I am staying in the seaside town of Pafos. I am impressed with the island of Cyprus, not only for the stunning Greek architecture but also the warm hospitality I have experienced. With considerable lower prices than those experienced on mainland Europe I have not a bad word to say about this beautifully affordable destination.
I rented an XT 600 and have been riding through the hills north of Pafos. Whilst stopping for tea in a number of roadside taverns the Greek people have offered me kind advice on where I can go and what I can see during my short stay here.
28 March 2012
06 December 2011
2 or 4
Two wheels is all that separates cars from motorbikes. For both modes of transport mutual respect is crucial.
40 years ago it was not possible to buy a new veichle on finance, making the divide between road users purely financial. Today this is not the case. A person can pay for a car or a motorbike on a finance scheme set up to suit them individually, which in turn puts more veichles on the road, with some families owning 2 or more cars. Today, we are spoilt for choice. Translated into the biking world this means that there is a higher number of weekend and fair weather riders on the road.
I am trying to point out that a general acceptance and respect from one road user to the other needs to take place before harmony on the road can be accomplished. I am writing this after having clashed with 2 cars in the 2 days that have just past.
Yesterday I rode to Newhaven pier and partook in a little off road riding down a dirt track. After an hour or so I was tired, and made my way back to Brighton. Upon returning to my MC parking spot I noticed a blue Nissan parked there. I guessed it to be someone on a school run as it was that time of day. After a long wait, a Mother returned to the car with a sheepish look on her face, muttered an apology, jumped in her car and left. I nodded at her apology and maneuvered in to the spot, I was a little irritated as to why she parked there in the first place with it being clearly marked for bikes.
Today, when I was riding back from a meeting and was waiting on a minor road, about to enter a major road, that would take me back home, the space became free and I managed to maneuver my bike in to the gap and saw, from the corner of my eye, a car coming from the opposing minor road right at me. It took a while for me to realize as I was in disbelief, but sure enough she kept driving and coming closer. I sounded my horn and suddenly the car came to a standstill. Shocked I drove off to the traffic lights. When I had stopped at the lights a little further ahead the car pulled up beside me, wound down the window and delivered an apology. I didn't see you. Didn't see me, I said to myself, I am 6ft 4, ride the tallest production bike in mass production, have a white paint job on my helmet and my bike, making me highly visible and have an aftermarket end can fitted with the baffle removed, and you still had no inkling I was there. She must have glanced left and not right or straight ahead. This common excuse of car drivers not being able to see us, is, for want for another word, pathetic. A real effort needs to be made when looking out for obstacles, as a bike rider I know this, any wrong judgment can land me six feet under. It must be so easy to become complacent whilst driving a car, a steel cage to work as a shield in the effect of a smash. Scroll down and read the blog entitled R.I.P to see the horror's of a high speed car crash. That cage is great at slow speeds but can produce a horrific mangled mess at a higher speed.
I am not an angry biker, I have total acceptance to anyone, regardless of what style of transport they choose to use. I think of myself as being no better and no worse than the other roads user and I will see myself ride with the very best of my ability each and every time I ride.
40 years ago it was not possible to buy a new veichle on finance, making the divide between road users purely financial. Today this is not the case. A person can pay for a car or a motorbike on a finance scheme set up to suit them individually, which in turn puts more veichles on the road, with some families owning 2 or more cars. Today, we are spoilt for choice. Translated into the biking world this means that there is a higher number of weekend and fair weather riders on the road.
I am trying to point out that a general acceptance and respect from one road user to the other needs to take place before harmony on the road can be accomplished. I am writing this after having clashed with 2 cars in the 2 days that have just past.
Yesterday I rode to Newhaven pier and partook in a little off road riding down a dirt track. After an hour or so I was tired, and made my way back to Brighton. Upon returning to my MC parking spot I noticed a blue Nissan parked there. I guessed it to be someone on a school run as it was that time of day. After a long wait, a Mother returned to the car with a sheepish look on her face, muttered an apology, jumped in her car and left. I nodded at her apology and maneuvered in to the spot, I was a little irritated as to why she parked there in the first place with it being clearly marked for bikes.
Today, when I was riding back from a meeting and was waiting on a minor road, about to enter a major road, that would take me back home, the space became free and I managed to maneuver my bike in to the gap and saw, from the corner of my eye, a car coming from the opposing minor road right at me. It took a while for me to realize as I was in disbelief, but sure enough she kept driving and coming closer. I sounded my horn and suddenly the car came to a standstill. Shocked I drove off to the traffic lights. When I had stopped at the lights a little further ahead the car pulled up beside me, wound down the window and delivered an apology. I didn't see you. Didn't see me, I said to myself, I am 6ft 4, ride the tallest production bike in mass production, have a white paint job on my helmet and my bike, making me highly visible and have an aftermarket end can fitted with the baffle removed, and you still had no inkling I was there. She must have glanced left and not right or straight ahead. This common excuse of car drivers not being able to see us, is, for want for another word, pathetic. A real effort needs to be made when looking out for obstacles, as a bike rider I know this, any wrong judgment can land me six feet under. It must be so easy to become complacent whilst driving a car, a steel cage to work as a shield in the effect of a smash. Scroll down and read the blog entitled R.I.P to see the horror's of a high speed car crash. That cage is great at slow speeds but can produce a horrific mangled mess at a higher speed.
I am not an angry biker, I have total acceptance to anyone, regardless of what style of transport they choose to use. I think of myself as being no better and no worse than the other roads user and I will see myself ride with the very best of my ability each and every time I ride.
24 November 2011
Loud Pipes Save Lives
much to the annoyance of those in search of the quiet life.
This statement helps a biker keep clear of the most common motorcycle death. The excuse used by car users that have pulled out in front of a bike is almost always the same, 'we didn't see him, he came out of nowhere'.
This type of tragedy is greatly reduced when the rider fits an aftermarket exhaust can to there bike. An aftermarket end can will make a considerable difference to the pitch of the exhaust note, thus giving the machine more road presence. On top of the desirability of a louder, more punchy machine, the can will also reduce the overall weight.
The drawback to fitting specialized can's for your machine is the price. The Tenere has duel outlets, doubling that price.
Yamaha wanted £750 for the Arrow aftermarkets, which in my opinion is daylight robbery. No time seemed like the right time to blow that sort of money on a non essential extra for my bike. It was after much Internet searching that I came across the MTC website. A company that offered the buyer the same quality of exhaust as Arrow at a fraction of the price. £280 I paid for the twin cans. I fitted them yesterday and am more than happy.
I had a grin on my face as I went for the first ride. They deliver a hearty, chunky bark but still comply with the UK emissions law. I do however have the option of removing the baffle to turn them in to hooligan cans. Watch this space.
I rode yesterday with a little more gusto than normal, loving the noise of the piston compression back firing as I shut off the throttle.
Upon returning to my parking space and demounting, I looked at the pipes and noticed brown gunk all over one of them. Thinking the worst, dog shit, I wiped some on to a leaf and gave it a sniff. A strong Indian curry smell flew up my nose and I then remembered the vindalo curry sauce I had bought and put in my top box. My aggressive riding had smashed the glass jar and caused a wave of curry sauce to be delivered on to my brand new pipes.
Not happy, must go and clean them now.
