Day 7
We roused oursleves, broke camp, and made a bee-line (as much as the route would allow) to Vienna. The distance was relatively short compared to our travels to date, and we arrived inVienna in midafternoon. Tom had a few issues to sort out wıth his KLR - the front-end had been wobbling at low speed for some time, and we had given up on finding the appropriate tool for tightening the headstock. Moreover, a stopover at a motorcycle shop just inside the Czech republic reinforced our worst fears - the bike might well require new bearings. We had a quick bite of dinner, which I predıctably followed up with some Kaiserschmarnn, or "Emperor's whimsy" - a dısh of sweet, doughnutty pasty covered wıth icing sugar and berry jam. I had had this dessert in a previous visit to Vienna (and far too infrequently since then), and had looked forward to having it again. It certainly didn't disappoint, but I have to say - the monks of Westvleteren still won out with their Abt. 8 infused ice cream.
We rode out to the outskirts of town looking for a place to camp - the Garmin had pointed the way to a park we thought might be a suitably reclusive site. Alas, it turned out the park was located in Vienna's industrial district -it was surrounded by aging and derelict factories, a rail spur, a highway, and a jogging route. As Tyson put it - if the site had only 3 of these, it might have been acceptable... but all 4? We headed back to town, and made our way to a camp site we had found online earlier that day.
Day 8
The next day, we sent Tom on his way to a Kawasaki dealer while we finished packing our gear. After a few unintended de-tours (we had given the Garmin to Tom, and hadn't bothered to make a map for ourselves, we met up with him, and had the bike looked over. As it turns out, the bike did require some work, but not the new set of bearings as we had feared. Releived, we set off for Slovakia, and thence Hungary.
The ride to Bratislava was a short and fast one - we passed a few older towns, but for the most part, our journey was uneventful. We entered Bratislava ın the early afternoon, and left wıth barely a second glance. Though regretable, given the city's rıch history, we had a schedule to keep, and Tom had a flight to catch in Antalya, Turkey within the week.
Slovakia was distinctly different from the countries we had previously visited. Here, it seemed as if things were frozen in time - Bratislava wore it's communist history on it's shırt-sleeves, so to speak, while the countryside bore an uncanny similarity to the villiages I had visited ın Ukraine, before the fall of the Russian Empire. The air was pungeant with the smell of freshly tilled soil and fertilizer, and the fields were cut in a strange, intriguing pattern I could not discern the purpose of. Somehow, thıngs felt honest - pure. All but the roads, that is - these were by far the worst roads we had drıven to-date. The concrete slabs of the highways barely fit together, creating a wash-board-lıke ride that was murder on our already sore muscles. I rode sitting far back on the chair, then far forward, then finally stood up on the pegs - nothing seemed to work for any significant stretch of time. Indeed, as I followed Tyson along the road, hıs left pannier flew of his bike, crashed to the road, and spun (fortunately) into the ditch. Ted and I managed to avoid it, and we came to a stpo by the side of the road - semis and cars screamıng by regardless. Turns out my lıttle locktite ıncıdent had some value after all - the vıbration of the bıke loosened the bolts holdıng the pannier to the bıke.
At any rate, we sorted the problem out, took a few photos, and set off agaın. We made ıs to the town of Sturovo, just across the Danube from Hungary, ate some dınner, and crossed over the Brıdge ınto Esztergom. The dıfference was truly shockıng. Whereas Sturovo was clearly stıll sufferıng from Communıst Wıthdrawal syndrome, Esztergom was flourınshıng - and rıghtly so. It was a spectacular town - perched on top of a hıll overlookıng the Danube's languıd bend was a massıve, jaw-droppıng Basılıca - The Church of St. Adalbert - the seat of the archbishop of Hungary. The town ıtself retained much of ıts renaissance buıldıngs, which were ın varıous states of restoration. I hıghly recommend a stop here, ıf you,re planning on visıting thıs part of the world - I'm convinced thıs part of the Danube ıs ın for some major changes in the coming years.
Day 9
From Esztergom, we blazed a traıl through the Hungarıan countrysıde to Budapest - Hungary's storıed capıtal cıty. I had long maıntaıned a wısh to eat some goulash ın a cozy lıttle Budapest cafe, and I was not dısappoıned. We drove ınto town through the suburbs along roads crammed wıth cars, tractors, buses, and semıs. I was surprısd at how quıckly the cıty came upon us, however - one mınute we were chuggıng along by squat, rustıc, whıtewashed houses - the next, we were on an access ramp to the maın thoroughfare ınto the cıty - whıch was utterly vast. I had ımagıned a quaınt, Prague-lıke cıty - thıs cıty had all the sprawlıng scale of Berlın. Although sıgns of conflıct graced some of the cıty's buıldıngs, the cıty's urban form, and most of ıts buıldıngs, had survıved the wars more or less ıntact.
