Europe 2015 pt. VI: Penarth to the Black Forest

If you haven't already seen from my Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr or G+ feeds, RideApart has published the first part of my road trip to Italy.

I have visions of one day going back and writing up an extended version of the whole trip, but, honestly that sort of thing might bore you to tears. There are times when the editorial confines of professional writing are of benefit to the reader.

I'm working on a second part at the moment and that will be published on RideApart soon. As is always the case when I link to stories I've written on RideApart, if you have any comments please make them there. That way the site editors will be duped into thinking I'm brilliant and that I'm worth what they pay me.

ADSENSE HERE

Europe 2015 pt. V: Final checks

The Topeak Morph hand pump I use for my bicycle can also be used for motorcycle tires. That's where I'll start this update, because, really, that's what the last few weeks have been all about: making sure I have the right gear and that it works.

It's a strange world, motorcycling, that it can induce long internal discussions on air pumps. I suppose that is a reflection of just how much this upcoming trip spins in my head. I deliberate over everything. Yet I feel strangely unready. Either way, the adventure begins on Friday. Or, if you're reading this at some point after 3 July 2015, the trip began Friday.

Up until that point I'll be doing last-minute preparations. The early part of the week, for example, is dedicated to giving my riding gear the full waterproofing treatment: TechWash, TX Direct and Fabrisil for my jacket and trousers, a good clean and two applications of NikWax for my boots and gloves.

I changed the oil on the bike over the weekend. I'll be carrying tools to clean, oil and adjust the chain as necessary. And, of course, with the hand pump I'll be able to ensure I'm keeping the tires properly inflated as I ride through various altitudes. For any issues beyond those simple things I've got RAC coverage.

I've downloaded a free German-English dictionary for my phone. So, you know, that will totally make up for the fact that I never got around to listening to the Coffee Break German podcasts I had downloaded several months ago.

My tent works. Jenn and I rode down to a campsite in Devon about a week ago to give my gear a test run. The tent's poles needed new cord but apart from that it's in surprisingly good condition. REI stuff costs a lot but it's worth it in the long run; I've had that tent for roughly a decade.

Hell yeah I have a Leatherman attached to my belt. Like a boss.

Also perfectly functional are my sleeping bag, bed roll, mini stove, frying pan, enamelware mug, Leatherman, wind-up flashlight and various other camping items. All that gear fits easily into the Oxford Aqua 50 bag that Cam sent me, with still enough space for groceries I'll pick up along the way.

Cam's a fellow rider who lives in Scotland. He got in touch not too long ago to let me know he had the bag sitting around being unused and asked if I'd want it for my trip. Cam, I can't thank you enough for that thing. It will be a huge help.

One of the things I love about motorcycling is the generosity that seems to come from everywhere. In addition to Cam's kindness, fellow moto-blogger Sonja has offered up a place to sleep when I'm passing through Germany. And the advice I've gotten off Nikos has been incredibly useful.

Also showing the love have been the good folks at Suzuki. They've sent along an awesome tank bag for me to use on the trip and review. Designed specifically for use with the V-Strom, the bag attaches via a clever tankring lock. Expect the full review when I get back from my trip; the early signs are that it will be a positive review. I had a chance to try out the bag on the trip to Devon last week and was quite pleased.

Meanwhile, in true adventurer style, I've jerryrigged (a) my own GPS mount. The GPS had been clamped to the Strom's handlebars, but adding the tank bag made it impossible to see. That's fine. To be honest, I'd never been terribly happy with the GPS being that low, anyway.

Those of you with a good memory might be asking at this point: "GPS? What GPS? I thought you were doing this trip the old-fashioned way."

It's true that was my intent. Back in May, heading to a funeral in Texas put a huge dent in my finances. So, I had planned to make my way to Italy using some good ol' fashioned paper maps. But then I happened to notice that two of my intended destinations are not on said maps, and, more influentially, a conversation with Nikos convinced me I should find a way to make use of modern technology.

I know that plenty of people have had successful European adventures using the old-school methods of paper maps, wits, friendliness and patience, but I'll be honest that the thought of being completely lost in some "faraway" land where I don't speak the language causes deep ripples of panic in my mind. So, I shot myself lightly in the foot financially and bought a TomTom Rider (b).

