Beauraing to Oakamoor (444 miles)

Headed off later than expected as the caretaker manager overslept. Clearly no one else was staying. Was reminded of “The Shinning” as I walked down the empty corridors with bedroom doors ajar into the deserted dining room. When he arrives, he’s still getting dressed, talks about last night’s football & then disappears to get bread. So the 8 o’clock start becomes 9 o’clock. That said, I had time. Its 180 miles to Calais but I wanted to take in some of the country roads in South Belgium (rather than ubiquitous motorway). I follow the French/Belgium border to Lille. The countryside is as on my way outward journey through France. Rolling farmland. Perhaps a little less on the industrial scale with a few more hedgerows. Long straight roads cut across landscapes linking together small hamlets that look like they have changed little over the years. From Lille I hopped on the motorway to Dunkerque/Calais. Felt like everyone else was also (from every corner of Europe). Add in roadworks on the final stretch (that le Shuttle had texted me about) and you probably wouldn’t want to be chasing a booked time. I arrived an hour early so caught an earlier train. This time there were three bikes. One was a quietly spoken bloke from Dorset on a thunderous Ducati piled high with camping gear (“ I have been to the Czech Republic to visit the biker cave & onto Romania..”) & the other a young cockney on a day trip from Kent (“my bike broke down 30 miles from Calais..”). Onto the M20 back to a very grey & damp UK. Traffic got steadily worse, driving standards deteriorated & the random stop/start procession reminded me I was back. Final tally 2933 miles – that’s silly mileage. Great trip though...

Bourg en Bresse to Beauraing (300+ miles)

How do you know when you’ve done too much overtaking in Europe? Your left indicator stops working. Heading up the motorway past Dijon to Reims, I was settled into a high mileage day. One thing’s clear to me – the motorway toll system works. I settle into a reasonable pace and make progress. In the UK this would of course be a start, slow, stop, re-start routine as the traffic’s limited by the pace of the slowest vehicle. Yes, the UK is small & has too many people but other small countries have it sorted – through tolls. If you want to travel fast(er) & probably create more emissions you should pay. Off the motorway, I head for Belgium. I could have made it to Calais & home but it would have been a push. Younger, I would have done this. Now I think there’s too much to miss. I travelled through the flatlands of the Ardennes to the border to seek out the wooded hills & lakes of southern Belgium. It s a contrast to the vast, skyscraper landscapes of the Alps but nonetheless attractive (in a sort of mid-Wales way). Arriving in Beauraing – a place I simply pulled off the map – I'd riden some great forest roads. Real off the beaten track. Hotel was run by a Portuguese plumber who lives in Hayes (yes – that’s Heathrow). Think I’m the only guest. I headed off to the castle and then onward for a number of Leffes. Much more relaxed than chasing channel trains that afterall leave every 20 mins... Fact of the week - CFF is critical flickering frequency. It is the rate at which we can see things. For humans this is about 60 per sec. TVs are set at this speed. Dogs have a CFF of c. 80/sec so are uninterested in TV as it looks like a series of snapshots. Flies have a CFF of 250/sec so their lives to them do not seem short (& they are impossible to swat!)

Martigny to Bourg en Bresse (291 miles)

Last day of mountain passes. This time it starts with the Grand Bernardo from Switzerland back into Italy. This is a busy route so the road is wide but rather than taking the tunnel I opted for the mountain pass. This is another 2500m plus pass & is virtually empty. Nearing the peak you cross the border. Two cold looking Polizia nod to me from their patrol car as I pass. Visibility is down to a few feet as I’m now in the cloud level. Tiptoeing through the mist I’m trying to not to think of cliff edges when suddenly I’m through & see in front of me the valley below, the winding road disappearing into the distance – all overlooked by the distinctive peak of the Matterhorn. As I start the descent, a solitary building & a statue mark the way before I plummet back into the cloud. Onwards to Mont Blanc but again rather than opting for the tunnel headed for the Col de Petit – my last alpine pass. Great road & once again stunning views. Speed was restricted a bit by stretches of roadworks (with no road surface) but this didn’t stop it being memorable. I was joined by a styled up Italian on a white Street Triple (with stripes & end bar mirrors of course). Memorable. Stopped for fuel & got talking to a bloke from Colorado. “Just been on my annual bike trip to the mountains - but have you heard?”...err, what? “We’ve had the heaviest rain in living memory – it was a washout”. Ok. Now back in the tidiness of France I track the Rhone one last time. This time the river is much bigger and sits in a wide imposing river valley on its way to Lyon. I head further north ready to hit the motorway tomorrow. Sadly that marks the end of the mountain passes.

Oberalpass to Martigny (130 miles)

Opened the curtains at my mountain stopover to find a classic Swiss panorama – chalets nestled in the Rhone valley surrounded by high peaks. This is German speaking Switzerland & it feels unchanged from the picture postcard view. Set off & immediately find myself riding switchback after switchback. Navigating these at night is unsettling. In the bright sunlight of the morning, they’re a joy. The Oberalpass soon merged into the Furkapass with steep ascents followed by steep descents. The bike lapped it all up giving the impression it could do all this at twice the speed whilst I just settled into a rhythm. If you like bikes, you wait for moments like this. Arrived at my destination in Nandez only 16 hours late. The guys were simply amused by the previous night’s trail of texts from an hour late, to a few hours, to first thing the next day to mid morning. Needless to say, much cheese and alcohol has already been consumed. I tried to catch up. After some fine walking, cheese, meat & lager I left Sunday eve, the guys looked with bewilderment as I packed the bike - why would anyone choose to sit on a narrow pad squeezed between two bags for hour on hour? I left this question unanswered and headed off to Martingy at the top of the Grand Bernardo pass. That will be my first task in the morning – heading back into Italy. Getting off I looked at the total mileage - I have clocked over 1800 miles... so far.

