Over a beer last year Gibbo (Dave from now on) and I decided it woul be a good idea to ride our bikes to Russia, always good to start with a big plan.
May 2009 wa the month to go, from my point of view I knew I had a better chance of getting a month off work then, ferry was booked and plans to get visas were under way.
Then Dave decided to buy another house, the trip was looking off, I was going to hit Europe on my own. Finally Dave reckoned he could do 2 weeks (and a bit if needed), so we planned to get into Estonia. Jean wanted to know what I was doing with the rest of the month, as far as I was concerned I had a month off and was going to use it, so she decided to meet me somewhere in France.
And then another friend, Aidan, thought it would be a good idea to invite us to his house in Alicante....
When we booked, we didn't have a clue of what route to take, so I'd hedged our bets and chosen Harwich → Ejsberg, in case we had gone into Sweden.
It seems just about every ferry I o on these days has a different bike lashing down method/policy, this one (DFDS) had us park at 90 degrees to the bow and a series of straps (not the sort that go over seat like the channel ones). Fortunately some Swedish bikers were able to instruct us in the “4 point” tie down approach.
We had a near disaster when Dave decided to unstrap his left most ones and the tight right side ones, still taught, brought the bike upright and over, towards the next 6. I caught it, and wrenched my back, not a good start.
Bloody hell the beer and food was expensive !
Denmark passed in a blur, we got off the boat around 13:00 and were in Germany by 15:00, we didn't stop for food or petrol.
My first pleasant suprise on this trip, my only previous experience of Germany had been all bad, hot and ugly. This time as we headed through the north east and into old East Germany I got to see how clean and “jolly” the Baltic side was.
We took 2 days to cross it, got wet and had our only police stop. I think police the world over are sadistic, it was lashing it down and they pulled us over. We had to get our docs out and hang around while they checked them. As I don't speak any German, it was fortunate that Dave did.
I must remember to avoid cities, we entered Poland at Szczecin, in the rain. I was coping with the fresh style of road signs when we had to follow a detour. Boy I get pissed off when that happens, I must have made a mistake and we ended up back at the German border about 20-30 miles from where we should have been.
Then we saw a bloody Tesco ! Can't get away from them.
The weather closed in later in the day and we thought we were going to manage to dodge it. We failed the dodge, got lashed down on at Torun and dived into a motel, totally missing out on what a nice town Torun appears to be.
Despite all the rain I quite enjoyed Poland, even though “thankyou” is one of the hardest words to get your tongue round.
We followed what must have been a tourist route that took us through some great countryside and roads to die for. Someone probably took that too literally, after we filtered to the front of a long line of traffic we found a truck off the road, sat on a car and two more shunted to one side. We knew the road would be closed for a while when the fire truck unloaded the crew, gave them some water and drove off. So with the help of the locals we plotted a 50 mile detour and got back on our eastern track.
Hotels/Motels in Poland are cheap, we could get a room for two, with breakfast for around £30-35, and a meal for two with beer for £10.
There aren't many routes into Lithuania, as you have to pass between Belarus and the Russian Baltic state around Kalingrad, both difficult to get into, but I will give it a shot some day.
We took a smaller back road into Lithuania, which was disconcertingly short of petrol staions as I last nights beer was threatening to make me have a “bear in the woods” moment, it was a relief when one came into view.
For me it was the fist time I felt I was crossing a border, the buildings looked more recently used than Polish ones, the forest had been hewn down for about half a mile either side and it still felt like we were being watched.
Stopping for a coffee at a small cafe I was able to try out my stilted Lituanian, fortunately she spoke English. But I could at least say “thankyou” here, just sneeze. (achoo).
Lithuania struck me as very westernised, and Dave was disappointed that he didn't see lots of Ladas and Moscovich type cars around. Every one seem to be driving German cars.
Our next day was blighted by rain at the start, and road works for most of the day. Lunch was a warm bowl of some totally unknown soup I managed to use sign language to obtain, it was that or a cold soup.
Crossing into Latvia, and the roads degraded even more. I was hearing more and more rattles for the XJ900 and dreading every large pothole I failed to avoid.