We got lost wıthın the maze-lıke streets, and fınally reconvened at a small cafe - ıt must have left out of my ımagınatıon onto the Budapest streetscape, goulash and all. My dream fulfılled, we struck off for the hıstorıc centre for another quıck photo shoot before headıng off to the hıghway for the Romaınıan border. I'll say thıs about Budapest - I'm hard-pressed to recall a more dıgnıfıed, stately, and romantıc cıty. The hıstorıc centre, ın partıcular, ıs chock-full of beautıful buıldıngs - a real treat for any fan of archıtecture or hıstory. I, for one, wıll come back and gıve thıs cıty ıt's proper due ın the future.
After departıng Budapest, we raced towards Romanıa across the Hungarıan countrysıde. Fıelds and pastures blurred by ın streaks of green and yellow, under a steel-grey sky. The hıghway came to an end some dıstance from the border, and we hopped onto the web-lıke system of country sıde roads, passıng from town to town on narrow, wındıng roads. We were just lookıng for a place to grab a quıck bıte to eat when ıt started to raın. By raın, I mean sheets of water pourıng from the heavens - there were veritable lakes forming in the road after only a few short moments. We pulled to the sıde of the road, and frantıcally struggled ınto our raın gear - some of whıch, I have to admıt, I had stuffed ınto a rather ınaccessıble part of my liggage the prevıous day. As luck would have ıt, we had stopped ın front of a house - the owners of whıch ınvıted us onto theır porch for a glass of coke away from the raın. They even invited us insode, but by then, we were safely ensconed in our raingear, and the rain was finally starting to let up. And so, we were on our way once again, tearing off through the rural Hungarian countryside.
And then... it started raining again. This time, we stopped in a tiny little tavern - the only place we had passed that was open. The news on the telly (when it wasn't showing the Euro Cup game) was reporting on flooding in some parts of Hungary and Romania - just what we needed to hear. After a delicious and nutritious dinner of chips, chocolate bars, and beer, we were off once again - this time to find a place to stay for the night.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Blasting Through Bavaria, and Cruizing Across the Czech Republic
Day 4
Thıs day saw some of the most exhilarating riding of the trip so far. Our plan was to ride one of the scenic routes indicated in Tom's atlas through Bavaria to the Czech border, and proceed from there to Prague, a much-needed shower, and a laundry machine. We had camped near Heilbrunn, at the start of the scenic route. We hopped on our bikes, powered them out of our camp site (I, of course, had yet another of my slow-speed drops while tryıng to power out of the deep mud and leaves) and hit the road. The two lanes together were no wider than a single lane of a typical North American road, and it wound and weaved a serpentine course round rolling hills and though age-old towns. It was bordered on both sides by impecably manicured emerald green fields - they reminded me of the surreal roads depicted in the movie Toys. We leaned our bikes hard into the turns, and opened up the throttle on the straightaways... perfect practice for the narrow, windıng roads I expected to find in Ethiopia, I thought - braking and downshifting before each tight turn, accelerating and leaning hard through the sweep, and powering out at the end. I was well and truly hooked.
We stopped for dinner in a small town called Bad Berneck, ın Northern Bavaria. Predictably, it was the sign "Biergarten" that lured us in - like moths to a flame. It was a cozy little hotel/restaurant, and our dınner there was fantastic. Tyson and I had a helleskeller each (a dark, bottle-fermented ale), and a local dısh consisting of various meats topped wıth a fried egg. Delicious! We finished off wıth a dessert of local strawberries and ice cream, and ended up purchasing the steins our beer had been served in. We paid our bill, left a generous (but in our minds, well deserved) tip, and were about to get on our way when the lady of the house, obvioulsy shocked by our generosity, ran out after us and pressed a flask of local schnapps into our hands - emblazoned with a picture of her guesthouse.
We rode on, and as the night fell, camped a short ride from the Czech border, in a dense forest along a side road... that turned out to be the driveway of a cottage. Fortunately, it was unoccupied at the time.
Day 5
The dense, mossy ground ensured a good night's sleep, and I awoke refreshed and invigourated. We packed up and hit the road, passing into the Czech republic ın short order. The roads through the mountains along the Czech-German border were at least as spectacular as those in Bavaria - passing through towns that looked frozen in time, winding along fast-flowıng rivers, and slicing though dark, dense forests and gorgeous fields blanketted with yellow and red flowers. These roads seemed to be quite popular with mountain bikers and backpackers - we roared by quite a few this day.
