Round 2: Another European Sortie

Roberto

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Round 2 will begin shortly.

Please bear with us.

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:thumb
 
I'm subscribed already Rob.:thumb Cannot wait for this.:JB

Ride safe.:beerjug:
 
Only me!

OK so here we go again. After a week moored in port have decided to toddle off again. This ride report is brought to you in association with 'Beers of the European Continent', powered by Nescafe (and Wotsits, until they run out that is).

Getting ready for the off

The week has been mainly spent doing all of those pre-trip glam items.

A quick service from Motoscot of this Parish… the new place is very nice. Best of luck, Steve and Laura.

And some new shoes from the lads at Motorcycle Tyres UK, Conti trail attacks, to replace my oddly mismatched Conti trail rear and road front which have done pretty well.

In other news I also have managed to get my summer jacket repaired, after fatso managed to destroy the zip after three days on the last mission.

I'd also repaired my Contour Roam action camera. It's claimed to be waterproofed but that, I would believe is what they call "a load of bollocks". On the last leg of the last sortie it leaked. Not good for an action camera, although bizarrely it didn't give out through the worst two storms on the continent, it waited for good old blighty rain, which clearly refreshes the parts other rains cannot reach.
I hadn't got time to have it exchanged, plus I bought it from Amazon so it's always difficult trying to get something sorted quickly, so I opted to repair it which I have successfully managed :thumb

I then patiently rewired my audio set-up, after the streets of Albania successfully disassembled everything last time around.

I'd also acquired an old Garmin III from Timolgra of this parish to help my navigational efforts.

Polished up and ready to go again..

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The remit on this trip is going to be a little different. I'll be travelling on my own, potentially linking up with my brother Nick at some point and place to be determined. I'm going to do more camping and use a bit more of the kit I've gotten together and living plan to live a little more modestly than last time around.

Emergency provisions..

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.. Include a large bottle of Kahlua, very well travelled and hardly touched from the last trip.

So there it is.
 
Sunny Essex to Calais

"Ooooh, you don't wanna go to France..."


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Actually yes I do. I've made many trips to the continent now, but have never explored the South of France. I've been promising myself for so long, so the first days are going to be taken up having a look round, particularly with the Gorges du Tarn and Verdon respectively. Thereafter I know not.

Since I have time on my hands I thought I'd try something a little different. The P&O late night crossing at 2.20 from Dover to Calais was available for the princely sum of £18, so I thought I'd snooze during Sunday and then leave home around midnight, have a nap on the ferry and then I can out knock some dull stuff on the peage until sun up.

Of course, that was all dandy until I realised Sunday was my dad's birthday, so I take the folks out to Sunday lunch and we get ensconsed, so my long afternoon in bed is truncated to about three hours. Not optimal.

Nevertheless, undeterred I set off slightly ahead of schedule stopping for a cup of tea at the Food Bus, a grand emporium situated in an exotic location of a Thurrock Industrial estate. It's the setting for Essex County's very own 'The Fast and The Furious'. You can't move for plastic laden Vauxhall Nova GTE's and the like and gents talking of 'doin' a tun firty' down the A127.

Time to leave that behind, then. The run down the motorway was a breeze, and it was a beautiful warm night. I'm stopped at security on the way to the ferry. Ah, it isn't customs, it's actually G4S, those popular Olympic security folks. "Do you have anything you shouldn't have" says the young lady to me. "Weight problem?" I say. She raises a smile "I mean fixed blade knives etc" she says pointing at a sign. "Oh, no, I'm far too old for all that dear" I respond, and I'm on my way.

The ferry is very impressive. I'm directed to a bike bay and an affable chap comes and ties the bike down properly. He's careful to make sure I approve of everything before he does it. That's excellent. And its upstairs to very good lounge. Thumbs up to P&O- This is much better than that LD Lines tub I went on a couple of years ago.

Bikey no mates.

