I’ve been travelling relentlessly north from Geneva for the last couple of days. Last night I rode 240 miles from geneva to a so called biker hotel in the Black Forrest.

Like my other experience in a biker hotel, there seems to be a conspicuous lack of people travelling by motorcycle. This hotel was dominated by a work convention of about 20 men, a Turkish family with three small children and a drunk man wearing a towel in stead of trousers who offered me, when I sat down to order a drink and dinner ‘a speech’. ‘What kind of speech?’ I asked, ‘a political speech?’ ‘No, personal, emotional’ he replied in rather hectoring English. “no thanks’, I replied, ‘I prefer my own solitude’. Luckily he didn’t persist though he annoyed everyone else there despite being ushered away by the waitress. It was so nice to arrive there, drenched in sweat as usual and catch sight of crisp white sheets and pillows bumfed up to look like two fruit.


I had a minature television, specially adapted I think, to show only utter crap, and free wifi. It was another small German town to add to my collection, a bit affluent, sleepy but pretty and set in beautiful hilly woodland.

Today I plugged in the coordinates of what looked like a really pretty campsite near Trier but didn’t examine the route too closely. As I feared, I was taken into France via ghastly bits of Strassbourg and got hopelessly lost in Saarbruken, also on the border of France and Germany. (it made me realise how easy it would have been for the German army in the war to march over into France.) In the morning I investigated cutting this holiday short. I was actually getting a little tired and bored of the travelling. I phoned up Stenna as i have a flexi ticked (at extra cost). It was too early to find them at home then remembered the free wifi. I could have done with a day less but Sunday night was booked out. I was on the verge of clicking yes to Saturday night, at about 80 pounds more then realised that its not every day of the week that I find myself with nothing to do but ride my motorbike and cook meals on a stove. I would regret those lost couple of days so decided to stick with it.

This must be the unfriendliest campsite I have every visited, or perhaps it is the woman in charge who has never discovered eye contact or that kind of ‘its a pleasure to have you staying here because after all we depend on people coming back for our livelihood’ approach. Exhausted I pitched my tent in the corner she pointed out on the site map then realised there was no shade. Its right next to a heavily wooded hillside so once the sun sank a little I was out of the scorching sun.

It has been so humid and may well rain tonight (it always seems to when I camp). I will stay two nights here then maybe the last night in a hotel in Antwerp to visit that interesting town. I have a kind of killing time feeling now but don’t want to give in to it. There are some interesting medieval towns right near here (one of them would be walking distance if it wasn’t so humid) so I will ride around and investigate.

On Sunday night the Netherlands play Spain in the world cup final. This site is populated by the Dutch almost entirely and they are nearly all gloomy apart from the man next to me who once I had expressed admiration for his beautiful vintage Citroen, chatted to me about his collection of vintage motorcycles. You seem to appreciate beautiful machines I told him. This gave him a big smile.

Eventually the site owner allowed me to purchase some beers. My next chores are washing up and applying myself with insect repellant.