ive tried to make sense of what i think is the ripley thread, cant see any dates, definate locations though - :helpsmilie:

Ripley
 

18-21 June as I see it listed under meetings. Linzi.

Yes
 

Below the Forums HUBB box is Meetings, scroll down and UK meetings gives the dates. Linzi.

cheers, i'll go & look.

you can have your thread back now :rofl:

The Long Version
 

Of Warm Hearts and Cold Nights

In darkness and sheets of heavy rain I arrive. Mojkovac staion, Montenegro. I've already donned my Hi Viz goretix bomber jacket.
The hand-me-down German Railways train leaves. Its graffitied form
slithering into the dark haze. Look out guys! He's here.
Yes, I'm here in a biblical downpour. I squint through the rain. Where's the ark? Oh the cold! A flurry of cars carries off the other passengers. Alone in the dark and rain I ponder my options. My holdall isn't waterproof.
Damn. The worst conditions for using a bivi bag. I can't get into it without getting soaked. I have the phone numbers of several people, but at this late hour I'm not prepared to disturb any of them.
The train has been delayed hours on two occasions and was much later than expected. Google Earth tells me it's at least 400 metres to the first building, but I don't know where the hotels are. Twenty metres and the holdall will be soaked. So much for keeping the planning open. I ignore the inevitable wetting and get on with the job in hand: progress towards town.

A new Mercedes Sprinter van pulls up and the young driver runs accross. No common language, he grabs the situation and my bag. Straight into the side door and me into the passenger seat. I'm not arguing. Turning down the radio, with the wipers pumping freneticaly. Hotel? He tries. My hesitancy is sensed. (Rock bottom cheap, or under a bridge please). I've got a tight budget and can't let it get out of hand. Not after the immigration officer's favour and the Beograd hotel rip-off.
A scrap of paper. A phone number. The two brothers who rescued Damien and live here in Mojkovac. The similarity of Serbian and English for chaos and the word for basement, that I already know from the hotel's lift. Given the torrential rain I conclude that all is not well at that particular house tonight.

A happy smile, a biscuit from a bag on the seat. I'm invited to spend the night with his family. No common language, but we're doing alright.
We turn off the road and begin an upward journey, upstream up a narrow tarmac road. OK, so the Tara Canyon is to our left. We're going north up the mountain overshadowing the town, now behind us. We climb in first and second gears, slowing for hairpins as the road climbs the steep, forested mountainside the only way a road can, snaking. Up and up, round super tight hairpins that reverse the direction of climb. The chasm now on the left, next on the right.
There's rain, sheets of it. The road's running with it. He's a good driver. Up and up. The tarmac gives out. Now it's hard packed dirt, running with rain, and still the hairpins. That clutch is working overtime. Now we're pretty high up the mountain. I guess in the foggy rain, maybe 200 metres. Onwards and upwards. The stretches to east longer now than to west. We're beginning to round the shoulder of the mountain. The track deteriorates.

Less trees now and we're in the cloud, actually above the rain. Wipers to intermittent, we pass a couple of forks in the tracl. Only an old Land Rover should be up here-not a new van!
We're a couple of hundred metres above the vast, white cloud blanket that obscures the town and fills the canyon. It's much colder up here too.
Finally we park up. It's surreal to step out of a van above the cloud as if from an aeroplane. Red light! Green light! Go! It is silent and still up here.
Two small dogs rush out, barking their threat at me: Go on try it. Just one false move fella. Just one false move. The farmhouse door opens and the two men embrace and kiss. Oh, I see. No I don't see. Her men greet each other this way. These are brothers.
Combat boots off, I step in with my woollen ski stockings. A simple hall to an inner door.
The opened door reveals three generations of the family, who smile and laugh in appreciation of my arrival. I take in with one glance the cosy, lived-in kitchen. Three sofas along one wall, a huge wood burning stove and the family. Simple decoration. An odd musical instrument on the wall, a posed for family portrait from long ago. No books, no distractions from socializing.
Embraces and kisses on both cheeks for father and two brothers. Hand shakes for granny, wife and two sisters. Little hand shakes for the grandson terror. It soon becomes obvious that here in the farming communities the women work constantly. I just have to accept it but my heart bleeds as I watch the wife's body language.
My thoughts are interrupted. Pivo! I take the opened beer bottle, followed by a glass. Rakji! Jeeze! No. That's home-made hooch!

I hardly ever drink and the second Pivo has me affected. No wonder all are happy and smiling. But no. These are really welcoming folk, close to the earth. A huge pan offers up a soup or stew placed before me, along with two thick slabs of home made bread set on the oak table by my plate. Eat! I am instructed as all watch happily. The driver breaks chunks of bread into his soup til it looks as thich as muesli. Another offer of Rakji. No. No.
The food is excellent, obviously from very fresh ingredients.

The door opens and another visitor comes in, clearly known to the others. I rise and embrace him Montenegran style. I'm told he's another brother, one who can't talk. He has a paralyzed and contorted left arm and an odd uneven look in his bright eyes. A sroke? Ignoring his disabilities I greet him and he takes his place with a pivo in his hand.

Later I get out some After Eight mints as a thank you. They seem to be appreciated. The two daughters can speak some English, one of them quite well. They are all happy for translations. Michael Jackson preferring an under eight after dinner seems to amuse.
There is absolutely no pretension about these people. I love it. Sophisticated they're not but I care not. Sincerity beats sophistication any day.
Many pivo are consumed as I get out the camera and shoot off a roll of film of the falmily members who pose seriously whenever I aim at them. But I'm as much a beginner as they. I only hope these indoor shots come out. I'll take them to the capital, Podgorica to have them processed.

Later the father takes the odd musical instrument down from the wall. It has a gourd-like body and long, ornately carved neck, ending in a huge carved eagle. Montenegro's emblem. With only one string, this is the country's oldest instrument. The bridge in place, the single, thick gut string is tensioned with a crude, wooden peg. A short bow is drawn back and forth and it is then that I realize the notes are produced by skillful use of the fingerss of left hand on the bridge.
This gives five raw notes with a rough beat due to the short stroke of the bow. The rough, shall we say, singing, is folk music at its most basic. I am priveledged to experienc it but I'll not be asking about CD's or T shirts.
My new friends are genuinely warm. I've not met this for many, many years. I'm to meet it every day of my stay in Montenegro.

This is a tiny, mountainous country, with amazing roads, more of which later. But its greatest asset is its people. Years ago, a young American said to me that a stranger is a friend I've not yet met. Rather naiive I thought. But actually it really does apply here.
When it's time for bed, I'm shown to the unheated room nextdoor, in which are three large beds piled high with blankets. Three men sleep here tonight, like three little bears in a fairy tale. I am tucked in with assurances made that I have enough blankets. Little do I appreciate how cold it gets up here at night.

So a hearty breakfast of three eggs, five thick rashers of bacon, home made fetta cheese and slabs of bread. Turkish; coffee with the cups upturned in their saucers afterwards to let nthe grand mother read the grounds. These are supersticious folk.
Then pivo and Rakji! Though not for me thanks.
Midday now, Saturday, the van takes me with much waving goodbye. I memorize the new way down as I'll have to return on my own with the photos later.
I note the landmarks at the valley floor when we turn onto the road: Powerlines and three distinctive barns. Again when we join a road signed Mojkovac: a VW bus carcass.

Rade is storing the bike. An old sand yellow Range Rover stops by our parked van at the triangular Mojkovac bridge visible on google earth. Two muscled Montenegran men beam a welcome. These must be the brothers of Rade who rescued Damien-and had a flooded basement! My bag stowed, off we go up Tara Canyon to Rade's farm and the bike. The gearknob from the transfer box is missing. Only the driver's wiper is present for duty. The steering wheel is missing the centre boss and the complete casing. It's been hot-wired!

I try not to be the gawking tourist but it would be stupid not to look up and around at the towering canyon walls.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231355214

Towering limestone walls rise to past the snow line and disappear into the cloud. We're on the flank of one, with the other glowering at us from across the chasm. The cloud cover is higher than yesterday. The mountains here much higher and steeper than just 2km away above Mojkovac. The weather must change very quickly here.
All the trees are dead sticks, laying the slopes bare. Magnificent in its scale and grandeur, the canyon is also threatening in its winter state- threatening rain or snow at any moment.

Turning my attention downwards to the river snaking below us, I see clear, turqouise water rushing foamless, all rocks covered. Snow melt has swelled the river to a torrent. I see the drive glance at the state of the river. A white water rafter assessing out of habit I guess as they only run the river in summer.

The road now. Soon I must ride it on an unfamiliar bike-someone else's bike. Normally I ride a Moto Guzzi Le Mans 850 with clip-ons, linked brakes and 120 rear tyre. Just how different is the BMW F6650GS going to be?
Just look at the road too! Corner after corner with gaping drops on one side. Mostly but not all good tarmac. But the thing I notice is how the corners follow the contour and therefor have varying radii! Sometimes they tighten madly. This will be a challenging ride needing care and attention.

