September 3rd : Flash Back

Soon after I began the journey from Sospel I took this picture in the Royat valley, on the way to Tende. If I had known how difficult the next 200 kilometres were going to be be, I probably wouldn't have taken the time to get my camera out. But I'm glad of it now.

My decisions are often erratic and sponantaneous - which may be a nice way of saying that I'm lazy. Early in 1999 I visited the Tesch Travellers' meeting and met two young Germans, Wolfgang and Ralph, who said they had begun to organise a different kind of annual meeting in September and hoped that I could come. I said 'Sure', without even quite knowing where it was. I knew I would be back in Europe that Summer, so why not go. Later, back in California, I was told about a meeting of Airheads in the French Alps at about the same time. (The Airheads, for those who don't know, are not quite as vaccuous as they sound. 'Airhead' refers to air-cooled BMW cylinders, as opposed to the new generation which is oil-cooled.) I thought it would be fun to drop in on them too. Eventually, when summer came around, I started looking for a bike to ride in Europe, and Ralph and Wolfgang offered to lend me a Trans-Alp. In the meantime, Markus Grave, at BMW, had persuaded his company to lend me their new 1100GS, but I would have to come to Munich to get it. I explained this to Ralph and Wolfgang, and they said, 'Never mind. Take the Trans-Alp to Munich, and swap it for the BMW when you get there'. They said they would both ride down to Frankfurt and meet me at the airport, and then go back on one bike, leaving me with the Trans-Alp. It amazes me how generous people can be. So I had a fine time riding around Europe that summer, and towards the end of it I was near Montpellier, where I used to live. It was Thursday. The German rally was on Saturday, at a small town in northern Germany not far from the famous university of Götttingen. On the map, Sospel seemed to involve not too much of a detour, so I thought I could spend Friday night there, and go on to Germany the next day. I still hadn't really taken in what the distances were. It was Europe, right? The Germans couldn't be very far away. When you have travelled in the Andes and the Himalayas it is easy to underrate the Alps. As I said, it's Europe, and Europe is small, so the mountains can't be much of an obstacle, can they? Wrong! The Alps may not have as big a footprint as those other massive ranges, but in terms of ups and downs they rival anything on earth. I came to Sospel all right that evening, but it was a good deal higher above Nice than I had thought. The meeting was in an old hostel, often used by the police or military - I forget which - but I do remember some alarming plaques on the bedroom doors. Nevertheless I had a fine dinner with good wine, met a few old friends, slept comfortably in a bunk bed, and left after breakfast in the morning. At first the road ran through a valley, alongside the Royat River, where I took the picture above. Then reality set in. The river was not flowing my way. I was climbing higher and higher. Obviously I would have to cross a watershed. Soon came fog. Then rain. Cold rain. The road narrowed, and squirmed among the peaks. It was hard, slow and uncomfortable. Five hours later, with fewer than 300 kilometres on the clock, I came down out of the fog into Italy where the first of the fast roads began. It was already two in the afternoon, and I'd had time to realise just how far I still needed to ride. I should have begun to feel tired, but actually I was invigorated. It was still raining, but now it was warmer. I'm not even sure now, aftr all this time, what route I took. I think I must have skirted Switzerland altogether, but I'm not sure. Soon the rain stopped, the sky cleared, the air warmed even more. I hit the autoroutes, and then the autobahn, The GS took me up the main arteries of Germany at high speeds, often 100 mph or more. Remarkably, I never had to stop and rest. Aside from a few tank stops, I was able to just keep going. I got off the autobahn near Götttingen, and rolled into Gieboldehausen with 1400 kilometres on the clock. This is still my personal best, as far as distance goes, and I averaged 100 km an hour, in spite of the dismal first lap. There are many who have ridden much farther in a day. It is no great accomplishment. What interests me about it is that on most other days five or six hundred miles would have been more than enough, and for sure I would have wanted at least a cat nap in the middle of it somewhere. What is it that gives us the ability, on certain occasions, to far outstrip our usual performance? Usually we think of "rising to the occasion" but there was no great occasion here. It would have made little difference to me to have to stop somewhere along the way. Just the cost of a hotel. But I'd said I'd come. I wanted to be there. That's all. I have no desire to raise my performance to Olympic standards on a daily basis. Concentrating on performance leaves too many of the other delights of living unvisited, but it is reassuring to me, somehow, to know that somewhere within me there is the ability to do these things. I came out of the darkness into a circle of fire light and hundreds of happy campers grouped around the blaze, eating bratwurst and drinking beer and wine. They were on an old paved "grill platz" that Wolfgang has rescued from the surrounding undergrowth on a hillside just above the town. It felt great to be there, not least because my appearance was much appreciated. I looked forward to coming again, and last weekend, five years later, I did. Kicking tyres between slide shows at Gieboldehausen NEXT PREVIOUS