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I get a sofa to relax on but it is seriously noisy; there's an infinite number of coach parties full of yappy 'yoofs', so I don't get much rest. By the time we're in to Calais I'm very tired.
 
Calais to Lormes

Off the boat, and with some fresh air to revitalise me it is on the A26 to head south. It's pleasant motoring, and there's lots of motors from the UK heading off into the night in the same direction. I carry on until sunrise. It is stunning, fabulous reds as the sun makes its way over the horizon. So now I'm seriously yawning, so it's time for a rest.
I stop at a service area with a large parking area and benches, and retire to make myself a nice cup of tea. Tea consumed and a power nap on the bench, and I'm on the road again. Another hour on and I've got a second serious attack of the yawns- this is not good, so I find another parking area, get the mattress out and I'm out for an hour or so. It's about 25 degrees now, there's a cool breeze and its actually not at all unpleasant.

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That's much better. I pop in to see My friend Ronald, for a cheeseburger and some free wifi (or wee fee) as our cousins across the water know it. The young girl there hands me a free cola glass, and it has a 'London 2012' wristband on it. "Pour moi?" I say.. "Yes, of course" she says, her polished English better than mine.
Nice, but I can't escape the Olympics :)

I break away from the motorway now and am heading due South. France is beautiful, and a wonderous place to take the bike.

As I progress Southwards I overtake a van to be greeted by a Gendarme in a flat pointy sporty Renault nestling in front and over to the right. No fair! I cut short my planned multiple overtake and zip in behind said le rozzer. I have the flip up and have a chuckle. I can see the Gendarme's face in the mirror, he's laughing as he's seen me presumably laughing too. I look in my mirror and wave at the van driver. He's taken it in good heart, too. At least everyone's happy and I gave them all a chuckle.

The scenery is lovely and I bimble around on the single track roads of the Borgogne...

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At around 5pm I'm totally knackered and ready to stop over. I look at the Garmin POI extras of the European Campsites and find a Municipal site by the water in the town of Lormes a couple of KM away. In I zip. "Avez vous…" I begin… "for you?" he cuts me short with a grin "..but of course! We are nearly full, but we will work this out."

Twenty minutes later the tent is up at a sublime shady spot, by the lake, but in range of the campsite WiFi. My phone is offered to be charged, and I know where the Supermarche is and how long I've got before they close. How cool is that.

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Off to said shop, a bottle of plonk, some sausage, crackers and even yoghurt for brekkie. Et voila! Things are sorted.
I despatch the wine and some saussie, watch half of a film on the laptop and hit the hay. I sleep the king of all sleeps and wake at 7am as fresh as you like.

So that's acommodation, dinner and breakfast with a bottle of vino reddo for the princely sum 16 quid. Lovely. I can dig the outdoor life.

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:thumb
 
Im soooo jealous, look forward to the following instalments as I did with the last jaunt you did Roberto.
 
:D

Ta folks.. more coming up.. just got to sharpen me fingers..

:beerjug:
 
Lormes to Goudet

The morning is a therapeutic dawdle and I set off just after 10am.

The riding is just perfect and just gets better as we head south into the hills. I'm running out of words to use to describe how cool it all is. For anyone who hasn't been to France, please do go. It is so, so superb. You need nothing but pleasant demeanour, and simple words such as 'Bonjour', 'Bon', 'Merci', and a few numbers. Smile- people will try to help- they like bikes and bikers. France is twice as big as the UK, and with the same amount of people thereabouts. End result: Clearer roads.

It is such easy going. I poodle on. I make myself lunch with the remainder of the saussie and some nice bread.

Lovely scenery..

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Every road is a winner..

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La Puy-en-Velay..

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More single track road magic..

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I pitch up and find a tiny campsite which is empty aside from two Belgian folks and a guy and his Girlfriend in AC-DC T-shirts. It's nice and quiet, next to a babbling brook that leads down into the Loire.

