The Diary
Days 1-10 Days 11-20 Days 21-39 Days 40-48 Days 52-59 Days 60-69
Day 52 - 2 June - (Sorrento - Avezzano) - Miles Covered : 156
After several days, not really "chilling out" in the frenetic Amalfi Coast, we were positively aching to break out of the "tourist miasma", and equally relished the fight through Bank Holiday traffic, giving vent to our frustrations by adopting the "italian way" of riding!!!! What we wouldn't give to be able to implement the same techniques on the M25, on a Monday morning!
Our first target for the "return to the road" was somewhere that we both wanted to visit, namely the WW2 strategic and historic site of Monte Cassino, which lay some 100 miles North of Sorrento.
Italian timing ever located at each end of the tolerance spectrum (send SAE for full explanation!), we found ourselves arriving in the town of Cassino, just after the magic time of 1430hrs, and immediately felt as if we were unwitting extras in the re-make of "The Land that Time Forgot". The only place that looked likely turned out to be a Wholesale Marble depot (worktop burgers optional!), but Andy insisted that an apparently deserted, and almost derelict Ristorante, was, actually, open. It turned out that Lady Luck had not deserted us, and the experience developed into a fabulous gastronomic delight (pictures to appear soon....). The "Cassino Italgelato" restaurant is very well worth a visit. It is a family-run affair, the lady of the house preparing the food herself, and it has to possess the largest and most comprehensive menu that we have ever seen! The quality and quantity of the food was excellent, and the staff's enthusiasm for their trade made us want to stay for the duration, although it can be confirmed that none of their delicious "gelato" was consumed, in spite of being offered several "tasters". The first two courses had put paid to that! Thank you, folks, for restoring our faith in decent service in a country that, generally, seems to resent any request.
The Abbey of Monte Cassino, which, on 18th may 1944, was literally razed to the ground in under three hours, has been sympathetically rebuilt to the exact specifications of the original, although the source of such an enormous cost is not apparent. What brings the horror of the original destruction to the for, is the large number of "rubble-like" remnants that proliferate the visitable areas, impressing upon one the enormity of the destruction on that day. The fact is that, on that fateful day, Monte Cassino became the strategic target for two Armies, both hell-bent on either "making a stand" or "continuing the push", with no regard for the depth of history and antiquity that stood in their way. The bombardment, ironically, accounted for a greater percentage of the refugees that were cowering within the Abbey's walls, than the soldiers involved in the attack. The place retains an air of sadness, as if the newer structure is unable to sooth the hurt that is so obvious from the shattered remnants that sit, forlorn and largely ignored, amongst the perfect recreation.
Our visit to Monte Cassino put us in a sombre and reflective mood, and we remained subdued on our journey into Avezzano, relishing the fresher air and testing roads (and surfaces) as we pondered the events that had taken place in this area.
Taking "pot luck", we arrived in the centre of Avezzano, a "Tardis-like" town which seems to get bigger, the closer you get to the middle, just as the rain started to increase in its vehemence. This spurred us into action, and we pulled up in front of the "Hotel Italia", in the central Piazza, ..... which was closed! Not only closed, but obviously verging on derelict. As luck would have it, a local inhabitant happened past, and upon enquiry in halting Italian, pointed us in the direction of somewhere suitable, which turned out to be less than 50 metres away!
As the rain started to pour with a vengeance, we parked our bikes, almost IN the hotel (sadly, no "Daugavkrasti" tonght!), so as to benefit from awning that proudly proclaimed their 4* status (in Italy, the "star system" refers to the number that could be seen in the sky on the eve of it's opening, but we would do well to deduct at least two from whatever is shown!). The extremely reasonable price was reflected by the "interesting" characters that "existed", both in and outside the place, accompanied by an emphysimic receptionist/manager, who seemed able to look at both of us at the same time!
Safely ensconsed in our rooms, which made us feel as though we had entered the '70's set from "Life on Mars", we ventured outside, to find somehwere to eat. This, being both a Monday evening, AND a Public Holiday, proved an interesting exercise, although the profusion of Gelaterias and cafes, each with at least three staff, but only one customer, pointed to a town that was, indeed, far larger than we originally believed. Stopping in a "modern" bar, we enquired as to the whereabouts of ANY restaurants, and were informed that the only "dead cert" for food was "300 metres along, then right towards the station, then next to a hotel on the opposite side of the Piazza". This rung a distant bell in both our heads, but we duly set off, in pursuit of what had now become a mission! Arriving at the Piazza, we realised why the bells had been ringing - we had been sent back to our own hotel!!