This statement helps a biker keep clear of the most common motorcycle death. The excuse used by car users that have pulled out in front of a bike is almost always the same, 'we didn't see him, he came out of nowhere'.
This type of tragedy is greatly reduced when the rider fits an aftermarket exhaust can to there bike. An aftermarket end can will make a considerable difference to the pitch of the exhaust note, thus giving the machine more road presence. On top of the desirability of a louder, more punchy machine, the can will also reduce the overall weight.
The drawback to fitting specialized can's for your machine is the price. The Tenere has duel outlets, doubling that price.
Yamaha wanted £750 for the Arrow aftermarkets, which in my opinion is daylight robbery. No time seemed like the right time to blow that sort of money on a non essential extra for my bike. It was after much Internet searching that I came across the MTC website. A company that offered the buyer the same quality of exhaust as Arrow at a fraction of the price. £280 I paid for the twin cans. I fitted them yesterday and am more than happy.
I had a grin on my face as I went for the first ride. They deliver a hearty, chunky bark but still comply with the UK emissions law. I do however have the option of removing the baffle to turn them in to hooligan cans. Watch this space.
I rode yesterday with a little more gusto than normal, loving the noise of the piston compression back firing as I shut off the throttle.
Upon returning to my parking space and demounting, I looked at the pipes and noticed brown gunk all over one of them. Thinking the worst, dog shit, I wiped some on to a leaf and gave it a sniff. A strong Indian curry smell flew up my nose and I then remembered the vindalo curry sauce I had bought and put in my top box. My aggressive riding had smashed the glass jar and caused a wave of curry sauce to be delivered on to my brand new pipes.
Not happy, must go and clean them now.
27 October 2011
Triumph Speed Triple 955i
Two weeks ago saw the unwanted selling of my first bike, a Triumph Speed Triple 955i. It was this machine that ignited my passion for motorbikes.
I was living in south London at the time I passed my test and bought the Speed Triple. A strong bond immediately grew between the bike and myself, i felt it to be perfect for what I needed in every way. When it came to filtering through cars and launching myself forward at one of London's numerous traffic lights, it was on a par with no other machine.
In those days I was quite happy hooning down motorways, over the speed limit, with nothing but a minuscule piece of decorative fairing perched over the head lights to act as a wind protection. Chronic neck ache was common then but as long as I carried my trusty pill box full of Neurophen Plus I was fine.
One day Ben, a school friend of mine, asked me if I needed a job. We had a short discussion were he told me the job took place at Hotel Casablanca, Andalusia, Southern Spain. I said yes, packed my bags and booked a 1 way ferry ticket to Bilbao.
Once I arrived in Bilbao, I had 24 hours to make it to the town of Gaucin. It was a hell of a long way for the time I had but I thought positively and gave it my best shot.
All that I noticed of the highways was the quiet. Hardly any cars or lorries were on the road which I found to be relieving. Along with the quite was the abundance of Spanish police and lack of speed camera's. It was on this trip that I got my personal speed record of 139mph. Nothing compared to those people that ride a Suzuki Hayabusa and push 200+ on a motorway, but a lot for me. The Speed Triple is a naked machine which required me to lie flat on the tank so to escape the blast of wind which would have blown me clean off at that speed. A personal best but one that I do not care to try to beat. My speed speed danger danger days are over, hence the purchase of a Yamaha XT 660 Tenere which has a BHP of 46, compared to the Triumphs 118. I like to remember that period of my life and think that those were the days, when I was free and hadn't a care in the world.
I arrived in Gaucin sore, disheveled and exhausted and was told by Henry, the head chef that I was needed the following morning at 6am.
The job lasted 6 weeks before he asked me to leave. The reason being he told me was that I put all my energy and attention in to riding around Andalusia which left me with very little energy for my cooking. Nail on the head and I was not surprised. This left me free to ride to Tangiers in Morocco.
I drove to Tarifa, caught the short ferry to Tangiers and spent 3 days riding around the Moroccan capital and surrounding countryside. After my time in northern Africa I started about my trip back to Gaucin, ready to make my onward travel arrangements. Just after leaving the town of Estepona I pulled back my throttle as normal when I reached a main road and there was this clunking noise coming from the gear box followed by a compleat loss of drive in any gear. Oh crap I thought and there was nothing I could do but cry. I must have been a funny sight, a 2 meter tall man with a shaved head and tattoos crying by the roadside. I just knew that was it for my euro travels and I had a world of shit ahead of me. I needed to somehow get my bike to a Triumph mechanic were I would try to claim the repairs on a warranty of an English registered machine in a country I had never been to before in a language I just didn't speak.
My best bet I thought would be to try the Triumph garage in Gibraltar, one of the few remaining English colonies. No joy, the owner was terrified at the amount of work and parts ordering he would have to do without receiving a penny due to the warranty being effective. After a long think about my situation I managed to sort out some transportation for the bike to be taken back to London. After 3 weeks the bike arrived and the work got done at no charge, the cost of the bike shipping was astronomical.
I was living in south London at the time I passed my test and bought the Speed Triple. A strong bond immediately grew between the bike and myself, i felt it to be perfect for what I needed in every way. When it came to filtering through cars and launching myself forward at one of London's numerous traffic lights, it was on a par with no other machine.
In those days I was quite happy hooning down motorways, over the speed limit, with nothing but a minuscule piece of decorative fairing perched over the head lights to act as a wind protection. Chronic neck ache was common then but as long as I carried my trusty pill box full of Neurophen Plus I was fine.
One day Ben, a school friend of mine, asked me if I needed a job. We had a short discussion were he told me the job took place at Hotel Casablanca, Andalusia, Southern Spain. I said yes, packed my bags and booked a 1 way ferry ticket to Bilbao.
Once I arrived in Bilbao, I had 24 hours to make it to the town of Gaucin. It was a hell of a long way for the time I had but I thought positively and gave it my best shot.
All that I noticed of the highways was the quiet. Hardly any cars or lorries were on the road which I found to be relieving. Along with the quite was the abundance of Spanish police and lack of speed camera's. It was on this trip that I got my personal speed record of 139mph. Nothing compared to those people that ride a Suzuki Hayabusa and push 200+ on a motorway, but a lot for me. The Speed Triple is a naked machine which required me to lie flat on the tank so to escape the blast of wind which would have blown me clean off at that speed. A personal best but one that I do not care to try to beat. My speed speed danger danger days are over, hence the purchase of a Yamaha XT 660 Tenere which has a BHP of 46, compared to the Triumphs 118. I like to remember that period of my life and think that those were the days, when I was free and hadn't a care in the world.
I arrived in Gaucin sore, disheveled and exhausted and was told by Henry, the head chef that I was needed the following morning at 6am.
The job lasted 6 weeks before he asked me to leave. The reason being he told me was that I put all my energy and attention in to riding around Andalusia which left me with very little energy for my cooking. Nail on the head and I was not surprised. This left me free to ride to Tangiers in Morocco.
