Europe by cake - MrsC's WDW 2016 tour report

[slob]

I don't think they have, they have most of what was there before, arranged for better access. You can now get at both sides of the race bikes for instance. Livio (Lodi) was very interested to hear what people thought, both good and bad. He was worried if preparing for the 90th was this much work, he only has ten years to prepare for the centenary!

[MrsC_772]

Thanks for all the positive comments so far.

Dirty - I wasn´t keeping notes, but I was sending lots of text messages to my mum & Andy, and referred back to these when stricken with verbal diarrhoea in my Slovenian hotel late last night. Mum in particular worries when I´m off on my bike, so sending text messages lets her know I´ve not yet crashed! Next time I might be forced to drag myself kicking and screaming into the 21st century with a tablet computer so I can write every day.

Tonight, I am mostly fighting an Austrian keyboard. This has the unfortunate habit of inserting a lot of initial capitals, which I have to go back and remove!

[MrsC_772]

Day 10 - Monday 4 July

After Pompone collected Ursa, I hit the road about 10 am. No dry clutch rattle background music from the streets of Cattolica this morning, many WDWers having already left.

Another motorway slog back up the A14 towards Bologna. A hideous jam near Faenza led to me filtering through the lines of traffic, passing Capo & Mario´s white van (much horn honking at that point) I stopped for lunch at Services north of Bologna (where the choice appeared to be any flavour of sandwich, as long as it included ham) and talked to to 3 Australians who had been to WDW as part of a European tour (having rented an 821 Monster and 2 Multistroodles in Holland).

My plan was to stop next in Padova. But the heat, and it being 2 pm when my body clock is at a low point (I am one of those people for whom the siesta was invented) meant I was struggling to stay awake on the bike, so stopped for a coffee.

As I sat sipping my cappuccino, worrying that even with it I'd still be too dozy to ride safely, someone sat at the other end of the table with his lunch, and asked (in Italian) if I was Italian and had a Ducati (having spotted my T-shirt). He was a Bolognese truck driver and biker himself (new Honda Africa Twin, which he did take off road). We ended up chatting about 10 minutes (all in Italian!) about bikes, touring and adventure travel. He also advised that on Italian motorways, it is apparently bad form ('un pecato') to filter between lines of queueing traffic: the Italian way is apparently to ride up the hard shoulder, which I had observed. By the time I´d finished my coffee and he'd finished his lunch, I was feeling a lot brighter. If the biking gods have messengers on earth, it appears they are Italian lorry drivers, as I'd had a similar morale boosting conversation with a trucker near Firenze 2 years ago. And no, I don't travel to Italy alone to pick up Italian truckers before anyone thinks naughty thoughts!

I stopped in Padova, parked and arrived just in time for the guided tour of the historic university building where Galileo taught,. The University was founded in the 13th century by free thinkers who felt stifled in Bologna. An organic gelateria provided a mango lolly and water to cool down my overheated head, so it was back on my bike and off to Maniago.

Maniago is in Friuli in NE Italy, and my aunt who had recently visited the area had described the pride Friulianis have in their region. I experienced this, as well as the sort of hospitality so lacking in Landeck in Austria. Pulling into to the car park at the back of the Albergo Montenegro I was greeted in Italian by the young chef/manager, clearly expecting me. Having complained about the heat, I was immediately given a bottle of water. When I mentioned I'd need dinner, he said they could set a table in the town square onto which the hotel looks, as it was cooler there, and he'd prepare some typical Friuli specialities.

I went for a wander round the small town, and liked the place a lot. There was a sense of pride and confidence. Maniago is the knife (making not crime) capital of Italy: there is a knife museum, shops full of hunting and cooks' knives (including fearsome looking machetes for cutting watermelons), and later this month, a festival celebrating knives, including the world axe and knife throwing championship. Hopefully the latter didn't coincide with a beer festival.

I enjoyed an excellent dinner sat out in the town square: a snack of local salami on bread with a glass of local white wine, fine herb filled ravioli with ginger, (very finely sliced!) pork with vegetables and the best ice cream I've eaten in years. The flavour was called Crema all'Italiana, comprising a subtle hint of red strawberry, green pistachio and white almond (as per the Italian flag colours). It was intensely creamy, and the last time I had ice cream that smooth, it was made to order with liquid nitrogen.

[MrsC_772]

Day 11 - Tuesday 5 July

An early start, being woken from 5 by (in sequence) a rooster, street sweeping trucks (Meaning of Liff word "Vancouver") going round the square, clock chimes and 7 am church bells next door.