Of the three ex Russian Baltric states, I'd say Latvia was the grimmest and poorer looking, roads were empty of traffic and it was the only place we were asked to pre-pay for petrol. In its defence, the food was excellent and the beer was the best I tasted all trip. We stopped in the small town of Jekabpils at a recommended B&B. The server/waitress was all decked out in traditional costume and beer was 1 Lat a bottle (1.20ukp for 500ml).
The further north we went, the better Latvia began to look, as it neared Estonia more trees appeared and roadside parking areas were more like the French style with benches and tables to picnic at, so we did.
I liked the border between these two, apart from having the monstrously huge old border buildings, they also had a pole planted to mark the beginning and end of the two countries, a perfect spot to stand in no mans land and have a picture. The road here was pretty good, unlike a few minutes earlier when we had tried to take a smaller back country road across, the tarmac disappeared and we had begun riding on hardcore/gravel surface. After nearly a mile we gave up and went back to the main road. If I had been on Jean's Aprillia I probably would have continued, but an XJ900F and a ZRX1100 are not really suited to that surface.
It was a short hop down the road to the Russian border, a long line of trucks were waiting patiently to get in. I took my bike down to the front of the queue, got as far as I could legally go, turned round and went away again. One day …. one day I will cross it.
Estonia looks, and feels, very like Sweden. Everywhere seems to be covered by trees and small lakes appear all over the place. They even have the Scandinavian Hytta (hut) style camping in quiet, remote areas.
As I had a desire to paddle in the Baltic, we took a quick look at Tartu and then sped across country to Parnu where the local Tourist Office pointed us to a guesthouse/bar run by bikers for bikers, Aleksandri's, where we did not need to ask locals for directions, they saw the bikes and knew what we were looking for.
I got my 1st paddle on the trip.
As an example of how little distance there is between Estonia and Lithuania, we followed the Baltic down to Riga, where we had lunch, and were in Siaulia, Southern Lithuania, that evening. Only 230 miles.
Riding through Riga it went for old and run down to the magnificent centre you see in brochures. As much as I hate riding into large towns and cities, I have to say it was worth it. There are some stunning gardens and buildings in the centre.
Unfortunately I made another directional error getting out of town which resulted in about an hour of wasted effort to get back on track, I should have listened to Dave an used his alternate route, but as he may have realised by now I can get a bit unpredictable when riding in cities.
After a day of bimbling to see if we could find some back border fence to the Kalingrad sector, best we could find was roads that just ended, we left the Baltic states and returned to Poland a lot quicker than I had wanted to and I mentally shifted into my next phase of this trip.
I was now ready to get myself across Europe to a Chambre D'Hote that Jean had booked herself into the following Monday. So, after a night in a motel in the middle of nowhere somewhere north of Warsaw, Dave and I parted with a manly wave and I “drifted” for a couple of hours. Although I knew where I wanted to go, I hadn't really planned I route. I just wanted to be on my own. Deep down I wanted to see how well I could cope when I had no common language or someone to step in for me. Although I can speak French and a bit of Spanish ever since we had got off the ferry very few people spoke English. German was the main second language, so every time we had hit a language issue Dave had been able to step in ad sort things out. Now, at last I was totally on my own.
The weather had been improving since we had left Lithuania for the 1st time and now it was bright sun and blue skys. Mixed with relatively clear and fast roads I had done about 150miles by lunch. While having a bite to eat I looked at the map, saw a town with a nice sounding name, Jelenia Gora, near the Czech Republic boarder, at the base of the mountains.
After a long hot day, which had involved a detour through Wroclow and a major traffic jam, causing the XJ900 to burn a lot of oil, I found fresh, clear mountain roads. It was like a breath of fresh air. Bends, rises, dips, all things I had not really seen much of for 2 weeks, it felt great. Until I arrived in Jelenia Gora. What a pit ! I should have realised when there were no campsites. It was late, so I opted for a cheap hostel, where, due to the language difficulties we drew pictures to make sure we knew what was happening, how much it cost and what time breakfast was.
Going up into the mountains was a great start to the day, pity that once I was in the Czech Republic I decided to get off the beaten track as once again I ended up going in circles. I had been trying to avoid Prague and was doing a sterling job of negotiating some very strange road signs to get to a town next to the next motorway I wanted. But you know that feeling when no matter which one you follow the next seems to send you a different way, and then signage disappears completely. Even asking locals (using arm actions) proved no good, they just sent me back the way I come. So, bugger it, head down, head to Prague, take the ring road, pick up the motorway and pass the very large town I had not been able to find signs for.
