Tag Archives: Motorcycle Roadtrips

Golden Days

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The first storm of the Autumn set in over Cornwall yesterday. Winds along the North coast peaked at gale force eight, that’s around 46mph/74kph. Rain was pretty relentless and quite unpleasant.

It’s been a couple of weeks since we returned from Brittany and I suppose we’ve been spoilt as the weather has generally been pretty fair. This year the golden colours of the season have been stunning; so many people have been talking about it that I’m sure it’s not just my imagination. – Well Mrs Dookes says so anyway!

When Monday dawned bright and sunny it occurred to me that if I was to believe the forecast I really needed or get out, ride and simply enjoy. In other words, a typical Dookes day on two wheels, all legitimised by Mrs D asking me to pick up some shopping!

First stop was the ancient market town of Launceston, which really deserves a post all of its own one day. Once provisions were purchased it was time to gently hit the road.

I say “gently” because it was that sort of day; soft golden light, a slight chill in the clean air, azure blue sky and golden leaves all around. No need to rush this ride, just sit back and enjoy.image

I have a bit of a love affair with the old “London Turnpike” road out of Cornwall. It has been one of the most important British roads since the 17th century, when it was a major coaching route. It’s a road that’s seen plenty of history over the centuries, in 1805 the news of Admiral Nelson’s victory and death at Trafalgar was conveyed by carriage along it’s 284miles. In 1923 the road was given the grand title of “A30” and official recognition of it’s status as the major trunk route from London to Penzance. Then, when traffic became too heavy for it’s cart-horse based civil engineering, it was replaced by it’s modern dual carriageway namesake. Today the old road is classed as a minor route and certainly the lack of traffic reinforces this, it’s been given the delightful title of “The West Devon Ride” and what a lovely ride it is on two wheels!image

With the sun on my back I let “Baby Blue” purr along at around 55mph, like I said I wasn’t rushing around at all. Mostly the road lay dry in front of us, but in places, where the shade was deep, damp leaves lay lurking ready to lubricate the road as good as any oil slick…oh the joys of Autumn motorcycling!image

We looped through the small village of Bridestowe, which lies right on the edge of Dartmoor and paused by the old railway station. It’s amazing how many places in Britain have a “Station Road,” but sadly these days, no railway. Bridestowe’s station closed in 1968 and today is a private house shielded by high conifer trees. The old line is happily seeing use as a footpath and cycle trail allowing access to stunning scenery on gentle gradients; Cool eh?image

Our trundle back home was directly into the bright setting sun, tricky stuff on a winding road, so my Schuberth helmet’s integral sun visor was very much appreciated; having the right equipment pays-off you know!image

So, OK a fifty-one mile trundle is by my standards pretty small beer, but you know it’s not about how far or how fast you ride it’s all about the journey and what a Golden Day we had.

Baby Blue rests in Golden Shadows. Heaven on two wheels!

Baby Blue rests in Golden Shadows. Heaven on two wheels!

“May the good Lord shine a light on you
Make every song you sing your favorite tune
May the good Lord shine a light on you
Warm like the evening sun.”

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Taking it Easy With Memories

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A couple of days ago, I was sitting on a ferry returning from France. It’s quite a long crossing at the Western end of the English Channel, so over an espresso I sat idly fooling around with my iPad looking at photographs and only half aware of the canned Muzak emanating from a speaker on the ceiling just above me.

It all changed when “Hotel California” by the Eagles began.

The album of the same name was one of the companions of my youth and I still love it now as much as when I first heard it. It’s also become one of my companions when touring on two wheels and today I guess it represents the sense of freedom that motorcycle travel gives me.

Having left the port of Roscoff in Northern Brittany, we were enjoying a glass smooth passage. The various Islets that rise out of the sea off the coast here fascinate me every time I sail by and over the years I’ve passed this way over fifty times now!p1070978

Now we were on the open Sea and the French coast had long disappeared in our wake over the receding horizon. I sat up and looked out at the passing ocean, the sun was rapidly setting. It’s always fun to anticipate the big hiss as it sinks into the water, but that never happens…!

