Monday, the second one of my trip

I had my breakfast with the couple of hundred or so old Spaniards, I imagine its not too dissimilar to bike week at butlins ;-)
For a health resort they sure had more unhealthy options than healthy. I bought the bike down from the car park to load right outside the front door.. This was good spectator for the collected people outside the front door of course. What an infernal racket ensued with the mob jabbering away in Spanish like machine guns. The only one who actually approached me was a pretty good Walter Matteau look alike, but muck grumpier looking.. Very quickly I worked out the gist of his gestures to be 'You ... Gringo, is gonna get wet' with a knowing saggy face pointed to the heavens. I nonchalantly smiled, and did the shoulder shrug as if I didn't care.. (Hiding the fact I really don't like getting wet when riding) To add to the illusion, or delusion... I left the liner out of the jacket, and the leggings in the top box.
I wasn't expecting too much of the days ride to be honest, but within a few miles, the smiles were back. Curve after curve laid out before me like an invitation to misbehave. And it would have been rude not to. It only lasted an hour or so, but even the motorway (free) that followed had curves like Marilyn Monroe. I may have gone past a camera at one point without slowing down, but only time will tell.

I used the motorway even when the buggers started charging for it, as I just wanted to get to France. The motorways were now, noisier, busier and far more unpleasant in the race for the border. As soon as I entered France, I bailed from the motorway before having to go through another toll booth, but the scoundrels had another one hidden there!

Went round a bit till I escaped, and elected to camp, as it was a nice evening, and one was close by on the zumo. Found it OK, but immediately decided against it The whole site (by a river), was swarming with midges. I am already blotchy all over, like I have bubonic plague, and the itching drives me nuts.
So, instead, I let the zumo, take me to a hotel that just did not exist, them a closed one, a one so bad even I wouldn't stay there, then finally it found one. It looked a bit grand at first, and the price on the door backed this up. I was about to start the search again, when a Frenchman leapt out, imploring me to stay... 'Ze moto, 'e will be safe here, look' and pointing towards a Yamaha super ten, parked in full view. I resisted pointing out that it couldn't be totally safe just code it was on French soil.
So, into the hotel, to do a possible deal on price. The lady with an out of control cleavage tried to seduce me into paying the posted price by flashing her shirt potatoes, but I was having none of it, and my look of haughty disdain led to dinner and breakfast being thrown in.
And amazingly dinner and breakfast were excellent. The smoky smelling room was not so excellent. But this IS France.

Tuesday was going to be a motorway blat until I got on that the east to west route across from France to the bay of Genoa. Looking at the map made me realise how far I'd come. Once off the Autoroute's the zumo took me to some VERY rural places. Good weather, good roads. What could go wrong? I was pondering this as I ran along on fumes... The zumo having taken me to a petrol station that was no more... Quickly putting in the next fuel station it was a carrefour one, so that must be there. So, I rode softly, squeezing every drop out. Cross the junction, down the hill into town gridlock. No way through, horns were a blaring, temperatures a flaring. Looking on the zumo screen, there was another route into the town a click or soup the main road. So, I went for it. Turned down the next road, and they had dug it up and closed it. How happy was I? Again it seemed true zumo knew another route in, so I followed it,only to end up at the same 'Route Barre' place. I must have looked a sorry sight as I sat there wonder in if an early stoop was the answer when I spied a young mademoiselle walking up the barred route towards me. Mustering my linguistic skills, I tried 'do you speak English, but I got not only a pitiful smile and a 'non', but a not so young madam leapt out the car behind me, do defend the young lass from such unwelcome attentions. Tired out to be her mother, who also didnt speak English, but was game for a laugh :-) After Potes of both of us explaining we could not understand each other, and having now caused a bit of a jam, she indicated I should follow her and the daughter. Before anyone gets excited, it was just to another fuel station that a wasn't on Garmin. What a wonderful thing to do. I'm sure they saved me running out.
So, I rechecked the map. And then I realized I was going to die...... Or Die to be more precise. Once I saw it on the map I couldn't resist it, just had to go there, so I could crack the joke. And it worked out just right . A municipal campsite had nothing but RVs and didn't appeal.
A hotel was input, but due to some festival traffic couldn't get to it, and therefore neither could I. I found another, with a garage, set menu again for a reasonable price. I should have said, the whole area ohas grqt roads, again, fast and flowing, surfaces, challenging at times.

