After last years trip to the frozen wastes of Norway and the Arctic Circle to get a glimpse of the midnight sun, we gave this years trip a serious few seconds thought.... “south, warm !”.
The trip got an added aim when we bought the Ducati 750SS for Jean and it seemed to be a good idea to take it to Italy and back.
And then someone mentioned a bridge.
As things started to pan out, it would be many holidays in one trip.
For this trip we dispensed with leather jeans and bought Kevlar reinforced denims for coolness.
The ferry was booked for Friday afternoon.But as always we are impatient to get going and arranged to stay at Neil and Anne's as Neil was also going to Chimay, a small Belgium town where they brew beer and race bikes, probably not the worlds best combination.
We managed to get to Neil and Anne's at a reasonable hour (OK, it was before 22:00 at least), had beer, played with motorbikes, ate.
As our ferry on Friday was not until after 14:00 we had a very leisurely morning with more motorbike faffing and a gentle run to Dover, only marred by Neil's Z650 exhaust starting to fall apart. After some roadside repairs with the help of a gas fitter, we set off again in a bit more of a hurry for the ferry. The repair lasted the obligatory 53 feet.
Despite the troubles we still got to the port in plenty of time, unlike the biker in another group who had got his dates wrong, turned up a day late and had to hang around until 21:00 before he could get another ferry.
Once we landed we had a short 2-3 hour trip to Cambrai where we would hole up for the night at Le Mouton Blanc, a typical 2 star French hotel that were more than happy to take in bikers and give them secure parking for free. The afternoon was hot as we chased Neil across the French country side, finally loosing him to a series of traffic lights Although it was late in the day, the heat was just about bearable but we were feeling it by the time we got to the hotel where bit by bit others who were going to Chimay arrived before we set off for a meal.
Champs (another Neil) would be last to arrive, having had his clothes go on fire when his pannier touched the exhaust on the motorway into Dover. A short shopping trip to Burtons had him kitted out for the weekend.
The next morning presented us with some more fine weather. After more Z650 fettling we headed off to Chimay, despite being in Northern France we still found some nice roads to get us over the border and to the camp site at the track, I say track but when it is not used for racing it is in fact a road. Chimay is the place Jean decided she wanted a 750SS after riding Neil's around the circuit on a previous visit and not giving it back to him, so it seemed a doubly good idea to come here.
The races are all 4 or 6 laps, and the bikes are old dating from pre war to 1980s kit. Some people would not race them so every now and again they would do a parade lap.
First order of the day/afternoon was beer, it would have been rude not to, and then put up tents, followed by food and more beer while looking at bikes. Later that evening we all watched while Neil (not Champs) tried to buy a KH400 from a French man, unfortunately he knew the value of his bike, but it was worth watching Neil try and work out how many bikes he needed to sell to afford it.
We didn't have the worlds best sleep that night, a group of French behind us went for the “all night make as much noise as possible approach”, I had the trots at about 03:00 and then to cap it all loud Oompah music was broadcast at 07:00 to announce racing was about to start. Jean and I decided not to hang around any longer as it was going to be another scorcher, so we had the tent down and were heading off site by 10:00. It was time for out second holiday to start.
A quick fill up (its Sunday, get it where you can) and off, heading in the general direction of Switzerland. Coming out of Chimay we followed the sign to Courvin - “14km”, I was tickled by the fact the next one said Courvin “15km”, there was definitely a European competition for poor road signs and Belgium had just leapt into the lead.
Our route was pretty non-direct due to wanting to avoid motorways and also keep to better roads, we drifted in and out of Luxembourg as the road crossed between in and Belgium. The only way we could tell was by the price of petrol and the increase in stations on the Luxembourg side. As it was still early we re-planned our day and aimed back into France with a view to getting into the Vosges for some decent roads (as suggested by Champs pointing at the map and saying “anywhere here”). He was right.
We stopped every 100 miles to fill up with petrol, rest due to the excessive heat and drink water. We knew we must be at the start of a heat wave now as all the French motorway signs warned people to re-hydrate. I managed to convince Jean not to camp as we had just had a bad nights kip and I was not feeling well so ended up in a Campanille motel in a small town called Epinal. It was only 16:00 but we were shattered.
After a meal and a good nights kip we pointed the bikes at the hills. The road wound up, easing us into the bends and straights, past picturesque villages that if we would have stopped in if we had continued riding the previous day and finally back down towards the valley floor between Colmar and Basle. Where we hit the motorway and headed for Switzerland.