I went down for breakfast (coffee, fresh O.J., Croissant & yoghurt. Chef asked if I'd enjoyed last night's dinner (I had).

At this point I rather put my foot in it. My parents are from Sheffield (England's equivalent of Maniago in terms of knife making) and had told me of the superstition that one should never give a knife as a present - there should always be a transaction, even just a penny in return. I asked if it was the same in Maniago, and understood that it was. On checking out, Chef he took a long thin flat package from a pile of similarly gift wrapped items and handed it to me. I got the gist of what he was saying - that it was ok, as I'd been a paying customer, but on unwrapping it at my hotel that evening, it was, of course .... a knife made in Maniago.

Today's ride was to Slovenia (my 3rd new country this trip), on routes from bike magazines. All started well, through towns and then heading on quiet lanes into the hills. I knew I was in Slovenia when the road signs changed colour to yellow and the place names looked distinctly un-Italian.

But there were more subtle changes too. Worse road surfaces. Lots of butterflies. A black squirrel darting across the road. Beehives in clearings in the lovely mixed deciduous woodland (none of your Schwarzwald coniferous monotony here). Honestly, it was like an enchanted forest from a Disney cartoon - Snow White or Bambi. 2 young deer turned to look at me and darted across the road. If a bird had landed on my handlebars and started singing to me, I would not have been surprised. I rode 20 minutes before I saw another vehicle. I really had entered Shangri La (albeit with potholes).

Having briefly joined a more major road along a river, the Navigatrix then told me to turn left up a minor side road. Funny, I thought - doesn't look like the start of one of the country's best bike roads. I know the Peterborough journalistic establishment is in thrall to the 2 wheeled Bavarian Chelsea tractor but still? Climbing through the woods, all of a sudden the tarmac ran out. I may have mentioned I don't like gravel. But what choice did I have? Wuss out and turn round or carry on, in the hope discovering a great ride?

So I carried on along the gravel track, telling myself to relax, and as Dory in Finding Nemo puts it "just keep swimming" (or in my case riding). The gravel section continued for ages (in reality about 2km) and at the end I even had to go round a gravel hairpin. A little skid but I didn't drop the bike Back on the tarmac, round a couple more normal hairpins (never did I think I'd be relieved to see one) and at the top of the hill, I was rewarded with the first of many stunning epic views of Slovenia. I stopped on the road (not in a gravel parking area - didn't want to push my luck) and took a photo.

As I pulled away the song going through my head was "He who would valiant be". Not sure whether it was attending school in Bedford (John Bunyan's town) which put it in my head, or more likely, John Cleese singing it in one of my all time favourite films, Clockwise (a perfect encapsulation of one of my ideas of hell, being a control freak). But there I was riding up a Slovenian mountain road, singing in my helmet:

"[S]He who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,
Let him [her] in constancy follow the Master [the Navigatrix].
There’s no discouragement shall make him [her] once relent
His [her] first avowed intent to be a pilgrim [to WDW]".

[MrsC_772]

Day 11 continued

Wending my way back down the mountain, I eventually joined a major road, thronging with bikes - this was the Soca valley route I had intended to take. Can't blame the magazines for my little bit of of Dennis Matsonesque taking of unsuitable Ducatis on unsuitable surfaces: this was down to a wetware error. I won't be rushing out to buy an Enduro bike (not even the lowered CCM) but I was pleased to have proved to myself that I can ride on the rough stuff if needed.

I decided to reward myself with lunch at a roadside cafe somewhere between Bovec and Zaga. My Mum (who had previously visited and recommended Slovenia) had texted me a few key Slovenian words: good afternoon (dober dan), please (prosim), thank you (hvala) and beer (pivo). Didn't need the latter one yet so ordered gnocchi with tomato sauce (both a bit watery) and then in my Euro-patisserie-quest, something called "Gibanica" described as "sweet filled with poppy, walnuts, cottage cheese, apples & cream". It was a hot sweet, made up of layers, with sort of baked cheesecakeyness sandwiched between apples and poppy seeds. Good job I'm not in the sort of job that requires staff to be drug tested, as my readings would probably suggest I should be passed out from an opiate overdose, given the quantity of poppy seeds. Interesting, but I won't be hunting it out again.

I carried on to Bled where I was booked into the Alp Penzion. Slightly brusque check in but the room was ok, save that I couldn't get the aircon to work. On asking at reception I was told "you're in room 6? booked through booking.com? I have the remote for the aircon - it will be an extra €5 per day for aircon!" WTF??? Nothing about this on booking.com printout. Having selected a room with aircon, I wouldn't expect to be charged extra for it any more than I'd expect to be charged extra to walk on the carpet, watch the TV or use the en-suite bathroom! The spirt of old communist Yugoslavian customer service lives on.

