OK, are you sitting comfortably, then I'll begin .............................
This was the third time I’d planned this trip, for differing reasons the previous two had to be cancelled, but this time I made it
.
The plan was for wife and daughter to fly out to Milan and drive up to a campsite at Lake Garda where we had rented a mobile home on the lakeshore. In the end they flew out early and went to Verona for a couple of days first, whilst I was riding over to meet them.
I got work wrapped up on Friday morning and got the bike loaded and sorted for the off.
A pretty dull and uneventful trip to Folkestone saw me on the tunnel train at 6.00 o’clock, getting me to Calais for just after 7.30 their time. I’d booked a hotel in Arras about 70 miles inland and after filling up and sorting something to eat got there for around 9.00 and 300 odd miles under my belt.
Saturday was going to be a long day as I wanted to be in the Alps on Sunday morning, but didn’t want to do the péage / autoroutes. It was a sunny day so I had all day to get there, in the end I needed it as well. I knew before I even bought the bike that the weak points were the seat and the fuel range. I’d bought an Airhawk to help with the seat, and drilled the filler neck in order to maximise the fuel capacity.
There is no fuel gauge on the HP2, when the fuel light comes on there is a diminishing distance to empty indicator starting around 40 miles and counting down. At one point I was showing 18 miles to the nearest fuel station on the GPS and 15 miles on the range, some light throttle use got me there with 2 miles showing, a bit of a close call . I got down to about 10 and in the teens a few more times, but I learnt my lesson.
I could tell the instant I hit Germany, all the traffic suddenly speeded up, and hitting Switzerland was just like being back in England, jobsworth’s wouldn’t move over as they were at the legal limit . But before that, I had to pay my Swiss road tax. No one gets into Switzerland without paying the road tax, some years ago at the border I argued I was only going the few miles from Basel (Switzerland) to Mulhouse (France), having come into Basel from Germany, the Swiss response was to shove a gun through the car window .
Anyway, this time I dutifully went in the office to pay and the card machine swallowed my card and wouldn’t give it back
. The border guard didn’t / wouldn’t speak English and kept telling me to insert my card, I eventually gave him another card and told him to put it in, obviously he couldn’t as my original was still jammed inside : . I had to wait 20 minutes until his mate who had a bit more intelligence came and sorted it 
.
Heading out of Basel on the main road, bought me to a long traffic jam through road works, when the traffic came to a standstill, I crossed over into the coned off section and rode down there much to the disgust of the locals. I then saw the cause of the jam, a truck was on fire with smoke and flames licking high into the sky. As I got closer it was clear a few nearby car occupants had got out for a closer look, there was no fire engine there at this point. As I rode by, the sign writing on the side of the truck in big letter said BBQ Gaz, I couldn’t believe people were just standing watching, rather than ferkin off quick like I was .
Once I’d cleared Zurich, it was out into the typical chocolate box Swiss countryside with clear wide sweeping roads with fab views .
I then started to head up into the hills and mountains as dusk was coming and thought about finding a place to stay. First town up was the ski resort of Klosters – Prince Charles’s resort of choice, so didn’t think I blow the budget by staying there, next up was Davos – about as bad, but getting darker now. Headed out of Davos and ended up on the Fluellpass in the dark, tricky seeing round hairpins in the dark, but in a bizarre way really enjoyable being up there all alone
.
With the next big resort coming up being St Moritz, I quickly found a hotel in the small resort of Zernez, conveniently located next to the church bells, in full chiming order every quarter hour
: . After 570 miles that day, I heard the full set at 11.00 but not at midnight. Didn’t need an alarm on Sunday morning as all the locals were invited to go to church with the bells ring non-stop until they got there 
.
Sunday was another bright and sunny day, and the Stelvio (all 35 miles and 60 odd hairpins) was beckoning, but not before 40 miles of nice warm up roads.
On a summer, sunny Sunday morning the Stelvio was madness. It was like someone had opened the gates to Donington for a free for all. There were pushbikes, scooters, bikes, motorhomes, cars all heading up. About the third hairpin in, at least six bikes were abreast lining up to take a motorhome on the way out, with no way of seeing if anything was on the way down.
A bit of shoving and pushing saw me clear the rabble and I settled in behind a German guy on a Guzzi California, who was making really good progress, I stayed with him for about 5 miles and only left him when a 1200GS went by us, and I followed off after him.
The north side (uphill) was much busier than the south side, but not as funny as 30/40 old painted up British bangers including an Allegro were wheezing their way up the other side, funny as fcuk .
Dropping down into the ski resort of Bormio, I then picked up the Gavia pass which is much narrower and less busy than the Stelvio, and with a pretty poor road surface. But a great pass none the less, almost 30 miles in length coming out in Ponte di Legno.
