• South America
• West Africa
• R.T.W.
• Bike
• Central America
• Home

Bike trip

30^th April 2002 - 31^st May 2002

Introduction

Ever since meeting bikers travelling the world, while I took truck trips around the world, I'd wanted to do a trip like this.

I decided up front that I would not ride in the rain, or at night. After all I was meant to be doing this for pleasure.

The bike, typical of the Honda VFR800Fix, never missed a beat throughout this trip, although, due to wear on the front tyre (the original Honda fitted Dunlop) it did develop some interesting straight line wobbles, but I did get 11000 miles out of that front, which ain't bad.

The lockable rear box, while making me look like a pizza delivery man, was indispensable. I found that I could leave the rest of my stuff at the hotel, ride into town, and lock my jacket and lid (helmet) in the box leaving me free to explore on foot. Added to this was that I could unmount the box from the bike at night, so there was no security problems. The baglux tank bag was handy for maps (it has a clear map carrying top) and tolls (there is a small zip pocket in the side), as well as being able to carry stuff. The blue Oxford  bag carried lots of stuff, but needed a separate rain cover to keep my stuff dry. Quite why it couldn't have been manufactured with taped waterproof seams, is a mystery. It's not as if the bag was cheap and nasty.

The tent and roll mat were carried, but never used. I had dreamed of hot balmy nights, but as you'll see, I never got any.

Before I left England, I had fitted a ScottOiler under the seat (I then had to re-fit it properly, as the local Honda garage had made a mess of fitting it). I found this to be a pain in the proverbial, as all that happened was that the oil would spray from the chain onto the left hand side of the back tyre. No matter how much I turned the flow of lubricant down, I could not solve the problem. So, in the end, I turned it off and used some spray lube instead.

The silver tape on the faring was a big mistake. I put it on all of the exposed edges of the faring, with the idea of protecting the plastic from abrasion. After two weeks of riding, often in pouring rain, I found that the silver duct tape, that I had used, was coming off, leaving behind it a white sticky residue. It took me ages, once back from the trip, to remove all of this from the bike (lots of meths and soft cloths were needed).

The - very wet - start

As I waited in Dover for my ferry to France, I bought one of those headlight filters. It gave my headlight a yellow colour and blanked off the left-hand side. So when I had full beam on, it would not blind on-coming motorists (driving on the "wrong" side of the road).

The bad weather stopped us leaving Dover at 15:00, as planned. Loading onto the Norfolk Line ferry, "Midnight Merchant", didn't start until 18:00. We finally left Dover, in driving rain and gale force winds, at 19:15.

I chose to use Norfolk Line ferries as they mainly cater for truckers. This meant that, apart from the half dozen or so like minded motorists, there weren't crowds of people on board and NO KIDS! These ferries have room for 3 or 4 bikes.

Having left Dover late, we arrived in France, at Dunkerque, after dark (22:30). So the two things that I had said I would not do – ride at night or in the rain – went straight out of the window. In Dunkerque I had booked a room in a Formule1 hotel. From the map it looked like a quick, 5 mile, ride. It took me the best part of an hour and 25 miles worth of riding before I found the place. And when I did find the hotel, it was on the wrong side of some dual carriageway, so I had to ride past it and then double back. Not a particularly good start.

The Formule1 hotels are a clever bit of packaging. There is nobody on-site (apart from at breakfast), so you get in by putting your credit card into a machine outside, and only once you've paid (€22), do you get a code number that opens the front and your room door. That first night, as I stood in the rain working out what was meant to happen, and translating the signs with my schoolboy French, I thought that it wasn't going to work. At that time, UK credit cards did not have a PIN number, so when the machine asked me to input my PIN, I was stuck. Fortunately, after an agonising wait, it accepted my card and printed out my entry code number.

The room itself had one double bed and, across the head end, a single bunk bed. The toilets and showers were communal at the end of the corridor.

Tired and relieved, I got into bed, and after watching a little (French) TV, was quickly asleep. Day one of my adventure had ended without to many things going wrong.