Grossglockner to Oberalpass (366 miles)

Pushing the bike out from the garage (they really looked after me), it was drizzling & everywhere was damp. The Gros was obscured but I just put that down to its height. Plenty of blue sky around. Headed straight up the Gros & parked in a spiral multi-storey (for bikes). I was the only bike. In fact there was only me & one couple in a car keeping an eye on the glacier. That’s not quite true. There was briefly a group of Italians lados in five matching convertible R8s but they stayed long enough to take pictures of themselves & their cars. You do feel high up here. Despite the cloud you get the sense the mountain is in charge. I head off through the park – the roads are fantastic to ride but being wet caution is needed. Lumps & bumps tend to step the back wheel out. Still heading down, I’ll soon be out of the cloud - even saw a rainbow between the peaks – a good sign. No, quickly realised the weather is clearing from behind me & I’m heading into it. Light rain turned to heavy rain. Heavy rain turned to (what felt like) a mountain monsoon. Steams of water flowed over the road. I headed on out of the national park to Innsbruck. The trunk roads are slow so head off to the motorway – it’s a sea of spray as hundreds of artics from every nation fight it out for space. By mistake, I head off down the Brenner Pass to Italy. Not the plan but the weather improves. Temperatures jump up (2.5 degrees at the Gros – to 22 at border). That’s good BUT the bad news is I need to navigate through the German camper vans & Italian apple tractors again. After the drenching the frauleine is not loving life either. She indicates randomly – oddly always left as if to say “come on overtake you halfwit!” - & then puts the hazards on. I dig in & cover many new passes. As the day draws to a close, I decide to continue. The bike has good lights & I’m only inches (on the map) from my rendezvous point in Switzerland. Those inches are actually mountain passes though. Two things tell me this is not a wining idea. Firstly, the moutain roads are punctured by roadworks where the road surface disappears. In the dark you don’t know until the bike jumps off the tarmac & then you are rodeo riding. Secondly, coming around a bend I see signs to slow down. As I creep by I see a bike embedded in the crash barrier. Right time to stop.

Lake Como to the Grossglockner (291 miles)

Everything looks better in the morning & with the sun glimmering over Lake Coma I can finally see the appeal. It’s a beautiful lake skirted by majestic houses joined by narrow streets hugging the shoreline. Unfortunately, the demands of (our) modern motoring habit mean these narrow streets are now fed by carriageways & tunnels. So chaos ensues. Still a great lake. Sat eating break

fast listening to Americans discussing the merits of buying your clothes in Milano (“you must..”). Meanwhile I’m off to Stelvio pass. A wall of hairpins rising to 9000 ft. All’s well......until en route I overtake the umpteen wagon & suddenly find myself gliding to a halt with no power. No power means no (or little) brakes so glide is the word. Okkkayyy.. Starts right up again but I’m a tad wary. What do you need when are just about to descend the Stelvio - brakes, engine breaking, confidence? After miles of nursing fraulein my confidence grows infintessably. The rest will have to look after itself. Bang, bang, clonk, hail Mary, I’m coming through. Bike is protesting (but not stopping), I’m not trying to think too much (whilst re-finding my back brake). But I am but an earthworm compared to the cyclists making the climb up. Next to the Grossglockner (Austria’s highest peak – 12 & half thou feet). Slow progress through the Dolomites. Endless lines of (mainly) German camper vans & wheel barrow sized tractors pulling trailers of apples. I have lost feeling in too many parts of my body. Getting off the bike in Austria to fill up I get a glimpse of a Gollum like character. Picture this as I arrive at a picturesque Alpine chalet greeted by two girls dressed in traditional, “the hills are alive” gear. Comedy.

Mulhouse to Lake Como (378 miles)

In front of me is a wall of mountains. I am travelling past Bern to Interlaken & the Alps dominant the horizon. Travelling from France into Switzerland – by this route anyway - is not such a contrast as the Alpine landscapes have gradually been taking over as I travelled through eastern France. But there is a different feel. The Swiss have a quiet orderliness about them giving you the impression everything is in the right place – or if it isn’t it will be very shortly. Logs cut & stacked in precisely equal lengths, everything spotless (even the cattle!) & a road network second to none which makes no concessions to them mountains. If you ever find yourself in a POW camp, before you start tunnel 1 (that’s Tom), check there isn’t a Swiss man on site. These people know about tunnels. But just when you think the Swiss have everything covered you hit the first of the passes – Grimsel. Enter the German storm trooper bikers. Large ruddy faced bearded fellas with open faced helmets, fat bikes & fatter waistlines. Not 1 or 2. Hundreds of them sliding their lederhosens on hairpin bends whilst overtaking elderly Swiss couples in deerstalker hats. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to get sensory overload as hairpin number 83 catches me out as I strain to see if that was a buzzard or a red kite. By the time I got to the next pass of the day (Simplon) I am cornered out & stop for more coffee (good but France has the market covered). Bike has been skipping & growling happily content in the knowledge that I am not worthy. For me, the contrast is much greater when you enter Italy. In a word, it’s chaotic. By the time I got off the Milan road & into downtown Como I had been through endless roadwork’s, diversions, near misses & new levels of random driving (it’s probably more evident due to contrast with the Swiss). The landscape is similar but the people couldn’t be more different. Roll into the hotel late as my satnav said no.