I drove to Tarifa, caught the short ferry to Tangiers and spent 3 days riding around the Moroccan capital and surrounding countryside. After my time in northern Africa I started about my trip back to Gaucin, ready to make my onward travel arrangements. Just after leaving the town of Estepona I pulled back my throttle as normal when I reached a main road and there was this clunking noise coming from the gear box followed by a compleat loss of drive in any gear. Oh crap I thought and there was nothing I could do but cry. I must have been a funny sight, a 2 meter tall man with a shaved head and tattoos crying by the roadside. I just knew that was it for my euro travels and I had a world of shit ahead of me. I needed to somehow get my bike to a Triumph mechanic were I would try to claim the repairs on a warranty of an English registered machine in a country I had never been to before in a language I just didn't speak.
My best bet I thought would be to try the Triumph garage in Gibraltar, one of the few remaining English colonies. No joy, the owner was terrified at the amount of work and parts ordering he would have to do without receiving a penny due to the warranty being effective. After a long think about my situation I managed to sort out some transportation for the bike to be taken back to London. After 3 weeks the bike arrived and the work got done at no charge, the cost of the bike shipping was astronomical.
Location:Spain
25 October 2011
It's been a while
Brighton & Hove
What a great place to live. I have a small 1 bedroom mews house in Hove, off Western Road.
I started a City and Guilds motorcycle maintenance, level 1 course in Chichester. The first year will cover all the minor repairs needed on a modern bike, work to the gear box and other, more complex tasks will be taught in the second year.
What I like about the course is that it has a wide variety of machines bought by the college for us to work on. There are many bikes in the garage, enabling us to work on a number of different set ups, both electronicly and mechanically.
I am doing this course to be able to fix my bike competently. I am taught how to do things in a certain, high tech way and from here it is up to me, my Adventure Motorcycle Handbook and the Horizon Unlimited website for ways to implement what I have been taught whilst I am on the road. As my skills get better a long trip comes closer.
Please admire the pictures of the surrounding areas of Brighton. It is half term now and my biking lust is being lived. I would never have thought an adventure would be possible in England. How wrong I was.
I was very excited at the prospect of riding my bike to college 3 times a week but after a few runs, this trip became unbearable, for 3 reasons. 1. Having to partake in an hours ride first thing in the bloody morning. 2. Riding before I have had any breakfast and in the height of rush hour traffic. 3. Finishing a day working in the garage and having to do the same journey again, tired, hungry and in rush hour = disgruntled biker. So...after some thought, I came to the realization that I am not a commuter, I am a traveller. Biking to me should have no purpose other than experience and plesure.
What a great place to live. I have a small 1 bedroom mews house in Hove, off Western Road.
I started a City and Guilds motorcycle maintenance, level 1 course in Chichester. The first year will cover all the minor repairs needed on a modern bike, work to the gear box and other, more complex tasks will be taught in the second year.
What I like about the course is that it has a wide variety of machines bought by the college for us to work on. There are many bikes in the garage, enabling us to work on a number of different set ups, both electronicly and mechanically.
I am doing this course to be able to fix my bike competently. I am taught how to do things in a certain, high tech way and from here it is up to me, my Adventure Motorcycle Handbook and the Horizon Unlimited website for ways to implement what I have been taught whilst I am on the road. As my skills get better a long trip comes closer.
Please admire the pictures of the surrounding areas of Brighton. It is half term now and my biking lust is being lived. I would never have thought an adventure would be possible in England. How wrong I was.
I was very excited at the prospect of riding my bike to college 3 times a week but after a few runs, this trip became unbearable, for 3 reasons. 1. Having to partake in an hours ride first thing in the bloody morning. 2. Riding before I have had any breakfast and in the height of rush hour traffic. 3. Finishing a day working in the garage and having to do the same journey again, tired, hungry and in rush hour = disgruntled biker. So...after some thought, I came to the realization that I am not a commuter, I am a traveller. Biking to me should have no purpose other than experience and plesure.
14 July 2011
Die happy
Death, what a misery of a word. It should not be so for the one thing we understand from a very young age is that, every person and every thing that lives must also die. This is a 100% assured. We must not fear it but make it a close companion, become friends with the idea and understand that through death we only end the first stage of our journey, before undertaking the next. The fear comes from us entering the unknown, we should look at it with excitment and happiness in what will become of us. Differant people have differant ways of understanding death, some like to believe there souls will rise to an ever lasting nirvana whilst others believe in reincarnation of the soul, to a life worthy of the life lived previously. Whatever a person chooses to believe is correct but i feel we must believe in something, otherwise the morbid feeling of the unknown will be upon us as death draws closer.
My familiarity with death came after i crashed my bike in Thailand and fell in to a 48 hour coma. It was after this coma and my 6 weeks of hospital treatment that i felt my worst. It was during this time that i reverted back to childhood. I did not trust anyone and understood even less. I was still in Thailand, being looked after by my 1 month old girlfriend when i came out from hospital. I felt that she was plotting against me when she tried to make me fly back to England. I was in the country of my dreams, why would i want to leave. So i destroyed the last remaining brain cell i had on drinking more and more and riding bikes more and more. I awoke one morning to find blood all over my pilliow. Upon getting up with a tremendous headache i looked in the mirror and saw a large group of open scars on my face. I asked my girlfriend were they came from and she announced that i crashed again when coming back from the bar, this time in to another drunk tourist on a motorbike. The police had confiscated my bike apparently, in this part of Thailand it is clearer to understand that they stole it, i would never get it back and i would be sure to see a police man doing his shopping on it in a few days time, my dangerous driving charge was dropped though.
It was after this second smash, my mangled up face and being visited by two dear friends of mine from London who both exclaimed that maybe i should go back home when i started to believe that it might be for the best. So i said my fairwell to Koh Phanagn, with Jana, whilst drinking a bottle of Chang bear, looking out to sea. I knew i would return, so was not that heart broken and return we did, four months later and became married, Buddhist style. To this day i still love that island and my saviour Jana.
My familiarity with death came after i crashed my bike in Thailand and fell in to a 48 hour coma. It was after this coma and my 6 weeks of hospital treatment that i felt my worst. It was during this time that i reverted back to childhood. I did not trust anyone and understood even less. I was still in Thailand, being looked after by my 1 month old girlfriend when i came out from hospital. I felt that she was plotting against me when she tried to make me fly back to England. I was in the country of my dreams, why would i want to leave. So i destroyed the last remaining brain cell i had on drinking more and more and riding bikes more and more. I awoke one morning to find blood all over my pilliow. Upon getting up with a tremendous headache i looked in the mirror and saw a large group of open scars on my face. I asked my girlfriend were they came from and she announced that i crashed again when coming back from the bar, this time in to another drunk tourist on a motorbike. The police had confiscated my bike apparently, in this part of Thailand it is clearer to understand that they stole it, i would never get it back and i would be sure to see a police man doing his shopping on it in a few days time, my dangerous driving charge was dropped though.
It was after this second smash, my mangled up face and being visited by two dear friends of mine from London who both exclaimed that maybe i should go back home when i started to believe that it might be for the best. So i said my fairwell to Koh Phanagn, with Jana, whilst drinking a bottle of Chang bear, looking out to sea. I knew i would return, so was not that heart broken and return we did, four months later and became married, Buddhist style. To this day i still love that island and my saviour Jana.