We were merrily bimbling along when we had to stop and queue to get into Switzerland, not being sure of the filtering etiquette (and there being a police man at the end of the line) we waited our turn, in the heat. The policeman asked if we wanted to use the motorway as we would need to buy a vignette, I explained we only wanted petrol and then would get off onto the side roads. That was possibly the worst decision I made on this trip. The motorway went straight into Basle, and the road works from hell, we had signs telling us to go left, then right, then they would switch and flip back again. We were thankful to get into free flowing traffic and find some services where we could buy a map (we were buying them as we went, having a very flexible route plan).
So, there we were, sitting in a (smelly) service station car park, trying to plan what to do next, being offered advice by passers by (general opinion was don't try and stay near the Rhine). I'm not sure if it was just people being helpful or the attention that Jean's Ducati attracted but we were offered lots of advice and an address for a B&B over towards the east by one guy on his way home there.
We managed to work out where we were and what route to take that looked good and would get us over towards Austria and hopefully some good roads.
As we came off the motorway hunting for “7” (I still haven't a clue what they class the roads as) we should have realised we would have problems. We took a road going the right direction and it turned out to be the right one. To start with it bimbled along nicely but then we started to see signs with town names crossed out and took it to mean we needed to detour, Swiss detours are poor, they like to put you on the motorway, but no vignette. This meant spending what felt like hours going round in circles, even when asking for directions, due to poor road signs.
Finally the road improved but was spoilt by lines of traffic crossing into Germany. Eventually we got to Winarthur and started searching for the “16”. I had memorised as many names as possible on the road but that still didn't make it easy. I navigated by feel until we finally saw a sign and got out of the town. Once more we had a deceptively good road, decent speed, nice country side and surface.
Then the road was blocked by more road works, all the detours pointed to towns in a direction we did not want to go. We stood around, scratched our heads and watched as cars came, went and came past again as lost as us. Finally I found a local biker, who did not speak English or French but knew a girl who did, so we managed to get an understanding of a route to take, despite the map showing the road as a dead end. In a 3 language conversation we established that Swiss signs and maps never told the full story.
So hot, frustrated and feeling like we wanted out of the country we headed into the unknown. Boy what a great road! We wound our way up a wooded lane and onto some hilly meadows, lush green grass and only the sound of cowbells and motorbikes. The grass looked manicured and all the houses were “proper” postcard Swiss ones. Some bends were bounded by log piles and others just sheer drops. Eventually we headed back down to the road we had left and then back up into the mountains again as we wanted to cut towards Austria. We stopped to admire the view , check where we were and drink some water (I think we were going through 3 litres a day each by this stage) I noticed we were near the B&B address we had been given, so a quick phone call and we were booked in.
More great bends on the way back to the main road to Watwil, being buzzed by the locals in their cars, we arrived in the picturesque village of Nesslau standing outside a proper chalet, breathing in the fresh (still hot) air, and being greeted by the same person (Chris) who we had seen many, many hours before at the motorway services.
Over breakfast the next morning, served out doors under on a verandah in the sun we decided to stay for another night and try the local roads.
We hadn't gone far when we decided to stop at Santis and catch the cable car up to the top, 2503 metres, which presented spectacular 360 degree views. Apparently we could see 6 or 7 countries from here (Switzerland, France, Austria. Liechtenstein, Germany and Italy but still trying to work out what the 7th could be). When we got back to the bikes I put my hand in my pocket and realised my keys had gone, not a major disaster as Jean had the spares, unfortunately there was no spare helmet padlock key. So I headed back to the cable car and even went back to the top. On the way I got a text off Jean to say 2 German bikers had found them in the grass. Not bad so far , 4 hours and 20 miles done.
We headed on down towards Liechtenstein and went back off the beaten track to avoid traffic, it was on the way down here Jean discovered it was possible to over heat the brakes on the Ducati and have some hairy hairpin moments.
The rest of the day involved getting to Vaduz (Liechtenstein), having an ice-cream and back to the B&B via some outstanding roads with some of the most stunning views we have seen in a long while. When the road is clear, you can relax and and just let the bike do its work on the bends, with speed bursts as you squirt from corner to corner.
That evening we had a BBQ with our hosts. It turned out Chris worked for the BMW F1 team, and as a hobby he built models, lots of models ! An entire room dedicated to them, including the working plane that was his current project.