Sure enough, they were happy to serve us, and, sated, we retired to our rooms, still reflective on the sights we had seen, but more importantly, the odd sensation that being at Monte Cassino had given us.
Day 53 - 3 June - (Avezzano - La Spezia) - Miles covered: 311
Well, we deserved it! After so long, almost complaining at the mundane nature of the continuously mild weather, the rain Gods have taken notice and have delivered their answer.
Packing the bikes at the entrance of the hotel, our equipment became soaked before we had even left, and it was in a bedraggled state that we gingerly coaxed the bikes onto the slick and ominously black road. The vineyards and villages took on an equally subdued nature, reflecting the threatening skies, as the dark grey clouds blended with the road on the horizon, to give the impression that our journey was from nowhere, to nowhere, with no end in sight!
In spite of our "extreme weather" clothing, it was probably a combination of water ingress and sweat (the temperature was still quite mild) that made us wriggle with discomfort in our saddles. A word to the guys at Alpinestars - Your "extreme" VECTOR boot SUCKS!! I knew it to be slightly succeptible to heavy weather, but it has just proved to be useless, as my feet are forced to slosh about in their very own tepid paddling pools. Any biker will know that this is the worst sensation we can experience in bad weather, and the necessary steps WILL be taken on our return!
The run up towards La Spezia was overshadowed by the dark, forbidding conditions, and the occasional brightness was only sufficient to raise us out of our torpor, reminding us of the need to refuel both the bikes, and ourselves. A service station Bistro proved an absolute blessing, not only as the sun showed itself for the first time that day, but the food, personally prepared, was delicious. It was as if we had been guided here, as the weak rays had broken through the grey curtain of cloud, to illuminate the "innocuous" restaurant, igniting our stomachs' need for sustainance and causing us to consider this one as opposed to any other.
This family-run place, adjacent to the petrol station, set apart from anything else, had been carefully tended to possess a particularly welcoming air to it, however simple the fare, and the quality of the basic menu reminded us how stark the difference from the rubbish that, generally, we are forced to accept in the UK.
Fully satisfied, personally and "bikely", we took a deep breath, said our "weather prayers", and elected to dispense with the suffocating "dry suits" for the remainder of the journey to La Spezia, both admitting that this may "end in tears". True, the rain came and went, but the sun managed to force its way in between the showers, and we felt as if we were the laundry in one of God's "cotton cycles", being alternately washed, spun, rinsed and dryed as we followed the coast northwards.
Luckily, as we approached the "Lido area" on the outskirts of the town, the dry cycle had just finished, and we were glad not to ressemble drowned rats. Lidos are strange places, and we're not sure what to make of them. They are incredibly clean and ordered, a little like parts of Weymouth or Brighton, but possess the greatest concentration of hotels, motels and "guest villas" that we had seen in the entire journey, and the whole place has an air of apathy to it - looking at the people that wandered, listlessly, between the tightly packed "Splendids" and "Tropicanas", we felt as though we had become part of a real-life "Stepford Wives" (without the wives !!!?), and both sensed that, if we were lured to stay here, in one of the many "Buena Vista's", we would never leave, cursed to ride our bikes endlessly along the never-ending promenade, stopping at the exactly-spaced traffic lights for a decade at a time, and finding ourselves back at the beginning, always before the end!
Instead, we opted for the centre of La Spezia, and the "Jolly Hotel" - one of a chain of hotels, staffed by Jolly people, serving Jolly food and, more importantly for us, offering everything at Jolly prices! We even took the opportunity to add some of our own "jolly parking" by following the Italian method and leaving the bikes, on advice, smack bang in the middle of a jolly pedestrian crossing -VIVA ITALIA!
As it turned out, in spite of the very jolly price, the staff didn't seem that jolly, once you scratched beneath the surface, and the jolly food didn't extend to a particularly jolly breakfast, as "we don't do eggs" seemed to clash with the jolly impression the place was trying to promote.