From there I made my way up to Passo del Tonale, where we’d skied a few years back, and picked up 3 local guys on a 999, ‘Blade and a R1 (with a brave or maybe stupid, petite girl on the back). I was just checking my GPS as they picked up speed and came past, and I then stuck with them for 20 odd miles of pretty brisk riding down the mountain.
I then peeled off to Folgarida (another ski resort) and then onto Riva del Garda at the northern tip of Lake Garda. At this point my plan went tits up – I’d imagined riding down the shoreline to Moniga where we were staying, looking out across the lake at stunning views and vistas. Instead it was snided and clogged with traffic and half the distance was through smoke filled tunnels . Oh well. I ended up in Moniga mid afternoon and went to lounge by the pool with another 215 miles on the clock .
I’ll skip the boring bit about lots of sunshine, meals sat out by the harbour, lounging by the pool as I know it was pissing down with rain here , and I don’t want you to think I might have been enjoying myself .
Anyway’s the days soon passed and it was time for me to leave for home leaving the wife and daughter to continue sunning themselves by the pool for another couple of days whilst I slogged across Europe.
It was my intention to come back via the Col d’Iseran, but following Tony and Bill’s adventure, I recall Tony saying he wasn’t that impressed by it, and as the Alps has loads of stunning roads and passes I set the compass NW and headed that way .
As I climbed up into the hills above Lake Garda heading towards the north side of Lake Idro, it was clear that it had been raining recently as the road had damp patches, which I was hoping would dry out. As I climbed into the cloud line, so it started to rain, not heavy but persistent.
Being in the clouds also meant it was foggy. So, out of the fog walks a man waving a stick at me, I slowed to see what the problem was, and out of the fog came around 300 sheep and half a dozen donkeys!
After letting them pass I then had the pleasure of riding across a mile of sheep shit: .
To compound matters, the tarmac then ran out, but only for 100 yards, but that was just a trick, as it then really ran out for about 12-15 miles.
Didn’t see that on the map . Then the next pass did the same on me again. Didn’t have much option about turning back as it was so far, and the fuel issue was never far away .
The good news was the weather brightened up as I crossed the 3 valleys (not the French ones), and the roads opened out. At one point it seemed as if I was going 4 miles for every mile forward I made I’d done that many minor passes and hairpins.
Leaving St Moritz on the way to Chur I came across the quaintly named Cunter, I looked around as I felt sure I must know someone there, but nobody seemed that familiar
.
Chur came and went and it was back to chocolate box land with open valleys and sweeping roads, all nicely surfaced with little traffic.
Time began to press on so I dispatched Zurich, onto Basel and back into France. My aim was to get to Besancon, and I made it by 7.30 having done another 430 miles.
I awoke in the morning to the sound of heavy rain , so showered and had a leisurely breakfast hoping it would lift, it didn’t. I re-set the GPS and set off for the autoroute figuring to knock some miles off while it rained and then get onto the minor roads once it brightened – it didn’t .
200 miles later it was still raining and I was still on the autoroute: . Approaching Epernay about 200 miles from Calais, it did dry out and on a clear stretch of road, thought it was time to see how quick the old HP2 was , approaching 140 and still going strong I was suddenly struck on the arm by something, turned out it was my Garmin Quest saying goodbye . I didn’t think it was worth going back to look for . That’ll be a new Zumo I’ll be wanting for Christmas then dear .
It dried again approaching Calais and I arrived at the Tunnel just before 4.00 having covered over 400 miles since 10.30, including the 4 fuel stops and lunch, I could have told you the average moving speed and all that, but my GPS was now scattered across the autoroute.
Ten to five and I’m on the tunnel, and back in Blighty 35 minutes later. I'd done less than half a mile before the rain starts, and doesn’t stop until I’m home at 7.20. My longest day at 615 miles, with well over 400 of them in the rain .
The Alps are a truly stunning playground, it would be difficult to pick a bad road, and the Megamoto was everything I hoped it would be. The seat was a pain and the Airhawk certainly helped, but I never once got of the bike aching in discomfort, the riding position was just right, really open and comfy and the screen making 3 figure, sustained cruising a comfortable reality.
Ideally another 50 miles on the fuel range would have helped enormously and wouldn’t really compromise the lightness of the bike. I never topped the oil up once, just kept pouring in the fuel.
They really are my only criticisms of the bike, and as I said at the start, I knew about those before I bought the bike, so I can hardly be disappointed. Is the Megamoto worth the money? I still can’t really answer that, but I’ve yet to see another on the road, and I’m glad I bought it . It’s now got well over 3,00 miles on it in 3 months, so can’t be that bad.