The whole scale of this canyon is impressive and Rade's family live right in the middle. I invite you to check google earth, " Dobrilovina, Montenegro". At 5 o'clock from Dobrilovina is a google blue spot. At 8 o'clock from the blue spot is Rade's house. The same distance to the south now there is a distinct elbow bend in the river. The " Old man's white beard" feature is a VERY steep slope. At the left, from the road side it is damn near vertical then it's scree slope to the water. Our dear Damien fell down the steep bit to come to rest on the lower scree slope! I am shocked to imagine how he ever survived.

At the farmhouse I am met by Rade and his eleven year old daughter, Sanja, who after only one year studying speaks very good English. She began her school days as one of only two pupils in the school! She's a very bright girl.
I'm ushered in for a very welcome coffee finished with the ritual upturning of cups. Rade is a big, intelligent and capable, quietly ambitious man. He and his family resist pressure to move to a town, carrying on the farm of their ancestors in the remote canyon. Life is tough and poor here.
Rade, his brother and their father live on different floors of the farmhouse. He tends a few cattle, has some other job and runs raft trips in the summer. In winter he farms and clears fallen rocks three times a day from the section of road near the farm. He thinks nothing of hiking up to the summer pasture. A big man quite at home in and suited to the large scale environment. He's recieved a grant and built four lovely holiday chalets which are rented out in summer and each can house a family in cosy comfort.
This must be simply wonderful in summer sunshine with the slopes green with lush foliage. The situation is spectacular, 80 metres above the river, on a flat expanse in a bend in the torrent.

I am too reserved to recieve hospitality easily. I feel awkward staying for free when Rade has done so much in helping Damien and storing the bike, resisting offers from locals to sell the bike and pocket the cash. I say one day and feeling the year is getting on I then hit the road. One way and another this trip has got underway late. The family were the perfect hosts and it was a pleasure meeting them.

The bike is wheeled out from the barn where it has lain since early October. The first thing I check is if it is an F650 GS with forks which have broken on several examples. Oh. Yes it is. I decide to ride it anyway. How's that for intelligence? All electrics are OK, no friction material visible on the front brakes. Oil level good and condition too, no change due yet. Front tyre is a bit soft, chain very loose indeed. Both brake light switches are sticky at first but soon loosen up. Back light assembly is missing one bolt.
It starts on first stab of starter and it ticks over at 1500rpm. I neglected to check what the tickover should be. My bike, a twin, ticksover at 800rpm. Later I put on the fabulous Metal Mule panniers and set off carefully to negotiate the cattle trodden wet slope up to the house. The bike takes it in style.
Loaded up, goodbyes said, I set off for Podgorica, promising to return in a day or two with the photos I've taken.


The bike is instantly impressive. Easy to ride, a pleasure to ride and really well handling. I use engine braking and a bit of trailing back brake to save the front pads. The bike's really controllable, flowing easily through the bends. But two corners catch me out and I run wide. Yikes. Those road engineers.
At Mojkovac I estimate two hours to the capital, Podgorica. I can see these are slow roads but I still underestimate the time needed by quite a bit.

Ether
 

That's two more times it's struck.

Game On
 

Let me liken this ride to a computer game. Tony's made up a disc for me called Bike Tour, based on Montenegran roads, so different hazards from the usual ones. He wrote it for a BMW F650GS and I opted for a winter setting out of curiosity. He has done a brilliant job of providing a challenging and rewarding experience. It is totally involving with constantly changing surfaces and amazing bends. I'm left wondering what he's provided for game over but no intention of finding out.
Every corner is unique and impossible to read ahead. Tony's idea of a corner's vanishing point is where a car has disappeared over an abyss. A pot of flowers marks the spot. Cruel joke.
Forget the apex. To survive, keep your options open. Each bend must be entered slowly, read through and powered out, but they can tighten or have hazards. He's put in damp, wet or even running water. Shiny tarmac in places. Rock falls, usually where the road cuts into a cliff. Then there are the mud slides, slithering from inside to outside edge of bend. Often camouflaged by running water. Add in reflections from the road and shadows in the gorge and it's very testing.

But best of all are the tunnels. Unlit and unlined, water cascading from the roofs. One even, develishly, has a tight turn immediately after the entry. Now THAT could be a game over. Too much confidence, run wide, need to lean and brake on grease and it only takes one of the, admittedly rare, oncoming cars. But they all cut the corners! Fiendish. From the title I expected it to be a holiday but Tony's cunning.
My only criticesm is his signage. I took corners at 50kph or even 60kph when he signed them max speed 30kph. Maybe he got confused with mph, I don't know but it's only a small error. He also put in skid warning signs, which is odd as the whole road is a skid risk for a bike. Apart from this it's surely good enough for publication. I'd like to see other gamers have the chance to get the buzz I got.

Early afternoon sunshine greets me as I approach Podgorica and I've had a fabulous time. I don't notice the drop in altitude or clearing sky as I approach the coast. I also haven't noticed the vibrations and that's a sign of a great game. The little Beemer has been pefect for the low speeds, tight bends and uneven surfaces.
I slow on a closed throttle to a bit over the town speed limit on the long straight towards town centre, past shabby ads and small businesses. One last, grim Aussie joke near game's end-if you make it. A wired-in yard of destroyed cars. All half overlap head-ons! Hm That's to add to the one's at the bottom of the gorge.

I take an hour without any GPS to find anything significant in this small, simple town. I suppose my head's still paced to the game I just finished! A bit of food wouldn't go amiss so I park by a cabin-like food stall. Remembering the wide, alloy panniers, I put my left foot far out from the bike, lean forward and down and draw my right leg over the seat till the knee clears it. I turn face down, bend my knee and scrape my foot over the seat. Phew! The leather-clad gymnast has landed.
I get some fruit and juice and a young American hails me. We chat and he invites me over the road for a beer. Nice! ( Little do I know the poor guy's an alcoholic and this is the start of his day shift). We go to a bar restaurant, inside like a dungeon. Wow! I like this. What an ace home this would make--especially if the blonde and btunette dishes in the corner were included.
The Calabria turns out to be Podgorica's best pizza place. A Harley riding designer owns it and another-The Long Road Cafe. He is commissioned by ohters to design cafes etc for them. He has a definite knack. As we sip Montenegran black wine ( red in other countries), I begin to relax as I haven't for a long time. The Beemer's locked up outside next to the owner's Vespa and as I learn Montenegro is very safe. I begin scared for the bike's safety but have no problems at all.

I ask for a typically Montenegran dish and recieve a delicious meat rolled in bacon menu. Past and simple side salad plus bread. Lovely. The ingredients are really fresh and that makes it so, so tasty. I am happy. A bloody brilliant ride, good food and pleasant company. I am chatting to Serje who is off duty but normally cooks the pizzas, the drunk American and the barman and waiter as it's quiet. The price is very reasonable and I'm not permitted to pay for any of the drinks.

Late in the evening I set off on the bike, back up the gorge to look for a discrete place to sleep undisturbed. I take a side road up a mountain slope to near the tree line, and sleep under a clear sky in the southern Balkans.
The sky is unpolluted by light and about 10C. My bag is rated to -20C, so no problems with cold--yet.
I doze off counting potholes and dream of counter steering, leaning and engine barks on down-changes. Grinning in my sleep.

I think the Beemer, resting on its side stand, is wondering what's hit it.
Linzi.

More of Podgrica
 

He clasps the crag with crooked hands, close to the sun in lonely lands, ringed with the azure world he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls, he watches from his mountain walls, and like a thunderball he falls. (Alfred Lord Tennyson). I view an eagle soaring the valley winds. This is the emblem from the musical instrument. The twin headed eagle found only here! I guess its observation skills had become legendary. I've read that there are also bear, wolves and other wild wonders still roaming up here. I descend to the road and return to Podgrica. Leaving two rolls of film for development I cross the road and fuel up. The Beemer takes less than I expect. Then the run wasn't so much distance as time. The man tells me he has the same model of bike and I tell him of the odd characteristic I've noticed. I took my hands off the bars once to adjust my gloves. The handle bars shook violently. This is displayed at 50 kph or 60 kph but not faster. He then tells me that his friend beside him will drive, I should follow and we'll go to a workshop and have it looked at. Alarm bells ring! But I've not yet fully got used to Montenegro yet, I needn't have worried.

