Europe and Nordkapp trips

[Huzo]

Preface....                                                                                                                                                       After 40 years touring on various bikes around and criss crossing Australia, I'd reached the point where the lure of new biking experiences and adventure, had led me to the conclusion that only an overseas trip was going to quell the need to go further. I wanted to experience new horizons that until now, had been nothing more than a nebulous dream, that may or may not, have ever come to fruition. Having done what seemed like a decent " apprenticeship" in the art if you will, of touring on large sports bikes and later Sports Tourers, I felt the that the time was now at hand to set off overses and see more of the world.

 In the top left corner of Australia is a town called Broome, it's about as far geographically as you can get from my home town in Oz, about 8,000 k by road and 4,000 in a straight line give or take and it was on a lap of Australia on a Triumph Sprint ST, that I needed to ride through 300 metres or so of sand dunes to get to the beach, I ended up not doing it 'cos the prospect of soaking an oily chain with sand was not one I relished and so the idea of getting a shaft drive bike was born.                                                                       
A few weeks later I was on the opposite coast at Cairns and borrowed a laptop and searched new Guzzis, up came a brand new Red '07 Norge GTL, I bought it over the 'phone, having never ridden one before and only ever a 10 minute go on an 1100 Sport prior to that, such was the extent of my ties with Moto Guzzi, what could possibly go wrong ? Well as it happened, nothing.... almost.

 Fast forward 6 years and 90,000 km to 2014 and I've planned a trip to Europe, about to leave my workshop with the fully prepared and loaded bike to take it to the docks for shipping to Felixstowe UK, I had put in a lot of research into the best way to undertake the task of getting my bike to England and damage or delays was not an option, so I had arranged Dave Milligan of Get Routed bike shipping services to do it all for me and the only thing I needed to do was ring David and every step was planned and done for me, certainly a massive reduction in workload and worry, at least that bit went beautifully...
The bike was due at the dock by 5 pm and here it was 1 in the afternoon, time to GO !!!                                         Bugger me, I clicked the Norge into gear to head off to the docks (Melbourne) and....... NOTHING!
Up came an ECU disconnect warning on the panel, and... Silence.
 After buggerising around I ascertained that it was the relay, so while holding the offending part in one hand, stretched over to find something to pry it loose with time tick, ticking away and if I didn't get to Melbourne by 5 pm the container would be closed and I was in trouble, or so I thought. I rang David and he said he would alter some things to accomodate me, so just "take your time and ring if you need help".
Still, I made a mistake in my panicked state that a 3 year old child wouldn't have fallen for and guess what... grabbed a SCREWDRIVER ( yes I know) and pried it loose, wondering about the "little spark" that I saw but hurried into town for a new relay.                                                 
Home now with the relay and plugged it in...NOTHING ! ( yes I know, we've all figured it out by now), so with about an hour of slack time remaining, I unceremoniously threw the stricken Norge into a van and sped off to Melbourne to send a "dead" Guzzi to England, how do you reckon that felt ? With heaps of beautiful Ducati's, BMW's and one of almost everything else being loaded into the container, I was in no mood for chat when one well meaning individual said, "nice Norge mate, how's it sound", a two word response explained the situation fully. Still, my nerves settled down somewhat since I arrived at the depot, and David was calmly going about his business, carefully loading people's treasured machines into the safety of the container, at that point I knew things would work out for me.
A huge relief !!!
So it was with that mixture of excitement and relief, that I climbed back into the van and took a last look at my Norge safely secured and protected and departed for home wondering what lay in wait 44 days away, and half way around the world in London, but as they say, time answers all questions.

[Xlratr]

Sounds like the beginning of a good story. :-)


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[charlie b]

LOL

When our kids were smaller my wife told them that we were going on 'an adventure' one Christmas.  Go to see her family in Ohio (from southern NM).

The trip turned out to be one of those.  Ice storm in Texas (Dallas to Texarkana).  Spent Christmas eve in Little Rock cause the roads were so bad (we were in a minivan).  Snow packed and icy in KY and TN.  Just not very fun.

So, whenever someone says this is an 'adventure', the kids remind us of that trip.

This trip sounds like the start of 'an adventure'.   :)

[charlie b]

PS keeping fingers crossed that the 'little spark' is a blown fuse and not something else.

