Well, the trip is over. I am sitting in my inside cabin on the Stenna ship that will leave in a couple of hours for Harwich arriving at 6.30 in the morning. I made it. I made it to Slovakia. I did not have a accident. The bike did not break down (or even hint at it). My toothache went away. I was not abducted by Roma or aliens. I didn’t even get seriously wet though the low points were weather induced. Crouching in my little tent in a thunder storm moving all my pathetic belongings into a smaller and smaller space is not much fun, though made a couple of nice videos. My precious down sleeping bag which everyone warns you not to get wet – never got wet. I was afraid of being struck by lightening though under a tree. I now don’t mind riding in the rain.

Yesterday I set out on the twisty route from the campsite near Fulda up through interesting Marburg to Soest where my cousin lives. The ride was the hottest riding I have ever done, beautiful roads but rather too long and tiring. My welcome by Astrid and Ullie could not have been nicer or more genuine. They had even bought me toothbrushes and shaving soap and gave me a lovely apartment – I mean to sleep in for the night – not to keep. In the evening we drove (in a car which seemed so wide) into Soest to have a lovely Chinese ‘all you can eat’ (which everyone seems to be doing) buffet. Ullie pointed out on the way the blocks of flats once lived in by British troops when they had stations in West germany and now, as a result of some clever policy making they are home to hundreds of immigrants. Germany’s newest immigrant group is Russians and we were surrounded in our restaurant by russians speaking german but, Ullie told me, with a harsh accent. They sang ‘Happy birthday’ in English though. That whole area of town seemed peopled on this Friday evening by rather poor looking and predominantly young down at heel people. I was getting the impression that this impressive German medieval town, with its circular arrangement of narrow streets now housed a predominantly displaced population. However on a short walk around the Centre of town, we stumbled on a wine fair in a small park, packed with stalls and people. So this is where the middle aged and middle classes were compressed. This was a completely different set of people. Over some delicious – unusual to my palette – German wine (of which Ullie kindly bought me a bottle to take home) I stared wide eyed at this crowd of animated people, all looking so un-English, somehow with better bone structure, or more imposing, stylish, better dressed unlike the slightly grey feeling that the English have. (I am aware that the fact that you can’t understand what people are saying makes you assume they are saying something interesting – Mike Carter makes this poit in his funny Uneasy Rider. And in the background, up on a small stage, in the evening sunlight, a band performed a passable version of Eric Clapton’s Wonderful tonight.

Today I packed up (so much quicker without a tent to take down) and took my leave. The ride here to Hook of Holland was 208 miles and took about 3 and a half hours. I felt so complacent and totally relaxed with riding. I had made it. In fact I sang Wonderful tonight in the privacy of my helmet for many miles. Waiting for ferries is always a great place to chat idly to people, to a cyclist from Chester on this occasion and then to a tubby couple astride a 1150 BMW GS. They both looked so heavy on this big bike. ( i am sure the suspension doesn’t sink like that when I climb on my bike.) I was impressed at his control. They had just come back from the Dolomites. This meeting has reaffirmed a craving to own a nice large Beemer. Because I didn’t stash some wine and food, I will have to part with some cash in the restaurant here. I have floods of Euro in my wallet because Campsites were so cheap and I paid for petrol by credit card (it will be interesting to see how much that costs). I have clocked up 2350 miles – more than my whole last year’s riding in just two weeks: 4 countries, only two nights in hotels. Not many conversations, some nice meals mainly in Germany, some lovely places too. I’ve done it.

