Daily Archives: November 20, 2011

Alps Adriatic and Alcohol is the story of my first ride to Croatia on my XJR1300 in 2004. I wrote it from my Travel Journals when I returned home. I haven’t read the tale in it’s entirety since and I’m sure some of it will make me blush. Odd bits have been used by popular motorcycle publications but most of it is as fresh to me as it was seven years ago – as are the memories.

The opening photograph was taken by a fellow traveller at the entrance to the KrKra National Park. He was a braver man than I, was Gunga Din. He was on his way home to Germany from a holiday in Bosnia with his wife and two very young children in a venerable old split screen Volkswagen camper van. 

I was nervous of going to Bosnia as I had no insurance cover for that country. His reply was ‘I don’t know what you are bothered about as nobody down there has insurance anyway’. I like his style!

Alps, Adriatic & Alcohol – 2004 – Part One

by givitsum

I have had my Yamaha XJR1300SP since it was new in 2000 and over the past four years I have carried out a few modifications with the aim of improving the handling, power and comfort of the machine. A naked bike without protection from wind and weather isn’t generally regarded as a long distance tool, particularly when planning some mile-munching in short order but the big-finned, air-cooled, four cylinder motor in the XJR certainly rocks my boat and together we can usually hold our own when the going get’s tough.

Pic 1 – Big Red in her Weekend Warrior clothes   

Purchased for the trip were a set of Oxford Sports throw-over pannier bags and a Baglux tank cover fitted with a bag big enough to hold my camera, binoculars, spare maps and a few other bits I thought be useful.

These together with my well-travelled Camel holdall  strapped on the pillion would have enough capacity to swallow spare gloves, clothes and footwear plus cans of sealant, chain lube and WD40 or ‘instant maintenance’ as it was known by the African mechanics in my civil engineering days in Africa.

H-mmm — still room in the expanding pannier bags! In went a handful of cable ties, tying wire and pliers plus the heavy duty ‘just in case’ ratchet and sockets. We’ve all been caught out at the side of the road with a flat tyre. The wheel nuts have been done-up some months previous by an eighteen stone gorilla tyre-fitter with his windy-gun set on maximum. The manufacturer’s chocolate wheel brace is in our hand bent into a ‘U’ shape and the wheel is still on the vehicle! Well it wasn’t going to happen to me – not in the places I was headed for!

I couldn’t have been carrying more gear had I been setting off with Charley, Ewen and Claudio on their Long Way Round World Tour! 

Alps, Adriatic & Alcohol 2004 – to be continued

My first thoughts of making a European tour in my summer holidays kicked off in January. Bjoern, a member of a biker website I used had posted a thread about a meeting of the German XJR Owner’s Club to take place in the Eifel Mountains. The meet, known as the Rhineland Treffen would be held at Bad Neuenahr airflield between Cologne and Koblenz in late August. Minor problems like language difficulties and how to send the entry fee without the banks adding their margins were overcome when the thirty five euros went off in a plain brown envelope.

The Rhineland Treffen was to be just for starters and I had spent months planning a ride to the Nordkapp in the Artic Circle to tie in with my German jaunt. A wet summer in the UK leading to a few soakings changed my plans and I had another look at my map of Europe. All the way down in the bottom left hand corner I spotted Dubrovnik and thought, ‘that will do’- ‘it should be dry down there.’

My plan was to finish work on Thursday afternoon, load the bike that evening ready for an early start Friday and reach the airfield for the Treffen by Saturday lunchtime. It’s amazing how plans change when you get the bit between your teeth and what was to be a leisurely ride becomes an imaginary race against time!

Big Red in ‘eye on the horizon’ travel mode —

Packing and overnight parking in the kitchen went to plan and I was on the road by six o’clock next morning. There would be no motorways if I could help it and the rising sun was a red ball of fire in my eyes as I crested the ridge at Wenlock Edge heading south-east to Oxford and the Folkstone rail tunnel terminal.

I grabbed a hearty breakfast from the well stocked buffet at the Travel-Inn on the Evesham by-pass just a few miles from the gentile Cotswold town of Broadway where I arrange our annual meet for XJR Owners every September. I had put on a pair of long johns under my bike gear to ward off the early morning chill and as I couldn’t find a waste basket in the Travel Inn I squeezed them behind the radiator in the gents toilet and sneaked on my way.