PPS one of my best trips started out with fixing the bike the first day out

[Huzo]

LOL

When our kids were smaller my wife told them that we were going on 'an adventure' one Christmas.  Go to see her family in Ohio (from southern NM).

The trip turned out to be one of those.  Ice storm in Texas (Dallas to Texarkana).  Spent Christmas eve in Little Rock cause the roads were so bad (we were in a minivan).  Snow packed and icy in KY and TN.  Just not very fun.

So, whenever someone says this is an 'adventure', the kids remind us of that trip.

This trip sounds like the start of 'an adventure'.   :)

Remember when Clark Griswald said "relax honey it's an adventure, the kids'll love it !"

[Huzo]

PS keeping fingers crossed that the 'little spark' is a blown fuse and not something else.

PPS one of my best trips started out with fixing the bike the first day out

Couldn't be though could it CB, 'cos I'd done a "40 year apprenticeship" remember ? Jeez, where's your faith ? That'd be the first thing you'd check..... (Wouldn't it ???)

[oldbike54]

 Who is Clark Griswald ?

 Alright Peter , here we go 

 Dusty

[PJPR01]

Installment #2 please...and this time with pics!

[Huzo]

Installment #2 please...and this time with pics!

Coming up today. Don't have any pics but there's a 3 hr video of 2015 on a BMW GS1200 on you tube " Pete Hughes Europe trip 2015" will post 2016 as well on the Guzzi at some point.

[Moz]

Tagged

[Huzo]

Tagged

What does tagged mean ?

[charlie b]

Couldn't be though could it CB, 'cos I'd done a "40 year apprenticeship" remember ? Jeez, where's your faith ? That'd be the first thing you'd check..... (Wouldn't it ???)

LOL, Yep, but, then again....a screwdriver?  I'd never do that either :)

[charlie b]

Remember when Clark Griswald said "relax honey it's an adventure, the kids'll love it !"

Yep, the kids howled when that came on.

What our daughter says about it.  "We spent Christmas Eve locked in a hotel room while mom and dad were down in the bar drinking."

[tris]

What does tagged mean ?

I recon he's set up a notification to receive the next instalment of this epistle

Speaking of which, where is it 

You can't get us all fired up and tense but then leave us hanging

[PJPR01]

I don't think folks will sit thru 3 hours of raw video Huzo, but a few choice pics sprinkled thru the report would be great.

If you need examples of how to do a good trip report, take a look at some of the long running threads of ADV rider...

Now where is installment #2?   

[Huzo]

Well, my Norge duly arrived in perfect condition and on time at Felixstowe in the English summer of 2014, and as mentioned, was in dire need of specialist attention, the type of which can only be provided by someone versed in the black art, or so it seemed, of Moto Guzzi electronics.
 In the long weeks while the bike was on the water, I'd scoured the net and found Corsa Italiana, the largest volume Guzzi dealer in London and surrounding districts and had arranged with Simon upstairs to just front up with the bike and they'd "get it sorted". So after the 24 hour flight from Melbourne, it was time to collect a hired van from over the road at Heathrow and what could be more fun than a 3 hr drive through London and off to the English coast to collect my dead bike?
It was later that afternoon that I'd gotten the Guzzi tied into the rear of the van and headed back towards London with my trusty Tom Tom on my lap and wondering how all this was going to resolve. I dutifully followed the instructions of the little device through the tortuous maze of twists and turns to eventually arrive miraculously at the front door of Corsa Italiana, to be greeted like a long lost friend by Paul, who owned and operated the busy workshop. I was assured that I'd be needin' a coffee and not no worry!! It was a Thursday afternoon and he'd come in early tomorrow and "get me on my way".
 Oh, good....!
 So we "unloaded" the lifeless Guzzi and I drove the empty van around to a camping ground at Laleham, threw up the tent, took off the boots that I'd put on 48 hrs before in Australia and I think I might have gone to sleep...