I got going early with a fear of a new thunderstorm which never came. I felt very smug having examined the ‘shorter distance’ route that the Garmin arranged for me on my map and it looked like a nice twisty route free from those boringly efficient motorways. However before 10 minutes of riding I was lost and after surrendering to Emily (the name of the Bitish voice) I found myself on what looked suspiciously like motorways to me. I must have been dehydrated because shortly after one stop for coffee and an almond croissant at a service station where all the white ad red uniformed staff were assembled outside for a photograph I felt woozy enough to stop at a parking platz mit WC and drink huge amounts of water and wash out my sore eye (I blame it on the pillowlessness of this trip). Just when I was getting despondent my route took me onto the lovely twisty, empty recently tarmaced roads that I really enjoy; they weave in and out of pine woods, getting dark and damp and beautifully scented, then out into the sunshine again. I arrived at this final campsite of the trip as I did the last one, with a doubting heart. By today I was feeling that I have had one or two more camping days than I really wanted. I arrived at lunchtime with a queue of others waiting to get on the site. The lady running the place only had a few words of English but she directed me to the space for tents. I followed the route past the huge always white mobile homes and caravans to a cute field right away from everyone else and I set up camp in the shade (its been really hot and humid today) and right next to a gurgling stream. This has been the nicest spot I’ve had so far. I’ve even paid for wireless internet access which i am doublful about ever working. For 3 euro I get ein stunde (one hour to you).

I walked up to the nearby town with the fantasy of purchasing some pork, white wine and cream to cook a last delicious meal in my private little corner (by the way I forgot to say that I have my very own park bench – so the chairlessness problem is solved). I found the town extremely strange with a number of shrines and then shops that sold a range of goods that corresponded to nothing I had ever come across. Of course I was looking for a supermarket but a butcher would have done. The first emporium resembling a supermarket sold crisps, warm wine and beer and the rest was haircare products. I replaced my wire basket and kept looking. The only other place resembling a supermarket had about 20 various items layed out in the space that you might normally expect to see 200. The owner was an unamused man with a moustache and long grey hair using a 1960s vintage cash register. Was this some kind of statement? I’m not sure. Ive bought a red pepper a leek, two beers (cold) and some Kirsh filled chocolate. He gave me a box to carry them back down the road to the site.

I’ve spotted the only other Brit I’ve seen on this trip, sitting reading ‘Mystery man’ with his feet up on a red LDV ex-Parcelforce van just up the field. I plan to accost him with the greeting ‘Where’s my parcels, then?’ Also in my field are a sweet German couple, she seems to have had a stroke and was almost speechless when I first tried to strike up my hopeless German conversation as we waited for the counter to open, and another man from Denmark, casually flaunting a colostomy.

Yesterday brightened up, chiefly as a result of having a heavenly meal of pork in the attached restaurant on a large terrace overlooking the sun setting over the large lake here. Service too was exquisite from and English speaking waitress who gave me an english menus and told me the German for ash tray which I have forgotten now. And today started misty but wit a table mysteriously appearing outside my tent, one of its plastic legs repaired with a wooden spoon taped to it. when i returned from my wash I found an elderly man laying a tablecloth, and when I returned from collecting the crisp bread rolls I had ordered I found a jug of boiled water and a jar of nescafe. I drank some out of politeness before brewing my expresso making (which I later used as a hammer). Sitting in the sun reading then going for a swim in the beautiful lake took until lunchtime but then with very little warning the heavens opened and I crouched in my tent holding the flysheet away from the gradually dampening inside. Water started to ebb along the ground sheet and I made a desperate barricade of my Ortlieb 100% holdall. Lunch consisted of some fruit and much water. It has been too hot and humid to even consider climbing into motorbike clobber to visit the nearby town. I have plotted what looks like a nice wiggly non motorway route up to the next campsite. its about 145 Miles Northwest from here and should take 2 and ¾ hours. The facilities here are beautifully ample and are constantly being cleaned. I’ve had a number of showers today.

A Danish couple recently arrived towing a huge caravan and appearedto squeeze it between two others. Mr Danish handled the uncoupling while Mrs arrived holding a handbag and smoking a cigarette. Incredibly, after moving the care out of the way, he moved the caravan my remote control, including manoevering it into a tight space using a llittle device that my son used to use to race his car around the living room. I was very impressed but find it a little despicable at the same time. It is still so humid here I am wondering if we will have a further storm (there was donner und blitzen) in the night. I have been the only person with a tent everywhere I’ve been – certainly such a small one. It has worked like clockwork though a chair and a kind of pillow will get packed for the next trip. apparently hard-core Touratech sell suitable chairs and this will give me an excuse to buy into this exclusive brand name.