We arrive at a yard packed to bursting with bikes. Mostly late model Japanese and scooters. But there are also an MV Agusta Brutale 910R, a Ducati 1098 and the owner's Aprilia Mille RSV-R. Seeing these models surprises me and just confirms my fears that this fly is in a spider's web. I'd rather back out. The jovial round rolly, polly owner comes over smiling ( I imagine him rubbing his hands). I explain quickly the facts and he caresses the knobbles on the front tyre. I hadn't noticed how they're unevenly worn. He presses his weight down on the seat a few times and announces that the shock's got no damping action. djusting the remote confirms this. I mention the chain slackness and his opinion is the o-ring chain can't be fully lubed by the Scottoiler. Yes the chain is very slack but it's also damaged. I say that while he works on tyre pressure and chain--both quick and simple of curse, I'll nip to a cash machine to make sure I've got some spare cash to pay. He stands up next to me, dwarfing me somewhat and says, " We have a strict rule here". I felt a bit concerned and confused. "Foreign visitors are forbidden from paying". That's true, piped up his brother.
My eyes smiled as I just looked from one cheery face to the other, shaking my head slowly. I looked round at the Wurth machinery that equipped this workshop. After adjusting the chain, setting the correct pressure and checking the bike over we chatted about bikes and suchlike-as you do! I expressed my glory at the road down from Mojkovac, They expressed envy at us having Donnington race track! I realized there are no race tracks anywhere near here! They're stuck with their private IOM TT then! The Aprilia had been crashed twice I am told. By the owner and by him- a finger stabs at the newly arrived visitor. Several more come in the next twenty minutes. Quuite a social event. The Aprilia looks immaculate. Repaired with all new parts. The old fairing is leaning against a wall. I see the score marks along the bottom edges! Done on the road I am told. Between here and Mojkovac! Wow! Mad! But he tells me he doesn't ride really fast, rather he doesn't slow down for the corners. I envy him his intinmate knowledge of the road but still think I'll leave that and the TT to others thanks! He's a big guy for the bike but still to ground it and wear the tyres to the absolute edges as he has done on that road impresses me. But you simply can't afford to slide out there--game over!

Back at the Long Road Cafe I check the photos I've just collected from the lab. I've met Serje and the drunk for a chat and drinks. Sorry to describe him that way but I don't want to identify the poor guy. The test shots of Beograd are lovely and clear but the indoor shots show up my inexperience. then I realize I had three rolls! Blast. I forgot the roll including Rade's family. I'm assured however that there will most certainly be a photo lab in Mojkovac. I will have to ride that road again anyway and I think about it with glee and anticipation. Once again I notice that all the customers in this cafe are men. I keep getting glances. I ask if it's a gay bar but am told no Podgorica girls only go with really rich guys! Ah Ha. An oddity about this place then.
We nip round to the Calabria, as Serje has to begin work and I ask for another, different Montenegran dish. This meal is again tasty and hearty. Fresh ingredients making it a taste fest! After I chatted at the bar on a high stool. Somehow the whole afternoon drifted away in pleasant conversation. I am all questions about this new country to me. I enjoy the company of Serje, the barman and waiter and they appreciate the distraction on this otherwise quiet day. It also transpires that they do 12 hour days and only Serje has had any time off in the last 6 weeks! No labour laws. The Calabria is to close in about a week to be changed completely better to earn big bucks. We are all in agreement that it will be a real shame to lose such a place. I wonder what the owner's revamp will look like. The Calabria was created 10 years ago--looks like 800years ago!
The waiter, they giggle, is the richest man in the coastal village from which he comes-on a waiter's pay! There's much for me to learn here.
Only when they close do I say goodbye and set off once more up the gorge a bit and head for the tree line to camp. this night the sky's again clear but the temperature a bit lower. There'll be a slight frost. Last night I was nearly too hot. Tonight Goldylock's porridge is just right. Very much more reaxed than in a long time I drift easily off to sleep. The little Beemer, content too, no longer shaking its head, rests silently on its side stand. Linzi.

Feedback
 

Is anyone interested in this longer account please? Or is it wasting space? Linzi.

I think I'm speak for everyone by saying they're reading but not wanting to clutter up this thread with their own comments, so keep writing mate. :thumbup1:

Great story and as for the magazines, it's their loss.

I'm reading it. I'm right there with you in the pub and the bike yard. Keep posting.

I Don't Want To Go Home
 

Eenglish? I wake and answer yes to the old farmer looking down at me snuggled up in my bag. He is well dressed for the frosty morning including a woollen hat. Well I'll be damned! I chuckle at my confidence that no-one would find me here. From what A to what B had he been walking up here and so early in the chilly morning? And why had he thought Eenglishi? Ah the GB on the number plate no doubt.
I had picked this spot for its solitude, failed, and to catch the morning sun, success. I gaze lazily out from my cosy down bed at the other side of the gorge, here quite wide. Scatterd houses can be seen in even really remote places. I wonder what people do for a living. It's a world away from down town Podgorica!
What a tramp I am! I get out of my sleeping bag in fibre pile and socks, water the plants, replace fluids from a water bottle and wash my face and hands in a dog's folding bowl. Bought new I'll have you know, form e-bay. Far cheaper than from camping shops etc.
With the heavy frost of my wake up call I am pleased to see the sun's warmth has melted the frost from the track. I can ride down safely to the bottom road and return to Podgorica. I want to say bye to my new friends at the Calabria as I am now leaving and must begin the journey to UK. Oh Yes. That journey. I'd almost forgotten about it!
I park the Beemer by the Vespa again and have a morning coffee in the Long Road. Now I know there is 24 hour security at the cafe. The bike really is safe here. Infact the whole trip turns out to be safe. Around the corner to the Calabria and chat to the guys for a couple of hours. I take some shots of the interior and my new friends then tear myself away to head for Mojkovac.
I reach the edge of Podgorica and then gas it. Well after some practice I take it a bit faster but still with the intention of surviving. It takes immense discipline to pull over mid journey for a photo shoot. That can be easily understood I'm sure. A bit of luck and frankly good thinking and, just before its too late I brake hard and turn into the carpark outside a remote cafe. Warmth, coffee and some photos! I u-turn in the carpark, having overshot, and park up. There is an ouside sink at this rustic abode so I take the opportunity of washing the bike's bodywork. Ah, doesn't it look nice! The roll including this ride was developed in Montenegro and printed, not burnt to disc as later photos were. So here goes, a detailed description: A bridge over the gorge. Some big mountains, some houses and the road. Nice eh!

White Soil and Black Mountains.
 

The next section of gorge run I have only done once so after a shaky start, after the cafe I get back into game mode and make it to Mojkovac happy and sated. I've had about six bad moments but this bike is really perfectly in its element here. Man that tyre up to pressure made a world of difference. I struck my right toe on one perfect corner that I knew. That came as a surprise! Those boots were made for walking! Yes I know I haev to keep getting them resoled using my Le Mans.
Somehow I manage to slow to the speed limit through the few villages near Mojkovac. Fun's fun, but I'm here as a visitor so 50kph it is. Grrr. I'm still in corner killing mode and it ain't easy. I can't repeat here the words I used out loud in my helmet as I described that road to myself. And boy I love this little bike. If I'd used my beloved Le Mans on that route, brilliant fun as it is, it would have had the forks bent, wheel bent and it can't change direction to tighten mid corner like the Beemer. Come to think of it on the tracks up to the ealges' perch, well impossible. Guzzi: bloody brilliant. But not here at all. This little Beemer is so trusty, versatile and FU++, it just did that gorge with Metal Mules on it!!! " When I grow up, I want to be a boxer". Don't worry little un, you're a bloody kung fu expert already!
There's no photo lab in Mojkovac. Wish I was a kung fu expert. No, only kidding. I feel so happy with this country that I'm only glad when I'm directed to another town for a lab. Another road. YES. Bijelo Polje, 35 km north means white soil. Soil? Better calm down and not get too confident! Linzi.

Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud.
 

In Mojkovac I fuel up and find to my surprise that the bike needs very little fuel. Now that isn't down to economy. I realize that the route I have just done is an immense journey in involvement but only a short distance in km on the speedo! This is a compact country but the roads take a long time to negotiate bless them. Images of a streaking white RSV-R!
I intend to visit the mountain top farmhouse with their photos before going to Bijelo to a lab. Back to Rade with his photos and on up the canyon to camp high up to ensure a low enough temperature for my sleepiing bag. I'd sweat in about 3C in it! I find the turn off easily--the VW van carcass. The first section of this road is like an abandoned airfield. Concrete, ribbed and patched and uneven. Around a corner and all changes! 3km of land slide damage. Remember the biblical downfall? Well it came down the mountain and has simply washed tons of mud over the road. It is open again, but a bull dozer has been at work and still is in the middle where it's worst. Trucks are filled and take away the rich soil for use elsewhere. After slowing down a lot, entering the arena and feeling the spray off the front tyre, I lift my leg supermoto style to the front and side to view the damage. Mummy! Mummy Look! A chocolate coated biker! Right to the knee was thick muck. In places the lack of grip was terrifying. Only for a short section then it is OK again. Then wet, totally clear for a bit then hard brake before I hit it and super slow again. In one wide sweeping bend I am surprised at 50kph to find the surface is super slippery. the tail begins to slew round. Off the brake, bike upright, off the throttle and smoothly slow to the edge of the road to almost stop before turning, through some water and back to normal. Phew. Graceful but lucky. Great bike. Like some little kid I seek out every puddle after that to clean off in the spray.
When I reach the farm the bike and I are simply dirty rather than thickly coated.