The following morning the sun came up as usual although in the wrong place and I toddled off to Corsa to put the Tom Tom into the charging dock of the bike. Now bear in mind that it was 9 am and Paul had arrived "early" at 8.30, I was greeted again by a cheery "hi mate" and a minute later a coffee was thrust at me which I inhaled. Paul rolled another smoke and seemed to have all the time in the world and I felt a bit guilty that I'd elbowed my way into his schedule of work, but he seemed relaxed about it, another person I'd come to rely on.
 After about 15 minutes of chitter chatter, he looked up and blurted out , "oh by the way, I got your bike goin"...."um, when?" I asked, "oh just now" said Paul. Now call me skeptical, but at the time I sorta' doubted it, given that 15 hours isn't enough time to get on a plane, fly to Australia, start my Mk2 Le Mans and get back to England, but that's the only other Guzzi I've got and he couldn't have meant the Norge could he ? He'd only been at work 30 minutes. "I think it was yours" he said, "that red one over there, give it a try", I went over and turned the key and the light show erupted on the gauges, needles swept around the faces and I touched the starter... Shikook.. shikook.. shikook.... and boom! I was greeted by the familiar sound of my Guzzi with the mellow rumble and gentle shake that I had missed so much and I stood transfixed......

Now I'd been walking around for seven weeks with what felt like a brick in my guts wondering what was going to happen to my bike and could it be fixed in under 3 weeks and 500 pounds in a foreign (to me) land and this genius had remedied the situation while someone made him a coffee ! I didn't want to sound rude, but I wondered what was wrong with it, so I asked..."what was wrong with it"?  Paul looked up through the cloud of blue smoke ( from the cigarette, not the bike) and with a wry smile said after a carefully considered pause....." the FUSE !!!" 
Yes folks, that's right, everyone gets a prize (except me), I know you all had it worked out, but you see I checked those tiny little ones and the main ones as well, with my crappy eyes while in a shit filled panic, so how could that have gone wrong ???     But anyway, suffice to say that the right amount of skill and good fortune in England, had formed a critical mass with my stupidity, impetuousness and lack of lateral thinking in Australia and the whole lot had lead me to the point where I now once more owned a gorgeous Red '07 Norge, that purred like a cat and gently shuddered under the effects of 1150 odd cc's of idling V twin and I was happy.
Also a group of guys at Corsa had done a lot of re-organising for me (most of which I haven't included here) and I now count them as friends and will continue to do so.

The hangover from the worry of the stricken Guzzi, had not completely disappeared, until Paul told me that I'd be required to come to their wonderful home in Epsom for dinner and to stay over. Their place is a veritable museum of information and memorabilia of all things Guzzi and we enjoyed a wonderful meal prepared by Paul's partner Serena, who is by her own admission, a Guzzi tragic and is up to her own neck in all things related to Guzzi's and the Moto Guzzi Club scene in the UK and Europe. The following morning I was loaded with an Alladdin's cave of information and contacts that I was told to use, wherever I was in Europe and if I mentioned their names the doors would be open to me. Bloody hell...
So with a strange mix of emotions I said my goodbyes and swung the bike towards Dover, the pull to remain in London was strong since I think I had come to feel safe in the company of Paul's knowlege, (another Roper), but the romanticist in me sensed that the Norge was keen to get to Calais where there would be no more (salty) water between us and Mandello del Lario which was for sure a destination, a touch of the throttle and the bike threw itself at the Eastern horizon, more eager than was I it seemed, to get to France and as London's mayhem disappeared in the mirrors and the breeze from the English Channel became more present, the excitement of what lay ahead began to build.                                                                           
 Descending the hill that lead into Dover, I caught the first glimpse of the ferry that would take me onto France and from there I could ride up to Nordkapp and Russia.
I was reminded of the new friends in London and Australia, who without their skill and goodwill, I would not be collecting my ticket at the ferry terminal.
 I didn't know it at the time, but that would however, be far from the last time we would meet.....

[Huzo]

LOL

When our kids were smaller my wife told them that we were going on 'an adventure' one Christmas.  Go to see her family in Ohio (from southern NM).

The trip turned out to be one of those.  Ice storm in Texas (Dallas to Texarkana).  Spent Christmas eve in Little Rock cause the roads were so bad (we were in a minivan).  Snow packed and icy in KY and TN.  Just not very fun.

So, whenever someone says this is an 'adventure', the kids remind us of that trip.

This trip sounds like the start of 'an adventure'.   :)

Damn right

[Huzo]

PS keeping fingers crossed that the 'little spark' is a blown fuse and not something else.

Um.... Yeah!!!

[Huzo]

You can't get us all fired up and tense but then leave us hanging

Yeah, I'd make someone a great wife! Can't stand to see a guy enjoy himself. I wrote it last night and did a modification and forgot to re send and closed the pad. D'oh !

[Huzo]

I don't think folks will sit thru 3 hours of raw video Huzo, but a few choice pics sprinkled thru the report would be great.

