Europe by cake - MrsC's WDW 2016 tour report

[MrsC_772]

Ok, technically it is Europe by Monster696, but the tour has developed a certain patisserie focus ...

Have finally got in front of a computer on day 12 of the trip. For the first time ever, this trip I wished I had a tablet computer or even a smartphone, rather than my trusty old Sony Ericsson. If any spelling goes hinky blame the Slovenian keyboard - less weird than a French one but still not quite right!

Day 1 - Saturday 25 June
Set off from home that afternoon, with a ride through Surrey & Wet Sussex (spelling deliberate) to Folkestone. The sort of conditions where you don't know what's round the next bend (how many inches/feet of standing/flowing water). As lightning struck ahead we took refuge in a McDonalds (shows how desperate conditions were) for a cheap cup of tea and blast from a hand dryer. Having set off in my leathers in good weather, by the time we stopped, there was no point getting waterproofs out. Andy was on a borrowed naughty corner bike, and enjoying it despite conditions - presumably exploring the urban/rain/max traction control modes. I was regretting having asked him to clean my Monster that morning, as it was now back to its usual state!

Checked into the Premier Inn at Folkestone, and had my last English beer &curry for a while in the pub next door. Ok, so pub curry isn't the real thing (curryphile methadone to Indian restaurant spicy heroin equivalent) but I wasn't sure when I'd get my next fix. Early night ahead of an early start.

 

[MrsC_772]

Day 2 - Sunday 26 June

A long day: 400km, 4 countries, 3 fuel stops and no motorways so slow progress, with rain on and off all day. First fuel stop was at the first station after the Chunnel (because muggins forgot to fill up in Folkestone the night before). Expensive and the only 95 octane was E10. My bike (unlike Andy's 695) gets grumpy on super unleaded (the engine was in a mood for a week after I gave it the Tesco super) so filled it with the plonk. Hope one tank isn't enough to induce tank mumps.

When crossing northern France I alternate between gritting my teeth, paying the tolls and hitting the motorway, and thinking there must be a better alternative (which in practice usually leads me to long for the motorway again).Satnav route (culled from Ride magazine) started by leading me along canals to get away from Calais, watching the local anglers & cyclists. Hacked through Lille, where my planned road being closed for some sort of street fair led to me ride in circles round a one way system clearly designed by someone who'd been on the limoncello big time. Euro footie championship clearly in evidence - lots of German fans wandering around.

Got lots of waves from fellow bikers passing through one town in the border zone - clearly an organised rally or ride-out, almost every single one waved. (Maybe it's a way of saying "we know the roads here are dull, but it's still good to see a fellow biker").

By early afternoon I was (a) in Belgium, and (b) getting quite peckish. I thought there'd be a simple solution - chips. What I hadn't expected was pretty much every friterie being closed due to it being Sunday. I thought the eating of chips was more of a national religion in Belgium than organised religion, but no. At one point I saw customers in a cafe, but when I turned up at the counter I was told they'd stopped serving.

Eventually, at about 4pm, I found my salvation, in the form of a strawberry custard tart. Not for the first time, when all else in Francophone Europe is closed, the boulangerie patisserie remains open. It appears the Walloons are as wedded to the need (knead?) for continuous access to baguettes as the French, so I found a cake shop, spilled icing sugar down my waterproofs and drank mediocre coffee.

Second fuel stop of the day was somewhere in Belgium, where at least there was a choice between normal 95 and plonk.

With around 100km to go, I was getting to the small-child-on-back-seat-of-car "are we nearly there yet" stage. However, around 35km from my hotel, a miracle happened: Luxembourg.

Part of my aim on this WDW tour was to visit new places, and having never been to Luxembourg (and read one or two good things about it in a bike magazine and on the other Ducati forum), I'd booked a hotel in Vianden.

Immediately over the border, the tarmac quality improved immensely. In my version of biker heaven (more on that later) the roads would definitely be surfaced by the Luxembourgeois. Bends swinging through wooded hillsides, hardly any other vehicles around, smooth tarmac and the cheapest petrol I've found in Europe - what's not to like?

Checked into my hotel, had a pizza the size of a bike wheel topped with garlic & the blandest capsicums known to science, washed down with a German weissbeer, and went for a wander round the historic town centre. There's a river, a pretty hilltop castle, and the Luxembourgeois still seem to build stuff with proper round castle-ish towers.