If this site were smaller, with a cooler atmosphere instead of many fat families from Bavaria, with an alternative and not quite yet discovered feel to it, I would definitely return. I am looking forward to getting on the road tomorrow particularly as it looks like a good route. I am wondering how my evening will go with Astrid (I want to call her Astrid Proll after the Bader Meinhof 1970s terrorist) und Ullie on Friday.

Good news and bad news. The good news is I finally found my way to the jewel in the crown campsite in Slovakia recommended in the informal guide I found on the net. It is hard to find but it is beautiful and though the owners aren’t here, fellow Dutch campers have made me welcome with a cup of tea. The word has it that nothing could be too much trouble for the owners. Lets wait till they return to find out. I am pouring over maps to see if I can stay two nights here and make a speedier return across cz and Germany next week. Everywhere takes so much longer to get to because of all the roadworks and summary closures of roads, with just a cross in red tape over the name of the town you need to go to. On the BAD side, it is pouring with rain (now continually) and camping and rain don’t mix. Neither does biking and rain – though somehow that’s slightly less bad. There is a Tesco 8k away apparently but I don’t feel like budging an inch from under this awning and table and bench that I’m sitting at. Not only is it raining but its now cold. I am sitting in my jacket. Apparently there’s an apartment here as well as camping and I am sorely tempted to ask for that.

Sunday morning Same place

For the first time I am staying put in one place. Last night after making my standby dinner of what I happened to have with me because it was too wet to go and look for the supermarket, I met and talked to the campsite owners and their two sones, 14 and 17. They moved here from Holland about 3 years ago for the space and quite and to gget away from the fast pace and pressure of city life in Holland. We talked about life here, how some people resent the fall of communism because now they have to put effort into their jobs. We talked about how badly the roma are treated here. Their sons built a great fire and we sat around it after dark discussing these things and they taught me three simple words I will try out today Dobra, Dove and Dyekume – hello, goodbye and thankyou. They also told me that Michael Jackson has died – apparently from heart failure. Its amazing what news you miss while you are travelling. The rain: ah, it rained all night it seemed and my sleep was really disturbed. I noticed how my mind runs to a worse case fantasy e.g. what if the small stream 5 metres away from my tent overflows in the night? what if it rains continually for the next 5 days? what if all my things are getting soaked? what if the tent leaks? what if the bike won’t start? etc. I realised how good I am at these lines of thought, like ruts worn in the road of my thinking. So, I tried to imagine the best case, me sitting completely unscathed and unwashed away in the morning having coffee in the sunshine – which is pretty much what happened. My things were bone dry. The tent did not leak. Therefore I can have some confidence that the other disasters won’t happen.

There is a wireless network here but I can’t find any pages. By the time I get a chance to upload all these thoughts, I probably won’t be interested in them.

Here’s the GPS trail from Bojkovice to here:

I rode again with the normal menaces: roadworks that completely confuse the GPS and add hours onto the journey and heavy showers of rain. Mind you, I don’t mind riding in the rain now. My Heine Gerricke jacket keeps me bone dry. My time in Kutna Hora was mixed. It was great arriving to the band in the square and finding my hotel was good(ish) – but I saw a nearby hotel – too late advertising rooms at one third of the price so I ended up feeling that I had been ripped off. People in hotels seem to lack that quality of a real or even acted welcome. There is something faintly resentful in their actions that leaves me feeling that I would sooner be under canvas for all its annoyances. Here at Bojkovice, in the Carpathasian hills, I have a nice spot in a terraced campsite (so the camping book says). I just walked a mile to the nearby supermarket and felt the same kind of vague resentment from the staff there – unlike the friendly welcome I got here and at the last site. There is a genuine camaraderie of camping.

It poured and there was thunder and lightening while I shopped but I missed it to find my beautifully put up tent rather damp.

Now its nine pm. The site has had an influx of teens who I imagine will make things noisy tonight. Apart from them are mainly Czechs but two campervans of Dutch who were friendly and helpful. I had a moment (only) of bliss when the sun cam out (the sky is completely clear now!) and I got my trusty cooking equipment out and used my bike as a kitchen worksurface.