If you need examples of how to do a good trip report, take a look at some of the long running threads of ADV rider...

Now where is installment #2?   

I wouldn't see why anyone would want to watch 3 minutes, let alone 3 hrs, but as I said I don't have any photo's. Just got back from Romania and Eastern Europe on the Norge for 8 weeks and didn't take the digital camera out of the bag !

[Huzo]

I don't think folks will sit thru 3 hours of raw video Huzo, but a few choice pics sprinkled thru the report would be great.

If you need examples of how to do a good trip report, take a look at some of the long running threads of ADV rider...

Now where is installment #2?   

Also, I'm sure I could  do better on the reports but that's about as good as it gets from me. I'm sure there'll be others that'll do it better but I'll cope...

[charlie b]

Nice write up.  Cudos to the Brits.  Sounds like more great Guzzi folks.

[Huzo]

Nice write up.  Cudos to the Brits.  Sounds like more great Guzzi folks.

Yeah Charlie. Beyond criticism, you can't believe how accomodating they are to any Guzzi folk who pass through. If you ever hear of any one in London area who needs hospitality, let me know and I'll pass on details.

[Huzo]

 The trip down the M 25 and other motorways leading to Dover had felt strangely familiar given that most Expressways/Freeways/Highways are all made of more or less the same stuff but this one contained an excitement that has not always been present in previous bike trips. The real magnitude reasserted itself  and took on a new sense of reality at the sight of the English Channel from the top of the hill and descending on an Australian registered Moto Guzzi, made me feel like I was alone, although there were numerous bikes waiting to board for France, the Australian number plate must have grown in size, because I swear there wasn't one biker who didn't comment, (or so it seemed at least). I was contemplating the scope of what lay ahead and what whims I would succumb to with respect to spontaneous decisions and changes of direction, tomorrow is over the fairing screen and yesterday is in the mirrors...                                                                                                                                   
The next few days were spent travelling more or less towards Denmark and to tell the real truth I can't exactly remember the towns and cities I went through, but I do recall staying one night on an island off the East coast of Sweden accessed by a monumentally large bridge, then via Trimmendorf, across to Denmark somehow and on to Norway. The plan was to head up the West Coast and on to the Atlantic Road over the bridge to nowhere, terminating in an arrival at Nordkapp on the Summer Solstice, but a couple of factors cropped up unexpectedly that meant I had to return to London, but it was relatively easy to deal with and I reminded myself that I was still after all, riding a motorbike on holiday in Europe. The worst aspect was that my entry/exit  into Russia was pre booked and can't be altered easily so my accomodation was written off and I resolved to do Russia and Nordkapp the following year.                                                         
As they say, when one door closes, another opens and now that Russia was off the menu, I spent much more time traversing Germany, Italy, France and Spain in no particular order and no real overall destination in mind, indeed there were some nights where I wasn't even sure where I'd be going tomorrow, just wander around and see what happens next, kind of thing. I tend to adopt the school of thought that you don't berate yourself for your bad fortune or congratulate yourself for the good, most of what happens is pure chance and I guess if you look back over you're own life, how closely does it resemble the one you had planned? Just make the most of the opportunities at hand, in that respect a bike trip could be considered a bit like a metaphor for life in general....Can't say for sure.                                                       
I arranged for a friend to come over at short notice and with him on a borrowed bike, the final 2 weeks were spent touring some of the major landmarks around the likes of Rome, Como, Monaco, Barcelona, Paris and a quick trip over to Stonehenge when back in Britain.                                                                       

 With the interruption to the forward progress and a fairly large chunk gone out of the middle of the trip back tracking to London, the trip seemed short but in reality was 66 days, so nothing to be sneezed at but I did regret not reaching Nordkapp on the Norge so resolved to do so the following year in 2015, and that thought accompanied me as I climbed out of Heathrow in a Qantas A 380, peering at the land that had been criss crossed over so many days and marvelled at how large it looked even from 41,000'. I knew I would see, feel and smell the fragrances in a year's time...   

[Jim Rich]

Sounds like a great trip.  Thanks for sharing it with us.