Inevitably, fate will punish me by having the thing break somewhere in the Alps and I'll still end up navigating the old-school way. But for now I'm able to sleep a little better.

In breaking down for that purchase I opened the floodgates and allowed myself also to get a Lonely Planet guide and an additional pair of padded cycling shorts. I already have one pair that I use for long rides but it suddenly occurred to me that one pair of shorts over the space of several days might be unpleasant.

I'll be missing this lady while I'm on the road.

Spending money makes me unhappy, though, because it is money I won't have on the road. A part of me worries not just a little bit about having enough cash to even pay for petrol. But, hey, I guess that's part of the adventure.

I feel so unprepared at the moment. The more I think about it, the more apprehensive I get. There are times when I work myself into a state of thinking: "I don't even want to go."

The fact that I do this is no doubt indicative of some larger aspect of my personality, some self-defeating I-don't-know-what that stands between my ambitions and my realities.

But Friday will come and I will be on that overnight boat from Harwich to Rotterdam, and from that point there's really no turning back. It will be fine, regardless of what all my anxieties scream at me.

Meanwhile, my apologies if things on the site run a little slow for a while; I'm unsure what my internet access will be like. This will manifest itself most in my ability to approve comments. I'll do my best to stay on top of it.

Anyway, bânt a fi.

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(a) Yes, I know the correct spelling is "jury-rig" but that is not the way I've ever pronounced it. In Texas we say "jerryrig."

(b) Not too badly. Thanks to promotional offers and an additional discount I get at Fowlers for having bought my bike there, I was able to get my GPS for considerably less. 

ADSENSE HERE

Europe 2015 pt. IV: It suddenly gets interesting

"Planning is the enemy of adventure"

––– Jamie Duncan

My grandmother passed away a few weeks ago, which was devastating for any number of reasons. First and foremost, of course, is the simple fact she's gone. My grandmother was a superwoman and I had genuinely expected her to live, and thrive, at least to the age of 120. She was a sprightly 88 years old when we found out in late March she had leukemia and I had anticipated it as being nothing more than an inconvenience for her. It was more than that. She died on 9 May.

I am blessed to have been so heavily influenced by her, so I know that I have the intestinal fortitude to move forward, even though it doesn't feel like it right now.

Anyway, in practical terms, attending her funeral in Texas blew a massive hole in my finances. International flights on less than a week's notice do not come cheap. I maxed out my credit card and used almost all the money I had been setting aside for July's trip to Tuscany.

When I returned to Britain I sat down to look at the state of things and my initial feeling was that the European adventure would have to be scrapped. Then the July issue of Bike magazine came through my door, featuring an article about motorcyclists travelling on a limited budget, and I thought: "Well, you know, maybe."

So, I'm now rapidly trying come up with solutions to salvage the trip. All that stuff about screens, tank bags, CamelBaks,textile jackets and sat-navs I mentioned previously is totally out the window, of course. If I don't already have it, I ain't taking it.

Which is OK. After all, my ferry to Rotterdam is already paid for. I already have a top-notch motorcycle. I already have panniers and Kriega bags and a tangle of bungee cords. And I've already got all the camping gear.

Because that's the biggest thing I've realised: if I'm going to make this trip work, hotels are out. I will be roughing it.

This is in Switzerland, apparently. Who knows? I might end up sleeping here.

The implications of that last statement has been keeping me awake at night. It adds a whole new dynamic, a whole new set of challenges. First and foremost, of course, is the challenge of how to do it.

Not camping, I mean. I used to spend days by myself trekking the Superior Hiking Trail, sleeping amongst the wolves and bears and myriad other wildlife of Minnesota, so I am confident in my ability. And, although it's a little old, I'm equally confident in my gear. I am equipped to spend several days on foot in wilderness, so I'm sure I'll manage just fine on a motorcycle through more civilized terrain.

The thing that's vexing me is the question of where: How do I find out about camping spots? I've never been to Germany/Switzerland/Italy and I don't speak the languages. How do I find out where I can sleep cheap (or better yet, for free)? And what's the process? What are the ins and outs?