A large container ship was passing through the lengthening golden rays, it’s decks and hold crammed with shipping boxes carrying goodness knows what. For a moment it seemed to pause, silhouetted against the horizon; what a shame it wasn’t one of those classic liners from the past, such as the Queen Mary, Normandie or France. I was fortunate, years ago, to have actually witnessed the last of those graceful ships before the scrapyards claimed most of them, what a memory to have!p1070994

Yes, the old Dookes mind was definitely wandering…

When I’m at sea I find I can have space to think, probably because there’s not much else to do and watching the endless waves go by has a wonderfully calming effect on me.

The Eagles continued as we left the container ship in our wake.

In my mind I was now back on my big two-wheeler, sweeping across the fertile plains of Central France and catching that first breath-taking glimpse of the Alps. I could feel the warmth of the summer sun on my face and the scent of wild flowers as we passed verdant meadows of blooms nodding in gentle summer breezes. The drum of the ship’s engines became the soundtrack of the road, or at least a pretty good substitute.

It’s been lovely to be back in Brittany, if only for a short time. The weather has been kind to us and the early colours of Autumn quite enchanting. For a change I’ve not been chasing the miles and have been quite content to stay in one place, visit some local towns and villages, catch up with friends and of course enjoy the local food and drink.

The season has been relentlessly turning, with the trees slowly fading from verdant greens to gold and brown.p1070960 In the dense forest around our friends château we found sweet chestnuts dropping from the branches of ancient trees, one of natures tasty gifts to be eagerly gathered and enjoyed a long with wild mushrooms and other edible fungi.p1070964 By the pretty village of Huelgoat the glassy lake looked stunning, framed by majestic autumnal colour.dsc_0060

The medieval town of Josselin has a street market that always captivates me and to have the time to stroll amongst its bustling stalls is a real treat. p1040879As with most things French, food takes centre stage. We stocked up with tresses of smoked garlic, air-dried sausages, onions and olives. Mouth-watering aromas hung on the air; there were spit roasting chickens, outsize pans of tartiflette, grilled ham and a host of other tempting goodies all being freshly cooked and available to eat now or later. I let my senses take in the atmosphere and I realised that each passing moment is another precious memory to look back on, enjoy and savour.

The Brest - Nantes Canal at Josselin.

The Brest – Nantes Canal at Josselin.

Yes, memories are wonderful things, though like many people I have some that I’d rather erase, but memories of travel I cherish. It’s really the heartbeat of my life, travel and memories. I guess that I’m just one of those people that is constantly called to keep moving by voices of the road.p1070789

“…and still those voices are calling from far away….”

Catch you soon.

Dookes

In memory of Glenn Frey, 1948-2016, with thanks for all the music and memories.
– Take it Easy.

Playing on the Tracks

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It’s a chilly late October afternoon, the temperature has struggled up to 9° Celsius and the sun refuses to burn through the grey covering cloud. Black feathered Rooks are calling from the high trees around the old railway station. The air is still.

This is Autumn in Brittany.

Jean-Claude and his mates are playing Breton Bowls on the ground where the old railway lines once lay. They gather here most Fridays to play their game share a meal in a local café and generally enjoy each other’s company. The cackle of their laughter competes with the cries of the black birds above them, whilst the clunk of metal bowling balls punctuates their conversation.

Boules Bretagne on the old railway.

Boules Bretagne on the old railway.

“Hey, Gallois come and have a go!” Jean-Caude implores. “Leave the ghosts of the old railway alone.”

The old station fascinates me.
p1070923
Mur de Bretagne saw its last train steam out towards Carhaix nearly fifty years ago when the metre gauge Réseau Breton railway system closed down. I only wish I could have enjoyed it before it vanished forever. The network linked many rural communities and it’s closure pushed many small towns into a kind of time warp that they only really came out of after the turn of the 2000’s. Today around Brittany most of the old station buildings remain, the French can’t see the point of demolishing perfectly good structures when alternative uses can be found.

Mur de Bretagne Station in 1910.

Mur de Bretagne Station in 1910.

At Mur the station now serves a local cycling club, the fire brigade and of course the Breton Bowling club, talk about diversification!

I smile.
“Un petit moment, Jean-Claude, je besoin explorer le vielle station.” – “In a minute Jean-Claude, I must explore the old station.”

My friend shrugs his shoulders, he understands my interest in the history of the old railway, but to him it’s just that, history.

He can remember the station when it was open and he stood here the day that the last train departed. To him it’s gone and no end of interest from me will ever bring it back… The bowling is what matters now.