[Huzo]

Part three.                                                                                                                                              So let's again fast forward, to 2015 and I again find myself at Felixstowe after getting David to again do the hard stuff and have my bike ready again.
I connected the battery, signed one form that had been prepared for me and pressed the starter, the familiar rumble erupted and soon I was blasting blasting out, this time toward Scotland, for a ride up to John O Groats to sample the land of horizontal freezing rain and gale force winds. Although the weather was no surprise with the aforementioned wind and rain, I sort of formed the conclusion that I would have felt cheated, had it not been the case, hey, at least it was Summer time! The air had a certain stark freshness that you can feel when you know that last time the wind touched the ground, it was over the ice packs of the Polar Region, ( yes I know about Orkney Island, Iceland, etc), but it's the feeling you get. I guess I just love fishing villages and the likes, they seem to me to have a rusted on sense of history and an interwoven tradition, that stems from a harsh but honest way of life and there's the undeniable bonus that you get, from knowing you went there on a bike.
While having a lovely warm breakfast at the reception centre, an old man that had to be in his very late 70's, approached me and said, "Nice bike outside son, I'm on bike as well", now that struck me as strange, given that he was dressed in tweeds with polished leather shoes and looked like he was about to go to the golf at Royal St. Andrews or something. "Oh yes", said I, "where's the bike?"... "on back of motor, see?"  replied the old chap. Well outside was a Toyota Land Cruiser, with a rack on the back and a smal contraption wrapped in plastic, I could just make out a wheel at each end through the mist and rain and I was informed that it was a Triumph Tiger Cub that he'd owned from new. His plan was to ride from John O Groats to lands end, with his life long mate, following a few miles behind in the Toyota, who'd stop for a spot of fishing or a nap, and catching up later. It transpired that the old man had raised his family and put them through University and for all those years, had walked past the Tiger in the shed and thought, whatever would become of it, so now, looking for all the world like Walter Mitty, he booted the Triumph in the guts and as it reluctantantly spluttered it's way off the raised mound where stands the sign pointing to various parts of the world, I felt that he was realising a long held dream and in the company of a good friend, living a small slice of his life's endeavour.                                                                                                                                      So after spending most of the day at the Northern tip of Scotland, I swooped down towards the the Loch areas and and on one occasion, passed a maroon Land Cruiser and 2 minutes later a lurching Tiger Cub with the slipping clutch and the mis firing engine, the old man looked like every square millimetre of his face was either grimy or bug splattered, from the constant 30mph onslaught of the on coming wind and rain, while the Triumph went about it's painful business of fulfilling the old man's heart's desire.  I slowed to wave as I went by, and he bravely let go of the left handlebar and raising his goggles, I saw that under their protective care, his face was as clean as the day he was born, only to highlight the oily, rain soaked mess that remained un covered, he looked liked he'd applied white sunscreen around his eyes and neglected the rest of his face... very funny, I thought as I chuckled unnoticed inside my green, white and red Arai. I obviously can't speak for how he was feeling to be finally living a dream, that by his own admission, he had felt was visible, yet perpetually out of reach, and now with every mile that the little Triumph managed to conquer, I expected that his emotions were beginning to gel into a quiet satisfaction from what had been muted excitement in the restaurant earlier. But now he was making it happen, and I thought I understood how he would be feeling the almost child like excitement and satisfaction, that must have been brewing within, and for my part I took the liberty of feeling happy for him. He had earlier asked if I would like to ride with him, but I gratefully declined, not because I felt he would hold me up, but this was panning out for him and his good friend the way they had no doubt discussed, over many a red wine in the evenings and he didn't need an outsider diluting the moment. Would he get to Lands End?...'Can't say, but I don't know that it matters, we're all moving towards Lands End in some way or other.                                                                                                                                                     Continuing my progress more or less South East, I pushed on towards England and began to feel the familiar pull of Dover, with a renewed desire to cross the Channel, and head towards the Nordkapp, the desire to swing North from Calais was stronger than ever and I mentally resolved not to be turned back again.                                                                                                                                                    Now we all know what exists between Calais and the West Coast of Norway, so I'll spare the long suffering reader the gory details, but suffice to say, that the wonderful scenery that's there to be sampled, is just a preparation for the vistas that are to be absorbed on the Atlantic Road. A highlight of the trip up the West Coast was a crossing of the aptly named "Bridge to Nowhere"  (google it!), I had seen an image of it on the front cover of my Michelin Road Atlas, and resolved to stand on exactly the same piece of road and take the identical shot, for me that holds great significance.                                                                 
So after many crossings of fjords and enormous bridges, I began the final Northwards push towards the tip of Norway, with the Arctic Circle now  far behind me, I could sense the narrowing distance between myself and the Eastern and Western coastlines, heralding the ever approaching iconic location of the Nordkapp. The stark beauty of the barren landscape and mountain passes, eventually began to flatten out, and the road assumed a gentle but relentless upward slope, that culminated with the arrival of the breathtaking vista of the North Cape......Nordkapp. I switched the bike off, and silence fell heavily down around us both...                                                                                                                                       The immensity of the vista can't adequately be described by me in print, but at 71 deg North and one thousand feet above the churning ocean below, the Northern horizon looked like it stretched out forever, and at midnight on June 21st 2015, I looked down at my own shadow in clear sunlight, and knew that I was somewhere very, very, special indeed...