For example, if this trip were taking place in the United States, I would know to aim for state parks, national forests, national parks, wilderness refuges, etc. I might stay at designated sites, or I might just pick a spot that's far away from everything else and keep out of sight. With designated campsite areas I wouldn't bother to book ahead because: a) I might find some place better along the way; b) campsites exist in time vortices, so there is no way to accurately gauge how long it will take you to get to one.

But, see, in the above scenario I am fluent in the common language, possessing the vocabulary to ask specific questions and receive specific answers from locals about where to go, as well as the nuanced ability to (try to) talk my way out of trouble if I get caught setting up a tent where it isn't technically allowed. I lose that in Germany, Switzerland and Italy.

Meanwhile, living in Britain has taught me that the definition of natural space isn't as clear cut as I used to think. For example, the term "national park" has a dramatically different meaning. The picture below was taken inside a "national park" (Yorkshire Dales). It's charming and lovely, but setting up a tent and frying some eggs in the middle of it would be difficult to do unnoticed.

Grassington, England. In the heart of Yorkshire Dales National Park

Meanwhile, the entire concept of camping is unrecognizably different here. Where it is allowed, camping in Britain is more akin to spending time in a refugee camp. No, really. Here's an image of a refugee camp in Africa, and here's an image of a campsite in Britain. Bafflingly, available spaces in the latter will book up months in advance. If life on the continent is anything like it is here in the Soggy Nations, I may find it very difficult to get by on wits and luck.

Still, unless someone with experience wants to tell me what a terrible idea it is, I'm inclined to try to tackle the question of sleeping accommodations in continental Europe the same way I would in the God-blessed United States of America. I'm encouraged to do this for a number of reasons:

1. Practicality. See the above statement about going sans sat-nav. As such, I will struggle to accurately predict destination times. I don't want to put myself into a situation of trying to arrive somewhere that turns out to be 3 hours further away than I imagined.
2. It's most likely my camping will take place in Germany and Switzerland. In my years of backpacking in Minnesota, California, Utah, Nevada, and Colorado I ran into a lot of Germans and Swiss. Which leads me to hope-believe our understandings of nature and how to function within it are similar.
3. The German word for camping is "camping." The word for campsite is "campingplatz." I feel confident I will be able to remember this.
4. Germans (and presumably the Swiss, as well) are really smart. I've honestly never met a German who didn't possess a more impressive English vocabulary than myself. So, I'm optimistic that communication won't be as much of a problem as it might if I were travelling to, say, Kazakhstan.
5. I have noticed on my map of Switzerland a number of little blue tent-esque triangles which I perceive to represent campsites (campingplätze). The map key doesn't really say what they are, so they may turn out to be something else entirely: missile silos or brothels. I'm guessing campingplätze, though, and there are a decent number of these triangles. Enough that if one campingplatz is full, I should be able to arrive at another before der nacht. 

Note: This bike's plates are Swiss. I'm going to the right place.

That's not the end of the challenges faced in opting to camp, though. There's also the fact I will have to carry all my camping gear, and doing so will inherently use up a lot of the space I would have otherwise dedicated to carrying all my mankinis and evening gowns.

I had previously calculated my luggage would afford 90 liters of storage. I anticipate a tent, sleeping mat, sleeping bag, camp stove, frying pan and steel mug will eat up 30 liters of that. Or, rather, it'll eat up the space on my rack where I had planned to secure a 30-liter dry bag.

Additionally, I'll want to keep at least 10 liters free somewhere for the sake of supplies: the food and beer I'll pick up at markets along the way. Subtract the space that will be allocated to tools and chain-maintenance supplies, laptop and related electronic equipment, and it leaves me with very little room for clothes/toiletries.

To this end, I've been trying to think of how to add carrying space. I've ruled out use of a backpack because I'm pretty sure it's the thing that was causing shoulder pain in previous rides. You'll remember my old Oxford X30 tank bag doesn't fit properly on the Strom. Which is a shame. I spent a few moments this morning contemplating some sort of jerry-rigged system of bungee-strapping it to the crash bars but I suspect that would only end in disaster.