The lady from Belgium directs me to the mobile Pizzeria which will do for tonight. I wander over and we chat. Can you hear the difference in accent she said between the North and here? This man is from Marseilles she says, referring to the Pizza fella.
I haven't a clue on the accent front but it's all interesting stuff.

Late on, about 9.30 I get itchy feet and decide to try and make for a beer. The local hotel is shutting up shop, they see me and pull the curtains. Nice. Not to be deterred, I wander on, until I see a light from somewhere over the bridge of the Loire. Off I scuttle, and it's a creperie, but its open and there are locals there relaxing. 'Beer?' I ask. 'Grimbergen?' replies the old lady. This we like, in fact I love this place.

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All a bit hazy from there on in, as you might expect.
 
Goudet To Millau

The following morning Madame Goudet arrives to settle up. 7.45 Euro for the night. Paid up and sorted. Said Mme Goudet disappears in her old Renault 5 in a cloud of blue smoke. Tent down and away we go.

I head towards Florac and the Gorges du Tarn as anticipated. It is brisk, excellent riding in spectacular conditions, road and weather. Once in Florac, I head over the top to St Enemie more mooching around the Gorges. The road over the top isn't for the faint hearted- no barriers in many sections and the locals aren't shy in cracking on. The road down towards St Enemie is tiny, but all good. St. Enemie is very pretty, but very busy.

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Florac from above.. Traversing the 'difficle et dangereuse'..

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After lunch I finally properly sort out my electricals on the bike. Which is cool, because I can now charge the laptop and a USB item too, so I should be all powered up for the forseeable.

I hit the Gorges du Tarn and it is a splendid place indeed.

Typical Gorge-ousness. I don't take too many pictures as I'm too busy 'droppin' a cog and givin' it a handful. Innit'

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Nice garage, there.

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Later on, post much Gorges gawping I head in to Millau. Quick look at the viaduct from below and buy myself a sticker.

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I stop at a campsite that's a resort type of place. It's OK but I would have preferred somewhere quieter, but I just want to pitch up and get off the bike.
I meet two bikers, Roy and Rob from Manchester. Good lads and we chat the usual bike stuff. Rob has traded in his 5 year old GS for a VFR1200 and it's quite a mean looking bit of kit. He's happy with it.

I walk into town and have a salad.

'They are happy because they eat lard' (I believe I read that in 'Viz' once).

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Millau itself is quite pleasant. There's an singer and a pianist in the square featuring generous helpings of boogie woogie. Different and fun and very well received by the locals.
 
Millau to Sainte-Croix-du-Verdon

I surface around 8.30 and pack in very quick fashion and go for the Millau. There is a toll booth just before the run down to the bridge.

On the exit to the toll area, in the middle of the carriageway two Gendarmes stand, sunglass clad, mean looking, arms folded. I do what I do best: I wave like a tourist simpleton and it continues as it has for most of my trip encounters.. They're smiling and waving back and both spin round in synch to watch me pass, pointing. My very own ZZ Top video.
Note to self: I wonder if it'll work at speed traps? :)

So, ride the viaduct. Ah, there it is. EUR 4.20 of bargain…

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... and a chance to inspect the engineering marvel at close quarters...

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Stop for a coffee soon after making it with my gear have a sit at a bench under a canopy in the shade. Pure peace, I could stop here all day.

We're paid a visit by Roget Moore on board La Petit Nellie..

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The thing sounds like a lawnmower and makes the GS sound positively refined. You wouldn't get me aboard that, not for a big clock.

I write a little more drivel and am inspected by a curious Norbert Dentressangle driver.

As I am packing up to head away a Scotsman approaches.. 'Where ye headin?' he enquires. He sits and we chat for a good half an hour or more; he's got many bikes, rides an LT predominately these days but has several Matchless classics in various states. A very cheery fella indeed. He delivers wine and says that he has the best job in the world. Can't argue with that. I learn more about Spain, which in current plans will feature in Sortie number 3.