Day 54 - 4 June - (La Spezia to Bolzano) - Miles covered: 311
There are some things that you just HAVE to do, on a "trip of a lifetime" and, in an attempt to increase our own jolliness last night, we spent several hours poring over the maps, discussing "must do's and see's" during the remainder of the journey. We have each decided upon a minimum of five essentials that have to be "done", and on of mine is the "Passo dello Stelvio" in the Alps, a place that, although I have visited it several times, never fails to impress, and one that I have compared everything else to, over the last two months. Andy has decided that he must see what I have been "banging on" about, and so we are taking a slight "detour", to include a run throught the Alps. On the way, we have decided to increase the number of countries that we shall have visited by the end of the trip, by adding Switzerland, Liechtenstein and Monaco, in the loop that we will describe over the next few days.
Leaving La Spezia in what the "famous" Sian Lloyd would be delighted to phrase, "spits and spots" of rain, it seemed as though we had crossed into another land as, almost immediately, the mundanity(?) of the seaside flatness gave way to dramatic and somewhat alarming mountains, that turned out to be the "Appenino Ligure". This line of bruisers, that skulk so menacingly close to the sea, initially put one in mind of school bullies, waiting behind the bike sheds to attack the weaker kids but, as we continued through them, like the truth of a school bully, they showed themselves harmless, indeed closely resembling enormous chunks of Stilton Cheese, blue-veined and crumbly, liberally dotted with mould-like fuzzy trees that clung, precariously, to the sheer sides. (I have to admit to never having seen a school bully that even closely resembles cheese, although one did have the adolescent facial complexion of a certain type of camembert!).
The weather continued to improve, as we enjoyed the winding and challenging road towards Parma, although alarmingly dark clouds occasionally reminded us not to ignore their "possibility". From Parma, we ventured onto some of the more minor, and interesting, roads that wound their way through the glorious countryside, skirting east of Brescia (up yours, Garmin!), and arriving, after passing through the impossibly beautiful area around Gavardo, at the southwest shores of Lake Garda, in time for our regular opportunity to be late for lunch - too late, in fact, for the restaurant on the shoreside itself that we had "targeted", by a matter of four minutes!
As we returned to our bikes, which we had parked beside the tiniest "marina" ever to be called such, two Austrian Bikers (Martin Jurenich & Danial Huber), both on Suzuki GSXR's, arrived, with the same intention as us, only to look as confused as us after being "ejected" from the restaurant. Luck, as always, prevailed, and, in spite of the time, the Bistro nearby, after the owner pointed out the ways of the world to the chef (!!?), was "happy" to serve all four of us, provided we guarantee to consume all of their excess supplies of Polenta in one sitting. In spite of the Polenta-fest, the food was excellent, and we all waddled back to the shoreside, new-found friends, to take group and "Garda-esque" photos, before going our separate ways, each to pursue their own adventure. Good luck, guys, and we hope you get back safely!
The route into Bolzano, our destination for the night, continued to delight, in spite of the frequent downpours that caused us to re-don the "drysuits", and, tired in a way that only a day's exciting and challenging riding can imbue, we arrived in the town, quickly confused as to the exact country we were in, as absolutely everyone spoke German!
We chose Bolzano for a simple reason - it is the closest town to the dramatic passes that thread their way through the Swiss and Italian Alps, and it has a BMW "Motorrad" department, that we needed to visit prior to the exertions that would follow. We were ready.....................
Day 55 - 5 June - (Bolzano to Maienfeld) - Miles covered: 145
THE DAY OF THE PASSES!
In the morning, over breakfast, in conversation with the Italian waiter who only spoke German (?), it was impressed upon us that the Passo dello Stelvio would NOT be a good idea, as the weather forecast included moderate to heavy snow from about 1500m upwards (Stelvio rises to 2757m!). When checking out of the hotel, the kindly and attentive staff impressed upon us that the Passo dello Stelvio would NOT be a good idea (indeed, "Elizabeth" admitted that it was her "worst nightmare" - she's a local!). At the BMW Motorrad dealership, ALL the staff looked incredulous, BEFORE setting eyes upon our loaded GS's, at our intention to "do the Stelvio" on such a sh**ty day. Indeed, by this time, everyone had alarmed us so much, that we completely forgot to buy ANY of the list of kit we had carefully prepared (with the exception of ANOTHER pair of gloves, KCD!).