13 July 2011
Risk Assesment
It has been brought to my attention many times since i have been riding a motorbike that i would be a lot safer if i drove a car. This maybe true, but my passion for life would not be so forfilled. Bikes are highly important to me, i can safely remark that i enjoy riding them to a great extent. I feel an element of being one with nature as i cruise down the A road's of different countries. All i have to shield me from the outside world floating past is my Arai helmet which i barely notice.When i get myself ready for a trip i feel as a Knight might, donning there armour before battle. To ride without any of my usal protective gear makes me feel naked and foolish, even when the summer sun is beating down on me i allow no exceptions. I follow this simple saying, it is better to sweat than to bleed. When i ride, man and machine are one, going forth to discover the roads of this world.
Distraction-
It is possible to die in any number of differant ways and if i am to die before my time i can only hope
that it is from doing something i love, whilst forfilling a passion.
When riding a motorbike a person is expected to give 150% concentration. This high amount is not required when driving a car. When driving it is possible to listen and sing along to music, talk to another whilst giving the odd glance, i have even had the horror of seeing a lady busily painting her nails and glancing up over the steering wheel to see were she was going.
Which brings me to discussing the high death rate of motorcyclist. When we look at the big bold print that tells us 23% of road deaths are the 1% of people on motorcycle's we automatically assume that this form of transportation is highly dangerous which in turn puts bikers on the risk taking persons list. This i have to disagree with. Yes, the bike riding population has many differant styles of riders as do the cars. When a bike crashes it is normally a lot more serious than when a car crashes as they do not have 4 walls to protect them. It is due to the power of modern day motorbikes that many assesments are misjudged and end in disaster. We all know the risks involed when riding a bike and have to accept the consequenses, be it our own fault or a third parties, the trick is not to become overwhelmed by the possabillity of disaster, i nearly have many times. When my thinking goes along these lines, what i do to silence these thoughts is to get on my bike and ride, it is in this riding that i feel safe and confident and that no harm can come to me.
Stay Rubber Side Down
Distraction-
It is possible to die in any number of differant ways and if i am to die before my time i can only hope
that it is from doing something i love, whilst forfilling a passion.
When riding a motorbike a person is expected to give 150% concentration. This high amount is not required when driving a car. When driving it is possible to listen and sing along to music, talk to another whilst giving the odd glance, i have even had the horror of seeing a lady busily painting her nails and glancing up over the steering wheel to see were she was going.
Which brings me to discussing the high death rate of motorcyclist. When we look at the big bold print that tells us 23% of road deaths are the 1% of people on motorcycle's we automatically assume that this form of transportation is highly dangerous which in turn puts bikers on the risk taking persons list. This i have to disagree with. Yes, the bike riding population has many differant styles of riders as do the cars. When a bike crashes it is normally a lot more serious than when a car crashes as they do not have 4 walls to protect them. It is due to the power of modern day motorbikes that many assesments are misjudged and end in disaster. We all know the risks involed when riding a bike and have to accept the consequenses, be it our own fault or a third parties, the trick is not to become overwhelmed by the possabillity of disaster, i nearly have many times. When my thinking goes along these lines, what i do to silence these thoughts is to get on my bike and ride, it is in this riding that i feel safe and confident and that no harm can come to me.
Stay Rubber Side Down
12 July 2011
R.I.P
Today was a sad day.
Jana and myself are staying at her fathers house near Osnabruck, N.W Germany. We moved all of our belonging's here, ready for are move to Chichester, England, where my motorcycle maintenance course takes place.
This morning we left for the town of Bad Essen, were we have our breakfast followed by a pot of Darjeeling tea.
Once finished we boarded Jana's Ducati, with myself in the hot seat. Jana is very forgiving with my utter discomfort of riding pillion and trust's me enough to take her as a passenger on her machine.
We were riding out of Bad Essen when i felt a familiar squeeze on my right arm, this is our rider/pillion comuntication system which means take the next right. So i turned right and carried on at a steady pace, we were coming out from the village and there were tell tale sign's of spilt oil, possible from a tractor, so i cautiously road around them.
This time of year is my favourite time to bike, in northern Europe. The sun leaves all of the foliage looking healthy and green and to experiance this after a fine pot of Darjeeling is truly blissfull.
We biked around for a while before we reached the main road that would take us back to were we are staying in the small countryside town of Wimmer.
Upon reaching the Wimmer traffic light, we noticed a small que of cars and lorry, we pulled behind them and waited for the traffic to pass through the lights. We didn't move for around 10 minutes, so being a pro active biker i rode over the small patch of green that seperated the main road from the bycicle lane and slowly pursued forward. There was a a very large lorry at the front and once passed him i looked to see what the problem was. It was then that i encountered a horrific sight. There was a car that had been compleatly destoyed by a tree. The 4 wheels had come off and there was glass everywere. The 2 doors facing me had also come off and the bonnet had litrerally been pushed up in to the mid section of the machine. It was then that i saw what i think will stay in my mind for ever. Entangled in the chaos of metal was a man. The top of his head had been shaved by the roof leaving no hair, only blood and his body had become 1 with the car. I felt a dull pain from the depth's of my stomach and slowly kept on riding. The paramedics were not yet on the scene but 2 brave men had got out from there cars and were trying to make sense of the mess.
I rode Jana and myself home slowly with my mind racing at a million miles per hour. We consolled each other the best we could and had the local TV channel on for any news on what had happened. Finally a reporter came on and informed us of a 79 year old man being killed by driving in to a tree. No others were involed and they suspected he might have had a heart attack whilst driving at high speed.
The only sense to come from today is my appreciation of riding a motorcycle. If i am to have an accident i will be thrown from my bike and not live out my biggest fear of all, claustrophobia.
After seeing what we saw today i did some research on the computer on the motorbike death toll in the UK. I found out that in England motorbikes take up only 1% of road users but result in 23% of the road death's per year. The majority percentage of these deaths are due to unforseen circumstances, for example car drivers innability to see us on our bikes and pulling out into our paths. Luckily this day Jana and myself took the longer scenic route over the main road.
This goes out to the family of the man we saw today. May he rest in peace
Jana and myself are staying at her fathers house near Osnabruck, N.W Germany. We moved all of our belonging's here, ready for are move to Chichester, England, where my motorcycle maintenance course takes place.
This morning we left for the town of Bad Essen, were we have our breakfast followed by a pot of Darjeeling tea.
Once finished we boarded Jana's Ducati, with myself in the hot seat. Jana is very forgiving with my utter discomfort of riding pillion and trust's me enough to take her as a passenger on her machine.
We were riding out of Bad Essen when i felt a familiar squeeze on my right arm, this is our rider/pillion comuntication system which means take the next right. So i turned right and carried on at a steady pace, we were coming out from the village and there were tell tale sign's of spilt oil, possible from a tractor, so i cautiously road around them.
This time of year is my favourite time to bike, in northern Europe. The sun leaves all of the foliage looking healthy and green and to experiance this after a fine pot of Darjeeling is truly blissfull.
We biked around for a while before we reached the main road that would take us back to were we are staying in the small countryside town of Wimmer.
