earth, it appears they are Italian lorry drivers, as I'd had a similar morale boosting conversation with a trucker near Firenze 2 years ago. And no, I don't travel to Italy alone to pick up Italian truckers before anyone thinks naughty thoughts!

I stopped in Padova, parked and arrived just in time for the guided tour of the historic university building where Galileo taught,. The University was founded in the 13th century by free thinkers who felt stifled in Bologna. An organic gelateria provided a mango lolly and water to cool down my overheated head, so it was back on my bike and off to Maniago.

Maniago is in Friuli in NE Italy, and my aunt who had recently visited the area had described the pride Friulianis have in their region. I experienced this, as well as the sort of hospitality so lacking in Landeck in Austria. Pulling into to the car park at the back of the Albergo Montenegro I was greeted in Italian by the young chef/manager, clearly expecting me. Having complained about the heat, I was immediately given a bottle of water. When I mentioned I'd need dinner, he said they could set a table in the town square onto which the hotel looks, as it was cooler there, and he'd prepare some typical Friuli specialities.

I went for a wander round the small town, and liked the place a lot. There was a sense of pride and confidence. Maniago is the knife (making not crime) capital of Italy: there is a knife museum, shops full of hunting and cooks' knives (including fearsome looking machetes for cutting watermelons), and later this month, a festival celebrating knives, including the world axe and knife throwing championship. Hopefully the latter didn't coincide with a beer festival.

I enjoyed an excellent dinner sat out in the town square: a snack of local salami on bread with a glass of local white wine, fine herb filled ravioli with ginger, (very finely sliced!) pork with vegetables and the best ice cream I've eaten in years. The flavour was called Crema all'Italiana, comprising a subtle hint of red strawberry, green pistachio and white almond (as per the Italian flag colours). It was intensely creamy, and the last time I had ice cream that smooth, it was made to order with liquid nitrogen.:)

MrsC_772

07-07-2016, 07:20 PM

Day 11 - Tuesday 5 July

An early start, being woken from 5 by (in sequence) a rooster, street sweeping trucks (Meaning of Liff word "Vancouver") going round the square, clock chimes and 7 am church bells next door.

I went down for breakfast (coffee, fresh O.J., Croissant & yoghurt. Chef asked if I'd enjoyed last night's dinner (I had).

At this point I rather put my foot in it. My parents are from Sheffield (England's equivalent of Maniago in terms of knife making) and had told me of the superstition that one should never give a knife as a present - there should always be a transaction, even just a penny in return. I asked if it was the same in Maniago, and understood that it was. On checking out, Chef he took a long thin flat package from a pile of similarly gift wrapped items and handed it to me. I got the gist of what he was saying - that it was ok, as I'd been a paying customer, but on unwrapping it at my hotel that evening, it was, of course .... a knife made in Maniago.

Today's ride was to Slovenia (my 3rd new country this trip), on routes from bike magazines. All started well, through towns and then heading on quiet lanes into the hills. I knew I was in Slovenia when the road signs changed colour to yellow and the place names looked distinctly un-Italian.

But there were more subtle changes too. Worse road surfaces. Lots of butterflies. A black squirrel darting across the road. Beehives in clearings in the lovely mixed deciduous woodland (none of your Schwarzwald coniferous monotony here). Honestly, it was like an enchanted forest from a Disney cartoon - Snow White or Bambi. 2 young deer turned to look at me and darted across the road. If a bird had landed on my handlebars and started singing to me, I would not have been surprised. I rode 20 minutes before I saw another vehicle. I really had entered Shangri La (albeit with potholes).

Having briefly joined a more major road along a river, the Navigatrix then told me to turn left up a minor side road. Funny, I thought - doesn't look like the start of one of the country's best bike roads. I know the Peterborough journalistic establishment is in thrall to the 2 wheeled Bavarian Chelsea tractor but still? Climbing through the woods, all of a sudden the tarmac ran out. I may have mentioned I don't like gravel. But what choice did I have? Wuss out and turn round or carry on, in the hope discovering a great ride?