I also contemplated bodging my old Viking soft panniers to sit atop the Suzuki panniers, but again, that sounds like a recipe for disaster. Perhaps more realistic would be to bend the no-buying-stuff rule and purchase two small, cheap dry sacks I could strap to the top of the Suzuki panniers. Say 10 liters each –- costing about £10 total. I could ensure waterproofing by lining them with trash bags and store clothes in them. Of course, the drawback is that strapping anything to the top of the panniers will mean I will first have to remove that thing before I can get the actual panniers open.

Perhaps that's not a problem. Just pack intelligently, making sure all the items I need on the ride are in the Kriega bags that will be on the passenger seat. Or, perhaps I could use those small dry bags for carrying the aforementioned food and beer supplies. That way they can be put away on fast, non-camping sections of the trip, such as when I'm travelling across the UK or from Rotterdam to Saarbrücken.

The more I look at pictures of Switzerland, the better I feel about my decision to camp there.

Hmm, obviously there is a lot to think about. Ultimately, I feel I'll need to do a few test runs over the coming month or so, to work out exactly how to get everything strapped to the bike. Which means I will very soon need to come up with a comprehensive list of everything I intend to take.

Additionally, I need to make sure I have some experience adjusting the V-Strom's chain and performing whatever other maintenance and minor fixes might be necessary. I'm being realistic about what I can actually do and will be carrying my RAC card to help me deal with any major incidents. I'm skeptical of RAC's ability to legitimately provide European breakdown coverage, but my policy says they do and I suppose even that is better than nothing.

This whole thing feels daunting. Money will be very tight, and I'm inclined to scrap my plans to spend a day swimming in the River Aare in Bern because there will be nowhere to safely store all the stuff in soft luggage. But surely there will be opportunity for all kinds of other fun stuff. Adventure will present itself. I have only a month to prepare myself for it.

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On a side note: It's always been my understanding that socks with sandals is a perfectly acceptable fashion choice in Germany. If this turns out to be untrue I'm going to be heartbroken.

ADSENSE HERE

Europe 2015 pt. III: Stuff for my stuff

The last time I wrote about my preparations for my European adventure (back in February), perhaps the biggest development was that I had bought panniers for the Honda. Each holding 33 litres of stuff, the panniers were a quality piece of kit and dramatically improved the look and utility of the bike. 

I put them to good use on a trip to York in late winter and they performed brilliantly. But the bike upon which I had placed them had been giving me cause for concern for a while. Little things had me worrying. A certain squeak in the front brake that never went away –– even after replacing the front pads. A tendency to get stuck in gear or out of gear when the engine had been running particularly hot. Oh-so-slightly loose handlebar switchgear that couldn't be tightened any further. Dentist-drill vibrations at 80 mph that left my hands tingling for days afterward. A seat that got uncomfortable after 45 miles. The fact it was 10 years old.

As I say: little things. No one of those things was a good enough reason in and of itself to sell the Honda, but collectively they contributed to my desire to do so. Jenn actually sealed the deal on my decision to get my V-Strom (a) when she said: "You write about motorcycles, babe. This is your thing. Of course you can't just stick to one bike."

Yeah. I had to get a new bike. My career depended upon it...

Doing so was a mixed blessing. Mostly good, admittedly; I don't yet know this as irrefutable fact, but the V-Strom 1000 Adventure is almost certainly a perfect machine for traversing Europe. However, it is a step back in terms of luggage space. Combined, the Strom's panniers offer just 29 litres of storage –– 4 litres less than a single Honda pannier. I went from 66 litres to 29. Not to mention the fact my old magnetic tank bag isn't compatible.

Fortunately, Jenn gave me a Kriega US20 bag for my birthday and just last week, I scored a massive eBay win thanks to the fact that a seller misspelled "Kriega" and I ended up getting an almost-new Kriega US10 bag for only £9 because I was the only one to bid on it.  (A new US10 retails for about £55 and used ones hold their value frustratingly well on eBay. Before this stroke of luck, I'd never seen one sold for less than £45 –– more than I'm willing to pay for a used item)

With these and the panniers, I've got 59 litres of carrying space. Beyond that, I've got an old kayaking dry bag that I think holds about 20 litres, which I can strap to the rack. So, about 80 litres in all. I'll be spending more than three weeks away and will need clothing for a number of different scenarios, but I'm optimistic this will be enough.