Waking early the next morning, thanks to some noisy neighbours, I showered and then had breakfast. In these hotels breakfast consists of some bread and jam, croissants, juice and coffee. Quite a civilised way to start the day. Outside my bike was still there (something I worried about, even though it was fitted with a Spyball security system) and very wet. Before setting off, I had to re-arrange the positioning of a can of tyre repair spray (sort of mouse that you spray into a burst tyre, to re-inflate it). I'd strapped it, out of the way, under the back box mounting. I'd realised, when I unloading my stuff the previous night, that it had slipped down in front of the brake light. Not good.

The next four days passed in a wet haze, as I rode south (via Druex and Bordeaux) to get away from the cold and rain. It was during this slog that I found that the only thing waterproof about my waterproof gloves was the labels saying that they were waterproof. After a while I found that they acted like a wet suit, in that my hands would end up wet and warm. I also found that the four outside pockets in my jacket would not keep the water out, but were good at collecting it!

Weather

This trip, from day one, was severely affected by the weather. Appalling weather. Really really wet weather. That's right, it rained a lot.

I did manage to find a few dry days by the the time I got to Bordeaux. Here I made a side trip to a place I'd visited back in 1980. Arcachon is famous for a huge sand dune called the Dune de Pyla - The Pilot Dune (44 35 51.45 N, 01 12 25.99 W). Alas, things had changed, and what was once a little known seaside town had now been "found". I did manage to climb the Dune de Pyla, which on my earlier visit had had old World War Two German concreate pill boxes (machine gun posts), slowly sliding down its surface. These had long been removed. A pity, as they gave the dune a science fictiony feel.

In my search for dry weather I rode south, into Spain. I found a great bit of motorway while on the north coast of Spain - the A8 to the east of Bilbao. It had the most wonderful set of curves and bends.

In Bilbao I had intended to stop and visit the Gugenhiem gallery, but I didn't manage. I rode past it a couple of times, but couldn't seem to get on the right side of the road to stop. So I continued south in search of warm and dry weather.

The weather got worse. It got colder and snow fell on the high ground, so I turned around and headed back to France and warmth.

Back in France I spent a couple days in Biarritz drying out. Biarritz still has the feel of a place where monied people go. It was a charming place to stay for a while.

In a further attempt to find both dry weather and interesting roads I headed east to the med coast of France. For two days I rode through heavy rain til I arrived, dry at last, in Toulouse. On the way I did pass through Lourdes, where there is a shrine that is meant to cure you of your ills (around 60 such miraculous happenings have occurred to the 7 and a bit million ill pilgrims. I'll let you decide how miraculous the shrine is.), but I can't say I saw anything, thanks to the rain and mist.

Toulouse was a welcome change, in that it had stopped raining (for a while). I stayed at a hotel right next to the ESA space centre, which was an interesting place to visit. I also tried, in vain, to find an internet cafe in Toulouse itself (took the Metro). All I managed to do was get wet (yes, it was raining again).

After Toulouse I headed for the Mediterranean. The road from St Pons de Thomieres to Beziers (RN112/D612) was great fun, with lots of twisty bits. As it was now dry and sunny, I decided to carry on to Montpelier, enjoying the company of other motorbike riders on the way. Filled up at a small village petrol station, where the cigarette smoking attendant filled the bike, with me still on board. He was most curious about the bike, and when he saw the 'GB' sticker he exclaimed "Rossbiff!" (roast beef - slang for Englishman). At Montpelier I got lost (becoming a habit this), an ended up staying in another Formule1, instead of the slightly up market Etap (same as a Formule1, but with ensuite shower and toilet) that I'd planned on.

From Montpelier it was a boring, but dry, ride to Aix en Province, where I stayed in the much cheaper (than further down the coast) Formule1 hotel.

