I landed in Frankfurt on 18 June, carrying all of my business gear (suit, shirts, nice shoes, laptop, briefcase, etc.), motorcycle gear (two helmets, leathers, rain gear, Gerbing jacket, boots, gloves, cable lock, bike cover, etc.), and hiking gear (Schlafsack for the mountain huts, walking stick, minor survival stuff, etc.), plus my normal clothes and toletries. The good news is that my motorcycle boots are high-topped leather with a waterproof lining suitable also for mountain hiking, as is my Gerbing and raingear. And I bought a daypack in Europe. But this was a lot of gear and I could not carry it more than a hundred meters.
But I got it all on the train to Eindhoven, Netherlands, where I had an appointment with Philips Monday morning. I was staying in a Dorint, which always has a nice spa. So at 2:30, I presented myself at the spa where I was told that they closed at 3pm on Sundays. So I did 20 minutes on an exercise bike, showered and left. Rather disappointing, and I related this on the hotel comments card.
I had Sunday afternoon to walk around. There was a rollerblade street race on and there was also an amusement park for rollerbladers. Lots of ramps, jumps, and rails, and one really high jump (like a ski jump) that I never saw anyone try. One could rent skates and mix it up with the kids but I decided not to. As Mark Twain said, "I occasionally had fine inspirations of prudence."
The world soccer matches were on and there had just been major rioting by the English in Belgium. The next match was in Eindhoven on Monday (I was lucky Philips got me a room) so there were police everywhere. I mean, lots of police. Gangs of them, in various uniforms talking into their shoulders and ears, standing in corners at every street corner. But there was nothing going on - just tourists strolling around. Very strange. But they were helpful when one asked for directions. Finally, I had Mexican food outside, and it was surprisingly good.
I was pretty warm Sunday and Monday was downright hot. I had just left a heat wave in San Francisco where 103F in the city had broken all records for June. But the heat followed me to Europe. The business meetings were fairly warm because I was wearing a suit and the building was not air-conditioned. Lunch was a sandwich while we worked and then I was free by 2pm and ready to catch the train to Enschede, where Rik and my motorcycle awaited.
Did I mention that the trains were also not air-conditioned? And I had bought a first class ticket but it was a waste of money on these regional trains. It was only about an hour to the first train change, but in a suit on a crowded hot train, it seemed like a lot more. The real problem came at train change time. There I am in my suit and a few hundred pounds of luggage hanging off of me in various straps, and the train stops at a position that is at least 50 meters from the nearest steps. The next train platform was on the other side of a large station. I had 5 minutes. I just couldn't make it. So I called Rik and told him I would be an hour late and sat and drank a beer in the stifling un-air-conditioned train station.
After another hour and a half on a hot train, I was looking forward to having Rik help me load this luggage in his car. Yes, he met me, and helped me carry some of it. And we walked and walked. Finally, I asked where he had parked. Then I learned he didn't have the car any longer and we were walking to his house.
Ok, I survived and we got to his house. But the strap on my hanging bag actually broke from the load and we had to fix it en route.
Then we went out to look at the bike. Rik had contributed a sixth of the purchase price as well as buying new tires, a new rear shock, new fork springs, and generally working on it. The bike is a silver 1984 R80ST, just the same as mine, but in better shape. It had only 28Km on it, so it had sat for a long time. Rik had gotten it up to 29.2K but it was still not running well. We tried all sorts of adjustments to the carbs, including synching them, but when it would idle roughly, it tended to hang at 3K. It had a new air filter and the carbs had been cleaned. This was a bother.
The bike came with a windshield that Rik had removed because the hight caused wind buffeting at head level. Rik is significantly taller than me, so we put it back on with the premise that any windshield on a long trip is better than none.
The bad news was that the new springs and shock had not yet arrived and the bike was a total "rubber cow". With my heavy luggage, it was going to be a disaster. So Rik graciously swapped shocks from his old ST and things were so much better that I did not even bother to change the fork oil.
We had dinner in the pedestrian zone. It was Mexican again! But ok. One of the things I noticed was that motor scooters were allowed to run through the pedestrian zone. This is in contrast to Germany where one is not allowed even to pedal a bicycle. Rik explained that 50cc bikes had a special colored license tag and were allowed to go anywhere bicycles did, but that the police didn't really check and so bigger motorscooters went through the pedestrian zones also. This seemed dangerous to me, as the kids on them were exhibiting more fun than caution. Sure enough, a few days later, Rik was run down and hurt, though not seriously, by one of these scooters.
The next day was packing day. I had brought lots of bungee cords and two nets, but Rik also loaned me a really good tie-down and also a Harro tank bag. My briefcase filled the right bag and all of the motorcycle gear went in the left. Odds and ends went in the tank bag and all the rest went in the enormously full folded hanging bag strapped on the passenger seat, partially sitting on the 2nd helmet bungee-netted on the rear rack.
I learned to fill the folding bag with only clothes and put as many heavy items, including shoes and a bottle of wine, in the left bag, moving some moto gear to the tank bag and stuffing it also inside the 2nd helmet. All books and papers went in the briefcase in the right bag. The bike cover was wrapped around the hanging bag for rain protection and rain gear was strapped on top of that. Thus, with the large hanging bag and the tank bag, I was unavoidably top-heavy but as little as possible.
Because I was so trapped between the bags, to get off the bike, I had to deploy the sidestand while sitting (a two-step tricky process as you BMW riders know), and then when I was off the bike, I put it on the centerstand so that I could remount by standing on the pegs. I also found that I had to push the hanging bag backwards on the seat as far as possible because I was too big to fit in the seat depression meant for the pilot - if I tried that, I got knee aches.`
Now I needed to run down to Kaiserslautern to give a lecture Wednesday morning.
After breakfast, I studied the maps some more, Rik gave me instructions for getting out of town onto the desired backroads, and we loaded up. Rik's living room, where my stuff was scattered, is not the most orderly. I later discovered that I had left some stuff. But we packed up, and I was off in the late morning.
My maps were ok, but I must say that traveling backroads in Europe has some special difficulties for Americans. We are used to navigating by road designations, usually numbers. American culture assumes that one always has a map and is going long distance.
In Europe, road numbers are barely marked on the maps, but rarely are there signs on the roads themselves. Road signs consist almost entirely of pointers to towns. These towns may not be easily found on the map. The reason is that the signs often reserve the largest letters for the town at the next crossroads. This may be a very small village listed in the smallest letters on the map, by a very small crossroad, and thus be hard to find. Sometimes the signs will also give a larger town in the same direction, but in smaller letters, as there will be many alternative ways of getting there.
But this is not a fixed rule. Sometimes, a sign will just point to "Paris", 300Km away, for example, which is of little help in navigating the next 20Km of backroad alternatives. What is helpful is to study the map first and be aware of destinations in the opposite direction from that desired at each crossing so that you can go the right way by avoiding the wrong way.
That is, I got lost a lot.