I am recieved again with enthusiasm by the family members at home. The dogs accept me calmly after I'm recognized as a family member! I hand over the photos and they insist that I stay the night! I have to go to Bijelo first so off I go. Well, back down the very steep track, through the muck, clean the tyres over grass and speed up to take the smooth, curvy road at 85kph. The most even tarmac I've seen yet. Waiting for the photos I leave the dripping, filthy bike in town centre, away from anyone to get dirty rubbing past it. I kill the two hours waiting for the photos in a cafe with my boots outside on the pavement. But my mucky trousers dry off and I leave a mess of powdered dirt on the carpet. I take the photos back through the mucky 3km yet again ( One more time to go tomorrow!), up the mountainside and finished! The evening is chatter, pivo, rakji and heaps of food. It now dawns on me that the diet varies hardly at all! The same stew, meat, fetta and bread. They use no salt, spice or herbs to add flavour at all! Their hearts are in the right place but this life is very basic.
One of the men covers the bike with a piece of carpet which I think is totally pointless. Next morning the ground is frozen solid! The carpet is thick in frost. How did he know such a drop in temperature was coming? I hadn't noticed anything had changed. The same huge breakfast- and pivo declined. At last I have to go. It's almost midday and the tracks are still frozen but it is possible to get down in one piece. Some hairy moments but made it.
I am back out of the sticks as I pass the VW van carcass again, and out in a filthy state! I stop for petrol and it only takes 2.80 Euros! Again I have mixed activity up with fuel used. At the petrol pumps the attendant is friendly as almost everyone is here. He is surprised at the choice of mid winter to tour here. I can't explain but am beginning to think that the surprise of locals at a biker here now, means that I've been lucky with the weather. I ride back up Tara Canyon to Rade's house. Sadly he isn't home. At work, Sanja tells me, but I don't ask what work. I'd assumed he'd be there, a pity to miss him. Bye, bye and off again. This time actually beginning the long road to UK. The canyon is deeper and grander past Rade's house and the road is again epic. Now I stop often as this is to be an important photo target for me. Further up the canyon though, the air is heavy with water and I am frustrated at the poor light due to the totally overcast sky. I come at last to a very famous bridge round here and realize that the rafting takes place in this section of canyon not by Rade's home. This is actually downstream though it looks like upstream to me. An optical illusion. The mountains get bigger and the canyon deeper. The multi span bridge crosses it in style but the trees make a photo difficult. Do the magazine photos come from a helicopter or huge crane? Maybe they chain saw a few trees for the photo shoot. I am having more trouble with uploading photos than I can believe. I shall try and crack it and illustrate this section. Linzi.

[IMG]http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/ee332/DerMenace/_14_0272.jpg[

Linzi, great trip report very awe inspiring.:scooter:cant wait to see the photos

Google View
 

Sorry no uploads yet but have you tried this? In google earth, viewing Dobrilovina, or anywhere for that matter, put two finger tips on the mouse pad of a laptop and drag down, across, twist etc. It comes up 3D. Linzi.

Great write up, just waiting for the pictures now. :thumbup1:

Wow!
 

Hm. Really seriously. I can't go any further without learning how to post. Can you please either tell me how or do the same each time I post the text link? Linzi.

Here it is:

[IMG]internet address of the Photo[/IMG]

You almost got it right ;o)

here is the help page of the HUBB http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/hub...vb_board_usage

(Thanks)
 

Hi, thank you. I'm puzzled why the address did'nt print out in full. I need now only ensure they come out larger than thumbnale but HUBB has a limit less than the original file and that's another hurdle. Here goes then. Linzi.

This was way too small so there'll be another long delay. This is a road for two way traffic displaying a rare section of armco which must be far too expensive to use all over the place. Linzi.

Just post the link to the pic. Think will be fine.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231355763

Well it's getting a bit bigger now, that feels good! A lot of hard work though. Eh Hm. I'm a beginner at this and it shows. Linzi.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231187617

Self explanatory, note uneven surface, and the distractions!

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231187833 It's hard to stop when you're having fun. The bike just has space off the road here.

These signs inform me. Look Out!, Rocks!, Skid Risk!, Bend! Nice. Slow in, then what? http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231188037

Sippery when wet.
 

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231188253

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231581191

Break Down
 

Sorry about the delay. My fault. I forgot the kill switch! All that mucking around. I knew it must be something simple. Now it's a bit late, all the photo stops, time spent finding a view through the trees. I cross the bridge and am irritated that I've been so unlucky with the weather. Just when I set my mind on getting photos in the canyon, the sky is overcast and it's damp. This bridge over the Tara Canyon is very famous in the Balkans I read on a plaque. It is very high to cross the gorge but also in 1942 the designer blew up the span nearest me as I take the photo. This delayed the Nazi invasion considerably but the designer was killed in his heroic action. I can only ponder at the incredible problems facing any army trying to invade here!
I check my map and plan out the rest of the day. Organized and focussed now I decide to carry on from the bridge to camp and return to photograph the canyon tomorrow, continue to get shot of the high Durmitor peaks, the highest in Montenegro and centre of the Durmitor National Park. There's a ski centre up there and Tony indicated a scenic road over the shoulder of the high land. I'll decide tomorrow whether to bivi up there or go to the town further on. It is yet to be seen how damp my sleeping bag will be. It gets body moistture in the down at night of course and takes a long time or warmth to dry. These conditions look like I'll not be able to dry it at all so that'll leave only one more night's use before a real dry off is necessary. Linzi.

Break Down
 

Sorry about the delay. My fault. I forgot the kill switch! All that mucking around. I knew it must be something simple. Now it's a bit late, all the photo stops, time spent finding a view through the trees and then that kill switch! I cross the bridge and am irritated that I've been so unlucky with the weather. Just when I set my mind on getting photos in the canyon, the sky is overcast and it's damp. This bridge over the Tara Canyon is very famous in the Balkans I read on a plaque. It is very high to cross the gorge but also, in 1942 the designer blew up the span nearest me. This delayed the Nazi invasion considerably but the designer was killed in his heroic action. I can only ponder at the incredible problems facing any army trying to invade here!
I check my map and plan out the rest of the day. Organized and focussed now I decide to carry on from the bridge to camp and return to photograph the canyon tomorrow, continue to get shots of the high Durmitor peaks, the highest in Montenegro and centre of the Durmitor National Park. There's a ski centre up there and Tony indicated a scenic road over the shoulder of the high land. I'll decide tomorrow whether to bivi up there or go to the town further on. It is yet to be seen how damp my sleeping bag will be. It gets body moisture in the down at night of course and takes a long time or warmth to dry. These conditions look like I'll not be able to dry it at all so that'll leave only one more night's use before a real dry off is neccessary. Linzi.

It's Getting Late
 

Immediately after crossing the bridge the road snakes up the open, grass slopes with tight hairpins and long straight between. I up the pace up here where it's safe to play. The road's snaking opens slowly as it covers the less steep ground emerging from the canyon to small trees and a slightly tundra-like scenery. It's bleak here as I've not yet seen in Montenegro. It's as if I am much higher up or nearer the pole. It's cold too, much colder and the hour's so late that darkness is coming. I revell in the superb quality of tarmac and the view between corners, stringing them together with pleasure. Able to up 5th gear for the first time today I note how far the next town must be as the higher land undulates gently, sometimes open, small forests and gentle, predictable bends. I approach an old communist time car. These are often without lighting I've noticed. I slow a little and keep well back to let him know I don't intend to pass. The road becomes straighter and I close in to pass in the centre of the forest on a flat straight. I ponder why he hasn't accelerated. He is infact going a bit more slowly. There's a car parked off the road on the left. He's slowing more but something tells me not to pass, I wait. The little car suddenly turns left across where I'd have been had I passed. Phew. Nice one Linzi. Well anticipated. I pat myself on the back, smug that I've already noted the higher altitude and colder air plus darkness. Watch out for ice. I have speeded up after the delay of the little car but back off a bit. Respect needed now. I am getting confident now in Montenegro. I feel I have the measure of the place. ( What were those words? Smug? Confident? ) Linzi.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231191153

This is what the edge of the road looks like. Just bull dozed out and left. If you look carefully it looks like you can see where someone has gone off here. Every corner in Montenegro's had someone off I bet. This is the outside of a corner I approached in the dark, having slowed down.

My Corner
 

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231191450

The day after I returned to view the scene and see why. This is the approach view though in daylight. Set up wide, ready to turn in late for the apex right? This takes a bit of imagination. Let me assure you this is a very deceptive bend. Imagine a circular mirror on the wall infront of you. It's a circle of course! Now pull the bottom of the mirror forward. It now looks, in two dimensions, like an oval. The bend above looks like it follows the drop away of the ground to right and left and the background. It looks like a circle or constant radius curve. It isn't! It follows horizontally and tightens! This hit me hard just where I take this photo for my records. I brake with the rear brake to slow. I had already set my entry speed but that is now too high. The rear tyre swerves out to the right, the loaded panniers lending a hand. My brain works in lightning time. Abort the corner! Don't try to take it! Run on! I am on slippery road, too fast, can't brake and turn and stay up. I am aware of the open run off. In a split second I release the brake, set the bike upright and ride off the road applying rear brake as it leaves the slippery tarmac. Linzi.

