Graham Robb's blog

Mallory - 2024 - erewegoagain

Graham Robb — Sun, 17 Dec 2023 14:32:26 +0000

May be masochistic, but I am applying again for a Club Stand at the Mallory Bike Bonanza (previously VMCC Festival of 1000 bikes): 5th, 6th and 7th of July 2024.
I see that they are planning EMRA organised racing as well, on both days. that may mean they get to fill the paddock better than 2023. I think we are due some better weather too (as I may not have the motorhome then)
Please email me for access to some of the 10 'free' tickets/bike places (preference given to FFs !)

Spanish Steps 3

Graham Robb — Sun, 18 Jun 2023 10:38:31 +0000

Another touring blog for your perusal, even if not FF (actually 3 Tigers and an elderly Varadero)

Life goes on

….is a truism, but like all truisms, it contains a lot of truth. Much and many have passed since our last European excursion in 2019, but now that the dust had settled, 4 of us (Mike, Steve, Tom, and I) planned another Moto tour. Spain had previously delighted and surprised us, so that was again our destination. Age, aches, and operations notwithstanding, Steve had scheduled a gruelling 3000+ mile run, with barely a time to draw breath. The more cautious of us had convinced him to temper this by cruising to Bilbao on the outward leg; thereby saving one length of France and gaining an extra day.
More and Moor
2 nights at the Teruel Parador after the run across Spain from West to East. Mike used the extra day to recuperate, whereas the Montes Universales towards Cuenca attracted the rest. A route we had partially done in 2017, but which did not disappoint again, despite some drizzle. Immaculate surface, but given the light rain, we did not complete the full planned circuit around the hills, but called in at Albarracin, with its Moorish fortifications and steep cobbled streets to make up for that.
Moths
Teruel airport is used as a storage space for unused hardware – as it’s (usually) a very dry climate. The rows of mothballed aircraft looked forlorn, in the drizzle, as we headed back to the Parador - an industry perhaps not yet fully recovered from Covid.
Not drownin but wavin
Drier next day, we headed south and east into the Muela de Cortes national park, West of Valencia. Wild county; spectacular dams and lakes; virtually no other traffic. We looped though the reserve, over the hills, where many wind turbines waved their sails in appreciation.
Bleu Hotels
Paradors were again used for a lot of our stays and did not disappoint. Predictable luxury at very reasonable rates for old men. When we did try something new, it did not go well. The Hotel Blu (sic) in Almansa was a triumph of fashion over functionality. Started badly, with double beds allocated and no real alternative. We were finally offered one room with 3 beds, and one single room. That will have to do. Noting the 200 € fine for allowing water to splash onto the shower floor we tracked down our 3-bed room:
• The 3 beds filled the room entirely.
• The 3 strip windows were pitch black, as the electric shutters had broken. Upon protest, I was allocated 2 wooden wedges with which to jam 2 of them open.
• The wall mounted switches did nothing, except for the electric blinds, some of which rose while others fell, simultaneously.
• The bathroom area was separated from the bedroom by a huge glass wall, which allowed viewing into whichever side had light. Perhaps the idea was that you could view your partner in the shower, prior to their coming to bed? In any event, it was novel for 3 blokes sharing.
As tired brits, we did not complain, but took it as an amusing hotel experience. At breakfast, the staff in the restaurant were placing buckets under dripping light fittings – presumably one guest was liable to a 200€ fine. Still, the evening meal and breakfast had been OK. The manager took our photos as we escaped. If he wants to encourage others, I think he has to look closer to home….
Fistful of Dollars
Our destination was now near the Spaghetti Western area north of Almeria. Tom had found a remote village hotel, for 2 nights, where initially we seemed the only residents and which was run by 2 fashion-conscious young ladies, (young here is a relative term, but they seemed delighted to have us old blokes staying - it must have helped their takings)
Shape the Mountain
The free day was spent in the Sierra de los Filabres. Steve had found a road between Bacares and Velefique, which had been dubbed the Spanish Stelvio. Maybe it did not have 48 hairpins, but it was as good as that; the curves were perfection and the surface immaculate. If you looked at the road on a map, you would not think it much more than a dirt track, but the roadbuilder had perfected his art on this beautiful construction – and all seemingly for our benefit. Some Spanish bikes at the top – out on a run from Almeria – but nowhere near the hoards you get on the Stelvio. I speculated that while others will build the road to fit the terrain; the Spanish will adapt the terrain to ensure a perfect road.
Techno
Coming back to the hotel, this was Saturday night and the ladies had organised a ‘Techno-Disco-BBQ’ to which we were invited. The BBQ lasted until 11 pm - usually bedtime for us, but then the Techno started, so sleep would have been impossible anyway. This presumably was normal for the coast, but seemed incongruous in a sleepy, white-walled mountain village. We crawled away around 1 am, but the techno lasted til 3. Apparently, the neighbours don’t mind.
Sierra Nevada
All our free days had now been used up, so it was time to head west and north. This took in the Sierra Nevada, after we had called in to see one of Mike’s co-workers for a welcome coffee break and reunion. These Spanish roads just keep giving. There was one short section of gravel track, and one well-patched road through the pine forests, but really these were nothing worse than your average rural road in Buckinghamshire. The rest of the time, the surfaces were perfection and the curves a constant radius.
Monoculture
From Granada to Cordoba, the olive trees stretch as far as the eye can see. The ground under the trees is ploughed, so there is really no life there. Adverts will have you believe these are little family enterprises, caring for every olive, but reality is oil production on an industrial scale, using every square metre. At least they won’t be complaining about drought this year.
Speedy Nacho
North from Cordoba took us back into the central reservoir region, SW of Madrid. As we stopped for lunch, heading south came speed-freak-Nacho (who normally does track days) on his Yamaha. For him, the N502 was a revelation, and he’d been carving up the road at huge speeds (whereas we would only be marginally over the limit). In this big country, traffic police are rare. Nacho had to call his English friend to let him know how good that road was.
Recalculating….
As we were nearing destination Segovia, Steve’s GPS decided that we really wanted to go onto the Auto Via, into Madrid. Other than deserting him, we did not have much choice but to follow and getting stuck on a Madrid version of the M25 was not something we would have voted for. Problems come when a GPS decides to recalculate the route en-route. I must confess to making improper suggestions to Steve as to what to do with his GPS, as we sweltered in the Madrid jam. As it was, the jam split us up completely, so we eventually arrived individually at the magnificent Segovia Parador, later and rather fraught.
Rural pursuits
North to the mountains, the road suddenly became covered in what looked like small round stones, although they did not feel like stones under the tyres. Eventually it became clear. A huge flock of Pyrenean sheep was being herded to new pastures. No chance of passing this lot – they seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see - we just had to continue over poo, at sheep-pace, until they reached their destination a few kms further on.
Pass the Station
Last night in Spain was only just. Canfranc-Estation is where passengers would change trains between the French and Spanish gauges. The magnificent station hotel from 1928 has been rebuilt and dominates the village, although it was too pricey for us. They did not even allow us in for a beer. Next morning, we hoped to go over the Somport pass, but the cloud was down, so we took the tunnel into the French rain.
Saintes alive, policemen asleep
Last night in France heading north was between Saintes and Cognac in Nouvelle-Aquitaine. A designer hotel and a 12th century church dominated proceedings.
Avoiding Autoroutes through France is still enjoyable and reasonably fast, but things have changed in that every village has a 30kph section, complete with sleeping policemen who ensure you comply.
Over
We come to the end of another successful Moto; with triumphs and disasters as usual. Important thing is that we counted us all out and counted us all back – and we are still talking…..

Date for diary - Not FOTB

Graham Robb — Tue, 13 Dec 2022 10:11:17 +0000

The summer weekend gathering at Mallory in 2023 is scheduled for 14,15,16th July.
This is not named as the VMCC Festival of 1000 Bikes; instead it is the Mallory Bike Bonanza, which does not quite have the same ring to it.
Track time form is here:
https://www.eastmidlandracing.co.uk/bike-bonanza
Format is identical to previous FOTBs - although I hope organisation is better - and I have applied for a BFF stand in the club section.
Too early of course to confirm your attendance (or mine for that matter); but it does give us a target. 10 bikes and 10 weekend tickets are the standard stand allowance.

Auto-updates (can be annoying)

Graham Robb — Fri, 27 May 2022 14:22:22 +0000

OK, so where is the ‘Vert-Voyager’ project now? (see previous blogs for the why and how)

They all do that sir
Phase 1 ended with the failure of the Guzzi Mk1 flywheel. Surprisingly, the malady was not actually obvious. Well, it was a bloody great rattle, but it could well have been in the Reliant engine itself. Stripping the engine did reveal a lot of worn parts – mains, big ends, camshaft, cam-followers, oil pump. Winter 21/22 was spent with an engine in bits, but parts all available. Reassembly revealed the Mk1 flywheel moved fractionally independently from its centre - oops. Ebay and Mk2 f-w later, I was surprised to find that its bulk was 3X that of the Mk1. Luigi (Guzzi design department) had obviously decided this one was not going to break! Convert lore said the extra weight made little difference to performance.

Sins of the FFathers
Building up the transmission with the new f-w revealed a repeat of an old issue. Namely seized transmission when bolted up with the gearbox. Investigation eventually revealed that the components were 1mm longer than the space available. For reasons best glossed over, the Reliant/Guzzi adaptor plate, whilst fine for the original clutch, was 1mm too narrow; and this only showed up when the more rigid auto components came together. I had inadvertently solved this issue in phase 1, by skimming the Mk1 f-w to ensure it was flat. Now Mk2 needed the same treatment for the real reason.

Gearing Up
Thanks to Colin R for loan of his 9/34 bevel box. This was original Voyager fitment, but most owners have replaced that with the 8/33 for better response and easier town work. Too low however for the ‘vert and my 16” rear wheel, so I was pleased to go back to the original.

Testing-testing
After major work, tax and MOT have run out, so the first outing must be to the local tester. Not the best time to shake-down and discover your mistakes. Got there OK, despite popping a water hose and steaming out the boot. An understanding tester issued the necessary paperwork after tightening up the rear brake lever. Too much it transpired, as the brake seized on as I rode back – more steam and smoke!

Pumpsadaisy
An outing with the VMCC went well, despite a bit of a p-pick-up stutter towards the end. Feeling braver, I set out for a day’s ride, only to have my electric ATF pump fail after 20 miles. Symptoms for almost all these problems are a catastrophic lack of drive, as the ATF heats up and will not transmit drive through the torque convertor. Analysing the pump options, I decided to run a new smaller 12v pump through an old ‘ballast’ resistor. The previous pump had died through overwork, so I reasoned I should not be pushing it so hard, provided it had enough grunt to circulate the ATF through the tortuous oilways of the Convert. Preliminary testing is promising.

Breaking Cover
So off to meet the rest of the FF gang at Peterborough. This was my longest run to date and was almost fault-free apart from that strange stutter away from roundabouts, late in the ride. Discussion later with knowledgeable folks suggested fuel evaporation when hot. Logical, given all the hot pipes running alongside the fuel lines. Pipe insulation should fix that – watch this space.

Final thoughts
It was never going to be faster, or cooler, or more economical, but it does have a certain easy-going attitude. Always being in the correct gear is nice, but then again, I now have 2 temperature gauges to worry about; and pump failure is a bit of a catastrophe on a long ride. Good enough however to keep it for the moment

FOTB returning

Graham Robb — Sat, 11 Dec 2021 08:13:07 +0000

A date for your 2022 diary (Covid permitting) is the weekend of 16/17 July at Mallory Park. This is the return of the FOTB run by the VMCC. It is not perfect, but it does allow us to answer the whatever happened? questions of a few interested potential converts; and it gives us a social weekend / checking our latest harware / remembering who we are. I will apply for the club stand. there will be 10 (person and bike) tickets available - preference given to those with a bike. Let me know if/how you are coming: grahamrobb@aol.com
If you want track time, then apply directly to VMCC FOTB.