It was very, very hot, so that I had eventually remove my complete leathers later in the day. I felt it was finally safer just to be careful rather than being distracted by the sweat and dizziness from being packed in leather in heat similar to crossing the California valley in midsummer, while going slowly and being mostly lost.
I did initially make it to my first scheduled stop, Bocholt, just across the border in Germany. I was going to run down the German / Netherlands border, but got so frustrated with being turned around, that when I hit the A57, I just got on it and ran through the Ruhrgebiet. This was a good decision. I ran through this big industrial area with its very complicated roads very fast. I did notice that at almost any speed, I either had to sit up very straight or bend over as Rik was right about the windshield. It buffeted my head so hard that I could hardly see and it felt like someone was hammering on my helmet.
On one of the small roads off of the Autobahn, I encountered my first "no motorcycles" sign. A red circle with a picture of something generally means that it is prohibited. I decided to plead ignorance if I was stopped but saw one other motorcyclist also ignoring the wishes of the local populace.
I should explain signage a bit more here. It is not consistent. A red circle with a number means that is the speed limit. When one sees the same sign but in grey, as though faded, perhaps with some diagonal lines through it, that means that the previous speed limit is over. A simple red circle with a red diagonal means "don't park here". But in general the diagonal means the end of the previous limitation.
But I arrived in Bonn in time for a late lunch. I found a nice outdoor place where I could watch my bike while parked in the shade. Then afterwards, I finally figured out how to get out through the suburb of Ippendorf to the road to Meckenheim. I had decided that rather than run down the Rhein, which views I know well, would cut through the Eifel mountains, entering Kaiserslautern from the North. This was also a great decision as the roads are wonderful.
I ran down the A61 a short ways to Ahnweiler, and then to Altenahr, which is the beginning of a great motorcycle road. There is actually a more new and more direct way to Altenahr from Bonn but I didn't find it. However, the people in Altenahr really don't appreciate it and the streets are filled with signs protesting the increase in traffic and saying things like "exhaust kills children". Actually, I noticed signs like this in other villages in Germany and Switzerland. Traffic is increasing everywhere but it really crushes the quality of life in villages that have been quiet for centuries. The people don't know what else to do but to put up homemade signs protesting to the travelers that see their village for only a few minutes.
This was when I first started seeing the warning signs for motorcyclists, which now appear on mountain roads all over Europe, in all languages, though the slogans vary somewhat. These are very amusing and show a total lack of understanding about motorcycling, and probably are only meant to reassure the car drivers that we are indeed crazy.
Almost all of the signs show a large cartoon figure of a motorcyclist on a crotch rocket. The stupidest ones simply say "who risks, loses", "motorcyclist, it is not worth the risk", and "racing is out". The best ones are German. One shows four vultures and says "Racer, we wait." My favorite shows an elaborate winged figure over a motorcyclist with the slogan, "Racer, give your guardian angel a chance!".
I followed this absolutely great road, consisting of the 257 and the 259, to the Mosel. From there, one turns away from Cochem and follows the beautiful Mosel south until you come to the first major bridge. I then followed the 421 to Kappel, Kirchberg, and finally the intersection with 41. Let me say that 41 ranks right up there with any tiny mountain road you've done. Think Page Mill for a long ways. (I should add for the benefit of those who prefer sweepers - Page Mill and Sonora Pass are some of my favorite roads.)
During this time, one learns to roughly follow the signs to Bad Kreuznach, even though one is not going there. But at this intersection, one turns instead toward Ida-Oberstein, even though one is not going there either. Instead, one turns left on the 270 in the direction of Lauterecken and continues to Kaiserslautern.
I had ridden pretty much all day in heat and was really bushed. I reached my usual spot, the Pension Blum, at 9pm. But no one answered the phone. So I went to the Bahnhof and called everyone I knew. No one could raise the owners of the hotel, so eventually Harold Holz came and got me. We had a late dinner and drinks and I bedded down in his living room sometime around 1pm.
Wednesday, I gave my lecture and did a little work. I also looked around for a BMW shop but there was only a "partner" for motorcycles. I tried to book a tuneup because the bike was running horribly. Think about coming through small mountain roads with a heavy load and an engine that sticks at 3K rpm. You have to use the front brake just to slow down the engine. I tried tuning it again myself but if the engine didn't hang, it idled barely at all and sounded like a Harley. But the shop was too busy to take the bike that week.
Well, there were a few other problems with the bike too. The "ST" left side panel came off on the Autobahn, as it is prone to do. I felt it come off and caught it in my hand. All I needed were the four screws to hold it. But this shop's microfiche didn't show that panel. So by trial and error, and using a micrometer, we eventually found the right screws. I also bought and used a cable tie to secure the front of the panel, which is really the only way to fix BMW's minor design flaw here.
I also bought 15W fork oil. The front end was entirely too soft anyways, and this really showed up under load. However, I also needed a funnel and the shop didn't have one. So I went down to the big supermarket, "Real", which sells everything. I found a wonderful plastic squeeze bottle with a small bronze tube that is perfect for injecting oil into the tiny hard-to-reach holes at the top of the forks. And a small plastic baking measuring cup completed what was needed. I changed the oil behind the store, draining the old oil into a half-litter plastic water bottle, which I deposited at the proper place at a filling station. The forks were still soft but much stiffer on small bumps.
Thursday was a German Catholic holiday and everything was closed. So I went back up to the Eifel mountains unloaded. Kaiserslautern itself is a boring town with bad architecture. But it sits in the middle of a great region with wonderful attractions in every direction. For motorcyclists, the large and small mountain roads to the North will keep one entertained as longs necessary.
Following the Simmerback along the 421, I got tired of the slow traffic and pulled off the road to wait for it to clear. In this area, that meant finding a small bridge and then following an dirt way up to a waterfall and a very old pedestrian bridge and resting for a while in the quiet. Then I could zip back on to the main road when it was clear for a while.
No one could explain this to me, but often the oncoming traffic consisted of convoys of farm tractors pulling camping trailers. On the odd occasion when I was going in their direction, it was very easy to pass them and the cars lined up behind them. (Note, I am only passing when I can see the oncoming lane is free, but apparently it is the style in Germany and Switzerland for motorcycles to pass at any time, even on blind curves, expecting to pass in between vehicles if necessary. The concepts of space are very free here.)
I can hardly recount all of the details of my day in this small region between the Rhein and the Mosel, but suffice it to say that getting lost was never so much fun. And I found the most charming villages tucked away. This must be where the really rich retire to - nice houses with a communal swimming pool way off the beaten path and reachable only with difficulty by car - and no observable means of support.
I also ran down towards Johanneskreuz which is a famous ride in the area. I stopped at a filling station to see if I could stop by Sigrid Goldman's new place for coffee. I had no idea where this was, but by accident, I was within 5Km. Turns out she is now living in an apartment directly in the stables where she keeps her beloved horse. This is an amazingly lovely spot.
