Man! Writing this it all seems so final. The ride back up to Calais (the ferry from Caen to Portsmouth is inexplicably expensive nice as it would have been in my diminished state) was not as bad as I'd expected, normal enough roads with a bit of motorway towards the end. My mind was else where so I just floated along for the most part so it was probably just as well that it was nothing too taxing. I felt incredibly weary and although I was looking forward to seeing my wife again (and not to mention my desperate need for a bath and some clean and dry clothes) I also felt an overwhelming sadness that the reality of life would have to creep back in.
All in all the journey to Calais was pretty uneventful. The weather was lovely and the bike was running well. On the motorway parts the lads had a tendency to hair off and leave me but we always met back up at fuel stops or any junctions. At the ferry port we were surprised to find that our tickets were twice as expensive as the journey out but at least we seemed to have timed it right and pretty much boarded the ferry straight after buying the tickets after a minimal wait in the baking sun. The ferry had a lot of bikers on board all heading home with great stories of European tracks and the like.
We grabbed a sandwich and a cold drink. I fell asleep through the remainder of the short crossing waking with a dead arm for my troubles. Disembarking we knew we were due a fuel stop but all the garages were on the other side of the road so we figured that we'd fuel on the motorway and just plug at the final few miles. I was cutting it fine on my little 15L tank. Particularly as, after the lads had done their usual haring off and leaving me pootling along at 80, I managed to pass the exit for services (I thought that it was after the junction another half a mile and only realized my error when I saw Rob and Si pass overhead on the bridge) D'Oh! I rode on to the next junction in the hope of seeing a garage there ad then opted for heading back down the motorway to the same services I'd passed. I literally coasted up to the pump. The lads were no-where to be seen.
The rest of my journey included a small part of the M25. Definitely something I haven't missed, it was it's usual car park type traffic. Filtering with hard luggage was a new challenge though (don't think I'll head into town fully loaded somehow – to easy to forget my extra width!). It was great to be home! All my stuff stinks, I'm as stiff as a board and desperately need a holiday (the prospect of work is really quite depressing), the bike is a mess and will probably benefit from a full service to be quite frank let alone a good wash (much like myself)!
Tips for my next trip: I would take less t-shirts and more socks and pants. For at least a month before departure I would ride like a complete fairy to avoid any untimely or costly 'offs' (the knee issue was a definite hurdle I could have done without). I would change out my chain and sprocket and any other likely consumables. I think I'm going to get some of those language tapes, my handle on the various languages encountered was, quite frankly, embarrassing and finally I would take the same friends again – Good traveling companions are worth their weight in gold.
Thursday 19 July 2007
Tuesday 17 July 2007
Saturday 14th July – 0 Miles *BASTILLE CELEBRATIONS*
A day of rest for our battered and over worked machines. And to a lesser extent a day of rest for us too although, obviously, there remained our cultural obligations as ambassadors for the biking community ;0)
We had an extremely lazy start, getting up when we felt it was dry enough (it had rained in the night but seemed bright enough now) and aiming to go into Caen via l'autobus. Armed with a bus time table, camera's, wallets and our freshest attire (after nine days on the road, nothing was that fresh by now) we ventured up to the bus stop. After much deliberation and about 20 minutes needless waiting we concluded that the sign read something along the lines of 'due to the festivities there will be no bus service from this stop'. Plan B was an extremely expensive but very posh taxi into town. Nothing quite like arriving in style.
The town was quiet. Expecting that the celebrations proper would start much later, as is the way in mainland Europe, we took the opportunity to do a bit of sightseeing. We wandered the streets in the glorious sunshine (me usually hobbling behind Rob and Si with my knackered knee) taking pictures and admiring the architecture and history. We started at the harbor and walked up through the old cobbled streets until we re-emerged at the harbor with the required thirst. I nearly fell asleep in my first beer so had to have a coffee chaser! I soon got into the spirit though. Booking a table in the same restaurant me and Rob ended TME in and proceeding to squeeze in a pre diner bar crawl.
Diner was an adventure in itself. We went for the obligatory Kako (the specialty of the house – knuckle of ham cooked in cider for about 87 hours... this stuff just melts in your mouth!) and loads and loads of beers. It didn't take much for Rob and Si to be up on the tables dancing and I'm sure the chef whipping back our heads and pouring some mysterious liquid into our mouths added to the whole affair somewhat. There was a Stag party and a Hen party right next to us to the place was just jumping. Everyone was dancing around and having fun. It's such a rarity to have such a brilliant atmosphere in a restaurant, I didn't want the night to end. We went on from there to the bar next door for more beer and then started to get conscious about our return journey to camp. We tried the number the taxi driver had given us to no avail. Luckily the bar staff booked us a cab which turned up before we'd even finished our drinks!
Back to our tents and the sleep of the dead again... just wish I'd shut the vent on my tent properly as we had another storm in the night so I woke in somewhat of a puddle.
We had an extremely lazy start, getting up when we felt it was dry enough (it had rained in the night but seemed bright enough now) and aiming to go into Caen via l'autobus. Armed with a bus time table, camera's, wallets and our freshest attire (after nine days on the road, nothing was that fresh by now) we ventured up to the bus stop. After much deliberation and about 20 minutes needless waiting we concluded that the sign read something along the lines of 'due to the festivities there will be no bus service from this stop'. Plan B was an extremely expensive but very posh taxi into town. Nothing quite like arriving in style.
The town was quiet. Expecting that the celebrations proper would start much later, as is the way in mainland Europe, we took the opportunity to do a bit of sightseeing. We wandered the streets in the glorious sunshine (me usually hobbling behind Rob and Si with my knackered knee) taking pictures and admiring the architecture and history. We started at the harbor and walked up through the old cobbled streets until we re-emerged at the harbor with the required thirst. I nearly fell asleep in my first beer so had to have a coffee chaser! I soon got into the spirit though. Booking a table in the same restaurant me and Rob ended TME in and proceeding to squeeze in a pre diner bar crawl.
Diner was an adventure in itself. We went for the obligatory Kako (the specialty of the house – knuckle of ham cooked in cider for about 87 hours... this stuff just melts in your mouth!) and loads and loads of beers. It didn't take much for Rob and Si to be up on the tables dancing and I'm sure the chef whipping back our heads and pouring some mysterious liquid into our mouths added to the whole affair somewhat. There was a Stag party and a Hen party right next to us to the place was just jumping. Everyone was dancing around and having fun. It's such a rarity to have such a brilliant atmosphere in a restaurant, I didn't want the night to end. We went on from there to the bar next door for more beer and then started to get conscious about our return journey to camp. We tried the number the taxi driver had given us to no avail. Luckily the bar staff booked us a cab which turned up before we'd even finished our drinks!