Elf exchanged for hot meercat (Auto-Voyager followup)

Graham Robb — Tue, 21 Jul 2020 08:29:02 +0000

I don’t miss the Elf with the ‘ammer, to be found lurking inside most Guzzi gearboxes; but I have replaced him with a very hot Meercat.

All automated Sergei
As expected, revs are a lot higher, particularly if you want to make reasonable progress; but it’s not like just keeping in a lower gear. The revs rise with the throttle, not with the road speed; then when you come off the throttle, the revs drop away, but the road speed remains. Rather a strange disconnection. Certainly not a set up for hustling around the country lanes. You have to lie back and relax.

Hot Wheels
I had omitted to connect up the earth on my ATF temperature sensor, but I did not think this would be too disastrous for a trip out for fuel. Wrong!. Just shows how much heat is generated / wasted by the torque convertor. I need to make some changes to my ATF radiator/ air flow, as it is just not effective enough where it is. I just hope I have not damaged the ATF or the seals in this burst of high temperature. Higher revs of course also increase engine heat.

Verdict?
I did say this was an experiment to satisfy my curiosity and was not going to be an improvement. It’s not; but it is different! Absence of Elf, and always being in the right gear for a corner, are nice; and there is obviously no thrashing about with the gears, either on the move, setting up for corners, or at junctions, which leaves more time for the other control inputs. Heat always was an issue on Voyager however and I have made that considerably worse. Power loss is also very noticeable. 2 aspects of Voyaging that did not need exacerbating.

Liquor, Love and Laughs
If I can sort out the ATF cooling and perhaps put the Convert bevel box on, it might be useable for the rest of the season, as long as I can get into ‘old man’ mode – should not be too hard.

Back to the Future II - or - Something for Lockdown Sir ?

Graham Robb — Sat, 04 Jul 2020 08:30:43 +0000

It was on the way back from a business meeting in Paris, on Voyager; having been down in La Tour Blanche in 2018, that I made the decision, although the idea had been festering for many years.

Background
Voyager 05 had just been around the clock so, I reasoned, I did not have a lot more to prove. Would I just carry on running it until either it or I expired? Since acquisition in 1994, I had always found that the Guzzi gearbox and clutch were never really state of the art and could always lead to embarrassing noises (a bit like elderly aunts). Reliant engines are hardly SOA either, but we’ll gloss over that for now.

History
Slightly earlier than the Voyager project, Guzzi had made the ‘Convert’. A rather portly twin, bored to 1000cc and sitting in the same Tonti frame as all other 850 Guzzi’s of the era, but with a Torque Convertor (fluid coupling) and a 2-speed box. An automatic, way before any rubber banded scooters hit the streets; along the lines of old American cars. Indeed, the Convert sold better in the US and still has a following there.

Idea
If the Convert drive was designed to fit inside the Tonti Frame, from whence came the gearbox on Voyager, why should the Convert drive system not fit into Voyager? Leaving aside issues like power sapping and heat accumulation, for which Guzzi had decided an extra 150cc was necessary. This would be an experiment rather than a bettering attempt.
A few minor issues , like no ATF pump (the Guzzi motor included an ATF pump running off the camshaft), no ATF reservoir or radiator, could in theory be solved, but how would a drive system designed for a 1000 V twin, cope with an 850 Reliant motor ? Gearing analysis looked as if it would be surprisingly under geared by quite a long way. 16” wheels add to that problem. Better under geared than over geared perhaps, at least to get off the line, if not for M/way cruising. But less power, more heat and more complication is not what a Voyager needs.

Spend Spend Spend
Nothing ventured: I started by acquiring the necessary gearbox from Pete Morcombe in France. He said he could not supply the clutch, but when it came, I discovered the clutch hiding in front of the gearbox. He had forgotten the difference between the Convert clutch location and the standard Guzzi flywheel clutch. It was steeped in ATF, so friction material required replacing, but at least the main components were there. Pete also had a flywheel and starter ring, in apparently good condition, but no Torque Convertor.
The exit shaft from the 2-speed box has 20 splines. Manual box has 10 splines. Stein Dinse in Germany provided the necessary 20/10 U/J albeit at a price.
A missing brass bush on the clutch shaft was bodged from a stock bush-maker.
The auto-box got cleaned up and sat around the garage for a long time,, then a Torque Convertor appeared on eBay during spring 2019. These are not the kind of thing an amateur can view and pronounce healthy, so I had to take it and assume the best.
A bit of investigation into oil pumps gave me a Mocal 12v pump. It said, ‘only switch on when temperature >70C’, but comparing oil and ATF viscosity convinced me it should be OK for at least summertime starts. I already had an oil cooler in the garage, from a previous dalliance with extra cooling, so now the major components were assembled.
I still however needed incentive to pull apart a running Voyager, in order to make something worse, if interesting. Enter Covid-19.

Lockdown
The plan was to split Voyager in the middle and replace the exposed ‘manual’ box. Dismantling revealed a lot of rusty frame components, so although the front half remained assembled; the most obvious rusty bits in both halves got treated.
Removal of the manual box however revealed that ‘swap’ was flawed – at least for my frame, which Royce had redesigned in 2000 to incorporate a rear radiator. The auto box had extra lumps at the back, and these fouled some frame tubes. Discussion with Royce indicated how these frame tubes could be resited and the necessary space created. Luckily my local MOT man’s brother is a good TIG welder and he did a nice job – once I had removed all components (e.g. embedded fuel tank) from the rear frame; not a small task. At least it allowed each component to be repainted.
Reassembly was slow (but then so was lockdown). I discovered how to extract sheared HT bolts from the crankshaft and even a sheared tap sent to repair the thread damaged by the extracted bolt. I also discovered that ‘my’ Torque Convertor was mis-aligned front to back. Guzzi have a whole page of tolerances for the TC to Clutch layout. I did try as best I could, but eventually just bolted everything up together and checked the starter could turn it.

Ose
The Series A Vincent now has another rival in the plumber’s bad dreams, Previously, I had many hoses on Voyager, what with my multiple radiators and electric water pump. Now I had another radiator, pump and reservoir for the ATF. Mocal pump went under the seat; reservoir in the back and radiator at the front, where the collection tank used to be. (water hoses altered appropriately).

long days passed
Eventually testing took place without bodywork, up the farm road; dodging dog-walkers but enough to show that everything actually worked, although not enough to test the real usability of the set up. It was suitably impressive to just pull away from a standstill, with no gearchange, no clutch and just a rise of the revs.
There are other issues. Fix up a speedometer (the speedo drive point on the auto is at a different position and won’t meet the existing cable). How hot does the ATF get? How low is the gearing on the open road? Will I cope with the lack of engine braking? Should I link the brakes like Guzzi did? Will my scrappy components hold up to daily use? Will I decide this has all been a ghastly mistake and revert back?

Updates to follow.

Wheels, Tapas and Juntas (not FF)

Graham Robb — Mon, 08 Jul 2019 10:53:12 +0000

FFers, Graham and Colin forsook the Ffaith and rode GS, and Duke to southern Spain, along with Mike (Tiger) , Steve(Crossrunner) and Tom (Varadero)

Still Here?
So – another year and we are still (just) on the EU membership list (see Last Hoorah 2018). But for how long - now the lunatics really have taken over the asylum.
For the moment, Spain is still welcoming, and we are getting fonder of it at each visit. Previous trips had shown much promise, and this one proved it was not all a fluke.
In order to lessen the impact of getting there, Tom (for it was his trip) elected to start with the Plymouth-Santander route and end with Ouistram-Portsmouth. Disaster almost struck early as the Pont Aven ferry was 3 months out of service after an engine room fire in April. The first long trip back in service was ours, so any delays would have impacted severely. No worries however; although slightly down on speed, she was ready for us; and to add to the pleasure, the dreaded Bay of Biscay was a flat calm; and the dolphins displayed for us, as we approached Santander. Perhaps speaking for the Spanish trawlermen, the routine must have been so long and thanks for all the Fish

Wheels
The numbers of UK bikes aboard is significant, as a whole deck is allocated. We noted that most riders were of a certain age, although all sorts of wheels filled the deck. The oldies generally have higher disposable income for this costly hobby. Being on the lowest deck however meant disembarkation was delayed until the cars on the upper decks had moved. The late docking then meant we had to re-route to get to the hotel in reasonable time. This autoroute run was uneventful, and still in the flush of excitement of new land.

Tapas
We never really got the right ordering mechanism for Tapas. More often than not, each person ordered separately, and huge platefuls of the individual choices would emerge in series. Sequential stuffing was therefore the order of the day. We don’t think it is supposed to be like that.

Juntas
I have now worked out the road naming convention for the smaller Spanish roads (some would say about time too) The starting letters define the council, or Junta responsible for maintenance (CA=Cantabria; AV=Avila etc). Thus, road names can change if you cross a Junta line. (a bit like the D-roads in France, although there only the numbers change)

Motorcycling Heaven
Once we left the major routes behind and followed Tom’s backroads; the joys of Spain were very evident. Immaculate, deserted surfaces almost everywhere; High Sierras, with such a variety of curves flowing endlessly beneath the tyres. Perhaps interrupted every 40km by a pretty town or a properly manned filling station. You can keep your UK’s greatest roads. Believe me, we have nothing to touch these Spanish roads for motorcycling enjoyment.

Golden Slumbers
First night was a Parador – always a treat, especially if you can get the ‘Golden Years’ discount. They also pass on discounts if you link the Paradors together, but for the second night we had a deserted ex-monastery, which proved a good contrast (and no chants to wake us)
We have experienced magnificent walled Moorish towns in the past. Avila (second day coffee stop) and Ronda (our 3-day recuperation stop) - did not disappoint. See pictures under Touring.
Ronda is a good base for days out towards Gibraltar and Tarifa (most southerly point of Spain). Morocco only seems a stone’s throw across the straits, although we had much earlier decided not to cross, given plenty of choice on the Spanish side; not to mention the then and still uncertainly of the Brexit fiasco. It was however an inspiring view of the African continent.
If you come down to the coast, expect the perfect and deserted curves to change into hot motorway traffic or worse. This is therefore only really worth it, if you want to tick specific boxes We had put Gibraltar on our list, but it was not a pleasurable ride in the town. The routes there and back however made sure the day was memorable.

Total recall
To make these trips, we have to rely on our partners to issue a free pass to allow our escape. Occasionally things go wrong at home and a recall is necessary. So it was for me after Ronda and I did not make it across to Granada and up through France. (I left the bike in storage and Easy-jetted from Malaga); but it is a sign of an integrated Europe that such instant recalls are possible. To be fair, the first week had so many magnificent roads that I did not feel I had missed out. However, I have to hand over to others to finish the Moto19 story…….it got hotter !

The Organiser’s tale (Tom)

Best laid plans
The sightseeing day in Granada was, on reflection, a wasted day. We taxied to the Alhambra palace to find no tickets available; wandered back across town to the hotel. To think we could have been up the Sierra Nevada. Next day, escaped the city 8 am through the hills and forests. Stopped to confer about missing out the next town centre, then a small but very cambered new roundabout caught Mike out; resulting in the annual clutch lever shearing. Melting in the sun Steve and I returned to a quad bike garage we passed 10 mins earlier, but apart from suggesting the Triumph dealer 2 hrs back in Granada we couldn't get the guy to sell us any alternative fix. Back at the scene of the demise, Colin googled a Yamaha dealer 700 m away and after a bit of communication I brought him to the bike and he rode it to his workshop, where a fix was done. Photos on his wall told us he had been a works fitter for the MotoGP Yamaha team and a perfectionist. 2.5 hrs later we were gratefully on our way but confused by the town’s one-way system before watering down at a filling station and then enjoying traffic-free miles to Albacete. Here, our Parador is an oasis in an ocean of cereal crops, Steve made use of the pool before the usual late evening eats.
Next day saw us again on the byways enjoying a mini Grand Canyon with miles of harpins and superb blacktop. Forest and Embalse next. Heat again led to shortcuts off the planned route, before we were forced onto the main road north to a hot Huesca. Smart hotel with a busy small-city nightlife and street eateries to suit all tastes.