Furthermore, I was supposed to go to a barbeque given by Barbara Dellen who also has a horse there. And Barbara has never been to Sigi's since she move in. But his afternoon, Sigi saw Barbara through the window and we went over and talked with her and her friend. As it turns out, we are all computer scientists, and one of the other people there, who knows Sigi, marveled at the fact that we were out while the sun was still up, as our profession seems to produce vampires. We all had coffee. Barbara went back into town and later I followed Sigi to town where she was meeting Harold to take some Canadian visiting students to the movies. Then I went to dinner with Barbara and friends and had another great time.
Friday was another workday, but I spent part of the day locating someone who would cut down the windshield. Finally, I located a factory that cut large plastic sheets. I took off the windshield and we went back on the factory floor and just took off the top third with a big saw. Because it was such a small, wierd request, they wouldn't take any money for the job.
I also took the opportunity to change the needles in the carbs. Rik, on the phone, had suggested that they should be pushed in to make it run richer. He had previously adjusted them to run leaner because the motor had sat so long. However, this adjustment had no effect. I went back to the Real and bought some STP, which also had no effect over a day's ride.
Sunday I went to Ulm, via Strassbourg, where I had lunch. I took all of the backroads and went through the Black Forest. This made a 2 hour trip on the Autobahn an all-day affair, but the Black Forest (Schwarzwald) is a must.
During all of my time, I noticed that the riders here tend to travel in groups. That is, the number of groups is significantly more than the number of single riders. The groups are varied with all kinds of bikes and often carry camping gear. Everyone is very friendly. Everyone waves, regardless of the bike brand.
There are also many restaurants that prominently feature the fact that they welcome "bikers", which means, here, any kind of motorcyclist, though cruisers are very prominent. (I saw a fair number of old boxers, but the new 1100s are seemingly very popular.) But the important point here is that bikes are not a minority as they are in America. At times, I met more bikes than cars. And the travel industry here caters to them.
Ulm was more work, but I eventually located a real BMW motorcycle shop about 30Km away. The service was spectacular. The two service reps looked at my bike and rode it and made adjustments for about an hour for free. Finally they said it needed a major inspection. I said I could afford neither the money nor the time. So they said to give them a few hours and less than 300 DMarks.
It is worth noting that the showroom includes bikes that have been sold. These are prominently display with signs congratulating the owner by name and wishing him or her much fun and good riding. Also, while I waited for the service manager to ride my bike, I was served coffee at my own table by one of the women who answers the phones, after being instructed to do so by the service manager.
I had coffee and walked around the town. Before 5pm, my bike was returned to me for less than 270DM. They had found the rear brake pads below spec, but didn't have the replacement and they showed me that the fork seals were leaking slightly (big deal). The compression test was very good and equal on both sides. They adjusted the timing and the carbs and the bike ran beautifully. It ran so nicely at idle, that I just let it run, not believing it. Two other bikers came over, attracted by the sound, and gave me big grins and thumbsup. It was really really nice.
Did I mention that they washed the bike before they gave it back to me? I was later told that this is usual at a dealer shop, but I must say that the level of personal attention compares favorably even with Kari's shop.
My last night in Ulm, I had dinner with the young researcher that had been assigned to me for lunch at Daimler. We had hit it off because she appreciated fast vehicles. She took me to dinner in her '77 Porsche Carrera 3.0L. She told me that when I was ready to buy a car, she would introduce me to her friend in Basel who finds old Porsches and Alfas from the 70's that have been well-cared for by the Swiss. These cars apparently need little restoration. I can say that running this one in the city was a waste.
The hotel and work in Ulm were quite nice and I almost hated to leave, but I wanted to run this bike on the road. Friday, I was on real vacation, headed towards Switzerland.
I had planned to go to Grindlewald, for which I had a detailed map, and see the Jungfrau and hike in the region. But I also knew that I would probably want to spend the night along the way somewhere.
The fastest way in that direction from Ulm is to take the Autobahn in the direction of Fussen. The windshield was now perfect, even at in excess of 160Km. My Schuberth Concept helmet was in an even windstream that could be fine tuned to almost no noise with the proper head movements. Just before Fussen, at Pfronten.
Warning: here, where the Autobahn dumps an enormous stream of tourists headed for Fussen off into a small farming village, there is a drastic change in the speed limit and here was the only radar trap I saw on the route. Fortunately, the oncoming cars flashed their lights at me before I came over the hill.
From there, I took the very longest route on backroads that is possible, without making a circle, to Landeck. I passed into Austria very shortly after Pfronten. The German/Austrian borders are no longer controlled, but there is a big sign saying that you need a special pass to travel on Austrian autobahns and fast roads. But I stayed on the smallest roads on the map in the mountains.
Until I reached Landeck, I was covering a variety of minor passes, which were nevertheless much fun. These particular mountain roads going into the mountains remind me of some of the canyon roads near Los Angeles. I saw lots of 600 DP bikes on these roads tearing it up and treating all car traffic, coming and going, as transitory obstacles. The "don't risk it" signs are particularly thick and particularly ludicrous here.
I am pretty sure some of these bikes are not only local, but spend the day just riding up and down the same stretches trying to improve their times and generally ignoring the terrified cars. Heck, the first few few times I was passed, I was scared too. There you are, trying to wait for a safe pass, and there's a roar by you, and the three cars ahead of you, on the inside of a left-hand blind downhill turn. Later, from altitude, you observe him further on the road, not slowing for anything. Very impressive. Of course, you begin to see why they put up the signs. And suspect that this fellow does this route more than once a day.
From Landeck, it's a very pleasant run along the Inn down to Susch. At Pfund, I hit the Austrian/Swiss border. I stopped, because I knew this border was controlled, but no one would look at me. Then I realized that I was being stupid - this was the Austrian checkpoint and I was leaving Austria - they didn't stop vehicles leaving. Duh.
Because the road is so narrow, the Swiss checkpoint is a few kilometers away, at Martina. I stopped but was waved through before I put my foot down. This was the story at every controlled boarder. They check a few cars but wave some through and always waved me through, though God knows what I could have been smuggling in the huge pack strapped to the back of my back. But it is obvious that they didn't want to go to the trouble of looking through it, or even having me get out my pass.
Eventually, I stopped running down the banks of the Inn. At this point, I planned to try every interesting pass between there and Interlaken. The first is Fluelapass: 2386 meters high. I highly recommend this. I had noticed that not only tour buses but lots of motorcycles stopped to rest at the Fluelapass inn. I'm not the only one to notice what a great road this is and what a beautiful view there is from the top.
I stayed at the hospice at the top for the night. A "Hospice" in Switzerland means that it is an inn on the top of a pass that is kept open year-round. An alternative form of the name omits the "H" and one sees "OSI" spray-painted on the road before such hospices.
