The weather has been atrocious for the past few weeks. Today it was pissing down only in the morning, so I use the afternoon to test-ride the new Tiger 1200 Explorer for 150 km:
It is not a bad bike at all, but as usual I will wait for a few years until all the toothing problems have been ironed out before seriously contemplating to buy one.
After four weeks of waiting for good weather a brief sunny spell is predicted for next week. I wouldn't normally bother
with such a tiny weather-window, but with the performance of the summer 2012 so far I'll probably have to wait until
Microsoft realeases a bug-free operating system before I get something worth the description of 'summer'.
So my plan is to leave tomorrow for the fourth installment of my journey...
It is drizzling when I wake up this morning. I am sure that hundreds of local bikers had a quick look out of their bedroom windows
just as I did, saw the rain and went back to bed, mentally writing off this day. But I know better. By the time I had my breakfast at the
Rosenstädter coffee house in Rapperswil the rain has stopped.
By 0930 hours I am on the road, heading west towards Basel. The weather improves with every mile, just as expected. The
temperature will peak at 21 degrees today, which is about as good as it gets for motorbiking.
When I stop for a break after two hours the bike refuses to start. The ignition lights come on, but pressing the starter
button has no effect. Instead the engine management warning light comes on. After several times of switching the ignition
off and back on again the engine starts, but the yellow warning light remains on. Very strange. The same happens whenever
I stop - it takes several attempts each time until the engine fires up.
After highly enjoyable 480 km I end the day in the tiny hamlet of
Niederhausen in the
Rhineland-Palatinate province, directly on the
Nahe river.
A quick check of the bike's
ECU with my laptop reveals "error 0560: ECM primary circuit failure". That explains
the startup-problems; without power to the ECM circuit the starter motor is blocked by the bike's onboard ECU computer. I quickly
recapitulate on the work I did to the bike's electrics during those four weeks it stood idle in my garage; none whatsoever.
This is getting really weird. I will have another look tomorrow morning...
I have forgotten to copy the actual version of Tigger's repair manual onto my laptop. As a consequence of this oversight I have to log
into my home network, start up my main computer and copy those 38 MB of manual onto my laptop. With the marginal internet bandwith here at
this hotel in the middle of nowhere that takes nearly an hour.
This morning I have a look at the wiring diagram. The ECM circuit is not overly complicated; unless a wire has shorted out or chafed through
the cause of the problem can only be the ECM relais or the fuse. I replace the ECM relais underneath the seat and fuse no. 6
in the fuse box. I
also undo and redo the two wiring connectors on the ECU unit.
I leave the hotel at 0845 hours and head westwards towards
Luxembourg. The Palatinate is great for biking; smooth,
empty roads with nice twists
and bends everywhere. That northern part of Luxembourg is very nice, too. Beyond that I am entering the
Ardennes forest, about the highest
and most twisting roads Belgium has to offer. Belgium is the fifth
country I am passing through in two days - I know a few people in the States who are having a laugh at tinpot little Europe right now...
By now I can safely report that my work this morning absolutely cured the problem with the bike not starting. The problem has
disappeared just as miraculously as it did appear yesterday.
I stop at a do-it-yourself supermarket to buy a new spare relais. The guy in the store tells me that he is currently out of stock. I have
seen the movie Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis, but
the hilarious accent this fellow has is even more bizarre than anything shown in that movie - I can hardly understand a word.
Biking through central Europe this time of the year means that expert planning is required to dodge some of the more tedious
happenings; the International Competition of Biochemistry
ended yesterday,
so no danger of that getting into my way. But a few miles before reaching
Maubeuge I am stopped
yet again by a road blockage in favour of the pushbikers; I am told by one of the bystanders that this is the
"Tour de Wallonie". An
official tells me that the road block will be lifted within five minutes. Where did I hear the same lame excuse recently?
However, these Belgians are much better organized than those Austrians, and after less than five minutes the road block is lifted.
I end the day after another 470 km on glorious country roads and absolutely perfect weather in
Arras.
Though this is the main holiday season, there is no problem getting a room at a hotel; all of France is in the south of the
country at this time of the year and the north is virtually empty.
When the German Army occupied France in 1940, the country was divided; the Germans occupied the North, while the south of the country, called
Vichy France was left unoccupied. Nowadays it is just the
reverse during the summer month;
the former Vichy France area is overwhelmed with holiday makers in July and August, while the North is virtually empty. I will
never comprehend the French mentality of vacating...
The view over the local golf course and Arras in the background this morning promises another glorious day:
I am off at 0900 hours this morning. It is just 110 km to
Calais where I arrive in time to catch the 1220 hours train to
Folkestone.
At least that is the plan. I haven't used the
Channel Tunnel to England in over 10 years.