Upon reaching the Wimmer traffic light, we noticed a small que of cars and lorry, we pulled behind them and waited for the traffic to pass through the lights. We didn't move for around 10 minutes, so being a pro active biker i rode over the small patch of green that seperated the main road from the bycicle lane and slowly pursued forward. There was a a very large lorry at the front and once passed him i looked to see what the problem was. It was then that i encountered a horrific sight. There was a car that had been compleatly destoyed by a tree. The 4 wheels had come off and there was glass everywere. The 2 doors facing me had also come off and the bonnet had litrerally been pushed up in to the mid section of the machine. It was then that i saw what i think will stay in my mind for ever. Entangled in the chaos of metal was a man. The top of his head had been shaved by the roof leaving no hair, only blood and his body had become 1 with the car. I felt a dull pain from the depth's of my stomach and slowly kept on riding. The paramedics were not yet on the scene but 2 brave men had got out from there cars and were trying to make sense of the mess.
I rode Jana and myself home slowly with my mind racing at a million miles per hour. We consolled each other the best we could and had the local TV channel on for any news on what had happened. Finally a reporter came on and informed us of a 79 year old man being killed by driving in to a tree. No others were involed and they suspected he might have had a heart attack whilst driving at high speed.
The only sense to come from today is my appreciation of riding a motorcycle. If i am to have an accident i will be thrown from my bike and not live out my biggest fear of all, claustrophobia.
After seeing what we saw today i did some research on the computer on the motorbike death toll in the UK. I found out that in England motorbikes take up only 1% of road users but result in 23% of the road death's per year. The majority percentage of these deaths are due to unforseen circumstances, for example car drivers innability to see us on our bikes and pulling out into our paths. Luckily this day Jana and myself took the longer scenic route over the main road.
This goes out to the family of the man we saw today. May he rest in peace
11 May 2011
You know your alive when you wind back the Speed Triple's throttle
My Speed Triple is the best looking, meanest bit of machinery to ever have come out of England. I feel so proud to own one. Riding the Triumph is the best enjoyment I or in fact anyone can have without paying to go on a roller coaster.
I am a sensible rider nowadays, since having my accident, but the Triumph pushes that sensibility to it's edge. The Yamaha is a machine designed for work whilst the Triumph is a machine made purely for enjoyment.
The 165 miles I have just ridden where painful. To suggest that the Triple is sore to ride long distance is an understatement. By the end of my day, biking the German country roads from Osnabruck to Hamburg I had to beg my lady to give me a cheek massage and I don't mean the ones of the facial variety. Oh it was good.
Tomorrow I leave Hamburg, on my way to catch the ferry in the Hook of Holland, destination, Harwich England, I need to pass an MOT. 350 miles, ouch, that's gonna hurt.
I will obtain my MOT from a garage in Clapham North, London. From here I will be biking down to Brighton to see a friend and to take a summer time dip in the sea.
Enjoy your cushion.
I am a sensible rider nowadays, since having my accident, but the Triumph pushes that sensibility to it's edge. The Yamaha is a machine designed for work whilst the Triumph is a machine made purely for enjoyment.
The 165 miles I have just ridden where painful. To suggest that the Triple is sore to ride long distance is an understatement. By the end of my day, biking the German country roads from Osnabruck to Hamburg I had to beg my lady to give me a cheek massage and I don't mean the ones of the facial variety. Oh it was good.
Tomorrow I leave Hamburg, on my way to catch the ferry in the Hook of Holland, destination, Harwich England, I need to pass an MOT. 350 miles, ouch, that's gonna hurt.
I will obtain my MOT from a garage in Clapham North, London. From here I will be biking down to Brighton to see a friend and to take a summer time dip in the sea.
Enjoy your cushion.
04 May 2011
Triumph Speed Triple 955i
I am finding the Tenere a little hard work in town. She is so tall and does not pack the kind of punch needed to boost me in and out of cars and stop on the spot. The Tenere has a double Brembo brake system on the front which offers superb stopping distances, but, being a dirt orientated machine, there is a long distance that the front forks must travel in the event of a sudden stop. I need a bike that has similar stopping ability, with rigid forks and a high power to weight ratio that will hit the 30mph marker from a standstill in a blink of an eye. That will be the Triumph then.
I rode the 165 miles from Hamburg to were my Triumph is being stored today. As the same as everytime I am reunited with my Triumph Speed Triple, I stood still, looking lustfully and said the same words I always do, 'Damn, your fine', before putting the key in to the ignition. The guilt suddenly hit me when i realised how little use the Triumph has had since Christmas, the battery was dead. So I am now charging the battery and aim to be off tomorrow, around lunch time. Destination unknown, but i do know that it will not be so far, with myself being 194cm and the Triumph being a naked Sports bike with enough leg room for a Pygmie to be content, my legs will soon be unhappy from bending in the squatting hamster position.
Stay tuned
I rode the 165 miles from Hamburg to were my Triumph is being stored today. As the same as everytime I am reunited with my Triumph Speed Triple, I stood still, looking lustfully and said the same words I always do, 'Damn, your fine', before putting the key in to the ignition. The guilt suddenly hit me when i realised how little use the Triumph has had since Christmas, the battery was dead. So I am now charging the battery and aim to be off tomorrow, around lunch time. Destination unknown, but i do know that it will not be so far, with myself being 194cm and the Triumph being a naked Sports bike with enough leg room for a Pygmie to be content, my legs will soon be unhappy from bending in the squatting hamster position.
Stay tuned
21 April 2011
Trip outline
Germany, Hamburg - Germany, Preussisch Oldendorf - Germany, Koln - Luxembourg, Wahl - Germany, Hamburg
--DB--
Italy, Verona - Slovenia, Trieste - Slovenia, Ljubljana - Croatia, Rijeka - Slovenia, Koper - Austria, Graz - Hungary, Sopron - Slovakia, Bratislava - Czech, Brno - Czech, Plzen - Germany, Dresden - Germany, Ludwigslust - Germany, Hamburg
3200 miles
1 day of rain
1 day of snow blizzard, crossing Czech in to Germany, the following day was 16*c
--DB--
Italy, Verona - Slovenia, Trieste - Slovenia, Ljubljana - Croatia, Rijeka - Slovenia, Koper - Austria, Graz - Hungary, Sopron - Slovakia, Bratislava - Czech, Brno - Czech, Plzen - Germany, Dresden - Germany, Ludwigslust - Germany, Hamburg
3200 miles
1 day of rain
1 day of snow blizzard, crossing Czech in to Germany, the following day was 16*c
17 April 2011
16 April 2011
Nearly Home
Yesterday I broke my A road rule and propelled myself the whole way from the Czech border to near Hamburg. Very uninspiring, all those German lorries, but the thought of seeing my girl again, filled me with much excitement and I just have to go fast.
I started a bit of A roading towards the end of my trip as brain exhaustion came in to play. 60mph down an A road is great for waking me back up. I then decided I did not want to arrive In Hamburg, exhausted, so found myself a B&B on route.
The GPS soon found me one, situated in a large horse stable type complex, my head started to wander about what was in sore when I arrived. I was thinking 'Jilly Cooper' but what I was confronted with was an extra from 'The Munsters'. I was greeted by 'Hermon Munster' and showed to my room in the stables. Without meaning to sound like a piss taking Englander, I was shown great Hospitality from this family and I was even invited to join them for dinner. They also made me a great breakfast this morning, all for the pittance of 33e.
Onwards and upwards to Hamburg now. Around 150~200km. Not so far. See the wife and take my next biking escapade from there.
Stay tuned, more to come.