The hotel staff had switched effortlessly between German & French. When I saw a road sign, I realised why perhaps the Luxembourg dialect hadn't really caught on. A road called, in French, "Rue de la Frontiere" in Luxemburgish was "Ruoder Wee" which frankly sounds like what the Mannequin Pis is doing in Brussels!

 

[MrsC_772]

Day 3 - Monday 27 June

Vianden being only a mile from the border, it was not long before I entered Germany, and headed towards the Black Forest. The Navigatrix must have been on the weissbier last night as she had trouble telling left from right in Trier (I could hardly have borne right, what with the river in the way - while Wet Sussex had tested the amphibious potential of the 696, I didn't want to push my luck in the Moselle).

Made it uneventfully to Baden Baden to pick up the famous B500 through the Black Forest. Like the Black Mountain in Wales, a once great biking road, ruined by maliciously low speed limits - 50 kmph, seriously guys? Scenery ok, but less spectacular than I'd hoped - of course there was forest, but boring conifers. Decided while in the region I ought to sample the Black Forest gateau.

The first place I stopped was called Mummelsee - a hotel with a lake, tacky souvenir shops (some themed on witches, mermaids/men, and also cuckoo clocks) and a cafe. Took a few pictures but thought against trying the cake there - not sure that there is a scientific rule about the quality of food increasing with the distance from pedalo rental availability but it wouldn't surprise me! The whole vibe of the place was a German equivalent of the sort of odd/faded tourist attractions sought out by the protagonist of Neil Gaiman's brilliant "American Gods" or else could have featured in the episode of Grimm where Nick and Monroe go to the Black Forest in search of a powerful artifact (must be some "wesen lore" behind the souvenirs!)

Headed on and found a pretty little town with an open cake shop/cafe. Well, proper Schwarzwald kirschtorte is a revelation. The emphasis, compared with the abomination which passes by the same name in England, is different. Proper BFG is a cream cake, not a chocolate cake. Sure, there are a couple of slices of thin fine chocolate cake, as well as plain sponge, and a few chocolate shavings sprinkled on top, but the hero is the kirsch drenched cream, and a layer of tasty cherries.

Suitably refuelled, I headed on in the sunshine to the fantastic Hotel Waldblick in Schenkenzell. I studied French & Spanish at school, not German, so had attempted to learn a little on a Memrise app while stuck on hold to pension & insurance companies at work. The check in process went as follows: "ich habe ein zimmer reserviert", followed by hotel lady responding with more German than I could cope with, followed by me: "mein deutsch ist nicht gut, ich bin Englanderin" followed by her responding in English (to my relief & embarrassment). She showed me a secure area (behind gates) where my bike could be parked out of sight.

Hotel was more luxurious than I expected, with a spotlessly clean sauna "wellness" area - the nicest in any hotel I've visited, with a choice of cooling down method from normal shower, bucket with rope handle to drench in one go, and a mysterious hosepipe (whose purpose I daren't imagine!)

Knots removed from shoulders, I sat down for dinner. Having seen signs for trout fishing ponds in several places on the way I fancied a fish supper. I was not disappointed: a whole trout, with lots of almonds, both fried in a quantity of butter that would have made James Martin proud. I washed it down with a dark lager, while chatting to 3 English bikers (the Multistroodle owner having got the others lost earlier in the day).

 

[MrsC_772]

Day 4 - Tuesday 28 June

I came to the conclusion that the Germans do the best continental breakfast in the Waldblick this morning: not just muesli, but a choice of 4 different mueslis, with lots of different seeds & dried fruit to "pimp your breakfast", as well as fresh fruit, an orange juicer and the usual cheese & ham. Coffee, however, should be left to the Italians ...

My route from Schenkenzell to my overnight stop in Austria took me along Lake Constance (Bodensee). The first of many beautiful lake & mountain combinations this trip. I rode past many vineyards & orchards - I find the sight of orchards strangely reassuring. The world may be going to hell in a handcart, but it feels less the case when surrounded by trees covered in cherries or apples. I stopped at a roadside fruit stall somewhere near Hagenau (oddly enough, next to a biker bar with a Monster for sale outside) and munched my way through the smallest punnet of cherries I could find (which was probably 1kg)! Vitamin karma after the fried fish & cake yesterday.

Heading into Austria, I stopped to buy the talismanic vignette (for motorway riding) on the basis that if I have one, I won't accidentally find myself on the motorway and needing it. Seeing the mountains and chalets, strangely, the theme music from a childhood Heidi TV show was running through my head. (Yes, I know that was set in Switzerland ...) It worries me the garbage that my brain retains, which has no doubt stopped some useful work-related knowledge from sticking.