Back to our tents and the sleep of the dead again... just wish I'd shut the vent on my tent properly as we had another storm in the night so I woke in somewhat of a puddle.
Friday 13th July – 202.8 Miles Langrune Sur Mer (Caen)
What a difference a day makes. From the get go I could see that the sun was fighting it's way through the gray. As the day unfolded it got warmer and warmer. Which made the lovely and diverse roads on our route down to Caen all the more beautiful. Every road type available was on the cards today. There were select parts of dual carriageway (great for making up miles and quite alright in small doses), winding coastal roads, scenic country lanes, even a small ferry crossing. Days like this and I lose all track of time. The first I knew of the 200 odd miles we'd done was when I tried to dismount the bike and could barely move! I hadn't even fueled until the 150 mile mark! I was just cruising all day, hardly thinking about anything but the ride and loving every bit of it. The previous days trauma was soon forgotten.
We came into Caen from the North and it looked beautiful. It wasn't even that busy for a Friday rush hour. We made a brief stop at Pegasus bridge for a quick photo and then had to wait as the bridge had been raised to let three boats through. We could really feel the sun now as we sat in all our bike gear sweating but happy. Rob decided that we'd head to the coast and find a camp site there. As it happens there's hundreds of them and in hindsight it may have been better for us to shop around a bit. The site we stopped on was the poshest yet – four star in fact and more than suited our needs. Although we were eaten alive somewhat by mosquitoes whilst we polished off some baguettes, ham, cheese and a box of beer. We strolled down to the front for a wander (I must admit to being a bit of a baby because my knee was killing me and I just wanted to sit and have a beer). In anticipation of the Bastille celebrations kids were setting off fireworks on the beach. We sat in a bar and had another couple of beers as the front got busier and busier. The climax came at about 2300 when a brass band played classical music to a back drop of an impressive fireworks display. It was absolutely heaving by now and really putting us in the mood for Caen tomorrow night.
We came into Caen from the North and it looked beautiful. It wasn't even that busy for a Friday rush hour. We made a brief stop at Pegasus bridge for a quick photo and then had to wait as the bridge had been raised to let three boats through. We could really feel the sun now as we sat in all our bike gear sweating but happy. Rob decided that we'd head to the coast and find a camp site there. As it happens there's hundreds of them and in hindsight it may have been better for us to shop around a bit. The site we stopped on was the poshest yet – four star in fact and more than suited our needs. Although we were eaten alive somewhat by mosquitoes whilst we polished off some baguettes, ham, cheese and a box of beer. We strolled down to the front for a wander (I must admit to being a bit of a baby because my knee was killing me and I just wanted to sit and have a beer). In anticipation of the Bastille celebrations kids were setting off fireworks on the beach. We sat in a bar and had another couple of beers as the front got busier and busier. The climax came at about 2300 when a brass band played classical music to a back drop of an impressive fireworks display. It was absolutely heaving by now and really putting us in the mood for Caen tomorrow night.
Thursday 12th July – 312.6 Miles Berck Sur Mer
We sadly parted company with Paul this morning. A planned departure this time though as he had to press on home for his daughters first birthday whilst we went on to enjoy Bastille day back in France.
The day consisted of about 20 miles of nice rural sweepies followed by 292 miles of the most tedious, monotonous miles you could imagine. The most inspiring part to my day was a particularly vibrant bug splat on my jacket. I was really not into it at all today. I hate the motorway stuff, it's incredibly uncomfortable and hard work on the XTX. I guess needs must some days and it was important to cover the miles.
Had a fun night at the campsite bar though to make up for it and by the morning most of our stuff would be dry.
The day consisted of about 20 miles of nice rural sweepies followed by 292 miles of the most tedious, monotonous miles you could imagine. The most inspiring part to my day was a particularly vibrant bug splat on my jacket. I was really not into it at all today. I hate the motorway stuff, it's incredibly uncomfortable and hard work on the XTX. I guess needs must some days and it was important to cover the miles.
Had a fun night at the campsite bar though to make up for it and by the morning most of our stuff would be dry.
Wednesday 11th July – 38.3 Mile *THE RING*
Lazy start to the day; at least for three of us. Whilst we lounged late in camp Paul was up and on the road early to catch us up after his 'detour'. The weather seemed undecided but we were adamant that we were going to remain unperturbed. We finally met back up with Paul. I felt unusually overjoyed to see him again, safe and sound and back in the group. He'd only been AWOL for one day!!!
We sat and had a coffee while watching Caterhams, Lotus', Porsche and even an old Fiat and the like hair around the F1 track. There's a certain buzz to the 'Ring' that I think only petrol heads might get. I loved it! The rain was causing some doubts as to whether we would ride the Nordschleife or not. We did a bit of shopping and checked out the museum.
The museum was fun. Loads to see and do plus some cool PS2 interactive stuff. There was a couple of motion simulators so you could experience the g-forces of a F1 car around the circuit.
It would have been sacrilege to come all this way and not ride the track. What ever the weather. So when Rob announced that he was thinking the same as me I was over the moon (I hadn't wanted to do it on my own). Paul and Simon decided to give it a miss. We paid our 19 Euros and jumped on for our 'wet lap'. It was so much fun I can't describe!
The XTX really proved it's mettle on the track. I could break really late, hang deep in the corners and still have enough for an extra fistful on the exit. With the Avon Distanzias nice and warm I hardly noticed it was raining to be honest. It was all over far too quick. Once again all the horror stories proved unfounded. I saw one car, that passed me on the final straight that runs into the finish cones. They were welding a barrier back together at one point but I didn't think it a particularly difficult ride. Carousel was a bit scary, but I think I'd built it up so much in my mind that it was probably not as bad as I thought. There's a crest just before a long right hand sweeping bend where there was a crowd of onlookers cheering and waving – I nearly lost a bit of concentration there and had visions of coming off in front of them all but all in all I was buzzing so much when I came through the finish cones that I wanted to go again. I was hooting and hollering in my lid like a loon. Alas, it was closed for the evening. Rob eventually came in, he'd been stopped and told to remove his camera, he looked equally as chuffed to have done it too.
Back at camp and we fired up the stove and cooked up a storm. We made a fire in the woods and sat up late into the night listening to chilled tunes and drinking whiskey by the camp fire. The weather wasn't brilliant but we didn't care.