As I was to discover is usual, this one is very isolated and the road in both directions cannot be beat. Think Sonora Pass, but longer with even better scenery. I was starting to drag not only my feet but also my engine guards even on (or because of) my heavily loaded bike. (Actually, I was to drag my engine guards often, rather than my valve covers, as usual on my American bike - I believe this is because of the worn-out front fork springs.) This is hairpin after hairpin with breathtaking views. Cars are easily passed as they can barely fit in the turns. The easiest thing to do is to pass them on the inside of left-hand turns as you can easily see if the way is clear and they have to go so far to the outside to make the turn. (Yes, again, this is my idea of fun.)
I was the only guest that night and had a walk and climb around the little lakes and waterfalls. I strongly recommend this place if you want solitude and very simple but thoroughly charming rooms. Bath and toilet are shared but the rooms are very traditional Swiss. Electricity, water, and sewage, are all supplied by the Inn itself. It's self-contained and the wife of the owner lived for 3 years in Canada and is a linguist. She speaks all four of the Swiss languages, plus English and a few more.
BTW, the pass is famous for an incident that took place 75 years ago. A battalion was marched there from Davos in horrible winter weather. The officers went inside and got warm and fed. The men outside were so fed up, that they simply left and went back down. This unheard-of mutiny made all the papers and was discussed for years.
I loaded up and took off down the other side of the pass towards Davos. Just as good if not better than the first side. There were a couple of R1100RSs several hairpins below me and I managed to catch up with them by the time we reached the bottom though they were faster on the occasional straight. About this time, I started dragging my shoes and noticing that my right-hand turns were not nearly so smooth as my left side, but by the end of the day, I had had enough practice that this was no longer the case.
Going down this road, I (and the other motorcyclists) had to contend with the occasional open range hazard of cows. This hazard has two components. The cows themselves are directly on the sides of the road. On hairpins, one is leaning into them, nearly touching. The second is their byproduct, with which they have occasionally bedecked the road.
Davos is one of the famous ski resorts. It's supposed to be a village, a "Dorf", but it's a small city. It was a good place to find a bank and use my Wells Fargo card in the ATM, which has worked all over Europe for years now. Armed with local currency, I proceeded on to my day of Swiss mountain passes.
From Davos, I went almost to the main road at Tiefencastel but then doubled back in the direction of the Inn River on another small road that went over the Albulapass, 2312 meters high. Again the roads are great. And you hang out with all the other bikers for coffee. I talked with a couple of Ducati riders who did CAD work for BMW in Munich. It's just like Silicon Valley.
I'm just going to skip the description of most the curves and the scenery other than to say that you will not be disappointed if you take this road. But be warned that each of these passes is more strenuous than it looks on the map and you will be tired at the top and bottom, especially from the car passing.
Back along the main route along the Inn, I tanked up in St. Moritz. I filled the tank at about every 200 Km, adding the lead substitute this bike needs since all gas here is now lead-free - "bleifrei".
I passed up the well-traveled Julier Pass to run down to Chiavenna, passing into Italy at Castasegna at the end of a line of cruisers behind which I had fallen. I passed up Julier so that I could take the trickier Spluegen Pass, 2113 meters. This is the tightest road I took on this route, which is saying a lot. After a while, I passed the cruisers, waved, and went for it. At the top, there is an Italian-speaking hospice at the top (Pso. della Spluga) where one can enjoy the view and a small lunch.
Dumping off the main road is a set of downhill curves that are wonderful but which scares the cars to death. Fortunately, it is fairly easy to pass them and have a nice time here. Later, the road climbs in an apparently endless set of real hairpin switchbacks through little towns of Italian architecture and mountain scenery.
These uphill curves do warrant some mention. One makes a very sharp hairpin, climbs at a 45 degree angle (ok, maybe less) for about only 50 meters, and then you do it again. Great for motorcycles. The cars can barely make around the turns. So when they swing way wide to make the left hand turns, you can just duck under them. This road is really hairy. Be prepared to work hard. And watch out for the vehicles coming the other way taking up all of the road. Thank goodness you're on a motorcycle and don't need much room.
I had seen an advertisement in St. Moritz for an antique British racing motorcar show and sure enough, they were all coming down in the opposite direction over this pass. These open air, low-slung wide-axled racers were perfectly suited for these roads, even more than me and my bike, were they free. But they were often stuck behind normal traffic and didn't have the room to pass. We waved a lot.
If you happen to have a map (recommended: "Alpine Roads - Switzerland, Tyrol, Adriatic" by Kuemmerly + Frey) and are using it to follow this route, you can see that rather than trying to get to my destination, I am just switching back and forth across the mountains and taking the longest, most difficult route to Interlaken.
I had passed back into Switzerland on the tight uphill climb just over the pass near the small town of - well, actually there is no town at all here, just the mountain.
The next pass I did was the St. Benardino pass. Another word about maps and signs: these places, especially the passes, near the border have different names in different languages and the map and the signs don't always agree. So be prepared to guess that similar names refer to the same place.
One has to take the small road, rather than the Autobahn, to avoid the tunnel and it is a worthwhile road with some very serious hairpins and climbs. It was recommended to me by my friend in Ulm, and is worth doing. That said, I believe the Spluen pass is steeper and more difficult.
Coming down off the St. Barnardino is a very nice set of curves. I came upon a couple riding matched R80G/Ss with camping gear and followed them around the curves for a while. They were going at an ok pace, but I noticed almost all of the European riders took a different line around the hairpins than I did. Especially in the left-hand turns, they would slow way to the outside and then come back in fast. I always found myself sticking to the inside at the same speed and nearly t-boning them. So, finally, on one turn, I just passed the trailing bike on the inside and the other one let me go by on the straight. (Just the reverse on right-hand turns: I would go to the outside and occasionally passed cars and bikes who were nearly running off the road on the inside.)
After the mountain road, there is a long easy valley. There is a beautiful waterfall (one of thousands as it turns out on this trip) at Buffalorafall. There's a kiosk there which is a natural gathering place for bikes. The R80s passed me and I fell in at the tail of a larger group of bikes that was leaving just after I had taken my waterfall picture.
Down at the bottom, I turned Northeast, away from Bellizona,Italy, and went on a relaxed road down a long valley to Andermatt, crossing over the St. Gotthard pass, 2109 meters. Again, look for variant spellings. And again, the road is absolutely wonderful. There are not so many tight hairpins and lots of stretches more suitable for K-bikes whizzing along sweeping curves with sheer dropoffs and endless vistas. Actually, the vistas were somewhat curtailed by mist and clouds today and it was a bit cool. I stopped with some other bikes after a tunnel to rest and warm my hands. I took some photos of the winding roads (which I couldn't do when the roads were twister) and admired the rugged high peaks among which I would ride for most of the day.
I didn't quite reach Andermatt, but turned left instead into the Urserental. I filled up at an extremely tiny village, consisting of pretty much a gas pump, called Realp. Other bikes, having just completed one pass, and about to do another, were also filling up at the single pump. The owner was handing out samples of locally-made Alpine cheese.