Hot Waters
Relentless heat now, going north over the Pyrenees via Eaux Chaud (!) , Pau ring-road to Cadillac before the Gironde vineyards and Libourne. Even I got in the pool this time!

Longest Day
D-roads dominated a varied route to Cognac, but resurfacing work around the bridge and traffic delayed lunch and pushed us north to Parthanay. When we did stop, it took forever, as the heat built and we drank our ice cream; before the afternoon shift of D roads bogged us down again around the Loire area. A missed junction In Sable-en-Sarthe rerouted us to the very useful D24 and an evening 3 hour run via Mayenne and Flers to the coast, for the usual pre-ferry-feed and late departure.

Review
Some very big and testing days. Challenging varied routes, maybe too much for most days with the heat but always enjoyable touring. Hardly any traffic away from the main towns in Spain. Refuellers invariably welcoming, hoteliers the same. France more traffic and busier but still some great riding. Colin was struggling with the long-distance pace but made good use of a maybe not quite 100% suitable bike. The KTM seems great fun, the cracking performance and handling put us to shame till he tired of sprinting, then the long legs of the tourer endured. 10/12 hrs riding in a day wasn't what KTM had in mind, despite the 4-option dial-in styles.!
Spain is undoubtedly fantastic for touring. Maybe the Fly and ride option has a lot going for it. More time needed, or accept that, like France, you will be swallowed up by its scale. yes, you could short- circuit the tour by using the autoroutes or return on the same ferry, but it's the real riding that counts not the sitting down. So many views and vistas to drink in and with different roads there and back; it did not disappoint, I loved it ... even the rerouting but then I'm biased

The Newcomer’s tale (Colin)

A warm way down and a bloody hot way back, is what I will remember about Moto 19. An unforgettable 3000+mile trip with 4 similarly minded guys on an eclectic range of machinery, all of which gave a very good account of themselves. The journey did stretch me to and beyond my limits as a newcomer to long distance touring. With temperatures in the high 30's I was suffering badly with the heat. Mike thankfully pulled me in after I started to display some bizarre riding habits (more so than normal) I was going slowly and weaving badly. I struggled to get off the bike and was confused, this apparently was nothing to do with the cheeky red we had imbibed the previous evening! A rehydration and head bottle shower cured this catatonic state in short order.

Rock or Hard Place
All in all, there were relatively few incidents, but many, many Wow moments with face aching grins being the order of the day. These were mostly experienced during our brisk canyon carving on those magnificent Spanish roads. Tom’s amazing route had taken us to the heart of motorcycling Heaven, although we also found Hell on this same tour. It's called Gibraltar. Having last been there as a serviceman in the early 1980's, I had fond memories of a fairly idyllic lifestyle there, with ice cold G&T's being served on the veranda of the Sgts Mess, overlooking a peaceful garden and only the sound of the odd Monarch Airways Britannia spoiling the tranquillity. How it has changed. It is now a boiling concrete and asphalt cauldron with few endearing features. The traffic is nose-to-tail everywhere and the queues at the border are painful to experience as temperatures and tempers rise. Sadly, it felt good to see the Rock in the rear-view mirror.

Horses for courses
A brilliant trip with some genuinely good guys, some amazing roads and stunning views. It was a shame we lost, Graham who had to return home unexpectedly. The hotels we stayed in were very good and we met some lovely friendly people. My thanks to Tom, Mike, Steve and Graham, thanks for taking me on your tour as a guest. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Would I do it again? Maybe with a more appropriate bike. The KTM 790 Duke was brilliant on the twisties, but it was not so good on the long hauls. It also became more vibey the hotter it got. I would do it again but please can it be 10 degrees cooler?

The Last Hoorah - (not FF)

Graham Robb — Fri, 06 Jul 2018 08:16:59 +0000

Another year another Euro-tour - BMW F650GS, Triumph Tiger 800 and Honda Varadero venture to Slovakia.

Still a member
A sobering fact – this is the last of our European tours, as a member. By next summer, we will no longer be in the club – although what that actually means is yet to be even vaguely defined. Ironic perhaps therefore that this year, our destination was to one of the newest members. Even if it is 14 years since they joined, Slovakia is still flush with the enthusiasm of membership. Corporations are bringing manufacturing plants into the country. The drabness previously behind the iron curtain is still visible but is being replaced by colour and vigour. In fact there is not a lot of difference when crossing the Danube at Dubrovnik; although Slovakian villages, tucked away in the wooded hills, have a long way to go to match the chocolate box scenes of Austria or Germany.
Not all those who wander are lost…
This year we were only three: Tom on Varadero 1000, Mike on Triumph Tiger 800 and me on the BMW F650GS. The trip started well at the Tunnel reception, when Mike announced that his GPS had stopped working. Past Robblogs will hint at the joy that this news was received by me. I don’t think either that it resulted in any more navigational errors than previously – indeed, by agreeing the routes on paper, with perhaps extra detail, it was fresher in the memory for the following day. Tom does run a GPS, but is less forceful at implementing it – and his maps ran out after Austria.
City Life
Mike runs a Brussels company, so his flat in the city was our first overnight stop. Happily, he knew the objectives and led the negotiations in and out. (more than could be said for our politicians!). Mike was this year’s planner, even if he had to write it down on paper at the last minute.
Distance no object
If you’ve only got 10 days, and are heading for Slovakia, there is going to be a lot of riding. Autobahns accomplish the distance, but don’t satisfy the soul, so deviations were planned. The first of these, was in the Ardenne, for a quick look at the Spa-Francorhamps circuit. I learned later that the section we came across was Turn 7 / Malmady. A touring car race had just started, with much squealing and gnashing of gears, but after a couple of laps of observation, we had to continue our journey. There seems a lot of geographical similarities here to the Nürburgring; although of course, Spa is not open to all, and the green hell is no longer on the F1 calendar
Auto-Bahnhof
Now into Germany and the change was significant. There are still a lot of unlimited sections of Autbahn and the locals make every use of it. The principle of over-taker-priority is also upheld, to the extent that a fast driver will intimidate anyone foolish enough to be slower and in the outside lane. Closing fast before finally braking at the last minute, if the action has not worked. Empty 3-lanes can safely take 120mph, but busy 2-lanes are less well suited. On a bike, the intimidation is even more unnerving and Mike observed that it was probably safer to travel at 95, rather than 80, as it might lessen the impact !
Euro-Chaos
Across to Karlsruhe and towards Stuttgart, we encountered the most chaotic services ever devised. The single Pforzheim services serve both east- and westbound. That would be bad enough, forcing eastbound re-fuelers to travel the wrong way through the area, but at the weekend, HGVs use this as a camping site, so any signage is obliterated by walls of cabs, curtains and containers, lining the parking area. It took us about 30 minutes to find fuel, spend a Pfennig (Cent) and escape in the right direction. Small consolation that the Germans can get it wrong too!
Glimpse of the future
Our overnight was in the pretty town of Babenhausen, SE of Ulm. Mike had booked an automated hotel, which emailed/texted the door entry-codes to us that afternoon. It worked OK, although was not very social – is this the sign of hotels to come ?. We made up for that by finding the local Greek restaurant, which satisfied the evening hunger; and a bakery, which satisfied breakfast pangs.
3-Wood
Forsaking the Autobahns now, we passionately passed Oberammergau, found a good mountain road over the Achenpass and into Austria for lunch by the Achensee. This was more like it, although Salzburg was busy rebuilding its roads and tricky to negotiate – whatever planning we had done. A bit more Autobahn, then a very peaceful late evening meal at the Gasthof in Waldhofen-an-der-Ybbs. (Lots of wood around here, but no golfers)
Wind up
No respite from the mileage necessary to reach our destination, we headed for Vienna and the Autobahn to Bratislava. I nearly caused a disaster by thinking that SLO on the sign was for Slovakia but realised in time that SK was more appropriate.
One cannot fail to be impressed by the wind farm on the Austrian side of the Slovakian border. There must be 100s of the beasts, all waving their arms on the Danube plain. Probably barely equivalent to a single unit in big power station, but still impressive.
Get your kicks
In Slovakia now, although the Autobahn looks no different to Austria. We finally abandoned it at Bankska Bystrica and joined Route 66, which was as good as it implied. Winding, undulating, generally well-surfaced and little traffic. Well worth the trip.
Reality kicks in
I reluctantly admit that GPS can be very useful in finding the hotel. Mike was now using his phone’s navigational aids for that, but he must have done something strange as he took us to an unsigned, rather ramshackle looking site with long single-storey buildings forming a square. As we rode in, excited screams from many children filled the air and rather dishevelled people appeared from all directions. This was not our hotel – we think it was probably a refugee camp. Slovakia was very reluctant to take anyone up to 2017 – have they relented now, but banished them to old barracks, out of sight? These poor people have nothing and here we were, visitors from a world of plenty. I am not sure who was most shocked – us or them, but I am sorry to say we did not hang about to bridge the divide but turned tail and ran. We, in the UK, have isolated ourselves from events which we have helped cause and now regard it as not our problem.
Jack Daniels
The hotel, when we found it, was fine. We were there only 3 nights, but managed to win round the staff, who were initially a little wary of motorcyclists. Apparently the local Hells Angels meet there every year: they drink a lot of Jack Daniels.
Mainly in the hills ?
Our first free day in Slovakia saw us explore the Spiska Magur hills to the north – and the river marking the Polish border. This turned very wet after coming south and deciding the rain would be less in valley. Hah ! – stair-rods and flooding near Poprad. If really adventurous , we could have gone to the Ukraine border, but that would need a bit longer – we only had 2 free days here, so explored some more of the villages in the hills for the rain-shortenned second day. In retrospect, we should have explored the spectacular castle Spissky Hrad, which appeared to us, on the way back to the hotel, but the last evening’s beer beckoned. Definitely more time needed here.
Big Blue
Last night in Slovakia was on the Danube, SE of Bratislava. Its not hard to see why the Danube plain is as wide as it is. The river here is contained by flood defences, but is still huge – more like the Thames estuary at Southend – except that this river has nearly 1000 miles to go before the Black Sea.
Narrow escape
Now some serious mileage to get us back to Munich, , via some superb Austrian alpine roads to break up the monotony. At one stage, I foolishly braked hard to take advantage of a signed Gasthof. Mike was close and missed the turn, but we went straight back onto the Autobahn, not knowing that Mike had taken the next immediate turn to meet at the Gasthof. When we finally met, I confessed my error and promised to stop at the next opportunity. Of course, this did not now arise for another 100 miles, by which time lunch was over. However, a kind hotelier took pity on us and provided sustenance, while erecting his huge TV screen for the German-Mexico match that evening. Luckily, we did not hang about for the match, as he might have been less than amenable after that.
Old Friends
After overnight next to the Ammersee meeting some ex-pat friends of Mike, we headed for Brussels via a mixture of roads. The mainstays of Europe here are very rich and pleasant lands, each with individual character – and many Brits have taken advantage of that. Everyone here is our neighbour and we could have continued the 40 years of cooperation and integration, whilst still keeping individual character. Instead we have chosen isolation, under the pretence of a Victorian vision of ourselves as a world power. If our 18 years of Euro-tours has contributed some good to this integration, then Cameron’s totally unnecessary and catastrophic attempt to lance the boil of UKIP, has destroyed it – and a lot more besides. Maybe, in 20 years, the folly of all this can be admitted, but I suspect the real perpetrators will escape either by hiding (Cameron), or finding others to blame (Boris et al.)

