Greece is the word..

It can’t always be the best..

It was the nineties comedy ‘Game On’, where in one particular episode the main character Matthew declares ‘There is a time to surf, and there is a time to wax your board’. I still find myself quoting that at times.
Today was a time to wax the board. Not every day is going to be a classic; some days you just have to get on with it. If there was a sign to summarise this day, this would pretty much be it:

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It started well. Again I was up with the larks. Awake before 6am and listening to a podcast. I decide to go out for a walk in the morning sunshine. Still early..

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After a good breakfast and our taking forever to pay the bill with a very confused hotel owners wife we make out to the road. Today is Sunday. Quite warm here now.
On the road it is fairly busy.

I create a new entry for my ‘Ramble Glossary of Motorcycling’. I call it the ‘Fucknugget Cluster’. No, we’re not talking some healthy breakfast cereal or tasty chocolate treat.

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Nope, not that.

What I’m referring to here is groups of motorcyclists, riding along together in a tight knitted formation, some of them obviously way too cool for school, but riding as though the district synchronised riding examiner is lurking in a hedgerow somewhere, scoring them on their synchronised riding ability and general all round cool. Brian and I chat later- what on earth do you get out of riding like that? It just seems totally bizarre. Each to their own I suppose - or each to their group. Whatever.

And there’s lots of groups of said clusters. Lots and lots. Sunday is cluster club day. Woop de do.

The day so far is generally unremarkable. We need to cross into Austria and to do so join up with the A7 Autobahn to head in. Things are fairly clear on the road and we clap sight of the glorious Alps, they gradually loom larger as time ticks by. As we hit the mountain, the tunnel links in to the Austrian route 179 and the traffic is stopped well before we get through to the end of the motorway. We tippy toe on, through the traffic, amongst various groups of fucknugget clusters, through the disgruntled occupants of motorhomes, the bored on coaches, the po-faced occupants of Audis with Thule roof boxes and yet more clusterfolk.
There are no accidents or anything to note, it seems it is just Sunday and this is volume of traffic- well, we guess. It’s now hot and miserable on the road and that manifests itself with some bad temepered motoring.

An afternoon petrol stop in Austria, and no sooner are we filling up, that we are joined by the daddy of all clusters, complete with assistant Road Captain who directs in the hoards of Harley Davidsons and their pilots in their sweaty bondage gear to their landing points. That puts the tin hat on it. Christ, let’s get this day over with. At least it didn’t rain yet, I suppose.

In fairness things do improve. Well, a bit. We head up into the mountains now, but roads still pretty busy. It just seems there’s no way around it. It is Sunday afternoon and Austria has taken to the tarmac. I try to get a sticker at Obergurgl (there’s a particular Steptoe and Son episode I like which makes mention of it), but Obergurgl is very much closed.

We take a run up the Timmelsjoch Pass, fairly unremarkable on the way up to the museum.

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14 Euros gets you past the booth (eventually) for a trundle over and down the other side. It certainly improves but there’s lots and lots of traffic.

I did get a sticker or two.

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We make our way down towards our destination. Crikey it is bleedin’ hot. I’ve forgotten my sunscreen this afternoon and I’m a tad red faced as we skirt into Italy and the town of Vipetino. Let’s get today over with.

We don’t have a hotel booked today, and our usual go to of booking.com isn’t showing much. Brian takes to the role of accommodation bloodhound and manages to find us a nice spot a short walk from town.

Much needed.

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I break the general (but occasionally flouted) domestic beer rule. It was worth breaking the rule today.. yep, this really did hit the spot. And there was a promise of German bier, right?

Vipetino is actually very nice. Actually very Austrian though. It’d be hard to tell it was Italy at all if you didn’t know it was.

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Trying to stick with the theme of eat local, we talked last night about how we’d be in Italy tonight and therefore a Pizza would seem to be the order of the day. We find a rather odd restaurant come tennis club (I think it was called Match Point, or something like that) and are seated in a pretty busy place for dinner.

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Good starter…

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.. and very good Pizza

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Verdict: The odd tennis restaurant serves up an ace.

A stroll back and so to bed.
 
So if you’re wondering what happened with my dad, he’s still going to be involved. :thumb

The thought was to pick him up on the way; after chatting through it with dad we thought for the distances involved the schlep would be just a little bit too much, so we worked on a plan to make that happen. He’s 77 now and a little bit nervous about things. Since we’ve lost mum he’s become more nervous and anxious, so we’re going to try and make it as comfortable and simple as possible.
 
Are you mangled in that pic as well?