I'd booked a room at the hotel Enzian in Landeck, part of a group of Tyrolean hotels who market themselves as "let's bike together" at the Birmingham bike show. However on arrival, I was told by the dirndl-clad blonde they had overbooked, had no room for me, that "I'd have to cancel" but that the Mozart hotel over the road had a room. I queried why no-one had told me before, and a feeble excuse about not phoning due to "pronunciation difficulties" was made. My suspicion was that I'd been bumped by someone joining the official BMW test ride group operating out of the Enzian.

I therefore trudged over the road to the Mozart, not a happy bunny and checked in. The hotel had a secure underground car park, the room was ok, although the hotel muzak was 70s & 80s cheese (not, I don't know, Mozart) and the decor rather 80s cheesy as well.

After a shower I wandered into Landeck, looking for dinner. The town is strung out along a railway line, road and the river Inn, and my hotel was at one end. The town seemed strangely quiet, the Donau Chimie chemical plant in the centre didn't exactly improve the view, and I'm sure that political poster I passed was for the worryingly popular far right party. It was odd: while normally in life I'm a pessimist, solo travel often brings out a glass-half-full side. Not tonight. How does the song go: "People are strange, when you're a stranger, faces look ugly, when you're alone ...."?

Having not found anywhere inspired, and not fancying a late walk back along the main road, I retreated to my hotel, and the restaurant there. Far from the happening biker filled place I'd hoped to be eating in, it felt like the sort of place a pensioners' coach tour would end up, and worse, there was only a set menu with no marked price. However, the hotel person was able to translate enough for me to see that the 5 courses did sound vaguely edible (even for fussy me), and on checking out the next morning, the bill was pleasingly low. Including a bland Austrian lager, dinner can't have been much over 15 Euros.

 

[MrsC_772]

Finishing unfinished Swiss business

Day 5 - Wednesday 29 June

The sort of day I come to Europe for, that makes it all worthwhile.

My WDW2014 plan to ride some Swiss mountain passes being thwarted by an extra day in Mulhouse waiting for an alternator, I had unfinished business with Switzerland.

Not after today!

Setting off from Landeck, I was soon passed by my first WDW fellow-pilgrims (4 French bikers, 3 Monsters & a streetfighter). Over the border into Switzerland, I headed towards Susch with a view to riding the Fluelapass. Glorious sunshine, though still pleasantly cool, little other traffic, sweeping bends, and even when I had to stop for roadworks (some involving riding a few metres over gravel - eek ) I noticed that the Swiss seem to employ a disproportionate number of rather attractive roadmenders (although the high-vis orange doesn't really do it for me).

Although at Susch it turned out the Fluelapass was closed to traffic - unattractive orange high-vis guy stopping anyone heading right there - having consulted the map I realised I could make a loop of the Albula and Julierpasses. There followed a morning of playing in the mountains - again, on quiet, beautiful roads, through splendid scenery, rarely having to stop. At the cafe on top of the Julierpass (hot choc and stodgy nut pastry) I got chatting to a local on a Panigale. As I got off my bike, I stretched - I think he interpreted this as a sort of cheer/sun salutation/victory gesture, which it might as well have been.

Back down the mountain, with a splendid view of the kitesurfers on the Silvaplana lake near St Moritz (and a less fortunate view where a German lass on a metric cruiser had dropped it mid-hairpin - she was ok) I thought I must be nearly down to earth. There followed the insanely switchbacky Malojapass, and eventually the Italian border.

I bimbled down the west bank of Lake Como, stopping for ice cream in Dongo (yes, do go - there are lovely views of the lake there) before eventually arriving at about 6.30 at the Visconti hotel near Gallarate.

Ursa turned up shortly after (following the "Pompone-tours" rideout to Mottarone) and we exchanged smugness about our hotel having aircon, while the UKMOC boys' frathouse B&B did not.

After a shower, back into biking kit and Ursa & I rode off to Tradate for the 100HP knees up, meeting the rest of the UKMOC WDW contingent (the boys apparently taking even longer to do hair/make-up/get organised as they turned up later). My first grilling about Brexit this trip, as well as the grilled sausage patty (salmella) and an attempt to convince one of the 100HP that his girlfriend should get a Monster.

 

[MrsC_772]

Boiling hot and Bologna

Day 6 - Thursday 30 June

Ursa and I left the Visconti 9 ish, for the long slog down the motorway to Bologna and then Cattolica. The Milanese equivalent of the M25 in rush hour will never be on anyone's list of great rides. Fortunately Ursa (newbie to continental riding) put her "London head" on, and we made some progress filtering past the queues. (The idea of riding in central London scares me far more than dealing with the Italian tailgaters of the A1 and A14!)