Sometimes, in the face of all adversity, and against all that seems sensible, their are "Some that Do", and "Many that Don't". We stood outside the dealership, as the black clouds huddled together, preparing their ominous strategy against us should we opt to "go for it", and like Butch and Sundance, just before they ran out of the door into the hail of bullets, we looked at each other................................ and went back to the hotel, for a Spa, sauna, massage and more Germo-Italian food!
No, we didn't! We couldn't take THAT prospect any more, and resolved that this was what it was all about. We agreed on the limits of what we would endure (neither of us can remember what they were anymore, though we KNOW we went past them!), "battened down the hatches", and set out of Bolzano, in completely the opposite direction to where we wanted to go, watched with incredulity by the BMW guys (we're sure they expected to see our broken bodies in "Die Welt", the local Bolzano paper, in that evening's edition), only to be watched with the same incredulity by the same BMW guys, as we passed them 20 minutes later, this time in the right(?) direction!
The road from Bolzano to Merano, where the "real stuff" begins, is like the tasting menu at a fancy French restaurant in London - each course, whilst tiny in it's presence, elicits an amazement of the tastebuds, and the anticipation of the next course, equally miniscule in its appearance, is almost torturous. However, UNLIKE the conclusion of the tasting menu at such a restaurant, WE actually got to pig out at McDonalds after!
Between Lasa and Spondigna, you are treated to several tight switchbacks, just to "warm you up" for the experience ahead. This, on the slick black mirror-like surface, was made all the more interesting by the steady rain, forcing us to look up to the fast approaching mountains with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, mindful of the steeper inclines that lay ahead.
Turning left, across the bridge to Prato, we are not given any warning as to the experience that lies ahead, as the road calmly arrows across the plain, fields of wheat to each side, suitably placed tress obscuring the imminent change that awaits us.
And so it starts! The first hairpin, more abrupt and uneven than our "tasters", has an innocent, simple notice on its apex, featuring the number "39", and it is only at the top of the pass that you realise what this refers to. The whole experience is amplified by the constant rain, pressed down upon us by the cloud cover that seems to hang, Damacles-like, just above our heads.
It takes five to ten "go's" on the steeply inclined, incredibly tight turns, before you get into the swing of things, but the weather made our progress even more tentative and unsteady, as the back wheels fought against the weight of the bikes and the slick surface, for grip. Once round the bends, the gradient and the lack of friction served to reduce our powerful steeds to labouring beasts of burden, painfully gasping for breath as they sought to comply with our demands for acceleration, wheels skidding and gripping alternately on the climb.
Mindful that "doing the Stelvio" is something that can only be truly experienced if you are there, on it, yourselves, I will refrain from much more description about our journey to the top, but would comment about certain others who passed us "en route". The first bikes that aproached us on the climb happened to be, "surprise, surprise", a bunch of British Sportsbike riders, who treated the road like a Sunday walk in the park. The first guy, riding a Ducati 916, sat on my tail for several bends, before taking the opportunity on a longer straight (or should I say, THE longer straight!) to pass me, pausing alongside to look pointedly at my load and shake his head with disbelief! He then proceeded to delight and frustrate me with a display of wet-weather riding that, I am sure, resulted in a "knee down" at least once!
Several of his companions followed suit where they could, making us feel like Nepalese Sherpas against Marathon runner, our loads obscuring the nature of the beast below. It was only when we reached the top, that several of them came up to us, more interested in how, and WHY, we had done it, than their own experience of the famous Pass.
Weather-wise, we were treated to everything on the list. That is, the "exclusively inclement" list! As the torturously winding and steep road drew us inexorably towards the "Gods", the misty damp gave way to heavier rain, which continued as we entered the cloud level, turning into icy rain and, finally, even snow as we neared the summit. In spite of the weather, we had to concentrate fully on nursing our bikes up the narrow path, ever mindful of the regular traffic descending towards us (mainly other bikes!), and wary of them as they were forced to swerve into our path to make the bends, as did we on our route!
What brings the enormity of the journey home to us is the memory of having to look above our heads, and behind, to check for any vehicles that may have been about to "join us" at the next bend, on their way down. A "coming together", so very likely, would only be avoided if one party were to give way to the other and, considering our load and the slippery conditions, it wasn't going to be us!