I ate, drank and crashed in my bed. And chuckled that I would crack the 'knew I was going to die joke :-) '

Wednesday....
I did go to Die, but it didn't do it for me :-)

Today I was traversing mountains left to right, starting in France, crossing into Italy, at which point, because some jokers kept on about wanting more pics, I removed my Panasonic camera from its case and put it in my pocket for easy, snappy access. I then rode off leaving the case on one of my panniers, and now it gone...

Did get lots of pics too, but these will wait. Its hard enough just typing it up. The roads and the weather deteriorated markedly at the Italian border. The weather because of the mountains, the roads cos they were covered in overbanding, and animal shit. I never saw an animal up there (unlike in Spain, where I thankfully cruised a bend in the Picks mountains to find a Spanish version of Daisy just standing there, unimpressed by us all.)
My theory for Italy is that these poor creatures are in abbatoir trucks and know their fate, and are trying to share it with us... It all seems to be on the entry or exit of the hairpins.

But homicidal they may be, they are nothing compared to your average Italian driver. Their govt could slash spending on road signs and road painting, because not one takes the slightest notice. Check mirror as often as you like they will catch you unawares at some point, and stick to your tail like a limpet mine. It really is a free for all, and the scooters are by far the worst.

But I found a hotel a hundred yards from the sea. Technically in the bay of Genoa, but not as far round as my lack of planning intended :-)

Tally glad I stopped there. A sea view, AC in the room, although the girl on reception obviously thought I was abnormal to need it in October. Actually had to ask for the controller and you get given the TV remote on checking in too. Still needed batteries though.

If someone else wants to fix that feel free... I'm way past it today...

Although headed home, there are still mountains to cross (or go through), and initially anyway the route took me to Genoa anyway. Riding the Riviera was fun, reading busy here and there, but lots of p people still all going about their business in a very Italian way. (Fast and loud :-) )
Genoa was the busiest, and I cursed the zumo for not avoiding the jams, but again, travel is not just about all the really good stuff. Is also about how they live.
When it decided to take me northward, it was the usual loads of twists and turns and hairpins to get some height, but this was right through a village, or community. Surface was challenging to say the least, the way I like them to be honest.
As I neared the top, I passed one of those 'tour de france cyclist types'. He looked a bit shagged out to be honest which was good, as I wouldnt want the bugger coming past me on the downside ......
I had it on good authority that Lake Como is one of the most beautiful lakes on the planet, so headed that way to investigate. I would say it is, when not being viewed from inside one of the many tunnels, and you have to com off the main drag to see the towns, which I did at Varenna. I must go back sometime, a truly beautiful little place could spend a weekend there exploring and hopping on the Ferries to explore the other shores.
Stayed for an hour or so before hitting the road. Then just followed the road. The only other choices being splattered against the hillside, or drowning. I saw a nice looking hotel and decided, as the sky was getting menacing, and the dark clouds were sliding down the mountainsides. This was not the time to bag a pass. Anyway thought I, an early stop will be good. As I was starting to unload the bike, a family returned to the hotel. Turned out the guy was a Swiss Harley rider,so we swapped tales for about an hour.before I even got unloaded.
I wandered the town, but was swayed by the promise of 'excellent home cooking' at the hotel. And the food was excellent . The home part being you more or less ate what was out in front of you. The ambience was friendly though, and you really did feel at home there.
The only thing that spoiled it was a family that came to eat, complete with a child that had been brought up to scream about anything and the other gave everyone that ' what can I do look,....' I had a few ideas, none legal, so elected to take my final up to my room. I was not the first to do so..