I get it, but my curiosity and passion for old railways wins out.

The station is a wonderful mix of good repair and partial decrepitude. On the side where trains once ran the building is in good repair and well-tended, whilst at the rear there is evidence of slightly less love being endowed on it and that makes it more interesting. It’s just crying out for some monochrome photography.p1070925

In my mind’s eye I can see the busy bustle of the place when it was still served by the Réseau Breton. At least it still lives on serving the local community in other ways. p1070924

I marvel that the old enamel name board still proclaims the town on the gable end. Back in the UK that would have disappeared to a collectors wall years ago!p1070920

The game is progressing and I’ve missed out the chance of looking silly by joining in. Maybe the old station saved me from gentle embarrassment!p1070922

J-C looks at me and winks, he’s winning at the moment!

There’s a strong coffee with a splash of Lambig, the local calvados type firewater, waiting at the end of this game. Then there will be Poitrine Fumé, Haricot Blanc avec ail and tarte-tatin to follow, all washed down with a local rough wine, my kind of heaven!

There’s a hint of wood smoke in the cool air, the clear clean air of Brittany and just at the moment there is nowhere else in the world that I’d rather be.

Catch you later – À bientôt!

Dookes

Soul Mover

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I have friends who ride and friends who don’t. 

Someone once wrote that a car moves the body, but only a motorbike can move the soul.

Clearly that person was an officiando of two-wheeled transport and those of us who have been blessed with the motorcycling bug know exactly what they were getting at!

It’s often difficult to convey to a non-rider just what it is that us two-wheelers get from our machines. 

Many folk say it’s all about speed and certainly that rings true for some riders; I’m not going to deny that travelling at 100 and silly mph is one big adrenaline rush!

To others it’s about the fluid motion of the machine through bends and twisty sections of road when you ride it well, whilst to some it’s the “wind in your face” thing. Just ask any dog why they stick their head out of a car window?

I fall into the total package school, for me it’s a bit of everything and with the addition thrill of winning the daily battle against the idiots out there on the road who seem hell-bent on trying to kill you! Oh and of course there’s the noise….!

I must also add that to me riding is such an immersive activity that I really can forget everything else in the world whilst I am out on two wheels. It really does move my soul!

Last Wednesday I was in need of a bit of soul lifting. I was up early, three spaniels generally make sure of that at Dookes H.Q. normally it’s a good sing-song as the sun comes up, but with such things come great benefits. This was a classic early Autumn morning, crisp sunlight breaking through early mists that still hugged the landscape and hedges. image

The urge to ride suddenly became very pressing, I didn’t just want to ride; I needed to ride!

Dogs and breakfast sorted, I got into my riding gear and wandered out to “The Man Cave,” which also passes for my workshop. What a lovely conundrum now faced me, which of my two faithful Harley’s should I take out?
No contest this morning, it had to be Harls, my beloved Centenary Softail. I needed that rawness she possesses, her crisp handling, open to the elements riding position and most of all that staccato exhaust growl! 

I made a pact with myself to keep off the major roads, the day was about riding for pleasure not for working hard, at least that was what I thought….!

We set off East, skirting Launceston and dropped into the valley of the River Tamar, passing into Devon as we crossed the old bridge at Greystone. I decided that the high tors of Dartmoor would be our first target, on such a beautiful morning the scenery there should be spectacular.

Trundling through the ancient Stannary Town of Tavistock we turned right and began our climb towards the high moor.

Wisps of cloud hugged the hillside ahead and the air took on a distinct chill, it looked like things were going to get interesting. We climbed some more and sure enough were soon enveloped by thick wet Dartmoor cloud. So much for the stunning views, I spent the next twenty miles trundling along trying to spot white sheep in dense white fog whilst wiping the enveloping water droplets off my visor every few seconds! So dear blogonaughts my apologies for the lack of wonderful scenery photos, here some in the fog instead.image
One of the biggest problems with riding in fog or mist is the way that the water droplets deposit themselves on helmet visors, it’s a bit like trying to look through wet tissue paper! In rain you never have the same problem as the water droplets are bigger and flow off the visor with the slipstream, but riding sensibly slower in fog there’s less slipstream as well.image
We swung through the small and pretty village of Moretonhamstead before briefly pausing at Okehampton where delightfully we passed back into warm sunshine!