First fuel, coffee & water stop at Piacenza services (Italian motorway coffee fortunately living up to my positive recollections) and we were already getting hot and bothered. The plan was to stop next at the Ducati factory (where if nothing else, there is always good aircon). However, nature called, and we stumbled on an oasis in the desert - namely the services about 25km before Bologna (Secchia Ovest?) We walked into what felt like a particularly posh John Lewis or Waitrose food hall, piled high with gourmet delicacies, artisan beer in bottles, luxury toiletry gifts. As Ursa put it - "this is even better than Tebay on the M6!" But as we were heading for Bologna, with limited luggage space, and only stopped to spend a centesimo, we bid arrivederci to the mirage.

Arriving at the Ducati factory (taking Ursa's Edna back to her birthplace, just as I'd done for the first time with my 696 in 2012) we were delighted to be able to get on a factory tour (the first time in my 3 attempts at doing this). Judging by the production lines, clearly the Scrambler is still a top seller, with a new bronze framed version much in evidence. Also an awful lot of X diavels & Multistradas (Multistrade?) The current generation of Monster doesn't seem nearly so popular (well, they shouldn't have given it ugly plumbing, should they). Lots of emphasis on the amount of testing they do before letting every bike out of the door to customers (suspect Multistroodle owners might have something to say about that).

Next on to the recently revamped (or should I say dumbed down) museum. Side rooms now more like white boxes - very art gallery, but then the 916 is a work of art. Less explanatory text, fewer bare engines & technical info, more emphasis on road bikes (including a classic Monster in its rightful place). Ok, we might not all be interested in Taglioni's drawing board, but it still seems a shame to have removed a lot of history from the museum.

Back on the road, and it was getting unbearably hot. Having earlier found the "better than Tebay", we now found a services with Leicester Forest East levels of glamour (or lack thereof) for more water and an ice cream, with no proper seating area.

After the last 100km or so slog to Cattolica, we arrived at the Luxor beach, and obtained the code for the underground carpark. Bikes safely tucked up for the night, and aircon in the bedroom cranked up to arctic, we then retreated to the hotel pool to cool down (you couldn't actually hear the steam coming off me as I went into the water, but it wouldn't have suprised me if you could). Ursa managed a couple of smug-girls-in-pool selfies of us, before we got changed and headed out for dinner.

I must have been developing heat exhaustion, as I was feeling absolutely shattered, slightly queasy and headachey. I managed a plate of penne arrabiata before heading back to the hotel for an early night.

 

[MrsC_772]

Iannone is too hot for Ursa's phone

Day 7 - Friday 1 July

What we'd actually come for - WDW itself.

A fairly early start, as Ursa had booked a track session for the morning, and needed to report to the signing in desk some time before.

We sat outside our hotel, with a nice sea view, eating breakfast. Whether or not a pancake with banana and Nutella is truly the breakfast of champions, we both thought it worth a go! There were also delicious fresh peaches (one of the things I look forward to at WDW is the superior stone fruit available in Cattolica compared with back home).

The excitement and heat built, as we queued to get on site, ogling the interesting mix of bikes all around. As in previous years, the Brits were boiling in leathers, the Italians in shorts, skimpy T-shirts & trainers. Once we got in, Ursa wanted to get her bike's brakes bled/looked at before hitting the track, so we reported to the Ducati service desk. The service desk is worth a visit even if your bike doesn't need any work, as the combined fans/mist sprayers there are the most effective on the whole Misano site when it comes to cooling down - I agree with Emily's Driver who had conducted extensive research. The service guys only charge 35 Euros an hour for work which is pretty reasonable.

Ursa headed onto the track, for a good 20 minute session, while I bought several bottles of water, and headed up to the top of the grandstand to view the action. Apart from quarantining the Hypermotards to separate sessions, there is no splitting of track riders into novice, intermediate and fast groups at Misano. This meant there were Multis, Diavels, Panigales and other sports bikes, as well as Ursa on her 695 on track for the very first time. Hunched forward in a racing crouch ("tits on tank" being her poetic description) Ursa made it round without crashing (unlike another rider that session on a sportsbike).

