Prologue to the Great Motorycle Adventure

I arrive in Milan about 1:00 and the surprisingly easy meet up with my ride partners, Josh and Hank, at the giantic Milan train station presages the other opportune events that will characterize the trip, though Hank had a problem with the reserved rental car – the booth is closed and no one to be found (our first taste of business the Italiano way). But as would happen so often, our luck turns good (better), as the alternate rental car is a Renault Megane, which is way cool and a blast to drive.

After settling in at the Hotel Major, where Josh and Hank have been for a day, we decide we will scope out the key places we’ll need to know in order for the next two days to go smoothly: motorcycle rental agency and the racetrack. We found the m.c. rental place okay, though a bit concerned by its location, which seemed to principally be an auto junkyard. But we were just interjecting our Americn sensibilities on a landscape we were not familiar with as the place later turned out to be quite functional if not fancy, pretty much exactly what was needed to do the job, no more.

The notion of an exploratory trip to the racetrack in Mugello that Saturday evening proved quite foolish. Initially, we had discussed a rental in Lucca, near Pisa, and only 40 clicks from the racetrack. Now we soon realized it was like a two-hour drive, but wanderlust had struck and so we had to go somewhere, right? I had long ago fixated on a visit to Parma. That notion was borne of a slight but very entertaining novel by John Grisham about a failed and exiled NFL player who ends up there. The love affair with Italian food and food-centered lifestyle the author explores was really compelling and I hoped a personal visit would bring that to life for me.

As would often be the case over the next few days, the original goal did not necessarily pan out, but newfound surprises were even better. We did eat well in Parma, but just the usual osteria fare, though with a less usual drink - sweet lambrusco. However walking this little college town revealed a more profound insight into Italian life as we stumbled into a beautiful and immaculate public park that was pleasantly teeming with life at 7:00 pm. Later that evening we retraced our tracks through the park and witnessed a quaint military review, celebrating 50 years of the carabineri, complete with brass band playing –figure this JP Sousa! Very quaint, very pleasant and kinda set a nice tone for the start of our exploit together.

However our reverie was broken by a text message from Carol, advising us that the star we’d come to see at the races, one Mr. Valentine Rossi, had had the bad manners to crash in practice that afternoon and break his leg! His first major injury in over a decade of racing resulting in his first non-start in 230 consecutive appearances. We, or at least I, were not the list bit sympathetic (he was in no real danger). For this race, on his ‘home’ track in front of his home crowd had been pregnant with promise as his usual winning performance would allow him to regain the World Championship point lead (potentially his 11th). Damn that Valentino—we’d come an ocean to see him race, didn’t he appreciate that?

Nevertheless, it was up and off to the races Sunday morning. As the man racing fan in our group (through Hank had made an earnest and educating effort to familiarize himself with the 2010 MotoGP scene), I was the most disappointed as we headed to Mugello, but my despair was greatly assuaged by the excellent driving opportunities offered in the combination of the very capable and willing Renault sport wagen, the no speed limit autostrada, and about 40 clicks of outstanding curves and dips as we approached Tuscany through Bologna. Ho-ha, drive ‘em cowboy. My passengers were obviously concerned but thankfully agreeable, one advantage of a car full of machismo.

As we neared Mugello we were blown away by 2) the vast number of fans converging, and 2) the ever present beauty of the Tuscan hills.

The Tuscan countryside

All this and the good weather, though quite hot, how could we not have a great day? Frankly, as is often the case with spectator sports, the actual race was not as interesting as the people and motorcycle watching. A very different scene from US crowds and their machines, for sure. Particularly, the every-present Italian beautiful women who are never caught appearing out of style, some even wearing high heels with their designer cutoff jeans!

Only in Italy

And this being Italy, the racetrack food and beer was way above US standards. We almost missed the actual race, in fact, because I was so caught up in eating and had mixed up the Euro time designation, thinking the race started at 4:00 instead of 14:00! Thankfully, it was over quickly as I could hardly bear to see the pipsqueak Pedrosa win and the interesting-as-plain cardboard Lorenzo take second. MotoGP will be far less interesting when Rossi retires and that may be sooner than later.

Yes, real racing did occur, I think

But again we found great adventure in the unplanned as we decided to drive to Florence for dinner at the last minute. We came in from a secondary road, along with thousands of other race spectators, but when we stopped halfway down the mountaintop to view the ancient city from on high, it was truly magnificent.

Florence from above

The Domo, a bit closer

We stopped a bit further down and briefly enjoyed a small but terrifically tended public garden before gong into the ‘centro’ for margherita pizza and Margaritas! Carol and I spent several days in Florence last trip, hitting all the usual tourist haunts, so it was fun to be the old hand at Florence, show the boys around a bit, and then just chill in the ambiance of it all.

The hills of Florence

The big guys hanging above Florence, pretty happy with ourselves!