I went for a walk round lake Bled, which was as mosquito infested as it is picturesque. My Incognito natural repellant had preserved me from the zanzare di Tavullia, and did the trick again. Lake Bled has a clifftop castle, a church on an island, super clear water in which people were swimming and rowing, and a photo op at every turn.

Dinner that night was a pizza and beer in the Gostilna Pri Planincu (owned by a member of the Slovenian DOC, though he wasn't there). Ducati calendar stickered, with a card and another sticker left behind, I went back to my airconditioned room (the remote having been released to me).

[MrsC_772]

Day 12 - Wednesday 6 July

At breakfast in the Alp Penzion, more evidence of pettiness. An orange juicing machine with a label saying that no more than 2 oranges may be inserted. As I was looking at where to put my oranges, one of the hotel staff came past and interrogated me about whether I knew what to do with the machine. She reiterated that the number of oranges to be inserted shall be 2, not 1, not 3 but 2. My 2 oranges made a feeble trickle of juice, in stark contrast to the good 6 oranges' worth that must have gone into my Maniago breakfast spremuta. I don't know if the reason for her command was that more than 2 would block the machine, but after the air con incident the night before, I suspected a mere stinginess about the fruit budget. (Were oranges rationed in Tito's day?) Even if I might naturally have chosen 2 oranges, I resent being ordered not to use more.

I'd put together a circular route round Slovenia, taking in the Triglavski national park and Bohinjsko lake and several mountain passes, including the Predel back over the border to Italy. I had a lovely morning's ride. Slovenia is the most breathtakingly beautiful of all the Alpine countries I've visited: unfeasibly clear lakes, teeming with fish, inviting turquoise streams, woods, majestic mountains, pretty little villages. One Slovenian peculiarity is the hayracks constructed like tall roofed fences through which the hay is stuffed. Not sure if the idea is that cows can graze directly from them in winter, but they're more picturesque than the British hay swiss roll or worse plastic wrapped silage bale.

If you fancied a change from motorcycling, lots of outdoor activities (cycling, canoeing, climbing, rafting, parasailing, hiking) were available. Cafes & hotels with bikers welcome signs outside everywhere I road. (Dear Slovenian tourist board ...gissa job hvala ....) On one of the passes, however (probably the one the Slovenian on the other Ducati forum advised me to avoid due to poor surfaces and too many visitors) there were cobbles on many of the hairpins, so I was glad it was a dry sunny day. Fortunately the RVs were going in the opposite direction so I wasn't subject to Stelvioesque frustrations.

Heading back to Bled, my mission was to try Bled cream cake. I was basically under orders from my mum to do so. The Park Hotel cafe next to the lake, claims to be where it was originated, so I sat there and ordered an original Bled cream cake, while contemplating which Game of Thrones castle the clifftop Bled Grad most resembled (the Eyrie - you could certainly build a moon door given the location).

Bled cream cake is a mille feuille type construction with flaky pastry top and bottom and layers of sort of moussey whipped cream and creme patissiere. It was nicer than I expected, given that I'm not a big creme pat fan, ever so light, although had a bit of a soggy bottom (hark at me, coming over all Mary Berry). The absence of kirsch from it means that the Schwarzwald Kirschtorte pips in in the cake-olympics in my book.

I thought I'd better walk up the hill to the Castle to burn off some cream cake, so did the tourist thing (managing to go round the museum totally backwards). Jolly nice views from the top. Back down the hill for dinner (another trout dish, no almonds or butter this time) with a very small glass of white wine, and then the discovery of the hotel Computer.

[MrsC_772]

Day 13 - Thursday 7 July

After breakfast I checked out of Alp Penzion. The hotel manageress had relented and told me that I would not be charged the €5 per day for aircon after all, but the threat of the charge and the Juice Business detracted from what could potentially have been a very nice hotel.

The Slovenian/Austrian border was the first since leaving England where someone manned the crossing - 2 Austrian soldiers. They waved me straight through, without bothering to check my papers (unlike the car in front). The likelihood of my smuggling in terrorists, Syrian refugees etc. in my Kriega tailpacks was minimal!