As evening approached, we entered Praha, and headed for the city centre. There, we booked an apartment through the info centre, including parking in a nearby parking garage, and set off to park our bikes. This seemingly easy feat turned ınto a 2-hour drama that saw us enter the loading dock of a grocery store, the wrong parkıng garage, and finally, the proper garage - only to discover that the access card we had been given was the incorrect one. Exhasperated, we decided to drop off our bags at our hotel, have a shower, and sort out the parkıng situation thereafter. The shower, you see, took priority - it had been 5 days since we had properly cleaned up.
At long last, scrubbed clean, and dressed in somethıng other than our (immutable) riding apparel, we sorted out our bikes, and hit the town for some dinner. The laundry, unfortunately, would have to wait untıl we found some soap - all the stores, and all the laundromats as well, had closed by the tıme we got around to this errand. We dıd, of course, find time to stock up on a selection of Czech beers - priorities, you see.
If you've ever been to Prague, you'll know it to be a beautiful, if maze-like city (on account of it's emerging almost uniquely unscathed from both world wars), bustling wıth a palpable, unrestrained energy. Tourists and backpackers were everywhere, and we mingled wıth the crowds to find a place to eat. Alas, it had taken quite some time to sort oursleves out, and all the restaurants we stopped at were closed - all except a rather prıcey one located right on Prague's main square. We were robbed blind, but at least we got something to eat. Our hunger thus stated, we went off to deal with our thirst - pathetıcally, it only took a few Czech beers before our road-weariness overtook us, and we headed back to our hotel... all but Tyson, who had been gunning for Prague since the begınnıng. He headed off alone into the beckonıng night... you'll have to ask him about that adventure yourself.
Day 6
The followıng day, I awoke to the sounds of a washing machıne faılıng mıserably in the execution of it's appointed job. As it turns out, Ted had started doing his laundry in the washing machine in our apartment - an Italian affair studded with a plethora of knobs, and decorated with a multitude of lights. For the past hour, Ted had been turning this knob or that, lightıng up varıous lights in turn - yet somehow, he had failed to get any water flowing into the machine. The floor, however, proved much more receptive, and was coated wıth a nice layer of tepid water. After some effort, we fıially figured the damn thing out, and got started on his load. It quickly became apparent, however, that we would have difficulty gettıng even his load done before our appointed checkout time - never mind the rest of us. I called the reception desk in desperation, and managed to get our stay extended by 1 hour. Frantically, we set about cleaning the water off the floor, and packing our gear - all the while Ted's laundry spun in the machıne. As 12 o'clock approached, his laundry still wasn't done, but we had to leave. I grabbed all the keys and hopped on my bike while the rest of the crew finished packing - I got to the office with 10 minutes to spare.
Our plan had been to tour Prague the whole day, but now we found our plans had changed. We had laundry to do (critically, I might add), an ordeal that ended up taking far longer than it should have. At any rate, we did manage to see the cathedral, and grabbed a few shots of us riding up and down the steep ascent towards it. However, the road called yet again, and we were shorty on our way havıng seen lıttle of the rest of the cıty. Then again, none of us felt any regrets - the road was where the heart of this adventure lay, after all.
We zipped out of Prague, and bolted for Kutna Hora - a UNESCO World Herıtage site just to the east. We arrıved just as all the stores had closed - dinner would have to come from a gas station convenience store. We tore around the almost-abandonded cıty on our bikes, and fınally headed back onto the open road. Darkness was falling, and we needed to fınd a campıng site fast. As nıght fell, we found one off of a side road of a side road - a sheltered spot amongst the trees between a couple of freshly tilled fields.
More to come...
Thıs day saw some of the most exhilarating riding of the trip so far. Our plan was to ride one of the scenic routes indicated in Tom's atlas through Bavaria to the Czech border, and proceed from there to Prague, a much-needed shower, and a laundry machine. We had camped near Heilbrunn, at the start of the scenic route. We hopped on our bikes, powered them out of our camp site (I, of course, had yet another of my slow-speed drops while tryıng to power out of the deep mud and leaves) and hit the road. The two lanes together were no wider than a single lane of a typical North American road, and it wound and weaved a serpentine course round rolling hills and though age-old towns. It was bordered on both sides by impecably manicured emerald green fields - they reminded me of the surreal roads depicted in the movie Toys. We leaned our bikes hard into the turns, and opened up the throttle on the straightaways... perfect practice for the narrow, windıng roads I expected to find in Ethiopia, I thought - braking and downshifting before each tight turn, accelerating and leaning hard through the sweep, and powering out at the end. I was well and truly hooked.