We had the urge to stay for a 3rd night, but we also wanted to get on and see Italy, so it was up sharp and away by 10:00 to try and miss some of the heat of the day. A quick dip into Liechtenstein, and then on into Austria where the road signs were a vast improvement over the previous 2 days. We took an indirect route over the Holchalpenstrasse , it had lots of tight bends that rose steadily to over 2000m from where we could see Switzerland again, pity we had to pay 10.50 Euro each to use it. The road back down was well tarmaced and fast, then after a bit of hunting around we found our road into Italy.
As soon as we entered Italy we stopped for food, Jean's favourite of tomato,mozzarella and basil in olive oil. It was still hot, around 14:30, but we decided to carry on. Of course that meant dropping down and the heat building up again. I enjoyed the road down, as it had a lot of wide sweeping bends with full visibility so I could over take in places I shouldn't. By the time we got into Merrano we were hot tired and bothered, but a friendly garage attendant gave us advice on local campsites and we chose to head for Lana a short hop away.
It wasn't the worlds best approach to a site, being next to the local industrial estate, but was surrounded by apple trees and had a pool. After negotiating more German (does no one speak Italian in North Italy ?), stickup the tent and buying some cold beer (90cents/500ml with 10cents back on the bottle), we hit the pool.
Later we chatted to the Germans on the pitch next to us and they showed us routes they had been doing during the week, they highly recommended we head over towards Cortina in the Western Dolomites. Lake Garda could wait another day.
Even though we were not packing up the next day, we still headed off early towards Bolzano, and then into the mountains. As we rose up the temperature dropped and the ride became more comfortable, unfortunately it was also a tourist route and we had to negotiate a lot of buses and cars. Everyone was going the same place, the Passo Di Salla, the “definitive” Dolomites view. From here the road cleared as we hit a series of hairpins, all nicely numbered (40+ of them) with plenty of warning for each bend and how many. The next Jean saw of me was as I headed back up, these were the roads I had come so far to find. We spent the rest of the day “playing” in the area, it was road after bend, after view, after bend , after road. The route was mainly in a figure of eight but to get away from the traffic we headed off towards Marmalda and more passes before heading back down to Lana and the campsite, with the promise of a dip in the pool to cool off. As soon as we dropped back out of the mountains the heat shot up again, the pool and cool beer were welcome sights.
Because we had been on the road for over a week in extreme heat, a bike check was in order. Expecting both to need oil, as it was used in the cooling of the engine, I bought a litre and topped up the XJR which needed about a 1/3rd. Much to Jean's joy the Ducati had not used any.
A new day, a new holiday, a new road. Once more we followed the advice of our German friends and went for an indirect route to Lake Garda, over the mountains to view the Western Dolomites. Again it was good to get an early start, rise up and out of the heat and have clear roads. Unfortunately the road dropped down low into the heat again around midday before a climb back to some twisty roads I had an eye on, one thing about a trip like this is there is no shortage of mountains and roads but as much fun as it was were looking forward to some cool lake water.
The final decent towards Riva la Garda felt like a motoring TV advert with the lake looming closer at each bend and the windsurfers and yachts growing larger. At Riva we started the search for a campsite, the first few were full so we carried on down with Jean assessing each one we passed for lack of road nearness and next to waterness. Finally we came across one in Malcesine that fitted all criteria and had spaces. It was a good job by now that I could cope with the fact campsite owners all spoke German only, unfortunately a German phrase book was not on the kit list!
The site was like being in somebodies back garden, except it was filled with tents, caravans and apartments. The lake was a 2 minute walk away, so it was tent up (beer) and a swim. We even finished the day off with a proper restaurant meal at the lake side.
Lake Garda has mountains to the north that gradually fade towards the south, with roads on the east and west banks except the west bank is mainly tunnels and galleries while the east contains more villages. It is a natural magnet for all forms of water sports and has a wind that blows north during the day but switches south at midnight bringing cooler air over night.
The next day was spent lazing around, swimming and site seeing. Malcesine is built around a castle that has been restored and turned into a museum. The rest of the town is geared up to tourism, but at least had a weekly market if you wanted to buy shoes or handbags. The town is full of little twisty small alleys, that all seem to open out onto a different beach or port area (you could high a speed boat without license for 50 Euros ).
The day just drifted by ending with another of Jean's classic “one pan” meals and lying on the grass doing nothing but read, drink wine and eat.
I didn't want to leave, but knew we must to make sure we got to Millau, and we wanted to see the Med so the next target was to get east of Genova on the Italian Riviera. By now we were used to the early start approach and were even happy that according to the weather reports we may have rain. We headed down the road by the lake looking for petrol, tried one self service place that had a dutch man struggling with the machine so moved on to another that took 20euro notes. We then took the motorway to klunk off the miles. It was another warm sticky day, but overcast.