It was a very emotional moment for us, as we arrived at the tight cluster of small buildings that mark the summit of the Passo dello Stelvio, and our achievement was brought home by the respect and admiration shown and voiced by fellow bikers who had either witnessed our ascent, or had watched, with equal incredulity, our arrival at the top. The traditional "Apfel Strudel" had to be consumed, as we sat by a window that looked out, through the stengthening snowfall and over a large snowdrift, onto the deep valley below us, the road that we had just climbed, descending, "tapeworm-like", into the mist that hung there, like a scene from "The Fog". Check out the photos and the film!
We, ourselves, were astonished at the sheer number of bikes that had made it to the top, although some of the riders, AND pillions, had certaily not relished the experience. As we stood by our bikes, savouring the moment and enjoying the atmosphere of relief, achievement and fear, a lone rider pulled up behind us, staring at our cumbersome loads, and another new friend, Alex, joined us for lunch. The camaraderie that exists between bikers stretches far beyond the casual nod in the UK, and the wave in MOST of Europe (come on, you Greeks and Italians - LIGHTEN UP!). You're never alone, on a bike!
The food stalls (there in all weathers!), restaurants and ubiquitous "Tat shops" can certainly guarantee business, if only from people reluctant to commence the journey down from Stelvio, as they try to think of anything to postpone the start. After a long lunch, several coffees, some "tat shopping" and discussions with everyone on the summit, we couldn't put it off any longer, and made our farewells from Alex, who shot off before us on his fast, new RT, following his route down from Stelvio, towards the Umbrail Pass, which would take in sort of the direction of Liechtenstein.
The Umbrail Pass, unlike the Stelvio, has absolutely no barriers on it, as it is in Switzerland and the Swiss won't give anyone permission to fall of the mountain. However, the dramatic plunges, mere feet away from the edge, gave us that "chaps' feeling" more than once. I must say, a lot of people take the road to, or from Tirano, in order to do the Stelvio, but we would recommend the Umbrail, then the Ofenpass, then the Fluelapass and into Klosters, followed by a free lobotomy, just to prevent you doing anything so stupid ever again!
We did it! Over 200 switchbacks in one day! Some 5,000m or more, climbed and descended. And we only wanted to "do the Stelvio"! But, for once, thank you Garmin, for forcing us to do something that we'll never, ever forget, quite believe, or ever do again!!
We know now, why HRH & Co. are so fond of Klosters. Even without the snow, it is "picture-postcard perfect". From a biking point of view, the road from Dorf to Grusch is one of the best, but we did feel like miniature, motorised accessories in a model-train enthusiast's giant loft, who had designed everything to be, in his mind (must be a biker), perfect. Go there, and tell me if you disagree!
Both ex-climbers, Andy and I spent a wonderful hour, passing through deep crevasses, either side of which elicited whimsical musings as to what we would have done "if we were younger". One particular outcrop, the size of half of Llanberis Pass, absolutely necessitated a "photo-opp", and, handily, the point at which we decided to turn in happened to be a bike dealership, selling every piece of "exotica" that either of us would have definitely put on our "if only" lists! The proprietor, Christian Monsch, was very friendly, albeit a little disbelieving at our story of where we had just come from, and even helped us locate a place to stay that night. With our limited communcation (What IS Swiss?), we believed that he was sending us to a hotel that was owned/run by his friend, Heidi, but it turned out to be the "Swiss Heidi Hotel" in, would you believe it, "HEIDILAND"!
Arriving in Heidiland, we soon found the hotel, denoted by its "logo" being an image of a "typical" young Swiss Heidi(?), complete with Edelweiss flowers in her hair, and this logo seemed to follow us literally EVERYWHERE, during our brief stay (read on...).
Typically Swiss, the rooms were ultra-clean, ultra-spartan and ultra-functional (read forgettable"!) with the exception of the opaque window that formed both one wall of the shower, AND part of the bedroom wall! If it hadn't been for the lifesize Heidi logo, situated in exactly the right (or wrong!?) position on the glass "partition", someone in the bedroom could have clearly seen EVERYTHING of a chap taking a shower! Furthermore, it invokes a strange sensation (NO pun intended) to know that, as you wash the sweat and grime of the day's exertions away, there is a fresh-faced, flower-bedecked Swiss Heidi, with a smile as inscrutable as the Mona Lisa, at exactly "that level", and only a foot away!!