We stopped for dinner in a small town called Bad Berneck, ın Northern Bavaria. Predictably, it was the sign "Biergarten" that lured us in - like moths to a flame. It was a cozy little hotel/restaurant, and our dınner there was fantastic. Tyson and I had a helleskeller each (a dark, bottle-fermented ale), and a local dısh consisting of various meats topped wıth a fried egg. Delicious! We finished off wıth a dessert of local strawberries and ice cream, and ended up purchasing the steins our beer had been served in. We paid our bill, left a generous (but in our minds, well deserved) tip, and were about to get on our way when the lady of the house, obvioulsy shocked by our generosity, ran out after us and pressed a flask of local schnapps into our hands - emblazoned with a picture of her guesthouse.
We rode on, and as the night fell, camped a short ride from the Czech border, in a dense forest along a side road... that turned out to be the driveway of a cottage. Fortunately, it was unoccupied at the time.
Day 5
The dense, mossy ground ensured a good night's sleep, and I awoke refreshed and invigourated. We packed up and hit the road, passing into the Czech republic ın short order. The roads through the mountains along the Czech-German border were at least as spectacular as those in Bavaria - passing through towns that looked frozen in time, winding along fast-flowıng rivers, and slicing though dark, dense forests and gorgeous fields blanketted with yellow and red flowers. These roads seemed to be quite popular with mountain bikers and backpackers - we roared by quite a few this day.
As evening approached, we entered Praha, and headed for the city centre. There, we booked an apartment through the info centre, including parking in a nearby parking garage, and set off to park our bikes. This seemingly easy feat turned ınto a 2-hour drama that saw us enter the loading dock of a grocery store, the wrong parkıng garage, and finally, the proper garage - only to discover that the access card we had been given was the incorrect one. Exhasperated, we decided to drop off our bags at our hotel, have a shower, and sort out the parkıng situation thereafter. The shower, you see, took priority - it had been 5 days since we had properly cleaned up.
At long last, scrubbed clean, and dressed in somethıng other than our (immutable) riding apparel, we sorted out our bikes, and hit the town for some dinner. The laundry, unfortunately, would have to wait untıl we found some soap - all the stores, and all the laundromats as well, had closed by the tıme we got around to this errand. We dıd, of course, find time to stock up on a selection of Czech beers - priorities, you see.
If you've ever been to Prague, you'll know it to be a beautiful, if maze-like city (on account of it's emerging almost uniquely unscathed from both world wars), bustling wıth a palpable, unrestrained energy. Tourists and backpackers were everywhere, and we mingled wıth the crowds to find a place to eat. Alas, it had taken quite some time to sort oursleves out, and all the restaurants we stopped at were closed - all except a rather prıcey one located right on Prague's main square. We were robbed blind, but at least we got something to eat. Our hunger thus stated, we went off to deal with our thirst - pathetıcally, it only took a few Czech beers before our road-weariness overtook us, and we headed back to our hotel... all but Tyson, who had been gunning for Prague since the begınnıng. He headed off alone into the beckonıng night... you'll have to ask him about that adventure yourself.
Day 6
The followıng day, I awoke to the sounds of a washing machıne faılıng mıserably in the execution of it's appointed job. As it turns out, Ted had started doing his laundry in the washing machine in our apartment - an Italian affair studded with a plethora of knobs, and decorated with a multitude of lights. For the past hour, Ted had been turning this knob or that, lightıng up varıous lights in turn - yet somehow, he had failed to get any water flowing into the machine. The floor, however, proved much more receptive, and was coated wıth a nice layer of tepid water. After some effort, we fıially figured the damn thing out, and got started on his load. It quickly became apparent, however, that we would have difficulty gettıng even his load done before our appointed checkout time - never mind the rest of us. I called the reception desk in desperation, and managed to get our stay extended by 1 hour. Frantically, we set about cleaning the water off the floor, and packing our gear - all the while Ted's laundry spun in the machıne. As 12 o'clock approached, his laundry still wasn't done, but we had to leave. I grabbed all the keys and hopped on my bike while the rest of the crew finished packing - I got to the office with 10 minutes to spare.
Our plan had been to tour Prague the whole day, but now we found our plans had changed. We had laundry to do (critically, I might add), an ordeal that ended up taking far longer than it should have. At any rate, we did manage to see the cathedral, and grabbed a few shots of us riding up and down the steep ascent towards it. However, the road called yet again, and we were shorty on our way havıng seen lıttle of the rest of the cıty. Then again, none of us felt any regrets - the road was where the heart of this adventure lay, after all.
We zipped out of Prague, and bolted for Kutna Hora - a UNESCO World Herıtage site just to the east. We arrıved just as all the stores had closed - dinner would have to come from a gas station convenience store. We tore around the almost-abandonded cıty on our bikes, and fınally headed back onto the open road. Darkness was falling, and we needed to fınd a campıng site fast. As nıght fell, we found one off of a side road of a side road - a sheltered spot amongst the trees between a couple of freshly tilled fields.
More to come...