I started a bit of A roading towards the end of my trip as brain exhaustion came in to play. 60mph down an A road is great for waking me back up. I then decided I did not want to arrive In Hamburg, exhausted, so found myself a B&B on route.
The GPS soon found me one, situated in a large horse stable type complex, my head started to wander about what was in sore when I arrived. I was thinking 'Jilly Cooper' but what I was confronted with was an extra from 'The Munsters'. I was greeted by 'Hermon Munster' and showed to my room in the stables. Without meaning to sound like a piss taking Englander, I was shown great Hospitality from this family and I was even invited to join them for dinner. They also made me a great breakfast this morning, all for the pittance of 33e.
Onwards and upwards to Hamburg now. Around 150~200km. Not so far. See the wife and take my next biking escapade from there.
Stay tuned, more to come.
12 April 2011
Wild Wind
Today was not a good day. For nothing more than broken self esteem. The weather report warned of high wind and heavy rain and they were right. 55kmph strong winds, but this time it brought it's friend, heavy downpour.
I am English and many would think that an English biker should be used to riding in below par conditions. This used to be the case when I first passed my test, hooning it down the M4 to my mums house just outside Newbury, in the middle of winter wearing my jeans. Crazy or stupid, I'll let you decide.
My biking life started in Goa, India, with a friend of mine from London. After school we decided to go traveling together and picked India as our first destination.
After landing in Bombay airport we paid a rickshaw driver to act as our savior and free us from the mass crowd of taxi mafia and beggars. Clueless to the Indian taxi rates, we paid our driver well over the odds but he saved us from the crowd and there sticky fingers.
Our first first night in the hotel we decided we needed to get the F##k outa there and make it to the beach in Goa.
We did and once in Goa we cherished the sea, the beach and the fewer beggars. It was however just too hot to be walking were we wanted to go and decided that we needed to rent ourselves bikes and start living the Indian dream. Alas we couldn't find a Royal Enfield garage, so rented out a Honda CG 125 and a bright pink 100cc twist and go. As you might have guessed, I ended up with the twist and go and Ritchie took the clutch bike. But we both had so much enjoyment riding around on these bikes and knew by this point that we should dedicate our travels to riding motorbikes.
After a month we left India and flew to Thailand. We landed in the middle of the Song Kran water festival and just had no idea what was going on as we were driven from the airport to our hotel. Hoards of people were hurling water ever were and the taxi driver seemed to be having as much fun, driving up behind people and shooting them with his small water gun. We enjoyed ourselves in the Thai Song Kran for a few days but soon decided that it was time to leave the congestion of the city and venture to the remote regions of Cambodia.
We arrived in Phnom Penn by boat, having sailed down Boeng Kak lake. We found a guest house that was situated on the lake called, 'Same Same But Differant'. From here we planned our next bike trip.
We rented 250cc dirt bikes and rode too the beach town of Kampot, up the Bokor Hill to see the coastal views and the derelict old French casino. We did this in 4 days and had a great time.
After our Cambodian travels Ritchie announced that he had to return back to England to attend a family wedding. I was having too much fun and decided to stay on by myself. After Ritchie left, I soon became tired of lounging around on the beach and decided I needed to ride another bike. India and an Enfield sounded good, so I booked a flight and returned, this time with a bit more developing country street wisdom. I flew to the city of Chennai in the south east of India, this was were the Royal Enfield factory was based and could offer you the best deals on buying a bike. I made friends with Raj, the manager of Southern Motors. After talking we both agreed that the Enfield Machismo 350cc would be most suited to me and my trip I bought a low milage, second hand, chrome Machismo and instantly fell in love.
So there I was with a beautiful single cylinder Royal Enfield Machismo. The world was my oyster or at least India and Nepal were.
I rode out of Chennai, destination Goa. India for those of you that have not been is a stunning country. The food is great, the climate is not as humid as that of Thailand and your general living costs very little.
I will now inform you of the road conditions. There is no place like India for bringing a grown biker to his knees in tears. The road conditions are ludicrous. There is one general piece of highway code in India that all must abide to, the bigger the veichle the more right way, so get out of my way you tiny biker. Traffic coming the other way will just pull out right in front of you and expect you to move, for the reason being that your veichle is smaller than there's. Biking in India is a humbling experience.
First off, I biked down the east coast of India to the city of Pondicherry. I stayed in a small hippie commune nearby, in a town called Auroville. I felt a little out of place there with my gas guzzling Enfield and quickly moved on to Mysore, central India. From there I went back to Goa and stayed on the beach, partying the nights away with a group of Isralies who had just finished there 3 year conscription with the army.
I did not stay for long and soon traveled back to Chennai. I had the most fun when I was on my bike, cruising the Indian highways. So after a few days I made it to Chennai and gave my bike to Southern Motors for a service.
From Chennai I decided to ride up the east coast of India to Calcutta. When I got my bike back, I left the following day. I was 400km north of Chennai when I came to the town of Vijawada, it was here, in this city, were I was to have my first road accident. I was cruising the highway at around 50kmph when a rickshaw pulled out in front of me, totally oblivious to me, behind him on my bike. I was going too fast and the Royal Enfield's drum brakes are just not that good. I went in to the back of the rickshaw, bounced off and landed chest first on a barrier separating the opposing traffic. It hurt, a lot. I was stunned but managed to get up, were there was a large crowd being formed when I came too. I took off my helmet and ran up to the offending driver and was giving him a piece of my mind. My beautiful bike was trashed and so was my pride.
A police man took me too a hospital, were i was to recieve the fright of my life. He instructed the doctor to give me a tetnus jab for my cut up chest. All was good I thought, I don't want to contract a disease from the dirty Indian highway. He went and picked up an old syringe from the floor, sucked fluid out from an ampule and came at me with a broad smile. I quickly retorted that I was fine and did not need any treatment and begged the officers to return me to my bike as I did not want to waste the doctors precious time. The police thought me to be another crazy foriegner but took me to my bike. The rickshaw driver was told to pay for the repairs of my bike and to make a formal apology to me. He did and my Machismo was loaded in to a van and driven off.
I spent a few days waiting in Vijayawada for my bike to be fixed and at this time I was taken in by a lovely family that had a son called Christopher who also rode an Enfield. I have so much gratitude for this family. It was from genuine kindness that they took me in, I was even given Christopher's bed and he slept on the floor. This made me realize that there are people in this world that really will go out of there way to help another even when there is no financial gain offered. They very clearly had little money but did all they could to make my stay with them as enjoyable as possible. I have often wanted to return to India, for the sole purpose of re-tracing my steps back to were I had that accident and to see if I could find Christopher and his Mum and let them know just what they mean to me. If you ever read this Christopher, I thank you and your Mum from the bottom of my heart and hope you passed the exams you needed to get in to the Calcutta university.
My Enfield was patched up, albeit with a very wonky front end. I got back on board and rode down to Chennai. To go in a straight line I had to turn the handlebars to the left as the Enfield mechanic had not done a good job aligning the steering head on my machine. She worked and that was enough. It was from Chennai that I had my bike repaired properly and I then shipped her to my mums house in the UK for a meager £100.