We sat and had a coffee while watching Caterhams, Lotus', Porsche and even an old Fiat and the like hair around the F1 track. There's a certain buzz to the 'Ring' that I think only petrol heads might get. I loved it! The rain was causing some doubts as to whether we would ride the Nordschleife or not. We did a bit of shopping and checked out the museum.
The museum was fun. Loads to see and do plus some cool PS2 interactive stuff. There was a couple of motion simulators so you could experience the g-forces of a F1 car around the circuit.
It would have been sacrilege to come all this way and not ride the track. What ever the weather. So when Rob announced that he was thinking the same as me I was over the moon (I hadn't wanted to do it on my own). Paul and Simon decided to give it a miss. We paid our 19 Euros and jumped on for our 'wet lap'. It was so much fun I can't describe!
The XTX really proved it's mettle on the track. I could break really late, hang deep in the corners and still have enough for an extra fistful on the exit. With the Avon Distanzias nice and warm I hardly noticed it was raining to be honest. It was all over far too quick. Once again all the horror stories proved unfounded. I saw one car, that passed me on the final straight that runs into the finish cones. They were welding a barrier back together at one point but I didn't think it a particularly difficult ride. Carousel was a bit scary, but I think I'd built it up so much in my mind that it was probably not as bad as I thought. There's a crest just before a long right hand sweeping bend where there was a crowd of onlookers cheering and waving – I nearly lost a bit of concentration there and had visions of coming off in front of them all but all in all I was buzzing so much when I came through the finish cones that I wanted to go again. I was hooting and hollering in my lid like a loon. Alas, it was closed for the evening. Rob eventually came in, he'd been stopped and told to remove his camera, he looked equally as chuffed to have done it too.
Back at camp and we fired up the stove and cooked up a storm. We made a fire in the woods and sat up late into the night listening to chilled tunes and drinking whiskey by the camp fire. The weather wasn't brilliant but we didn't care.
Tuesday 10th July – 397.9 Miles Nurburgring
Wet start with a sore knee. It seems to be my bladder that wakes me most days on this trip. We followed Lake Lehman round North. The towns were hectic and full of traffic before we got to some windy rural roads. It was also still raining on and off.
Unknown to me (my comms have been down for the duration of the trip) Paul had decided to stop at the start of a series of windies to don his shades (on the second day of relentless rain... I know!). Half way down I realized I'd lost him so I slowed to a crawl just in case the rain was causing him to ride slower but to no avail. After a while I belted down the rest of the twisty hill to catch the other two. They told me about the shades and so we waited. And waited. And waited. I decided to ride back up to where I'd last seen him (it was an excellent excuse to ride the windy hill again – twice in fact) it was an otherwise fruitless exercise. He'd turned of and shot down the Motorway at top speed in an attempt to catch us up.
By the time we resumed contact (via mobile phones) he'd gone miles in the other direction so it was decided that we would contact each other every stop and try to meet up again. Failing that we had a final destination of the 'Ring'.
We all pressed on a little disheartened at being separated. The mileage looked daunting as a group so it must have been even more so solo. We also found that a lot of it was Motorway which is not fun; even less so in the driving rain in fact! We rode through Luxembourg in a matter of minutes. The only joy for me came when we got off the Autobahn. The roads around the 'Ring' are brilliant race track smooth sweeping heaven. I didn't even care that it was still chucking it down – they're corners!!!
We eventually found a camp site right next to the track and booked four of us in. Then we heard from Paul who'd hold up in a Motel in France somewhere. I don't blame him, the weather was relentless and on your own there's no-one to give you that all important boost when you most need it. The rain persisted while we erected our sodden tents in the boggy marsh. We didn't even wash or change; just rode into the nearest town to find a warm, dry bar to have something warm to eat. Dinner turned out to be the best meal of the trip yet, it was just such a shame that Paul couldn't be with us.
Unknown to me (my comms have been down for the duration of the trip) Paul had decided to stop at the start of a series of windies to don his shades (on the second day of relentless rain... I know!). Half way down I realized I'd lost him so I slowed to a crawl just in case the rain was causing him to ride slower but to no avail. After a while I belted down the rest of the twisty hill to catch the other two. They told me about the shades and so we waited. And waited. And waited. I decided to ride back up to where I'd last seen him (it was an excellent excuse to ride the windy hill again – twice in fact) it was an otherwise fruitless exercise. He'd turned of and shot down the Motorway at top speed in an attempt to catch us up.
By the time we resumed contact (via mobile phones) he'd gone miles in the other direction so it was decided that we would contact each other every stop and try to meet up again. Failing that we had a final destination of the 'Ring'.
We all pressed on a little disheartened at being separated. The mileage looked daunting as a group so it must have been even more so solo. We also found that a lot of it was Motorway which is not fun; even less so in the driving rain in fact! We rode through Luxembourg in a matter of minutes. The only joy for me came when we got off the Autobahn. The roads around the 'Ring' are brilliant race track smooth sweeping heaven. I didn't even care that it was still chucking it down – they're corners!!!
We eventually found a camp site right next to the track and booked four of us in. Then we heard from Paul who'd hold up in a Motel in France somewhere. I don't blame him, the weather was relentless and on your own there's no-one to give you that all important boost when you most need it. The rain persisted while we erected our sodden tents in the boggy marsh. We didn't even wash or change; just rode into the nearest town to find a warm, dry bar to have something warm to eat. Dinner turned out to be the best meal of the trip yet, it was just such a shame that Paul couldn't be with us.
Monday 9th July – 250.4 Miles Montreaux
It was all conspiring against us this morning. The weather was awful, cold, miserable, wet and gray. Camp took an eternity to get packed up (and it's never a pleasure packing everything wet). Then Rob's Vara wouldn't start. The battery was weak to start with and then died pretty quickly after that. Luckily a fellow camper (evidently a German electrician) had enough wire to light up Blackpool so we took a jump from Paul's Tiger. After much fiddling she was finally alive. Rob didn't dare turn her off for the remainder of the morning. Campsite reception appeared to be MIA so we had to wait for what felt like an eternity to settle up (some guys just did a bunk without paying – hardly surprising really) and then there seemed to be no end to the confusion over the bill as every body was being charged different amounts. Simon argued the toss and we paid what we felt was right in the end.
We followed Fozzy onto the road we couldn't find from Suza before. It turned out to be a lovely sweeping road cutting through lovely rural landscapes. It passed a fabulous looking monastery type thing which we all stopped to photograph. At Suza we picked up the Col Mont Cenis once more (in the reverse direction). We were enjoying the road unhindered by the crappy weather. We stopped by the lake again for an early lunch and to get some warmth back into our frozen bodies. Ham, egg, cheese and chips washed down with strong coffees all round – lovely. The sun shone briefly after that and the weather only closed back in half way back up the other side of the Col D'Iseran... although that might have been just low cloud cover – it was bitterly cold though. On the north side (Val D'Issere and the north) the weather was, once again, relentless. Undeterred we pressed on.