Here We Go!
 

The bike bounces like a pogo stick and the speed's not coming down. The forest is rushing at me. Fast. It rushes. The bike bounces. We're going in! There's a plank seat across the path. I fly off the bike high to the right and tumble. I feel my helmet hit the deck and roll. Fu++, Damn, bastar...I swear with an angry vengeance. I have never crashed a bike before. The Beemer. It's not mine! I'm alone in a far off country with not a lot of money.
Swearing again, I remove my helmet and place it on the grounnd. The bright tail light is shining at me accusingly. Bloody idiot it shouts. The rear wheel turns slowly, the engine thumps away on tickover, waiting for the next instruction.
I walk past the misplaced plank that the bike sent flying. I walk the 25 metres to where only the back half of the rear wheel is sticking out. The bikes buried down the rocky slope, in the trees. One Metal Mule has been torn off the bike. Fu++ Another round of vicious self criticism-fully justified.
I stumble as I lean over the carcass. I hit the kill switch and pocket the keys. The forks must me bent, wheel, fairing. Fu++ the bike's a right-off. Bugger, Fu++ jump up and stamp. I pick up the Metal Mule and place it beside my helmet. You twenty four carat plonker! ( Smug, confident). Linzi.

Help Arrives
 

Only as I turn to the voices do I realize that two hatchbacks have pulled up and I have what looks like a rugby team approaching me. One, a woman, speaks in English. After explanations the guys crowd round the bike and simply right it and lift it out! The back wheel is locked but these are big guys. I am amazed and grateful. I kick out the side stand and put in the keys. The headlight blazes furiously, the dash lights up. I knock it down to neutral noticing that it had been in fourth gear. Immediate thought is too much speed then. It fires up as normal. I peruse it more closely by the light of the headlight. It is not damaged! Fack! As Valantino Rossi would say.
I check it more carefully and see only the left front indicator hanging off but works, left mirror gone, the front tyre's flat. I push it and can here hissing- a large hole then. I'm still stranded.
A van has stopped and these ever helpful Montenegrans use the plank to load the sad Beemer into the back, put in the pannier and plank and an explanation is made. The woman tells me I can go in the car and the van will follow. We will go to a bus company where the tyre can be fixed in the morning. They've got a motel there too. I am stunned at the turnaround but still in shock at what I've done. The rugby team recommence their journey towards the bridge, we commence our journey the 20 km to the bus company. Linzi.

Dinner
 

The bike is locked up in the workshops for the night. I'm taken across to the very nice canteen that looks more like a pub. Yes to chicken, salad and chips. One of the workers, management maybe, chats to me and we have a beer or two as I go through in my mind all the crazy thoughts that fill it. The food was great, I feel a bit knocked around but just like after a rugby game. My leathers show no damage. My helmet is only scratched. The knock was only a graze. My left thumb feels a bit bruised. I can't wait to get to the bike but that's got to wait. So watered and fed, I shower and sleep in a bed, my sleeping bag drying. I just don't deserve it. Linzi.

Repairs
 

Next morning I have breakfast and then cross the yard to the workshops. No industrial safety regulations here it seems. They have bus length service pits in the yard! I negotiate the hazard in a subdued mood. In the workshop a mechanic has the inner tube and tyre off already. He shows me the industrial quality patches already applied. There is a substancial gash on the side wall. I didn't know that a side wall could be repaired but this is seemingly normal here. It certainly looks thorough. I wipe dirt off the swing arm and point out the tyre's pressure. It is in no time back on the bike and I've now viewed the damage which is amazingly only as described. The left fairing panel is scratched as is the front mudguard. I tot up the list of parts I need to buy for it.Then to the battered pannier. I watch him use two heavy hammers with skill and confidence and return it to correct form and realign the mounting points. Incredible! I am impressed in this guy but also in the panniers. Sheepishly I repack the pannier now back in place and get out my wallet. I offer 20 Euros as cash straight to him. He accepts. Outside I find that the company accept this and there is no bill. This seems like good system to me. I am still not fully settled with all the information. I crashed the bike.It's damaged. I've breached trust. But I get a second chance. Lucky bugger! I ride more slowly for the whole of the rest of the journey.
Now I ride back up to the scene and park up. I learn that the tarmac was not frozen but is freakishly slippery. I've been told that two drivers a week crash here but that doesn't make me feel any better. http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231194975

The morning after. Linzi

Back on the Road
 

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231195240

This is the view from the bridge down towards Rade's house. It will be way out of sight 20 km away. The air is heavy with water though warmer. I am very subdued now and set on the job of getting photos. I'm having no luck with this canyon though. The light is poor for photography. The day suits my mood. It takes me a long time to stop tormenting myself over yesterday. I was too damned confident. Now the day looks like: set off for Durmitor and get over to the next valley by nightfall. I can camp out now with my bag dry. I ride down the canyon road a bit first but there's too much cloud and moisture.http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231195824

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231196104

There's a lot of water in this beautiful canyon.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231196218

Oops, not too close to the edge. I cannot really imagine what this canyon must look like in summer. There are trees near the road all along it but devoid of leaves. I give up getting photos expecting them to be all under exposed.
Back up, slowly, to the bridge. I stand for a time at the site of the plaque and statue to the designer and lament that I can't read the writing. I am saddened to think of the man who created this bridge dying. It takes very little to make me sad today!
I ride up out of the canyon onto the open ground and set off towards the biggest mountains in Montenegro. My expectations are high. Linzi.

Out of the canyon the whole area is more harsh than I've seen yet. I wonder that the Adriatic is not far away, yet this looks like Norway to me. It is a bleak sight on a cold winter's day but still being nature I appreciate it. Getting a bit hungry but photos to be taken.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231197026

There are constant reminders that this is a poor area.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231197443

This is a cold, remote area at the moment, hardly a car passes as I seek out photos.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231198189

The slow pace is therapeutic. I am getting my sense of humour back if I can see hip swinging trees in the roadside pines.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231198257


Finally, about midday, I emerge to view the famed Durmitor mountains and obtain one of the most important photos of the trip. Oh yeh?

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231198326

Ski Resort
 

After the poor weather conditions for photographing in the canyon and at the bridge I park up in Zabliak to get some food for the day. The town is little more than the ski resort sevice town. Hotels and not much else. The roads have been snow ploughed clear but all else has had a good depth put down. I turn into a carpark and with feet outstretched very cautiously enter and park up in a corner with lots of space for me but too little for a car. I return to find a taxi has blocked me in. I have to either wait or go out over the pavement. There is only one way open. Up a step, round a tight corner and right round the building. All in ankle deep snow. I try to run up over the step. The problem with stalling is caused by the bike having too little torque to uproot the post caught by the left side pannier--no mirror there. I roll back, think a bit and---gun the throttle, lean the bike to the left and carefully let the rear tyre spin up and slide to the right! Dodgy but it worked. Third try and up the step, some tricky handling and I emerge back out on the road. My first snow riding. Surprisingly easy: with extreme care and caution. This will be useful later. I head out of town on the "main road" to cross the high land and reach the far valley for the night. I am not targetting any town in particular. I am deliberately not planning as I don't know what conditions to expect. So I take it as it comes. I've got a dry sleeping bag, food, water and fuel, so let's go.
Just outside town I stop at the sight of this road and view.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231277092

I think the road infront is coated in ice 300 metres infront of me. It's downhill and I can hardly turn this bike in this narrow road downhill. I ponder whether to not proceed. I am already on a slight slope so committed and decide to proceed and see what the road's like.
It turns out to be sunlight on a lighter coloured road surface. Phew.

Winter highlands
 

The road is actually OK. The temperature is just below zero celcius, no wind, a very nice day actually. There is a tight right hand bend, still OK and several kilometres so. I stop to record some photos for the atmosphere here.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231279797

Ice cold, still lake,


sign warning of skid risk, but in this area you need to have your thinking cap on all the time.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231318903
The signs mean very little really. The road gets narrower after half an hour and there are hills and bends. There have been no snow ploughs here and less traffic despite it being a main road on the map. I am beginning to realize what a small country this is with little traffic between some towns. You wouldn't want to break down up here!
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231279931

the uncleared road continues for an hour if I remember correctly. I stop and check the map for distances and check the time for darkness onset. I shall press on to Savnik and make a decision there. It's cold but the weather looks stable. The little Beemer continues to impress me.