Then onward to the Furka Pass, 2431 meters high. Don't miss this. It is a great road and at the top, near the Belvedere hotel (a very popular hotel name in the Swiss Alps), is a very near view of a glacier. You can walk out on the viewing terrace by passing through the gift store for free. I passed up the paid walk into the Grotto. This is a good place to get a piece of chocolate and visit the toilet. There are plenty of bikers here, of course, but also, strangely, a collection of antique farm tractors today. There is also an antique steam train that visits here a few days in the year.
Coming down to Gletsch was also fun. And though the mountain passes were over for the day, the mountain road up to Interkirschen is also fun. Some bikes I was chasing turned off onto a little road up to the Schwarzwaldalp, which looked like a great road and probably had a wonderful view of where I was going, but it was getting late in the day.
The road to Interlaken from Interkirschen is relaxing and the road to Grindlewald is very pretty and easy. In town, I knew that I wanted to go to somewhere near the end of town near the Pfingstbahn so that I could use it to begin a hike up to the Schreckhorn. After inquiring and hearing prices that seemed too high for the off-season, I moved up the hill and slightly out-of-town and found the Alpenblick hotel.
This was perfect. The very friendly manager, who spoke English and had an American motif inside, let me park the bike under his car port, use his fax, promised to keep my bags if I wanted to spend a night in the mountains, and had a very reasonable price of 72 Swiss Francs per night. The hotel is very close to the cliff that divides the two main glaciers next to the town.
Recommended:
Vreni & Edi Bucher
Hotel Alpenblick
Postfach 91
CH-3818 Grendelwald
41 33 853 11 05
Fax 33 853 44 84
alpenblick@grindelwald.net
www.grindelwald.net
The first night I was there, I washed clothes at the little wash salon near the Steinbock hotel. I ate dinner across the way while my clothes washed and then walked back up the hill to the hotel.
I had planned to hike the next day, but it was so very clear that I decided to visit the Jungfraujoch after talking to a young man and an older woman (from Bad Reichenhall) about their experiences. It was a good decision.
There is a funicular all the way from Interlaken upto the Kleine Schneidegg, either via Wegen/Lauterbrennen or Grindelwald. At Kleine Schneidegg, one changes onto the Jungfraujoch funicular, which is really amazing. It goes up inside the Eiger mountain, with one stop where one can look out from window set inside the famous north face, and another where one looks out on the Eiger Glacier. The train tunnel continues inside the Moench mountain until it reaches the saddle between the Moench and the Jungfrau mountains, known as the Jungfraujoch. (A "Joch" is a yoke.)
At the top is an observatory (detail) where you can go out on the catwalk and see the Jungfrau. There are many amazing activities, as one can go out onto the source of the longest glacier in Europe from here. There is skiing year-round, and a cableslide, which I did. You can have a sled ride, pulled by huskies, or organize a trek across the glacier and stay overnight in igloos.
One of the things I did was to trek up to the next mountain house, the Moenchjochhuette. (Amazingly, I met my Doppleganger on this trek!) Obviously, this "Huette" is on the Moenchjoch, the saddle between the Moench and the Finsterarrhorn mountains. Ordinarily, this is an easy 45 minute hike across the snow. However, the snow in the late afternoon was very wet and soft, so it was quite strenuous climbing in it - it took me well over an hour. For most of this hike, one is directly underneath a high samll glacier that looks as if it is ready to fall. There is a large crevasse back of the bulk of the ice and everyone agrees that it will fall soon. When it does, everyone on the trail and below on the ski slopes will be in the path of this massive avalanche.
As it is, I saw several small snowfalls from the face of the glacier. This has nothing to do with the clear warm weather, but is simply the result of the normal movement of the glacier.
It was warm too. Since it was clear and the sun was out, I was hiking over the snow in just a t-shirt. Ordinarily, I don't use sunglasses, but I wish I had had some as I could only see by squinting. Occasionally, it was cloudy and somewhat colder, but at least I could see clearly during those times.
The Huette was a normal one and I had a beer and some goulash for a late lunch. It was fun using the 1:25000 maps I had to identify the mountains around me. I talked to some folks and let them use my maps and heavy Russian binoculars. We could see two hikers, roped together, coming from the next Huette in the direction of the Finsteraarhorn. They eventually reached the Moenchjochhuette as I was leaving - they were English speaking and very tired.
On my way back, instead of going directly down, I cut over to the rocks that hemmed in, one one side, the glacier that had hung over me hiking up. I climbed up for a look, but also to get above my trail so that I could go down a steep hill of snow. I didn't know this was a standard technique, glasading, but I decided to ski down using my boots. This works if you take fast short steps, sliding with each one. I covered a section in 5 minutes that took me thirty to climb. I did one other section like this, but eventually had to slog back on the trail. Good thing too, because a storm blew in at 5:00 and the clouds reduced visibility to about 5 meters - I could no longer see my destination but it was easy to follow the well-trampled trail over the glacier. Had I been doing a short-cut then, it would have been easy to have gone the wrong way and the main glacier goes on for 20 kilometers.
I had dinner in town and got back late. I had breakfast with my companions of the previous day and then struck out hiking. My plan was to overnight at the Schreckhornhuette. The manager told me to simply pack my bags and leave them in the room. If they needed the room, they would store them for me elsewhere.
I took the Pfingstegg cable car up the mountain and then hiked to the first stop, the Stieregghutte. This was an easy 45 minute hike, where I had lunch. It was a welcome stop because it had started raining. I had not brought a hat and had only a rain jacket because I knew that it would not generally rain hard. I was right, but it was eventually uncomfortable to have wet hair and water rolling down my head.
It did stop raining after lunch, and I decided to go on, unlike most of the other hikers. There were two English-speaking hikers who had decided to go on just a bit further and left before me.
Although this part of the trail is described as difficult in my guide, at first, for a long way, I did not find it so. There are some narrow places and it is a steep drop-off to the glacier below, but the trail is hardly stenuous.
At one bend, one is very close to one of the faces of a main glacier where it drops of off into the river of ice below. This face of dropping ice is divided by a large rock and is very dramatic. At these "lower" elevations, one sees the black-faced sheep everywhere. They are fairly stupid and "sheepish" and will run in groups ahead of you on the trail until they finally figure out to go to one side or the other.
After about an hour, I caught up with the two guys who had left ahead of me. They were dithering about crossing a rushing stream of water where there was poor footing. Once one decided to get wet, it was easy though. I let them get ahead and did not catch up with them again until things got hard.
It turns out that one can hike for about an hour and a half, crossing a few streams and even waterfalls, where the hiking is mildly difficult, before one runs into the hard stretch. There is the usual sign that says "only for experience Alpine walkers" but this usually just means there are some steep narrow places with iron cables and maybe some ladders. This trail was somewhat more serious.
There were ladders - real aluminum ladders held in place with cables, and there were cables and iron spikes in the stone to provide handholds. On some of the stretches, I couldn't walk at all and had to put aside my high-tech walking stick and just climb, using the the spikes. But the the last waterfall I crossed was the most dangerous part.