Can't recall if I mentioned that I don't like tunnels. Not tiny little damp unlit ones, not big lit ones full of other people's exhaust fumes, hopefully be less of the damn things tomorrow....

Kid brother heckling , shouldnt be allowed .......

Leaving the hotel, the owner's son had told me I MIGHT get lucky with the rain, but it would be wet up in the hills. The father of the swiss biker had told me that visibility would be so bad, hinting I should not be up there... Ominous warnings....
I skirted west a little but then hit the hills. It actually wasn't so bad. So I killed any motor a way options as well as pay routes, and ended up on a twisty, well surfaced road that twisted and turned about the motorway. Especially enjoyable as the motorway ground to a half as I shot along 'at some speed'
Just after the motorway jam, the road I was on headed for the sky, literally. The road was climbing, and this was a main road. Hairpins, sharp bends and then the rollercoaster! The weather had been quite good, and the mist descended, just as the road reached out into the sky on concrete legs, and went into a long tightening curve. I don't mind admit saying out loud that ' I don't like this much'.
Other curves, had half a turn in the sky, but a whole turn was something else. I seemed to get a break on the other side of the 'hill and the weather was lovely. I came to a junction and stopped to choose my route.
I could carry on, or I could hang a left and go over Furkapass. I ask... Who could resist that name. I couldn't. I should have......


The first half was great, I got to about half way I up before the signs of things going seriously pear shaped first showed.

Some kind of classic car thing was on, all on coming to me. I started noticing raindrops on the cars. And the change was as good as immediate. Rounded one bend, and hit a fog bank. Could see nothing. Thoughts flashed through my mind of how you turn around a Vstrom on not much more than a goat track. But almost as quickly came the rain. Before I could safely stop, my jeans were soaked, glass's were steaming up if the visor was closed, and covered in droplets with the visor open.
I wondered when it had last rained here. I find going down hill harder in the mountains than going up for some reason, and now with the rain lashing down and running in rivers across the roads, the wind had picked up and it was now I had to start to descend. I would lover to say I was flicking it from left to right,overtaking everything in sight, but I was pathetically just wanting to survive it. It was as low, tortuous descent,and I was not enjoying it one little bit. The closest thing to joy was the occasional maniacal laugh of a surely doomed man. A lot of cars had pulled over, but somehow, I'm thinking they would not have let me in to shelter with them.
The vstrom is fitted with the Anakee2 tyres, and I have to say, apart from the odd bit of wet over banding, they performed brilliantly. Far better than me.

Eventually, I came across a hotel called the Grand Glacier du Rhone or similar. Very old, and very posh. I squelched my way through until I found a somewhat haughty woman, who luckily handed me on to some other chap who was far more helpful.
It was as expensive as it looked, but in the discussion the guy mentioned the rain would be worse the day after, and that it might even snow. I decided to carry on, especially as he said the road to Brig was much better. He just meant lower. Rain still washed across the bends, wind was still a bit gusting but the mist was gone. I should say, after the initial fog bank on top, the mist did come and go.
Slowly the mountain roads changed to long Swiss valleys complete with picture postcard views. The rain stopped and I got sunshine. Heading west it was right in my face now, and the BMW helmets internal sun visor was flipped down. Unfortunately, the earlier rain etc, had made the visor impossible to see through so it was used as a sun strip instead.
Good progress was made on these roads, and I found myself filling up with fuel at a place called Visp. Also it was past time to look for a hotel. I started to find closed hotels and full hotels.Some kind of festival in town judging by the PA systems blaring. Round and round I went, with some local road changes confusing the hell out the zumo (and me to be fair).
I had seen the campsite earlier but discounted it. But sure enough, I rolled in there with half an hour before dark. Talked to the guy in charge, who was helpful but obviously needing to go home. He waved in a direction when I asked for a restaurant. This was found later in spite of his directions, and those of the woman on the ticket booth of the footie club next to the campground.

