A dampening effect

We view from the motorway only, as we are dashing across the continent to less-accessible areas before visas expire.

We had single rooms last night, which was ‘lush’ (as the kids were saying), rather than the budget-conscious twins that we’re getting used too.  Although a bit of 'me time' is very welcome, we recognise that it's important to bond before tougher times ahead.  As on any trip, pairing with someone who doesn't snore or irritate the hell out of you is tricky - but I reckon I've been lucky.

My regular roomy is likely to be Oliver, which is fine as we're well matched.  He’s an early bird like me, has good gadgets and no, doesn’t snore.  Hopefully he says the same about me.  He's a quiet one, but enjoys a beer and a cigar - he's also another guy who can really ride.  Contrary to the lazy assumption about folks who do these trips, he's not made of money either - he cashed in what was left of a redundancy / pension package, and has emptied the rainy-day tin.  So hopefully his bike will stay fit - it's his single biggest asset right now.

Oliver

The accommodation tonight is a BMW  hotel.  The brand cut Globebusters a great deal reportedly, as all the biking organisations seem to scratch each other’s backs - Globebusters,  Off Road Skills School, Touratech, Adventure Biking, BMW Motorrad... they’re all connected and subsidised by the uber car company.   So the hotel is new and clean and very comfy.  Such a shame the wifi is crap.  Smelly bikers we may be, but everyone has photos or video or blogs to upload - typical of the tourist these days, I’d have thought.

Little was on my mind then, other than wondering which was slower: the internet or my packing.   So, next morning, when I found my bike damp and cold, and the steering dampener so stiff I could barely turn the bars I was perplexed, worried and nearly dropped it by accident.  Concerned that this was going to delay me, delay the back-up van, and thus the group... I made a plea to our travelling mechanic, Alan, for help.  No panic or loss of temper on my part, as used to be the family habit.  But I knew how long that bit of kit had taken to fit, and suspected I’d be spending the day in the van.  This was too serious and I just wanted to obey whatever command would inconvenience everyone the least.

He and Rory sent me away to fetch my bags, whilst they did the necessary surgery on my beloved.  When I returned the malignant steering damper had been amputated and handed back to me gravely.  The damper was a nice idea, but clearly not-fit-for purpose in these conditions.  Much like myself, I inferred self-consciously.

Last away, albeit 20 minutes after the main group, I now had to get used to the new feel of the bike, particularly the changed angle of my steering bars.  On a wet, twisty road out to the motorway, followed by fast, busy A-road traffic, I had to ease myself back into the ride, and not get distracted by the “I’m late, I’m late” track running through my head like Alice in Wonderland’s Mad Hatter.  Often I find the key element in riding is the ability to control such feelings and resist the temptation to rush...  On a positive note, I told myself that at least I’d not let the drama make me forget any luggage, and that there would be plenty of time on the motorway to catch the group up.

Gradually I began to enjoy the riding.  There is nothing I can report on days such as this, and even fewer photos - sorry.  After some daring do on the town road, the monotony of motorway miles became ever present; the tedium kept at bay by music piped into my inner-ear speakers (i.e. speakers inside the ear plugs themselves).  Johnny and Jo had set me up with a collection of Euro trance music which, given the present location, was most apt.  Clever lyrics and charming melodies were not welcome - I had to push on, and I admit the rev counter did hover above 4000 somewhat...  Thanks guys :)

Towns turned to tunnels as we followed signs to Salzburg and arrived in Austria, heading for Graz.  The long tunnels added a strange fit-inducing light show to match the tempo of my music.  I was grateful for the huge petrol tank on my bike, as I could avoid fill ups and save time.  But of course the pain in my joints was growing - was this some kind of Catholic-like self-inflicted punishment for perceived mistakes?   The mind set allowed me to endure.

The motorway emerged from the last tunnel into alpine scenery you’ll be familiar with.  Heidi would have been proud - the sky was fluffy-cloud and blue, the meadows green and gold with dandelions.   Cute wooden sheds with herds of milk chocolate brown cows chewing contentedly.  Up high, the signs of the ski fields.  I kept thinking I should pull in, take a picture, and enjoy this beautiful scene.  Few of us did - we were all still worried about the huge distance to cover today.  Colin and Shirley, the most senior and experienced tourers amongst us, had the wisdom to stop and stare.  Cream buns and tea, no less, for a couple of Euro.

Shirley and Colin - seasoned tourer wisdom

At the border to Slovenia we bought a ‘vignette’ sticker for the bike and then followed the A4 towards Zagreb.  Another 40 miles later and it was the Croatian border, negotiated safely, and it all seemed very easy.  By now my earlier efforts had allowed me to catch up the groups, or pass pairs as they slipped off for petrol or a pee.  I stuck in the outside lane, as I was relaxed now - I’d found a tucked-in position out of the wind that was relatively comfy.  Only relatively though.

The last few miles were though Croatian countryside.  Full of red brick houses with solid-looking tiles.  No big urban centres really, although much of the residential property was new build - clearly there’s some GDP around here.  The view was charming, and as the afternoon sun lowered it was lit by a lovely warm golden light.

I’ve been trying to capture some video, but being newbie, had omitted to press the ‘on’ button before starting the last stretch.  Such mistakes are common though, and Oliver confessed he’d not put an SD card in his video, so neither of us had any footage.  Our fellow riders are amused, but patient whilst we learn - from the motorway nobody can really take photos, so any video would be welcome.

After another long day, 367 miles of it, I turned up at the hotel just behind one of our guides, Tiffany, who’d ridden ahead to 'smooth our check in', she said.   It was a good spot, and something of a local leisure centre: huge swimming pool area, simple but filling food.  These were the two ingredients I needed most after a draining day, and I slept like a log.