At Bourg St Mauritz and our fuel stop we parted company with Fozzy. I was sad to see him go, he'd been such a diamond geezer and a real laugh. Us four pressed on up into the Col de Petit St Bernard. Another BRILLIANT pass. This is the one that precedes the Col de Grande St Bernard (quite unsurprisingly) which leads up into Switzerland. These roads twisted and turned innumerous times. Lovely sweeps to the left and right mixed with challenging hairpins and staggering climbs and descents. It had the lot! We passed a seemingly desolate Hospice at one summit, beautiful in its architecture with stunning views all around. We could see the cloud line like it'd been drawn with a rule. The pass was dotted with religious statues. Part of the Grand St Bernard was under repair which made it all the more interesting. Streams traversed parts of the road which are always fun. The only down side was the odd traffic lights (which, to be honest, seemed a little superfluous to requirements – we were the only traffic to speak off). Even the weather let off a bit.
Snaking up into the mountain and we re-entered the clouds. In fact, the border was completely engulfed in cloud cover. It was only a brief respite in the cloud that let us see the start of Switzerland. The border was home to a very cold looking lake and a hotel... and then a big twisty road back down the mountain. The rain continued. I'm not sure whether the rain got heavier or we just got wetter but it was verging on the miserable regardless of the lovely roads. It had also taken us an unusually long time to cover very little distance so we decided to reconsider our final destination for the day and to aim for Montreaux on Lake Lehman instead. We still had a long way to go and it was extremely cold and wet in Switzerland.
By the time we got to the lake we all agreed that today's ride was easily as wet as our nautical voyage down to Croyde Bay pre-Stella. Finding a campsite was a bit of a task too. Monteaux was quite busy, busier than we'd been used to over the last few days, it was entertaining a Jazz festival and so was heaving with people in stupid hats and knit-wear. It was slightly surreal seeing a statue of Freddie Mercury sticking out of the lake about five meters from the shore though. My knee was agony by the time we had camp up. It was late, we were all cold, tired and soaked through to the skin. We opted for the lazy option of eating en-site which was a little under par for the price to be blunt but I would have just settled for a sandwich and bed by that stage anyway. We had an early night.
We followed Fozzy onto the road we couldn't find from Suza before. It turned out to be a lovely sweeping road cutting through lovely rural landscapes. It passed a fabulous looking monastery type thing which we all stopped to photograph. At Suza we picked up the Col Mont Cenis once more (in the reverse direction). We were enjoying the road unhindered by the crappy weather. We stopped by the lake again for an early lunch and to get some warmth back into our frozen bodies. Ham, egg, cheese and chips washed down with strong coffees all round – lovely. The sun shone briefly after that and the weather only closed back in half way back up the other side of the Col D'Iseran... although that might have been just low cloud cover – it was bitterly cold though. On the north side (Val D'Issere and the north) the weather was, once again, relentless. Undeterred we pressed on.
At Bourg St Mauritz and our fuel stop we parted company with Fozzy. I was sad to see him go, he'd been such a diamond geezer and a real laugh. Us four pressed on up into the Col de Petit St Bernard. Another BRILLIANT pass. This is the one that precedes the Col de Grande St Bernard (quite unsurprisingly) which leads up into Switzerland. These roads twisted and turned innumerous times. Lovely sweeps to the left and right mixed with challenging hairpins and staggering climbs and descents. It had the lot! We passed a seemingly desolate Hospice at one summit, beautiful in its architecture with stunning views all around. We could see the cloud line like it'd been drawn with a rule. The pass was dotted with religious statues. Part of the Grand St Bernard was under repair which made it all the more interesting. Streams traversed parts of the road which are always fun. The only down side was the odd traffic lights (which, to be honest, seemed a little superfluous to requirements – we were the only traffic to speak off). Even the weather let off a bit.
Snaking up into the mountain and we re-entered the clouds. In fact, the border was completely engulfed in cloud cover. It was only a brief respite in the cloud that let us see the start of Switzerland. The border was home to a very cold looking lake and a hotel... and then a big twisty road back down the mountain. The rain continued. I'm not sure whether the rain got heavier or we just got wetter but it was verging on the miserable regardless of the lovely roads. It had also taken us an unusually long time to cover very little distance so we decided to reconsider our final destination for the day and to aim for Montreaux on Lake Lehman instead. We still had a long way to go and it was extremely cold and wet in Switzerland.
By the time we got to the lake we all agreed that today's ride was easily as wet as our nautical voyage down to Croyde Bay pre-Stella. Finding a campsite was a bit of a task too. Monteaux was quite busy, busier than we'd been used to over the last few days, it was entertaining a Jazz festival and so was heaving with people in stupid hats and knit-wear. It was slightly surreal seeing a statue of Freddie Mercury sticking out of the lake about five meters from the shore though. My knee was agony by the time we had camp up. It was late, we were all cold, tired and soaked through to the skin. We opted for the lazy option of eating en-site which was a little under par for the price to be blunt but I would have just settled for a sandwich and bed by that stage anyway. We had an early night.
Sunday 8th July – 39.7 Miles *THE STELLA ALPINA RALLY*
A good nights sleep did me the world of good, I woke, slightly groggy but 'up for it' enough. The fit of nerves I was suffering the night before had subsided to a healthy level and we seemed to be up at a decent enough time. Plenty of riders were still at camp.
We all followed Fozzy up to the start feeling good on un-ladened bikes. The common piece of advice resonating in my mind... 'DON'T STOP!'
That was the last I saw of the others until the top.
One of the great things about biking is the camaraderie. I was given loads of tips and advice by other bikers who'd done lots of off-roading. The entire way up I tried to use all of it. Many of the techniques go against your natural reactions to things but I tried it all. I have no idea how long it took me but I can certainly say that I have never concentrated so hard and so long on anything else in my entire life! You couldn't drop the ball for a second.
The summit, as expected, was covered in snow. Regardless, I stood there, breathless and sweating in my t-shirt, grinning like the village idiot. I'd sat behind Fozzy the whole way up and, although I'd had my moments, hadn't dropped it once. Setting of so early there weren't a lot of other bikes up there either. It was, without doubt, THE most challenging terrain I've ridden to date. Exhilarating, exciting, fun and amazing. I was grinning the whole way up. Banked hairpins that you had to slide and power out of. Huge rocks and boulders had me bouncing from side to side in the pegs. Fording tiny streams was a hoot! A little over half way up was a huge rock across the whole track that I felt sure would see me off but the front end bumped up and I powered on hopping over in a flurry of grit, weaving my front end up in the air.