Great twisty road (the D558 off the RN7) into St. Tropez, which made up for what a hole the actual place was. While I enjoyed hauling the bike through the bends on the road in, St Tropez is an awful tourist hole. I was so disappointed. After a brief bite to eat at the local McDonnalds, it followed the coast to Frejus and then the RN7 to Caen.Then it was up through Caen and north via Grasse and Digne-les-Baines through the mountains to Sisteron. The road out of Caen was great, with plenty of steep switch-backs, although I did get stuck behind a truck, and I didn't have the necessary squirt or nerve to get passed him as we made our way up mountains.

At Sisteron (stayed at the, for me, posh Ibis hotel, as the cheaper ones were full) I tightened the chain (first time in 2000 miles) and realised that I'd done 1850 miles so far (at an average of just over 46 mpg).

There were great twistie roads out of Sisteron, towards Grenoble, as I rode to Lyon. I briefly stopped off here (nice place with a great Fine Arts museum) before heading for Switzerland. My route to Switzerland took me through some beautiful countryside. A mix of steep twisties and gentle rolling meadows, full of contented looking cows and bright yellow dandelions.

Even the cows have been dry cleaned

Switzerland was a pleasant surprise. First, the weather was dry and warm, and secondly it just such a charming place. I was surprised that at the border (first non-EU border I'd ridden through) that there were no checks whatsoever, just slowed down, nodded to the guard who waved me through. Then later, while "irrigating" the Swiss countryside I was shocked to realise that I was hearing bells. Cow bells. And the cows were so clean, compared to the sorry muddy cattle we have in Britain. It looked like they, along with the entire country, had been dry cleaned.

My first stop was Lausanne, a beautiful city built on the side of Lake Leman. This gave the city some steep sloping streets. I stayed a couple of days and, on the first, stayed dry and warm. But on the second day, lulled into a false sense of security, I rode into town not wearing my waterproofs. On the way back I got absolutely soaked, as I gingerly rode back to the hotel, trailing my feet on the road for added balance. As I sloshed through the hotel to my room, I left a trail of water behind me.

The next day was sunny and dry, so off I went through the glorious Swiss countryside. Past Lake Geneva and Jaunpass, with lots of fun twisties through to Speiz, and then watched the sailboats on lake Thuner See, then past Interlaken and quite a few military landing strips, to Lucerne.

The weirdest part of the trip to Lucerne was when I rode, on a reasonably major public road, through a rifle range. On one side of the road, part way up the valley's steep side, were the butts, while on the other side of the road and valley, were the targets. When in use, the bullets would zing some 15 metres over the heads of the road users! Fortunately it was not in use when I rode past.

Lucerne, like Lausanne, sits next to a lake, but, unlike Lausanne, the lake is very much part of the city. The photo above shows the old wooden footbridge in the centre of town, now rebuilt after a disastrous fire.

Next to Lucerne is the Pilatus mountain. I went up by cable car (the other way up to the summit is by cogged train). A small four-seater gets you past the green meadows at its base, then you have to change to a 40 person car which takes you the last, heart-stopping, part of the way up. At the halfway station there's a wheeled bob-sled ride cut into the meadow. A 'U' sectioned metal track, complete with banked bends, descends some 3-400 metres. Sitting on a small wheeled toboggan, with a friction brake control, I quickly made it to the bottom, where a sort of ski pull dragged both me and the toboggan backwards up to the start. I quite enjoyed it, but compared to lugging a VFR 800 round Alpine roads it was rather tame. Mind you, some Americans, on a day trip from a college in Zurich, managed to crash mid-track leaving one with a broken arm (one of them had decided that the ride was way to fast and had come to a complete stop just around a bend, so that the next rider down ran straight into her).

From the top of Pilatus, with snow still clinging on in shady spots, the views were amazing.

Back in Lucerne I got around to checking the bike's tyre pressure – the first time in about two years! They were both fine, but the rear tyre had picked up a nail. I left the nail in as it didn't seem to be doing any harm, although I was worried about how little tread I had left on either tyre. The front tyre's lack of tread had given the bike some "interesting" hands off straight line handling (it started to wobble, not tank slappingly large, but still worrying).