This was the third time I’d planned this trip, for differing reasons the previous two had to be cancelled, but this time I made it
.The plan was for wife and daughter to fly out to Milan and drive up to a campsite at Lake Garda where we had rented a mobile home on the lakeshore. In the end they flew out early and went to Verona for a couple of days first, whilst I was riding over to meet them.
I got work wrapped up on Friday morning and got the bike loaded and sorted for the off.
A pretty dull and uneventful trip to Folkestone saw me on the tunnel train at 6.00 o’clock, getting me to Calais for just after 7.30 their time. I’d booked a hotel in Arras about 70 miles inland and after filling up and sorting something to eat got there for around 9.00 and 300 odd miles under my belt.
Saturday was going to be a long day as I wanted to be in the Alps on Sunday morning, but didn’t want to do the péage / autoroutes. It was a sunny day so I had all day to get there, in the end I needed it as well. I knew before I even bought the bike that the weak points were the seat and the fuel range. I’d bought an Airhawk to help with the seat, and drilled the filler neck in order to maximise the fuel capacity.
There is no fuel gauge on the HP2, when the fuel light comes on there is a diminishing distance to empty indicator starting around 40 miles and counting down. At one point I was showing 18 miles to the nearest fuel station on the GPS and 15 miles on the range, some light throttle use got me there with 2 miles showing, a bit of a close call
. I got down to about 10 and in the teens a few more times, but I learnt my lesson.
I could tell the instant I hit Germany, all the traffic suddenly speeded up, and hitting Switzerland was just like being back in England, jobsworth’s wouldn’t move over as they were at the legal limit
. But before that, I had to pay my Swiss road tax. No one gets into Switzerland without paying the road tax, some years ago at the border I argued I was only going the few miles from Basel (Switzerland) to Mulhouse (France), having come into Basel from Germany, the Swiss response was to shove a gun through the car window .Anyway, this time I dutifully went in the office to pay and the card machine swallowed my card and wouldn’t give it back
. The border guard didn’t / wouldn’t speak English and kept telling me to insert my card, I eventually gave him another card and told him to put it in, obviously he couldn’t as my original was still jammed inside : . I had to wait 20 minutes until his mate who had a bit more intelligence came and sorted it .Heading out of Basel on the main road, bought me to a long traffic jam through road works, when the traffic came to a standstill, I crossed over into the coned off section and rode down there much to the disgust of the locals. I then saw the cause of the jam, a truck was on fire with smoke and flames licking high into the sky. As I got closer it was clear a few nearby car occupants had got out for a closer look, there was no fire engine there at this point. As I rode by, the sign writing on the side of the truck in big letter said BBQ Gaz, I couldn’t believe people were just standing watching, rather than ferkin off quick like I was
.Once I’d cleared Zurich, it was out into the typical chocolate box Swiss countryside with clear wide sweeping roads with fab views
.
I then started to head up into the hills and mountains as dusk was coming and thought about finding a place to stay. First town up was the ski resort of Klosters – Prince Charles’s resort of choice, so didn’t think I blow the budget by staying there, next up was Davos – about as bad, but getting darker now. Headed out of Davos and ended up on the Fluellpass in the dark, tricky seeing round hairpins in the dark, but in a bizarre way really enjoyable being up there all alone
.With the next big resort coming up being St Moritz, I quickly found a hotel in the small resort of Zernez, conveniently located next to the church bells, in full chiming order every quarter hour
: . After 570 miles that day, I heard the full set at 11.00 but not at midnight. Didn’t need an alarm on Sunday morning as all the locals were invited to go to church with the bells ring non-stop until they got there .
Sunday was another bright and sunny day, and the Stelvio (all 35 miles and 60 odd hairpins) was beckoning, but not before 40 miles of nice warm up roads.
On a summer, sunny Sunday morning the Stelvio was madness. It was like someone had opened the gates to Donington for a free for all. There were pushbikes, scooters, bikes, motorhomes, cars all heading up. About the third hairpin in, at least six bikes were abreast lining up to take a motorhome on the way out, with no way of seeing if anything was on the way down.
A bit of shoving and pushing saw me clear the rabble and I settled in behind a German guy on a Guzzi California, who was making really good progress, I stayed with him for about 5 miles and only left him when a 1200GS went by us, and I followed off after him.
The north side (uphill) was much busier than the south side, but not as funny as 30/40 old painted up British bangers including an Allegro were wheezing their way up the other side, funny as fcuk
.
Dropping down into the ski resort of Bormio, I then picked up the Gavia pass which is much narrower and less busy than the Stelvio, and with a pretty poor road surface. But a great pass none the less, almost 30 miles in length coming out in Ponte di Legno.
