My little boom box was pressed into service at pre dinner drinks last night at what appeared to be a pleasant but staid hotel, although volume was restrained so as not to offend anyone... The decor lent itself more to long dead and stuffed animals, all testament to the master taxidermists art - not really my thing, particularly the bear guarding the toilet. We woke to a dreary morning, the 6am bells of the church nearby giving those normally early risers an opportunity to look out the window and check for themselves - my co-pilot, not an early riser by preference, was oblivious to both church bells and the possibility of rain. Being a fine Saturday morning, literally thousands of enthusiastic Germans (specifically motorcyclists, but many others as well) trying to get into the Alps to enjoy the roads - some already on their rockets, others 2 and 4 to a trailer, ready to be set lose at the appropriate moment. Unfortunately, judging by the number plates that show country of origin, there were many visitors from the Netherlands and Norway towing caravans, who, not known for their ability to move at anything like a speed deemed acceptable by the locals would inevitably prove a frustration to everyone else all day. Fortunately we were heading the other way and were soon out of this mid alpine traffic jam, first stop Mad King Ludwig's magnificent Schloss (after a couple of weeks in the alps, we're nearly fluent). His penchence for building castles bankrupted Bavaria and resulted in the young King apparently being drowned by others desperate to quell his spending... Unfortunately for me it was a opportunity for me to be reminded that the Harley boots I favour really are not particularly good in gravel, especially when holding the bike up on a slight slope.... We moved on, stopping at a church built (or started to be built) in the 1100's - about the same time our Maori forebears were forgetting how to be master mariners. This church had the good fortune to have the bones of a Saint interred which provide a great source of income from pilgrims looking to pay their respects. As always, the workmanship and achievements of the craftsmen involved (as well as the ability of the locals to be squeezed hard enough by the local bishop to pay for it) is astounding. The town also had a very moving memorial, a statue of one young soldier comforting his dying friend. A reminder that regardless of nationality or uniform the bonds of mateship are universal, and the sorrow of a grieving mother, loving wife or young children as a painful in Germany as back home in New Zealand. Lunch at an old hotel dating back several centuries, those with a sweet tooth opting for strudel and ice cream, those favouring savoury going for brat or brokwurst (and a large beer to wash it down) - perfect. As expected Saturday afternoon traffic in Munich was a reminder why we'd avoided anywhere remotely like a big city ... We're now back at the hotel, hire bikes returned having first removed the Harley bells we'd fitted several thousand kms ago. I have grown very found of our Ultra, a strong a faithful machine, and am pleased to have gifted our bell to Jen, a dynamo from Queenstown whose skills have developed to a level where those more experienced riders amongst us have been very impressed. Tomorrow I'll look to make some observations, and summarise. Comments are closed.
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Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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