The motorway towards Genova was interesting to say the least, the carriage way started to have tight bends, verging on being hairpins, lots of them, for miles. Meanwhile the other carriage way would disappear into a tunnel from our left, reappear on our right, or above or below. An interesting stretch of road, that the locales obviously know well.
At Savona we dropped down to the coastal road and skimmed past the towns and beaches looking for a campsite. It looked like every Italian who owned a scooter or bike was there and on the beach. We travelled a long way before I finally spotted a campsite at Borgio Ver, up a hillside. It was “quiet time” on the site and we had to wait an hour before we could take the bikes up to the tent site, so we had some cold beer and ice cream. We pitched the tent on an extremely small spec and went straight to the beach for a swim. The beach was very crowded with bars/cafes every few inches and sunbeds right up to the waters edge. Way too crowded for my liking. The town was old, and largely shut (well it was Sunday) and after a hot sticky walk back ti the site for a cold shower we ate and settled down in the bar to watch the local entertainers.
As heat went, the night was hot, oppressive and sticky, it was impossible to stay dry. Another early start was on the cards.
I think we were on the road before 09:00, and straight onto the motorway to do as many miles as we could before the heat settled in. As we headed west towards France the temperature dropped from 31 to 29 degrees and became noticeably comfier, until it started to climb again. From the motorway we had good views of the med and towns below as we crossed bridge after bridge, the Italian Rivera looks best from a distance.
Something we noticed on the Italian motorways was the quality and price of sandwiches was excellent compared to other countries.
At Cannes we dropped back onto the N roads and headed up towards Grasse and the “Route De Napoleon”. Grasse was a mass traffic jam, with some pretty streets, but once through the road cleared of traffic and we started yet another climb. Now the scenery was all brown and scorched with views of rocky valleys as we took the bends. With some frequent stopping for views, water and wrong turnings I am sure the 2 Germans in the soft top Merc were fed up with seeing me overtake them as we headed up to the Verdon Gorge.
Suprisingly the road up the gorge has only a thin wooden barrier at the edge, which I brushed with a pannier on one occasion as a biker coming the other way forced me over. After about 20 miles of climbing bends the road dropped down and we could see the lake at the head of the gorge, beautiful blue.
The lake(Lac de St Croix) is man made as the river had been dammed off to form the reservoir, at the southern end the remains of a town can still be seen.
We stopped at a campsite right next to the lake and hired a canoe for 3 hours and canoed down the gorge, with lightening breaking over the nearby mountains. On the return we beached the canoe and swam in the gorge. The water felt creamy, but very clean.
Compared to the campsite in the Italian Rivera it was basic, but much more relaxing. We had space, fantastic views and warm showers for less than ½ the price.
Like Garda, I would have happily stayed, but we had a bridge to get to.
How many times can I say “another hot day” in a different way ? We got up before the sun had come over the gorge, so got the tent down and packed in relative cool before settling the bill and posting some cards (which got back 2 weeks after us).
As usual the idea was to do the good roads in the cooler part of the day, and the motorway later. Leaving the area the roads were clear and easy going, but after we crossed the A51 more trucks appeared and despite the road being marked as green on the Michelein map it didn't stand out as much. We decided to carry on with the N roads until we hit the A7 near Nimes. The road was totally truck infested and hard to find a good stretch we could enjoy. Also there was no sign of any decent truck stop to get a bite to eat so the A7 for fuel and food was a good choice.
We bypassed Montpellier on the N109, which was being turned into a motorway most of the way for rapid progress. Once on to the A75 the road climbed and so did the heat (we heard Cahors hit 45 that day). It was the second good stretch of motorway in the past week, plenty of tight turns to enjoy as we wound our way up until finally we came to the bridge.
Built to cross the Tarn Gorge and save Millau from being a bottle neck , 2.5 km long and 270 metres above the river Tarn making it the tallest vehicular bridge in the world. Designed by an Englishman and built by Frenchmen.
We visited the information centre, walked to the view point and took photos , while watching a large black cloud form and pass by. We had booked an hotel in town and headed off to drop our things before an evening trip to the bridge, but the dark cloud had settled over the town. We just got our waterproofs on before the rain hit (it it felt like a “hit”), massive hail stones and rain bouncing 3 feet in the air as the roads became rivers. At times like this hotels are much better than tents. It soon blew over and after lunch we negotiated the town and did an evening visit to the other side at the base.