The narrow, uncleared road continued for long enough that I lost track of time. It became very twisty but the snow had by now melted here and the road dropped to a lower level. The chill had gone from the air as I reached the rough, basic town of Savnik. Sorry to the locals but I didn't even stop. The thight hairpins look on a map very entertaining but there's so much competition for best road here that I miss them! At a major road at last. The road from Podgorica to Sarakevo no less. Now there are two lanes and super tarmac. Right. North. Sarajevo in my sights. There's still lots of daylight left so I intend to go over the border and overnight in Bosnia.
After a smooth ride of 20 minutes or so I descend into Pluzine. This town has the air of a pioneering town in BC, Canada. There's an air of a logging community about it. I need a bank before replenishing myself or the bike. No sooner have I stopped and removed my helmet than a man asked what help I might need! Damn fine citizens here. He indecated the bank down the hill. A block of flats housed a tiny bank in it's basement. Not much need in this little, isolated community. This man, hearing that I am from Scotland said he'd had great times with Irish and Scots in Portugal. I'm sure I know what he means! The bank's ATM directed me indoors. Needs a pay rise it seems. Inside they couldn't help with my card nor change my Serbian Dinars. I had underestimated how far from the usual services I am. Got blase after Podgorica. Another two ATM's in the town were empty or switched off. Butch and Sundance must have had a hard time in Bolivia too!
I have loads of fuel range thanks to the engine's economy and set off for the border. I'll cross and sort things out at the larger town in Bosnia. The road to the border is, sorry, really fab. I ride smoothly up along a long, narrow flooded valley. The inevitable dam appears and I stop to admire the height and the extensive tunnels along the other bank. My intended use of a camera is not permitted. Must be a military reason I suppose. Off then over the dam, immediately through a tunnel and now, rather than 10 metres above water level, I am dizzyly high above a toy valley floor.
After a couple of minutes of riding I notice in the darkness of a tunnel a sice tunnel letting in light. It must connect with the old road I'd notice clinging to the spur of the cliff. A horse track, no more. I slowed, pulled in and u-turned. No traffic for half an hour but careful all the same. I turn into the tiny tunnel. Over the earth mound meant to stop HUBBers! Out to the spur and get a distant photo of the dam.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231323238

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231323306

No Go Mate
 

The border wasn't much farther. I got through the Montenegran side swiftly, automatically almost. Downhill, round a bend and out of sight. The Bosnia policeman said I couldn't buy green card cover at the border much to my surprise. He said I needed to return to the last town and buy it there. Don't listen to him, he was wrong. Up the hill to the Montenegrans again there si obviously a problem. I attract interest. Let me say here that the Montenegran authorities here were as easy going and friendly as elsewhere. They said the guy down the hill is mistaken but take a look at the insurance document. I seem to have no green card insurance here either! Oops. Now I remember Tony mentioning this. It should be purchased on entry but I entered by train, forgot and what could I have done anyway? Oh dear. Don't worry dear. It's only a blog! The Montenegran says I have a problem here as well as in Bosnia. So true! But he "asks" me to return to Pulzine for the insurance cover. He apologises! Wow. Oh, now I have to ride all the way back and return, a whole afternoon on an excellent road in super weather. Shit!
In Pulzine I park by the same food stand to think things over in this little, isolated frontier town. A, rather gorgeous, tall, blonde, young woman accosts me. Perhaps I've underestimated this town! She asks if I need any help. She indicates there's another ATM hidden at the side of the shop and a hotel down the hill. Thank you, I beam. Off she goes with my eyes followng at a discrete distance.
After assorted fruit, juice and a whole packet of biscuits, I decide, leaning ever so cooly on my dusty steed, to pack it in for the day and use the hotel. How decadent! But it's been a long day of concentration. I only regret having no travel companions to chat with about it.
The hotel was a bit cracked and motheaten. The first signs of communist times I've noticed. Thoughts of cold war fiction as I hand over my passport but the staff were friendly as always.

Off We Go I,m Bored
 

The heavy rain that had passed through the night left a bright, cheery morning for me to load the bike in. A real armful of assorted gear to carry down. In one go like a nutter! The breakfast had been great and I felt invigorated.
With the bike loaded I opened out the Montengran map with five colours of brown ink, rather hilly. Why bother you might ask. I am shocked you should ask! To look for a road less travelled to reach the border. I mean to ride the same road three times is not on!
From Pluzine there is a white route to the west of the lake. Interesting to me because it weaves around and rises a bit to come in near the dam. Looks interesting to me. Right that's decided then. A mini adventure. This trip is getting too boring. Let's explore.
I ride down past the lakeside houses. This seems more interesting and strikes me as worth a visit in summer. The sun's warm but summer would make it all come alive. The houses as the town gives way to nature are more and more home made and shack-like. The road here hardly warrants the label. I wonder if I should turn back. It is mountain bike stuff on broken tarmac. Often patched but in some bygone era. I turn a corner in the lake and the town's gone. Alone and happy now. I gaze down at the water and am astonished at the clear, bright colour. Some shade of blue which I can't name. Like Swedish girl's eyes with a dash of green gets it.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231325668
The road continues for half an hour weaving and ducking along the lakeside in no hurry to head in the right direction. It finally manages to squeeze round the end of an arm in the lake and gets down to business. It begins to rise into the hills. It is a beautiful route and would also be lovely in summer but the day's balmy and my heart light. The bike is just taking it easy too. Lots of low speed cruising really. I enjoy it so much I seem to have failed to photograph the lake or much of the road. But no. It transpires that some of the photos didn't come out. Whether knocks or water I know not but the Canon EOS died in Italy, finally succumbing to Croatian humidity I think.

I look back at the lake which I have now left below in the sheltered valley. I am now gaining height and the view exnpands. I wonder quite how high and cold the road will get for it's major leg up to towards the dam. I remember the condions on the way from Durmitor
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231327905




http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231405100


http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231327248

I can't view the road ahead as it still lies way around the shoulder of the hillside I am climbing and I must descend before really committing to the track over the mountain. It is getting bleak again though. I often wonder about going back but the further I go the longer the road back gets. The track conditions are OK though. It's just the question of what might lay ahead before I reach the dam.


http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231327306

The day is still and calm but up here the air is cold and near freezing. I see lots of what must be summer grazing homes. Farmers must bring their cattle up and stay over for several months. All the houses are now shuttered against the inhospitable weather which could whip in here rather quickly and there's no shelter at all from any arctic blast with snow.



http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231328407

The conditions are still excellent for the little Beemer and I must now be close to half way so I press on expectantly. Very soon now I'll be able to see round the mountain.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231328483

There at last. The highest that the track reaches. Another kilometre or so, but snow and maybe five kilometres of that til the altitude is reduced. Just don't know. Long way back. Snow. Decisions. Need to be responsible up here. OK I'll give it a go, prepared to abort if it is too difficult but nearly cracked it now. Feels great up here.

Oh Well That's It Then
 

I approached the snow carefully, avoiding it where possible. There came a section of track which had to be committed to and meant snow, no way out. I was OK on the right wheel rut but looking ahead decided to change to the ohter rut as there was less snow in it further on. Mistake. A tiny lean, greasy snow, wham! Time for reflection. A cigar if you've got one. Bike's OK on the soft snow. It strikes me that it must be 1C not freezing 'cos the sodding snow is soft and mushy. This is not a "situation" though. Not if I can lift the bike. Now if I can't that would be interesting. Sleeping bag's dry but it's a LONG walk for help. No not a real option. Who'd come up here? I must be self reliant. I came up here and must be self reliant.
I plan out this bike lift thoughtfully as its pretty important to get it right. I remove all the gear to a safe place back down the track. We're going home from here after all! The bike rolls round easily on the snow to leave the lift to be downhill. I clear away snow from tyres and for my boots. Both need grip. Put it in third gear and select grip points. The heavy little beast comes up and I rest at 90% lifted. It promptly slides over! With care I repeat the WHOLE thing, including the final fall. So much fun that I do it again. I cut the palm of my hand, a layer of skin gone. No pain in this cold. THis is getting worse.
The fourth time is done in one to fully lifted before a pause.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231329057


The outlook is spectacular even when you're about to go back the way you just came. I've come about 20 km in one hour. Ho Hum.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231329136

Yes He's Here Again
 

An hour later the intrepid, independent traveller pottered past the lakeside lodges and the bemused road workers. All in the plan, said my air of confidence I hope. I decided to give up on the Sarajevo trip totally. I set off south towards Niksic for food and to spend the night.
Only a short distance down the excellent road cloud rolled in from Durmitor and rain began. I pulled over and donned my overtrousers and jacket and set off again. After a short distance fog developed! How did that happen? I pulled over and considered not continuing due to risks in fog. I decided to continue and had a hard ride in very bad visibility to the large town of Niksic. It was bitterly cold in the fog. It felt colder than riding in freezing conditions. Yow!

I got to Niksic and found it only has a large and expensive hotel. I learnt this in the warmth of a cafe. Another disarmingly friendly person met in Montenegro. With a snack having been eaten and with my body heat up again I looked out at the thick whiteout. Nothing for it but to bivi outside the town's limits. As I made my way by compass west out of town, rain began. This increased to a deluge before I had decided to put on my waterproofs again. My leather jacket is not too bad but my trousers were worse off. I became desperate as I couldn't find anywhere at all to hide. Soaked absolutely, I took to a slippery chalk track and turned off this in dense fog to what looked like a secluded spot. Torrential rain, no cover, cold again. Caught out a bit eh! I negotiated lumpy rocks sticking up with soaked grass and chalk to ride on--at less than walking speed. I park up and plan in the rain.
Damien's tent poles seem to indicate a very complicated tent. Forget it. I lay out the flysheet and put under it all I need for the night. Locking the bike and panniers I duck under the flysheet and set up home. Surprisingly perhaps, it was dry and warm, just a bit odd to hear the hammering next to my ear. Zzzzzz.