If it's not, I'm considering wearing a small backpack to hold water, sunglasses, a visor cloth and other need-it-right-now essentials. I have two concerns about this plan, however:

Firstly, I have ridden a little bit with the aforementioned backpack and I'm concerned it may be causing pain in my shoulder. Additionally, it is a very old backpack and one part of the chest strap is broken. I'm not sure I can trust it for the full 3,000 miles to Volterra and back.

Secondly, it's at this point in the planning process that I start down the slippery slope of buying new stuff. If I go with the backpack option, I'm planning to buy a CamelBak reservoir to put in the backpack. Or something similar. I've never used one of these things, but having one strikes me as a good idea because:

1. It will allow me to drink water on the go. I have a bad habit of getting dehydrated when I ride, because I neglect to take the time to stop, pull bottled water from my bag, and drink it.
2. It will allow me to hold more water –– the plastic bottle I usually carry only holds 500 ml.
3. If the worst happens and I'm in a crash, the water bladder is less likely to cause me damage. Whereas I sometimes worry that landing wrong on a Nalgene-style bottle could damage my back (in spite of my back protector), or, worse, it could crack and puncture me with shards of plastic.

OK. That last grisly-death-by-water-bottle scenario seems highly unlikely. Stranger things have happened though; hundreds of Americans are killed each year by tortilla chips.

My alternate plan is to just strap a few Nalgene bottles to the Kriega bags somehow. Bungee straps, I guess. And maybe that would be best, anyway, because it would demand I stop and get off the bike every so often. One thing I really hope I can get myself into the mindset of doing on this trip is stopping frequently. To take pictures, to stretch, to refresh myself mentally, and enjoy the fact that I am on an incredible journey across Europe. 

Too often when I consider this (or, in fact, any other) trip, some part of me wants to power across the continent, like when Baron von Grumble rode through 14 countries in 24 hours. Instead, I should be using Jason Warner Smith's trek across America as inspiration. He took several weeks to cover the distance and made sure to stop every 30-40 miles.

Still, this doesn't actually get me out of spending money.

When I watched the Baron von Grumble video of his 14-country ride, one aspect of his trip stuck out for me: border checks. He frequently had to produce his passport and, often, a credit card to pay for tolls. His BMW R1200GS had a fancy little compartment on the tank in which to store these things. My V-Strom 1000 does not, so I'm thinking it would be nice to have some sort of a tank or handlebar bag.

Admittedly, the large pockets in my riding trousers could serve that purpose, but, uhm, I don't know. The thought of that makes me a little nervous. I don't know why. Plus, the pockets aren't quite big enough to hold my sunglasses (EDIT: That's a lie. I just checked; they fit fine).

Ideally, I'd use something like the SW Motech Quick Lock EVO City tank bag. It looks like a really nice bit of kit, and the size of the thing would also remedy my "Where to store water" issue. The drawback, though, is the fact that, good gracious almighty, it's expensive. Givi have something similar for less, but it is not that much less and it is a lot uglier.

Not to mention the old truth that fixing one problem tends to create another. If you read my review of the Givi GPS holder, you might remember one of my biggest complaints was that it sits too low in my field of vision. So low, in fact, I suspect a tank bag would block it.

To that end, with or without a tank bag I've been considering getting a handlebar bracket adapter from Touratech. Basically, it's just a bar that bolts to your handlebar clamp and allows you to mount stuff a few inches higher. The Touratech website doesn't say exactly how many inches higher, which is the sort of information you'd kind of like to have if you're going to fork out £48 for some bits of metal.

That cost is nothing, though, compared to the asking price of a TomTom Rider 400. I'd really like to have one of those. It's expensive, though. I feel I will need to invest in some kind of new sat nav, however, because the hand-me-down device I'm using at the moment doesn't have European maps (nor the ability to download said maps). So, if anyone has any suggestions on devices they've used I'd appreciate your input.

