The Channel Tunnel and Crossing France
Now where were we? Oh yes, Dave and I were in the southeast of England and I was getting ready to take the Channel Tunnel to France. The morning of my departure, Dave rode with me to the entrance, we shook hands and he bid me farewell. Expecting a great adventure on the trip across to France, I was a bit disappointed. My expectations were obviously colored by an overactive imagination because how exciting can a 40 mile long tunnel be? And it was just that, boring and very sterile. I simply rolled up to the entrance toll booths, gave them my credit card, rolled to the queuing area, waited 15 minutes, then rode right onto the train, literally. The trains are actually double decked so there are two levels of cars on the train. They are so damn efficient that there is a train every 20 minutes during peak times. Thirty minute crossing time too.
 Silly me expected a nice lounge car. What was I thinking? Little did I know that these trains are so efficient, you are not allowed to get out of your car once you've loaded. Literally drive onto the train in England, sit 30 minutes, drive off the train in France (or vice versa). So what is a motorcyclist to do? Either stand for 30 minutes, or sit on the ground and twiddle your thumbs. I chose the latter and wrote in my journal for a while. Next thing I knew, we were in France.
Within two minutes of off-loading I was on the French autobahn and blasting eastward to Germany.
Okay, I know that I preach you can never see a country from the Interstate, or Autobahn, or any other version of a super highway, but sometimes they are exactly what is needed. France was not on my "must do" list for this trip and I was jones'ing for Germany, so the superhighway called me. The French toll roads are expensive, but worth the cost. Brilliantly smooth, fast and empty, I motored along at 75 mph with a warm tailwind and the heavy scent of farmlands and pollinating fields in the air. The temps would eventually rise into the mid 80's that day, and just as with England, France was blossoming into the organic hues of spring. Rapeseed fields were everywhere creating islands of small farmhouses surrounded in the sea of yellow. Where I could see private gardens, they were riots of pinks and reds and yellows. For 350 miles across France, the GS and I were in perfect harmony. The nearly empty superhighway allowed my attention to wander a bit, the engine purring at its perfect sweet spot of 3500 rpm, the warm, relaxing tailwind reduced both the load on my body and on the bike, even stretching my precious gas mileage a bit. It was all just a perfect and sublime day to ride.
Alas, it was just a passing view of France at 75 mph, but it was very surreal to me. To put it in perspective, not a week earlier I was in Toronto, watching the news coverage of the 90th anniversary remembrance of the Canadian victory at Vimy Ridge in WWI. Then six days later, here I was riding by Vimy and seeing the actual memorials to the valor of the Canadian soldiers. I was soon passing Verdun as well. The French have taken great pains to preserve these battlefields as a reminder of the cost of hatred. From Calais, through Vimy, past Verdun, and into Germany, I crossed in six hours where millions of men lost their lives, fighting for years over a few hundred kilometers. As a student of history, it gave me a lot to think about on the ride. |
Oh my aching belly
How can I sum up my two days in Kaiserslautern? (K-town for short) It was a sentimental journey that brought tears to my eyes on more than one occasion. It had been five years since I was last here and in spite of hosting the World Cup in soccer, the town was basically the same as ever. My heart has some powerful memories of our three years living there, and it just didn't seem right to be here without Teresa, but John welcomed me back and made me feel like I had never left. My mission in K-town was two-fold, (cue the James Bond theme here....) to clear out a bank account I had kept here for years (and my fake passports and multiple identity papers...) and to revisit my old unit, the 21st Theater Support Command, to see old friends and colleagues. Okay, enough with the sentimental stuff. You just want to hear about the ride don't you? Too bad, today is all about the food!
As I mentioned earlier, schnitzel is my favorite food, and Gabi and her husband at the Koechloffel restaurant know how to make it. Located in Sembach, it was our favorite restaurant when we lived there. Gabi is the lady in the picture up top, but I know you just really want to see the schnitzel! I swear it was so big, it was actually bigger than my head. (wait..... I don't think that is possible.)
 In addition to the schnitzel, I even had the wonderful timing to arrive just as the spring asparagus (spargel) crop was being harvested. The Germans grow their asparagus covered with dirt mounds so the plants never see sunlight. This produces a pure white asparagus that is soft as butter. With hollandaise sauce it jut melts in your mouth. Geez, my mouth is watering just remembering it. If you ever get the chance to be in Germany in the spring, you have got to try it.
John, thank you for your wonderful hospitality. I hope to see you again next year, on the way back from China!
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Southeast across Germany
With the sentimental journey done, I decided I would try to forego the autobahns and only take back roads across Germany. Luckily K-town is in far western Germany near the French border and is on the northern end of the Phalz Forest. (Phalzerwald) The Phalz Forest is the largest contiguous forest in Germany and stretches so far to the south that it takes in a large part of Alsace region of France too. Even better, the best motorcycling road in this section of Europe runs thru the middle of the Phalzerwald; the B48. Every weekend, hundreds of motorcyclists from all over meet there at a place called the Johanniskreuz. I guess it is their equivalent of Deal's Gap, only far more deadly. So far this year 10 riders have been killed in the region, and a couple of the roads are so twisty, and begging to be raced on, that motorcycles are banned from them on weekends and holidays. The sign is on the B48 and it says, "Death rides with you.. are you going too fast?" The sign didn't do as much for me as seeing all the flowers and little memorials along the rode to the dead riders. I swear there was one about every mile.