So I've spent over 90 minutes in a layby, having done about 20 miles so far today, but good times and such is the beauty of no particular place to go.

I carry on heading east into Provence. All just peachy.

My GS celebrates its 30k th birthday at an errant tollbooth, the product of not paying attention and wandering on to the peage. Straight on and straight off for the princely sum of 20 cents. I stop for a photo of the moment.

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When I restart the bike gives me my own special acknowledgement message. 'LAMPF'. Balls.

After much good riding I get tired so crash in St Croix de Verdun, in a campsite by the lake. All set up, but the ground is gravelly like a sodding boot sale car park. Better news is there is a lake view so that makes up for it.

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I relax for a while and hit the sack. Unfortunately I'm being serenaded by the most dreadful covers band who are playing up in the village. It is seriously loud. Please, please stop. By the time they're murdering U2's 'New Year's Day', with a pianist that sounds like someone who's never played before (for chrissakes, it's only 6 notes to play). I get the mental vision that the piano player has no arms and is playing with a chopstick in his mouth (I really need to stop necking that Kahlua). Anyway I'm getting seriously annoyed by their crimes against music.
At about 1am they stop, lordy lordy praise be.
 
St Croix de Verdun to Del Ponte

I'm up and away before 10 and head into the Gorges du Verdon. I bid goodbye to St. Croix-de-Verdon. Pretty place it is too with a smashing lake.

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Castellane. Bit of a trek to Sunday morning mass. Churchgoers have very well developed thighs I am assured..

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The Gorgres du Verdon are magnificent and well worth a visit. It is fantastic.. amazing.. but loaded with Tourists. To be fair, that's wasn't at all unexpected given time of year. It's absolutely tootling scenery though so not all bad and at least the traffic moves freely. Here is a picture without a Vauxhall Zafira or a Renault Megane Scenic in it. Please treasure it.

I quietly kick myself for never visiting before. Wonderful.

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Ooops.. a Renault Megane Scenic. Now, where's me photoshop…

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I stop at a store and buy myself provisions for lunch by the river later on.

Get behind thee, satan..

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'Maniac Grany'...

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I have no particular urge to learn more about Maniac Grany, although it describes the store owner perfectly who tells in no uncertain terms (although, I say that, they were actually uncertain because I can't understand the actual words themselves).. that I should get my sorry clogs off of her wet floor. I haven't learned the art of levitation as yet, being of only tender years, so I hop about a bit, a bit like playing the game 'Drogna' in 'The Adventure Game' on BBC2 (I bet none of you will remember that).

I stop for lunch by the river.

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I break out of the Gorges area to take a more direct route over to Nice. It is Excellent biking. I'm joined up with a gent on a K1200LT who tags along for a bit and we're riding swiftly and nicely, with some nice overtakes in tricky territory. Flowing and nice. Now. I wear contact lenses. And in twenty years of wearing them I haven't ever had one fall out. Not on the bike, not in the pub, not doing the hokey cokey, not in the shower or the swimming pool, never. And now I do. Not just anywhere, mind. This one departs mid way overtaking a car caravan combi in a pretty tricky little bit, with said LT rider following on and trusting my craft. I blink, fiddle and get on with the incidental part of staying on the road. I succeed, but need to continue down to where it is safe to stop, so for the oncoming few winding KM's it's all a bit like the Monty Python Mountaineering sketch. As we reach a relative suitable place I see it is time to turn off, so I take the road, which no one follows on, and so I keep going, and get a little practice of what it would be like if I had only one clear eye. Manageable once you get used to it, but not recommended. I think I'd need an eye patch actually for any length of time. Yarr.

I stop and fit a new lens. That's better. So off we go towards Nice, with a few more twisty features and rugged terrian.

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Soon enough we're on the main med coast road, I decide to have a nose at the glitterati and have a shufty around Monaco.