So I carried on along the gravel track, telling myself to relax, and as Dory in Finding Nemo puts it "just keep swimming" (or in my case riding). The gravel section continued for ages (in reality about 2km) and at the end I even had to go round a gravel hairpin. A little skid but I didn't drop the bike :woot: Back on the tarmac, round a couple more normal hairpins (never did I think I'd be relieved to see one) and at the top of the hill, I was rewarded with the first of many stunning epic views of Slovenia. I stopped on the road (not in a gravel parking area - didn't want to push my luck) and took a photo.

As I pulled away the song going through my head was "He who would valiant be". Not sure whether it was attending school in Bedford (John Bunyan's town) which put it in my head, or more likely, John Cleese singing it in one of my all time favourite films, Clockwise (a perfect encapsulation of one of my ideas of hell, being a control freak). But there I was riding up a Slovenian mountain road, singing in my helmet:

"[S]He who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,
Let him [her] in constancy follow the Master [the Navigatrix].
There’s no discouragement shall make him [her] once relent
His [her] first avowed intent to be a pilgrim [to WDW]".

MrsC_772

07-07-2016, 07:37 PM

Day 11 continued

Wending my way back down the mountain, I eventually joined a major road, thronging with bikes - this was the Soca valley route I had intended to take. Can't blame the magazines for my little bit of of Dennis Matsonesque taking of unsuitable Ducatis on unsuitable surfaces: this was down to a wetware error. I won't be rushing out to buy an Enduro bike (not even the lowered CCM) but I was pleased to have proved to myself that I can ride on the rough stuff if needed.

I decided to reward myself with lunch at a roadside cafe somewhere between Bovec and Zaga. My Mum (who had previously visited and recommended Slovenia) had texted me a few key Slovenian words: good afternoon (dober dan), please (prosim), thank you (hvala) and beer (pivo). Didn't need the latter one yet so ordered gnocchi with tomato sauce (both a bit watery) and then in my Euro-patisserie-quest, something called "Gibanica" described as "sweet filled with poppy, walnuts, cottage cheese, apples & cream". It was a hot sweet, made up of layers, with sort of baked cheesecakeyness sandwiched between apples and poppy seeds. Good job I'm not in the sort of job that requires staff to be drug tested, as my readings would probably suggest I should be passed out from an opiate overdose, given the quantity of poppy seeds. Interesting, but I won't be hunting it out again.

I carried on to Bled where I was booked into the Alp Penzion. Slightly brusque check in but the room was ok, save that I couldn't get the aircon to work. On asking at reception I was told "you're in room 6? booked through booking.com? I have the remote for the aircon - it will be an extra €5 per day for aircon!" WTF??? Nothing about this on booking.com printout. Having selected a room with aircon, I wouldn't expect to be charged extra for it any more than I'd expect to be charged extra to walk on the carpet, watch the TV or use the en-suite bathroom! The spirt of old communist Yugoslavian customer service lives on.

I went for a walk round lake Bled, which was as mosquito infested as it is picturesque. My Incognito natural repellant had preserved me from the zanzare di Tavullia, and did the trick again. Lake Bled has a clifftop castle, a church on an island, super clear water in which people were swimming and rowing, and a photo op at every turn.

Dinner that night was a pizza and beer in the Gostilna Pri Planincu (owned by a member of the Slovenian DOC, though he wasn't there). Ducati calendar stickered, with a card and another sticker left behind, I went back to my airconditioned room (the remote having been released to me).

MrsC_772

07-07-2016, 08:02 PM

Day 12 - Wednesday 6 July

At breakfast in the Alp Penzion, more evidence of pettiness. An orange juicing machine with a label saying that no more than 2 oranges may be inserted. As I was looking at where to put my oranges, one of the hotel staff came past and interrogated me about whether I knew what to do with the machine. She reiterated that the number of oranges to be inserted shall be 2, not 1, not 3 but 2. My 2 oranges made a feeble trickle of juice, in stark contrast to the good 6 oranges' worth that must have gone into my Maniago breakfast spremuta. I don't know if the reason for her command was that more than 2 would block the machine, but after the air con incident the night before, I suspected a mere stinginess about the fruit budget. (Were oranges rationed in Tito's day?) Even if I might naturally have chosen 2 oranges, I resent being ordered not to use more.