On one previous waterfall, it was a little difficult crossing but the dropoff to the flowing glacier far below was blocked by a cable strung across the water. If you slipped, you could always grab the cable before you fell off the side of the mountain. Not so on this waterfall.
I have no idea why, after providing so many safeguards elsewhere, they provided no help at all in this crossing. I can only think that it's so steep and there's so much water that it all washes away soon after installation. This is a narrow ravine on the side of a steep cliff formed by a significant waterfall. The trail crosses it at a point where there is a slight flattening, causes the water to splash hard over some rocks. These are the rocks to be crossed. And the sides of the ravine are worn smooth so it is hard to even approach the rocks. The walking stick, with its carbide point, is absolutely essential here to provide a point of stability. Especially since one has to jump from rock to rock, some in the water that is trying to knock you off the cliff.
On the other side are more climbing aides. The good news is that by this time I was very close to the major glacier face coming off the side of the Schreckhorn. The ice is twisted up in to all sorts of fantastic blue shapes. And there are avalances constantly. They sound like thunder, and then I snap around looking for movement on the face of the glacier. Mostly I see small snowfalls but occasionally much larger icefalls. Some of these slide off and then fall for seconds. They don't look so large but the length of their fall belies this. Then they crash down below and ice balls bounce their way further down, making a further contribution to the giant ice flow below.
It kept drizzling off and one. I got within about a half-hour of the the Schreckhornhuette, where I could stay the night. But then it started raining again. And clouds kept rolling in so that I could only see a few feet in front of me. I had no idea how much more difficult the train was, but more than that, I decided I wanted my warm bed and supper. So even though I had to cross the waterfall again, not to mention the other strenuous climbing parts, and hike for about another three hours (faster going down), I decided to go back. The weather was just too unpleasant. It was the right decision because it rained all the next day.
So the third day, I woke up back at the hotel looking at the rain and glad I wasn't up on the mountain. I sat around the hotel drinking coffee and working some on this diary, but then the sun came out, so I went out. I bought a rain hat, worked some at an Internet Cafe, got some more money, bought another disposable camera and generally did errands. After a late lunch, I was going to do another hike but it started raining again. It did this all day - rained and cleared alternatively. But in my rainjacket and new rain hat, I was quite comfortable. My motorcycle/hiking boots were great too - no mater how wet they got, the Goretex never let in water, not even crossing the waterfalls and walking in the rain.
I took the long Gondola up to First (pronounced "Feest") which ordinarily has a great view of the mountains. I was hoping it would clear but though I could occasionally see the valley, the mountains were always shrouded. But I had a great time walking in the rain and fog up high by myself, hanging out in an emergency hut at one point during the rain, just for fun.
I had being planning to leave, but a young woman on the staff invited me to a festival they were having the next evening in Grindelwald. All of the staff was very friendly and though I had hopes she was taken with me, she showed up with her boyfriend and we all enjoyed the the evening.
But before the festival, I decided to use the motorcycle to see a little more of the area. I went over to some famous falls on the way to Lauterbrennen. You can go up inside the mountain and watch these falls carve their way through the rock. This is the water from glacier that I had seen the day before and is the single river of drainage. It is very impressive and one can just stand at each point in the internal corkscrew of caves and tunnels and watch the power of the water that carved these channels.
I rode up to Lauterbrennen and secured the bike and equipment at the train station and took the train to Wegen, which is the only way to get to this town in which motor vehicles are in theory not allowed. However, they were doing enough construction in the town at this time that it was occasionly dangerous to walk in the street.
I had lunch on the terrace of a hotel with a beautiful view of the Moench and Jungfrau. I struck up a conversation with a South African couple that had been living in Munich. Together we observed a very strange sight in the skies over the Jungfrau. It looked like a cross between a rainbow and the Aurora Borealis. I believe it was caused by the sun hitting some very high ice clouds at just the right angle and it lasted for only less than a minute but was very spectacular.
After I was back on the bike and going back down the road, I saw a helicopter hovering over a hillside with a cable hanging down from it. I found a road going up that way and followed it. I saw some workmen from time to time and I now believe that it was hauling down trees as the workers were manicuring the forest.
I went into a tunnel that turned out to be great. It went in a complete circle inside the mountain, with two holes in the side where you can drive out onto small mountain roads. Climbing all the way up this circle, one comes out still climbing up to the small town of Isenfluh.
This small unadvertised village has a great view of the Jungfrau. The road used to continue down the other side to Lauterbrennen but was now closed due to landslides. However, there was a little dirt road down the hill in the direction of the helicopter noise, which I was now apparently above. So I followed it.
The road was lined with loose white gravel and suddenly was very steep, but I thought I could manage coming back up. I was wrong.
Going down, I manage to slow the bike to a crawl, but even almost stopped, it would still slide if the wheels stopped rolling. At a more level spot down below, I managed to get the bike off onto the grass sideways to the gradient so that I could stop. I was clear I couldn't go further, so I tried going back up. The dirt under the grass was soft and the bike fell down turning.
After picking the bike up several times, I eventually got it back on the road where I discovered the gravel was even worse. There was no way to get any purchase on it. After picking the bike up several more times, I considered just running up the grassy hill. I could see the the main road up above and there was a break in the fence up there.
In retrospect, this was an absolutely crazy thought borne of desperation. The hill went almost straight up. But I tried it and got half-way up before the back wheel just wouldn't grab anymore.
I got the bike sideways on the hill on its side and now I was really in a predicament. How am I going to get the bike back down the hill? Carry it? Trying to slide it down sideways on the motor, I try to lead the front wheel. That causes the bike to go over almost completely upside down. Using in all my strength, I get it rightside up and turned around and manage to back it down the hill using strength and the brakes and the clutch.
Eventually, even though it's also hard on the bike, I get it to a relatively flat spot. This is really the pits. Am I going to have to go get help? After a rest, I think I see a way.
I plan and then make a big circle and gain speed using a bowl-shaped part of the hill until I am headed back in the direction of the road. At this point I have a lot speed and I just gun it. I'm slipping occasionally but not giving up and, amazingly, do make it back up to the top. I walk back down admiring my slip marks in the earth and retrieve my helmet and jacket.
From the top, I take a picture of the hill and go back to the hotel, rather tired. I take a nap and then go to the festival, where we listen to a fairly good band play American rock music while we sit under the Eiger.
The next day, leaving Grindelwald, I went back up the same little road and tunnel and took more photos, as the weather was beautiful. Then I headed for Chamonix.
The road to Chamoix from Interlaken is fairly straight-forward. After riding along the main route by the Thuner See, you turn off to follow the nice Simmental down to Zweismemen. From there, the road to Saanen is actually a nice curvy small road through a canyon, but there was too much traffic and construction to enjoy it completely. At one of the temporary traffic signals for a one way road, I and another motorcyclist jumped to the head of the traffic queue and had a nice ride for a while. From Saanen, there are two equally good routes and I headed for the pass called "Col du Pillon", 1547 meters. It's not very high but it is a sweeping mountain pass with good scenery and a helicopter landing pad and gondola at the top.