Relieved to be rid of her leathers after the track session (removed with some assistance, and not much dignity) we were onto Ursa's second mission of the day. Apart from her love of bears (not a surprise from the user name and avatar) Ursa's other passion is following MotoGP, and in particular Andrea Ianonne. Having downloaded the WDW app on her phone, she was alerted to Ianonne making an appearance for an autograph signing session on the Dainese stand at 2.30. After briefly running into Slob & Thuli near International Village (where Thuli presented us with the inspired gift of folding fans emblazoned with UKMOC logos) it was time for the other kind of fan. Queuing behind the rope, we waited half an hour in the heat for the man himself, there to demonstrate the airbag jacket technology. Ursa had an official Iannone fan club hat & t-shirt to be signed, and gave me her phone ready snap the momentous occasion, but it kept conking out in the heat. Just when Iannone was 2 people up the line from us, it gave up completely. Iannone was too hot for her phone! Fortunately, for once, I had my own phone handy, rather than buried in the bottom of my Kriega waistpack, so I was able to snap a couple of shots of Ursa and Iannone, which she then bluetoothed to her own phone.

Her life's work accomplished (well, until tomorrow, when there were other MotoGP stars available for autograph sessions), Ursa & I were able to relax a little, potter round admiring the bikes, until it was time for the unpleasantly sticky business of getting leathers back on for the ride home.

That evening we caught a taxi up to Tavullia where we met the rest of the UKMOC WDW group at Pizzeria da Rossi. A most convivial evening, and surprisingly tasty & good value for money food, especially for a "celebrity" place. My enjoyment of the evening was enhanced by remembering my mosquito repellant, and by Ursa taking one for the team and finishing the limoncello shot that inevitably appeared in front of me towards the end of the meal.

 

[MrsC_772]

Day 8 - Saturday 2 July

Back to the circuit, but a later start, and it being Saturday, meant a much longer queue to get in. The air temperature reading on my clocks was 46 C at one point!

An equally frustrating time at the lid & jacket check in desk, having joined the slowest of 4 lines, we got to the front, only for the woman who had been exchanging kit for tickets to now be just carrying kit to the storage area behind. Having waited 20 minutes in the heat, and eventually depositing our kit, I abandoned any plans about maybe test-riding a Scrambler.

My plan for the day was to photograph most gorgeous and hideous bikes in show. Lots of customised Scramblers this time round, some really well done, some nice Monsters (quite a few blue ones caught my eye), a Giordano Loi Mako sports bike fairing ... and then ... the bikes that taste forgot. Hypermotard with flamethrower exhaust, a surfeit of carbon & gold bling, the bright orange X diavel with a "Lamborghini" sticker, and a Monster I recognised from 2 years ago, which looked like someone had dropped baked beans on the tank. Also of note was a bike with a weird shaped customised tank, in the same pale blue Gulf colours as Utopia's 750 with "Utopia" on the side.

Meanwhile, Dave (of the other parish) having very kindly loaned her his "Special Customer" VIP pass for a pit lane walk and rider autograph signing session, Ursa headed into the pits. She emerged, somewhat frazzled, about 45 minutes later, with signed pictures of Danilo Petrucci and a (surprisingly smiling) Casey Stoner, describing the experience as mayhem. ("There were people passing kids over their heads as if it to be blessed by the Pope, and the bouncers had to start physically pushing people out of the way".) Sounds like she was lucky to come out with all teeth and bones intact, never mind with signed photos!

Ursa and I headed for the grandstand near the exit to watch the lap of honour by assorted racers. Someone (showing off doing burnouts) managed to bin their bike right in front of us! Doh! I headed back to the hotel to cool down while Ursa watched the Diavel drag race and added to her sunburn.

That evening, Ursa & I met Slob & Thuli & Nonnie & Emily's Driver in Cattolica for dinner, the complication being that it was the Germany v Italy football match, and most of the bars & restaurants in town were packed solid. After finding an airconditioned pizzeria not showing the match, and eating (my pizza being washed down by an Italian craft beer appropriately named "Stoner", probably not after Casey though) we headed into the streets for the sport of watching Italian football fans.

Ursa started running forwards, a big grin on her face. I assumed it was because she'd spotted the Kursaal hotel (where, according to the taxi driver bringing us back from Tavullia the previous evening, a certain Andrea Iannone was staying) but no. It was a balloon seller with a bear shaped helium balloon, which she had to have (and which, I am pleased to report, has made it safely back to England in Pompone's van!)