Not a drop of rain had fallen, but out good time did get a little bit wet when we hit the mother of all traffic jams on the A1 on the way back. No lie: stop and go for over an hour, never breaking 20 kph, and remember, the Megane, like all Euro hotrods, was a stick. When we finally broke free after Bologna, it was Katie bar the door n the way back as I hooked up with the freeway ubercars. MBs and the like, that were running hard in the left lane, flashing their brights and bumper hugging at 190 kph (118 mph). Delightful!

Our cool little Renault Megane Sportwagon

- 6spd diesel, 45mpg

Stupid American Camry lovers just don’t know what they are missing (in fact, I looked, but never saw a stinking Camry the whole week). Despite my best efforts to take flight, we got back late at 10:00

Day One (6/7). The Great Motorcycle Adventure Begins: From Lake to Alps.

We had planned a short travel day, as we knew it’d take the morning to get the bikes and get out of Milan. The folks at Mototouring were quite helpful, though we were disappointed that we did not get the bikes we had hoped for, the latest news we received upon arrival that one of the 800s had been crashed the day before and a like replacement was not available. We chose a 650 single as a substitute. We rode back to the hotel, packed up and managed to get out of Milan with a minimum of misdirection. WE WERE ON OUR WAY!

The Three Amigos are ready to Ride!

Our main goal for the day was the legendary Lake Como (you now, where that Clooney guy lives), which is only about 80 km up the road from Mian. I’d be an easy “break-in” for us. Plus my friend Bob Boston and his wife, Judy, just happened to be staying near the lake, celebrating a wedding anniversary and had invited us to dinner. But to ‘fill out’ the day I proposed we not go directly to Como, the town, but take the lake’s shoreline from Lucca to Bellagio to Como, following the inverted “V” of the two legs of the lake.

Beautiful Bellagio (not in NV!)

The Lake Como shoreline

It was then a short hop to Cennoggia, where Bob was. The gross distance was ‘only 150 km’. But what a route, winding up and down through dips and curves along the lakeside until our hands were ready to fall off from tugging the handlebars right and left, hour after hour. We were a bit late for our dinner date, but Bob and Judy were gracious and forgiving and we enjoyed dinner on the waterfront.

Lovely 'downtown' Como

Unfortunately, our sleep destination was a small Swiss village, Airolo “just a few clicks up the road’. With them came a combination of creeping darkness, a sudden transition from very urban (and urbane) to very rural, and a big dip in temp as we climbed to the alpine foothills. Like creepy music in a movie, knew something different was coming up. We swooped along narrowing, but secure two lane roads as the mountains and their fog closed in on us. The rustic nature of the area was even heightened even more by the smell of creosote from all the wood in process around. Our path traced slow moving water at the lakes to rushing river to smaller cascading rapids to a network of small, fast moving streams tumbling down from the snow at the mountaintops. We were getting there, we knew, if darkness and hypothermia didn’t take us first.

However, the staff at the small hotel, the Fiorni, was expecting us and could not have been nicer when we arrived, hustling us into the dining room as the kitchen was about to close. And what a pleasant surprise the ‘prix fixe’ menu was-- a hearty Swiss meal with an excellent local wine, topped b dessert whose great taste was matched only by its careful presentation.

Our friendly young female server spoke very good English and we soon learned that she had been employed at Disney World in the Italian Epcot exhibit for a year and then traveled to NYC, Chicago, Miami, and D.C. And we thought we were adventuresome! We learned from her that in that section of Switzerland the common language was Italian though many signs were in German (or I think it was German; is there a unique Swiss lexicon?). Sleep came easy.

O-o-o-o. It gets spooky in the Alps

Day Two (6/8). Bagging Three Big Passes and Andermatt

Our guidebook for the trip was a book published exclusively for motorcyclist who want to enjoy the best rides in the Alps and its author has explored hundreds of roads over thousands of clicks, gathering them into trips or loops of varying distances and rated them for the challenge and scenic beauty of each. “Trip One” in the book was our goal for the day and included some of the most legendary Alpine passes and the best in the western Alps. Unfortunately, a single wrong turn as we left the village of Airolo, a mistake compounded by a clearly mistaken set of directions from a local farmer, meant that we started from the wrong point in the loop and missed one important pass. However, as we soon learn, we couldn’t really make a big mistake because every direction we turned was challenging and beautiful. So we started with the Nufenen Pass, which was just about as good as it gets!

Our first pass - Nufenen

Just a couple turns to get up the hill

We did get the big daddy, though: Furka Pass, a blustery winter wonderland found at 2700 meters after a mind-blowing and seemingly endless series of tight switchbacks carved into the steep hillside. Ahh, this is what we came for and we came, we saw, and we conquered! What makes Furka so unique is that it is home to the Rhone glacier, the source of the Rhone River. Seeing the glacier up close was awesome but disturbing. It was pretty clear that there was little left of the icy monster that had carved the jagged peaks we rode and we had to wonder what will happen to the region when it is gone. The impact of global warming could not be more graphic.