Not even on the plain (not FF)

Graham Robb — Wed, 05 Jul 2017 07:57:35 +0000

What goes around comes around – as they say. For all the wet Euro-tours we have had, it was certainly time we had a dry one. In 17 years of trips, this must have been the first time it never rained on us at all. Tom and Steve on big Varderos, Mike on Triumph 800 Tiger and me on the BMW F650GS

El Roadmaker
We can now recommend Spain for touring. If you think France has great motorcycling roads, then try central Spain. Perfect surfaces, very little traffic, plenty of signage and lots of interest. This tour was planned by Steve as a loop around Madrid, at a radius of about 100-200 miles and linking up the surrounding Sierras. We rode 2500 euro-miles from St Malo (out), to Caen (return) in 9 days. (Plus the UK miles of course – Tom and Steve come down from Whitby to Portsmouth on either side of those days. Mike and I only add around 2x100 to that figure)
Group Dynamics
If we ignore those long chains of bikes on weekend outings, where either boredom or peer pressure can lead to disaster; the dynamics of riding long distance in a group are critical. The Leader has to lead; but on country roads, mistakes are inevitable, even for those who follow the eternal GPS arrow. Then you must find a safe place to stop and confer and usually another takes over the lead role – after all, it is easier to see the error, when you are running further down the pack. So it is with us, and the lead tends to move around the group according to confidence and temperament (we have all of those in abundance!). Just be sure you know where and how you are going before you set off.
Mad Dogs….
It hits you in the chest, like opening an oven door; waves of dry heat; the air temperature display responds a few seconds later, 38.5, 39, 39.5 C; Jackets were half-opened to get some air flow through, but there is precious little relief. Sometimes it dropped back to a cool 36, but then we’d pass a rocky outcrop radiating heat and it starts again. This was too much for my poor old nose, and a blood vessel popped. By the time I had realised how bad it was, and pulled over, the front of my shirt bore resemblance to that of a Mafia assassination victim. Be assured, you don’t want a nose bleed, at speed, in a full-face (or any other helmet for that matter)
If you want to make progress in the day, it is no good just avoiding the midday sun, as the temperature peaks late in the afternoon. Stop for lunch and you come back out into a furnace. We reverted to starting early (well, after an 8.00 am breakfast), and then riding until about 2.00 pm with only a coffee stop to sustain us. The Spanish do late meals anyway, so that is easy. Hopefully that will minimise the riding at peak temperatures and might even get you to your destination, with perhaps a swimming pool. I could not quite cope with the evening meal times from 9.00 to 10.30 pm, after the obligatory beer and tapas, but such hardships can be overcome.
Best Laid Plans
After docking at St Malo and then a long day south, we negotiated the Bordeaux ring during the Friday rush-hour. Not perhaps the best plan, but we were heading for the Bassin d’Arcrachon, so there is only one way. This is French holiday seaside and very pretty, although next day we did not see much of the mountainous Dune du Pilat as bucket and spade territory did not mix with the progress we needed. Crossing the Pyrenees at the now familiar St-Jean-Pied-de-Port and keeping a close eye on Tom, (see French Furniture Robblog), we skirted Pamplona and found the first Spanish hotel at Arnedillo (for which direction we did not have to ask Tony Christie or Neil Sedaka)
Old Romans
An interesting varied route across to Segovia and our first Parador. Good grief, we must have evolved into old farts to end up staying at the Spanish Paradors; all that cool marble, wood and big Spanish art – and the pools; cheers for the ‘Golden Days’ discount. Segovia has a rich architectural heritage – medieval walls, Romanesque churches, a former royal palace and a Gothic cathedral, beside which we drank welcome beer; and an iconic Roman aqueduct of 160 arches, under which we had dinner, while the chattering swifts wheeled around the Plaza Azoguejo in the heart of the city.
…. And Englishmen
I like to think we are well behaved when out on the road – but this can’t be said for all compatriots. There was a group of Hooray Henrys and Henriettas doing some sort of gumball rally across Spain. They came up fast behind us, when admittedly we were faffing around with directions. Next day they were blocking the road, gleefully taking selfies and oblivious of the chaos they had caused by seemingly driving one of their supercars off the road at a junction. We did not stop to assist.
Hot to Trot
About 100miles from, but level with Madrid and the hottest day. After the bleeding episode we had a miraculous ribbon of perfect hot (and not melted – how do they do that?) tarmac which wound its way down to Gualalupe. The Parador here was our only 2-night stop, with plenty to explore in the surrounding Sierras. Every curve is constant radius, heralded by multiple signs to describe the severity, and exits with a sign to let the rider know when he can pass the occasional car, in the brief gap before the next perfect curve. Occasionally you will find a road which has not had El Roadmaker’s treatment. This simply serves to show how much work has been done.
Bit of Rough
What did that sign say? I asked Steve, after negotiating a particularly rough bit of original road. very poor surface: access for landowners only. Nobody stopped us. Indeed I don’t recall seeing anyone in authority during the whole of Spain. After many more miles of the rough, Mike’s fuel was running low so we rerouted to find petrol and suddenly perfect ribbons of tarmac; Now south of Madrid and heading for the Cuenca Parador, we cruised at speed across the wild Spanish landscape. Old Cuenca is set in the mountains of east-central Spain. Founded by Moors, it retains its historic walled town with steep cobbled streets and medieval castle ruins. The Parador is linked across a bridged gorge from the old town. Spectacular!
Plain riding
The National Park of Cuenca has some fantastic examples of the roadmaker’s art, woven into a dramatic landscape. Down from the Sierra and coming back to the plain, we headed north on mainer roads; no detraction from the enjoyment however; with little traffic and fast sweeping bends; to our last Spanish hotel at Ainsa.
Over the Top
The change from S to N of the Pyrenees is significant. Immaculate Spanish surfaces and dry red earth gives way to winding French hairpins, a greener landscape and traffic bunched up by the one-way Bielsa tunnel. Our last Euro-night is on the hotel terrace overlooking the Dordogne. Almost perfect, if it was not our last, but plenty of agricultural techniques on view in the valley below, to debate with farmer Tom.
The last day is traditionally a long one, as the Caen ferry does not leave until late; but by this time, we are hardened riders - or at least our bums are - and with the lower temperatures, we get there in plenty of time for a quayside meal before boarding. Another Moto over, but plenty of memories and thanks to Steve for setting up this one; and to Tom and Mike for the company.

La Sauce de la Loire

Graham Robb — Tue, 28 Jun 2016 09:03:40 +0000

2 Varaderos, a Triumph Speedmaster (almost an FF) and a BMW F650GS go boldly in France
Prologue
Maybe I should have written this on 20 June, immediately after we got back from the French tour.
But I didn’t and the madness of June 23rd has left me numb and angry. I enjoy these trips, partly because we are on holiday in familiar but varied landscapes with great roads, and partly because we are welcome and feel we belong. Sadly the whole tone of June 23rd has put two- fingers up to these very people. May the perpetrators of this lunacy be held accountable.
Nevertheless this year’s Blog needs to be written:
After all the planning had been done, it seemed that fate would spoil the party. Petrol panic, riots, floods, death and disaster reported. Knowing that news is not necessarily the whole truth, I spoke to a business colleague in Paris. No worries on petrol – maybe some flooding; came the reply. So we stuck to the original plan, which was to spend a couple of nights in Brittany, move down the Atlantic coast and inland up the Loire valley until Chinon, then south to near Limoges and finally across the Massif Central to the Ardèche, where the Loire starts its journey.
Crêpe trip
NW France often gets overlooked in the dash to the sun, but it has its own character and appeal. I am sure too that Brittany has more food specialities than just Crêpes, despite the signs.
2 nights at Huelgoat in the eastern corner of the Parc Naturel d’Armorique. The Western end of the Parc is the wild peninsular opposite Brest – (like the bit of Wales opposite Milford Haven). The start of the peninsular is marked by the spectacular Pont de Tenerez, which is not quite Millau, but seems to hint at future suspensions. The Pointe des Espagnols is northernmost and the more spectacular Pointe de Penhir westernmost, with a good lunch at Camaret-sur-mer in between. Plenty of war-time memorials to the battle of the Atlantic.
Raid on St Nazaire
The Loire is the longest river in France, at 632miles from the source to the mouth at St Nazaire. Here the great concrete lumps of the WW2 submarine pens are worth a visit. They are not pretty, but certainly impressive – and in a different way, so is the Pont which takes you across the river mouth, while the wind tries to blow you off. We now rode east on the less-busy south bank. Except for Nantes, this is a relaxed, tranquil run, despite views across to the remaining floods south of Angers. At Candes St Martin, the Loire, coming down from Tours and Orleans, is joined by the Vienne, a substantial river in its own right. We overnighted on the Vienne at historical Chinon, Apparently many Brits have done the same, as it has a medieval fortress used by ‘our’ Plantagenet kings. We ate at the ‘Table de Jeanne’ which I initially thought was a reference to the lady who ran the restaurant. We know her better however as Joan, whose relationship with the Brits did not end happily. We kept our conversation quiet.
Ex-Pats are nicer
The route south from Chinon to near Limoges was made slightly longer by Tom’s desire to check-out a potential ex-pat farm-house for sale near Parthenay. We had not pre-arranged a sales-visit and some serious rain began to fall as we were looking. Suddenly the garage door opened and the owner (who only knew at that stage that we were UK bikers) invited us in out of the rain. We confessed then that Tom had an interest and were given coffee, chat and a dry hour. Tom was shown around the place too. Thanks to Nick and Helen for this wondrous hospitality. (Will they now find a buyer, after 23 June?).
Splat du jour
This was our wettest day; heavy, although not continuous rain. We skirted back to our original route and headed for the next 2 nights at Peyrat-Le-Chateau. At Bourge, 20 kms from the hotel, I was deliberating on the required road number, when Tom, who normally rides herd, came to the front and rushed off, following his GPS. Not knowing better, we all followed as Tom took us down a tiny road – not much more than a metalled track. I was sure this was not my route, but I was now at the tail, so had to go along. This would have been fine, but Tom’s enthusiasm had got the better of him and one corner on this track hid a section of mud, washed from the nearby field. By the time we got there, a very dirty Varadero, minus one pannier, was lying in the mud and facing the way we had just come. Somewhere in the mud was Tom. No serious damage, so after a check- over, we worked out that this little woodland track was in the direction of the hotel, but perhaps 100yds shorter than the main road I had planned. GPS – don’t you just love it? The hotel had a hose to wash both bike and rider, although the pannier - and ego - took slightly longer to repair.
No plat
The free day in Peyrat was not quite as wet as the previous one. This is the western edge of the Massif Central, and plenty of bike routes to follow. We took it easy today, in deference to Tom’s splat, and found pretty villages and twisty roads. If you are touring in France, don’t leave it too late to stop for lunch. The plat du jour is usually all gone by 1.00 pm and you will likely not get anything after 1.30. The restaurant in Chambaret managed to find us steak et frites after a certain amount of deliberation in the kitchen.
Live long and prosper
There is no obvious route from Peyrat across to the Ardeche. I had planned a route through the Regional des Volcans. This gave us great roads and fantastic scenery, with little traffic. Nearer our goal, we did take one wrong turn, but a small connecting road took us to near the last hotel - a rather grand affair, complete with golf course. (I had to compete with the place that Tom had found in Cortina last year). 3 nights here, so the chance of 2 good exploration days, despite the weather: Summer? Yes Jim, but not as we know it.
Burgermeister
Graham (triumph man) is never very good with non-standard cuisine. He did manage a croque-monsieur, but most of the time it was burgers, (I think France is the only place to ask you how you want your burger done). He did not take kindly however to the accompanying greenery.
Sauce
The source of the Loire is designated as a stream emerging from a lump of rock called Gerbier de Jonc: not really any more extraordinary than any other lump of rock in the Ardèche. Steve confessed to relieving himself in it; but perhaps more worrying was the cement truck driver who was washing out at exactly the point where the stream emerges. Perhaps it would make its way down to strengthen the aging Sub-pens at St Nazaire. The Gerbier itself is suffering under the weight of tourists who climb it, so that the paths up and down are strictly defined. We decided not to increase the erosion. Considering the Gerbier is only about 100 miles from the Mediterranean, it is a strange fact of geography that the water ends up where it does.
2-wheels good
This being France, you invariably come across large groups of lycra-clad cyclists in the areas of most interest to motorcyclists. In small numbers, no problem, but if you find yourself in the middle of a time trial on open roads, it can be tricky. One of our descents now got tangled up in such a trial and much care was needed to squirt past them in a safe manner. The competitors seem more used to closed road runs too, so with that mentality, it can get very hairy. We made it down however, with no mishaps and only a mild amount of bad language. The Col du Meyrand on the way back was a spectacular end to the day and had no such competition.
Regorgetate
The last free day, and a bit of sun as well, we revisited an area from a previous tour – down the Gorges du Tarn and back up the Gorges de la Jonte. Not as far down as the Millau viaduct, but then we had all been there and done that. It seems that natural sights can be revisited, but man-made structures, however spectacular, do not need another viewing.
Winter blues
Sadly another tour was coming to an end and the weather was not playing either. For the 500 mile day back to the channel, I had planned a route down parts of the Loire we had missed on the way out. However the rain was persistent and the temperature in single figures, so we just put our heads down and turned for the auto-route. Not pleasant, but it got the job done and we were in Ouistram for a leisurely evening meal.