Heading North West now, my heart was lifted by both the warm sun and the contented roar from Harls’ exhaust as we ate up the miles considerably faster than over Dartmoor! 

Our route was following the old railway through the delightfully named village of Halwill Junction and on towards Holsworthy. This was the line over which part of the romantically named “Atlantic Coast Express” once trundled behind gleaming steam locomotives near the end of its 300 mile journey from London.

The old railway line, once the Atlantic Coast Express ran along here.

The old railway line, once the Atlantic Coast Express ran along here.

Now there’s an idea for a future ride…

We stopped to take in the view over the bucolic Devon landscape and then it was time to push on. image

With delightfully quiet roads, it was clear that most of the summer tourists have slipped home with the return of children to school. It’s one of the downsides of living in such a beautiful region, we can hardly move for visitors invading during the peak holiday season of July and August, but like the swallows they fly away at the end of summer and we get the place back to ourselves again!
I stuck to the plan and by the time we returned to Dookes H.Q. after 140 wonderful miles and not one major route had been touched by our tyre rubber.

Life had been refocused and all was good in the world!

“I have seen rings of smoke through the trees and the voices of those who standing looking”

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Melting Again

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I’m quite proud to be labelled as an “All Weather Rider.”

Now normally, to most people, this would indicate I am some kind of mad-man who enjoys riding in the rain! Well, not exactly thank you, like most sensible folk on two wheels I would really much prefer to ride in dry daylight, but when you do long distance road trips you sometimes have to contend with what nature throws at you.

Over the years, weather-wise, I think I’ve just about collected the set, ridden in everything that there is and yes had a few “Squeaky-Bum” moments along the way as well. Sometimes though, it’s the conditions that appear the most benign that can catch out the unwary and hot days are right up there!

The hottest temperature that I’m aware that I’ve ridden in was last year in Provence, South East France, when the mercury was nudging 40 degrees Celsius, that’s about 104 Fahrenheit. Add into the mix a whopping big V-Twin engine between the legs and you can appreciate that it was bloody hot! The biggest problem with days like that is fatigue, you quickly get tired in the heat which screws your reactions and clouds judgement. Dehydration can be a real issue too.

Now all of this is very predictable if you are riding in countries where high climatic temperatures are the norm. Here in the UK though, we don’t have a climate… we just have weather!

On Tuesday this week Mrs Dookes had a business meeting in Plymouth, that’s the famous sea port city about 25 miles from Dookes H.Q. and as her meeting would be over by lunchtime we decided to meet up for a bite to eat. All good so far.

I thought it would be nice to take “Baby” for a little ride around and enjoy some of the good weather. I set out and rode a nice sixty mile loop taking in the lovely A374, with its twisty bends from Trerulefoot to Torpoint, before taking the chain-ferry across to Plymouth.

Torpoint ferry, not high on the list of best looking ships!

Torpoint ferry, not high on the list of best looking ships!

What I didn’t realise was that whilst we were out the temperature would soar to 30 degrees Celsius and guess who put the wrong jacket on and took the wrong bike as Baby’s faring keeps all the passing breeze off me? Fortunately I took a change of shirt and a handy towel as by the time I arrived for our lunch date I was, frankly, dripping!

Our rendezvous was the old Royal William Yard in Stonehouse, a part of Plymouth that lies adjacent to Devonport Naval Base on the Hamoaze estuary.IMG_1681

The yard was a major victualling depot for the Royal Navy from 1826 until 1992. It’s an amazing 16 acre site that is all historically protected and although now in private hands still very much retains it’s identity and heritage.

Once a store for beer, spirits and vinegar; now expensive apartments.

Once a store for beer, spirits and vinegar; now expensive apartments.

Urban re-development has converted many of the buildings into award-winning swanky apartments, boutiques, exhibition halls and restaurants. There are still odd corners that await the developers touch,IMG_1695 but largely most of the restoration is now complete. It is, however, one of the most impressive industrial monuments in the whole of the UK.

The scale of what this place did in its heyday is amazing. On site was a flour mill, bakery, slaughterhouse, butchery, brewery and cooperage, not to mention dozens of other smaller workshops and storehouses. Worthy of note is that the flour mill could produce 270,00 pounds/122,500kilos of flour every week, that’s an awful lot of bread and ships biscuits!

Part of the brewhouse, now a restaurant.