The track narrowed considerably toward the top and the hairpins tightened and steepened. The snow also added moisture so it got quite sloppy. A couple of times the back started to dig in and I had to feather it a bit. I was thankful for the XTX's relative light weight then.
After a bit of wandering about up there Rob turned up on his Vara to the disbelief of many. I must admit to being slightly in awe of this fete. The Vara is one large lump of a machine. Everyone noticed him arrive as it was losing traction and having difficulty parking. Just spinning on the spot. While I was over commending Baz on his triumphant mount someone dropped their bike to a raucous cheer. The camaraderie up there was brilliant and it was soon upright again and as it turned out it had been Simon (I believe he'd turned up at the same time as Rob just decided to park/drop his bike slightly further down the hill). Simon had only dropped it one other time on the way up. A brilliant job!
Some of the crossers were having a go at the snow peak (more often than not needing digging out), guys were sliding down the snow on their back protectors and everyone was grinning like fools.
After quite a while of exploring the peak we concluded that Paul must have turned back – almost as soon as it was suggested his green Tiger loomed over the last hairpin. All my adrenalin rushed back – I was so happy to see that he'd made it too! He only dropped it three times and that Tiger is another heavy lump.
More pictures, exploring and grinning. Lots of chatting with other riders. Everyone felt a connection for making the climb. It transpired that the medals and t-shirts were waiting for us half way down with a ham sandwich and a drink. Going down was a whole other story. Using just engine breaking and a touch of rear break I bounced down, in the pegs as much as I could manage. With the rear break you could slide it into the corners but the trick seemed to be to get back on the power ASAP to power out of it again. The whole way down I had to resist the urge to grab a handful of front break (sure to wash out the front end).My new boots were getting well and truly worn in. I was at the front this time, Fozzy kept just behind me but I lost the other again until we stopped for medals.
There was a lot of traffic now going both ways making it very difficult. A lad I'd met the night before went over in a corner on his Africa Twin right in front of me. He was OK and up again in no time. He'd had to stop for traffic and had no where to put his feet. Rob and Paul were at the back of our lot, respectively, and Rob managed to get the last medal of the day so Paul's is in the post.
Towards the bottom I was really getting into it and throttling a little harder than I should have been, I struggled to rein it in a bit to be honest but when you see these crossers hooning past you it all looks so easy! Back on the tarmac and I was still buzzing, giving it fistfuls in all the corners... until a 4x4 came the other way and I managed to lock up both wheels in an attempt not to become a hood ornament. That near miss woke me up and I slowed it down a bit. Well, a bit at least.
Into town, looking dusty and road weary, for a spot of lunch. The tiny town was heaving with bikes. Then back to camp after a traumatic fuel stop (self service – don't ask!). The weather was on the turn so we opted for well deserved showers and a spot of R&R. All the pain in my knee came back now (I'd felt nothing on the way up thanks to 400mg Ibroprufen and 600 megatons of Adrenalin). The five of us got taxi's into town that night (inc. Fozzy) and had some VERY large beers followed by more beers back at camp. The rain was thumping down now but at least we stayed dry for the climb.
We all followed Fozzy up to the start feeling good on un-ladened bikes. The common piece of advice resonating in my mind... 'DON'T STOP!'
That was the last I saw of the others until the top.
One of the great things about biking is the camaraderie. I was given loads of tips and advice by other bikers who'd done lots of off-roading. The entire way up I tried to use all of it. Many of the techniques go against your natural reactions to things but I tried it all. I have no idea how long it took me but I can certainly say that I have never concentrated so hard and so long on anything else in my entire life! You couldn't drop the ball for a second.
The summit, as expected, was covered in snow. Regardless, I stood there, breathless and sweating in my t-shirt, grinning like the village idiot. I'd sat behind Fozzy the whole way up and, although I'd had my moments, hadn't dropped it once. Setting of so early there weren't a lot of other bikes up there either. It was, without doubt, THE most challenging terrain I've ridden to date. Exhilarating, exciting, fun and amazing. I was grinning the whole way up. Banked hairpins that you had to slide and power out of. Huge rocks and boulders had me bouncing from side to side in the pegs. Fording tiny streams was a hoot! A little over half way up was a huge rock across the whole track that I felt sure would see me off but the front end bumped up and I powered on hopping over in a flurry of grit, weaving my front end up in the air.
The track narrowed considerably toward the top and the hairpins tightened and steepened. The snow also added moisture so it got quite sloppy. A couple of times the back started to dig in and I had to feather it a bit. I was thankful for the XTX's relative light weight then.
After a bit of wandering about up there Rob turned up on his Vara to the disbelief of many. I must admit to being slightly in awe of this fete. The Vara is one large lump of a machine. Everyone noticed him arrive as it was losing traction and having difficulty parking. Just spinning on the spot. While I was over commending Baz on his triumphant mount someone dropped their bike to a raucous cheer. The camaraderie up there was brilliant and it was soon upright again and as it turned out it had been Simon (I believe he'd turned up at the same time as Rob just decided to park/drop his bike slightly further down the hill). Simon had only dropped it one other time on the way up. A brilliant job!
Some of the crossers were having a go at the snow peak (more often than not needing digging out), guys were sliding down the snow on their back protectors and everyone was grinning like fools.
After quite a while of exploring the peak we concluded that Paul must have turned back – almost as soon as it was suggested his green Tiger loomed over the last hairpin. All my adrenalin rushed back – I was so happy to see that he'd made it too! He only dropped it three times and that Tiger is another heavy lump.
More pictures, exploring and grinning. Lots of chatting with other riders. Everyone felt a connection for making the climb. It transpired that the medals and t-shirts were waiting for us half way down with a ham sandwich and a drink. Going down was a whole other story. Using just engine breaking and a touch of rear break I bounced down, in the pegs as much as I could manage. With the rear break you could slide it into the corners but the trick seemed to be to get back on the power ASAP to power out of it again. The whole way down I had to resist the urge to grab a handful of front break (sure to wash out the front end).My new boots were getting well and truly worn in. I was at the front this time, Fozzy kept just behind me but I lost the other again until we stopped for medals.
There was a lot of traffic now going both ways making it very difficult. A lad I'd met the night before went over in a corner on his Africa Twin right in front of me. He was OK and up again in no time. He'd had to stop for traffic and had no where to put his feet. Rob and Paul were at the back of our lot, respectively, and Rob managed to get the last medal of the day so Paul's is in the post.