Disgraceful :D
 
Slovenia’s Most Wanted..

Well I spoke with my dad yesterday morning. He was having some doubts and was a bit down with things. I did my best to reassure him about what we were going to do and how it would work. He’d done this before, and hell, it is just like.. well just like riding a bike. I say I’ll phone later. He’s clearly more than a bit worried.

I then call my brother and he will do his best to get him in the right frame of mind.

I call later that day and the news is really good. He’s in a very positive mood and has decided to go for it. His daughter in law will be taking him to Gatwick and he has everything ready. That’s such great news and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I’m up at 6am again and out for a walk in the town.

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As I say, all rather Austrian for Italy..

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Today is promising on paper and anticipated over breakfast. It’s a boring Monday, so everyone I hope will be back doing what they should be doing on a Monday which hopefully doesn’t involve any kind of motorcycling or cluster like arrangement. There’ll be passes to be navigated and twisty roads of plenty.

The breakfast was good and held amongst a gaggle of blue rinse German speakers.

Sun lotion will definitely be needed again today.

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We’re out in organised and spritely fashion to head off towards our third and final pre-booked accommodation in Slovenia.

An hour or so into the ride and Brian spots a BMW dealer as we pass and makes a quick u-turn to head back. He’s in and speaking to the chap from the parts department who drags him off into the stock room for a root around. After ten minutes or so he emerges triumphant, with a tiny box of FPC treasure but much lighter on the Euro front.

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Oh, and they had a courtesy bike with a difference.

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Today’s journey incorporates a number of passes and it’s fantastic, from some main ones to some small seemingly endless narrow roads linking through the forests. It is absolutely magic. Peaceful and super biking and the grind of yesterday seems like its weeks ago.

We have a fair distance to cover today amongst the fun, and of course distances and time are amplified when you take mountain pass roads. There’s a brief coffee stop for a grin and a cappuccino but we’re on a schedule.

Fun times up in the Dolomites. Happy days.

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The day continues in the same vein and is very nicely concluded going over Slovenia’s Vrsic pass. We head up the fun way, a fine and fun stretch of road, and down with some caution, beware the cobbled hairpins..

Slovenia’s Julian Alps from the Vrsic Pass. You’ve kind of got to step back to fit it all in…

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Brian and I disconnect whilst I’m looking for Petrol but by happy coincidnce we join up just outside the destination town of Kranj, close to Ljubljana’s airport where I need to meet my dad this evening who is currently sat in the tasteful orange trim of EasyJet. It’s handy to catch Brian because we haven’t got particularly decent directions to our accommodation. It’s about a quarter past six as we trundle into Kranj and further time is burned up trying to find the exact spot of the B&B. After going up and down the road in question and then going and asking in a bar we pull into a rather anonymous looking address. Brian knocks on the door and a little old lady peers round at this large looming odd bearded guy who is tapping at a piece of A4 paper. She is non-plussed and looking a little nervous. She summons a neighbour who is handily messing around with his tractor next door, and he comes over and tells us ‘You must wait’. About twenty more minutes pass, and I’m getting a little nervous about meeting Dad. The last thing I want today is to be late.

We’re joined by another neighbour, who just lurks about. This seems a bit odd. Finally we’re joined by another bod, who turns up in a shiny VW Golf. This is nice, we really are getting a party here together, Brian is summoned, and lo and behold all is revealed, we have Detective Sergeant Plod from Kranj five-o, one of Slovenia’s finest. It turns out Brian has been scammed via booking.com. There is no accommodation. Ah.

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After taking some details, writing a lot of things down we’re free to go. The Policeman in fact is very nice, and we can’t help feeling really sorry for the old lady who owned the property whose peaceful evening had been interrupted by two scruffy bikers with their noisy bikes and size 12 boots. She says via the neighbour that it’s happened two times before. The Policeman offers to help us with accommodation, but it is another 7km away the wrong way and out of time so we decline the kind offer and we’re off into Kranj to see if we can find something, under some time pressure.

