Parking is tricky in Bury St. Edmunds on a Saturday. Everyone is driving around slowly and there are elderly wardens in yellow jackets waiting to pounce. Parking with a bike is a little more anarchic but I have not been doing it long enough to work out the do’s and dont’s. Added to this the main car park opposite the castle is on quite a slope making it problematic to park a bike – at least on the side stand. But I managed to leave the bike in the square in front of the war memorial (where the chequered flag marks the spot with accuracy) while I got myself an icecream at a nearby van. The lines below show my circling the place.
This evening saw a minor ceremony outside my front door and a quiet moment as I stuck my GB sticker on my pannier. Symbolically I’ve moved one step nearer to my next intrepid expedition. I’ve been trying to squeeze all my camping stuff in one pannier and bike tools and waterproofs in the other. All my clothes and personal effects, electronics etc go in the top box, maps and a few other things like food in the tank bag.
I couldn’t resist it – I’ve taken the day off to try out this bike….
On my first day of owning this bike I put my continent-crunching world-beating GSA through its paces – Destination Tescos in Ely. No problems getting out of cambridge. The border formalities were easy. Once on the A14 going west I felt a few drops of rain on my visor. Its well known that one shower on the A14 and the road will be impassable until next Spring. Luckily the rains held off. Some of the tarmac was ‘ever so slightly rough’ but the suspension coped really well. By lunchtime I arrived in Ely, a strange and wild place where banditry and corruption are well-known. Keeping a low profile I parked up the bike in Tesco and went inside to see if there was any food and drink available. With lots of gesticulations and shouting I made myself understood by the workers in Costa Coffee next to the pharmacy and cutomer toilets. On my return into Cambridge I was stopped at a chekpoint where I failed some of the questions on the IQ test. But with a bribe I was allowed in.
On the road I noticed some strange things: other bike riders don’t seem to return my nods any more. Instead I get greetings from the drivers of the following classes of vehicles: agricultural machinery, those big mowers that cut grass verges by the road; also scarecrows in the fields near Cottenham.
So day 1 was good – apart from struggling to get this machine into neutral once its warm. The riding position is good and the windscreen is great – I can ride with visor up now. I don’t know about its acceleration so no overtaking at the moment. It doesn’t feel as nippy as my previous bikes but presumably the power is there doing something.
Most of this post is also copied to the UKGSer website.
Well, this evening has turned out a lot better than I thought it would a couple of hours ago. I’m sitting in a chair -yes remember those? In a sunny but strange campsite near but not in Regensberg south eastern Germany, about 30 miles from the border with the Czech republic. Lots of miles today in fact 239 nearly all on motorways for a change so apart from one or two not particularly near misses with big trucks, it was easy riding and mostly dry. I thought it too far to go to Regensburg so opted for a campsite about 20 miles nearer right next to the lake Murnesee. When I arrived I sat on my bike in the car park for a while as it was threatening to rain and I was in two minds about staying. Eventually after paying a nice English speaking lad at the reception (who told me about his exploits getting drunk) put my tent up in a hurry and in rather a sullen mood, arranging the opening away from the site and facing the attractive lake here, the place is full of caravans and families yelling at each other (there is an elderly man shouting even now – I think he must do it at home) and someone just belched loudly before climbing into a white van and driving away (thankfully) but the rain held off.