Towards the bottom I was really getting into it and throttling a little harder than I should have been, I struggled to rein it in a bit to be honest but when you see these crossers hooning past you it all looks so easy! Back on the tarmac and I was still buzzing, giving it fistfuls in all the corners... until a 4x4 came the other way and I managed to lock up both wheels in an attempt not to become a hood ornament. That near miss woke me up and I slowed it down a bit. Well, a bit at least.
Into town, looking dusty and road weary, for a spot of lunch. The tiny town was heaving with bikes. Then back to camp after a traumatic fuel stop (self service – don't ask!). The weather was on the turn so we opted for well deserved showers and a spot of R&R. All the pain in my knee came back now (I'd felt nothing on the way up thanks to 400mg Ibroprufen and 600 megatons of Adrenalin). The five of us got taxi's into town that night (inc. Fozzy) and had some VERY large beers followed by more beers back at camp. The rain was thumping down now but at least we stayed dry for the climb.
Saturday 7th July – 82.3 Miles Bardonnechia
Odd start to the day really. I first woke at about 0400 shivering, by 0600 my bladder joined the torment and by 0700 I could wait no longer.
Although freezing in my tent, the sun was blazing down and outside was already looking like a scorcher. I struggled to find the energy to break camp; even after two strong coffees! But the Col D'Iseran awaited. Getting camp down was a hot and tiring affair but before long we were all ready (Including Jim and his Missus who were joining us for the ride to Bard. on his Triumph Tiger). Then Simon dropped his bike whilst we all gathered in formation. No damage other than a slightly dented pride.
The Col D'Iseran was as brilliant as I remembered. The XTX lapped it up and even the most taxing of hairpins evaporated into the next with minimal effort – which was just as well as my knee was hurting and my head was far from on the game. The chain fiasco had left awkward niggles in my mind feeding doubt and insecurity in the bike. I did get it into a bit more but it took longer than I would have hoped for. Coming down the south side of the mountain swathes of freshly laid gravel added to the challenge of the road.
After the Col D'Iseran we picked up the Col de Mont Cenis down into Italy. My mind monkeys had gone by now so I was really enjoying it. We stopped for a much needed Coke by the bluest azure lake (Lak Mont Cenis) and sat in the shade while the sun belted down waving to various guys we'd met the night before as they hooned past.
At Suza we couldn't find the Non-Autoroute road to Bardonnechia so had to stump up a further 4.70 Euros Peáge fee and blat down to Bard the dull route. The site was shut until 1600 so we hunkered down in a shady bar with a coke in almost silence. I think we were all tired.
Camp turned out to be the field furthest from any of the amenities. Obviously reserved for the tons of marauding bikers expected it soon started to fill up and we were soon crammed in with loads of other Stella Riders... and some familiar faces. Me, Rob, Paul and Simon decided that a dip in the reservoir would be and excellent idea. How it escaped our attention that in the Alps reservoirs tend to feed from Glacier melts baffles me but I can assure you that I have never been so cold in my life! I didn't feel my feet for the remainder of the evening and I thought I'd left my penis in the lake!
We spent the evening on the Campsite bar chatting bikes with other riders. Hearing various horror stories from some of the veterans of the Rally was quite disconcerting. I fell asleep disarmingly quick that night and slept the sleep of the dead right through. Si and Rob weren't so lucky as they had to endure the amorous activities of the tent next to them.
Although freezing in my tent, the sun was blazing down and outside was already looking like a scorcher. I struggled to find the energy to break camp; even after two strong coffees! But the Col D'Iseran awaited. Getting camp down was a hot and tiring affair but before long we were all ready (Including Jim and his Missus who were joining us for the ride to Bard. on his Triumph Tiger). Then Simon dropped his bike whilst we all gathered in formation. No damage other than a slightly dented pride.
The Col D'Iseran was as brilliant as I remembered. The XTX lapped it up and even the most taxing of hairpins evaporated into the next with minimal effort – which was just as well as my knee was hurting and my head was far from on the game. The chain fiasco had left awkward niggles in my mind feeding doubt and insecurity in the bike. I did get it into a bit more but it took longer than I would have hoped for. Coming down the south side of the mountain swathes of freshly laid gravel added to the challenge of the road.
After the Col D'Iseran we picked up the Col de Mont Cenis down into Italy. My mind monkeys had gone by now so I was really enjoying it. We stopped for a much needed Coke by the bluest azure lake (Lak Mont Cenis) and sat in the shade while the sun belted down waving to various guys we'd met the night before as they hooned past.
At Suza we couldn't find the Non-Autoroute road to Bardonnechia so had to stump up a further 4.70 Euros Peáge fee and blat down to Bard the dull route. The site was shut until 1600 so we hunkered down in a shady bar with a coke in almost silence. I think we were all tired.
Camp turned out to be the field furthest from any of the amenities. Obviously reserved for the tons of marauding bikers expected it soon started to fill up and we were soon crammed in with loads of other Stella Riders... and some familiar faces. Me, Rob, Paul and Simon decided that a dip in the reservoir would be and excellent idea. How it escaped our attention that in the Alps reservoirs tend to feed from Glacier melts baffles me but I can assure you that I have never been so cold in my life! I didn't feel my feet for the remainder of the evening and I thought I'd left my penis in the lake!
We spent the evening on the Campsite bar chatting bikes with other riders. Hearing various horror stories from some of the veterans of the Rally was quite disconcerting. I fell asleep disarmingly quick that night and slept the sleep of the dead right through. Si and Rob weren't so lucky as they had to endure the amorous activities of the tent next to them.
Friday 6th July (day two) – 234.6 Miles Val d'Isere
I was really looking forward to getting the last of the Autoroute out of the way today. Getting into the twisties is what the XTX is all about. We had a decent enough start to the day, everyone seemed to fit into the old routine. I got a brew on and woke everyone with a hot coffee, we packed and was away by about 11 after a quick fuel stop.
But even the dull Peáge couldn't be without it's dramas today. At about 100 miles we stopped for fuel at your regular, run of the mill service station. All had gone to plan until Rob couldn't disengage his alarm. Presuming the battery had died in his fob we dug out his spares (from the very depths of my pannier). Meanwhile it transpires that Paul was having the exact same trouble with his Tiger... it wasn't the fob evidently. Paul had heard stories of phone masts interfering with remotes and while recounting the tale to Rob he noticed two large masts behind him! Rob wheels his Vara round the back of the Station and Paul and Simon shielded the Tiger with their bodies (the the amusement of any witness to the scene – it looked like one very strange sex act involving two men and British engineering). They all eventually got the alarms switched off and the engines started again.