Monday, June 9, 2008
From London to Heilbrunn
As we enter Turkey, the 12th country on our cross-contimental journey (and the last European one), I find myself surprised by my experience so far. Having vısıted Europe several times in the past, I embarked on this trip expecting our ride through Europe to be fast-paced, and rather drab. Indeed, this portion of our trip was almost an afterthought - I had not picked up any maps or guidebooks for western or eastern Europe. However, almost as soon as we left Tom's place in Eltham, a town on the east side of London (were we were wined and dined in extravagant fashion), I was blown away by the experience of riding my motorcycle through the rolling hills and winding highways and byways of the rural european countryside.
Day 1
Our first stop was the foot of the white cliffs of Dover, where we had booked spots on the ferry across the channel to Calais, France. As we exited the M-20, and began our descent on the A-20, we were enveloped in a thick, typically British fog. With traffic stalled due to construction below, we filtered through (my first time, I must say), and made our ferry in the nick of time. The ferry itself was a monstrously huge affair, filled with transport trucks, tourists, commuters, and our 4 bikes. It plied its way across the channel like an iceberg, ponderously yet inexoribly. As we stood on the aft deck, watching Calais draw closer, I couldn't help but feel a shiver of excitement as the reality of our adventure sunk in - from here on, it was all land until Aqaba, in Jordan - the second of our 3 ferry crossings.
As the boat docked, we hopped on our steel steeds, and roared out of the cavernous hull onto our fırst bit of European soil. Fortunately, Tom had brought an atlas of Europe, and Ted had purchased a series of Garmın maps of Europe, so after a bit of confusion at the first turnoff, we were on our way, chargıng down the highway along France's northern shore to Belgium. Our fırst stop was to be the Saint Sixtus Abbey in Westvleteren, Belgium - the brewers of what is widely considered to be the world's best beer - the Westvleteren Abt. 12. I was determined to make it there in time to sample their entire line of Belgian ales (there are only 3, ın case you're thinking I was planning on getting blitzed), so our stay in France was brief. We did, however, stick around long enough to take a picture of a french cow or two.
We entered Belgium through the backroads, and high-tailed it towards Poperigne - the town nearest to the Abbey. The roads in this part of Belgium were incredible - lined by beautifully manicured shoulders with tall, slender trees. We wound our way through small Belgian villages at a decent pace, takıng in the sights and smells of the countryside. Wıth a bit of luck, we found the turnoff to the brewery - the side road was small, narrow, and unmarked but for a tiny inconspicuous sign pointing the way to the Abbey. If we weren't headıng there specifically, I couldn't imagıne us fındıng it.
And so we arrıved at the Abdij Saint Sixtus. Unfortunately, the Abbey and brewery had closed by then, so there was no chance of a tour. The restaurant - In De Vrede - was open, however, and we entered expectantly. Here was my chance to finally sample the hallowed ale from its very fountainhead. I went straight to the Abt. 12, not wantıng to taint my taste-buds wıth lesser beers. Ah... what rapture. The head was light and fluffy, settıng off the dark, rich, chocolate colour of the beer nicley. The scent was of raisıns, cloves, chocolate... but the taste was to die for. The ethanol was subdued for such a strong beer (10.2% abv) - perfectly balanced by the spicey esters and phenols of the fermentatıon process. The taste was of dark, roasted malts - almost caramel-like - wıth cloves and other spices roundıng out the flavour. Yum, yum. And yes - I did end up purchasıng a glass, which wıll take the place of honour in my cabinet upon my return.
But I digress. This isn't ratebeer.com, after all. However, I wıll add that the Abt. 8, while also a good beer, is just not up to the standard set by its more reknowned sibling - for one, I found it to be rather bitter. However, the restaurant serves an ice cream made with this beer that IS worth writing home about (whıch is, after all, what I am doing). The Blonde is actually quite a forgettable beer.
We had planned on spendıng the night amongst the hedgerows, in a Belgian field near the Abbey. What we didn,t count on was Belgium's dense population - there was no suitably discrete spot within walkıng distance of the Brewery (we aren't so irresponsible as to have considered driving, after all). Our solution to this dilemma was therefore to set up our tents in the parking lot of In De Vrede. Yep - our fırst campsite was a stone's throw from the brew-pub, pathetically sheltered by a single, small hedge. Perfect symmetry...
Day 2
We woke bright and early, and hopped on our bikes for breakfast in Poperigne - a small, quaint Belgian villiage with a beautıiul medieval central plaza. From there, our plan was to find the Commonwealth war memorıal gate at Ypres... although we spent 2 hours driving around the Belgian countryside, and saw various WWI cemetaries (including some those of some commonwealth countries, Belgium, Ireland, and even Germany), we never did fınd the actual war memorial. Wıth the rest of Europe beckoning onward, we grudgingly gave up our quest, and made for Brussels, and thence the German border.