I'd put together a circular route round Slovenia, taking in the Triglavski national park and Bohinjsko lake and several mountain passes, including the Predel back over the border to Italy. I had a lovely morning's ride. Slovenia is the most breathtakingly beautiful of all the Alpine countries I've visited: unfeasibly clear lakes, teeming with fish, inviting turquoise streams, woods, majestic mountains, pretty little villages. One Slovenian peculiarity is the hayracks constructed like tall roofed fences through which the hay is stuffed. Not sure if the idea is that cows can graze directly from them in winter, but they're more picturesque than the British hay swiss roll or worse plastic wrapped silage bale.

If you fancied a change from motorcycling, lots of outdoor activities (cycling, canoeing, climbing, rafting, parasailing, hiking) were available. Cafes & hotels with bikers welcome signs outside everywhere I road. (Dear Slovenian tourist board ...gissa job hvala ....) On one of the passes, however (probably the one the Slovenian on the other Ducati forum advised me to avoid due to poor surfaces and too many visitors) there were cobbles on many of the hairpins, so I was glad it was a dry sunny day. Fortunately the RVs were going in the opposite direction so I wasn't subject to Stelvioesque frustrations.

Heading back to Bled, my mission was to try Bled cream cake. I was basically under orders from my mum to do so. The Park Hotel cafe next to the lake, claims to be where it was originated, so I sat there and ordered an original Bled cream cake, while contemplating which Game of Thrones castle the clifftop Bled Grad most resembled (the Eyrie - you could certainly build a moon door given the location).

Bled cream cake is a mille feuille type construction with flaky pastry top and bottom and layers of sort of moussey whipped cream and creme patissiere. It was nicer than I expected, given that I'm not a big creme pat fan, ever so light, although had a bit of a soggy bottom (hark at me, coming over all Mary Berry). The absence of kirsch from it means that the Schwarzwald Kirschtorte pips in in the cake-olympics in my book.

I thought I'd better walk up the hill to the Castle to burn off some cream cake, so did the tourist thing (managing to go round the museum totally backwards). Jolly nice views from the top. Back down the hill for dinner (another trout dish, no almonds or butter this time) with a very small glass of white wine, and then the discovery of the hotel Computer.

MrsC_772

07-07-2016, 08:42 PM

Day 13 - Thursday 7 July

After breakfast I checked out of Alp Penzion. The hotel manageress had relented and told me that I would not be charged the €5 per day for aircon after all, but the threat of the charge and the Juice Business detracted from what could potentially have been a very nice hotel.

The Slovenian/Austrian border was the first since leaving England where someone manned the crossing - 2 Austrian soldiers. They waved me straight through, without bothering to check my papers (unlike the car in front). The likelihood of my smuggling in terrorists, Syrian refugees etc. in my Kriega tailpacks was minimal!

Having used up the last of my mini chain lube, I spotted a Triumph dealer just outside Villach, and thought they might sell me more. They did, after much faffing around (although being Austria, it should probably be spelled Pfaffing around, especially after previously driving past a town called Pfafflar!) to find the price in various catalogues/computer records. I was even offered a coffee and they let me use their loo. Not bad, considering I wasn't on a Triumph. Maybe Bill Bryson was wrong (after a less than happy trip many years ago, he remarked that Austria would be nice if it were not for the Austrians).

Around noon I arrived in Bad Kleinkirchheim, a town name I associate with watching Ski Sunday with my Dad when I was a kid. I reckoned it was strudel o'clock, so parked up in front of a bakery and ordered an apfelstrudel and cappuccino. Tasty filling - still trying to pin down the spice blend, more than just cinnamon & lemon, I'm sure. Sat at the next table was an Austrian straight from central casting: old guy in lederhosen, green wool cloth waistcoat and Tyrolean hat (no feather but an edelweiss pin). Tourist board employee or Englishman trying too hard to fit in?