[Huzo]

Part Four.                                                                                                                                               The descent from Nordkapp was a little less spectacular given that I came down the Eastern side of Norway through the seemingly endless sparse forests, to eventually reach Stockholm and I thought I'd do the Uppsala run that the Ghost Rider posted on you tube. He travelled from the centre of Stockholm to Uppsala on a GSXR 1000 at speeds sometimes in excess of 300 km/hr. He did the 74 or something km in under 15 minutes, I did the same ride in about about 40. But I just thought it would be good to see what it would have taken to achieve what he did. Obviously to do such a thing is massively irresponsible and selfish on his part, and I don't condone putting families and innocent road users at the risk of death, but I still could not conceive of how it was possible to do it and survive, however wrong it was.                                                                                                                                                          After the incomprehensible grandeur and beauty of Norway, the commute if you will through Sweden and Denmark was a little low key, but you have to accept what appears in front of you and soon enough I was in Germany after the ferries across the straits.                                                                                          I was in two minds as to whether I'd turn right and thrash around in France or go over to Poland, I decided on the latter and after spending the night outside Berlin at a nice camping park, I headed off to visit the infamous WW 2 death camps , Birkenau #1 and #2 in Poland. The sobering effects of these places really has to be seen to be appreciated fully I think, and to move around within the walls was an experience that served to remind me, of what an enormous privilege it is to see this part of the world ( or any other for that matter) from the seat of a fabulous European motorbike, or a Moto Guzzi if you have one! So leaving there on my birthday as it happens on June 29, it was down through Austria into Italy and a swoop over the Stelvio Pass. Again, to see this fantastic piece of biking road is a destination in itself and worth the trip for itself alone. The other one that I had in my " to do" list at that point was the Transfagarasan Pass, and that is a story for another day. Literally.                                                                                                                          As usual I passed back through Switzerland or similar and into France, crossing the gigantic Millau Viaduc, which is breathtaking in it's stature, if not in size alone but also in sheer beauty and artistic splendour. The previous year had been in horrendous rain and wind with lightning knocking out the power to the Visitor Centre, 2015 could not have been more different, with glass calm conditions and 25 deg C. The ride North to Calais felt relatively short after 25,000 km, and all too soon I was transfixed by the approaching view of the White Cliffs of Dover and some time for quiet reflection on the battles that had raged above my head, back in a more tumultuous time, with the watery graves that lay below the ferry, a final cold resting place for so many on both "sides". They could not have conceived of the lifestyle, the likes of which I had enjoyed for the second time in as many years. It was fitting that some thought be given to those who paid so much for the privileged lifestyle from which I had gained so much benefit.                                                                                                                                                     All to soon it seemed, I was settling into the seat of the trusty A 380 with the red tail and the white Kangaroo and took the opportunity to view the wonderful landscape that had been my home for 66 days. I strained again to see through the small window at the mountains 39,000' below and wondered as I looked from the window in the left side, if the snow topped mountains in the extreme distance, were hiding the Transfagarasan Pass, time would indeed again, write the final line.....

[Moz]

Yes I'm motivated to do similar - thnks

[Huzo]

Yes I'm motivated to do similar - thnks

Welcome mate. Do you mean the story or the trip or both ?