After our interludes with our very own Heidi's, we made for the "bar", to celebrate and re-live the events of the monentous day. Equally spartan and ultra-efficient, the "simple fare" that was on offer proved to be delicious, and the price verging on the derisory. What appeared to us totally incongruous was that, nestled between an un-used but evidently "decorative" cooler unit and the minscule bar, was a relatively innocuous cigar humidor, that just happened to contain "THE FINEST CIGARS KNOWN TO MAN"!!
After an excellent supper and several glasses (Hic!), we stumbled outside onto the IKEA decking, to enjoy the last of the light, both reluctant to "let go of the day". Very soon, mid-conversation, we both paused, dumbstruck, as what appeared to be a Galapagous Turtle, with a large Swiss flag stuck to his back, and equally as inebriated us we were, staggered, to and fro, over the immaculately manicured lawn. Closer inspection proved him to actually be one of those automatic lawnmowers, destined to a never-ending life of drudgery, seemingly haphazard in his endeavours to satisfy his owners, although never actually achieving his aim. Believe me that when, the next morning, as the black clouds gathered, and the first heavy drops of rain started to splash the already moist ground, and our new friend "Lothar the Lawnmower" (sounds like a Swiss name!) continued, fruitlessly, to do his duty, we very nearly had a passenger for the rest of the trip. Please someone, set him free!
Day 56 - 6 June - (Maienfeld to Marengo (Alessandria)) - Miles covered: 263
The previous night having been one to celebrate the events of the day, the following morning found us with several "logostical" issues to deal with, not least that of "wet kit". Heidi's constant surveillance of our individual activities did little to prevent us using every ingenious method to be found in the room, to achieve "dryness". Look out for the small, but essential booklet that we shall be publishing on our return, "1001 uses for an hotel Hairdryer". This will be followed, once it becomes a best seller, by "How to burn down a hotel", but you'll need to wait for the juicy details that led to this one!
It has to be said that, in spite of the Japanese guests bravely attempting to solve world hunger by their harvesting of the supplies in the breakfast room, it was probably one of the finest that we had enjoyed on the trip so far, to the extent that we could both have done with a siesta afterwards! The views from the top floor, we feel sure, must be incredible, but the low, grey and ponderous clouds prevented any of this, and served to remind us of the possible endurance ahead.
Unable to delay things any longer, we reminded ourselves that the first stop would be the tiny "country" of Liechtenstein before the push towards Alessandria, and our last night in Italy, before returning to France, after a mere eight-week absence!
After a short journey from "Heidiland", we found ourselves in the immaculately groomed principality of Liechtenstein. Its pristeen houses, gardens and streets serve as a reminder of how dirty some of the countries we have visited really are. We almost didn't make it to the Principality, in fact we nearly didn't make it any further on our trip! When following the signs to Vaduz (Pronounced Vadutz), we entered an archway, diligently observing the signs, then because of roadworks missed a left turn and drove straight into an Army Barracks, only just managing to escape from the clutches of some Sergeant Major type chappie who had feasted his beady eyes on us and obviously imagined how having an extra 2 recruits would boost his numbers for cookhouse fatigues and spud bashing!
The rain continued to fall and the humid temprature added to the discomfort of riding in full wet weather gear. Heading southwards we saw that our route would take us either through the tunnel or over the Pass of San Bernadino. Approaching the renowned obstacle, it soon became clear the the 12 kilometre tunnel was closed, and Yes we had to take the pass or follow some diversion to who knows where. One by one the other vehicles in our crocodile procession peeled off as they found their own way of avoiding the Pass. Then it was down to the die hards, the stupid and those who knew no better to commence the climb. The surface of this pass was in far better condition than the stelvio, however that in itself brought extra problems of more oncoming vehicles each time we approached those wretched hairpins.
Our arrival at the top, avoiding mercedes benz estate cars whose drivers believed they owned the road, was rewarded with good quality coffee. Alighting from the Cafe we were again greeted with looks of disbelief from other travellers, their minds confused as to why two English motorcyclists would want to ride their heavily laden machines through inclement weather up such a physically demanding road. (Because it's there). All in all, the award for respect of the day has got to go to the German who decided to tow his caravan up the Pass, it was bad enough with a bike or even a car, but to tow a caravan!!!!!!!!.
