Over the Pond – Part Five

Bavaria and Beyond.

Bavaria is Germany’s largest state, covering an area of over twenty seven thousand square miles - slightly larger than New Hampshire or about the same size as New Brunswick. Filling most of the southeast quadrant of Germany, Bavaria shares international borders with Austria, the Czech Republic and Switzerland. It’s small by North American standards but large by European scale. Everything here is different. I have to constantly recalibrate my thinking to “Euro scale”. Once we leave Bruhl heading east, we should be in Bavaria in less than an hour.

Today will be a big mileage day at around 700 kilometers. 700 km of “bahn blasting” is no big deal but Gie had planned a route to minimize the big fat lines on the map, and maximize the skinny squiggly ones. Much like our major highways on this side of the pond, the Autobahn is an efficient way to cover distance, but comes up short on entertainment value. I find that after a couple of hours on the Autobahn, I’m ready for a break. The sustained higher speeds – average 160 km/h. – and the aggressive Autobahn drivers take their toll. Extended periods of both of these factors are mentally fatiguing and the Autobahn is not the place to be shifting into a state of mental cruise control.

Saturday, August 30th - 8:00 A.M., right on schedule, we were waving goodbye to Roland and making our way back out to the Autobahn. This would be my second day of serious Autobahn mileage and at this point the Autobahn – or more specifically, German drivers – still scared the crap out of me. I was, however getting more comfortable with it and when the time came, hours later to take the “ausfahrt” (off ramp) back to the skinny squiggly roads, I found myself actually missing the energy of the Autobahn. That feeling was quickly replaced as the ausfahrt landed us back in serene rural countryside.

But I’m getting ahead of myself; between urban Bruhl and the return to rural serenity, we did have some adventures. Phil almost died, Harry got misplaced, Gie ran out of gas and I got a lesson in bilingualism.

Probably less than 15 minutes away from Bruhl, Gie, then me, Phil and Harry were cruising down the four-lane. As inevitably happens when you’re dealing with four lanes and aggressive traffic, we were separated, but not so much that we couldn’t maintain sight of the bike ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bike and rider pulled off on the shoulder to my right, and at the same moment I saw Gie’s brake light ahead. Some standards are international and one is that you don’t leave a fellow rider stranded if you can help it. Gie, already in the right lane, was pulling onto the shoulder to offer assistance. I was a couple of lanes left of Gie but proceeded to follow suit when safe. As I slowed, Phil, who was back a few lengths and one lane to the right of me, drew alongside. In turn, we would each make our way to the shoulder. As he drifted right, I fell back. The next horrifying sight/sound that assailed me was a tractor/trailer unit, nose down, hard on the brakes, tires smoking as he bore down on Phil who had slowed and drifted into the right lane directly in front of him. From my perspective on the left, the front bumper of the truck appeared to be no more than a foot off Phil’s fender. I don’t think Phil even saw him. At the same moment, with Gie now obscured on the shoulder by the truck to my right, Harry flashed past two lanes to my left. Phil continued on, making his way to the shoulder without further incident. I continued my change to the right lane, falling in behind the transport, then pulled to the shoulder. A minute later, with my heart rate now back to normal, I joined Phil and Gie, now talking to the stranded rider. It seemed I was the only one –other than the trucker - who had witnessed the near fatal encounter that had just unfolded only feet away from me. That could have been a really crappy way to start the day. Fortunately, all ended well.

I assumed Harry would pull over ahead when it was safe - apparently not. He had missed the whole drama – it had only lasted a few seconds - and was now blissfully continuing on down the road. We figured that at some point he would figure out that he wasn’t following anybody anymore and circle back. Since both Gie and Harry had the day’s route programmed into GPS, we weren’t overly concerned. Gie reasoned that they could connect on cell phone at some point if necessary.

The stranded rider worked for a local Triumph/Kawasaki dealer and was on his way to work. With no answer at the shop (it was, after all, only 8:30) he just needed to get to the shop, get a truck and return for his bike. Fifteen minutes later, there was still no sign of Harry. We decided we needed to abandon Harry for the moment and detour off the Autobahn, transport the stranded rider to his shop in town 15 minutes away and trust in GPS and cell phones to reconnect us with him later.

We mounted up again, now four riders on three bikes and headed for the next ausfahrt into town.

Those kindred spirits that revel in the sights and sounds of world-class superbike racing will appreciate this next vignette. As we were sitting in the parking lot in front of the bike shop having a quick stretch before heading back out onto the “A road”, I heard the distinctive soundtrack which accompanies every pro level superbike race. You know the sound. It sends a shiver down your spine and makes your heart race. It’s the banshee wail of race bike engines bouncing off rev limiters. I’d just never heard what I assumed to be an in-shop entertainment system reproduce it so well, especially right out into the parking lot. When I commented on it, an employee of the shop said with a grin, “ Oh no, that’s just some of the guys running laps over at Hockenheim track. It’s just over there.” If you’re familiar with World-level Superbike racing, you’re sure to be familiar with Hockenheim. That would be like saying “some of the factory boys are just running some practice laps over at Laguna. – no big deal.” Wow!! Which way to the track? By the sound of it, I’d say it couldn’t have been more than a half mile away but “No can do”…. We had miles to make and time was wastin’- and we still had to find Harry – so it was back out to the Autobahn.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to connect with Harry via cell phone, we did finally reconnect at a roadside diner just north of Regensburg. For those who are following along with a map or are familiar with Germany, that was a few hours later and not far after the point at which we left the Autobahn and got reacquainted with the little squiggly lines.