Back on the road and raring to go it was a pleasure to givitsum up the winding Fish Hill that sucks you in with it’s two fastish left and right sweepers before it hits you in the guts with a tightening left-hander! Thought I could have done it even quicker and I was still chewing it over when I ran a couple of gatsos around Chipping Norton shortly before picking up the motorway network at Oxford.

Hoping to save time on the journey I had decided to use the chunnel crossing instead of my usual method of catching the first available P&O ferry from Dover. By pre-booking I had secured a good deal at just over sixty quid return. Allowing for the fact it would be the first day of my holidays I had left plenty in hand when I arranged to travel on the three-fifteen afternoon train.

I was quite surprised to arrive at the terminal for my crossing shortly after eleven o’clock in the morning, only to be told at the kiosk that as I was so early I could either go away and come back in two hours, or pay thirty quid extra and go on the next train which would be leaving in ten minutes!

Well, what would you do? Yup! I flashed the plastic, rode onto the train, packed my remaining sterling into the back of my wallet, shoved my wad of euros in the front, re-set my watch to European time and was riding out of Callais within an hour of boarding.

My plans to steer clear of motorways didn’t help with route-finding. I had hoped to do a loop south of Dinant and arrive at the meet via Luxemburg and the Nurburgring but that habit the Belgians have of changing place names between one signpost and the next in Femish/Walloon speaking areas threw me again. I got totally lost near Lille, it was coming down in buckets and as I stood there dripping all over his posh carpet a helpful head waiter in a smart restaurant by a roundabout directed me on my way. I was confused when he sent me towards Paris, the exact opposite direction to where I was trying to go but I soon picked up signs for Brussels and followed the auto-routes east to by-pass Liege.

I could have taken the easy option at this point by staying on the auti-route to Cologne then south on the autobahn to reach my destination towards dusk. But – names like the Eiffel Mountains, Nurburgring, Bad Munstereffeiffel were calling to me from my right and I turned onto a narrow washboard surfaced concrete road signposted for Eupen and the Ring.

I had a ‘square go’ with two sports cars both wearing the Ring logo on their bootlids. An Audi and a two seater Merc. Both were fitted with full roll cages and obviously knew where they were going. After a few kilometres I let discretion get the better of valor and let them go. There was no point tempting fate and getting in trouble with the law for speeding this early in my tour.

I rode on through some lovely places as I staggered this way and that across the mountains in the gathering gloom and eventually found the well hidden airfield site for the Treffen just as it got dark. Signing in completed I dropped by the club bar for a word with my German friend Chromi before heading back down the hillside to find the hotel he had booked for me in nearby Bad Neuenahr.

With the best part of fifteen hours in the saddle up to that point less fuel, minimal food and chunnel breaks I was relieved to feel my way off the hilltop and park in the carport behind the hotel and unload my gear. For twenty three euros per night I had a comfortable double room with en-suite services and breakfast in a small main street hotel boasting a public bar and restaurant.

After a quick wash it was down to the bar where any plans to get a taxi back up to the site for what was left of the evening were quickly dropped when the barmaid and her lovely pals, knockouts all of them, sang the Cologne FC song to the tune of ‘By Yon Bonnie Banks’! My first day on the road and I thought I’d arrived close to heaven! This feeling was reinforced when I saw the white sequinned Elvis suit hanging from a peg beside my table for the night then it dawned on me that he had done his National Service nearby. Heartbreak Hotel – no sir!

AAA part two

My initial plans made way back in the spring were to take a long weekend off work and just do the Rhineland but somewhere along the way I thought as I’m over there anyway why not make a proper adventure of it. I worked out all the ferry times and costs for a circular route round the North Sea riding from the Treffen to Denmark, Sweden, Norway, the Shetland Isles and Aberdeen. I would like to see the Norwegian ffiords and the Icelandic ferry from Bergen dropping me off on the Shetland Isles sounded interesting.