Next Brownie point for Austria was the Nockalmstrasse - a toll road through the mountains designed to be fun to ride. 52 individually number bends, perfect tarmac, helpful camber to allow for a relaxed ride. Meadows with wild flowers including lupins, grazing cows (only 1 actually stood in the road), all very pleasant. OK it was €10.50, but more fun than €10.50 worth of Italian motorway riding.

After stopping at a supermarket for an iced coffee drink and punnet of blueberries (more vitamin karma), I filled up with fuel. Another pleasant surprise - price per litre cheaper than Luxembourg!

Finally, I headed towards the Grossglocknerhochlapinestrasse, and my hotel in Heiligenblut. I will not write off the Austrian inkeeping profession after all. Today's dirndl clad blonde asked me to complete my address on the check in form which already had my Name printed, and gave me the key to my room, which has a balcony with a splendid mountain view. While I could happily have sat staring at the view, I fancied a relaxing swim.

Once again, my lack of German frustrated me (all the info in the folder or on notices in the room is in German alone). I checked with the receptionist that my understanding was correct (that the apricot coloured towels in the wardrobe are for use in the swimming pool and spa and should be left down there). Lovely indoor pool, with huge windows looking out onto a view almost as good as that from my balcony. 50 lazy breaststroke lengths (the odd numbered ones with views of darting swifts, housemartins and the mountains, even numbered ones with just the stone carving of alpine activities on the wall). Swim was followed by sauna (again, spotlessly clean with a bizarre array of alternative showers). Only on leaving did I spot the sign saying that swimsuits were not allowed in the sauna!

Dinner was spinach and cheese dumplings, another bland Austrian beer (the Austrians should leave brewing to the Germans if you ask me) and ice cream (not up to Maniago standards), with, you've guesed, more mountain views!

slob

07-07-2016, 09:30 PM

and the Germans should leave brewing to the Belgians IMHO ;-)

keep the write ups coming, I'm suffering from culture shock since my return, I just want to be back in Italy

Did you ride Grossglockner? Vir enjoyed it http://www.globetrotter90.ducati.com/grossglockner/

I rode it two years ago and agree with him completely

Ursa

08-07-2016, 10:24 AM

I'm suffering from culture shock since my return, I just want to be back in Italy

Yes, I hear you on that one, off out with my Italian bezzie tonight to try soften the bumpy landing back to London :worried:

Dirty

08-07-2016, 07:52 PM

Thoroughly enjoying this. Thank you for taking the time. For me long bike rides are best taken vicariously and this is one of my favourites :)

slob

09-07-2016, 04:05 PM

... long bike rides are best taken vicariously...

just get on and go mate, a journey of a thousand miles still begins by engaging first gear (apologies to Laozi)

Dirty

09-07-2016, 04:23 PM

just get on and go mate, a journey of a thousand miles still begins by engaging first gear (apologies to Laozi)

I know how to do it. It's exactly the same as short journeys, only longer and with luggage. If I've had enough after an hour or so I can't see me enjoying 2 weeks of saddle time.

I love my Monster, and I love messing about with it. Riding it comes 3rd, I'm still a car man in that sense. Offer me 2 weeks riding around Europe on any bike I like or an entry level 911 and I'd be sat in Stuttgart leather, ac and Bose every time.

slob

09-07-2016, 04:59 PM

maybe you could drive the trailing support van with your bike in the back and get the best of both worlds

Dirty

09-07-2016, 06:06 PM

maybe you could drive the trailing support van with your bike in the back and get the best of both worlds

Yes, because vans are just like sports cars :freak:

No, maybe I could just arrive fresh and unsweaty at my destinations without a saddle sore behind and covered in dead insects?

slob

09-07-2016, 06:41 PM

Dirty

09-07-2016, 07:17 PM

strangley insect free in Italy, wiped my visor twice in 11 days

... still got chewed to £@&! by mossies in the evening though

you'd still have your bike at the destination for the short rides you enjoy

Yes true, cruising up and down the Italian seafront or a quick blast in the mountains does have a big appeal. I think rentals would be the way forward though, the price of driving a van 1000s of miles is too high!

pompone

09-07-2016, 10:22 PM

Yes true, cruising up and down the Italian seafront or a quick blast in the mountains does have a big appeal. I think rentals would be the way forward though, the price of driving a van 1000s of miles is too high!