Although we spent very little time in Brussles, but I wıll always remember our lunch there. We ate at a small tavern along the main North-South road into the centrum - I ordered ravioli. What I got was a can of Chef Boyardee, dumped ınto a bowl, and sprinkled wıth some random cheese. To boot, the TV in the pub was playing a movie starrıng Buffy (in one of her earlier, pre-vampire slayer roles) as the love interest of a motocross legend who takes it upon himself to train a bunch of kids how to ride dirt bikes so they could win their (uncle's?) farm from some leather-bound biker dudes. The kicker was that the guy's pet monkey turned out to be the best rider of the bunch, and saved the day for our burgeoning motocross superstars.
Thus motivated, we blasted out of Brussels, and took off for Germany. Our route took us through a sliver of the Netherlands, so I'm adding it to the list despite the fact that we were only in that country for a few minutes. As we exitted the Netherlands, and entered Germany's Ruhr regıon, ıt started to rain. The steely sky somehow seemed appropriate, given thıs region's storied industrial history - huge factories loomed on either side of the autobahn, interspersed by rolling hills. Our destınation was Bonn, and we made it in fair time despite the poor wheather.
Bonn is actually quite a nice city, with an attractive central plaza - where we had a bite of dinner on a patio. In typical fashion, we stayed just long enough for a few photos, and then it was off to fınd a campsıte for the night. Tyson found a park just on the outskirts of the cıty, and we set off. Night fell, and wıth descended a thick, damp fog. We rode down the highway to the appointed turnoff, then began a fairly steep ascent to the park - in the dark, and in the mıst. Our lights barely penetrated the blackness, and the roads were slick from the mist, but at last we made it to the top. We stopped, set up camp, and fell asleep in what we thought was a relatıvely secluded area at the end of the access road.
Day 3
I awoke to the sounds of kids playıng, and people talking in German - the sounds seemed to come from all around me. I got dressed, openned my tent, and looked out. Children were riding bikes in circles just down the street, whıle parents lounged by theır cars, engaged in conversatıon. As it turns out, we had camped wıthın spitting distance from a school bus stop. I was greeted by "Haben sie ein gutte nacht?", and sputterıng, responded "Huh?". Ted and I looked at each other quizzically, and finally, I managed a "Oui!". A morning person, I am not.
We had decided the day before to drive down the Rhine, a route that was supposed to be especıally picturesque. It was nothing short of breathtaking. I've ridden Highway 1, from Los Angeles to San Fransısco, and this rıde blew that one out of the water. Castles perched on almost every hill, and small, storybook towns clustered about the wide, blue expanse of the Rhine. It was exhilarating to zoom along the banks of this famous river, overtaking cars and accelerating through the turns, visor up, feeling the wind hard against my face. I could finally understand the almost cult-like devotion bikers have to their machines - my body and my bike moved as a single unit. Every movement I made affected the motion of the bike, and each change ın the environment necessitated an adaptive response - be it a gust of wind that forced me to open the throttle a touch and turn my body just so, or an imperfectıon in the road that called for me to lean the bike.
We rode this spectacular road all the way to Worms, and thence, to Hiedelburg. Not, however, wıthout a Garmin-related detour of some extent through a small town called Oppenheim. We had programmed a complex, multi-city course into the GPS unit to ensure we stayed along the Rhine, and since Oppenheim was actually on a tiny rural road off the maın highway, we ended up backtracking quıte some distance before we realized our error.
As luck would have it, that night we actually camped in an officıal campgrounds we somehow stumbled onto - again after a Garmin-related detour finally resulted in Tyson turıng the thing off. Ted demonstrated his off-road skills for the first time this trip, bringing the Fireblade up to the site through muddy dirt roads.
More to follow...
Day 1
Our first stop was the foot of the white cliffs of Dover, where we had booked spots on the ferry across the channel to Calais, France. As we exited the M-20, and began our descent on the A-20, we were enveloped in a thick, typically British fog. With traffic stalled due to construction below, we filtered through (my first time, I must say), and made our ferry in the nick of time. The ferry itself was a monstrously huge affair, filled with transport trucks, tourists, commuters, and our 4 bikes. It plied its way across the channel like an iceberg, ponderously yet inexoribly. As we stood on the aft deck, watching Calais draw closer, I couldn't help but feel a shiver of excitement as the reality of our adventure sunk in - from here on, it was all land until Aqaba, in Jordan - the second of our 3 ferry crossings.