Part of the brewhouse, now a restaurant.

The impressive buildings were designed by the architect Sir John Rennie and are built of local limestone and granite. The whole site is also paved with similar stone cut to engineered precision, these are not common cobbles! image

Anyway, we had a super lunch with great views up the river towards CornwallIMG_1686…..then it was time to start-up Baby and cook a bit more!

Next day, it was ten degrees cooler and today it’s been raining!
Like I said, we just have weather!

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Lake Como – Flying on Water

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Our trip to Bellagio on board MV Milano was relaxed and quite delightful.

Bellagio is one of those “must go to” places that everyone tells you about, my experience is that normally these places disappoint me and yep, you guessed, so did Bellagio!

OK, it’s a nice enough little place, but like many “nice little places” it’s popularity proves its downfall. We found a nice restaurant for lunch and I did manage to find one little alley that wasn’t crammed with shops selling crap or heaving with people!image

Now, I’d been doing a bit of devious planning about our return trip. Where it had taken us two and a half hours to reach Bellagio, I’d figured that forty minutes would be better for the return journey!

You see, Lake Como is one of the few places outside the former Soviet Union where regular Hydrofoil services operate and as regular Blogonaughts know Dookes is rather partial to savouring different modes of transportation!

Years ago I rode the Jetfoil that used to operate between Dover and Oostende, but being an open sea service it was prone to cancellation due to adverse sea conditions. As Lake Como is a tad more sheltered, I was sure that our trip would be more assured!

Because Lake Como is so big, 46km/29 miles long, a high-speed service between the principal towns makes sense. For many years this has been provided by a fleet of Italian built hydrofoil fitted boats, which is pretty apt seeming as how an Italian virtually invented the hydrofoil!

Enrico Forlanini born in Milan on 13 December 1848 was an Italian engineer well-known for tinkering around with various concepts and machines, I think I would have got on well with him! He started playing with hydrofoils in 1898 and by 1911 had a vessel that exceeded 40 mph on Lake Maggiore, just over the hill from Como.

40mph in 1911, on this!

40mph in 1911, on this!

Err, what’s a hydrofoil, Dookes?

Oops! Sorry, I should have explained earlier…

A hydrofoil is best described as the boat equivalent to an aircraft wing and just like the wing of an aircraft provides lift to the aeroplane to make it fly, the hydrofoil wing (which is like a big letter C under the hull of the boat) passing through the water lifts the hull of the boat out of the water. This means that drag is reduced, the vessel moves faster and best of all energy is saved making the whole thing more efficient. On the down-side, hydrofoils are very demanding when it comes to maintenance and that makes running them a very delicate balancing act that most accountants balk at; fortunately, engineers love them and at the end of the day, wonderfully, I’m not an accountant!

Those blasted accountants are unfortunately winning the battle, the ‘foils are gradually being replaced by high-speed catamarans, which though not quite as fast are lot cheaper to build and operate. Anyway, in the meantime, hydrofoils are just so sexy!

Sexy eh?

Sexy eh?

Oh yes, by the way my love affair with hydrofoils can be blamed on that secret agent James Bond 007! In the film “Thunderball,” one of the stars was the “Disco Volant,” a hydrofoil used by the villain Emilio Largo, which obviously was blown-up by Bond in the end!

Disco Volante in "Thunderball."

Disco Volante in “Thunderball.”

Anyway, there we were waiting on the pier at Bellagio for the return service to Como, our tickets for the high-speed service safe in my top pocket. Mrs Dookes is used to me at time like this, I get all excited and stressed up at the same time!

There was quite a crowd, this was a popular service and we probably were not going to be able to pick and choose where we sat, bummer! Once we got on-board, we ducked left and found two seats right at the front of the vessel on the port side (left to the land-lubbers) right ahead of the hydroplane. Excellent!

The hydrofoil the pale blue thing sticking out of the side of the boat.

The hydrofoil the pale blue thing sticking out of the side of the boat.

As we settled into our seats the vessel cast off and the two big 1,400 HP diesel engines propelled us towards the centre of the lake. Safely away from the landing stage the engines spooled up and the hydroplanes began to work, the spray around the windows dropped away as the hull climbed away from the water and we were literally flying above the lake! It’s a bit like being on an aeroplane as you speed down the runway and lift off the ground. I was as excited as anything, Mrs Dookes was less impressed. Boys stuff, I guess!