If you split 4 ways as we did is very reasonable.

Dirty

10-07-2016, 12:15 AM

If you split 4 ways as we did is very reasonable.

Haha, yes, getting you to take it would be an option, though I was referring to the 'price' of having to drive a boring van through some lovely bits of Europe. :)

Ursa

10-07-2016, 10:21 AM

Haha, yes, getting you to take it would be an option, though I was referring to the 'price' of having to drive a boring van through some lovely bits of Europe. :)

It's not too bad, although I can't say much, I dozed most of the way, only waking up to laugh at rude place names (Bever, Asse, Inschitt Tunnel etc), instigate games of I Spy, sing along to the radio and talk nonsense about bears mostly. As long as your van buddies are fun it can be a laugh and adds to the "adventure" :biggrin:

utopia

10-07-2016, 11:13 AM

I drove the full distance, both ways.
Tbh I'd rather be in the van on those particular roads as the fast route is fairly boring .. Swiss scenery excepted.
Of course other routes are available but they require more time and overnight stops.
If I was to ride there I would take a completely different route .. and an extra couple of weeks to enjoy it .. and lots more cash.

Dirty

10-07-2016, 07:55 PM

It's not too bad, although I can't say much, I dozed most of the way, only waking up to laugh at rude place names (Bever, Asse, Inschitt Tunnel etc), instigate games of I Spy, sing along to the radio and talk nonsense about bears mostly. As long as your van buddies are fun it can be a laugh and adds to the "adventure" :biggrin:

I think my point was that if I'm going to drive across Europe my preferred choice of steed would not be a bike or a van

MrsC_772

11-07-2016, 09:19 PM

Day 14 - Friday 8 July

I'dthought that Waldblick provided the ultimate continental breakfast: Hotel Glocknerhof in Austria proved that I ain't seen nothing yet. While waiting for my egg to boil, I counted 13 different fruit & veg juices (I had cherry), 10 cheeses, 25 herb teas including a house blend and around 15 types of bread (complete with an illustrated guide to what the different types of roll contained). I didn't even recognise some of the dishes (there was a pot of some sort of bubbling broth, surrounded by dishes of ham, chopped veg and chickpeas). Wandering round I felt like the east German Martin/Moritz character in Deutschland 83 on first encountering a west German supermarket.

I should have taken Slob's advice and allowed myself a whole day for the Grossglocknerhochalpenstrasse. 25 Euros is a steep charge for 48 km but there's a lot to see (waterfalls, Tobleronesque triangular mountain peaks, meadows of wild flowers) as well as riding the bends. Although limited for time, I couldn't resist taking the spur road to Kaiser-Franz-Josefs-Höhe get closer views of the main glacier. (It may be 25 years since my A-level geography studies but I couldn't resist good cwm/col/cirque and a bit of moraine).

I also rode up to Bikers' Point - whoever thought that bikers would appreciate a special bit of road with cobblestoned hairpins needs a stern talking to. I was most amused by a poster there advertising an alpine herb face cream - made in "Rottenegg". Austria seems particularly prone to "lost in translation" language that seems amusing to the English ear and eye. (I must confess to smirking when spotting a van later that day emblazoned with "Fritzen.w.a.n.k.e.r").

After the Grossglockner, the 3rd and final entertaining toll road: the Gerlospass. I can understand why Triumph have their big knees up (their equivalent of World Ducati Week) based in Neukirchen, not Hinckley, as Neukirchen lies close to the Gerlospass. More flowing than the Grossglockner, and I was riding better, enjoying the slightly more open road and less traffic.

"Toll" is the German word for "great" (that much I had absorbed from the Memrise app) and the Grossglocknerhochalpenstrasse and Gerlosspass are "toll" roads in both the English and German senses of the word.

After the fun stuff, and a mediocre coffee at a cafe where the radio was playing nothing but cheesy accordion music, and the purchase of a new vignette, on to the motorway to make swifter progress towards the Italian Dolomites. Austrian motorway services apfelstrudel was, unsurprisingly, not as good as the BKK bakery version.