Oops
 

(Just a note from the editor: I went up the mountain and dropped the bike, stayed in hotel, then next day tried the border. Passing Pluzine, I headed for Nikzic having decided to miss out Sarajevo and try another border as I couldn't buy a green card. Ooh! Naughty boy. My memory is failing me already!) I need to get thinking to get back in the groove of good writing, sorry. Also would love to post larger photos. Linzi.

nice
 

a good account of your interesting adventure, keep it coming. the photos are fine for these pages.:palm:

I really couldn't sleep with the noise of rain next to my ear. I kept pushing the flysheet and twisting it to leave an opening to avoid a build up of breathed out CO2. The flysheet was sopping wet and insisted on folding back and pressing on my face. By morning the mouth of the bivi bag and sleeping bag were very wet.
It is still pelting hard rain with daylight spreading over the scene. I am tired as if drugged and loathe to rise through lethargy and aversion to a total soaking. I hear the voices of several men outside but ignore them.
They leave, I doze, it rains. They return, I doze, it rains. They leave, it rains, I doze. They're back. It must look odd from outside. In this mucky, chalky mess, a parked bike with panniers. Beyond, a large plastic sheet over a bundle. These guys are persistent, but I'll only remain dry if I don't badly disturb the flysheet. My sleeping bag is vulnerable and I'm in fleece, with waterproofs and sodden leathers under the flysheet. Finally I don't speak Serbian. They poke and lift the fly. I object, they leave finally. I peak out and spot combat boots, cammo trousers, dogs and guns. Ah. Hunters. There will only be deaf deer left near here now!

At last I get up despite the rain still falling. I'm bored. I push my sleeping bag down into the bivi bag to try and protect it from the rain. I fling the flysheet back ready to leap into my clothes but the rain is only light spitting. The sound had been amplified by the material close over my face. I pull on my totally sodden leather trousers-hard to pull up like that. My jacket must be treated in some way as it is almost dry. My boots, army combat boots with goretex are soaked inside. Put them on anyway.
I pack the flysheet up like a parachute really. It makes my arms wet. It's now quite warm though. The temperature's all over the place, what with altitude changes and weather changes. I clear up, all packed onto the bike. Check for dropped paper or anything forgotten. All clear. OK now out of here. The bike's a pig loaded and on uneven, wet grass and chalk. I only trust myself to move it sitting on it. I dare not lose the balance in here. I'm not hungry, oddly, but I have had enough of this place.
I want to get a wash and shave in a building rather than out here. I wish I could have dry boots and trousers but my feet are now warm and the trousers are not an issue really over fleece. I just squelch when I move.
I ride into town and can now see what I rode through--Spread out suburbs. Not as I've seen before though. The spread of homes are farms and old buildings. I later learn that Niksic is the largest town in the Balkans. That's not population but area. I understand that--it's just been one after another a son has set up near his parents and out the town spread.
In a cafe I stop for a coffee. I seem to have gone off food and be sustaining myself somehow on coffees! On the ride in, the cloud was wall to wall and low. It just leaked. The air feels very humid indeed. This is not as before a thunder storm it's just very, very wet. When I look out the cafe window I am shocked to notice that the street outside seems to be full of smoke. It's fog! Wow! I have no ability at all to read the weather here. It's always catching me out, last night, now this. Is this a new, warm and wet airmass touching colder land? I stay in the cafe for a time as I don't like to risk riding in fog. I ask about it and the answer is that it's likely to last all day! Not good.
Early afternoon I decide to go to a hotel rather than ride in this blanket. It takes a time to locate it though as the fog is very dense indeed. When I locate the hotel it is one way too far up market for my budget. A city type job. Damn. I take perhaps two or three hours then to get onto the correct road out of town and en route for Dubrovnic. This includes a stop at a police station for directions but signs can't be seen and, "third right", leaves me wondering when the third road has actually been reached!
A man must have seen me pass several times, criss crossing the area. I had no chance of finding the road especially as I didn't know what town name would be on the sign! A car stopped and the driver asked something. Obvious what. So I said, "Trebinje". This is the town just over the Bosnian border. He gestured to follow and guided me to the important last turn onto the correct road. Wow, thanks! At last! Now let's get going--at 20kph!

Bye Montenegro
 

( Ed's Note: The author is no longer able to continue writing. Recounting his departure from Montenegro and marking his birthday, he overindulged on comfort foods, notably chocolates. An energy slump and deep depression have made him lisstless and disinterested. I think looking over his damaged Moto Guzzi was the last straw. His bivi bag and sleeping bag are missing. I shall try my best to continue in his absence using his diary and photos. )

As I understand the border was simple with 21 Euros green card for 7 days in Bosnia. His onward journey took him down a very steep and high hillside, out of fog into a cold, bare valley. The view back up to the hill top he said was quite spectacular. The border post just visible with back lighting from a full moon.

After a half hour ride through farm land dotted with small holdings he arrived at Trebinje. I think he recieved help with the roadsigns from a car driver as Dubrovnic was not shown. He stayed the night in a hotel. No wonder as his sleeping bag and clothes must have been soaked! I found one photo from the hotel room but I think he mentioned that a roll of film of this area didn't come out. Damp in the camera is suspected.

He mentioned that in Bosnia breakfast is not included in a room's rent. This room cost him 25 Euros, was well equipped and large but the hotel was only JUST finished. The tiles and plaster looking as if finished the day before. The people friendly again though some of them very tall indeed. In particular he mentioned the length of legs on the blonde receptionist. Don't blame me.

He mentioned that he had the indicators and mirror fixed here but I need to look for the photos. Sorry I'm a bit disorganized. Ed.

Trebinje
 

Midwinter, curtains back, arms back and yawn. Note the rapid, cheap construction. The rush to prepare for a tourist inflix. Also note the air conditioners under the eves. Does it perhaps get a bit hotter here in summer? Oh yes!

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231614296

As breakfast wasn't included he went to a cafe in the town centre. I think he said this town had a more prosperous, faster feel than Montenegro. He seems to have been so taken by the pace and feel of Montenegro that he didn't notice these Bosnians are pleasant, helpful people too. Perhaps it's the slicker, fashionable clothes but I think he was a bit harsh on Bosnians. After all a man in the cafe, seeing the slight damage on the bike, introduced himself and guided him to a workshop where the slight damage was repaired, as it might have been in Montenegro.
The mirror doesn't match the original but works fine. Came off a cruiser I think. Apparently there's a local bike club and Bosnians have an active bike club scene modelling itself on the traditional Harley biker model. I suspect there's a ready market for importing bikes to Bosnia. Linzi could well be intending to try that. Another hair brained idea. Ed.

Colateral
 

One of the things I remember Linzi telling me was of a side trip he made in the hills above Dubrovnic just before the Croatian border. He mentioned that it was just a hunch which had him stop at an unmarked tarmac road leading off the Trebinje to Dubrovnic road. The road was wide enough for one car only and though in good condition and looking still in use it weaved over and around ground features. After a couple of kilometres and out of sight of the the road this was the scene.


http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231617718

I too would have been tempted to get a photo of this scene. My guess would have been a forest fire in summer. But I changed my mind when shown the following photos. The villages were about 15 km from the main road but only 8 or so km from the coast. Just where forward military forces would have been to guide the artillery barrage of Dubrovnic. Ed.

There are a few haunting photos of deserted, ghost towns. He found five about 5 km apart each. Only the red roofed house seemed to be occupied. He considered that explains the road's signs of slight use. The rest of the buildings were all destroyed, many burnt, all with roofs gone and devoid of fittings or belongings. Frequent rain seemed to have kept the roads clean but the war here was about 10 years ago. The whole area seemed to had a sobering effect on Linzi. He said it must have been war damage which he found later out on the main road. Dubrovnic itself was of course damaged but has been repaired whereas here remains empty. Where are they now?

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231618022


http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231618132

A cruel sense of humour! It's not real. What does it symbolize. What happened to the communities? Or to individuals? He obviously didn't find out.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231618207

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231618279

He was observant enough to spot the excellent "draw" of the stove pipe up the house wall. Cosy once. Not so anymore. Nice helmet though. Ed

Roads
 

The road as he said must have been important. Just look at the work involved in pushing the route to the communities through. There must have been families living there for generations by looking at the photos of the substantial houses and the road in. Sometimes cut through.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231618954

Sometimes built up, through this rough, inhospitable landscape.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231619029


linzi mentioned he saw no sign of farming or how the people had made a living. It was, he said, a somewhat moving visit. Far removed from the touristy comforts of Dubrovnic just a shell's shot from here. A howitzer would have done nicely. I looked at the rough ground and wondered what military forces came here. No tanks or other vehicles off road here!
In summer it must also be a very hard landscape. Heat, no shelter and no apparent water. Not my cup of tea, summer or winter. Ed.

excellent story Linz, i hadnt looked for a while as i wanted an evening doing nothing to enjoy it. sounds an amazing trip & much more interesting than a 'then the film crew got us food, then the crew got a luxuary hotel' etc story :thumbup1:


oh by the way the HUBB limits for file size shouldnt apply to your pics as you are hosting them on photobucket rather than here.