Looking out of the window at speed, we're flying on that hydrofoil!

Looking out of the window at speed, we’re flying on that hydrofoil!

We skimmed along the lake for around ten minutes before we made our one intermediate stop. Then the process of slowing is very like a water-skier who settles back into the water as speed declines, only in our case it was the hull that dropped back into the water to become a real boat again.

Cut the speed and now the hydrofoil drops the hull back into the water.

Cut the speed and now the hydrofoil drops the hull back into the water.

OK, I admit that the hydrofoil doesn’t have the charm of the more traditional ferries. I love them for what they are, a brilliant example of applied engineering that really does the job very well indeed.

Yes, that’s right it doesn’t take much to make Dookes happy; just a big noisy machine generally!

We sped back to the delightful city of Como with plenty of time to partake of some lovely Italian ice-cream and have a little pause before enjoying a super evening meal in a fantastic little no-nonsense restaurant, but that’s another story!

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Travelling in Time – The Lady of The Lake.

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When we decided to visit Lago di Como I did some research about the ferry boats that travel on the lake. You can imagine my delight to discover that there is a paddle steamer, named “Concordia,” that has only recently been restored and which operates regular Sunday excursions from Como. Plans were put into place for a day of steam cruising!

Imagine my disappointment when I arrived in Como to find that the weekend’s excursion had been cancelled – bummer!

All was not lost though, Mrs D and I decided that on the Sunday we would take a trip to the famous village of Bellagio and probably grab some lunch. Looking at the ferry schedule, we had a couple of options, but arriving at Como ferry terminal all bets were off – a major change of plan came into play.

You see, moored against the jetty ready for a 10:00 hrs departure up the lake was the classic 1904 built “Milano.”P1070317

This delightful vessel has quite a history. She was built by N. Odero of Genoa, taken apart and moved to Lake Como where she was resembled and launched into the lake. As built she was a side paddle steamer of 43.2 metres length, but in 1926 she was converted to a diesel-powered motor vessel with screw propulsion and as such has served on the lake ever since.

To say that she is much-loved is a bit of an understatement, basically she is the flagship of the lake ferries and very much in the hearts of the lake side communities.

To see her tied up ready for the morning “end to end” service certainly got my heart racing and fortunately, just before I bought two tickets, Mrs Dookes said “yes!” To be honest, I think she was relieved that it wasn’t a steam-powered vessel, with all the soot, smoke and hot oil that can entail!

We grabbed a pair of seats on the forecastle deck and settled in for the ride. Two minutes later I was on my feet and off exploring; which was how it stayed for the two and a half hour cruise to Bellagio!

I loved every minute of it and to be fair, for different reasons, so did Mrs Dookes!

The old girl is obviously well loved and cared for by her crew, “Milano” that is, not Mrs D! Her beautiful wooden weather decks smelling delightfully of fresh teak oil, whilst brass work was well buffed and polished with the odd trace of brasso left here and there. All companionway steps still have the original cast gunmetal anti-slip plates that proudly proclaim the vessels name “Milano” and all of these have obviously been cared for too, a nice touch.P1070432

The crew themselves seemed a happy bunch and obviously loved their charge, their pride especially noticeable at the many stops that we made as we cross-crossed the lake heading north.P1070438

“Milano” rides the lake waters beautifully, her straight stem parting the water like a keenly sharp knife whilst her counter stern is pure class. Despite the cross winds and at times enthusiastic helm work she is a real lady, without any nasty rolling or pitching – not bad for over 100 years old and without any stabilisers.P1070442

She’s obviously a bit of a handful to manoeuvre when on-shore breezes pin her against the landing stage. “Milano” is not fitted with bow thrusters like modern vessels, but with teamwork from the mooring crew and skilful handling in the wheelhouse it’s not too much of a problem that a bit of time, patience and experience can’t deal with.P1070443

Oh, I forgot to mention, I fell totally in love with this old lady of the lake! The two and a half hours trip to Bellagio and lunch flew by and if it hadn’t been that she filled to passenger capacity at the last two stops I’d have stayed on board all day!

MV Milano, travelling through time.

MV Milano, travelling through time.

As we disembarked it was with more than a slight twinge in my heart that I watched my beloved “Milano” slip away north for the rest of her day’s work. Such a classy lady!P1070462

….and the trip back?
Well that’s another story!