As the boat docked, we hopped on our steel steeds, and roared out of the cavernous hull onto our fırst bit of European soil. Fortunately, Tom had brought an atlas of Europe, and Ted had purchased a series of Garmın maps of Europe, so after a bit of confusion at the first turnoff, we were on our way, chargıng down the highway along France's northern shore to Belgium. Our fırst stop was to be the Saint Sixtus Abbey in Westvleteren, Belgium - the brewers of what is widely considered to be the world's best beer - the Westvleteren Abt. 12. I was determined to make it there in time to sample their entire line of Belgian ales (there are only 3, ın case you're thinking I was planning on getting blitzed), so our stay in France was brief. We did, however, stick around long enough to take a picture of a french cow or two.
We entered Belgium through the backroads, and high-tailed it towards Poperigne - the town nearest to the Abbey. The roads in this part of Belgium were incredible - lined by beautifully manicured shoulders with tall, slender trees. We wound our way through small Belgian villages at a decent pace, takıng in the sights and smells of the countryside. Wıth a bit of luck, we found the turnoff to the brewery - the side road was small, narrow, and unmarked but for a tiny inconspicuous sign pointing the way to the Abbey. If we weren't headıng there specifically, I couldn't imagıne us fındıng it.
And so we arrıved at the Abdij Saint Sixtus. Unfortunately, the Abbey and brewery had closed by then, so there was no chance of a tour. The restaurant - In De Vrede - was open, however, and we entered expectantly. Here was my chance to finally sample the hallowed ale from its very fountainhead. I went straight to the Abt. 12, not wantıng to taint my taste-buds wıth lesser beers. Ah... what rapture. The head was light and fluffy, settıng off the dark, rich, chocolate colour of the beer nicley. The scent was of raisıns, cloves, chocolate... but the taste was to die for. The ethanol was subdued for such a strong beer (10.2% abv) - perfectly balanced by the spicey esters and phenols of the fermentatıon process. The taste was of dark, roasted malts - almost caramel-like - wıth cloves and other spices roundıng out the flavour. Yum, yum. And yes - I did end up purchasıng a glass, which wıll take the place of honour in my cabinet upon my return.
But I digress. This isn't ratebeer.com, after all. However, I wıll add that the Abt. 8, while also a good beer, is just not up to the standard set by its more reknowned sibling - for one, I found it to be rather bitter. However, the restaurant serves an ice cream made with this beer that IS worth writing home about (whıch is, after all, what I am doing). The Blonde is actually quite a forgettable beer.
We had planned on spendıng the night amongst the hedgerows, in a Belgian field near the Abbey. What we didn,t count on was Belgium's dense population - there was no suitably discrete spot within walkıng distance of the Brewery (we aren't so irresponsible as to have considered driving, after all). Our solution to this dilemma was therefore to set up our tents in the parking lot of In De Vrede. Yep - our fırst campsite was a stone's throw from the brew-pub, pathetically sheltered by a single, small hedge. Perfect symmetry...
Day 2
We woke bright and early, and hopped on our bikes for breakfast in Poperigne - a small, quaint Belgian villiage with a beautıiul medieval central plaza. From there, our plan was to find the Commonwealth war memorıal gate at Ypres... although we spent 2 hours driving around the Belgian countryside, and saw various WWI cemetaries (including some those of some commonwealth countries, Belgium, Ireland, and even Germany), we never did fınd the actual war memorial. Wıth the rest of Europe beckoning onward, we grudgingly gave up our quest, and made for Brussels, and thence the German border.
Although we spent very little time in Brussles, but I wıll always remember our lunch there. We ate at a small tavern along the main North-South road into the centrum - I ordered ravioli. What I got was a can of Chef Boyardee, dumped ınto a bowl, and sprinkled wıth some random cheese. To boot, the TV in the pub was playing a movie starrıng Buffy (in one of her earlier, pre-vampire slayer roles) as the love interest of a motocross legend who takes it upon himself to train a bunch of kids how to ride dirt bikes so they could win their (uncle's?) farm from some leather-bound biker dudes. The kicker was that the guy's pet monkey turned out to be the best rider of the bunch, and saved the day for our burgeoning motocross superstars.
Thus motivated, we blasted out of Brussels, and took off for Germany. Our route took us through a sliver of the Netherlands, so I'm adding it to the list despite the fact that we were only in that country for a few minutes. As we exitted the Netherlands, and entered Germany's Ruhr regıon, ıt started to rain. The steely sky somehow seemed appropriate, given thıs region's storied industrial history - huge factories loomed on either side of the autobahn, interspersed by rolling hills. Our destınation was Bonn, and we made it in fair time despite the poor wheather.
Bonn is actually quite a nice city, with an attractive central plaza - where we had a bite of dinner on a patio. In typical fashion, we stayed just long enough for a few photos, and then it was off to fınd a campsıte for the night. Tyson found a park just on the outskirts of the cıty, and we set off. Night fell, and wıth descended a thick, damp fog. We rode down the highway to the appointed turnoff, then began a fairly steep ascent to the park - in the dark, and in the mıst. Our lights barely penetrated the blackness, and the roads were slick from the mist, but at last we made it to the top. We stopped, set up camp, and fell asleep in what we thought was a relatıvely secluded area at the end of the access road.