This is because of the lack of security
standards they had in place when it came to motorbikes. Let me explain; when the tunnel opened many years ago, for motorbikes they had
a kind of sledge in place in which the motorbikes front wheel was locked solidly in place - a reasonably acceptable method of
securing motorbikes on that twenty-minute train journey. But as they operated under the assumption
that "one will fit all" they caused a lot of damage to the front wheels, so they got rid of the sledges.
Afterwards motorbikes were just placed
without any security into the carriages - just put her into first gear, that's it for security. Not even simple measures like
handing the bikers a cable tie to apply the front brake were thought necessary.
Now here I am back, 10 years later to see if any improvements have been made. The train supposed to leave Calais at 1220 hours starts
boarding at 1240 hours. Great start, apparently another train has broken down inside the tunnel and... blah, blah, blah.
The bikes are lined up sideways inside the carriage and a motley crew of 20 bikers is scattered amongst them. In front of the bikes is a parked car. None of the bikes is secured in any way. Can you imagine what is going to happen if the train driver applies the brakes just a bit more than ususal? Exactly, all those bikes will topple over, causing massive damage and possibly smash the odd biker in the process. Can you imagine what will happen if the train driver is forced to carry out a full emergency braking? Yes, those bikes will transform into a 5-ton load of shrapnel whirling through the carriage, cutting down anything in their path. The lot will come to rest on the car in front of those bikes. My conclusion; Eurotunnel is an irresponsible lot of morons, deliberately risking life and limb of their two-wheeled customers on the altar of graft and profit. I will certainly take a boat again the next time...
By 1230 hours UK time I am in England and soon find myself heading westwards on small country roads, called "B"-roads. Britain's road
system is unique, because after the second world war most other European nations soon began expanding the existing road infrastructure
to cope with increasing traffic. Not so Old Blighty. Only in the late 1960's did London wake up. It was then decided that Britain was
so far behind the other nations that the expansion of the existing routes would not do - an entire new road network had to be build.
The new system was called the "A"-road system. While these new A-roads are wide, fast and efficient they are also very much
overwhelmed by the traffic, especially here in the south.
But the old B-road system was not abandoned - it is still in good condition and well maintained - it is just that hardly anyone uses it
these days. These old roads are narrow, often winding, often full of dirt and gravel from the numerous farm vehicles using them - in
short, they are fun, fast, lethal and have the same legal 60 mph (97 kph) speed limit than the A-roads. Here is an example of one
of the wider B-roads:
The weather further north is already deteriorating again, so I have plotted a route for the green pastures of Somerset into my GPS for today. I am heading west on the A4 until I reach Bath. My idea was to have a look at that town, but traffic is an utter nightmare. I look longingly at the bus lane on my left, but only buses, taxis, pushbikers and - hey what's that; motorbikes can use the bus lane,too! Once again I get the impression that motorbikers have a much better lobby in the UK than on the continent. In no time am I in the city centre, but here even the bus lanes won't help against a very stupid trucker who has decided to take his juggernaut 40 ft. car transporter into town for sightseeing and predictably got stuck at a junction where he is unable to turn the corner unless he has some very heavy lifting equipment at hand. Very frustrating, but I finally manage to get around those queuing cars and that dumb trucker.
The temperature inland is hitting 28 degrees, but luckily I am now approaching the sea. The sea breeze is cooling the air to a much
more comfortable 22 degrees.
Ahead is a very popular English attraction, the
Cheddar "Gorge". It is not really a gorge,
instead it is a river valley where the river
has made a moderate cut into the surrounding rocks - nothing they would even bother to signpost where I come from. But here thousands
of tourists are hanging out and mountain climbing expeditions set out equipped as if they want to tackle the north face of the Eiger.
You don't believe me? Then have a look at this:
And this is just an ordinary Wednesday...
A few miles on near
Kilve the next trucker from hell is driving
everyone else nuts. This time our moron of the day is driving an oversized
load, he is carrying a boat along the A39. If something like that is done where I come from, then an exact survey of the road, the bridges
and curves is done well in advance. Over here the "it'll be right on the day" approach is obviously the favoured method to get the load
to its destination - with the predictable effect that the truck got stuck at some roadworks with no chance to get past. The tailback is
several miles long. Well, I have all the time in the world, so I take a break at a snack bar van on the roadside. There I am told that
they are trying to move the roadworkers equipment enough to get that wide load through the roadworks. I have cup of tea and a chat
with the van owner. Half an hour later some very frustrated looking roadside workers drive up and start rambling about some idiot trucker
not doing his homework and how much work it was to get him past the roadworks - alas, the obstacle is gone and I can continue my ride.
It is nearly 1600 hours when I arrive at the Exmoor National Park - six hours ride to cover 220 km, this is ridiculous. I call it a day at a remote country pub near Stickle Path right inside the park.