This pass marks the difference, on this route, between German and French Switzerland. Immediately on the other side of the pass, the place names were French. At Le Sepey, turning off towards Aigle, near Lac Laeman, I saw signs that said this part of the road would be closed next week for use in the Tour de France.
At Aigle, filling up, I discovered my German was useless and I had to get by in my few words of French. At least they still took Swiss Francs.
The road to Martigny is quite straightforward even if you don't use the Autobahn, which I did for a short stretch just to avoid getting lost.
From Montigny to Chamonix, it's another mountain road that is quite fun and very challenging for the cars. I begin to see why one would hold a motorcycle rally here. Along the way, you cross the border into France, just after the pass at 1527 meters.
Coming down into the valley, there is a set of switchbacks with good visibility. I was behind a Lamborgeni that was trapped behind a line of cars. He just didn't have room to pass. But I did, and swooped pass them all and down the curves.
It was hot in the valley. It was after 5, but I found the conference center and checked in. I found my hotel after asking a policeman for directions. He was very friendly and thank goodness I could recognize a few words of French and that the hotel was not far away. Parking was an issue. The lot in back of the hotel turned out to be reserved for yet another hotel, and I was asked to leave. And when I checked in, I was told that I would have to haul my 200 lb of luggage up to the fifth floor and there was no lift.
But the management was all English and pleasant. I was directed to park with other motorcycles about a block away at another conference hotel run by the same management. I was given a room on the 2nd floor. And I was allowed to leave the bulk of my luggage on the first floor by reception, so all was well.
It turns out that most of the Chomonix tourist industry is owned by English companies and run by the English, and English college kids come over to work during the summers. So it is entirely pleasant and unncessary to speak French.
The BMW Europa Rally is attended by people traveling in groups. As in Berlin, I was the only "loner" and everyone wants to put me in a group, so I went along. The hotel manager arranged for me to have dinner over at the other hotel with the guests who were there for the Rally. I went over and it was a pleasant setting outside, but they were all Swedish, Norwegian, and Dutch. I ended up up speaking some English with the Dutch, but everyone was really into speaking their native language with their friends so it was a little weird.
The next day, I went to the Skill contest first, which is what I came for. When I did this in Berlin, there was no audience and no other competitors. Today, the contest place was ringed by observers and the participants were lined up in a long line. And the automobile contest was going on nearby with lots of screeching tires. That looked like fun too.
I observed for about an hour to make sure I knew the course. Particularly, I wanted to make sure I went the right way through the slaloms, as I tended to think that the lead cone laying on the ground pointed the direction of travel when in fact it pointed the way not to go. I was unused to this and it eventually tripped me up.
I finally got ready to go, talking with some Germans who were ahead of me. I could see from an hour of observing that I should be the top ten percent if I did well. Though I did not as it turns out. The first time through is just for familiarization. I touched some of the flat boards, which cost a point, and I slid past the final braking line, which cost another point. My practice time was a little over 48 seconds, which was still faster than most people's fast time. So then I went for it. I managed everything perfectly and fairly fast until the final slalom before the braking line. And then I stupidly let the cone guide me in the wrong direction, and so that whole second run was a wash. I was so disappointed with myself.
But one of the Germans, and his wife, were very impressed with my riding and told me so, and invited me along on a group ride that afternoon. We rode down to N.D. de Bellecombe before we got onto the real mountain roads. Some of the riders, including the my friend's wife on her new cruiser were novices and the pace was very relaxed. I got in the spirit but did my own thing by staying in formation following one painted line on one side of the road or the other regardless of the curves or behavior of the other riders. This generally seemed to impress my acquaintance as at one point, he rode up to me and smiled and gave me a thumbs up signal.
We had lunch at the pass Col des Saisias (1650 meters) and then rode to the reservoir at Bge. de Roslend - very pretty with the glacier water pouring in at one point and people purporting to be swimming at a beach but no one actually going in the glacial water.
I eventually screwed up at one point during the day. Due to the relaxed pace, I had taken to following extreme lines on both the inside and outside that required me to dip very low. On one occasion, I hit the engine guard rather hard and had to jump around a bit to adjust. My friend naturally caught this mistake and called it to my attention for ever more. Even that night at dinner, when he came over to the table where I had been assigned to sit with the British, he would say what a great rider I was but that I had made a mistake. He had me come over and visit with his group later in the evening and pointed out again that I had made a mistake during the ride. Well, what can I say? Except that he and I should go out some out riding without the novices sometime together.
That night of the rally dinner, it was raining, as it had threatened to do all through the ride. I was the lone participant from the states and the lone person not part of a group, which was why Andrea Nagel sat me with the British. Andrea is the BMW Europa organizer - a tall German woman who speaks all the major languages and who does an amazing job. I met some real enthusiasts - people who own upwards of 20 BMW mortocycles and traveled all over the world on them. There flags all around the hall representing the different countries attending and there was one for me. However, I did not get the long-distance award. That went to someone from Norway. They calculated my distance from my airport arrival - Frankfurt. Actually, by this point, I had traveled about 2500Km, which might have won, but they didn't ask me about actual distance. Next time, I'm flying into Oslo.
The next day, it was still raining. I seemed to have picked a particularly wet and cold summer to tour Europe. I needed to go a good long ways back in the direction from which I had come. I packed the bike in the rain and took off. I did stop by and visit the Concourse 'Delegance and by a very few gifts in the rain. It took about an hour to get over the mountain with the weather and the traffic. Then, since I needed to get to around Lake Constance (Bodensee) that evening, I caught the Autobahns all the way. I didn't know it, but Switzerland also requires a special permit to use the Autobahn. But being a motorcycle traveling in the rain, no one bothered me.
I crossed over into Germany and found my friends in a little village near Konstance around 6:30pm and joined in the birthday celebration in a little farmhouse. The wife of my Swiss/German friend, and her sister, were American and were very happy to have someone else to speak English with. But his father and grandmother were delighted to have an American that they could speak German with and tell their stories, so it was a lot of fun. I spent the night at a little hotel, where they made a big fuss about where the best place for my motorcycle was. In the morning, I dropped by the house again and the father gave me a lot of advice about how to get out of town. I also got an invitation to visit the grandmother, perhaps on my way to Berlin.
Popping immediately out of Germany back into Switzerland, I followed the small roads to the Austrian border, avoiding the Swiss Autobahn, for about an hour. I stopped and bought one of the special stickers for the Austrian Autobahn. This costs only about 12 Deutsch Marks for 2 months for a motorcycle. It then took me a total of only about 5 1/2 hours total, even with the construction delays, and small roads near the end, and traffic, to reach Berchtesgaden. I checked in with the family at the farm where I was staying and they took me to meet my daughter Lauryn at the train station.