Back To Journey
 

The road back is through much land like this apparently. Burnt bushes and rough rocks. Barely a sign of soil. The whole Croatian coast's landscape was similarly dry. The land that is, not the weather from what I heard!

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231861387

Whoever still lives in the village has a long drive to a lonely site.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231861489

From the main road he continued to the Croatian border and must have been in subdued mood. For whatever reason he asked about Croatian green card insurance at the first police post--Bosnian police. Their answer was to return to Trebinje for it. Only 20km, that's what he did. In the same cafe, with a new coffee, he learnt that the insurance should be available at the border. Stupid fool, is what he told me he thought when he realized his error. It must have been a bit irritating to return to the border, pass to the Croatian police and be told no green card is needed. You're already insured!

After several weeks inland it must come as a slight release to arrive with a view of the sea. It would look more spectacular in summer sunshine though. Ed.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231862104

Really Flying.
 

I know he spent years flying hang gliders and can easily understand why he was so enthusiastic with the above photo. He pointed out the great, smooth lift that would result when the wond blew from the sea, as it would every afternoon he said. This would be caused by the hot air developing by midday would rise and suck cooler air in from the sea, up the smooth slope and give perfect soaring conditions for a paraglider. He says it's possible to buy a lightweight paraglider made for mountaineering which weighs only 4kg. This would easily fit on the back of a bike! Hm. He always has been after action.

This must have been one of the few dry days he had on the coast road. This is Dubrovnic, showing the old town and its ancient narrow streets and surrounding walls. Apparently, trying to get down close to walk in he got caught up in nearly stationary traffic in a huge traffic jam. He filtered out and gave up, saying that while the drivers were really patient and well behaved he felt the town was now too popular to be a pleasant experience these days. A victim of its own fame.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231862707

This shot shows almost all of the old town for which Dubrovnic is famous. Ed

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231862968

Above Dubrovnic this was a town, or had been a town, which drew his attention. He said it spread to the left as far as in the photo and the vast majority of buildings were still derelict. I can just make out the rev counter showing the engine's on. Later, he said, he found the time and irritation of getting out the camera that he kept it round his neck and filmed with his helmet on! He said it was just too much trouble keeping it in its cover in a pannier. Trouble is it got too wet and died.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231863222

Some distance north of Dubrovnic was this picturesque harbour. I agree with his comment that the ideal way to see this coast is probably from a yacht! But then you'd miss an amazing coast road.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231863142

I know he said the coast was much longer than he remembered and it took two days to get up to Trieste. Some of the way can be done on motorway if speed is required but the coast road there is rated by Tony too as an incredible road for bikes. The surface is perfect and clean, almost no towns, winter traffic non existent and no police. The geometry was that of a race track.
The houses have been built right down to the sea level. Don't forget that the Mediterranean has a very small tide too.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231863828
He pointed out to me how this shot shows how wet the sleeping bag was. It packed down more than normal in the bivi bag.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231863966

This coast line looks beautiful to me but oh it must be so much better in summer. It really is a rocky coast though.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231864210

The few towns are only villages really, leaving the open road sections to go on for hours.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231864278

Rain was the norm for most of his trip up the coast but just look at the quality of the road.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231864351

Not camera shake he said but rain on the lens. Superb road though. Coral used as wall in forground puzzled him as he didn't know there was any coral in the Mediterranean and neither do I.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231864690


I have to agree this looks like a lovely place for a hideaway. Even has steps down to the waterside.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231864620

There's still water on the lens, no wonder the camera got wet I suppose. He didn't know how delicate the SLR was going to be.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231864759

Interesting to see poplar trees dotted along the coast. I remember him telling me that each time he stopped for food or petrol he had forgotten he wasn't in Greece. It came as a surprise each time to see the cyrilic writing. Oh yes it's Croatia. I see what he means. Ed.

He said he couldn't bring himself to stop as often as he could have for photos. The riding was just too enjoyable. Looking at this, which he said was typical, I'd forgive him. Must have been one of the few times he took his waterproofs off this day!

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231865193

He told me this next photo shows where he parked the bike to take the above photo. Having taken the photo, getting the weird rocks in the foreground, he rode uphill to find a safe place to turn. The road promptly got rougher and when he tried to turn, the bike slipped back. The rear wheel skidded off the track down into the rocks and it was what he called a situation. Nearly got bogged in and bike dropped in the sticks. He'd seen no cars for hours.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231865266
There are long islands offshore but I don't know if they're occupied or not. This whole coastline is very underpopulated. Ed.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231865346

I don't know how far north this is taken but Linzi said even a sports bike ridden hard on this road could involve more than a day's riding. Infact he suggested a blast from the Slovenian border to Dubrovnic as a reasonable holiday destination in its own right. Then of course you've got it all to do again! I forgot to ask which bike he'd rather use here, his Le Mans or the BMW. Looks like wild camping is easy but rather wild indeed. It must be hot in summe with so little cover.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1231865828

He said he pressed on for Trieste to get a replacement front tyre and new brake pads. I remember he was surprised how short the distance through Slovenia was as he hadn't looked at it on a map. The tiny road toll was taken using a VISA debit card with no need to give pin!
He hit Trieste after dark at he evening rush hour. The hotel he got was found by asking in cafe and it had a scooter garage next door. This proved to be useful as they fitted the front pads and checked the bike over. The rear tyre needed air but the wear on the front tyre had evened itself out leaving the tyre good for a couple of thousand kilometres more.
The pads and work came to the same cost as pads in UK. Good value then. He found the drivers to be very law abiding and courteous in this corner of Italy and I remember him remarking that he was surprised to find Italy had changed so much. But no. Several hours later after Vicenza all was as it should be. Crazy! No Italy hadn't changed. Most of it is as it always was.
Italy did prove to be a financial disaster though. He complained that there were cables cutting off every piece of waste ground he found to tempt him to use to bivi. Even an Italian later described Italy as a rip off for visitors. That is in total contrast to Italians on a personal level. I too have found that when a punter there's a price but if helped by or entertained by Italians they are fantastic.
I think Linzi said the camera didn't give any photos of this part of the trip but I'm sure he got photos of Italy later. He said the camera finally died in Mandello del Lario and tragically the Go Pro Hero camera failed to ever work. No video then. What a pity. Lets just hope that he gets it replaced under warranty for his Moroccan trip! Ed.

Italia.
 

There was rain and cold in Italy too. The roads across from Trieste, past Verona and Vicenza are Roman straight.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1232032983

The vineyards indicate how warm it gets in summer though.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1232033059

This is the wealthy part of Italy with the industrial heartland just south. Next the route led north towards Trento in the Sud Tyrol region, war reparation after WW1. Many peole there speak German and there is a mixed Austrian/ Italian culture.

Northwards
 

Still vineyards as the mountains loom. It is limestone here with marble in the area which provided Micheal Angelo with his raw material. I once visited one of the quarries and was speachless as I looked at the man from the ceiling of the Cistine Chapel! His descendents still work the quarry. It was a spellbinding experience.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1232033417

The road conditions are shown on the sign. Not so bad in reality.



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Quite a gorge leading to the mountains.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1232033530

Finito.
 

The mountains rise, on the left,

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1232033965

and on the right. This area has been pushed up and the centre eroded.
http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1232034017

This is the banks of Lago Como a few kilometres from Mandello del Lario. The Moto Guzzi dealers, Duilio Agostini, rent Guzzies for tours. One memorable run is round the lake. Hundreds of corners of excellent tarmac and few villages but buses on the road.

http://i533.photobucket.com/albums/e...g?t=1232034068

My camera stopped working totally with this shot. Moisture the likely culprit. I must be suffering post-trip blues as I have lost my knack for creative writing. Sorry. I need stimulation to enthuse. MUST get down to it now and earn money as I need to get off on an adventure again. It's in my blood. Best wishes to all, Linzi.

Magazine article
 

Howdy gang! First an update about Damien. His physiotherapy is painful but he is making progress. He is now on crutches so is more mobile.
Second, I wrote an article about the accident for Motorcycle Sport and Leisure magazine. It's out now.

Update for Damien, Tony and Linzi
 

Hi All :mchappy:

Just to let you know the F650GS is now for sale on Biketrader and also on this site. It is looking good and once the shock has been done and refitted, I will then ride the bike down for it's MOT.

Take care.

Regards


Chris

Good un
 

That's good news. I'm sad to see it go. It's a superb, versatile little bike. Deserves a good home. Linzi.

Rotten luck mate, crack open a tinny and throw another shrimp on the barby, the biking can wait. Get well soon.
Pooley.

Glad to hear that Damien is making a slow but steady recovery, read the article in the sport & leisure mag. Nice to see how the people of the hubb pulled together to help out.