From there I could make my way home via Orkney and Scrabster or take a direct ferry to Aberdeen. I was all set to do it that way when the soaking of all soakings while on a camping weekend with some biker mates in the Lake district made me think again. August and September can be pretty late to be touring as far north as Scandinavia if you want to stay warm and dry.

Next favourite was to follow the mighty River Danube all the way across Europe to Romania and try to reach the Black Sea. A tall order to make it there and back in my two weeks holiday but achievable. I got real excited about visiting Transylvania the home of Dracula  and riding the highest trunkroad in mainland Europe. The Trans-Fargasian Highway, open only in summer but I allowed some bad press about the country to put me off.

I was running out of places to go when I saw Dubrovnik on the bottom corner of my map of Europe. Last time I came across that name it was on the telly having lumps shot out of it during the wars between Bosnian Serbs, Christians, Moslems and anyone else around with an axe to grind.

Should be warm enough down there I thought. Slovenia and Croatia were in the proccess of joining the European Union and the clincher came when my insurers told me that I was covered for those countries at no extra cost. All my enquiries regarding travel to Croatia by road appeared to point me in the direction of Italy where I would catch a ferry across the Adriatic to my final destination in the Balkans. Couldn’t work that one out as there were plenty of roads showing on my maps so I decided to head on down to Croatia via Austria and Slovenia to find out why.

Sunday morning – my landlady was good enough to take a picture of me with my unexpected ‘Numb Bum’ award before I hit the road once more. The trophy was placed on a shelf behind the bar for safe-keeping until my return some day to collect it. It looked to be a tad fragile to survive a motorbike trip to the Balkans.

I was off and running. South on the autobahn to Pforzheim where I would switch to lesser roads through the Black Forest. I had ridden in an International trial in this area back in my trials riding days in the eighties and hoped to look up some old friends I’d stayed with on that occasion.

Somewhere in that spider’s web of junctions around Mannheim I took the wrong route and had turned east for Nurnberg without realising it. B*gg*r! Only thing for it was to take the next road south for Ulm and Austria missing out the Black Forest completely. I probably wouldn’t have found my old trials riding buddies anyway or the little village of Sulz after twenty years away.

I had pulled into a lay-by just south of Ulm later in the day to stretch my muscles and had the maps out getting my bearings when a dusky young motorist approached me. It turned out he worked in Bournemouth. He insisted I must visit the Boden-See, take the next exit and on no account was I to miss it! I did as instructed and followed the signs for Lindau and the Boden-See – along with half the German nation!

The last weekend in August must be a universal bank holiday! A boiling hot day with an air cooled motor in nose to tail traffic I was forced to filter to keep some cooling air flowing round that redhot motor! She kept going but I’ve known her run smoother! I filled her up with a better grade of fuel when I reached Lindau which seemed to help matters. A Mercedes saloon I had seen earlier towing a twin-axle trailer loaded with four or five road bikes had dropped a sumpfull of oil on a busy junction. There were bits of engine all over the road and that Merc certainly wasn’t going any further under it’s own steam that day.

I had looked at the road alongside the Boden-See but it was too busy. With the cool Austrian Alps inviting me to the south-east I was desperate to get into them. I just couldn’t find the road I wanted! Everything was gridlocked! I pulled onto a filling station forecourt for some respite and asked a ‘white van man’ where I could find my elusive gateway to the mountains. ‘Follow me’, says he and we were off across the main road, along some back streets like there was no tomorrow and out into the open countryside.

‘Turn left at the first lights’ was his next command and sure enough it was up-up and more up all the way into the Alps.

Cool, clear air, bend after bend, not much traffic but truly magic riding after my struggle to get out of Germany!

I spotted a Honda CBR600 sports bike parked by a filling station with nicely frazzled tyres and a Scotspeed of Dumfries logo on the numberplate so had a natter with the owner. It turned out it was owned by Neil, a young Glasgow lad working in the area and he encouraged me to buy a pass for the toll roads in Austria as it would mean a heavy fine if I was caught without one. I had no plans to ride the toll roads but after my problems route finding since arriving in Europe I bought one just in case. My German friends had advised me that a first-aid kit was mandatory in Austria too so I was well sorted. Sod’s law says – ‘if you’ve got it, you sure as hell won’t need it’!  Better safe than sorry.