I cooked pasta with sauted vegetables and nice sausage, followed by a yughurt with a cheap pivo. Unbelievably 0.5L bottles each cost 8 or so Crowns and there are 27 to a pound. I have worked out thee rest of my trip. Tomorrow I ride 125 miles to the highly recommended site in Slovakia, then the next day I return here, follwed by two more nights in CZ toward the south and two more i Germany before I visit my cousins, then a final 200miles to Hook of Holland. If this weather really presages some warm dry days I will be really happy. Lets see if I sleep well tonight – somehow I doubt it. I had a whiff of wireless network just then but it went away.

Today started in the middle of the night being disturbed by the rain on the tent. It didn’t leak though I was trying to stop myself worrying about it (this must have been my very first night under canvas). Eventually I woke up at 8.30 with puffy eyes. Challenges were getting small change for the clever shower machine (that didn’t work properly in the end), making some coffee with my primus stove (it boils quicker than you can change your knickers crouched the other side of the tent) and packing up a wet tent. Kindly the rain held off while I had breakfast and packed up but started again on the motorway drive up toward Prague, coming down in buckets but this time I wasn’t panicked as I remember I had been last year on the motorway in Holland where I pulled over because I couldn’t see a thing. I had soup and rolls and a pastry and latte in a service station and watched the Czechs. The clientele at a service station in CZ say as little about the Czechs as if I were watching the same groups in England. And then you tend to notice the unusual people – the very fat and hairy, or shabby or men with gold chains on their necks and Porsche t-shirts. I felt relaxed. By the time I got up to the Prague ring road it was pouring again and disobeying the GPS I ended up in maddening circles again surrounded by big trucks. When I first got on the D5 motorway this morning near Marienbad (which I looked around briefly in the rain) I was the only vehicle in sight. Finally I found my way to Kutna Hora with some luck. I think I headed there under the influence of Euan and Charlie, I’m slightly embarrassed to say. In fact the whole easterly direction of this trip was probably treading in their steps.

There was a band playing in the square just to welcome me, along with the rumble of gathering thunder. Three smiling men plugged into a sound system that made them sound more like, well, four men. 
Half the road in CZ seem to be dug up. Including the street surrounding this small hotel on the corner which looked cheap to me. i couldn’t cope with another night under canvass with already damp clothes.

This place is cheap (38 Euro)but camping was cheaper – 5 Euro! And I prefer the informality of camping and chats with the others there, two retired german couples, one of whom was on a 5 week trip in their campervan up to the Baltic states and finland – very sweet. She was wondering around the campsite in a red dressing gown and told me on my greeting that she was covered in soap, that the shower had stopped unexpectedly and she had too go and get more 20 crown coins. In hotels its a bit more frosty.

When I arrived in Kutna Hora a band was playing in the main square very nice and corny European tunes which I sang along to (to the tune known as ‘Never on a Sunday’ – see the rist of two embarrasingly poor quality video clips). I found a hotel but then rode round and round trying to park nearby – completely in vain. So had to haul my luggage half a mile up hill. I didn’t want to leave anything on the bike so far from where I was staying. The hotel is opposite a convent and I watched a naughty nun hitch up her skirt as she negotiated the mud that is the road outside – where the cobbles used to be. The bar downstairs is smokey with the usual regulars you seem to see in any bar and wonder if they have jobs to do. But I will have dinner here I can’t resist it – much nicer than the smartish pizza places in town catering for the smart elderly tourists who seem to be thronging here. The next picture is of the famous and much (too) visited ossuary. Also visited by E&C. (those were the days – before nearly every motorcycle became an ‘adventure’ bike.)

Today’s mileage was only 165 but felt longer. Three and a half hours in the saddle compared to much longer times on the first two days. The Ossuary here is I have to say, a Ewan and Charlie landmark on their journey East which I couldn’t resist. I have to say, now I am out and about, I admire their guts to wade through (literally often) some of the really tough parts of their journey. I’ve only had rain and traffic to battle with. (Mind you, there is only one of me…)