I struck up conversation with my neighbours in a smart motorhome from Switzerland who have travelled up to Poland and around and are returning home with their dog. Having only spoken to him, he was reassuringly articulate (in English) in this rather rough at the edges place. Also, I am starved for conversation with just being limited to prosim, dove and dobre for the last 4 days – which is hardly a rich and nuanced vocabulary. He put together an extremely smart chair and has lent it to me. It makes such a difference. I will definitely pack one if I ever do such a trip again. He tells me he rides a motorbike and recently took a 2 week break to blast around Italy and the Alps. So he understood the ‘I’ve not done culture on this holiday’ syndrome that I have got into. Just covering the miles, loading up the bike and unloading, planning routes is the fun of it. So, maybe I will do this again but with certain changes: find someone to ride with; head for somewhere and stay 2 or 3 nights then move on; take a folding chair; consider purchasing a Beemer [note on 19/08/09 – I’m collecting a 1200gs tomorrow!]; maybe head for somewhere with more reliable weather like Spain on the ferry to Santander. The mixture of camping and the odd small hotel works well and is cheap. This place was 12 euro. Last night was even less and the first night was 5 Euro. Now, returning to the elderly man shouting: we are not far from Nuremberg and his rants bear a striking similarity in tone and style and volume (if not in content which I cannot understand) to Hitler’s speeches to the rallies in that city. Either this gentleman has studied the tapes of the rallies or is actually Hitler himself. There is a restaurant adjoining the site and I will see if my neighbours want to eat there later. I can order rolls for breakfast before 7pm. There are fatish people riding up and down on bicycles.
German camp sites seem to have a different clientele to many other countries.
I rode for 8 hours (with two brief breaks in petrol stations). I made much better progress going in a westerly direction than travelling out to Slovakia, there were fewer roads closed and diversions for some reason. They are constantly building roads around here, with those nice circles of stars on a blue background on signs. I rode 264 miles today – there was a large detour as the road to Brno was closed. Max speed 89.3mph (nice work); moving average 43.3mph. Moving time 6 hours 6 minutes (but I thought it was 8 hours).
travelling back West
I was plagued by severe self-doubt for most of the journey. It was brought on by remembering the list of things I should eat and places I should visit in Slovakia written down for me by one of the students at Middlesex who is Slovakian. I did none of them – even though I had the list with me on a page torn out of her notebook and stuffed into my camping guide. What was I doing instead? Its hard to say. I think the trip has been dominated by travelling – getting from one place to another, so stopping idly on the way, and taking in a Mäsové Guľky didn’t figure as I zoomed, knuckles gripping the handle bars tightly, through very many drab villages on the road, getting a glimpse of incredibly old women, bent double almost, walking by the road wearing an apron and carrying an axe. Or there were the dozens of young men with incredibly athletic bodies, with dark dark skin and black hair, working by the road or just standing. I was looking out for Roma. I couldn’t tell the difference between this despised bunch and the normal human population of Slovakia (I would not make a good racist here). I did notice one striking woman with the same dark skin and a perfect, beautiful Roman nose. Does that make her a Roma? I heard from the Dutch owners of the campsite in Slovakia that a nearby hotel was considering employing a roma girl but could not because they were told that everyone else would refuse to work with her and that guests would refuse to stay there (I wouldn’t for one).
So, after these 260 odd miles today, I have ended up in yet another campsite owned by a Dutch person with only one other resident – in a caravan with a tent poking out the side, with two bicycles on the back and a car with Dutch number plates. using the tiled communal washrooms reminds me of the book I have been reading Austerlitz which is about one man’s lack of memory, his discontinuity with his past.
Soviet era campsite buildings maybe
At the age of 4 ½ his parents had him shipped away from Prague in 1939 to avoid the gathering persecutions of Jews by the Nazis. Strangely this book traces routes that I am taking – up to the Hook of Holland to take the boat to Harwich for example. That was 1939. I remember in 1960 and the following few years my own journeys on the night boat to visit Germany. Like the book’s character I remember only fragments – arriving at night at harwich, (we must have travelled there by train from Liverpool Street but I remember nothing of how we got there) walking on a kind of slatted walkway onto the ship, the funnels and the smuts, the cramped cabin with the 4 of us, and being sick. Today you barely know you are sailing. The space of time between Austerlitz’s frightful journey in 1939 to my own holidays is, say, 25 years. The space from my journeys as a child to these recent trips is 45 years. How strange. In fact how strange it is that the war was over for only eleven years when I was born. It must have been so fresh in everyone’s minds when I arrived. So, inspite of missing every cultural opportunity on this trip so far, the fact of moving over Europe has some meaning to it.