I won't want to rely solely on a sat nav, of course. I'm going to want some actual physical maps, as well. Paper maps will help me plot a good route, something that's challenging on, say, Google Maps, because it's hard to have a full perspective on mapping software.

I'm guessing I'll want detailed maps of Germany, Switzerland and Italy. The only other country I'll be riding through will be the Netherlands (I've decided to simplify things and drop the route that would have taken me through Belgium and Luxembourg). My itinerary is such that I don't foresee getting much chance to explore the Netherlands, so I'll be on motorway through that stretch.

Which is a shame. Next time. I do really want to spend some time in the Netherlands. If not simply because I've never met a Dutch person I didn't like. And, uhm, the women are easy on the eye. (My friend, Astrid, once came to stay for Christmas and was so intimidatingly beautiful my ex-wife banned her from ever visiting again)

If anyone has experience with a particular map brand they prefer over any other, please let me know. Personally, I'm inclined to go with Michelin. Just because I'm a fan of their tires.

Meanwhile, the issue of the V-Strom's screen continues to concern me. It's the only real foible I've experienced so far. I lowered the stock screen to its lowest setting and have found doing so improves things a bit, allowing the wind to hit my helmet cleanly rather than having a big ol' mess of turbulence swarming at the top of my head.

However, I went on a longish ride recently and found myself suffering shoulder/neck pain at the end of the day. This may be because of the aforementioned backpack. Or it may be because the low screen leaves me battling wind gusts. A little more research is necessary.

But even if it turns out the screen isn't responsible for shoulder pain, I already find myself thinking about getting a Givi AirFlow windscreen. I've read a lot of good things about the screen on various V-Strom forums, with a number of the people singing its praises being my height (6 foot 1) or taller.

It's definitely the sort of thing I'd like to have before next winter –– to help keep the British misery at bay. Although, I wonder about its use on this particular trip. Continental Europe is much warmer in the summer than Britain. Perhaps I'll want the steady wind blast I get with the stock screen. After all, I'll be riding in the same old leather jacket I've always worn, which has no vents or the like for hot weather.

And that makes me think it would be nice to have a good-quality textile jacket. Something like the Oxford Montreal 2 seems affordable enough. And (rare for Oxford products) I like the look. But, just the other day I happened to be at a Triumph dealer and tried on a Triumph Traveller jacket that I really liked. It's the bee's knees. And it's got loads of pockets. Enough, perhaps, to eliminate the need to get a tank bag.

And if you take that into consideration –– you know, subtracting the cost of a tank bag from the cost of the jacket –– it makes the price of the Triumph Traveller pretty reasonable...

Wait. Stop. Just calm down a minute, Chris!

If I were to buy all the stuff on the little wish list I've created above, I'd be throwing down at least £900. Just to prepare to go on a trip! Nevermind the costs of hotels and food and petrol and, you know, actually enjoying myself. That's just ridiculous. Especially when you consider that my father-in-law used to meander across Europe on his unreliable Bonneville in the late 1970s. He did not have sat navs or high-end tank bags or fancy ways of consuming water. And considering the fact he was a trainee gardener, I'm pretty sure he didn't have a whole hell of a lot of money, either.

Neither do I. So, perhaps I should be taking inspiration from him. Despite my dedication to working myriad Amazon links into my posts lately, it's a tactic that isn't likely to amass a fortune (Full disclosure: To date it has not earned me a single penny). Really, I should be working with what I've got and trying not to spend any more money.

Well, OK, the maps. I should definitely spring for the maps. And perhaps a few bungee cords. So, about £20 expenditure at the most. Beyond that, my desire to have All The Things may cloud my ability to properly enjoy this adventure.

I don't know. What do you think? What do I absolutely need? Do I already have those things? Or, are there, in fact, several things that I haven't even thought about? All advice is appreciated!

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(a) I am considering naming my bike "Essie Mae," because I like being obscure. Huge points to you if you understand the reference.  

ADSENSE HERE

Europe 2015 pt. II

My ferry tickets have been purchased; it's actually happening. 