Thanks to Steve, Tom and Graham for the company, and to France for the immaculate roads, scenery and hospitality.

Dolomites by F650GS and French Fish (but not FF)

Graham Robb — Mon, 29 Jun 2015 07:47:03 +0000

Wet asses and passes
Moto15 was wet. Not all the time, but more than one would expect for a European trip in June. A tale of an F650GS, two Varaderos and a Tiger 800.
Sign of the times
In the past, a hotel booking for 4 male motorcyclists would provide 4 separate beds. These days you have to be more specific. On more than one occasion this year, we arrived to find double beds prepared.
Ardennes included
Early morning at Hythe, for the Chunnel, it was raining.
There are a few options for the route down to the Black Forest. If you want to sample some good roads before you get there, the Ardennes region is a good choice. Our route from the lunch stop at Chimay (of beer fame) to Bouillon (of soup fame) skirted the B-F-L borders and had beautiful twisty roads with little traffic. Not so good for progress however so we needed to take the Autoroute to Haguenau from Metz to make up time. It rained for the last 100 miles.
Black Forest gateaux
Rather than fight the traffic in Strasbourg or Baden-Baden, we chose a small ferry across the Rhine at Dusenheim. It’s free, fast and efficient. The Schwartzwald, popular with weekend German bikers (and it was Saturday) is always fun, but does have its hazards We passed one on the way up, who had already ruined his weekend. The surface is good, but the curves can tighten without warning – almost like the Nordschleife.
Um…..which way ?
Language lesson: The German prefix of Um... usually translates as around (if used inseparably) although there are many ways of using it. The example travellers are most likely to encounter is the Umleitung (Diversion). We found one in Bad Herrenalp (should be a clue in that name) and followed it diligently. The principle is that you keep straight on until you get to the next yellow sign. The signs took us up into the hills before disappearing and after 10 kms we stopped at a remote restaurant. The waitress was from Cheshire, full of the woes of poor local pay. Buoyed up by a good lunch and local gossip, we found our Umleitung signs again and eventually came back to the town where it had started! We suspected a German joke. On the bright side, it was not raining now.
Keine Vignette
Next morning it was raining, although dry before the Swiss border. We were expecting passport checks and encouragement to buy the AutoRoute Vignette, but the border post NW of Schaffhausen was deserted! We weren’t planning on using AutoRoutes (woe betide any users caught without), but began to think it might have been worthwhile, when the road through Frauenfeld and Wil proved horribly slow. The rain started again near Buchs. That we could cope with, but as we skirted Liechtenstein the looming storm ahead obscured the entire valley and was preceded by tornado-like winds. This was major weather, so we sheltered under a car-lot canopy as the storm raged around us; but it was relatively localised and lasted perhaps 30 mins. The Julier pass over to Silvaplana/ St Moritz was dry. Switzerland never was a cheap country, but these days the hotels and restaurants offer 1:1 CHF/EUR making it very expensive, even without a Vignette. This is only about 5% off the mid-bank rate, so it’s not profiteering; it’s just the inevitable rise of the CHF in an uncertain world.
The Stelvio Pass
Next morning, it was raining; hard. By the time we got to Bormio, it had slackened, so we hoped for a dry run up the Stelvio. At the top, cloud and rain and 4 deg C. but this pass is awesome in any weather. Loads of bikes and warm, dry recuperation before the 48 hairpins down. Concentration and all the width of the road are required for each right-hander - these are serious hairpins.
The Grand Tour
Merano was great. Our Pension was faded Edwardian elegance (E M Forster ?), full of old people (including us), a rather eccentric proprietor and at least one Room with a view. The river forming the view was in flood but the town that evening was dry, welcoming, pretty, and cheaper than Switzerland.
Next morning it was raining; hard: the run to Bolzano; horrible, but as we worked our way across to Cortina, there were some dry passes, if few glimpses of stunning Dolomites.
Spa treatment
The Cortina hotel included a spa facility – pool, saunas, steam room and buckets of cold water, but no birch twigs. This proved a good end to each of the 2 days scheduled here at the extremity our tour. The tall elegant Rumanian waitress was initially aloof, but we won her round, although she did not participate in the sauna.
The luggage-free second day here was dry as we sampled many of the surrounding Passos - Dolomites finally at their best and why we had come! You can follow it here; start and finish in Cortina: Tre Croci; Cibiana; Duran; Fedaia; Sella; Gardina; Campolongo; Falzarego. A fitting climax to our tour, but now time to wend our way north and west.
Oetzi was here
The Jaufen pass must be a favourite of the Germans. Usually we found ourselves reasonably adept at pass-storming, in relation to other riders, but this time they screamed past us, cutting us up and taking no prisoners. We suspected this was their regular race track. Timmelsjoch links Italy to Austria and leads to Gurgelertal (named after a local beer drinker) and Oetztal (named after a local ice-man). The Austrians charge 12€ for this link, but you can’t be too churlish about it, as the roads are perfect.
Wilkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome
Skirting to the north of Lake Konstanz, the rain started again for the last 100 miles to Sonthofen. Not pleasant, but the Bierhaus/brewery/hotel offered us a dry garage, a huge meal and buckets of beer – all proffered by cheery and bosomy Bavarian ladies. Actually we were tended mainly by the waiter, but we are not fussy (see Sign of the times) – and the value was the best to date. No cabaret however.
French Fish
Next morning it was raining; hard; but by the time we got to lunch at Titisee (nothing to do with Bavarian ladies), the sun was out. Across to Freiburg and the last pass of the tour – the Col de la Schlucht west of Colmar. We made the most of it.
Despite all those great passes and Teutonic road perfection, when you get back into lowland France, the empty country roads are a welcome change. Our last night was by the lake at Langres, where we had good memories of a previous stay. A wandering Birmingham fisherman told us that the lake holds monster catfish and carp – he had caught a 79lb specimen only that day. He seemed as surprised to see us as we were him. I suspect the catfish was also surprised, although perhaps preferred to be quoted in kgs.
Bleau grass
Magnificent architecture and lots of history at Fontainbleau. New to me and it did not disappoint, even if the long ride meant only a couple of hours viewing time. We now know what Pelouse Interdit means, for which education we thank a fellow tourist. Obviously we didn’t look threatening enough.
Pegasus pilgrims
Revisiting Pegasus Bridge, for some more recent history, then crossing from Ouistram to Portsmouth: a good meal in the port, followed by late boarding, a few beers and bed; to awake back in GB. Not raining now.
Special thanks to Tom for setting up this trip and Mike and Steve for the rest of the company.

East is West

Graham Robb — Mon, 22 Jul 2013 13:05:45 +0000

Germany, Poland and Czech Republic by F650 GS
Eastern block
To many of my age, the memory of the Iron Curtain is fresh; although it is now 24 years since the wall came down and there are many for whom it is as much history as WW2 is to me. The Moto13 Euro-trip was to remind us of both hot and cold past conflicts, in a small way, to our party – Varaderos and my 650 (800) GS. But first, the Ring:
One Ring to rule them all
Robblog readers (see Soup Run) with will recall our previous attempt at a Touristfahrt at the Nuerburgring was thwarted by the remnants of the rock festival. This time we were a few days later and the ring was to open later on the day we arrived. Martin Bird, who runs the guest-house, is very aware of both delights and dangers of the Ring. He was quite unequivocal: if wet, do not go out. There is so much rubber on the track that rain makes it like ice. A few specs of precipitation began. We’ll just go and look. At the assembly point, all was dry. Hopefuls of all shapes and sizes were queuing up at the barriers: race-prepped Porsches to minivans; rocket-crotch-ships to tourers. After about half an hour, the initial rush had subsided. Got to do it; said Tom, so we bought our 1-Runde-Karte.
The Nordschlieife circuit swoops and dives through the forest, with every conceivable type of corner. As a first timer, you take it easy of course, and keep to the right, observing at least as much behind as in front, so that you can keep away from the fast men and not obstruct their lines. Riding at the wrong side of a drifting racer at a serious speed differential is not comfortable. Glad we did it, but I would not want to get addicted – and I can see how it might happen.
Wurst trip
After the culinary sophistication of France, This trip was less diverse, with pork in various forms filling most menus. We did not delve into all types of Wurst, as there are some very suspicious ones about if you venture into the wilds; but all of the more common ones were consumed (and as far as I know, none were hidden).
Dam History
For a historical perspective, a day's ride north and east from Nuerburg, we visited the Sorpe, Moehne and Eder reservoirs. You can see the 1943 repairs on the latter 2. The Eder is the most scenic and also the most awe-inspiring when one considers the technical difficulties of approach and exit for a 60ft precision attack. Perhaps suitably, this proved the only real soaking of the trip as the gathering clouds broke as we rode the last 100 kms from the Moehne to our hotel.
Eastern phrases
The Harz Mountains mark the highest point in northern Germany. Although not alpine, they do offer good motorcycling. Our hotel was in Wernigerode, previously on the eastern side of the curtain. The old border is marked with a memorial, although much of the swathe cut through the forest has grown back now. The plaque included a chilling new word in my German vocabulary to describe the layout of the old border. Selbstschussanlage. (Literally self-shooting- apparatus). Nothing to do with suicide I suspect.
Fest
Our stay at Wernigerode coincided happily with their 50th Rathausfest, (town hall festival) which involved many bands and much revelry in the town over all the nights we were there. Talking to a café-owner later, he confirmed very good trade, and listed the Schuetzenfest, Sommerfest, Weinfest and Schokoladenfest , all due this summer. Loud music, food and drink, happy revellers, no drunks, no agro, no plastic beakers – all glass: sadly hard to imagine here.
Chuffed
Part of the Wernigerode attraction is the steam train up to the Brocken at 1141m. Whilst this is just over Snowdon height, the engines, although narrow gauge, are much bigger than little Welsh ones. Furthermore we counted 8 (or was it 9) fully steamed up engines operational every day. The hotel catered for steam buffs and delivered your beer via a model steam train running around the perimeter of the restaurant. Delight for young and old!
Old boys
Next stop was to plunge us back into history again. Colditz conjures up a very sinister past to English ears, although the informative castle tour made it sound more like a strict out-of bounds camp for wayward public school boys. That is to take nothing away from the horrors of war or the amazing ingenuity of those incarcerated here.
Eastern promise
Bypassing Dresden and more history, we skirted along the Polish/Czech/German borders. Here the difference between the old DDR, which was the recipient of massive West German investment after unification, and the newer members of Europe, is most noticeable. Germany – East or West now seems equally prosperous, whereas Poland and the Czech Republic can no doubt absorb much more EU money. Occasionally some crumbling block of flats or socialist edifice would be evident, to contrast with the smart housing recently built.
Vary smart
Karlov Vary is however a very up-market spa town. We stayed in a comfortable holiday complex recently built for and by Russian money. There is obviously money around, as I was about to buy some shorts for the hot afternoon, until I discovered the price was nearly 200€. I made an excuse and left. If there are visitors who can afford that, then they have few worries.
Entertainment from Mr Bean
The white plastic chair, in which I was snoozing on the last afternoon, suddenly collapsed explosively. Trying unsuccessfully to compose my dignity, I examined the wreckage, to discover only one rear leg. An hour later, we spotted the 4th leg, 10m away, at the bottom of the pool – sent there by the explosion. It made Tom and Steve’s day. Mike reminded us that he had worked hard to ensure UV light did not degrade white plastic. Obviously not ICI plastic.
Cossacks
The restaurant at the hotel was a private concern, newly manned by a Russian family who had just moved from SE Germany, having crossed into the west when the wall came down. As we were the only customers here (more were promised by the weekend) we got into much conversation, although my German was the only common denominator. He was a good singer and practiced his repertoire on us, prior to the approaching Grill-fest. We hoped they got a better turnout for that.
Speed
Our last night before the ferry was in Schotten, which boasts a classic race in August around its street circuit. Located in the Vogelsberg national park, it is a very picturesque town, although we could not linger too long as we had to head up the AutoRoutes to make the ferry the next afternoon. No particular issues in that , except that you still need to watch your back , as there is still a significant number of Germans for whom an unrestricted Autobahn and a big fast car are an irresistible combination. The influence of the Ring goes a long way.