Catch you soon.

Dookes

It’s just so Annoying!

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There’s only one thing about a road trip that really annoys me.

Packing your bags everyday.

It’s only a little thing, but it bugs me every time I do it!

How come even when I diligently keep everything with the bag it came out of I always have a battle to make things fit in again?

Yeah, I know, the secret to motorcycle road trips is keeping it simple and baggage wise keeping it light. I keep the clothes to a minimum and do my laundry each night.

There are certain motorbike “essentials” that get packed at the bottom of the panniers; puncture repair kit, compressor, rain-suit, spare gloves, spare bulbs and tools. Then there are the modern essentials such as phone and battery chargers; oh and not forgetting my travel kettle and mug, a fella needs his tea you know! Well that lot fits into the two panniers and then my clothes bag goes in the top box.
image
It’s the blasted panniers that always misbehave though and seem to shrink every night!

How the hell am I supposed to take back meaningful amounts of good wine?

It’s enough to drive you to drink!

………Once the bike is safely put away!

Catch you soon.

Dookes

La Cœur de France, The Heart of France

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It’s been a long hot hard ride today.

Baby and I kicked off from our overnight stop in a small village called Montaimont near La Chambre in the high Alps.

The view at breakfast I've known worse!

The view at breakfast- I’ve known worse!


After breakfast, our first hurdle was to negotiate the steep, narrow lane from the village back to the D213. With four very tight hairpins and a crumbling road surface I knew it was always going to be tricky, but we only had to resort to walking one bend so it wasn’t too bad. Once on the D213 we sailed through the remaining half-dozen “lacets” as my French friends call them and soon hit the Péage heading for Lyon.

As I was saying my goodbyes to the Alps, until next time, Baby seemed to come into her own. I swear that bike was trying to tell me something; something like, “OK, this is what I do, let’s go!”

So yes, in many ways it’s been an Autoroute cruising day and also one to watch the French geography unfold before us like a documentary film. First there was the Alps, then the young Rhône, the mighty Loire valley and the extinct volcanos of the Puy de Dôme. What better geography lesson could you ask for, how come it was never this good at school?

All the while that big bike of mine just got on with it. Mile after mile was munched up, whilst I enjoyed the comparatively luxurious ride that only a ‘Big-Twin’ Harley can give! Just over two hours after setting out we paused for a spot of lunch not long after Lyon, which was its usual chaotic mess! Grabbing fuel at Thiers, from a place I know just off the Autoroute and then back at it, we cruised into St Amand Montrond at about 15:30.

Time for a cup of coffee and then to head cross-country through the Cher valley to one of my favourite B&B’s near Vierzon.

I always like to spend the last hour of a riding day sort of chilling a bit, taking the back roads and letting the road come to me as we spool down after long fast miles. The scenery around here tends to be quite arable, large fields to barley, wheel or rape seed. The latter does get a bit tedious, it a member of the brassica family and for miles everything smells of cabbage!

I was feeling a bit bad about the River Cher and wanted to get a nice photo to disprove that’s it’s not all weedy and muddy, so we meandered around a bit looking for a suitable spot. Unfortunately everywhere was either weedy or muddy! So no shot I’m afraid!

You’ll just have to be content with this almost timeless picture of the evening train departing St Florent sur Cher. Timeless because there’s no-one there except the staff!

St Florent - The Frech Adlestrop.

St Florent – The French Adlestrop.


It’s a bit like the poem “Adlestrop” by Edward Thomas, except it’s the French version!

As I type, the crickets are chirping away outside my window and pigeons fly past heading to roost, their wigs clapping a farewell to the warm summer day.

Ce soir nous sommes au cœur de la France ce soir/We are in the heart of France tonight. Baby is safely shut away in the barn, content with 360 effortless miles under her belt. Yes, she’s a heavy old lump in the mountains, but a thoroughbred out on the open highway, which is what she’s really designed for and I can’t really ask more than that!

The sun is casting a red glow across the sky and silhouetting the old trees on the horizon. It’s not the Alps, but it sort of feels like home.

Heart of France sunset.

Heart of France sunset.

“Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.”

Edward Thomas
3 March 1878 – 9 April 1917 Killed in Acton Arras

Catch you soon.

Dookes

The Last Col

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I had real mixed feelings as I guided Baby from Como this morning.