"It," of course, is my ridiculously grand adventure to Italy –– a motorcycle journey through seven countries, covering at least 3,000 miles. On my own.

I have more than 4 months to prepare for this epic ride, but already I can't sleep. At least I've taken the first and most important step: committing to it. On 3 July 2015, I will ride to the other side of the UK and board a night ferry to the Netherlands. Then, I'll spend the next few days making my way south to the Tuscany region of Italy.

I am planning to visit a friend in Saarbrücken, Germany, on the way, which explains the slightly odd route I've chosen. The Google machine insists I should get to the continent via ferries or trains that run from Dover, England, to Calais, France. But what Google doesn't take into account is the fact that taking the ferry to the Netherlands costs less, all things considered.

I'll be taking an overnight ferry and have booked a cabin for the journey. That in and of itself feels exciting and exotic. Far more so than just staying in a hotel in Calais, which was my original idea. And, as I say, it's cheaper –– even with breakfast thrown in. Not to mention the fact that the ferry inherently provides strong incentive to stick to a schedule. On the second day of the trip I should be on the road and riding to Germany by 8 a.m.

A nifty side-effect of this new route is that it means I'll be spending the bulk of my time in German-speaking countries (Luxembourg, Germany and Switzerland), which makes things easier in terms of language learning.

Just about everyone I've spoken to and everything I've read (thank you, Gary France, for your very useful European touring guide) has insisted I need not worry about learning the local lingo. The majority of Europeans are fluent in English, they say. And certainly that was true 20 years ago when I was hitchhiking across France. I have no reason to believe things are different now, but my years of living in Wales and knowing just how much people appreciate that I can speak Welsh makes me want to put in the effort.

Not too long ago I downloaded some German learning podcasts and have been listening to them on a daily basis. Obviously, I won't be able to discuss the meaning of life with Germans and the Swiss, but hopefully I will have enough of the language to at least show respect and get directions to good restaurants.

I've had someone suggest that when in Germany I take the time to ride the famous Schwarzwaldhochstraße, a particularly popular route for motorcyclists that conveniently leads to the Weltgrößte Kuckucksuhr, aka the World's Largest Cuckoo Clock. Because, dude, that is exactly the sort of thing to be checking out on a road trip. How could you even consider passing that up?

Weltgrößte Kuckucksuhr

I'm planning to go to Bern, Switzerland, at some point, as well, for the sake of swimming in the River
Aare, though I'll probably save that as something fun to do during the trip back from Italy. As my route slowly materialises, I can't help but also turn my attention to other facets of planning –– what to bring, how to bring it, etc. Those of you with a keen eye will notice something different about my bike in the picture at the top of this post. I've finally broken down and bought some hard panniers.

Frustratingly, I will probably need to get a new set of tires before I go, as well. At the moment, the Michelin Pilot Road 4s that I have on the bike are in really good condition, but they've already got nigh 4,000 miles on them and I know I'll be racking up at least 2,000 more miles before the trip. Considering that my European adventure could see me clocking as many as 4,000 miles (not to mention I'll be loaded down with gear) and I don't know how long PR4s are supposed to last, I'm thinking it will be wise to just get a new set shortly before I head out.

That's not a financially pleasant thought, but it makes more sense than pushing my luck and then finding myself having to get a new set put on in Düsseldorf. Similarly, I'm thinking it will be wise to invest in a quality sat-nav. I'll have to get one regardless, because my existing hand-me-down device only has maps for the UK and Ireland. I'm considering getting the new TomTom Rider, although it's stupidly expensive.

I'll need some physical maps, an emergency tire repair kit, perhaps a new visor for my helmet (the existing one is starting to get pretty scratched up), maybe a CrampBuster, and so on. Lots of little things. So many little things, in fact, that I'm not sure of what all I'll need. And I'm not sure what I won't need. The tendency when looking at such a daunting task is to over-prepare, to bring too many things.

I remember when I took my 3-month road trip across the United States back in 2009; I ended up hauling around a whole load of crap I didn't need –– too many sweaters and a pair of boots I never wore. In that case, I was in a car. So, it didn't matter too much. But everything I carry to Italy will be a thing I can feel the burden of: when I'm trying to accelerate, when I'm at a stop and balancing the bike. Logic says I should try to be as minimalist as possible but emotionally I feel a need to pack all the things.