The Royal Enfield brand of bike was sold by England to the Indian army in the 40's. The UK still sells the Enfield but they are imports from India with English tyre's and English electrics. In England of course there is a much higher price tag that goes with them than in India. They are great bikes, often overlooked because of there lack of power. The 350 Machismo offers 19bhp. An almost laughable amount compared with the modern bikes of today but they will go anywhere and ride any road, just not a quickly as a Jap multi cylinder but go they will go and in the process they ride you there in style and radiate charisma when doing so.
I am English and many would think that an English biker should be used to riding in below par conditions. This used to be the case when I first passed my test, hooning it down the M4 to my mums house just outside Newbury, in the middle of winter wearing my jeans. Crazy or stupid, I'll let you decide.
My biking life started in Goa, India, with a friend of mine from London. After school we decided to go traveling together and picked India as our first destination.
After landing in Bombay airport we paid a rickshaw driver to act as our savior and free us from the mass crowd of taxi mafia and beggars. Clueless to the Indian taxi rates, we paid our driver well over the odds but he saved us from the crowd and there sticky fingers.
Our first first night in the hotel we decided we needed to get the F##k outa there and make it to the beach in Goa.
We did and once in Goa we cherished the sea, the beach and the fewer beggars. It was however just too hot to be walking were we wanted to go and decided that we needed to rent ourselves bikes and start living the Indian dream. Alas we couldn't find a Royal Enfield garage, so rented out a Honda CG 125 and a bright pink 100cc twist and go. As you might have guessed, I ended up with the twist and go and Ritchie took the clutch bike. But we both had so much enjoyment riding around on these bikes and knew by this point that we should dedicate our travels to riding motorbikes.
After a month we left India and flew to Thailand. We landed in the middle of the Song Kran water festival and just had no idea what was going on as we were driven from the airport to our hotel. Hoards of people were hurling water ever were and the taxi driver seemed to be having as much fun, driving up behind people and shooting them with his small water gun. We enjoyed ourselves in the Thai Song Kran for a few days but soon decided that it was time to leave the congestion of the city and venture to the remote regions of Cambodia.
We arrived in Phnom Penn by boat, having sailed down Boeng Kak lake. We found a guest house that was situated on the lake called, 'Same Same But Differant'. From here we planned our next bike trip.
We rented 250cc dirt bikes and rode too the beach town of Kampot, up the Bokor Hill to see the coastal views and the derelict old French casino. We did this in 4 days and had a great time.
After our Cambodian travels Ritchie announced that he had to return back to England to attend a family wedding. I was having too much fun and decided to stay on by myself. After Ritchie left, I soon became tired of lounging around on the beach and decided I needed to ride another bike. India and an Enfield sounded good, so I booked a flight and returned, this time with a bit more developing country street wisdom. I flew to the city of Chennai in the south east of India, this was were the Royal Enfield factory was based and could offer you the best deals on buying a bike. I made friends with Raj, the manager of Southern Motors. After talking we both agreed that the Enfield Machismo 350cc would be most suited to me and my trip I bought a low milage, second hand, chrome Machismo and instantly fell in love.
So there I was with a beautiful single cylinder Royal Enfield Machismo. The world was my oyster or at least India and Nepal were.
I rode out of Chennai, destination Goa. India for those of you that have not been is a stunning country. The food is great, the climate is not as humid as that of Thailand and your general living costs very little.
I will now inform you of the road conditions. There is no place like India for bringing a grown biker to his knees in tears. The road conditions are ludicrous. There is one general piece of highway code in India that all must abide to, the bigger the veichle the more right way, so get out of my way you tiny biker. Traffic coming the other way will just pull out right in front of you and expect you to move, for the reason being that your veichle is smaller than there's. Biking in India is a humbling experience.
First off, I biked down the east coast of India to the city of Pondicherry. I stayed in a small hippie commune nearby, in a town called Auroville. I felt a little out of place there with my gas guzzling Enfield and quickly moved on to Mysore, central India. From there I went back to Goa and stayed on the beach, partying the nights away with a group of Isralies who had just finished there 3 year conscription with the army.
I did not stay for long and soon traveled back to Chennai. I had the most fun when I was on my bike, cruising the Indian highways. So after a few days I made it to Chennai and gave my bike to Southern Motors for a service.
From Chennai I decided to ride up the east coast of India to Calcutta. When I got my bike back, I left the following day. I was 400km north of Chennai when I came to the town of Vijawada, it was here, in this city, were I was to have my first road accident. I was cruising the highway at around 50kmph when a rickshaw pulled out in front of me, totally oblivious to me, behind him on my bike. I was going too fast and the Royal Enfield's drum brakes are just not that good. I went in to the back of the rickshaw, bounced off and landed chest first on a barrier separating the opposing traffic. It hurt, a lot. I was stunned but managed to get up, were there was a large crowd being formed when I came too. I took off my helmet and ran up to the offending driver and was giving him a piece of my mind. My beautiful bike was trashed and so was my pride.
A police man took me too a hospital, were i was to recieve the fright of my life. He instructed the doctor to give me a tetnus jab for my cut up chest. All was good I thought, I don't want to contract a disease from the dirty Indian highway. He went and picked up an old syringe from the floor, sucked fluid out from an ampule and came at me with a broad smile. I quickly retorted that I was fine and did not need any treatment and begged the officers to return me to my bike as I did not want to waste the doctors precious time. The police thought me to be another crazy foriegner but took me to my bike. The rickshaw driver was told to pay for the repairs of my bike and to make a formal apology to me. He did and my Machismo was loaded in to a van and driven off.
I spent a few days waiting in Vijayawada for my bike to be fixed and at this time I was taken in by a lovely family that had a son called Christopher who also rode an Enfield. I have so much gratitude for this family. It was from genuine kindness that they took me in, I was even given Christopher's bed and he slept on the floor. This made me realize that there are people in this world that really will go out of there way to help another even when there is no financial gain offered. They very clearly had little money but did all they could to make my stay with them as enjoyable as possible. I have often wanted to return to India, for the sole purpose of re-tracing my steps back to were I had that accident and to see if I could find Christopher and his Mum and let them know just what they mean to me. If you ever read this Christopher, I thank you and your Mum from the bottom of my heart and hope you passed the exams you needed to get in to the Calcutta university.
My Enfield was patched up, albeit with a very wonky front end. I got back on board and rode down to Chennai. To go in a straight line I had to turn the handlebars to the left as the Enfield mechanic had not done a good job aligning the steering head on my machine. She worked and that was enough. It was from Chennai that I had my bike repaired properly and I then shipped her to my mums house in the UK for a meager £100.
The Royal Enfield brand of bike was sold by England to the Indian army in the 40's. The UK still sells the Enfield but they are imports from India with English tyre's and English electrics. In England of course there is a much higher price tag that goes with them than in India. They are great bikes, often overlooked because of there lack of power. The 350 Machismo offers 19bhp. An almost laughable amount compared with the modern bikes of today but they will go anywhere and ride any road, just not a quickly as a Jap multi cylinder but go they will go and in the process they ride you there in style and radiate charisma when doing so.
11 April 2011
Garmin Zumo
It's all about the A road setting on the GPS. The road out from Bratislava was 70km of pure mountain twisty bliss. The trick is not to rush a trip but to love it in the here and now and today this really came true.
I take the highways now and again, when the mind is too tired from having to think or I have to be somewhere at a set time. But I see little point in blasting yourself down a motorway when you are on a bike trip, because it brings no enjoyment. The lorries rule the motorways but the bikes rule the A roads and this is were I will be thumping away aboard my trusty single cylinder.