With Mrs Dookes flying out to be with me, I had to pause, draw breath, stop being self-centred and only thinking of motorbikes for a few days. I’ve got to admit that despite it being quite a difference from my normal road-trip ‘modus operandi,’ it worked superbly and the break from riding did help recharge the old Dookes batteries! On the other hand, I was just about ready to get rolling again by this morning, there’s only so many pastel shaded salmon coloured houses with tile roofs that I can cope with looking at!

There is just one funny thing though, after three days of not riding it came as a bit of a shock just how heavy Baby really is! I supposed I’d got so used to her massive bulk that I’d forgotten how bloody awkward she can be at slow speeds and on indifferent road surfaces, like stone cobbles! Thank you Como for reminding me of that!

Once we got on the open road I was able to relax a tad, if one can ever relax when riding on an Italian Autostrada! Now don’t get me wrong, the Italian motorways are not in my opinion inherently more dangerous than any other high-speed trunk road found throughout Western Europe, you just have to approach them a bit differently. For example, apart from lane one the other lanes have strict minimum speeds and frankly you be crazy to ignore that. What the Autostrada really does is make people use their mirrors properly, not lane hog and anticipate well in advance. True you will see bonkers things occasionally, but tell me a motorway anywhere where you don’t! The only unfortunate thing about the Autostradas is that the majority of them are toll roads and not cheap ones either, so whilst they undoubtably save time you pay for it!

Leaving Como we headed South, skirted Milan and struck out East to Turin where we took the A32 towards the French border.

By Susa and 130 miles of hot, hot, hot slog, I was ready for a change and turned off the Autostrada to find some altitude and cooler air. At 2083metres/6834feet Col du Mont Cenis seemed to fit the bill nicely, it’s just that I’d forgotten how much hard work it takes to get up there! The road isn’t technically very difficult, but I’ve always found that I can’t really get a rhythm going on it and today was no exception!

At the top of the climb is a lake, Lac du Mont Cenis, an artificial lake that supplies water to two hydroelectric stations. During last winter extensive maintenance was carried out on the dam and as yet the lake has still not reached anywhere near its normal level, which made for an interesting contrasts to previous visits.image

As I wasn’t in any particular hurry, I stopped for a most enjoyable lunch at a small restaurant that overlooks the lake. Talk about a meal with a view! image

The road from the Col drops down to Lanslebourg via a delightful ladder of five sweeping hairpin bends, which being nice and wide, were a joy to cruise round on Baby.

We plugged away down the L’Arc valley, whilst surrounded by impressive towering peaks it gets quite tedious the nearer you get to Modane and St Michel de Maurienne. There’s just too much squeezed into a very narrow valley, a major railway line, several freight yards, two main roads, a Péage, various quarries and factories not to mention the River L’Arc!

By La Chambre I was ready for a change.

There was one more big Col on the Dookes list, another classic from Le Tour de France that had been calling me for years; Col de la Madeleine. Despite Baby being such a handful on the narrow mountain roads I decided to go for it, remembering how I’d ridden last year on Col de Lombarde I knew the bike could do it!

From La Chambre to Madeleine the D213 road is 20km long and gains 1522meteres at an average gradient of 8%, that’s quite a climb, over a mile upwards. Oh yes, there’s twenty hairpins as well! At the top you are 2000metres above sea level, that’s 6562 feet.image

I’ve got to say that I enjoyed every single metre of that climb. I just let Baby find her own pace and gear, she’s not a sports or adventure bike, so no point in trying to ride her as such. She is big, long and heavy and as such you’ve got to approach the tight twisties with respect, do that and she’ll do the job! Just like today.image

Arriving at the summit was incredible, I remembered that someone once described Madeleine as “beautiful, but heartbreaking.” imageI’m not sure about the heartbreak, definitely beautiful, but for me to was the culmination of a quest that began by a young boy who over forty years ago dreamed of visiting the great Tour de France Cols.image

As I stood admiring the lovely stone summit marker, a golden eagle called from high in the clear sky above me, it’s call echoing off the surrounding mountains.
image
I looked upwards to that majestic soaring bird.

If we dream to soar from what we are familiar, that is normal.
A few are lucky enough to fly with their dream.

. . . and now that last Col has been climbed, where else can the dream lead to?

Catch you soon.

Dookes