The weather never broke. Lauryn got better and we did some more climbing, but on the best of days, it was only cold and cloudy, but it often rained. Lauryn, Greg, Pattie, and I went to the Kehlstein one day with the bus. Greg, Lauryn, and I did the very short hike to the peak where the clouds parted just long enough for a picture in front of the Koenigsee. We later did some practice climbs in the rain, up to one of the closer mountain houses on one occasion. And we visited the ice caves on the Untersberg. Coming down, we ate at the Tony Lenz Huette and then after the rocks, Lauryn skied down the gravel path. This is a endlessly sloping way that often takes 2-3 hours to negotiate. I did it in an hour and a half. Lauryn took 50 minutes. She took both walking poles and would launch herself into the air on the straightaways and then use the poles to ski on her boots through the curves. I met several young Germans who were shaking their heads and talking about that crazy girl when I asked if my daughter had gone by.
Finally, on the last day we could, after Greg and Pattie left, Lauryn and I decided we would at least climb the cloudy Watzmann, the most famous, and usualy clear, peak in the region. It was not only raining, but thundering when we started out. But we reached the Watzmannhaus (1928 m) safely that night. Hint: the mountain houses are fairly well-supplied but the food is very expensive - I paid 50 DM for our bunks and 100 DM for supper and breakfast. The next day, we set out for the peak - 2713m. There is a long sharp ridge running up the peak. When the wind blows across it, the sudden drop in pressure due to the sharp cliff, makes clouds. Lauryn stood with a foot in the clouds. (Big JPG). Surprisingly, we made it.
There were very few people on the mountain that morning. It was cloudy and threatening to rain or snow, and the wind was blowing hard. The snow level was down almost to the Haus and visibility often was only a few feet. Eventually, we were finding our way up a very narrow ridge hidden under the snow and occasionally sinking up to our knees. My daughter, who loves this kind of thing, eventually started singing. Unless you have been freezing cold and trying to find your way to the top of the mountain in dangerously poor visibility, you can not imagine how annoying cheerful singing is.
I was staying with the 90 year-old grandmother of my Swiss professor friend in her 1607 house. Plauen was utterly destroyed during the war because of the Panzer factory and the communists didn't rebuild much. In the last 10 years, the marketplace, the church, and many of the oldest houses have been restored. In the morning, I got a tour of them all, as well as stories about life under the communists.
I next detoured to Dresden where I like some old buildings right in the middle of the beautiful city center, left over from the communist days. You do have to go inside an abandoned riverfront lot, patroled by guards, two of which were walking towards me to ask what I was doing there. I rode past them and out a gate. One is a huge old ruin of a warehouse with trees growning on the roof but which appears to be too large and expensive to destroy. Another is a ruin with a large worker carved in relief with a hammer and sickle, the year 1951, and the legend "Built in the first year of the 5 year plan."
Then on to Berlin on the Autobahn. My speedometer was starting to fail. I was running at about 160 kpm and the speedo would increasingly fail to show that - eventually, it would just hover around 120kpm, swinging widely. It rained off and on as usual.
Lauryn was originally staying with the parents of the teenaged girl with whom she had attended the Love Parade earlier. Then we stayed with our friends Afsaneh and Oliver and we visited with my friend Birgit a lot. I had a great time in Berlin visiting friends and occasionally ferrying Birgit on the motorcycle. Mostly in Germany, you can't split lanes, but Berlin is much looser about these things. We had a lot of fun including a "last supper" with Lauryn and Birgit at the Paris-Moskow restaurant - a real dress-up affair. I rode in Berlin much as I would in San Francisco, with one exception, which eventually got me.
On my 2nd to last morning, I woke up before everyone else and went out on the motorcycle for breakfast pastries. About three blocks from the bakery, I am traveling on a minor road. I am going through a few intersections from even smaller cross streets, very relaxed and rather slowly, fortunately. Suddenly, a car burst out of one of the side streets on my right and to my horror does not even slow down for the intersection. I did brake, but it was way too late.
My bike hit the car on its left front panel and because the car was also braking very late, it's momentum slung the bike and me against it. That probably saved the forks but bent the right handlebar way up as it struck the car. I ended up on the windshield. The woman looked at me without smiling and said something.
I was stunned and asked if she had asked if I was ok. She repeated herself - to the effect that she had the right-of-way. I had run afoul of an ancient law that causes a lot of accidents, even with Germans, especially when one runs into (pun) someone who insists on exercising it. I knew about this law and had even acted upon it already on this short ride, but this American's reflexes are just not up to the constant challenge.
The law is that, unless the road is specially marked, or the intersection is marked, the person on the right has the right-of-way. Thus, even if there is a "T" intersection, the car coming into the dead-end has the right-of-way over a vehicle crossing the intersection to its left. Most roads of any size have a big yellow triangle sign that denotes that anyone on the whole road has the right-of-way. But unless you see such a sign, in theory, you must examine every intersection to see if you can see the back of a yield sign (stop signs are rare). In theory, if you know the intersection is unmarked without looking, when crossing an intersection, you need look only right. The woman in this case, never even looked in my direction until it was much too late. I on the other hand had not done a reflexive sweep of the smaller road and had expected that vehicle to stop when I did see it.
Witnesses and the police were very apologetic but the accident was my fault and I had to pay a reasonably small fine. They even called a 2nd police van to take me back to the apartment so I could get my insurance papers. It was all handled very nicely. While waiting for the police, I bought the woman a cup of coffee and she eventually softened up under my relentless politeness and asked if I was ok. She did try at one point to establish that her car was more badly injured than it was, but relented in the face of evidence. All in all, except for my right wrist, it was a painless experience.
The next day, I had to ride to Hanover to meet Rik, who had graciously agreed to meet me at the train station there and take the bike back to the Netherlands and let me go to Frankfurt to catch my plane. It was another Autobahn day, but a strange one since the right handlebar was bent up in the air. However, this proved to be an advantage. I learned long ago to ride using only my left hand when my right was tired and my right was now almost too sore to be useful. And normally, I could not reach over my high tank bag with the left to steer. But now the throttle was way up high where I could reach it while laying the left on top of the tankbag.
Strangely enough, the bike was not only running very well, but the speedometer was fixed. It was showing my velocity perfectly at all speeds. Well, maybe not perfectly, but as good as other BMW speedos. I did notice that I went on reserve about a hundred kilometers sooner than I expected when I stopped at one of the Aral gas stations. These have motorcycle kiosks and run a "Motorcyclist of the Year" contest in conjunction with _Motorrad_ and the German Ministry of Transportation. The larger ones, like this one, are also a truck stop and sell a wide variety of vehicular goods, including models of motorcycles. They also have a diner called "Laura's" with an American motif. They have no idea what a hamburger is. Highly unrecommended.
Eventually, on the last day of July, I reached the train station, found Rik, and my summer European ride was over, at 4800 Kms. We swapped bags and repacked. He eventually told me that he also went on reserve early, so obviously there is a problem to be found. Rik is going to do some handlebar swapping, fix the suspension, and then make the bike ready for winter. I look forward to next summer.
Except now my daughter is making noises that she wants to go to Australia. Do I have to get a bike there too?