This campsite is run by a tall Dutchman with a pleasant but nervous laugh which after it fades turns into some hint of desperation that I have to turn away from. He speaks pretty good English. The woman who he says is his wife does not seem to speak any English at all and I wonder whether she is Czech. Returning to my journey, I was hastened by 50 odd miles on the CZ motorway system,
Life is a crossroad
but after I left it, my GPS guided me down smaller and bumpier roads and track and my anxiety rose that surely this cannot seriously end in a campsite – but it did and the place has a rather ex-communist-camping-in-the-countryside-is-good-for-you feeling. It looked so forlorn I wondered whether it was closed up and I was on the verge of turning back onto the labyrinth of lanes and tracks…. but now I have got the owners to open up the restaurant and serve me a couple of Pilsner Urquells (the first was on the house) and chicken schnitzel and chips which i have just tucked into (interrupted by a quick dash over to my tent to zip everything up because it started to rain). How uch nicer these microwave chips than another meal of pasta and vegetables cooked crouching over my stove. The sun was out and warm an hour ago but now everything is damp again, though the sky is bright. There’s a slightly swollen river by the site and a train track which seems impossibly high in the air behind the tops of some trees. Things are getting slightly chilly. The air is thick with the soundd ov evening birdsong and a noisy extractor vent from the kitchen (that has just cooked me my welcome dinner so I shouldn’t complain).
After another 3 nights under canvass, I’m staying with my cousin and her husband in Germany. I must make a point of gently questioning them about my family’s years after the war which my mum is so reticent about.
Planning the first day: Courtesy of RAC route planner, Here’s the route. Interestingly the RAC says it should take 4 hours and 39 minutes. I put the same start and end point into my Garmin Zumo and it estimates 3 hours and 39 minutes with the same route. Maybe the motorcycle-orientated GPS expects you to go faster. The Michelin route planner is also useful.
Well, the bike is serviced, the oil is topped up, the chain lubed, the tyres upto pressure. I’ve even had my self serviced – I needed a last minute filling (I didn’t want to spend the trip in pain cruising around for a dentist and trying to work out the Czech for root canal. The dental diversion was welcome as for a couple of hours I forgot about all the other things I worry about on trips: will I get on the ferry? will the crossing be rough? will it sink? will I get lost? will the bike breakdown or have a puncture? will I have an accident? will I be abducted by roma in Hungary (even though I’m not going there)? will my stuff get stolen? will people laugh as I put up my tent at camp sites? will I get back in time for the boat? will I be bored? will it rain? You see, there are plenty of things in life to worry about. I’m packed – just about and will leave about 6.30.
My outbound cabin showing little netbook
In my inside cell. Phew. You can see my newly bought netbook computer (with a uselessly small screen and keyboard) and lovely Ortlieb bag. My usual anxiety has left me exhausted along with a couple of hours at the dentist and driving over here. I’m writing from my ‘inside’ cabin – cheap but with no window. With some hours to spare I crammed as much of Harwich Morrisons (including Morsisons Ipubrufen for my still aching tooth) into my ever expanding tank bag as well as Morrisons petrol into my tank. My bike is now reassuringly heavy and it makes me feel like a real adventurer but I am annoyed that I didn’t manage to tie it down as well as I should, I will buy my own ties and practice in the privacy of my home before next time. Its 68 miles from home to the ferry terminal and takes about an hour and a half. Tomorrow my first booked night is a hotel near Kassel, 260 miles east from Hook of Holland. I have a little feast here including Potatas Bravas (from Morrisons) Camembert, assorted bars and pears all to be washed down by red square vodka. I can still feel my tooth in fact exactly the same as before the filling. Its 9.45pm and if I am right, we have another 2 hours before we pull out! Unlike my last trip on this ferry, I will try to get a good night’s sleep.
Oh my goodness, the bar is filled with loud drunken Brits in fancy dress engaging rather bemused Dutch men with banter verging on the racist. A quick drink and cigarette in the smokey room is all I can cope with. I wonder how things developed socially after I left. ‘Are there any Francais is here?’ called out northern man with slight aggression, dressed in hangman’s mask and wrestler’s bare-chested spandex. I’m looking forward to driving off in the morning. I feel like I’ve been here an age but we haven’t moved an inch yet…. the weather forecast says sun until Wednesday.