Another brilliant day, maybe a bit on the warm side further inland, but certainly nice and bearable here at the coast. So after a man-size fully-cooked English breakfast I am taking off on a 180 km circular road through the park. Somehow the camera did not record anything onto the SD-card, so there aren't any videos to show for today, sorry.
A weak cold front passed through last night, weak enough not to bring any rain but strong enough to lower the temperature by about seven
degrees. So it is time to say good-bye to the coast and head back inland. Again the video camera appears to be fritzed, I shall have a
closer look tonight, so again no video today. The bike however is running absolutely perfect, and the problem starting
it never re-appeared after my fix from last Monday.
I cross the river Severn into
Wales on the
motorway
toll bridge. All the cage drivers have to pay six pounds to cross on the bridge - but
motorbikes are exempt from paying a toll. I really like the splendid work of the British motorbike lobby. Beyond the bridge I leave the
motorway and take a nice northerly diversion through the
Brecon Beacons National Park
After an easy 370 km of country roads I end the day in
Narberth in
Pembrokeshire in the south-west of Wales
Yesterday I have booked a ticket for the ferry to Ireland. The ferry leaves at 1445 hours today, so I have ample time to do a semi-circular route through Pembrokeshire - and boy, is this a great place for motorbiking. Again the weather is good and while in Switzerland it is scorchingly hot, out here the temperature is about 16 degrees.
Here is a picture of Newgale on the Pembrokeshire coast:
After 120 km I arrive at the ferry harbour and board the boat for Rosslare. On board I meet Ian, a Brit with a Tiger 800XC. We spend the four hours on board chatting about bike, so time flies and by 1845 hours we are in Ireland. Ian will ride on to his place, while I myself ride the 900 metres to the "Harbour View" hotel and call it a day.
The weather is not looking too promising, but in Ireland that is about as good as it gets. I set out at 0930 hours along the south coast westwards. I am lucky, except for a few showers near Cork I get to Bantry, my destination for today, without weather mishaps. Here is a picture showing you the kind of countryside I am biking through today:
I start late at 10.30 today and after just five miles it starts to drizzle out of the grey skies - typical Ireland. But the bad weather is no hindrance for me to take a westward diversion and bike the Beara Peninsula and over the Healy Pass into County Kerry. Here is a picture of the pass:
I skip the Ring of Kerry, as I have been there twice before many years ago. The rain continues for five hours and only on reaching Limerick does it stop.
Somewhere north of Limerick I enter County Galway,
which means that I officially did not go to hell but in fact reached my destination
Connacht.
My original target for today was Athlone,
but the fact that the sun is currently shining is a situation one should exploit in this part of the world. Today's
temperature started at 13 degrees (in the rain) and has climbed to 19 degrees in the afternoon in the sunshine - that
too is not unusual for this island. So I ride on beyond Athlone and enter a part of Ireland where tourists are rather rare
and life moves much slower than in the south-western tourist regions. Here is a video of biking through the sleepy
town of Granard, which should give you an idea of
how biking out here really is:
After nearly nine hours in the saddle (though only 440 km covered) I end the day at the town of Cavan in a comfy hotel. Knowing already that we will have heavy land rain all day tomorrow I book myself in for two days.
It is raining in all of Ireland today. As I have sourced a covered parking spot for the bike I take the opportunity to replace the fairly worn brake pads on Tigger - knowing that they wouldn't stand the entire journey I have wisely brought along a spare set.
My weather forecast has worked very well; by about 1000 hours the rain stops this morning. By the time I have my very late start at
1130 hours the brisk wind has dried the roads and the sun is coming out. That 150 km ride to
Belfast is highly enjoyable at 19
degrees temperature. The last time I was in Belfast was in 1982 - eek, am I really that old already? I can remember it vividly, the
bus drivers in town were ordered to be on strike by the
IRA
for some obscure reason, but many refused to do this, so those
extremists were out in force torching the buses - it was like a scene out of
Dante's inferno in parts of the town.
Today the city is much more peaceful than in those violent times 30 years ago - and much more to the liking of your now much older
humble narrator.
By 1430 hours I reach the port and board the ferry to Scotland. There is one other biker on board, a chap from Berlin now working as a scientist in Cork, who wants to go on a diving trip to Scapa Flow. With that company the time until our arrival at Cairnryan passes quickly. I have just to drive two miles to my Bed & Breakfast place right outside the town. What a relaxed biking day that was...