I had been told to report to the non English speaking guy at the campsite at 9 am prompt to cough up the dosh for a surprisingly refreshing night's sleep. Might have been all the walking along dark paths, underpasses etc to get to town for some food and drink. Only seemed to be one one serving food as all as drink, luckily it was a good one.

Anyway, the clouds still hung to the hills, but it was obvious I would have to risk it, or hit the motorways. The modified roads meant it took a while to be pointed in the right direction. But eventually I started to climb in zigzag fashion, the hill I was on remaining flour and rain free while I could look across the valley, and see the flat bottom of the cloud there. I had plenty of more curves before finding myself riding along the southern shore of Lake Lucerne, passing back into France without hardly even noticing.

Before long the road twisted and turned again. The any got much heavier, then it rained. Cold and persistent, I had to stop to put the liner in and the leggings on. Hotels in that are are either seasonal, or bust. That applied to both the ones found by zumo, and those advertised on boards. Point to French hoteliers... If you go bust, take the damn boards down!

The end result of this was a serious consideration to putting tent up in some field, where I would no doubt be trampled by cattle, the was s many of them. I was tired,and my headlight was going the wrong way (not an issue much, as there was few traffic on these minor roads.

Eventually though I was on a major road, well more major than the minor ones. And after asking in a bar, for a hotel,and then getting though that I didn't think that her place was a hotel, she directed me,with some impatience,it has to be said, to a hotel just up the road. I got the impression that she thought it was obvious where the hotels were. I almost missed the hotel,as it was set back from the road.
Parking outside it looked like it might be expensive, but I was past caring. It had a room. It had a garage for the bike which would be well hidden behind a fairly ancient looking trifold wooden door. The young lady from reception opened 2 doors to tease me, but when I asked about the third one, it was a'non monsiuer'. Also,the road I was coming from, was a bad angle, and the concrete ramp was made to use the part of the door that wouldn't open. Had I been less tired I might have been more sensible. But I've read 'adventure bike' books, and RTW, and everyone has these moments where they have come to the conclusion they have to 'gun it and go for it'
Poor sap that I am, this went through my addled brain and I 'gunned it' and'went for it'. The vstrom powered over the ramp and crashed into the garage. Unfortunately, more or less ripping the door that wouldn't open right off its hinges, having caught the edges of the middle part with the top corner of my right hand pannier lid. Now, I'm not one to advertise for other people, but these cases are made my ARD cases, and I can safely say, they are no better or worse than any other panniers for carrying 'stuff', but should you feel the need to crash through old (probably antique French garage doors, these are the kiddies :-)



Picture the scene, French receptionist standing in the garage, probably wondering why I'm so hesitant to try with only 2 does open, then the door and her world, to an extent, come crashing in.

The look on her face, and the shriek she made was noticeable even as I struggled not to fall over. With the bike safely on its stand, we wear the door. It was buttered, but had been busted before, as the immovable door seemed to be screwed to the door frame. Well, to be more precise, it was, She informed me she must call the owner. I could only imagine the torrent of abuse I was about to get from some Frenchman, who would scoff at my lack of skill, before sleeping me with a huge repair bill...

As it turns out the boss man was a woman, and was more concerned about the bike than the door. She came out, we closed the door with some brute force (me) and 4or5 bungees. Apparently hotel inspectors had told her a month previously that the door not opening want good, and she said it needed replacing anyway. Had I known that, I could have charged for demolition :-)

The hotel had a bath AND a lift... Bliss!
The restaurant was exceptional. Really nice end to a trying day :-)

And i just put to the back of my mind that I had to get the bike out again in the morning...

Any advice welcomed..... As I'm doing the same as I did for the Usurper pic, which was on the web and worked great.