More Discovery of France (non-FF)

Graham Robb — Sat, 30 Jun 2012 19:50:39 +0000

A Voyager owner takes his HF BMW 650GS parallel twin to the Alps and back in company with two Honda Varaderos.
Size and quality
France is big. Not USA-big, but bigger than a number of Wales (which these days is the measurement of anything which cannot be described in football pitches or double-decker buses) - plenty of space for motorcycling. Research is necessary to seek out the remotest spots, but great rides abound. Furthermore, the French still look after their roads a lot better than we do. The infamous Chaussée Déformée warning sign, which became a standing joke in the '60s and then heralded a surface along which only a 2CV could happily bounce, is occasionally still to be seen. However, it should read Chaussée Anglaise, as it now heralds a surface no worse than your average English road. Even the suspicious gravillons only indicate some skilled patchwork and are never remotely as bad as our dreaded Top Dressing, which does nothing for potholes and everything for windscreen repairers. To see how roads ought to be maintained, go to France!

New Park
First night was in the Morvan national park, which lies about 50 miles west of Dijon. A relatively unknown area, it has some delightful rolling countryside and empty roads. This and our friendly (Dutch) hosts made us wish we were staying longer, but the high peaks beckoned. We did prolong our stay, as Tom and I were still on UK time at breakfast, but we were underway by 10 and heading southeast.

Group ride
Our principle is generally only to use Autoroutes in northern France, or when we have to get around cities. If you want just to get somewhere, of course they will oblige, but motorcycling is all about interacting with the countryside. Around Grenoble we needed to use them to get through. Now it was Friday afternoon and wet. Mike had surged forwards to escape the close attention of some lorries and was hidden by traffic in front. My notes said A48 so I followed the sign and Tom followed me. Wrong! My notes should have said A480. By the time Tom and I had sorted out my error, Mike was gone. No matter, we were now at the northern end of the N85 Route de Napoleon – his march north after ably escaping Elbe and heading for Waterloo. The northern section is not the ultimate bike road, and is busy with Grenoble traffic on a Friday afternoon, but you can still enjoy it. If Napoleon had been collecting an army of motorcyclists, he would not have gone up the Durance valley via Sisteron, but would have gone north from Digne-Les-Bains to approach Gap from the east. On this road lies Seyne-Les-Alpes and it was there that we caught up with Mike trying to find the hotel- and pleased to see us.

Supersize me
What is it about pizzas? You order the biggest on the menu, as you are really hungry and you are a bloke. It arrives and off you go, but as you progress to the halfway point, you realise the magnitude of the task facing you – and it and your ardour are beginning to cool. So it was in Seyne, with the only food on offer in the town that evening. We stuck to 'Table d’hôte' after that.

The numbers game
Whilst acknowledging the superior condition of French roads, I have to despair at the ravages of the pen-pushers who decided on a renumbering programme a few years ago. I understood that this changed Routes National (N-roads) into similarly numbered D-roads, if there is an Autoroute along the same path. This however plays havoc with history and travellers who use road numbers to navigate. Consider the famous RN85. From Grenoble to Gap it stays as the N85. When the A51 starts, it suddenly becomes the D1085, then when it crosses a Departmental border, it becomes the D4085 before reverting to the N85 as it leaves the A51 route and goes east toward Digne. However, even this twisted logic fails when at Barrême it becomes the D4085 again and at the next Departmental border, D6085 al the way to Grasse – and all this with no Autoroute within 50 miles! Perhaps they are using Napoleon, spinning in his grave, as a new source of power.

What’s in a number?
Whatever the bureaucrats call it; this is a road that will be named on every motorcyclist’s list of favourite rides. The section from Digne to Grasse just has to be experienced: Immaculate surface, spectacular scenery, wide sweeping bends that go on for ever and little traffic. Saturday lunchtime in Castellane showed that most motorcyclists in the region are aware of this – although riding in 30-strong trains would not be my choice. The plus point is that all restaurants offer visor-cleaning kit with the meal. When the fast curves eventually get too much, you can explore any of the picturesque valleys and twisty passes which connect.

Then there were two
The penalty of the self-employed is that they can’t ignore the world of work, when on holiday. Such was Mike’s fate when an unthinking customer called a vital meeting in the middle of our trip. Hence he reluctantly headed back to Brussels, while Tom and I continued on to the southern-most passes and the Med. Coming down towards Nice, the weather warmed noticeably, although the locals still said it was cold for the season. No matter, the Col de Turini (which I see is a Top Gear best driving road) was rather fun proof that the little beemer can hold its own against the big ones. Three German 1200GS riders came up behind us at some road works and then followed us up the col. They were obviously not just admiring the scenery, but I kept them behind until just before the top when a longish straight allowed one to pass. At the top, there were thumbs up, high-fives and good Teutonic chatter. No borders here.

Contrasts
Our relaxing day on the sunny Italian Riviera, fending off the bead-sellers and feeling a little overdresed, was contrasted the next day, as we headed north via the Col de Tende. Back into France, the Col du Galibier tunnel – at around 2000m – was closed and the pass is another 600m higher, but enough for a metre of snow on the north side - just melt water on the road of course, but our last serious alpine pass before the overnight stop in the Jura. Before then, west of Annecy, a magnificent rosy view of Mt Blanc in the evening sunshine at about 50 miles distance. After the wilds of the high Alps, the French Jura is calm and tranquil – almost Swiss-meadow in both geography and attitude. Not that I was very calm at the end of our ride as I had foolishly not studied the last section of our day’s journey, allowing Tom’s GPS to dictate the last 20 miles. The GPS did its thing and took us the most direct route when asked. This involved a mountain track which degenerated into a gravel path through dense woodland, but I have to admit it got us there! The landlady took pity on us and provided steaks, despite the restaurant being closed.

The Fuelish question
I know Bobbe will ask me, so how did the 798cc GS '650' fair for fuel consumption this year? A perfect example of how conventional bikes suffer aerodynamically at Motorway speeds. Getting down to the M25, I averaged 70 mpg. Arriving at Folkstone, the motorways had dropped this to 65 and then by the time we left the Autoroute at St Quentin it was showing 57 mpg average. After that it gradually recovered back to 70, despite reasonable back-road speeds and keeping Germans at bay. The Autoroutes and Motorways on the return journey then hit it again, but the overall average for 10 days and 2322 miles was still 66 mpg, which is impressive in full touring mode. On the back roads, I tended to use about 40% less fuel than Tom’s big Varadero, but on the Autoroute, only about 20% less. Thus I can get well over 200 miles to a tank when on N and D roads, but not much over 180 miles at motorway speeds. This nearly caught me out on the run back, as the Varadero tank is huge and Tom was leading non-stop for our St Omer hotel, while I was watching my to go miles disappearing fast (and as the display is not an exact science, I was getting distinctly twitchy). However, he picked up my signs and we replenished just in time. I still maintain that a 200kg FF with this motor would be equally efficient in both environments, but I’d have to make it myself. The other advantage I have is that any man-handling is not the struggle it is for a weightier bike – be it HF or FF.

Night Life
It was our habit of an evening to investigate the local environs on foot. Whilst interesting to speculate on the local economy, this proved decidedly quiet outings on all evenings except the last. St Omer had a full-blown disco in the square with all cafés and bars spilling out around it. Further investigation of one of these bars showed the England-Sweden game in progress and under those circumstances, you tend to get involved – and the outcome was particularly satisfying, even if the back door to the hotel was hard to find later.
Graham Robb (BMW F650GS)
PNB note: see here for the specification of BMW's perversely mis-named 798cc 'GS650' twin:
http://www.bmw-motorrad.co.uk/motorcycles/enduro/bmw-f-650-gs/technical-data.html

Portu-blog - A salutary tale of French Furniture (not FF)

Graham Robb — Mon, 27 Jun 2011 18:13:31 +0000

It only gets interesting when things go wrong. I suspect Tom would rather this thing had not gone wrong.
(pictures under Touring)

4 riders: destination Portugal
St Malo to Bordeaux on the first day, and there is plenty of decent riding to be had on the N- and D-Roads. Only excitement that night was managing to lock a room key in the restaurant when the owner had left us late-night chatting. A bit of burglary solved that.
First session next day was the Bordeaux plain – trees as far as the eye could see and arrow-straight roads. A snippet of autoroute around Bayonne /Biarritz reminded us how unpleasant that can be, and then we were inland for the joys of the Pyrenees.

Man-down
If ever there was an off that should not have happened, it was Tom’s. We were dawdling through the little village of Larsessore, just short of the Spanish border. I was leading and Tom was at the tail, which is where he likes to be. As I left the village, I was suddenly alone, so I retraced and pulled up alongside Steve and Mark, who seemed to have frozen.
Tom’s down said Steve.
Looking back down the road into the village I could see two cars stopped and a heap in the road. How on earth? No time to answer, we just had to cope with the situation. The ‘heap’ turned out to be Tom, prone, and obviously in great pain – alongside his battered bike and in front of a bent BMW. The lady driver was tending Tom, as was another driver. Tom was conscious and talking; the main area of pain being his groin, which had been splattered against the tank, but legs and arms were also painful. All services had been called, and police were very quickly on the scene. English was in short supply, so I did most of the communication, but everyone was very calm and helpful – even the lady who’s BMW had been bent was far more concerned for Tom’s welfare (he always has had a way with the ladies).
Trying to piece together the crash, we had to conclude that Tom’s inattention had been the direct cause, but indirectly it was caused by poorly designed ‘street furniture’. At this point, a LH curve, the RH pavement had been extended into the road by a yard and the centre of the curve had been ordained with a raised section – painted brick set into the road surrounding a gravel-topped surface. The road around the brick was also painted. Tom had apparently slightly cut the corner, taking him over the painted edge. This had taken his front wheel away and the consequences wer only stopped by the BMW coming the other way. A tiny miscalculation and how quickly things change. The pictures still make me ask how?, but it happenned.
After sorting the formalities, the ambulance took Tom back to Bayonne hospital. The bulk of his Varadero was hauled onto the recovery truck and the remaining bits were swept into the verge - the only evidence left of the disastrous scene of an hour earlier.
Sheepishly riding back to Bayonne, and locating the hospital, we contemplated what might remain of our holiday. After 2 hours of silence, we got a phone call from Tom (it seems the French don’t ban mobiles in hospitals, like what we do!). He seemed more cheerful than he deserved. Nothing had been found to be broken, although some X-ray results were still due and he was unlikely to be getting his way with any ladies soon.
I cancelled that night’s hotel in Spain and located one in Bayonne. Eventually Tom was discharged, although he still could not walk. The prescription was as long as the two crutches included on it. Making our way to the pharmacy, I considered this must cost us many Euros, so we were agreeably surprised to only pay 58€ for the whole lot – including buying the crutches. I organised a taxi for Tom to get to the hotel and we followed Steve’s GPS instructions to find it (don’t get me started on GPS, but it was useful in this case!). We settled into our recuperation evening and contemplated the rest of our holiday, deciding not to make any decisions until Tom had slept on his injuries.
In the morning – joy! - we still had a holiday. Tom was more mobile and determined not to let this minor mishap get in the way of our trip. He would hire a car and follow us to Portugal. As all hotels were booked, his insurers would pay for the car (sorry they could not do a bike, even if he could ride one) and then fund the flight back from Biarritz on the return leg.
That was how we ended up with a 24 hour delay in our travel plans and were accompanied to Portugal by a Citroën C3.