The thing about Kranj is, if you’ve ever been, is that it isn’t exactly motor vehicle friendly. According to Garmin, all of the hotels are located in the centre, and that is a walled elevated affair with minimal simple access. After circling the outside of the town and then back again, we venture up and on to the pavement, and Brian’s bike is on the side stand with him hot footing it into the old town and pedestrian area. He’s back fairly quickly; a chap in a shop has apparently pointed out to him that bringing in the bikes will be fine. That’ll do for us, so we’re in and riding along in the old town. Not far in, there’s a hotel, calling itself a Boutique Hotel (So think a normal hotel, some poncy lampshades and a 25% surcharge) and Brian is off in to try and strike a deal. He’s back: ‘We’ve got a discounted rate;’ he says ‘because the aircon is knackered and the lift isn’t working’ ‘You’re on the fourth floor’ he declares. Still needs must, and it’ll be good to get rid of some of that Pizza from last night I suppose.
Later it emerges that the reason the lift isn’t working is because they haven’t actually got a lift. I never got a decent answer about the aircon, although there was a Samsung branded box on our floor with a lot of flashing lights.
Yes, the place is a bit on the eccentric side. More of that later.

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Parking is found around the back and we’re on to the centre stand and unloaded.
I chat to a very pleasant German couple who are staying at the hotel and come over to have a look at the bike. I explain that I’m in a rush, and I’d love to chat to them later.
Key in hand, I’m huffing it up to the room. It’s now 7.25, and I have a taxi booked for 7.45. Luckily I’m told it is only 15 minutes in a taxi to the airport. I take on the speed round of getting changed and am showered with everything is done, including teeth brushed and washing of smalls in 15 minutes. That was class, and I’m back downstairs before the taxi. The chef appears from the kitchen and he’s very friendly. ‘Do you know by chance where I can find a beer?’ I ask. ‘I can find you one’ he says and dashes off. He returns with a cool pint, which doesn’t seem to hit the sides, and I’m suddenly staring at a white 5 Series taxi through the bottom of one of those jug pint glass things.

It is only 15 minutes to the airport. I would chance that this estimate applies to someone who drives relatively normally, but this particular driver has the demeanour and driving style of someone who waits outside banks whilst passengers pop in to make withdrawals in their balaclavas.

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I’m at the airport arrivals in double quick time but no complaints, we made it.

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Fortuitously this happy interlude gives me time for a further pint in the arrivals area. I think its pretty fair to say that Ljubljana Airport is not a big Airport. Which is fine, because I happen to hate large airports.

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A pint of Union, which is (to me) amusingly pronounced ‘Onion’. I’m strangely tickled by wandering up to the bar and requesting a Large Onion, please barkeep.

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My attempt at photobombing gives me more chuckles me while I wait. Locals look at me blankly. Still, I’m happy.

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After half a pint or so I look up from my pint glass to see Dad stood in front of me, smile beaming. Brilliant.

We grab a fortunately more sedate but definite MOT failure taxi back into Kranj. I didn’t know there were that many warning lights on an E-Class Mercedes. Hey ho.

Look, I’ve picked up a hitchhiker..

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We get Dad settled into his room so he can get comfortable, showered and changed. The Velux windows open in his room and the evening is pretty cool so the lack of aircon, fictional or not, will thankfully be academic.
It’s well after 9 now. I’d hoped to get dinner somewhere, keeping fingers crossed that Slovenia and Kranj’s residents eat late on a Monday. I really want everything to be as perfect as it can be. Our hopes are dashed when we get turned away at one promising looking place. As we wander a little further, we’re confronted with the possibility of Doner Kebab. I hadn’t envisaged that for dad on day one and I’m not exactly enthusiastic.
There’s a timely appearance from German couple from the hotel. They recommend the food at the hotel. The newly formed catering committee quickly conclude this a good option and we hastily return to find the beer sourcing chef who will be quite happy to seat and feed us. In fact, the chef appears to be the only person working in the place at this time and he is doing everything from setting out the table, bringing the drinks, cleaning up, settling up and not to mention cooking the food. I have to say he did a fine job, and with a smile on his face. He served up a couple of excellent steaks, which makes up for the sole of the Dr Marten’s 18 lace Cherry Red I got served in Germany a couple of nights ago.

A good tip is left. Everyone is happy. The evening, interesting as it was, is declared a winner with much to laugh about.

Oh and by the way, Brian paid booking.com with his credit card, so he isn’t remotely bothered about earlier.

:beerjug:
 
nice one rob ya daftie

quote

So one of my small requests was a morning ride down the Mosel. A similar stretch was covered on my very first trip into Europe some years ago and the place has stayed with me ever since. I’ve come back semi-regularly to do this ride and have always been blessed and have never seen a drop of rain (touch wood).

been doing that on the very north coast coast road in france for knocking on and off 15 years now

glad im not the only one who does shit like that :D

77?? really? :thumb:
 
A most enjoyable read so far and some very familiar sights, keep it coming :thumby:
 
Come on Rob, get yer finger out, we’re all waiting! :D
 


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