We've essentially had the most fantastic backdrop to a giant riding frenzy. Bavarian hills. Swiss Alps. The rolling countryside of Alcase-Lorraine. Our sole focus has been to find the roads that are lined with green on the map of Europe. They indicate beauty, are often small and, as soon as the bikes start to outnumber the cars 10 to 1, we know we're onto a good thing...
We've covered some absolutely outrageous miles. In some instances, we've essentially forgotten to eat. Lunch is missed. Dinner is missed and suddenly we're scrambling to find a place to sleep before the dark sets in.
Meanwhile, I'm coming to terms with the fact that that I seem to attract bike disaster. Let's not overstate the state of my Triumph, but there are developing similarities to the BMW we took around Europe those years ago. I hadn't expected this from a rental bike, which I had anticipated being, functionally, new. Indeed, it's not old, but the riders before me have clearly abused this poor bike. The same might be true of old Fred (the name we had for our bike). Like Fred, I'm contending with oil not staying where it is meant to. In this instance, it's just a weeping valve cover gasket, instead of oil spewing out of the shaft. Nevertheless, we feel compelled to check the oil at nearly every start. I reckon it's just easy conversation for dad and I. Filler: so rather than saying "um", dad will say: "We should check your oil before we get going again." Or, "Let's remember to check you oil before we get going in the morning."
We diligently check the oil, confirming that it is, in fact, fine. We've got a routine down too. I hold the bike level (because there is no centre stand) and dad crouches down to check the oil level. He can't find it and informs me I'm not holding the bike level. I jiggle the bike and dad confirms that, actually, it is level but he couldn't see it clearly for the dirty window. I should really just clean the window, but never remember until I'm holding the bike slightly "off" level again.
The check engine light came on about 400 miles ago too. That was very exciting. A light indicating trouble! This was too good to be true.... a clear cause for concern with no apparent symptoms. This was all the worry with none of the work! Brilliant. We've hit bike trip gold with this. Of course, by comparison, Fred had no check engine light but if it did, it probably would have blinked outrageously and very, very brightly at me. In fact, Fred had no lights at all by the end. No headlight. No taillight (or, worryingly,, brake light either). No indicators. In fact, nothing that required electrics worked. So, those wonderfully amazing heated handlegrips never worked when I needed them most. The Triumph has no heated handlegrips to go wrong or I am sure they would. In the end, the check engine light was probably just a vacuum tube that had rattled loose. The check engine in cars has to do mainly with the fuel injection and a loose vacuum hose would do it. We pushed it back on and... nothing. Still a check engine light. Now, there was no telling what was wrong. The possibilities were seemingly endless. We discussed most of them. And then, in moment of horrible anticlimax, it went off. I suspect the computer did its check on a timed cycle and it went off on the next sequence... or, possibly, like Fred it simply fixed itself. Fred often fixed himself. Very relieved when these things happen, as they do. Mind you, if it was fuel injection, Fred shared another similarity with the Triumph. Fred actually had carburetors, but they would randomly cease to contain petrol and it would spill all over everything until the caps were removed, cleaned and replaced. Either way, the fuel-air mixing device on both bikes seem to have propensity to cease to function as they should for no apparent reason.
Early in the ride, we realised that the rear tyre on the bike was well worn. Too well worn. Probably illegal. Fine, dad pointed out, if it doesn't rain. For the most part, it hasn't rained which is good because rain makes me overly nervous at the moment. That said, we did get caught in one particular onslaught of rain. It happened at the best possible time too. We had just climbed an impossibly high pass in the Swiss Alps. For a couple of miles across the summit, the road was carved out from the snow on either side. We were riding with 10 foot walls of snow on either side. It was surreal. Then, on the way down, it started to rain. My inner sense of vertigo already makes descents a little nerve wracking. Add to this one the fact that it was a true single track all the way down, owing to slight traffic that bothered with this tiny, steep pass. The single track just hung to the side of the mountain. With no barrier, the drop was sickening. Hundreds, maybe thousands of feet. And, every few hundred yards a shrine to some traffic fatality. And then the rain and the lightening. Heavy, alpine rain. Drops that seemed to explode on my helmet. You could see the water start to stream across the road. And was it ever dark, though only at about dinner time. Well, the fear was tangible. I had to summon some inner energy to force myself to drive down. Thankfully, despite me going very slowly, we came upon a car going more slowly. It was the perfect excuse to go more slowly... until he thought we wanted to go more quickly and pulled into a lay-by. My heart literally sank when he did. But, I re-summoned the energy. I've followed my dad on motorbikes since I was a kid and did it again on this occasion.
At the bottom, we arrived at Altdorf. This little town seems to have some connection with William Tell. I know this not because of my knowledge of Swiss history but because of every second building having some reference to him. In fact, we stayed at the Tell hotel. It was rubbish and I most certainly would not recommend it. That said, it was warm and dry. I got in, ate some schnitzel (no kidding), had a beer and went to bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Which is good, because today we hit two more passes. Thankfully, without the rain. Today, it was just the 22 mile run to the nearest open petrol station... all on a low fuel light. Another feature Fred went without.
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