If only that could have been our one an only misadventure of the day. 50 miles later, whilst exiting a contra flow system just after a very long tunnel, literally a couple of junctions from the end of our Autoroute hell and I lost all drive. Like it could only find neutral. My mind raced through endless scenarios as I rolled to the hard shoulder to find my chain dragging behind me. Bugger!
The four of us parked up on the hard shoulder as trucks hurtled past us at an alarming velocity. I called the RAC and they very politely explained that they couldn't arrange recovery from a Motorway (apparently the Motorways are privately run in France or something). They did explain that I needed to use the emergency phone and say 'Je suis enpan' and that in all likelihood the operator would not speak any English (Damn my ignorance!) and they would arrange recovery.
Before too long a highways truck turned up and radioed a local recovery guy. I was on the flatbed while the guys followed on to a garage in Bellgarde. The mechanic phoned around and found a chain at a Yamaha garage about 20 minutes away and Rob (armed with his GPS and an address) was dispatched to buy it.
We used the time constructively; Paul adjusted his chain and Simon taped his bike back together which had been blown over on the hard shoulder by a passing truck, cracking the faring and knocking an indicator off. Meanwhile I'd had several conversations with the RAC who eventually agreed to reimburse the cost of the recovery.
Paul popped into the local town for some food and managed to get back mere seconds before Rob and the new chain. Rob was less than happy as the Yammy garage had not been the most helpful. We had a little picnic while the mechanic put the new chain on (courtesy of RAC apparently – I was kinda glad that I didn't have to do it).
We were now off the Autoroute. AT LAST! Now the fun starts. Once again we've been incredibly lucky with the weather and had lovely dry twisty roads through stunning vistas for the rest of the day. Obviously the breakdown had set us back time wise (about three hours in fact) so we only made the briefest of cursory stops at Lake Annecy which was absolutely picture perfect. From there on it was Alpine bliss. Windy roads sweeping left, right, left through the most beautiful scenery you could imagine.
Rob had scheduled a little off road track diversion into the route but because of the detour we no longer had the time. As it was we got to camp quite late and only just had enough sun to get camp set and say hello to a bunch of guys from the XRV.org forum.
We strolled into town and was pleasantly surprised to find the Morris Pub open (Rob assured us it was THE best bar in Val d'Isere – I don't think we would have cared). We have actually had one too many but nevertheless a good, if rather late, night was had by all. We even ended the evening off with coffee and chocolate back at mine... at about one in the morning!
But even the dull Peáge couldn't be without it's dramas today. At about 100 miles we stopped for fuel at your regular, run of the mill service station. All had gone to plan until Rob couldn't disengage his alarm. Presuming the battery had died in his fob we dug out his spares (from the very depths of my pannier). Meanwhile it transpires that Paul was having the exact same trouble with his Tiger... it wasn't the fob evidently. Paul had heard stories of phone masts interfering with remotes and while recounting the tale to Rob he noticed two large masts behind him! Rob wheels his Vara round the back of the Station and Paul and Simon shielded the Tiger with their bodies (the the amusement of any witness to the scene – it looked like one very strange sex act involving two men and British engineering). They all eventually got the alarms switched off and the engines started again.
If only that could have been our one an only misadventure of the day. 50 miles later, whilst exiting a contra flow system just after a very long tunnel, literally a couple of junctions from the end of our Autoroute hell and I lost all drive. Like it could only find neutral. My mind raced through endless scenarios as I rolled to the hard shoulder to find my chain dragging behind me. Bugger!
The four of us parked up on the hard shoulder as trucks hurtled past us at an alarming velocity. I called the RAC and they very politely explained that they couldn't arrange recovery from a Motorway (apparently the Motorways are privately run in France or something). They did explain that I needed to use the emergency phone and say 'Je suis enpan' and that in all likelihood the operator would not speak any English (Damn my ignorance!) and they would arrange recovery.
Before too long a highways truck turned up and radioed a local recovery guy. I was on the flatbed while the guys followed on to a garage in Bellgarde. The mechanic phoned around and found a chain at a Yamaha garage about 20 minutes away and Rob (armed with his GPS and an address) was dispatched to buy it.
We used the time constructively; Paul adjusted his chain and Simon taped his bike back together which had been blown over on the hard shoulder by a passing truck, cracking the faring and knocking an indicator off. Meanwhile I'd had several conversations with the RAC who eventually agreed to reimburse the cost of the recovery.
Paul popped into the local town for some food and managed to get back mere seconds before Rob and the new chain. Rob was less than happy as the Yammy garage had not been the most helpful. We had a little picnic while the mechanic put the new chain on (courtesy of RAC apparently – I was kinda glad that I didn't have to do it).
We were now off the Autoroute. AT LAST! Now the fun starts. Once again we've been incredibly lucky with the weather and had lovely dry twisty roads through stunning vistas for the rest of the day. Obviously the breakdown had set us back time wise (about three hours in fact) so we only made the briefest of cursory stops at Lake Annecy which was absolutely picture perfect. From there on it was Alpine bliss. Windy roads sweeping left, right, left through the most beautiful scenery you could imagine.
Rob had scheduled a little off road track diversion into the route but because of the detour we no longer had the time. As it was we got to camp quite late and only just had enough sun to get camp set and say hello to a bunch of guys from the XRV.org forum.
We strolled into town and was pleasantly surprised to find the Morris Pub open (Rob assured us it was THE best bar in Val d'Isere – I don't think we would have cared). We have actually had one too many but nevertheless a good, if rather late, night was had by all. We even ended the evening off with coffee and chocolate back at mine... at about one in the morning!
Thursday 5th July (day one) – 475 Miles Beaune
OUCH!!! I am prepared to endure a lot for my passions. Obviously! It has been a hard slog, just to get into France we pressed further than we would normally and used mainly Peáge (Later to become the bane of my life). Off course, I've done it before but my recollection, in memories true form, neglected to remember just how physically grueling those sort of miles can be.
The XTX can cope with the speed but far from comfortably, particularly when fully loaded like this. Anything over 80 and it develops an unnerving weave. To the point where I was frequently convince that it would imminently develop into a full on uncontrollable tankslapper and dump me unceremoniously on my posterior. I've never been hurled from a bike at 80MPH and I can't say the idea was very appealing.
Weather wise, I guess you could say we've been really rather lucky. At 100 miles into France the heavens opened and continued for the next 100 miles (marked by fuel stops) and that was it for the rain. My gear held up to it superbly and the water proof over coat proved to be a life saver. Very snug. Even my new boots kept my tootsies warm and dry.