Having used up the last of my mini chain lube, I spotted a Triumph dealer just outside Villach, and thought they might sell me more. They did, after much faffing around (although being Austria, it should probably be spelled Pfaffing around, especially after previously driving past a town called Pfafflar!) to find the price in various catalogues/computer records. I was even offered a coffee and they let me use their loo. Not bad, considering I wasn't on a Triumph. Maybe Bill Bryson was wrong (after a less than happy trip many years ago, he remarked that Austria would be nice if it were not for the Austrians).

Around noon I arrived in Bad Kleinkirchheim, a town name I associate with watching Ski Sunday with my Dad when I was a kid. I reckoned it was strudel o'clock, so parked up in front of a bakery and ordered an apfelstrudel and cappuccino. Tasty filling - still trying to pin down the spice blend, more than just cinnamon & lemon, I'm sure. Sat at the next table was an Austrian straight from central casting: old guy in lederhosen, green wool cloth waistcoat and Tyrolean hat (no feather but an edelweiss pin). Tourist board employee or Englishman trying too hard to fit in?

Next Brownie point for Austria was the Nockalmstrasse - a toll road through the mountains designed to be fun to ride. 52 individually number bends, perfect tarmac, helpful camber to allow for a relaxed ride. Meadows with wild flowers including lupins, grazing cows (only 1 actually stood in the road), all very pleasant. OK it was €10.50, but more fun than €10.50 worth of Italian motorway riding.

After stopping at a supermarket for an iced coffee drink and punnet of blueberries (more vitamin karma), I filled up with fuel. Another pleasant surprise - price per litre cheaper than Luxembourg!

Finally, I headed towards the Grossglocknerhochlapinestrasse, and my hotel in Heiligenblut. I will not write off the Austrian inkeeping profession after all. Today's dirndl clad blonde asked me to complete my address on the check in form which already had my Name printed, and gave me the key to my room, which has a balcony with a splendid mountain view. While I could happily have sat staring at the view, I fancied a relaxing swim.

Once again, my lack of German frustrated me (all the info in the folder or on notices in the room is in German alone). I checked with the receptionist that my understanding was correct (that the apricot coloured towels in the wardrobe are for use in the swimming pool and spa and should be left down there). Lovely indoor pool, with huge windows looking out onto a view almost as good as that from my balcony. 50 lazy breaststroke lengths (the odd numbered ones with views of darting swifts, housemartins and the mountains, even numbered ones with just the stone carving of alpine activities on the wall). Swim was followed by sauna (again, spotlessly clean with a bizarre array of alternative showers). Only on leaving did I spot the sign saying that swimsuits were not allowed in the sauna!

Dinner was spinach and cheese dumplings, another bland Austrian beer (the Austrians should leave brewing to the Germans if you ask me) and ice cream (not up to Maniago standards), with, you've guesed, more mountain views!

[slob]

and the Germans should leave brewing to the Belgians IMHO ;-)

keep the write ups coming, I'm suffering from culture shock since my return, I just want to be back in Italy

Did you ride Grossglockner? Vir enjoyed it http://www.globetrotter90.ducati.com/grossglockner/

I rode it two years ago and agree with him completely

Originally Posted by slob

I'm suffering from culture shock since my return, I just want to be back in Italy

Yes, I hear you on that one, off out with my Italian bezzie tonight to try soften the bumpy landing back to London

[Dirty]

Thoroughly enjoying this. Thank you for taking the time. For me long bike rides are best taken vicariously and this is one of my favourites

[slob]

Originally Posted by Dirty

... long bike rides are best taken vicariously...

just get on and go mate, a journey of a thousand miles still begins by engaging first gear (apologies to Laozi)

[Dirty]

Originally Posted by slob

just get on and go mate, a journey of a thousand miles still begins by engaging first gear (apologies to Laozi)

I know how to do it. It's exactly the same as short journeys, only longer and with luggage. If I've had enough after an hour or so I can't see me enjoying 2 weeks of saddle time.

I love my Monster, and I love messing about with it. Riding it comes 3rd, I'm still a car man in that sense. Offer me 2 weeks riding around Europe on any bike I like or an entry level 911 and I'd be sat in Stuttgart leather, ac and Bose every time.

[slob]

maybe you could drive the trailing support van with your bike in the back and get the best of both worlds

[Dirty]

Originally Posted by slob

maybe you could drive the trailing support van with your bike in the back and get the best of both worlds

Yes, because vans are just like sports cars

No, maybe I could just arrive fresh and unsweaty at my destinations without a saddle sore behind and covered in dead insects?

[slob]

strangley insect free in Italy, wiped my visor twice in 11 days

... still got chewed to £@&! by mossies in the evening though

you'd still have your bike at the destination for the short rides you enjoy