As for me, my favorite saying is, "The older I get, the faster I was...". So here is my B48 story. Back in the day, I use to OWN the B48. I had a K1100RS, rode the B48 to and from work everyday, and during most lunchtimes during the summer. On that bike I could do the entire 24-mile length down to Rinnthal and back in under an hour. I knew every turn, every shift point, and for two years I wore out every sport set of tires off my RS, from the outer edge, and no other rider ever passed me. (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) And if my command had know how one of it's officers was riding in his free time, they'd have grounded me in a heartbeat. The military does not like losing soldiers to motorcycle accidents. Which brings me to one of my most embarrassing moments.
 So there I was, sitting in the office of my two-star commanding general, discussing a project. I had relaxed and crossed my legs while talking to him. His eyes looked down and he suddenly says, "What the hell did you do to your boots?" I looked down and realized what he was looking at. Damn. I saw that I had ground off the outer edges of my combat boots (under my little toes) at a 45 degree angle from dragging them in the turns of the B48. Oh shit! But could I tell him that? No way. That story is true, I swear it, but now back to reality.
The rest of the day was just a joyous ride out of Germany, back into eastern France. Had lunch in Souffleheim, France which is a pottery region. Had to take a sidetrip through there because my wife imports pottery from Europe and we've been there several time. Another of the many things I love about riding in Europe is the (insert lunch picture) ability drop into a bakery or butcher and throw together a sandwich along the side of the road. Sometimes those are the lunches I remember the most.
From there crossed the Rhein at Baden-Baden and climbed up into the mountains of the Black Forest. Took the German equivalent of the Blue Ridge Parkway, but they call it the Schwartzwaldhochstrasse. (Black Forest High Road). It was a lovely day to ride and I had all day to do less than 300 kilometers.
Cruising in and out of little towns while riding high in the Black Forest was very relaxing, except for those killer mountain toads. Found this sign in the middle of the Black Forest. I wonder just how big they are? Are they as big as a dog, or do they swarm you as a gang? No matter, I didn't stick around to find out.
Next thing I knew I was in Oberjesingen with Bill and Susy. (Oberjesingen is in the prime plum growing region of Germany and for miles around the town the orchards were full of plum trees in full bloom.
If you eat a blue plum later this year, it might have come from this region.)
I met them through the Left Lane BMWMOA club while we were there. Have kept in touch ever since. They graciously allowed the use of their wireless bandwidth to produce the last newsletter. It was a wonderfully relaxing stay and we caught up on old times. When my time came to depart, Bill rode with me all the way down into Austria before saying goodbye, showing me all the best and tiniest roads in the region. It just doesn't get any better than to have you own personal tour guide in a region you've never been to. It was a fantastic time, they are a great couple, and I am lucky to have them as friends.
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Random observation of the day:
While I was stopped in Wissembourg, France I noticed this building. Look carefully at the stone wall. I know the building was probably over 400 years old, but when you observe the numerous different types of stone used, I can't help but wonder how many times it has been rebuilt. The patterns are very interesting.
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Administrivia:
Most have already noticed, but almost all the pictures are linked thumbnails to a larger and more detailed version. Just click on most of the pictures and you'll get a full size version. Sometime the thumbnails just don't do the image justice.
For those of you who have had these journals forwarded to you by a friend, you can join the mailing list if you wish. All you have to do is email me at the link below, or use this address Jeff_munn@hotmail.com Just put "Please add me to the list" in the subject line and I'll be happy to do that so you can get future updates.
I also need to ask someone for some help. My time on the internet is so limited that I can't do everything I need, and I actually don't know how to do some things. Could someone smarter than me please figure out a way to host my newsletters on the web at a click able link, which saves the embedded links in the newsletter? I've put them out there, but my version loses all the links to other web pages and the larger version of the pictures. If someone can do this, I would be forever in your debt. Send me the links and I'll add them to each update for those who join later.
Finally, I'd love some feedback on these journals. I know I said earlier that I can't answer emails, but I will try. If you have something you'd like to see, just let me know at that link above. I will try to answer you if I have the time.
That's it from Lake Bled, Slovenia. If you are receiving this it is because I was successful with my internet piracy in town. I was told you could sit in the main square and surf several unsecured wireless networks, and they were right! I love digital technology! (and yes, I do have a good firewall). The gasthaus I stayed in the previous night in Italy charge me 10 cents a minute and I just couldn't afford to pay that for the 3-4 hours it takes to produce each update and upload pictures. I am spoiled from all the free wireless in the States. J
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Next update: Volume 4: The Alps
I can't wait to get started on the next update. Right now I'm posting this while sitting in a bar in Lake Bled, rocking out to Three Doors Down. The young bar owner just became a father of a little boy (their first) and he is bouncing off the walls. The music is cranked and he is buying drinks all around. Thank goodness it is 1 pm and I've got plenty of time to kill before riding back to the Pension on the other side of the lake. But trust me, the next update will be shorter on words, and longer on pictures. Hell, I can't even begin to describe what it's like to ride them. Words fail me, but I'll do my best.
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For those who are just joining the trip, you can find the previous Volumes on the web at the following links:
If any of you can help me by rehosting the original journals with all the link intact, I'll owe you forever. In the meantime, this is the best I can do on the road.
Cheers,
Jeff | |