I got it right this time, pick a nice sounding town, in a nice looking area and head there. Ansbach, Germany. Beautiful. And I didn't care that no one could speak English. The fair was in town, the town was picture postcard perfect. Pity about the rain, and me not having a coat.
As soon as I could sense France, it was straight off the motorway, onto the D roads and a quick play. Then into the Vosages where I originally intended staying, but didn't like the look of St Die and the mountain roads were so much fun I carried on. Then late in the day fancied Beaune and went for it. I had really wanted to camp here, but as it was nearly 19:00 when I got in, and very hot I opted for a Motel and a walk into town. It had been a long hot day, temperatures had finally got where I like them.
One reason for heading towards Beaune is that it is near Montceau Les Mines, where my school days pen friend's parents live. I missed his mother by 2 hours, she had gone the north to Dijon for the week. So I headed off a day earlier for my rendezvous with Jean.
We had arranged to meet at the Bikers Rest B&B, in the middle of nowhere, south of Limoges the next day, I had very rough directions and a google map of the locality, as the roads got smaller and narrower I started to wonder if I was in the right place as there were no signs, but eventually the building came into view, a man walked out and I said “I presume you are Bruce then ?”. I think they owners were a bit surprised that I had turned up a day early but they made me welcome. The next day I rode around the area while waiting for Jean, its like an oasis in a hectic world, so little traffic, so many good roads.
Later that day I pulled into the service station I had arranged to meet Jean at and due to some great timing she had just pulled up to the fuel pumps, so I shot along side and said “hi”.
Instead of having a rest day, we went to Oradour Sur Glane, the site of a WWII Nazi atrocity. The town has been left as it was and new town built nearby. Bikes rusting against the walls, cars in garages etc.
I was in the 3rd phase of my trip now, headed for Spain. And finally the tent came out in Carcassone, I had carried it for over 2 weeks, nearly 4000 miles, Jean tipped it out and pointed out that not only had I forgotten the mallet, but it was not the tent I thought it was. Hopefully it would not rain as it had a bad record for leaking.
After 18 days on the bike every day I hit a personal limit, I really should have stopped for a rest while waiting for Jean. While sat in the tent I seriously doubted I could carry on, looking at the map it just seemed too far, with too much to do to get home. My mood probably had not been helped by my headlight falling out, but with the application of some gaffa tape it was quickly solved.
Fortunately, a day off the bike, checking train times and prices to Alicante and how hard to buy a ticket between countries without using the net was enough to convince me to carry on. That and some piss taking text messages from Aidan.
We took two days to get to Alicante, bypassing Andora and camping near Tarragona, we mixed motorway and back roads trying to avoid tolls. Some of the none coast roads inland from Valencia to Alicante are stunning, to see and ride. It feels and looks like New Mexico.
Aidan's house was pretty full, all the family were there, so we made our beds behind the sofa which meant we could be 1st in the pool in the mornings. We had a couple of relaxing days, eating and drinking, having, one of, our 25th Anniversary Meals (inverse party, we go to evryone instead of them coming to us). I paddled in the Med and did an oil change on my bike in a supermarket car park, well it had been nearly 5000 miles since the last one.
We rode north up towards Zaragossa through more pleasant countryside with views at every turn. We even found a Nuclear Power plant in an idyllic spot.
Our route took us up through the Pyrenees south of Biaritz and on to Pyla where there is a large sand dune on the Atlantic coast, Over 100m high, 3km long and 500m wide, its is one of Jean's favourite places. The trees meet the sand dune, meets the sky, meets the sea. It is only ever spoilt by young, drunk, people making a lot of noise from the top of the dune in the early hours.
For our final night in France Jean wanted to camp near Calais, she had spotted a site near Cap Blanc Nez while travelling south. With the pure blue sky it made a perfect place to watch the sun set over the channel and England.
By the time we had got off the ferry at Dover, Jean had convinced me to go back to Lithuania next may.
28 days and 6500 miles after leaving home, I was back. My XJ900 has now done 96500 miles, still runs well, just rattles a bit more.