I mentioned earlier that I had a lesson in bilingualism along the way. We had pulled over at a rest stop on the Autobahn. Sport and sport touring motorcycles are far more prevalent in Europe than in N. America, so the appearance of one at a rest stop is not even noteworthy except that this one was a very bling’d out version of my 12R back home. The rider and passenger were typical Euro i.e.: Upscale, custom leathers - all the best of the best. Euro riders have a far more positive image than the cliché biker image that too many North American riders seem to cultivate.
Taking a particular interest in his bike and having some time to kill, I attempted to engage him in conversation. It became immediately evident that he did not speak any English. His passenger - young, hip and very cute (okay, I’ll just come right out and say it, she was smokin’ hot) - remained mute, so presumably she understood less English than him, which was none. Confident in this assumption, I turned to Phil and enquired if his mastery of German was sufficient to tell me how to say, “excuse me, sir, but being Canadian, I was wondering if you might possibly allow me to engage in a carnal liaison with your incredibly hot girlfriend as a gesture of international good will”(I’m paraphrasing here but you get the idea). Phil hesitated for a moment then cracked up completely, almost falling over. My back is turned towards Miss “Hot as a Pistol” but Phil is looking over my shoulder. She first looked straight at us, grinned then rolled her eyes before walking back to her bike. Her comprehension of English, it would seem, was just fine. Good one Dave!! Maybe for my encore performance, I could climb on my bike and run over my foot. Phil and I were still laughing when they pulled away. I wonder if she told her boyfriend later what Phil and I were laughing about.

For our next mini adventure, Gie’s Connie sputtered to a stop out of gas. We were less than five km. from a gas station. Fortunately it died just after turning off the Autobahn as running out of gas on the “A road” could have been a real problem. The mystery did not unravel until AFTER he had borrowed Yomaha to run to the nearby town for a liter of gas. When the subsequent fill up came in a couple of gallons shy, the mystery was solved. Gie always runs with his reserve open. Don’t know why - he just does. When he took it in for servicing, the shop closed the reserve shutoff. Duh!!

Okay, that’s four for four. We’d all had our bonehead move for the day. Everybody took a turn.
From this point on the roads just got better as we moved east into the Bavarian Alps. The scenery and roads of this area are similar to the very best of the West Kootenays in BC, which is BC’s own motorcycle nirvana. As we moved through this region, the proliferation of sport bikes rose with each passing mile.

How appropriate that in the midst of all this we came upon a motorcycle treff (very loosely translated – a meeting place; most often a scenic location with services catering to a specific market, in this case motorcyclists) at Arbersee. This treff offered motorcycle videos, m/c related accessories, basic bike maintenance facilities and even a free helmet maintenance station. It was the kind of place that just felt right on a bike. In fact, if you weren’t in riding gear you would have felt out of place there.

After a snack and a pee break we were soon back on the road just grinnin’ and leanin’ through some of the finest m/c roads you could imagine. The area we were traveling through was called ‘the Bayerischer Wald” or Bavarian Forest. It is part of National Park Bayerischer Wald. Established in 1970, it is the first national park in Germany. With its endless forests, great roads, clear streams and mountain lakes, it is no wonder that I felt right at home here. Germany’s Bavarian forest extends over the Czech Republic border where it becomes the Sumava or Bohemian Forest.

The Bayerischer Wald is such a popular motorcycle destination that one of the very best m/c roads in the area, which Gie had planned to show us, was closed on weekends. Too many “Racer Boy Wannabees” had finally got the unwanted attention of the local constabulary. It would be a similar situation if Deals Gap were only open on weekdays. I’ll never know what we missed but since we hadn’t turned a wheel on a bad road for the last couple of hours, it was only a minor disappointment.

Trusting now in the power of Garmin, we were next guided to a dead-end gravel road. Recalibrate; eventually, perseverance paid off and we found an open border crossing into the Czech Republic.

Our next waypoint was Cesky Krumlov. Crossing the Czech Republic border was like falling off the edge of the world. Remember that it is not so long since Czechoslovakia was a Soviet country. The Czech border crossing was marked with nothing more than a broken down old sign. The roads got narrower. Road signs became almost nonexistent. Buildings in small villages that we passed through had a third world feel to them. What few vehicles we encountered were just flat out scary, both in mechanical condition and the manner in which they were being driven, but we made it to Cesky Krumlov. We did gas up in a small town on the way to Cesky and it was the cheapest gas stop of the whole trip ($30.34 Can.). Czech money is impossible to figure out (they don’t use the Euro) so thank God for Visa.

Cesky Krumlov is a small city in the South Bohemian region with a population of only around 14,000. The core of the old town is within a horseshoe bend of the Vltava River while the Cesky Krumlov Castle, dating back to 1253, sits on the other side of the river. Most of the architecture of the old town and castle dates from the 14th through 17th centuries.

The narrow streets and strange architecture enhanced by the fact that the light was failing when we finally arrived, gave Cesky a decidedly otherworldly feel of intrigue and mystery. This place was definitely not like anything I had ever seen. We spent about half an hour strolling around this mysterious place before sunset forced us back on our bikes. It was close to nine o’clock and we still had a ways to go yet.

I could not trace the route we took out of Cesky to save my life. I know after following taillights through the night for about an hour, we did arrive at the Neubauer Hotel in Kaltenberg, Austria. We arrived in the midst of a traditional wedding celebration in full swing. The reservation we were supposed to have was nowhere to be found, but after some animated negotiations by Gie and Harry we were able to secure not only lodgings but also a warm meal from the restaurant, which was now closed. The party atmosphere of the wedding swirled around us, and in short order we were all smiling enjoying Austrian beer and whatever food our hosts could rustle up for us.

What an amazing day it had been. It was just another in a series that was not even half over yet.
After food and beer, we got booked into our rooms and were asleep five minutes later. What a day it had been. What a day indeed.

Lights out.