As always, any advice you may have is greatly appreciated.

ADSENSE HERE

Andiamo in Italia

I don't know if you've ever noticed the little sidebar box on the right-hand side of this blog that says "Lifetime miles." It's not totally accurate. It doesn't account for any of the miles I've done on test rides, nor the miles I covered during the arduous and expensive European training process, nor even the roughly 130 miles I racked up when the lovely people at Michelin gave me a bike to play on for a day. But I figure it's close enough. 

Considering that I only earned my European license about 18 months ago, I suppose it's a decent number. Elspeth Beard clocked up roughly 10,000 miles in her first two years of motorcycle ownership and I'm on track to keep pace with her (a), but still I find the number sometimes taunts me. It's not large enough; I haven't been nearly enough places; I haven't seen nearly enough things.

The Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure is, in part, an attempt to rectify that, but it looks as if this summer I'll get a chance to really get some miles under my belt. The family of my wife's best friend has invited us to spend a week in Italy with them in July. They have a villa in Volterra, in the Tuscany region, and Jenn suggested I take the opportunity to ride my bike there (b).

She didn't need to make the suggestion twice. Within seconds of her mentioning it I was researching possible routes on Google Maps. In doing so, I discovered that one possible route runs past the German city of Saarbrücken, where my friend, the mighty Chris James, lives these days. So, I've tentatively invited myself out to visit him as part of this trip. I really should drop him a line and let him know I'm coming...

Roundtrip, this adventure will see me riding some 2,500 miles and visiting at least six countries: France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland and Italy. If I choose to avoid the notoriously expensive French toll roads on the way down, I may also venture into Austria, though that would mean missing out on the opportunity to ride through the 10-mile-long Gotthard Tunnel. Either way, my route will take me through three completely different eco zones and terrain ranging from flat coastal plain to the Alps. Great googly moogly, y'all: the Alps. My breath stutters just at the thought of it (c).

More rides through the Welsh mountains will be called for.

And that's the thing. This trip is so big, so grand in vision, that I struggle to properly grasp it in my mind. And with that comes the difficulty of figuring out how in the world I'm supposed to prepare for such a thing. I mean, where do you even start? I guess it might be handy to know how to say a few things in French, German, and Italian. And I suppose I might want to invest in a good-quality map, but where after that?

I am very seriously considering forking out the cash to equip my bike with hard, lockable luggage. I am also inclined to believe it might be a good idea to get myself an up to date and more reliable sat-nav programmed with full European maps (my current not-always-functioning sat-nav covers just the UK and Ireland). I'll be sure to have the bike checked out by a mechanic before I go, of course. And I'll pack an emergency tire repair kit, my Haynes manual, necessary tools, and will spend the next few months trying to teach myself how to do roadside fixes of the most likely issues one might face (cables, levers, chain, etc.).

Additionally, I'll spend these next few months seeking out the more challenging nearby roads (thankfully, we have plenty of those in Wales) to build up my skill level, and I may do a few runs criss-crossing the width of the UK in a day to help me improve stamina for long days. I'll make sure I'm familiar with the Iron Butt Association's Archive of Wisdom. I'll try to figure out how the hell to secure a bike when it's on a ferry. And so on.

But even with all of this, I get a twinge of fear –– a feeling that when it comes time to point the Honda toward Italia, I will be woefully unready.

So, I'm keen to hear what advice you can offer. If you've got experience covering massive distances, I'd love to hear what tips you might have for making it enjoyable. If you've ridden through multiple countries whose languages you do not speak, I'd definitely like to get your input.

I've got about seven months to prepare. Already I'm finding it difficult to sleep.

Stelvio mountain pass in the Alps.

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(a) If you haven't guessed, I have something of a crush on Elspeth Beard.

(b) She's planning to go in a car with her friend. My bike is simply not passenger-friendly enough to be stuck on the back of it over such a long distance.

(c) If I can build up the guts to do so, I may even tackle the infamous Stelvio Pass.

ADSENSE HERE