From Lucerne it was a quick ride through France to Germany. Well, I say quick, but I did manage to get lost in Mulhouse. Got turned around, ended heading out south instead of north. Turned around and tried again, same result, turned around and third time lucky.

In the Black Forrest, famous for the gateaux, I had a day's worth of good weather to play on the country back roads to the south-east of Frieberg (around Wieden, Bolen, and Heubron). Great fun, apart from nearly hitting a truck full of huge logs coming the other way around a bend.

After my one day of fine weather it rained again, so I moved onto Munich. Here I was shown around by Sabine, whom I'd travelled with in India for two weeks, during my round the world trip. It was great seeing here again, even if our tour of Munich was affected by the ever present rain (think I'll start calling myself a rain god, as the stuff obviously likes to be where I am). I stayed in Munich for a couple of days, which gave me the chance to rest up. I hadn't realised just how tired I'd become, what with spending 8 to 12 hours a day in the saddle most every day. The bike I left safely in the hotel's underground parking lot, where I found a nice spot for it out of the way. Naturally, I didn't pay the parking fee!

It was then south again to have a look at Omergamarai. The scenery in these parts is amazing, I'm told, but all I saw was rain and mist. Further south then, through Austria and yet more rain, via Lake Constance, to Zurich. I had been debating with myself if I should go around the lake or across it. As my route took me past the ferry port, I let fate take charge. A ferry was just docking, so a ferry ride it was.

In Switzerland again it was very wet and cold (the bike's air temp gauge was showing 8°C and what with wind chill on a moving bike and being wet from the rain, I got very cold). In Zurich I found the hotel easily enough, and at the last moment decided on the more expensive Ibis hotel, instead of the usual F1 or Etap, it was next door to the Etap. The hotels' car park was guarded by a automatic barrier demanding money, so I did the usual biker thing and squeezed past it without paying. In my, for me, luxurious room I took a hot shower, both to wash myself and to warm up. After being freezing and wet for so long it took me ages to get warm again.

After getting so cold and wet riding the bike there, Zurich was, effectively, the end of this trip. I headed back north to England. The next two days consisted of riding the bike for 12 hours a day, through , at best, iffy weather to get back to Dunkerque and the ferry back to England. By this time I was getting used to being on the bike for so many hours a day, and was no longer exhausted by the end of a day's ride.

At the Dunkerque ferry port I met a couple of Dutch bikers on Suzuki SV650s on their way up to the Isle of Man TT, and a British biker on a bug splattered Honda Pan European, with tyres far balder than mine, who was on his way back from a trip to Sicily.

On the ferry trip across the channel I joined some of the other passengers watching the France v Senegal World Cup football match. We all cheered when Senegal scored.

Back in England (Dover) I was one of the last off the ferry and was then amazed to find that I had to show my passport to get in! This was the first and only time that I showed my passport during this trip, and I live here!

Back in England I really noticed two things. The surface of our roads is atrocious, coming out of Dover on dual carriage way you hit the first, of many, pot holes (a pot hole on a main road is a sure sign of a banana republic). And the coffee here is awful (a cup of vending machine coffee in the Dunkerque truck port was far nicer than the expensive Costa stuff I bought in the English motorway services).

Warm and dry at the end of the trip

All in all, I was surprised at how quickly I got used to driving on the "wrong" side of the road, and it was a pleasant suprise how courteously the French drivers treated motorcyclists (they'd move out of your way to allow you to overtake them, often putting one of their own wheels into the dirt in doing so). I found German drivers to be the scariest, and on the autobahns I kept into the right, out of the way, because even though I could happily cruise at 80 or 90 mph (130 - 150 kph) all day, there was always some nutter in a Porsche or BMW doing 130 or 140 mph (210 - 230 kph).

When I do this sort of thing again, it'll be on a smaller lighter bike, as the Honda's 440 lbs (200kg) weight was just to much to lug around, and 100 bhp was an overkill (I ended up using over 82 gallons (378 litres) of fuel during this trip). Perhaps a Yamaha XT600 or some such. Oh, and it'll be later in the year - I've never seen so much bleedin' rain!