The motorway climbed out of Innsbruck, crossing the Italian border at the Brennero pass. Just after Bolzano I turned and caught my first glimpse of the Dolomites proper. If the Grossglockner mountains were Toblerone chunks, the Dolomites were the ragged jagged bone comb in the Bled Castle museum. It was now more pleasantly cool, and the road wound through the trees. It was such a relief on stopping for fuel to speak Italian again.

The Rider Hotel, Rauth, is a fairly basic establishment, geared up to touring German bikers. I was the only non-German guest there, and the proprietor greeted me initially in German. Unlike another guest, I did not make use of the hotel's Karcher jet wash to clean my bike. On checking in I was handed a map showing suggested touring routes in the region, and over a weissbier, the hotel proprietor helped me put together a route down to Verona. Dinner choices (served in the hotel bar, not a fancy restaurant) was a limited choice between steak cooked on a hot stone (quite expensive), burgers or (to my pleasant suprise) a limited Thai menu - I think the cook was Thai. I had a large and tasty bowl of pad thai noodles with chicken, which made a nice change.

MrsC_772

12-07-2016, 09:14 PM

Day 15 - Saturday 9 July

My ride this morning took me from Alpine scenery in the Dolomites, along the "strada dei formaggi delle Dolomiti", to a hotter, drier, more southern European landscape, with steep terraced vineyards, after Cembra, where brown tourist signs advertised Muller Thurgau wines, and grappa (one of the few drinks that makes limoncello seem appetising).

Then it was through a small town with one of the many clifftop castles which litter the region, for a cappucino and the first hostility I'd encountered as a Brit travelling in Europe post Brexit decision. One of the other cafe customers said "Welcome in Europe" and when I responded "Grazie" he said "just joking" before leaving. I didn't resort to one of the choice Italian phrases Ursa had taught me from the translated football chants, however tempting.

Back on my bike, past apple orchards around Trento and on to olive groves at Arco, just north of Lake Garda. I was glad I decided against trying to ride along the shore of Lake Garda - I got excellent views of the sailing boats on the lake from a massive traffic jam that was starting to crawl its way down the hill to the lakeside. Then it was on to the motorway, down to Verona and to the railway station.

I'd booked myself and the bike on an overnight motorrail service to Dusseldorf, with a view to saving myself a day of tedious slog across northern France. On previous WDW trips, after fun in S.E. France, I'd had 2 full days of boring riding, where neither the motorway nor off motorway routes offered much in the way of scenery or exhilaration. I arrived in Verona early, around 12.30, and hoped to find a nice lunch before checking in for the train.

Verona Porta Nuova is no St Pancras when it comes to dining options. The area immediately around the station seemed equally barren, and I ended up eating falafel in a kebab shop near the bus stands. Having been underwhelmed by the train's dining car dinner menu, I trudged off in search of a supermarket to pick up a picnic dinner. (Oh for an M&S Simply Food ...) Verona may be the (very touristy) city of Romeo & Juliet but I was not feeling the love, nor (lugging my lid & leathers around in the heat) the inclination to explore the city centre and find the famous balcony.

Returning to the station it was time to load the bike onto the train. It's rare for shorty me to have to duck, but the ceiling of the lower deck of the 2 tier vehicle transporter wagons was so low, even I was hunched over the tank like Ursa on the track at Misano while riding on board.

With over 2 hours before the scheduled departure time, I took refuge in the station bookshop (about the only place with aircon) and curled up for a siesta on a cushioned seating area upstairs. On waking up, the guy sat next to me started chatting - he'd spotted my DOC t-shirt and asked if I'd been to WDW - he was a fellow 696 owner.

The train was due to leave at 17.34. Around 5, I found my seat. The 4 fellow passengers in my compartment were all Dutch (the motorrail service is operated by a Dutch travel company): one was a motorcycle journalist with a V Strom, just returning from a trip round Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia, another owned a Ducati 888.