The route down, through the driving rain, mist and fog took us through the village of San Bernadino, then the switchbacks and hairpins opened out a little more each time and the straights betwen them increased allowing us to gain ground on the persuing and often threatening car drivers. Following lunch in Locarno, the rain eased and clouds lifted a little giving us splendid views of steep gorges with rickety span bridges supporting a single track railway, again making us feel like extras from someone's model railway layout. But the break was short-lived as the mist and rain again closed in on us. Our arrival at the italian border was marked by a humourous incident when the italian border guard, who didn't want to leave the warmth and dry of his centrally heated border post to examine our passports, insisting that Kevin lift his visor, to which he received the ironic reply, "Yes, it's me", to which he indicated that "that's all right then", and waved us on!
The run to Marengo, an outlying suburb of Alessandria, took us out of the spectacular scenery, onto the flat plains of Northern Italy, and the Hotel Marengo, chosen purely for it's convenient location and price, reflected the last few miles in its blandness. Perhaps, though, this is as a result of the previous spectacles that we had witnessed!?
The hotel itself, quite unremarkable, seemed to be the staging post on a regular "SAGA" run, as our ages served to seriously reduce the average!
Day 57 - 7 June - (Marengo to Arles) - Miles Covered 316
"How not to burn down a Hotel"
Waking early, to the continuous noise from the vehicles that passed to either side of the Hotel (it turned out that it was situated at the confluence of the two main roads that entered Alessandria!), thoughts turned to "personal admin" and the need to dry out some of the kit that had been drenched over the previous few days.
The biggest problem that I had, was the fact that my Alpinestars "extreme weather boots", WEREN'T! This left me with a dampness issue that, on this occasion, the "hairdyer manual" couldn't have solved.
Holding my hand over the wall light that was set above my micro-bed, I noticed that there was a small amount of warmth rising from it, and an "idea" came to mind. Carefully balancing my right boot onto the flat part of the light, I was satisfied to see that it might just work. Above the equally micro-desk (we really felt as though that very same model-train enthusiast had built the hotel just for us!) was what appeared to be an identical light, so I duly balanced my left boot on that one, turned on both lights, and went for my shower.
Sometime later, as final touches were being carried out in the bathroom, I could have sworn that I could hear rain pouring down outside, so loud that it was alomost "sizzling" in its intensity. This noise prompted me to venture into the bedroom, where the source of the noise was immediately apparent - it turned out that that "desk-light" was slightly more powerful than the one above the bed, to a high-strength, halogen level, and my left boot was just at the point of combustion!! Indeed, the heat generated, forgetting, for the time being, the intense smell of burned rubber and the noxious smoke that was filling the tiny space, was such that when, in desperation, I plunged said boot into the sink, the water very soon started to boil!! It actually seemed that the boot itself had taken over the duty of combustion, and had no further need of the light fitting in its goal of setting off the alarm and sprinkler system for the entire hotel!
Leaving my very own, home-made "samovar" (just throw win a couple of teabags!) in the bathroom, I ran to the window, in an attempt to rid the room of the smoke, only to find that they had firmly locked it, obviously as a precaution against the suicidal tenancies that would have ensued, should one have spent more than one night in the place! The dilemma of whether or not to open the room door, allowing the fumes into the corridor, was not one to be taken lightly, but a combination of ventilator, air-con, open door and, finally a tiny gap at the window, seemed, eventually, to dissipate the smoke, although I am sure the intense rubber smell still remains to this day! Indeed, the sole retains that very same aroma, as if to remind me of the event.
The sky above the hotel seemed to be playing a game with us, as dark, menacing clouds swept past, glancing at the progress we were making with our departure preparations, and passing the message on to their big brothers. We opted, at the last minute, to forgo the heavy-duty gear, mindful that "Murphy's Law" often wins. This would result, however, in a rapid "pit-stop" should the rain develop.
Due to the virtual "requirement", on the eastern approach to Monaco, to follow the Autoroute (we didn't have ten hours to travel "Montenegro-stylie"!), we opted to follow the "country route" from Alessandria, via the delightful-sounding "Acqui Terme", towards Savona. There followed, three hours of intensely dramatic roads, views and weather "alarms", that saw us squeezing through the tightest "alleyways" (they are actually main roads!) in exquisite villages and following a biker's paradise of blacktop for over sixty miles. The views, which brightened and darkened as the gang of bruisers following us cast their shadows over our progress, were spectacular, hosting the deepest gorges, intensely blue rivers and waterfalls, and impossibly placed residences, each of which seemed to need a rescue helicopter to deliver their bread and milk! At times, the ponderous rocks that lined the winding road actually seemed to be leaning out to watch and adjudicate our approach and style, and we often felt that the road must just disappear out into the increasingly alarming void.