From there I made my way up to Passo del Tonale, where we’d skied a few years back, and picked up 3 local guys on a 999, ‘Blade and a R1 (with a brave or maybe stupid, petite girl on the back). I was just checking my GPS as they picked up speed and came past, and I then stuck with them for 20 odd miles of pretty brisk riding down the mountain.
I then peeled off to Folgarida (another ski resort) and then onto Riva del Garda at the northern tip of Lake Garda. At this point my plan went tits up – I’d imagined riding down the shoreline to Moniga where we were staying, looking out across the lake at stunning views and vistas. Instead it was snided and clogged with traffic and half the distance was through smoke filled tunnels
. Oh well. I ended up in Moniga mid afternoon and went to lounge by the pool with another 215 miles on the clock .I’ll skip the boring bit about lots of sunshine, meals sat out by the harbour, lounging by the pool as I know it was pissing down with rain here
, and I don’t want you to think I might have been enjoying myself .
Anyway’s the days soon passed and it was time for me to leave for home leaving the wife and daughter to continue sunning themselves by the pool for another couple of days whilst I slogged across Europe.
It was my intention to come back via the Col d’Iseran, but following Tony and Bill’s adventure, I recall Tony saying he wasn’t that impressed by it, and as the Alps has loads of stunning roads and passes I set the compass NW and headed that way
.As I climbed up into the hills above Lake Garda heading towards the north side of Lake Idro, it was clear that it had been raining recently as the road had damp patches, which I was hoping would dry out. As I climbed into the cloud line, so it started to rain, not heavy but persistent.
Being in the clouds also meant it was foggy. So, out of the fog walks a man waving a stick at me, I slowed to see what the problem was, and out of the fog came around 300 sheep and half a dozen donkeys!
After letting them pass I then had the pleasure of riding across a mile of sheep shit
: .
To compound matters, the tarmac then ran out, but only for 100 yards, but that was just a trick, as it then really ran out for about 12-15 miles.
Didn’t see that on the map
. Then the next pass did the same on me again. Didn’t have much option about turning back as it was so far, and the fuel issue was never far away .The good news was the weather brightened up as I crossed the 3 valleys (not the French ones), and the roads opened out. At one point it seemed as if I was going 4 miles for every mile forward I made I’d done that many minor passes and hairpins.
Leaving St Moritz on the way to Chur I came across the quaintly named Cunter, I looked around as I felt sure I must know someone there, but nobody seemed that familiar
.
Chur came and went and it was back to chocolate box land with open valleys and sweeping roads, all nicely surfaced with little traffic.
Time began to press on so I dispatched Zurich, onto Basel and back into France. My aim was to get to Besancon, and I made it by 7.30 having done another 430 miles.
I awoke in the morning to the sound of heavy rain
, so showered and had a leisurely breakfast hoping it would lift, it didn’t. I re-set the GPS and set off for the autoroute figuring to knock some miles off while it rained and then get onto the minor roads once it brightened – it didn’t .200 miles later it was still raining and I was still on the autoroute
: . Approaching Epernay about 200 miles from Calais, it did dry out and on a clear stretch of road, thought it was time to see how quick the old HP2 was , approaching 140 and still going strong I was suddenly struck on the arm by something, turned out it was my Garmin Quest saying goodbye . I didn’t think it was worth going back to look for . That’ll be a new Zumo I’ll be wanting for Christmas then dear .It dried again approaching Calais and I arrived at the Tunnel just before 4.00 having covered over 400 miles since 10.30, including the 4 fuel stops and lunch, I could have told you the average moving speed and all that, but my GPS was now scattered across the autoroute
.Ten to five and I’m on the tunnel, and back in Blighty 35 minutes later. I'd done less than half a mile before the rain starts, and doesn’t stop until I’m home at 7.20. My longest day at 615 miles, with well over 400 of them in the rain
.The Alps are a truly stunning playground, it would be difficult to pick a bad road, and the Megamoto was everything I hoped it would be. The seat was a pain and the Airhawk certainly helped, but I never once got of the bike aching in discomfort, the riding position was just right, really open and comfy and the screen making 3 figure, sustained cruising a comfortable reality.
Ideally another 50 miles on the fuel range would have helped enormously and wouldn’t really compromise the lightness of the bike. I never topped the oil up once, just kept pouring in the fuel.
They really are my only criticisms of the bike, and as I said at the start, I knew about those before I bought the bike, so I can hardly be disappointed. Is the Megamoto worth the money? I still can’t really answer that, but I’ve yet to see another on the road, and I’m glad I bought it
. It’s now got well over 3,00 miles on it in 3 months, so can’t be that bad. 
I really enjoyed that virtual trip to Italy. Buggered up my knee ligaments skiing (or should I say doing the splits 