Interesting conversation did not make up for the failure of the promised aircon to work. The train steward claimed it would work once we were moving, but sadly that was not so. It was stiflingly hot (I was by now wearing a beach sarong, the journalist kept mopping his sweaty face with a bar towel). A welcome breeze blowed through the open window, but the temperature didn't become bearable until we were back at Brennero on the Austrian border. The seats were converted into bunk beds, the train company providing pillows and sheet sleeping bags (not seen one of those since Interrailing aged 18!) and I managed to get some sleep. Thank goodness my fellow passengers didn't snore!

MrsC_772

13-07-2016, 08:10 PM

Day 16 - Sunday 10 July

After an airline style boxed breakfast on the train, at 8.30 am I rode off into the thankfully deserted streets of Dusseldorf, heading via the motorways of Holland and Belgium to my last overnight stop in Ieper/Ypres.

If the "better than Tebay" service station near Bologna was the pinnacle of motorway breaks, the Netherlands serves up the nadir. Dutch motorway facilities are not what you'd call holistic. You can have a parking area (predominantly for big lorries), then a few km later a filling station (very like a UK non-motorway one, down to the "Wild Bean Cafe" serving up the same disappointing coffee) and then a little further a restaurant, but very rarely, if ever, all 3 on the same site. The Dutch petrol price was the highest outside Italy. And like in Austria, they charged 0.5 Euros to use the loo! Somehow, the Netherlands, a normally very civilised nation, had managed to combine the worst attributes of motorway services from across the EU. Perhaps it is the influence of the Dutch green lobby, determined to make car travel as tedious or unpleasant as possible, to encourage bicycle use instead.

After 2 more coffee stops in Belgium (marginally less grim services & coffee), and a bit of filtering around the Antwerp ring road, I arrived in Ypres about 3.15 pm, Having checked into my hotel, and feeling it was probably a bit early for a lightweight like me to hit the strong Belgian beer, I asked about cycle hire. Unlike the Alps, the flatter terrain of Flanders didn't seem too daunting for my unfit legs, and after a fortnight of pizza, gelato and cake, I thought a little light exercise would do me some good.

For 9 Euros, the Ambrosia hotel around the corner gave me a sit-up-and-beg bike for a couple of hours. I meandered out of town past a small lake, through potato fields (well, frites have to come from somewhere), cornfields and at an all too regular interval, past the small and immaculately tended Commonwealth War Graves cemeteries of the WWI fallen. The biking gods saw fit to tempt me, by placing a farm shop, with a cone shaped sign advertising home made ice cream, right on the cycle path. I could hardly ride straight past, could I? One scoop each of strawberry and apple tart ice cream and I was on my way back to the town.

After returning the hired bicycle, I was ready for a beer. I can highly recommend the St Arnoldus biercafe: 25 draft beers on tap, and around 6 samplers, each comprising 4 x 150ml glasses of different beers, and allowing even a lightweight to have a chance of drinking one's way along the bar. While enjoying my "light" selection (nothing under 4.5%) I chatted to 3 other British bikers, Army guys, combining a battlefields tour with a trip to the Nurburgring. They left early as they were going to lay a wreath at that evening's Last Post ceremony at the Menin Gate.

While I hadn't originally planned to attend, on leaving the cafe at around 7.45, heading to the Menin Gate felt like the appropriate thing to do. Every evening at 8, buglers play the Last Post, and there is a short remembrance ceremony. The crowds are deep. This evening the singing of a Welsh male voice choir accompanied the wreath laying.

Whereas 2 weeks previously, the non-availability of frites in Belgium on a Sunday had been a big disappointment, Ypres put that right. My final continental dinner was a portion of chips, with curry sauce, at the Kattekwaad frituur on the main town square.

MrsC_772

13-07-2016, 08:38 PM

Day 17 - Monday 11 July

After waking early, to a rather grey morning, I hit the road to the Chunnel. Much as the prospect of a hop museum in Poperinge intrigued me, I just wanted to get home. I arrived at the Calais check in sufficiently early that I was allowed to select an earlier train.

Contrary to what some of my colleagues appeared to have expected, Calais, and the UK immigration officers based there, have not erected a Westerosi-style huge wall to keep people out, nor are there large crowds of desperate migrants hurling themselves at every passing car or bike. While the French immigration officers didn't actually shrug in the stereotypical Gallic manner, when I proffered my passport, they were clearly unconcerned about who left France. The UK ones did check my passport, and asked me to remove my helmet to see if my face bore a passing resemblance to my photo.