Change is as good as a rest
The changing scenery is what keeps travel alive and bikers are more in tune with the scenery than anyone. The Pyrenees are green on the French side and red on the other – thanks to the rainfall and the rock. Coming down onto the plains of Spain; Pamplona and beyond, there was plenty of interest about, including some very demanding roads up the Sierra de la Demanda and on to the monastery village of Santo Domingo de Silas, where we arrived only a day late. Great roads, few cars, great scenery and sunshine, this was what we came for!
Next day was different but equally rewarding. We kept to the back roads, but could still make very good progress outside the towns. This was Spanish wild west country. The lunch stop seemed to cause some friendly local interest in a sleepy bar, where we ordered beer and tapas. Crossing into Portugal over the Rio Douro, the scenery changed again, with the locals now more evident and the villages more frequent – almost UK -like.

Peninsular wars 1
Both Spain and Portugal keep the speeders out of villages by radar-controlled lights. If you are a fraction over, the lights will go red. If however you are sufficiently fast, they will not react in time and the lights will stop the guy behind you! Many locals operate on the second principle. The trigger seemed so sensitive; we thought they must be set at less than the 50kph limit. Initially it becomes a game not to get caught by them. Eventually it becomes a pain.

Manteigas – Portugal
Manteigas, in the Serra da Estrela hides away in the hills and has a labyrinth of tiny cobbled streets on steep slopes. These might be a nightmare if wet, but happily we never found out. The hotel was in fact a very exclusive B&B in a massive old work-house, with huge stone steps, ornate sculptures, Catholic icons, a Pool table and a good breakfast. Restaurants in the town were quaintly disorganised compared to the immaculate service in France, but the prices reflected that, with a full evening meal including wine and beer rarely costing more than 15€ per head. This must be the one of the cheapest places in the Euro-zone. Occasionally the local food was not to our taste – like in a smart restaurant by the banks of a river. They welcomed dirty bikers at lunchtime, but the salted-cod-pie did not go down well.
Manteigas has 3 roads out. The best surfaced, we had arrived on. Another climbs through the woods with innumerable hairpins and breath-taking views at the top. The other runs up a glacier valley to a moraine-laden plateau at 2000m. There is a skiing area at the top, as well as radar and wireless towers. The strength of the wireless tower was evident in that Steve’s alarm ceased to de-activate, so after our coffee stop, we had to push the screaming beast away, until it could be silenced.
New road-surfaces are almost everywhere and are immaculate – sparkling granite and billiard table smooth. My map is from 2006, but we still found completely new unmarked roads. As Steve remarked: our own private race-track. Not that we are irresponsible, but faced with immaculate curves, glistening in the sun, we all weaken….

Eurobillions
A comment from this trip was that we live in a very crowded island, with massive traffic problems and appalling local roads. How come, in Portugal, they have very little traffic, and yet have spent billions on these fantastic surfaces? Yes, exceptionally, you can still find some older surfaces which have been patched up, but the EU must have poured money in here to encourage development. Go and use it before they start!

Hire cars go faster
Once, when a section of road had been closed by an accident, we attempted to go round on the minor roads. This proved impossible, when the minor roads petered out into dirt tracks and we considered that to be a little unfair on Tom’s hire car. As it was, he drove the wheels off that little Citroën; only failing to really keep up, when slower traffic resisted his demon overtaking manoeuvres. The hire company may yet ask how the hobbling invalid who hired the small diesel runabout, managed to bring it back a week later with 2000 kms on the clock and 4 worn-out tyres. As it is, there are rumours that Portuguese police are still looking for 3 bikes and a mad Frenchman.

Peninsular wars 2
The Brits have a bit of a history in Portugal; where Wellington – assisted by Sean Bean - fought a defensive war against Napoleon. We did not get as far as the lines of Torres Vedras, but we did have a historical visit to Buçaco -, the scene of one of his victories – until the French found a way around him. All this historical stuff made us glad we live in a now peaceful Europe – even if bits of it are bankrupt. Cheap beer, food and great roads – if this is bankruptcy can we be next?

Soup Run (not FF)

Graham Robb — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 07:27:44 +0000

I like soup. It is a great mid-day pick-up; or a restorative after a long day in the saddle. This year I sampled many euro-soups in our 3000 mile loop through 8 countries. I think it may have been a dubious French soup that upset my intestines for a week after the first night. Nevertheless, from Bouillon to BohnenSuppe and Goulash to Slovenian Jota and Spargeln Creme, we relished in our Gruppe Suppe (Phrase courtesy of Tom, this year’s organiser)

The lure of the Ring

First Gruppe destination was the Nuerburgring and the dreaded Nordschleife. Tom had planned a tour around it – tour being the relevant word. Perhaps luckily for us, it was unexpectedly closed the day we arrived: The weekend’s rock concert had resulted in the whole place looking like a land-fill tip. The revellers had also been allowed on the track, so there was the very real danger of BBQ fat on the bends.

Of the Nordschleife, one could say : ‘just a one-way section of public highway with no speed limit’ but what highway do you know gives zero indication of its intentions and specialises in blind crests and deceptive bends? The challenge of this place obviously eats into the minds of those that live and work here. We moved on before we could become infected (beyond what the French soup had already done)

Schwarzwald 1

The mists of the Eifel Mountains melted into the heat of southern Germany as we tracked down the Mosel, on to Baden Baden and then the B500 through the Schwarzwald. Sweeping curves through the pine-forests, with a bouillon for lunch, raised spirits prior to the traffic tedium of Friedrichstadt and Lake Konstanz .

Bavarian soup

The hotel in Fuessen targets the Japanese market and so has to request no fires in the bedrooms. We obeyed. They come to see the fairytale Neuschwanstein castle. We took some photos but did not linger. A quick coffee, with some passion, in Oberammergau, but later we should have lingered longer in Berchtesgaden, as this was to have been the best opportunity to see Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest in clear weather; but after some Bavarian soup, we realised we had left it too late. We could always come back we thought.

Maltatal

John and Ros run a super-friendly Gasthof in the little village of Malta www.hochalmspitze.com which forms a great base for finding out what makes Austrian roads so enjoyable. We were welcomed (coincidentally perhaps) with a full brass band and grill-fest, with John wearing a large Guinness hat. Nothing was too much trouble here – even fixing me with a doctor’s appointment. Soup was good too.

The Austrians specialise in refined mountain scenery, with refined mountain roads – often toll roads, but the preparation and refinement is such that one does not begrudge the toll. Nockalmstrasse and the Grossglockner are great examples of this and if you stay with John and Ros, all the tolls are pre-paid and John will provide physical, written or electronic guidance on the best tours. This, as well as offering the best half-board value-for-money on the whole trip

Russian Road

One outing from Malta takes you to the nearest thing that the area has for rough roads – the Russian Road is the Vrsic pass in Slovenia, built by Russian prisoners in 1915, who got their own back by making all the hairpins with cobbles. Luckily we were going up and it was dry. This tour takes you across to Italy and back to Austria in the day. The Slovenian Jota soup was an extra excitement, but did have a suspicious looking sausage.

Eagle’s Missed

We went back to Berchtesgaden to give Adolf’s place a full viewing, but this time the mist was down, so we saw very little. We did investigate the Gross Glockner glacier on the way there, had a bouillon with spaetzle and the rain held off for some of the time.

Slurry Pass

Evidence that the Austrian passes are ‘refined’ was brought out on our long and winding return trip through Italy, staying at Bormio for 2 nights. The rain had begun to set in now, but we explored Livigno and the Swiss-side up the Stelvio pass. Unfortunately the Swiss were resurfacing the most isolated section of this route and the rain had turned the road into thick brown slurry. At least we were going up the hairpins, but it was very messy going. The workers’ van followed us up and erected a road closed sign! The mist, snow and rain forced us to omit the final top section of the Stelvio – at 2700m another 500m elevation above the Swiss road - so we braved the streaming wet hairpins back to Bormio, The hotel was full of cyclists – all thin and lycra-covered. They did not eat soup.

Schwarzwald2

I have less-than fond memories of Titisee. Great looming black clouds that threaten and then strike with unrelenting torrents of water. The run across Switzerland was pleasant enough, avoiding all Autobahn, as we did not have the Vignettes. The start of the B500 into the Black Forest was a joy with more sweeping curves, but as we approached Titisee the past memories became reality again. After drowning us, the cloud surrounded us and reduced speed to a crawl for miles. However, the Spargeln Creme Suppe later that evening made up for it – and the rain stopped next day – after we left the Forest.

Wot No soup?

The last day is always a dash for the channel and this was no exception. Steve and Tom had to get to Euro-port, whilst I was heading for Calais. We had planned a last Gruppe Suppe around Charleville-Mézières, after which we would split, but in the end it was a rather disorganised hunt for fuel and a sandwich. I did spot a Routiers at the split point, but by then it was too late.

The bike?

Long-term readers will know that I have stopped taking Voyager on these long Euro-tours as it can disrupt the gruppe-dynamics when the inevitable tinkering (or worse) becomes necessary. Hence BMW F650 (800) GS gets to go. No complaints and 67 mpg over the whole trip. Considering that fast M-way sections (80-90mph) increase the fuel consumption dramatically, thanks to hopeless HF aeros, this engine shows impressive efficiency. A proper FFed version would challenge even Mr Vetter’s figures. It scampers up the passes too, with loads of torque at the right times. Now if it could run on soup.........

Mot09: The Discovery of France (and bits of Spain) non-FF

Graham Robb — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 23:14:15 +0000

(if he can use my name, I can use his title)
F-Roads
I like my French atlas. At 1:200,000 it is a good scale and every road is marked. Trouble is, they have messed around with the road numbers and what is clearly marked on my map as the N158 is now the D658. This is not just an isolated event, most N road numbers seem to have become not-quite-the-same D-numbers and not just where an AutoRoute gives an alternative. When did this happen? Why did it happen? Does is imply relinquishing of responsibility from national to departmental control? Will this mean the deterioration of these lovely roads? All I know is I don’t like it! – And I’ll have to buy a new atlas.

Rather worryingly, when investigating this phenomenon, I came across the statement from an observer that
France has taken so heavily to the GPS that I don't think anyone takes any notice of road numbers any more.
This increases my suspicion that because everyone has GPS; there is no need to have a logical road numbering system or spend money on good signage. A trend that can only continue on this side of the channel too. Woe!

There are still great roads in France however and you can travel fast for many miles on traditional N and D roads with a good surface, very little traffic and just enough crests and bends to keep you awake. Long may it be so.

Bit of Rough 1
The first attempts at some rough work on this holiday were thwarted. At the western end of the Pyrenees is the attractive French town of St Jean Pied de Port. Southeast from here, a track on my map offered an alternative route to Spain. Nothing if not adventurous, we braved the regional cheese sellers and reached the target border point without really going rough - tiny roads, sometimes covered in sheep and their by-products, but roads nevertheless. The real disappointment however was that the road around the lake on the Spanish side, which all our maps showed as real, had now been designated a <nature trail> and no motor vehicles were allowed. Despite the temptation to carry on, it was clear they did not want us there so we crossed by the more conventional route. Later that day we did brave a no-entry sign on a route linking two exquisite Spanish valleys and nobody fined us or shot us – in fact it was more of a racetrack surface. I don’t think the road around the lake would have offered that.

oNe road to remember
If you get to the Pyrenees on the Spanish side, look out for the N260. This is not so much a road number as an attitude, which runs all the way along the range, and is almost invariably allocated to a very twisty, but very well maintained piece of black-top. This road is proof if any were needed that whoever teaches Spanish road engineers is a biker at heart.