Being cheapskates we didn't want an expensive hotel breakfast, so went for a 1.5euro one at the supermarket while waiting for the petrol station to open, unfortunately the cafe never opened and after chatting to a retired truck driver for 10 or 15 mins we filled up and rode into the gorge where we stopped for some “croc madames” (cheese, ham and egg toasties).
The “Gorges du Tarn” is much greener than Verdon, must be the rain, the banks are full of campsites and canoe rentals. Occasionally we came to to small “quaint” villages but eventually we turned north and headed for Le Puy, before cutting across to Montceau les-mines to visit my pen friends parents.
From Le Puy we were using roads that we last took 10 years previously, or that was the plan , the French road rebuilding program had visited and lots of dual carriage way had appeared bypassing towns and petrol stations. So that was another day we had to play hunt the petrol staion and ended up having a supermarket lunch.
Each time I return to Montceau-Les-Mines the area seems to change, it had been 7 years since the last visit and a lot had changed until we hit the C roads as we got closer.
When we got to their house it looked boarded up and I had to explain to the hair dressers next door who I was and why i was searching for the Juchowski's, who turned out to be sitting in the back garden ! We spent around 2 hours catching up on old times and the latest family tales , many of whom we had missed by 2 days, before heading off to Beune for the evening, stoppingat a cheap PremierClasse hotel.
We splashed out on a decent meal and wine, then wandered around the town where we found a “Scent Garden” that was crossing plants to make some unusual but pleasant scents.
Watching the weather on the TV that night it didn't look good, rain and thunder spreading from the south.
So, north. The N74 out of Beune was now the D974 and surrounded by vineyards, but full of trucks and strange vineyard tractors, high cabin with a big void between the wheels and cabin. After Dijon the N71 was a clear road with a great surface and even turned away from rain clouds at all the right moments. We even found a proper truck stop for lunch at Bar-sa-Seine where we were made welcome by the owner and locals.
We wanted to bypass Reims as we knew the roads from there on were boring, so headed across to Epernay and then Amiens finding only the one stretch of road worth mentioning , the D6 to Noyon. At Amiens, short of fuel we hit the motorway but found none until we came at Abbevile, with the Ducati on dregs we filled up and had a search for an hotel. The local F1 receptionist was unhelpful and uncommunicative, I originally asked for details about other F1 hotels but she was so unhelpful I didn't want to stay at hers.
It was late, but Bolougne was only just down the road so we headed there. We stopped at a cheapish place in the centre, but it is the only place in France I have ever been charged to park a motorbike which put me in a mood that didn't clear until after we left the shores the next day.
A cheap meal served by staff who couldn't give a damn and a walk around the walls was the evenings entertainment. The town has seen better days, they have made an effort with the old walled city , but the rest of the town reminded me of a poor mans Marseille.
After a slob on the beach the next morning we caught the ferry and headed back to England. On the crossing we chatted to two bikers that had come back from Faro “only stopping for coffee and fuel”, they reminded us it was a Friday and we would be hitting commuting traffic.
Getting off the ferry was a laugh, the dock exit was poorly sign posted and everyone just followed the car in front which meant missing the exit and driving back into the port. I spotted a gap in the fence and signalled the other bikers to follow through, I suppose it was one of those situations you had to be there to appreciate fully, seeing lots of cars driving round in circles trying to escape the docks.
England seemed little cooler, despite weather reports to the contary, and we negotiated the usual M25 jams. The M40 presented us with an approximate 15 mile tailback caused by a truck trying to demolish the central reservation, made worse by roadworks full of over heating cars.
Arriving at the Rock and Blues near Derby we managed to find our already pitched tent, but as there was space we put up our bigger one. Beer was offered and drunk. Music was listened to, all repeated the next day.
We have been going to the Rock and Blues since 1995 and sometimes had left there to go on holiday, this time we did the reverse, so much so that oit was 10 years since we had left on the GS550 for our 1st proper tour. The RBCS comprises of a custom bike show and bands, some years big bands and some not so big, between 10,000 and 20,000 bikers attend each year and it is the most laid back and trouble free weekend , which may have something to do with it being run by the Outlaws bike gang.
Finally 18 days after we set out, it was time to head home. Considering we did 3200 miles, the only 2 things to go wrong were the Ducati speedo cable broke and its petrol tank breather split .My “feels funny” clutch, which it had since we got to Italy, died the following week, so that was close.
Next stop the USA.