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Off I go into Monaco and head in towards Monte Carlo. Mandatory casino picture. Working in to Monaco is chaos, heavy, heavy traffic, thankfully it isn't too hot and I kind of enjoy the traffic as it gives me time to watch and there's bugger all place to park.

I make my way up to the Casino, where I am flagged down by a policeman. He's athletic, early forties, in a white uniform, a sort of sweaty Richard Gere. 'No motorcycles here' says said plod. I'm directed to the side of the road. 'Passport' he says. He's also flagged a couple on a French registered Maxi Scooter. He deals with them first. There's writing, talking, shrugging of shoulders, animated hand gestures and blowing out exhaling. I get the distinct impression he's giving them the 'You should know better' treatment. After a few minutes of dialogue things conclude. The woman gives me a smile and a thumbs up. I think her charm worked a little, but I ain't got that particular charm set in my locker.

Now he's to me. OK 'Great Britain'.. He says. 'Yes.. Great Britain.. hmmm'. 'Yes' comes the natural reply. 'Well, you can't come here; there is a sign, it's international you know, no motos'. I plead ignorance, and I genuinely didn't see a sign. He looks over the bike, and writes my name and registration number in his book. He walks around the GS looking up and down, it appears curious at just how much shite I'm carting about, and wondering if there is indeed a motorbike under there. He raises his eyebrows and returns. 'OK then, you can go'. He warms up and smiles. My lucky day. If it's 7 Euros for a can of Fanta here I shudder to think what a traffic violation would work out at.
I need no more encouragement and I'm orf.

Casino. Crap pic due to said intervention by le fuzz.

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Monaco. Byeee.

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I head on to the Autostrada. It is an impressive run along to Genoa. Elevated sections high over valleys, many tunnels, with the customary crazy Italian traffic. Not boring in the least. I stop a couple of times and fill up on Cappucino at the Autogrill.
The Autostrada gets more and more winding as it works it way into Genoa. If it were in the UK, the limit would be 40mph, and it would probably be about right. The traffic wobbles into other lanes at high speed, struggling to take corners in the space available. Freaky.

Some time later and its off of the Autostrada, and time to pay up. EUR 18. eek. Mind you, not bad I suppose when compared to the M6 toll.

Genoa, where GPS directs me to waypoint reference '052' which I had no idea existed, nor why the Zumo has sought to take me to it. Ah. Unfortuantely for me, it's in the port, and even more unfortunate for me, I'm now in the queue for the ferry to Tunisia, which was at no point anticipated. This will take some explaining.
Fortunately I find a cut through and manage to get out. I mingle with the Genovese and it's fun bobbing about in the traffic.

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Eventually heading for the hills I decide that a hotel is in the offing for tonight.

I pass a lovely looking place by a river and learn now through so many times of just carrying on and regretting it to actually turn around, so I do. I get a charming room with a balcony overlooking the river, and parking for the GS down the side of the hotel, snugly tucked away. Motorcycle friendly.

Dinner. Wonderful. Pasta, al dente style, with a lovely rich tomato sauce starter, then what is described as 'meat', which turns out to be three large slices of pork with roast potatoes. Three glasses of the local red, some Lemon sort of stuff for dessert, a weeny coffee and then a cheeky large glass of beer to send me off. 20 Euros for all of that tuck.. which is spoiling myself for little cash don’t you think.

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Time for a quick call on Skype and a Facebook picture upload, the folks at home are relying on that, if they don't see anything regularly they start to get anxious.

I get back to the room and there's this noise. On and off, on and off. What the hell is that. I watch some of the Olympic opening ceremony on the laptop. Still noise, getting worse. Then I tumble: It's someone snoring in an adjacent room. Jaysus, it sounds like a jumbo jet trying to land on a postage stamp. I play a trick done once or twice before, I shout some loud random tourettes style abuse. It does the trick and I have peace and quiet, which is nice. I'm buggered if I'll be having my worst night of sleep in a fancy hotel.
 


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