Curve 7 on the way up Furka

Cold and snowy near the top

The remains of the Rhone Glacier

Coming down off Furka, we stopped for another of the many cappuccino and pastry stops that sustained us, this time in the mountain village of Andermatt. Andermatt is surrounded by a rig of tall peaks, each with a notable pass and within easy reach and eyesight of most, so it is a Mecca for motorcyclists and nature lovers alike. Fro m there we went to the definitively named Oberalp Pass where a small glacial lake and a chilling light rain really brought home the unearthly environment at the top of the big passes.

The village of Andermatt from halfway up Oberalp

Downtown Andermatt

The cold top of Oberalp

The long road down

Oberalp Hotel

We stayed just long enough to take a few pix and eat some sandwiches we had brought along. It was at Furka and Oberalp we were also introduced to a unique Alpen feature: the cog railway, a train that can be driven up steep hillsides by a linear gear set down the middle of the tracks, looking a bit like the teeth of a bicycle’s crankshaft gear. Very simple, very quaint, but like so many things in this unchanging region, very effective. Whether it is the way a house is built, or a farm animal tended, or something as simple as how a winter’s worth of wood is laid away, the Alpine folk have a way of doing it that works well and creates a unique cultural identity.

After lingering a bit longer than we had planned, we rushed due North to the German border, again arriving at our hotel late, but again enjoying the hospitality of the hotel kitchen, this time favoring traditional German fare of schnitzel, spetzel, local beer, and for one lucky diner among us, the regional specialty—white asparagus.

Ah, home for the night, with great food and beer

Day Three (6/9). On to Germany.

Since I was the instigator of this adventure, I suppose I had a bit more clout when it came to picking destinations, and I had long wanted to visit the newly constructed museums of Porsche and Mercedes. Fortunately my automotive enthusiasm was shared by my travel pals, a bit more so perhaps by Hank than Josh as would be revealed later. So our agenda for the day was to get to Stuttgart but by meat of a run. Through the Black Forest of Southwestern Germany.

I had envisioned a morning ride through a deep, primeval forest emerging in time for a quick freeway run to Stuttgart and the Mercedes museum by noon or 1:00. Oh, well, you can’t always get what you want, but if you try…

The rolling hills of Schwarzwald; where's the forest?

That section of the Schwarzwald turned out to be very pleasant if not very interesting farmland replete with numerous charming farm villages as cute and as immaculate as if Walt Disney had commissioned them himself. What didn’t work was the map’s portrayal of the spiderweb network of two-lane roads, so we ended up virtually making a loop on ourselves before we got out of the BF and on the road to Stuttgart. And by that time it was becoming apparent to me, at least, that we could not keep our original plan of spending 4 hours that afternoon in the MB Museum, then travel to Zuffenhausen (a suburb to Stuttgart as Alpharetta is to ATL) where we spend the night and visit Porsche in the morning. Plans had to change. I was hysterical over the difficulty charting our course, which had become my responsibility since I had the only working GPS device, my I Phone, and we were all getting grouchy.

With this Hi-Tech GPS, how could we get lost?

Early on in the trip’s planning, all of us had agreed to a covenant that required consensus making, but with every effort to accommodate the strongly felt needs or desires of each individual. Well, I knew I was pushing the envelope with the car museum thing, and now we were all nearing exhaustion, and the plan had to change, yet I wasn’t willing to throw in the towel. Though the process I used to change the plans may not have been completely true to the consensus model, it was a compromise that ultimately worked: we would go straight to Zuffenhausen and do Porsche first with the two or so hours we had remaining this day and we’d do Mercedes the next morning, even though that meant a late start on a day where we had a lot of distance to cover.

So often on this trip a change, even accidental, would produce a better result, kinda like improvising a script might. Such was the case here. We did the Porsche museum well within the limited time available, had a great time dong it, soothing all our nerves and salvaging the day.

They did make some nice cars...

and some fast ones, too!

An interesting Porsche exhibit showing how the 911 profile has grown

Another interesting exhibit: stand under to hear and feel different engines

Our luck held again as the hotel was a quick couple clicks down the road. But pit good fortune really improved when we were given a restaurant recommendation by the hotel clerk that turned out fantastic. Great Schwabian food and huge quantities of an excellent local brau, finished with a complimentary chilled ouzo aperitif. We again slept well.

Day Four (6/10). The Mercedes Museum and beyond.

One inestimable benefit of Euro hotel hospitality is the delicious and generous buffet breakfast offered with the room. The hotel Bercher in Zuffenhausen, while lacking in some amenities we’d appreciate, like AC and speedy Wi-Fi, was no exception and we ate well before shoving off cross-town for our 4-hour allotment of Mercedes-Benz Museum visit.