[Huzo]

Well, as expected 2016 rolled around, as it was always bound to do, and there was I, eight miles high heading towards Heathrow at ten miles a minute. It didn't seem fast enough, since I was looking forward to seeing some good friends again, where I knew I would be welcomed as before. My predicted arrival was tinged with some trepidation however, given that I'd built a set of wire wheels for the Norge and it had been nearly 2 months since I'd dispatched the bike at Sydney, it was entirely possible that the air could have leaked past the O rings on the spoke heads, leaving the tyres as flat as a shit carters hat, however upon arrival, a good solid kick with the steel cap boots revealed the tyres to be rock hard and so there seemed to be no barrier to me swinging the Guzzi into life again and heading to London. I just love the sound it makes when you touch the starter, "CLACK"- "skikook"... "shikook"... "shikook"- rumble....   
         
Again the M25 slid effortlessly under the wheels of the Norge and before long I was back in the familiar surrounds at Corsa, enjoying what must be the best coffee in the UK, (I'm sure I've said that before). The next couple of days were spent in the company of Paul and Serena, with a day spent fitting a new Nitron shock and new suspension linkage bearings, and after a final check, off again to Dover for France.                                     
 I'd decided that this trip into Europe would take in the standard treats like the Stelvio and normal offerings in the French and Italian Alps, but this time I would be venturing further East than ever before and had set my sights on a North to South journey down the DN 7c and a crossing of the Fagaras mountains on the Transfagarasan Pass.                                                                                                                         From the now familiar Calais, I scuttled up into Holland to stop in on a couple of friends from previous trips, the welcome was typically warm, which shook off the last bit of fatigue and I now felt completely ready to go East, I entered Sibiu into the Tom Tom and left Appledorn for the Transfagarasan Pass.   
             
It occurred to me as I was moving moving through the beautiful countryside, that I must have been carrying some sort of pre conceptions or prejudices regarding countries east of Hungary, because I was constantly surprised at how wonderful they are. I'm given to wonder if we're fed some sort of diet subliminally, that the countries around Romania are more threatening to visitors than than they are in reality, the people are earthy and welcoming, the food is hearty and the accomodation is refreshingly different.
A good example of which, is a Hotel I stayed in, about 6 miles East of Craiova, the owner almost fell out of his chair in his haste to welcome me when I rolled up on the Guzzi, and looked like he was never going to take no for an answer when I was asked if I'd like a room? The decor was a quaint mix of Yellow, Brown and Duck Egg Blue, but was comfortable and warm, with some cut outs from what looked like a 1960's men's magazine on the wall. The shower rose was solid looking cast iron and the taps looked like they'd been salvaged from a Russian sub or nuclear power station, but turn them on and the HOT ! water sprayed out at an amazing rate and filled the room with steam in seconds, I was sweating like a whore in a church from the heat generated but refreshed beyond belief. I made sure that the steamy environment didn't degrade the "adhesive" that had been used to glue the pages of the magazine to the partially painted wall, but rest assured they were stuck like shit to an Army blanket and I'm kinda glad they were, 'cos it was something to look at if you got sick of watching Hillary Clinton's policy speeches, or the bob sled racing championships in Vladivostok.
If you ever go there, ask for room 9, it's a beauty, and I can assure you, if you tell him that the Aussie guy on the red motorbike recommended his Hotel, it'll pay off.     
                                                     
 Heading back West to the top of the Adriatic, took me through Serbia and the inevitable border crossings, with the consequent delays that come with having to present your passport at seemingly ridiculously short intervals.
On one particular occasion a border guard took an unusually large amount of interest in my Go Pro and said that I should not have it on when crossing borders, and said he would "for sure like to have Go Pro like this one". I resisted the temptation to ask if I could remove the memory card if he was going to relieve me of it, and was sure at one point I was going to be asked to relinquish it to the State, that as it happened, was pure fantasy, but it felt real at the time..

  So it came to pass, that I swung the bike around the top of the Adriatic and down the East Coast of Italy through places like Tavullia, San Marino and Rimini before crossing through the middle to Rome for a lap of the Collosseum where I think I got a small touch of Startus Interruptus, ( I've since done the mod), then up to France.
 Just outside of Paris, the Guzzi clicked over 100,000 k and I celebrated with a pee, it was one of only two things I could think of...                                                                                         
  Funny thing I reckon, about travelling long distances, the country seems to stay the same for ever, then when you look up it's changed, you can't see where or when it happened, but it just did somewhere... it also occurred to me that people are fundamentally the same everywhere, when it comes to the basics of life, they just want to love their children, pay their bills and be happy, we're all the same.
                       
So back on the ferry at Calais and back to the UK, once there, I slowed down and spent some time around London and became accustomed to the fact that soon I'd be heading back to Australia... Temporarily.