The minor-road route from Alessandria to Savone is yet another "MUST DO" for any true bikers out there. In spite of the lengthy and arduous journey ahead of us, we both mused how, if time could have been stopped for just a few hours, we would definitely have done it again!
Arriving at Savona, grateful, for once, at Garmin's "interesting" choice of routes, the contrast, as we joined the A10, couldn't have been more dramatic, as the next 100 miles into Monaco became a repetetive tedium of endless tunnels, tolls and almost insultingly brief glimpses of what we could be enjoying, if we had that ten hours (or a two-wheeled time machine!).
Monaco is a frenetic, gaudy, "look at me" kind of place, where the "haves" have a hell of a lot, and the others who live and spend their time there, have a fair amount as well! The incredibly sexy sound of a V8 Italian sportscar is almost commonplace, and the only "normal" people are those who come to gawp at the enormity of the wealth of others.
We parked the bikes alongside the "Quai Albert 1er", where the F1 cars started from several weeks ago (the grid markings and skid marks still fresh on the ground), and caused quite a stir, mainly from other bike riders, as to the extent of our loads. Before lunch, we were lured to the grossly enormous yachts that wallowed in the Marina, their crew larger in number than the awestruck tourists that nervously and reverently stood admiring the things that they couldn't possibly comprehend. As we approached the grossest and largest " floating palace", we overheard another biker (many seemed to be British) commenting that he had seen cross-Channel ferries far smaller than the "Lady Moura". She was, indeed, verging on offensive in the presence she commended, and would easily represent the annual GDP of even one of the new EU countries that we had visited!
Monaco had a strange effect upon us. In our "mode" of fund-raising bikers, who had visited over 30 countries since leaving the UK, we felt rather ashamed to give the impression that we were, as so many innocent normal people, in awe of what someone else, who probably hadn't even set foot on board, had the money to waste on such a behemoth, and found ourselves being innexorably drawn to a simple sculpture, formed from inustrial "re-bar" and coarse rock, to ressemble what appeared to be a human figure, bound in permanent servitude at every joint, and cursed to mount a never-ending guard over "things" that, he to, could never comprehend.
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Suffice to say, with the exception of the very good lunch that we enjoyed, the overt display of "super wealth" in Monaco made us a little sad, and our time there was strangely silent, as we reflected on the greater beauty that we had been privileged to witness during our journey.
As we returned to our dusty, overburdened, faithful steeds, it was with some relief that we started up, and moved out of, the 33rd country on or travels, but a trip to Monaco could not be competed by two "petrol heads" like us, without a quick run through that famous tunnel. The problem was, our route would take us past the "infamous" Monte Carlo Casino, an area that simply wouldn't permit any bikers to darken their doorstep. Perhaps it was as a result of spending some time in the company of the law "un-abiding" Italians, but we made a last-minute decision to "chance it", and immediately ran into an officious policeman whose sole job, it seemed, was to "deal with" naughty bikers, who saught to sully the beautiful people's view of the Casino with their "pauper-like" presence. Luckily for us (one of us had done this before), the only way to get rid of us was to instruct a "no pause, no stop" exit in the very direction that we desired! The sound of two slightly tired, throaty GS's passing through that magical tunnel, all alone, will remain in our memories for ever!
"Escaping" Monaco (for that was how we felt!), we stuck to the coastal road, avoiding Marseille, as well as the darkening clouds that had dogged our journey, and arrived in Arles for a rest day that was gratefully anticipated!
Days 58 & 59 - Rest days in Arles
In total contrast to the complete excess of Monaco, the town of Arles, which nestles, like a cherry on top of the "cream bun" (?!!) that is the Camargue, gives the weary traveller the perfect combination of culture, vivacity and calm. Adjacent to the major artery that is the river Rhone, Arles has been an important and vital "hub" since Roman times, and the historic monuments that stand tribute to ancient times rest in complete harmony with the modern amenities that abound. This was the perfect place for us to re-charge our "batteries" and prepare for the push into Spain.
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The film clips and photos do far better in painting the picture of Arles but, suffice to say, it is a place for bikers to rest and enjoy, the food is exquisite, the people friendly, and the combination of history and convenience a joy to behold! GO THERE!