Faded Elegance
Crossing back over to France we overnighted at Eaux-Bonnes, which had seen better days as a 1900s spa-town and boasted an art-deco casino. However, our night-life did not go much beyond ending our meal with the day’s unsold boulengerie along with some fine Cognac. I don’t think there was much else.

Chilly Bear County
Coming back over a very wet and cold border pass, we encountered the N260 again – where else might you see the welcome sign indicating bends for the next 35kms? Enjoy, but concentrate!
Now we were in the high Pyrenees - Monte Perdido. A nice lady in the park office told me that the waterfalls were only 1 hour’s walk. I said I’d put it to the vote. No chance.
It was warming up however and next hotel was in the Maladeta national park, where Mike’s desire to understand the tapas concept meant we had 2 meals by the end of evening. No complaints, even if it was a very suspicious looking sausage.

Bit of Rough 2
Most Pyrenees tours involve Andorra. We confirmed however that Andorra La Vella – the town – should be avoided, although it is almost the only route through the principality. The Ski-area to the north has some great mountain roads, but we did discover that the old smugglers’ route over the rough pass to the west is now no entry; on the Andorran side and tougher than it used to be on the Spanish side. This may have been caused by track maintenance and/or the recent rain, but we did not succeed in our attempt to enter Andorra this way – and some of us needed a day to recuperate after the attempt – both bikes and men.

Toes in the Med
After even more amazingly perfect twisties of the N260, we crossed to France for our last Pyrenees stop. As we were early at the hotel, we continued on without luggage to dip our toes in the med. at Banyuls-sur-Mer. OK, but not like the mountains – and a lot more traffic. Maybe we should have taken this as a warning to steer clear of the towns.

Black Hawk down
Well. More like blue VFR, but he was still down. If one of your mates on a touring holiday is taken out by a wayward french tractor, you’d do your best to look after him: Right ? Not us.

We did not plan it that way. The run north from the French border on the eastern Pyrenees, was always going to be long and hot. We had started the day ambitiously, taking a tortuous route of cols and gorges, up to Carcasonne. This was supposed to be a coffee stop but ended up as lunch, due to losing touch a couple of times.

When you have five riders together, you would have thought that keeping in contact would be easy. The problem is GPS. As every rider is being individually directed, depending on the waypoints they have entered and their GPS’ interpretation thereof, what seems like one route can end up as many – particularly in towns or on minor roads. Hence if you lose line-of-sight contact, your GPS can send you off the route taken by those in front, who then wait in vain for you to appear; and it can be 30 mins before phone contact is made and they realise you are miles ahead. This is what had delayed us in the morning and as a result of that, by the time we regrouped south of Mazamet, we were seriously behind schedule and very hot.

Now it all fell apart. Steve wanted to checkout Castres on the way north. The rest of us did not. Tony was very sensibly relaxed enough to make his own speed without trying to keep up in the twisty bits, so would do his own thing. Mike was busy with his emails whenever we stopped – and can ride fast when needed, so would also make his own way. Tom and I therefore decided to keep the last semblance of a group and head for the hotel some 200 miles distant and not worry about who was or was not lost. Some 120 miles of hard riding later, after refuelling, my phone had a plaintive message from Tony <in Mazomet hospital but ok>. Further calls revealed that a tractor had changed lanes into him and although he had not hit it, the 30mph lock-up and drop had been enough to damage his shoulder such that he would not be riding further this holiday. The VFR might be patched up but without a rider, it was going nowhere. All this had been a few miles from the regroup point, but because we all took our own routes through the town, none of us spotted him. Messages on phones were not reviewed until much later, when the extent of our neglect became evident:
I can’t pick the bike up – where are you ?
The police are here
I am losing control of the situation
I am going to the hospital

When we did speak to Tony from our distant fuel stop, he had resigned himself to arranging his own way back and getting Footman James to transport the bike. Had we then turned back, we could have only offered belated moral support and precious little real help – and we would have been left with a 600+ mile trip the next day to the ferry.

So we abandoned Tony to his fate and headed off for the hotel. The next day, he flew from Toulouse to Leeds before we got to the boat.

He is still talking to us.

Gorging to Excess (if not FF)

Graham Robb — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 13:34:29 +0000

An everyday story of motorcycling folk.....images under 'touring'
Set-up
After Florence in 2007, this year we kept our Euro-tour to France. Not so far, lots of space, variety and character, as well as excellent roads and food.
The overnight boat from Portsmouth to Le Havre is my favourite cross-channel tool, regardless of who runs it. We had the usual crowd of bikes at the ferry: immaculate cruisers, laden sports and seasoned travellers. For some reason you never see them after the ferry.
My new entry level Beemer GS had the panniers and top box filled but not stuffed and was very manageable, but I did still hanker for the Voyager, which keeps it all tidy and in-board. Why do entry level bikes get bigger every year? Are beginners getting more expert? 70+hp and 200kgs are not in my book entry level
Mark had become a little critical of his Multistrada Ducati, - beautiful but lacking on the practical side. However, as I learned later, that did not mean I could criticise it.
Bienvenue
Docking Saturday morning, we were soon out of the port. After Rouen, we changed to N-roads towards Orleans and then up the Loire valley. We were well ahead of the northern contingent, coming via Zeebrugge, who had docked later and had further to travel; so we stopped for lunch at a smart village restaurant for an immaculate Menu-du-jour. Without batting an eyelid, they ushered us to a table well out of view, despite the place being empty. Shortly after, most of the smart-set of the village arrived to have their 3-hour Saturday lunch, but they did not seem to mind us. Revitalised, we continued south, across the Loire and past Mangy Cours, which was preparing for it's big F1 day the following weekend.
F-Roads
In the UK, we seem to spend all our road money on motorways, and have seriously neglected the lesser, but more interesting roads. Not so in France. Almost wherever you go in France, you will find well surfaced N-roads waiting for you (one exception: see later). Partly traffic volumes I expect
Water of life
Our goal for the first stop was Volvic, where the water comes from; and not surprisingly it does rain a lot!
The rest of the party arrived at the hotel some 2 hours later and the reunion was complete. Mike, whose old Varadero had blown up, one month previously, had replaced it with a spanking new one. In fact a matching pair with Steve's 3-month old mount. So with 3 new bikes in the team, we were a lot smarter than in previous years. Tom still had his older Varadero, and Tony his VFR, but I used to be the scruffy one.
Next day was spent touring this volcanic region, with its coned peaks, ancient calderas and wet rain. Heading south on the third day, keeping on the country roads, we were further tested with, streaming wet roads and tricky navigation. Tony, the least experienced in Euro-tours, might have given up here, but our encouragement that it would improve seemed to help. Occasionally the rain would ease and we began to realise why we had come, but it was hard work.
Fairy Tale
All was forgiven when we arrived at the gorge du Tarn; itself magnificent but the Auberge, with its own spectacular waterfall and bridge was breathtaking. The hotel garage doubled as the workshop, into which we gladly (but foolishly) wheeled the bikes. We normally choose hotels with pools, so we can cool off from the day's riding, but this year, nobody seemed to want further immersion. The workshop nature of the garage rewarded us with the ability to adjust the Ducati's chain; needing a decent socket set for the job. .
French for Puncture
There was some weather respite, as the next day was just showers, so we took in the terroir. The folly of the workshop/garage was however revealed at the top of a remote wooded mountain, when inspection of two rear tyres revealed screws embedded in the tread. Mark is a tyre man, so temporary plugs were expertly inserted and enough compressed air found to get us down to the nearest town. There, our French was enough to find the local bike shop, who inserted more permanent champignons with the tyres removed, while we found some food (not easy at 3.00 pm as lunch was definitely over).
Pussy-cat bridge
We just had time to visit the amazing Millau viaduct, at the bottom of the gorge. The French are justifiably proud of this edifice, soaring across the valley nearly 1000ft below. Designer, Sir Norman Foster, is of course British; a fact that the French don't mention much; but face it, we would never have had the gall to build it.
The evening run back up the gorge was memorable, with roads beginning to dry out, and the GS ,now pannier-free, finding its ideal type of road.
Sand Man
Next day's escape from the Tarn brought us to the only road-complaint of the trip. As part of the renewal of the road further up the gorge, they had covered it in 6-inches of sand for 1km; firm in places, but loose in others. Not fun for big, laden bikes. I led through it and counted the bikes out at the other end. Two short. After what seemed like an age, a mobile call told us the bad news: Steve was down. We went back into the sand and found Steve trying to refix his panniers to rather bent brackets on a scratched Varadero. No real harm done, so after a bit of moral support and metal bending, we were back on track.
Friendly locals
Now the sun came out and as each pass led to another beautiful valley, morale improved dramatically. Good, twisty and car-free roads, spectacular mountain scenery. Whenever you stop, there will be good food and a biker-friendly atmosphere. Getting a taste for gorges, we took in the Ardeche: busy with tourists this one, but you can see why, as the narrow gorge opens out into a magnificent canyon. Lots of signs warning bikes not to overdo it and, given the tourist traffic, one can understand. One ear-oler coming the other way however was relaxed enough to wave, despite being horizontal at the time.
Two wheels good?
Now we were in Provence and it was living up to expectations. Hotel was in a village in the shadow of Mont Ventoux , a popular biker's blast with a white limestone top at 1900m.
More terroir-investigation the next day and of course a trip up the mountain. Most of the locals did not seem to realise they had reached the top as they were still going hell-for-leather as they entered the car-park - Mark and Tom nearly being wiped out by an extravagant move from a lethally-driven modern-looking sidecar combo on the last bend. The descent also had novelty - we discovered the cyclists' view that speed won on a descent is not to given up under any circumstances. We might have been waiting for a safe place to pass, but not the Tour-de-France brigade!
History will tell you that it was the 1967 Tour on this mountain, which claimed the life of British cyclist Tommy Simpson and that was going up!.
No Sheep for the wicked
Leaving Provence, we threaded our way properly into the Alps, touching that wonderful route de Napoleon south of Grenoble and ending by going up the fast hairpins to Alpe d'Huez another classic Tour climb. Here our map showed a white road down the other side, to where our hotel awaited. In reality it was more of a track. Not like our some years earlier, but certainly rough, rising to 2000m at the Col de Sarenne before narrow hairpins brought it back down. Not even sheep for company at the top.
Two Gentlemen of Verona
We were initially unsure about this next hotel; run by two young men. Reality dawned in the restaurant that night - most of the couples were exclusively male! Still, a hotel is a hotel and we did not complain, nor get any offers. Not their type perhaps.
Frogs and frogs
Next morning Mike left for Brussels to restart his work; a long ride but he who rides alone...... and so it proved, as he was home before our last hotel stop on the shores of the lake near Langres. Here the frogs in the lake (amphibian) serenaded us to sleep while the larger frogs (drunken mammalian) woke us up with a noisy early morning swim after the disco closed.
Le Veryhectique
Now the party was over, as Mark and my direct route to Le Havre was straight through Paris, whilst Steve, Tom and Tony were heading due north to Zeebrugge. This was Sunday again, and I suppose there is no good time on the Peripherique but it was a bit of an eye-opener for Mark as we fought off the close attention of the Parisians. I nearly lost him completely by being signed into the wrong lane for the A13, just before the junction. The Gods were with us however as a gap just opened at the critical moment. In retrospect, probably a standard local move.
Evening return ferry and back home the same day. No real chance of a sleep (high wind and waves notwithstanding), so we arrived back late and weary but ready for next year!
By-the-way Bobbe, the petrol consumption of the GS is remarkable. Mid to high 60s being quite achievable without any trouble. Now with proper aerodynamics, who knows what could be achieved ?