I was the last to board the early train, queuing up behind a couple of of other bikers, who had clearly swallowed the "Bike Shed how to be a hipster" book.
Open face or retro 70s (with press studs to attach visors) helmets, with goggles - check!
Big bushy Edwardian beards - check!
Blue denim (non motorcycle) jeans - check!
Brown (non motorcycle) boots - check!
Belstaff retro wax jacket - check!
On removing jacket, sleeve tattoos - check!
Motorcycles that are a triumph of style over practicality - check! (Triumph Scrambler and a hardtail matt black Harley).

I spoke briefly to the hipsters on the train, and to their credit, they'd been on a big European tour, having ridden as far as Prague, and then around Germany. They confessed that they'd tried to stay more than one night in any location, given how uncomfortable the Harley was to ride any distance. Its unfortunate habit of shaking itself to bits had led to the acquisition of a variety of tools in Europe for reattaching what they'd picked up from the road. The Triumph had to carry the satnav, since the Harley's vibrations made the screen illegible. I was impressed with how little luggage these guys carried, for such a big trip - apart from their tools, I presume their minimalist panniers/lashed on small rucksack must simply have contained their checked shirts (since that was the one item from the hipster uniform missing from their appearance that day).

Back up the M20, round the M25 (yawn) with the tea break rule (if on a bike ride, you're in 2 minds about stopping for a cuppa, stopping for tea is always the right decision) being invoked at Cobham Services. I'd not stopped there before, and it was a pleasant surprise (perhaps my expectations having been lowered by my Dutch experiences), not least, due to the Mint Leaves Indian food stand, serving not only your usual chicken tikka masala & samosas, but also the (far less common) South Indian idli sambar (steamed rice cakes with a runny tasty veggie curry sauce). I got my first proper curry fix in a fortnight for lunch, washed down with masala chai!

Finally at around 2pm I rolled up onto the drive at home, with the vague idea of washing my bike. Just after unlocking the garage, the heavens opened, so thoughts of getting the hose out were washed away, and the bike retains its patina of grime, encrustation of Belgian bugsplats, and Austrian motorway vignette.

MrsC_772

13-07-2016, 08:57 PM

In one of my earlier posts, I'd referred to my idea of European biking heaven involving Luxembourg road surfaces.

After 17 days, crossing 10 countries, below is my vision of what makes touring biker heaven and hell.

In MrsC's European bike touring heaven:
the scenery would be Slovenian;
the roads designed and engineered by Austrians;
the roads surfaced to Luxembourg standards;
petrol prices would be Austrian or Luxembourgeouis;
motorway services Italian (especially the just west of Bologna variety);
other bikers would greet you/wave like the French and Belgians;
breakfast would be Austrian, but with Italian coffee;
daytime snacks would be Austrian (apfelstrudel) - while the proper German Black Forest Gateau was lovely, I'm not sure I could eat it every day, while I could face apfelstrudel quite regularly;
dinner would be Italian;
ice cream would be Friuliani;
beer would be Belgian (or possibly German);
the hotel welcome would be Friuliani;
the hotel facilities Austrian or German.

In MrsC's European bike touring hell:
the scenery would be Belgian;
the roads surfaced to Slovenian (or only marginally less bad Surrey County Council) standards;
petrol prices would be Italian;
motorway services would be Dutch;
other bikers would greet you/wave like the Germans;
breakfast would be Italian, but with Slovenian coffee;
daytime snacks would be Belgian (non-existent Sunday afternoon frites);
dinner would be at an Italian railway station;
ice cream would be Austrian;
beer would be Austrian;
the hotel welcome would be Slovenian; and
the hotel facilities would be found at a truck stop near Mulhouse (members of the UKMOC WDW 2016 van contingent will know to what I refer).

I'd quite like the above lists to provoke a reaction - for people to say I've got it all wrong and in fact European biking heaven would comprise e.g. Norwegian scenery and Spanish roads ... That could give me ideas for the next big tour.

To anyone contemplating such a trip - go for it!