[MrsC_772]

Day 15 - Saturday 9 July

My ride this morning took me from Alpine scenery in the Dolomites, along the "strada dei formaggi delle Dolomiti", to a hotter, drier, more southern European landscape, with steep terraced vineyards, after Cembra, where brown tourist signs advertised Muller Thurgau wines, and grappa (one of the few drinks that makes limoncello seem appetising).

Then it was through a small town with one of the many clifftop castles which litter the region, for a cappucino and the first hostility I'd encountered as a Brit travelling in Europe post Brexit decision. One of the other cafe customers said "Welcome in Europe" and when I responded "Grazie" he said "just joking" before leaving. I didn't resort to one of the choice Italian phrases Ursa had taught me from the translated football chants, however tempting.

Back on my bike, past apple orchards around Trento and on to olive groves at Arco, just north of Lake Garda. I was glad I decided against trying to ride along the shore of Lake Garda - I got excellent views of the sailing boats on the lake from a massive traffic jam that was starting to crawl its way down the hill to the lakeside. Then it was on to the motorway, down to Verona and to the railway station.

I'd booked myself and the bike on an overnight motorrail service to Dusseldorf, with a view to saving myself a day of tedious slog across northern France. On previous WDW trips, after fun in S.E. France, I'd had 2 full days of boring riding, where neither the motorway nor off motorway routes offered much in the way of scenery or exhilaration. I arrived in Verona early, around 12.30, and hoped to find a nice lunch before checking in for the train.

Verona Porta Nuova is no St Pancras when it comes to dining options. The area immediately around the station seemed equally barren, and I ended up eating falafel in a kebab shop near the bus stands. Having been underwhelmed by the train's dining car dinner menu, I trudged off in search of a supermarket to pick up a picnic dinner. (Oh for an M&S Simply Food ...) Verona may be the (very touristy) city of Romeo & Juliet but I was not feeling the love, nor (lugging my lid & leathers around in the heat) the inclination to explore the city centre and find the famous balcony.

Returning to the station it was time to load the bike onto the train. It's rare for shorty me to have to duck, but the ceiling of the lower deck of the 2 tier vehicle transporter wagons was so low, even I was hunched over the tank like Ursa on the track at Misano while riding on board.

With over 2 hours before the scheduled departure time, I took refuge in the station bookshop (about the only place with aircon) and curled up for a siesta on a cushioned seating area upstairs. On waking up, the guy sat next to me started chatting - he'd spotted my DOC t-shirt and asked if I'd been to WDW - he was a fellow 696 owner.

The train was due to leave at 17.34. Around 5, I found my seat. The 4 fellow passengers in my compartment were all Dutch (the motorrail service is operated by a Dutch travel company): one was a motorcycle journalist with a V Strom, just returning from a trip round Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia, another owned a Ducati 888.

Interesting conversation did not make up for the failure of the promised aircon to work. The train steward claimed it would work once we were moving, but sadly that was not so. It was stiflingly hot (I was by now wearing a beach sarong, the journalist kept mopping his sweaty face with a bar towel). A welcome breeze blowed through the open window, but the temperature didn't become bearable until we were back at Brennero on the Austrian border. The seats were converted into bunk beds, the train company providing pillows and sheet sleeping bags (not seen one of those since Interrailing aged 18!) and I managed to get some sleep. Thank goodness my fellow passengers didn't snore!