So, we've arrived at Beaune with an immense and overwhelming sense of achievement. For some of us (not mentioning any names Simon) we've ridden further than our sum total riding experience in one day (all be it, pretty much in a straight line)! Needless to say, we go for a few celebratory beers. A few too many some might suggest but all well deserved I can assure you. Beaune is amazing! For just a one night stop over we couldn't wish for a more picture-postcard little town. The two newbie's are blown away. We do the usual British thing of hoping from bar to bar (me quite literally – my knee was really quite sore by now). Not because we're on a pub crawl – more fear that we'd miss a good one. They're all brilliant.
All in all, I would say that today is a good day. For all my gripes, aches and pains (not to mention my knee) I'm glad to be here.
The XTX can cope with the speed but far from comfortably, particularly when fully loaded like this. Anything over 80 and it develops an unnerving weave. To the point where I was frequently convince that it would imminently develop into a full on uncontrollable tankslapper and dump me unceremoniously on my posterior. I've never been hurled from a bike at 80MPH and I can't say the idea was very appealing.
Weather wise, I guess you could say we've been really rather lucky. At 100 miles into France the heavens opened and continued for the next 100 miles (marked by fuel stops) and that was it for the rain. My gear held up to it superbly and the water proof over coat proved to be a life saver. Very snug. Even my new boots kept my tootsies warm and dry.
So, we've arrived at Beaune with an immense and overwhelming sense of achievement. For some of us (not mentioning any names Simon) we've ridden further than our sum total riding experience in one day (all be it, pretty much in a straight line)! Needless to say, we go for a few celebratory beers. A few too many some might suggest but all well deserved I can assure you. Beaune is amazing! For just a one night stop over we couldn't wish for a more picture-postcard little town. The two newbie's are blown away. We do the usual British thing of hoping from bar to bar (me quite literally – my knee was really quite sore by now). Not because we're on a pub crawl – more fear that we'd miss a good one. They're all brilliant.
All in all, I would say that today is a good day. For all my gripes, aches and pains (not to mention my knee) I'm glad to be here.
Monday 16 July 2007
22nd June:
Well, I make it T-Minus 13 Days and counting. In an unusual twist to the usual preparatory measures one normally undertakes in the run up to a trip like this I have, in fact, taken the unusual decision to crash my bike a mere three weeks prior to departure. Well a journey isn't an adventure without a challenge thrown in for seasoning is it? For the record; the crash was not my fault.
It does mean that, not only have I limited time for all the other little pre Stella touches that I wanted to add to the bike, but I also have to find the time to source new faring, brake pedal, boots, gloves and trousers (mine partially shredded on impact and the rest were cut off in the ambulance). Add to that off course the whole replacing them on the bike and, off course, healing myself in general. My knee is pretty bashed up but I'm remaining optimistic (naive – delete as appropriate). Luckily, my brilliant wife has already bought me some BRILLIANT new boots, gloves and trousers. We have also already sourced the parts and Sarah is picking them up as I write. Looks like I'll have a pretty busy Saturday – expect much sweating, cursing and possibly the odd tantrum.
It may just be me but, regardless of the fact that we're only going for a week, I feel significantly less prepared for this trip than I did for our mammoth Transmed Enduro trip of last year. To date, we are yet to all ride together. Obviously, me, Baz and Paul managed our nautical excursion to Croyde (a trip so wet that everything electrical went fizz and I managed to soak a toe nail off!) but Simon unfortunately could not join us and remains somewhat of a unknown entity with regards to his riding. I've been away with Simon before and I have no doubts about his amiable qualities but other than a couple of four mile trips between his house and Casa de la Baz (AKA Stella HQ) I have no idea what the dynamics of four of us riding together will be. We're due to ride out this Sunday (providing I can get the bike back together and bend my knee onto the XT) so I'm sure we'll know soon enough. It'll be another chance to test the comms again... with a little luck it may be dry and they won't frizz again. When they worked it did add a brilliant and comical edge to the ride.
Things to do: Replace brake pedal and faring, straighten up all levers and brush guards etc., adapt the rear luggage rack to fit with the pannier racks, fit crash bars (bit bloody late now you may suggest!), fit 12v Socket and fit new Avon Distanzias.
Wish me luck!
It does mean that, not only have I limited time for all the other little pre Stella touches that I wanted to add to the bike, but I also have to find the time to source new faring, brake pedal, boots, gloves and trousers (mine partially shredded on impact and the rest were cut off in the ambulance). Add to that off course the whole replacing them on the bike and, off course, healing myself in general. My knee is pretty bashed up but I'm remaining optimistic (naive – delete as appropriate). Luckily, my brilliant wife has already bought me some BRILLIANT new boots, gloves and trousers. We have also already sourced the parts and Sarah is picking them up as I write. Looks like I'll have a pretty busy Saturday – expect much sweating, cursing and possibly the odd tantrum.
It may just be me but, regardless of the fact that we're only going for a week, I feel significantly less prepared for this trip than I did for our mammoth Transmed Enduro trip of last year. To date, we are yet to all ride together. Obviously, me, Baz and Paul managed our nautical excursion to Croyde (a trip so wet that everything electrical went fizz and I managed to soak a toe nail off!) but Simon unfortunately could not join us and remains somewhat of a unknown entity with regards to his riding. I've been away with Simon before and I have no doubts about his amiable qualities but other than a couple of four mile trips between his house and Casa de la Baz (AKA Stella HQ) I have no idea what the dynamics of four of us riding together will be. We're due to ride out this Sunday (providing I can get the bike back together and bend my knee onto the XT) so I'm sure we'll know soon enough. It'll be another chance to test the comms again... with a little luck it may be dry and they won't frizz again. When they worked it did add a brilliant and comical edge to the ride.
Things to do: Replace brake pedal and faring, straighten up all levers and brush guards etc., adapt the rear luggage rack to fit with the pannier racks, fit crash bars (bit bloody late now you may suggest!), fit 12v Socket and fit new Avon Distanzias.
Wish me luck!
Monday 25 June 2007
T-Minus 10 days and counting
Well, here we go again! Once more unto the Blog dear friends.It's approaching time for the off again, though for a substantially shorter and less complicated trip this time.
Our route down to Bardonnechia will take us through some familiar scenery that I personally cant wait to get back in amongst on the bikes.
My Varadero is now pretty much 100% as I want it for the trip and looking suitably rugged if I do say so myself!
This blog is unlikely to unfold in an "as we go" fashion like the one I wrote for www.transmedenduro.com due to it being a short trip this time, but we'll do our best to flesh it out as and when we can!
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