Now accompanied by a bobbing Masha e Orso balloon, we headed to a square where the most enthusiastic/raucous footie fans were gathered. While my Italian vocabulary extends to the boring stuff involving hotels & food, Ursa's more esoteric Italian comprises animals and rude words, so she was able to translate some of the football chants. Some of us wanting to sit down, strategic purchases of gelato were made so we could occupy a table outside an ice cream shop. The table became a balloon-bear sanctuary as well.

 

[MrsC_772]

Simoncelli and the seaside

Day 9 - Sunday 3 July

Instead of heading straight to the circuit after breakfast, Ursa and I rode to Coriano, bouncing along country lanes definitely not surfaced by the Luxembourgeois - more Le Marche or Surrey County Council standard!

Coriano is home to the Marco Simoncelli museum & memorial. The small museum contained wonderful arty photos of Simoncelli, both close up and in action, as well as artifacts from throughout his career (including mini-moto kit held together with gaffer tape). I couldn't help but contrast the dignity in the pictures of Marco, with the immature gurning of a certain Mr Iannone in his social media feed, to which I was subjected by the presence of Ursa's smartphone...

Then to the circuit. As WDW activities tend to finish on the Sunday lunchtime, it was a lot quieter: no queue. At the International Village tent where Desmo Owners Clubs have space, we arrived in turn for the presentation for the club competition prizes. Ursa & I being the only other UKMOCers in the tent at the time (and despite not having taken part in the events), Slob very generously invited us to join him as Scott Redding presented the prizes: see http://www.ukmonster.co.uk/monster/showthread.php?t=53316 Even better for Ursa, the prize included a little model Iannone race bike each!

While Ursa wanted to check out the shopping bargains, I wanted to check out the project 1312 2017 bike sneak preview. A 40 minute wait (under shade and with fans), cameraphone handed in (not that that had prevented spy shots appearing on MCN's website the previous day), and into the big white box. Surrounded on 3 sides by massive screens showing some very Americanised images of cities and roads, with an American accented voiceover with even more marketing waffle/lifestyle BS than I recall from the Scrambler preview 2 years ago, the bike was finally unveiled. A sports bike for the road. Token red trellis frame, under white Panigalesque fairing. We were allowed to sit on it, with warnings that it was just a mock up not a production version (presumably the mirrors and indicators were made of a weaker grade of cheese than road bike ones).

Having seen what we wanted to see at Misano, now time to hit the beach. To say the beaches at Cattolica are regimented is an understatement. The spiaggia is one area where the Italians out-German the Germans in organisation. (Possibly very deliberately, to avoid the stereotypical towel reservation of sunlounger tactics). We first had to purchase a ticket from the hotel, with boxes ticked to say we wanted 2 loungers and a parasol. This ticket was presented to the man at the beach office/shower building for the appropriate numbered beaches used by our hotel, where he checked a board to see which loungers & parasols had not yet been taken, and we were walked to our allocated spot. A couple of hours of paddling in the warm sea, reading, lounging and watching the Italians followed. Spotless loos, enough bins for rubbish - I can kind of see the point in the Italian way in a crowded resort (though I do still prefer West Wittering!)

Ursa was starting to get antsy about logistics for the return journey to England so we showered & headed to Tavullia so her bike could be loaded into the van. Huge thanks are due to BigOz for loading, and for riding his own bike up to Malpensa the next day as space in the van had been taken by 100HP Andrea's bike which had died on the way down. The Tavullia boys all getting a bit hot and stressy (missing persons, endless packing and unpacking) Ursa and I retreated to Cattolica for pizza and prosecco.

 

[singletrack]

Really enjoying reading this.
Thanks x

 

[Ursa]

Hehehe it's all true, I can't deny any of it. Hats off to Mrs C for keeping me in check and booking particularly well air conditioned hotels.

For the record apart from lovely Iannone, I also met Davide Giugliano, Casey Stoner (who looked unusually cheerful) and very lovely Danilo Petrucci (which prompted some Daddy or Chips style pondering between him and Iannone heh)

 

[slob]

... with a bear ...

 

[BLUNT]

Thanks from me - quite a good read.

 

[Dirty]

Great write up, thanks.

Did you take notes each day?

 

[Darren69]

Yes, great write up. I enjoyed reading it and I really enjoyed my time Firenze/Bologna and surrounding area too a few years ago and vowed to go back sometime maybe on a bike, maybe WDW, but I couldn't imagine leathers in that heat. Have they really spoilt the Ducati museum then?

And who'd believe Casey smiling, I think we need proof!

 

[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]

The biking gods provide

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]

Shangri La with potholes & the conquering of a demon

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 :woot: 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:

"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).