I take the highways now and again, when the mind is too tired from having to think or I have to be somewhere at a set time. But I see little point in blasting yourself down a motorway when you are on a bike trip, because it brings no enjoyment. The lorries rule the motorways but the bikes rule the A roads and this is were I will be thumping away aboard my trusty single cylinder.
10 April 2011
09 April 2011
The Horror
I Drove from my hotel in Sopron Hungary to Bratislava, Slovakia today. From my Hungarian hotel to the one I am in now, came to about 140km. Nothing. But having to ride those 140km in wind that was howling from every direction was a hell raising experience. At some points of my journey I was riding a dead straight road but my bike was leaning like it was a formula 1 GP bike. I am riding an XT Tenere which is a very tall dirt orientated machine that is not designed to incorporate substantial lean angles.
There was nothing I seemed to be able to do to make the riding easier. I was just being hit from left to right by gale force winds. The wind direction just did not seem to have any continuity. A full on front blast in the face, would shortly be exchanged by a full on side blast then from the other side. The one thing I did that made it more bearable was to ease up and try to relax. The wind loved blasting my rigid body but was not so good when I softened myself up. Relaxing your body in a situation like this was no easy task.
Enough quibbling, I made it, and know I write this from my Hostel in the city of Bratislava, Slovakia. The wind is said to be at it's worst tomorrow, so I will have a restful day in, and hopefully it will calm down in the next few days so I can make it on to Czechoslovakia.
Stay tuned.
There was nothing I seemed to be able to do to make the riding easier. I was just being hit from left to right by gale force winds. The wind direction just did not seem to have any continuity. A full on front blast in the face, would shortly be exchanged by a full on side blast then from the other side. The one thing I did that made it more bearable was to ease up and try to relax. The wind loved blasting my rigid body but was not so good when I softened myself up. Relaxing your body in a situation like this was no easy task.
Enough quibbling, I made it, and know I write this from my Hostel in the city of Bratislava, Slovakia. The wind is said to be at it's worst tomorrow, so I will have a restful day in, and hopefully it will calm down in the next few days so I can make it on to Czechoslovakia.
Stay tuned.
07 April 2011
Road Tax
Slovenija. A truly beautiful country. One that I will return to for deffinate.
I have decided not to bike to Croatia and purchase insurance at the border for the reason being that I wanted to travel continuously with no coming back on myself or ferries. With no insurance for all the countries I needed to get to Greece, my trip could prove to be a little over budget.
I write this from my room in Graz, Austria. I rode via Austria at the recommendation of great biking roads from an Austrian school friend of mine. I am staying in a motel, just outside Graz but have seen nothing of the country yet. The distant mountains are glorious but apart from that, the motel still looks like a motel.
Border time.
When leaving Slovenija, a couple of border officials jumped out and started to flag me down. Weird I thought. This never normally happens when traveling from one EU country to the other. I stopped, de~helmeted and showed him a smile. 'Were is your sticker' he asked harshly.
Oh, I thought to myself, all EU veichles have there countries letters before there registration number. Britain, not liking to follow her European family does not. I assumed I had to put a GB sticker on my bike somewere. But no. I was suddenly confronted with a large folder of V5 documents and passports. 'You show me' he said. I pulled out all my documents and handed them over. He then went in to a speech about when I use a Slovenijan highway I must buy a sticker from a petrol station and stick it to my bike. So I now have to pay a fine. How much I said with a small smirk, remembering all the 100b [£5] fines I had to pay for small road crimes in Thailand. 300 euros he then said. He had my bike papers and my passport and the upper hand. No amount of sweet talking was getting me out of this. I had to pay. So I handed over my card and paid the fine with a very fake smile. Bastards I muttered under my breath as I moved away. The infuriating thing was, I actually read about this highway charge before I set of, only I got Slovakia muddled up with Slovenija. When i crossed the border with Austria, i stopped at the first petrol station and asked the lady if there was a fee for using the Austrian highways, yes there was she said. So I have bought my Austrian sticker and stuck it too my side pannier.
I have decided not to bike to Croatia and purchase insurance at the border for the reason being that I wanted to travel continuously with no coming back on myself or ferries. With no insurance for all the countries I needed to get to Greece, my trip could prove to be a little over budget.
I write this from my room in Graz, Austria. I rode via Austria at the recommendation of great biking roads from an Austrian school friend of mine. I am staying in a motel, just outside Graz but have seen nothing of the country yet. The distant mountains are glorious but apart from that, the motel still looks like a motel.
Border time.
When leaving Slovenija, a couple of border officials jumped out and started to flag me down. Weird I thought. This never normally happens when traveling from one EU country to the other. I stopped, de~helmeted and showed him a smile. 'Were is your sticker' he asked harshly.
Oh, I thought to myself, all EU veichles have there countries letters before there registration number. Britain, not liking to follow her European family does not. I assumed I had to put a GB sticker on my bike somewere. But no. I was suddenly confronted with a large folder of V5 documents and passports. 'You show me' he said. I pulled out all my documents and handed them over. He then went in to a speech about when I use a Slovenijan highway I must buy a sticker from a petrol station and stick it to my bike. So I now have to pay a fine. How much I said with a small smirk, remembering all the 100b [£5] fines I had to pay for small road crimes in Thailand. 300 euros he then said. He had my bike papers and my passport and the upper hand. No amount of sweet talking was getting me out of this. I had to pay. So I handed over my card and paid the fine with a very fake smile. Bastards I muttered under my breath as I moved away. The infuriating thing was, I actually read about this highway charge before I set of, only I got Slovakia muddled up with Slovenija. When i crossed the border with Austria, i stopped at the first petrol station and asked the lady if there was a fee for using the Austrian highways, yes there was she said. So I have bought my Austrian sticker and stuck it too my side pannier.
06 April 2011
Slovenija
All throughout this country I have been riding the small country roads. They just wind, go up and down and the scenery varies immensely. I stopped off yesterday for a coffee and the coffee house had a gigantic Brown Bear chained up outside. More of a deterrent than any Rottweiler could ever be.
I popped in to Croatia briefly. My insurance did not cover this country so I will return at a later date with border purchased 3rd Party cover.
All is well. Loneliness creeps up on me from time to time. Having no one with me to experience all the times I am having can bring me down.
I also notice how unfit I am. A problem I never associated with riding a bike. I thought it possible to just sit and be happy. But the constant wind tightening all your upper body muscles and especially in this part of the globe. The wind comes howling through the valleys so when riding the toll road highway it is not possible to hit more than 60mph in some points.
I want to start heading up to Hungary but feel Croatia beckoning me to return with insurance.
I popped in to Croatia briefly. My insurance did not cover this country so I will return at a later date with border purchased 3rd Party cover.
All is well. Loneliness creeps up on me from time to time. Having no one with me to experience all the times I am having can bring me down.
I also notice how unfit I am. A problem I never associated with riding a bike. I thought it possible to just sit and be happy. But the constant wind tightening all your upper body muscles and especially in this part of the globe. The wind comes howling through the valleys so when riding the toll road highway it is not possible to hit more than 60mph in some points.
I want to start heading up to Hungary but feel Croatia beckoning me to return with insurance.
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