I leave at 0930 and head eastwards through Galloway and especially the glorious Galloway Forest Park. My weather gamble appears to work, the backside of that massive depression is producing clear air and luckily only the occasional shower. Near Carlisle I narrowly escape a big downpour before heading through the North Pennines and later the North Yorkshire Moors National Park. The roads there are mostly excellent, sometimes a bit rough and on occasion a bit narrow:
My plan is to cross over the Humber bridge today, but when I reach Kingston upon Hull a massive black wall of clouds indicates that my weather luck has run out and after 430 splendid kilometres of country roads I end the day at 1700 hours in that city.
I leave Hull at 0930 hours and continue my ride along the east coast of England. The mighty
Humber bridge is a toll bridge - except
for motorbikes, which can cross free of charge. I like that. I am now in
Lincolnshire, and ahead is once agian a black wall of
rain clouds. I divert westwards onto the
A14 towards
London to (successfully) avoid having to bike in the rain.
To the east of London there is only a single bridge that spans the Thames estuary: The
Dartford crossing on the
M25 London Orbital
motorway. The M25 (lovingly nicknamed "the planets biggest parking lot" by the local people) is mayhem at the best of times, but
the beginning of the school holidays plus the
Greek desease ravishing London means that it takes me 50 minutes to travel those 16
kilometres on that motorway - mind you, I am pretty fast on the bike, in a car the crossing would have taken twice the time.
I check out a hotel near
Faversham,
but my worst fears are confirmed by the receptionist of this
Travelodge place; all four of their
branches in the area are fully booked. She tells me that their guests are mainly Greek desease spectators. I did not expect this
London overspill to reach this far away from the city.
But I know exactly the place where I will find a room for tonight; I bike on to
Folkestone, where within 5 minutes of searching I find
a moderately priced B & B with vacancies. The reason is simple; Folkestone used to be a busy ferry port similar to Dover. But over the
last few years all ferry companies have abandoned the town, and all those numerous hotels and B & B's are hard up for customers. Many
shops and businesses have closed, so if you are in need of a bed around here at the height of the season, then Folkestone will
probably sort you out.
The owner is a motorbiker himself and his parking lot features massive chain locks to secure motorbikes against theft - the chains are
included in the room rate - very handy. After over 450 km I finally get my "last rest" in England for a while.
It is raining this morning, but the rain is moving out into the North Sea. By the time I leave the B & B at 0925 hours the road is drying
up. It is a 15-minute ride to the ferry port at
Dover. Let's just do a recollection of my outward journey;
I took that trainride from hell
which made me arrive at Calais at 1145 hours and which arrived at 1315 hours, 90 minutes later, in Folkestone.
Let's now see how I can do with a ferry boat if I use all my cunning aquired during uncountable channel crossings, which I call
ferry jumping; I have not booked a
ticket, but simply checked availability online. Both the 1015 hours and the 1110 hours
Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation company sailings have places available.
I ride to the harbour, arriving at 0940 hours and buy a ticket. The guy in the ticket office sells me a ticket for the 1110 hours
sailing. I then bike through customs to the check-in booth. I point to the 1015 hours boat that is currently busy loading passengers and vehicles.
A polite request to phone the loadmaster is duly complied with by the booth operator. The loadmaster has no objections, the booth
operator changes my boat with two mouseclicks and then I head for boarding lane 151, where I am immediately waved through and onto the
boat. By the time Tigger is tied down securely for the sea voyage the loading doors are closed and when I emerge on the passenger deck
the ship is already berthing out. From arrival at the port to being under way in 20 minutes - have a nice day, Eurotunnel.
The boat is on time and two hours after arriving at Dover I am riding the French roads. And instead of standing around in a spartan (and lethal) rail carriage without any amenities I have spent the crossing in a comfy armchair with a cup of tea.
The weather in France is brilliant with temperatures between 20 and 25 degrees. Except having to dodge a big shower at Cambrai the ride is uneventful. I don't like Flanders very much, as I drove too often through this boring flatland full of war graveyards. That is the reason why I do the first 120 km on the A26 motorway. But beyond Cambrai I am back in the rolling hills of the Ardennes, which is much more fun. Below is a video sequence that will show you why:
I also encountered an event that after thirty years of waiting I'd never thought I'd live to see; at an Intermarché supermarket petrol station my foreign credit card is accepted by the automated pump to get petrol. France as we know it is coming to an end, that's what this miracle is indicating. I end the day near the Luxembourg border at a nice hotel/restaurant in the town of Longuyon. It is in the Guide Michelin, so I allow myself on the last day in France that the diner costs me twice as much as the room - but it's worth every cent...
Last night a band of rain went through here, but other than in the UK hotels in France mostly have garages available, so Tigger was high and dry. As more rain is already on the way I again take the faster roads to cover the last 500 km to Switzerland. Tigger needs another service and a new set of tyres after this 5000-km journey. Here is the altitude profile of this ride:
Below is the usual map with my GPS tracklog and some trip markers.