The MB Museum is a monster with cars and displays on multiple floors

- an auto Guggenheim

While we worked our way there we passed directly by the prominent Wilhelma Zoo and Josh, not quite the motorhead Hank and I are, decided to spend his morning there Great! Everyone was happy, though Hank and I concur that while had not exhausted all the great, new museum had to offer, we got about all we could stand for a day.

My favorite MB - the 'Special Roadster '

(the name says it all)

The most famous tow truck in the world

Our overnight destination was at Landau, on the Bodensee (or Lake Constance for some) and we happily meandered through the very rich and bountiful farmland of western Bavaria on our way. The overwhelming impression it left was of how prosperous the Germans, or at least the rural, southern Germans are. The generously sized single-family homes were universally bright and tidy with carefully manicured grounds and usually a shiny new MB, BMW, or Opel in the driveway. The farms were large with arrow-tractors straight rows and worked by new looking – there seemed to no lack of Kapital!

A pretty morning in pretty Lindau

We had picked Lindau almost on a whim, knowing nothing about it other than it was the right distance from Stuttgart and set on a lake. But like so many of our seemingly capricious decision, the result was almost magical. Lindau is an ancient walled city on a small island in the lake and had evolved into a popular tourist destination. To our advantage, the season had not really cranked there yet, as our graciously helpful host at the gasthof explained. So we pretty much had the church courtyard to ourselves as we enjoyed local fish dishes and other Bavarian specialties al fresco. Over dinner we evaluated the next day’s mileage projection and decided we could afford to spend the morning exploring our end of the island.

The ferry from Austria

We were greeted by the same perfect weather we’d enjoyed almost daily from the start of our trip as we wondered the small marina, watching a sailing school go through their paces and marveling at the navigational skills of the ferry operators who could turn a 75 ft ship 180 degrees around in 100 feet, and generally enjoying a stress-free morning in a beautiful place.

Day Five (6/11). Nice Surprises.

Leaving Lindau, we had hoped to pick up the Deutsche Alpenstrasse, a road that would wind through a few low passes to Neuschwanstein, the Mad King Ludwig’s castle that Disney copied for his trademark. But – we got lost again, mistaking Nesslewangle for Nesslewang – they’re about 25km apart, in the wrong direction!

A pretty lower Bavaria village

And we had a good ways to go before we made Naturns, Italy (the jumping off point for the ultimate Alpine Pass, Stelvio). Between here and there lay yet another pass, Timmelsjoch, of which we knew little. But like so many other things we more or less stumbled upon, Timmelsjoch was a wonderful surprise.

The road up to Timmelsjoch

Getting closer

At 2509m, it is #9 on the list of ten highest Alpine passes (we ended bagging 3 of the ten) and a terrific viewing point for the high surrounding snow-capped peaks.

Proof of summit

Timmelsjoch is recognizable in advertising in the region by a weird glass enclosure at the summit that allows you to step onto a glass floor overlooking thousand meters of descent. We passed!

Wanna scare yourself?

It was also perhaps the clearest example of a phenomenon we found repeated frequently: the downside of a pass will often have a completely different character than the upside. This was especially pronounced at Timmelsjoch as it straddled the Austria/Italy border. Without adding to any undeserved generalizations about different cultures, it was nevertheless true that the pavement and construction of the roads on the Italian downside were much harsher than those in Austria.

The road just off the top

Additionally, the Austrian upside was relatively short with tight switchbacks while the downside seemed to go forever through relatively open, sweeping curves that encouraged speed, though the precipitous drops off the side kept us in check.

A bit unusual - untended cows in the road

At one point we stopped for photos at a dramatic overlook and engaged a friendly group of Berliners who had shipped their bikes down by train just to ride the Alps (pikers!). We followed them for a while, which impressed me – that we could, if only for a while. Amazingly enough, we ran into them again when we stopped for lunch as a stadtplatz over 30 clicks down the road!

Road condition aside, the trip from the pass to Naturns, our overnight, went through about the consistently prettiest countryside and small towns imaginable. This region is known as the Sud Tirol, or Southern Tyrolean Alps, which while politically is in Italy, is very definitely Austrian in character (it is helpful to recall that it was less than a lifetime ago that WWI broke up the Austro-Hungarian empire; a short time in a region as ancient as this).

Classic Tyrolean- part Bavarian, part Italian

Our overnight stay was again a great delight, despite our late arrival. Our helpful desk clerk directed us to a late night restaurant in the town center where we ate among the noise and hysteria of the World Cup on a big screen, France vs Hungary, which we utterly ignored. In the morning we rose to discover what a quaint, naturalistic (hence the name?) setting we were in, nestled on the ridge of the range with lots of trails and ski slopes above us.

The hills above Naturns