I was well into the mountains and had passed a few gasthauses with ‘Bikers Welcome’ signs hung out when, with over four hundred miles clocked up for the day I found a neat looking place in a riverside setting and quickly booked in. My bike had a garage all to herself and I was shown to a comfortable double room. I was too tired to ask ‘How Much’ and it was only in the morning that I found I was to pay for a double!

AAA. Part Four

Day Four! Up early, fully refreshed after a good sleep and another good breakfast I’m up for it! Makes me wonder why we ridicule continental type brekkies. I was soon loaded up and on the road. At least I didn’t feel so bad about being charged for a double room when I found my landlady hadn’t hit me with the bill for phoning home.

Uphill bends, roads on stilts, corner after corner, absolute magic! The air was so clear all the way over the Hochtannbergpass to the small tourist town of Warth at a miniscule 4500ft but the first one feels high. Next in line was the Flexenpass at 5400ft to Abergpass then down by Landeck and Imst swinging right for Oetz and the challenging Passo d’Rombo Timmelshoch at over 8000ft!

The route up the by the snow-filled glaciers on the Austrian side is a dream, good tarnac and scenery to die for!

This is the Austria I’ve imagined since I was captivated by the views in the Sound of Music back in the sixties. I was never much bothered with Julie Andrews and the Von Trapp family but the opening scenes when she came skipping across the upland meadows, knee-deep in flowers has stayed with me ever since. I bought a new BSA Lightening in January 66 intending to ride to Austria that summer but life got in the way and I’m in the midst of it now almost forty years later! Magic!

I had been riding with a Dutch guy on an Aprillia Tauno on the way up that morning. He was heading for the Italian Dolomites, a popular biking region so we exchanged cameras and photographed one another at the top of the pass. I paid my eight euros at the kiosk, received a proof of passage sticker and crossed the border into Italy.

Italy! Boy what a shock! Austria had been bend-swinging, givinitsum all the way to the top and looking at the scenery, especially the glaciers. That’s when you realise why the rivers are grey with melted snow even in late summer.

Italy is so different! The road just drops off the mountain! Short straight followed by tight hairpin followed by another short straight into another hairpin and so on all the way down the mountain! That’s when you’re pleased you picked the little tankbag because you are on full lock getting round!

That descent was a real challenge, particularly with full luggage. I was overtaken which is itself quite unusual. First to come past was a German rider on a Triumph Triple. He was the leader of his pack and had obviously been there before but the real top-dog in my estimation was the young Italian on an oldish looking Guzzi. Wearing combat jacket and jeans he was going for it like there was no tomorrow! Gunning it down the short straights, dragging her round the hairpins, Burberry check scarf flying in the breeze! Only an Italian could ride like that!

After the snow-line you are down into forests, feeling about in the gloom in your fashionable tinted visor. That’s when you realise that some gippo has nicked the tarmac and you are sliding around on the damp dirt! I was tucking into a lunch of taglatelli and frites at a fresh looking, pine clad open air cafe when my Triumph riding friend went past. He had waited for his mates at a hostelry further up the hill. Of my young Italian hero on the guzzi riding with all the skill and panache of his fellow countryman Valentino Rossi there was no sign. He was probably halfway to Milano by this time!

I watched the Transalps, Beemers and Africa Twins heading up or coming off the mountain and could imagine the rider’s heart beats going just a little faster than normal. The deep, melodious sound of the cowbells as their wearers shook off the flies in the shelter of the trees behind the cafe helped slow my own to sensible levels before I got back on the road.

All too soon I was back on the bike and off down the mountain to cross the main Innsbruck/Verona route at Sperzing. On the way I picked up another young Italian riding a Ducati Monster with his girlfriend on the back. I had a great blat with him on the old road running alongside the new auto-route. No respecter of speed limits, it made for an interesting ride. When I pulled alongside him at a temporary set of traffic lights at some roadworks I used my two words of Italian, pointing at him,’Valentino Rossi,’ the beautiful Madonna riding pillion just smiled and we were off again! I was so engrossed watching her tidy rear that I missed my turning for Brunico and had to back track!