Breakfast at the Grand Hotel in Trento was shared with a busload of Chinese women, few much over 5ft, most dressed like Paddington Bear in floppy hats and raincoats, each determined not to wait for the big barbarian (that would be me) grrr. Little did they know that coming from East Auckland, I know how to play that game and there may have been one or two who had progress impeeded.
We left Trento in brilliant sunshine, the sunburnt faces of a couple at days end testament to its warmth. The big mountain pass of today at nearly 10,000ft was Passo di Stelvio, apparently the third highest pass in Europe. Each day we've been honing our skills as the roads get increasingly more challenging, narrower, tighter, busier, and today those improved skills were called to bear. There were many hundreds of bikers sharing Stelvio today, their colour co-ordinated Dainese leathers testifying their skill, and skilled they are (for the most part). Many advanced riders have racer blocks on their knees, and racing tyres (slicks) seem to be fairly common, although you really wouldn't want a shower of rain spoiling your day. The standard and style of riding is something we don't often see in New Zealand, at least not unless it is on the race track - amazing. So, many, many hairpins, lots of bikes, the odd errant motorhome absolutely out of place, getting stuck on corners, and at the top a gathering of the local Ferrari Club enjoying Sunday afternoon. Understandably, the bikers, many of who had travelled long distances to conquer Stelvio, congregate at the summit, enjoy a wurst sausage and soft-drink from one of the many concessions, pose for obligatory photos then roar down again. We were treated to a fairly rare sight - an alpine eagle that appeared enormous kept us enthralled by its majesty, but too elusive to capture on film. Onwards into Switzerland, its normally fairly tightly controlled border completely open (unless they were riding high powered motorcycles, any refugees or non desirables would stand out very quickly), more hairpins and tight corners as we descended into the next leg of our journey. So, Hotel Baren (Bear) for the night, the famous Cresta run (bob sled) just outside my window, without the ice that makes it what is is, looking very much like a footpath. Another fine day forecast. Don Yesterday started with a short walk around a street market (mainly fruit, veges and local produce) then through a park. I saw a very attractive and confident young woman in her early 20's walk through the park 50m in front of me and as she passed by small groups of men, ones and twos, who appeared to be "new Italians", she was subject to what was obviously verbal abuse, these mongrels not happy with how she was dressed.... Trouble brewing. If you happen to hand make what was considered to be some of the finest armour available anywhere (for the Swiss guards at the vatican, noblemen and kings), then the backside falls out of the market, (as it became less relevant in age of the firearm) the what do you do? Easy, start making owls, woodpeckers and dragons (as well as a bunch of other artistic stuff I wouldn't have in the house. Amazing skill but an acquired taste. After two nights at the very nice Hotel Evaldo in Arabba (I butchered the spelling in previous posts), it was time to move on, next stop Trento. Over the past few days we've crossed 8-9 alpine passes, each with between 30-40 extreme hairpins going up, the same coming down - do the arithmetic, that is a lot of 1st & 2nd gear cornering, but I'm pleased to say that we're all pretty good at it now. One of the guys (Mark from Northland) checked out my brand new front tyre which is showing wear on the extreme outer wear guides - indicative of being a long way over, my foot plates getting quite a grinding as well. Apparently we're getting along reasonably quickly, averaging 38-40 kph! Thankfully Linda is an exceptional pillion who never panics even when disaster appears imminent! The hot rod street bikes I've mentioned are a bit more nimble and about 200kg lighter than my big Harley Ultra, but I wouldn't swap for anything. Dave from Queenstown (riding a BMW R1200RT) mentioned that every time he sees me in his mirrors, I'm grinning ear to ear - Dave is that impressed he is talking about trading in the BMW he has at home on a Harley - somehow, I doubt it! I mentioned previously that the villages in Europe may only be a short distance apart - in the alps it may be as little as 2-300 metres, but vertically, which could be several (or many) kilometres by road. The steepness of the mountains and where people chose to live is unbelievable. Michael, our host at Hotel Evaldo mentioned the road outside his from door has been in existence for about 4000 years (although I suspect it is in better condition now than it was then). Our route this morning took us via several more alpine passes (more hard cornering) then down into the valleys, so this time the villages were spaced a very short distance apart - each has a squat orange speed camera at either end of the village, so potentially errant motorcyclists could get multiple tickets at €200 a pop. Interestingly enough, cyclists are exempt... The cyclists that I've mentioned previously had superman like status, being able to grind and climb impossible slopes - they've subsequently been displaced by a new group of super athletes, "road skiers". Picture an athlete (lithe you men and women, slim and well muscled) short skis with a couple of small wheels either end - propulsion purely by poles, and always up high - wow! More cows with bells today, the matriarch of the herd wearing the biggest and loudest bell, and the youngest heifer the smallest, a pecking order quite apparent. We also saw goats with bells, happily munching on slopes inaccessible to anything else. Donnas gps took us on a fairly circuitous route a couple of times today, firstly up a country road, that narrowed and steepened as we climbed higher and higher, eventually ending in a village of several small homes, and a few villagers, bewildered why a gaggle of motorcyclists sporting silver fern stickers would travel such a long way over difficult roads, just to turn around and go down again. So, back track, then off to a favourite lunch stop, famous for cheeses, dried meats and vino - the gps had another little game to play taking us up what we now know to be the back route, the last few kms a bumpy farm track... The Harley coped with the metal road just fine, and lunch made everything worth while. We're now at the aptly named Grand Hotel, with a bunch of souped up historic racing cars monopolising the roads outside, and in the surrounding hills for the next few days - apparently we'll need to revue our plans... Time for a well earned snooze... Don |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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