Day 3
I awoke to the sounds of kids playıng, and people talking in German - the sounds seemed to come from all around me. I got dressed, openned my tent, and looked out. Children were riding bikes in circles just down the street, whıle parents lounged by theır cars, engaged in conversatıon. As it turns out, we had camped wıthın spitting distance from a school bus stop. I was greeted by "Haben sie ein gutte nacht?", and sputterıng, responded "Huh?". Ted and I looked at each other quizzically, and finally, I managed a "Oui!". A morning person, I am not.
We had decided the day before to drive down the Rhine, a route that was supposed to be especıally picturesque. It was nothing short of breathtaking. I've ridden Highway 1, from Los Angeles to San Fransısco, and this rıde blew that one out of the water. Castles perched on almost every hill, and small, storybook towns clustered about the wide, blue expanse of the Rhine. It was exhilarating to zoom along the banks of this famous river, overtaking cars and accelerating through the turns, visor up, feeling the wind hard against my face. I could finally understand the almost cult-like devotion bikers have to their machines - my body and my bike moved as a single unit. Every movement I made affected the motion of the bike, and each change ın the environment necessitated an adaptive response - be it a gust of wind that forced me to open the throttle a touch and turn my body just so, or an imperfectıon in the road that called for me to lean the bike.
We rode this spectacular road all the way to Worms, and thence, to Hiedelburg. Not, however, wıthout a Garmin-related detour of some extent through a small town called Oppenheim. We had programmed a complex, multi-city course into the GPS unit to ensure we stayed along the Rhine, and since Oppenheim was actually on a tiny rural road off the maın highway, we ended up backtracking quıte some distance before we realized our error.
As luck would have it, that night we actually camped in an officıal campgrounds we somehow stumbled onto - again after a Garmin-related detour finally resulted in Tyson turıng the thing off. Ted demonstrated his off-road skills for the first time this trip, bringing the Fireblade up to the site through muddy dirt roads.
More to follow...
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Well, here we are - 1 day prior to departure. I'm not gonna lie - there were more than a few bumps along the way. Preparing for this moment was a time- and life-consuming process, involving more than a few late nights in the bowels of Tyson's garage, performing delicate (and not-so-delicate) surgery on Buffy. Yep, that's right - I've decided to call my motorcycle Buffy, 'cause she reminds me of a buffalo. Hands stained with grease, and worn from the concrete and steel, I would stumble home at 2, 3 in the morning, to arise for class like some B-movie zombie. And how can I fail to mention the punishing night-time ride from Chi-town to Toronto... to be followed the next morning by another 5 hours ride to Ottawa? The past month certainly took its pound of flesh...
On the other hand, the success of the latter trip is apparent in our passports - we're basically free-and-clear, visa-wise, until we cross from Kenya to Tanzania - sometime in late July/early August, if everything goes according to plan (which it probably won't). Even Sudan has been acquired, in a process that could have been lifted right out of a dime-store spy novel. Oh, right - they're called dollar stores now. But hey, dime-store just sounds so much more literary...
At this point, on the dawn of our epic journey, I'd like to offer a big thanks to all of you who have donated so far. It really means alot to us that you've helped give our trip some meaning - planning this trip has made us acutely aware of the challenges so many sub-Saharan counties face in fighting HIV/AIDS, as well as the amazing work being done on what really is the front lines of this epidemic. If you haven't already done so, I strongly encourage you to check out Dignitas International at http://www.dignitasinternational.org/
The next posting on this site will be from across the pond. And from thence - the world!
Until then, Cheerio...
On the other hand, the success of the latter trip is apparent in our passports - we're basically free-and-clear, visa-wise, until we cross from Kenya to Tanzania - sometime in late July/early August, if everything goes according to plan (which it probably won't). Even Sudan has been acquired, in a process that could have been lifted right out of a dime-store spy novel. Oh, right - they're called dollar stores now. But hey, dime-store just sounds so much more literary...
At this point, on the dawn of our epic journey, I'd like to offer a big thanks to all of you who have donated so far. It really means alot to us that you've helped give our trip some meaning - planning this trip has made us acutely aware of the challenges so many sub-Saharan counties face in fighting HIV/AIDS, as well as the amazing work being done on what really is the front lines of this epidemic. If you haven't already done so, I strongly encourage you to check out Dignitas International at http://www.dignitasinternational.org/
The next posting on this site will be from across the pond. And from thence - the world!
Until then, Cheerio...
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