Presently I'm in Ypres, and have had a few strong s, and intend a few more :-) so keep it simple, in case I get a reply by the time I've got back to the house hotel :-)

Who put a house in the hotel??? :-)

I am assuming the other two pics I uploaded, apart from the Usurper, show as broken images for everyone... Not just me???

I really was comfortable in that hotel. Well looked after by all the staff. Especially the Madame of the establishment, although I hope that's an acceptable term in the circumstances.....
Getting the bike back out the garage wasnt easy, both boxes needed to come off.. Parking outside the entrance of the hotel put the bike onsuch an angle I thought it would end up on its side as I loaded it. It was OK, of course, but I had to wheel it down the slope before I could mount it..

That day was cutting across France on the the D roads. I love the look of rural France (even if it is shut half the time :-) )
I love the empty roads, and the fact you are 'quite' likely to get flashed by oncoming motorists, of any gendarmerie with their radar guns out....

I stopped for fuel. Thought I might have the old jambon or fromage sandwich, but the indifference and the potential servers lack of interest and hygiene persuaded me to roll. As I was putting on my helmet two Mirage Vs suddenly roared overhead. as a bit of an aircraft nut, this was a bit of a bonus. A ragged take off (but then again, it wasn't the RAF...) They formed up eventually. (It was lunchtime,after all :-) )
I had planned an early stop today, but was thwarted by a technical hitch.. Before the trip, I had the bike serviced. Proper Suzuki dealer of course. Mentioned I had seen oil on the crankcases and could they check it on the service. Their conclusion... The only slight leak was from the clutch. I asked if it was going to be OK for nearly 4000 miles. 'No problem' I was assured.
So today, I had to stop to purchase a bottle of dot4. Luckily I stopped at a garage which was also a peugeot garage. Topping it up wasn't a massive problem, although arguably unnecessary if the dealer had looked after me properly. The no 2 screw sheering off was....
International negotiations were required to elicit the supply of another screw (much too long) and then a number of spacers (look just like spring washers)... This delayed me. The Zumo continued to search of closed hotels, so I looked for a cluster of 'well known hotels'' some 15 klicks west, and ended up in an ibis .

There were Brits there...business type Brits. I pretended to be french.....

I see the sub in your OP but no pics since then - never mind, your writing paints the picture!

You've done well to get to Ypres - there's good there of course.
I guess you have been to the Menin gate for 8pm.

__________________
Dave

Another day of hacking across D roads, making good progress until the zumo took me to another non existent fuel station. Not usually so bad, but by the time I found this one, or not, I was on fumes. A local guy told me there was indeed a fuel station in the next village, about 5ms away. But it was closed. Shut at 12, opened at 2pm. ? It was 12.05 when in pulled up. The 'La poste' driver turned up at the same time. She tried to raise the lunching laggards, but to no avail... I found a restaurant in the village and proceeded to have a 2 hour just like the locals.
One of the customers spoke enough English to let the waitress know whats a cheese sandwich was, and i sat down with a bottle of Perrier, and a baguette with soft cheese inside... Yum... It was wrapped in clingfilm. Maybe she thought I wasnt staying. How wrong she was, I outstayed every other diner, and all on a cheese baguette, a perrier water and a coffee.
Eventually, 2pm came and I made my way to the fuel station which opened to give me the fuel so badly needed.

Actually, this is what I intended, long lunchbreaks lounging in sunny roadside cafe's being fed by fit french waitresses in the lil french maids outfits. All I got was the 2 hours...

Thanks, I was originally going to pop over to Belguim to look at this, but Garmins routing , and rain made me think, lets go to Calais...
Once the rain cleared, and I saw that it was only 30k or so from the motorway I was drying out on, I put in the hill 62 location , headed back down the way I had come for about 5 kms, then off to good old Belguim, home of, well.. mainly

I did do the Menin gate at 8pm, October and still about 300 peoples there..