The off
Brian arrived to my house down that London way on Thursday afternoon. It was a pleasant sunny day, so we ventured out for a pint, navigating between the moped robbers and general zombie population. A nice drop of Old Peculiar in an astro-turfed beer garden rapidly followed by a mahoosive Wetherspoon burger, and the tone was set.
We turn in early as we have a 6.30 check in at the Eurotunnel. I don’t sleep particularly well, but feel fine. We are up, changed, packed and out to the road before 5am. The morning is already with us. Its a simple cut down to the Dartford Crossing and an uneventful run along the M20 until we’re checking in and in the car park.
Shortly after we’re through and on to the train uneventfully; a short chat with some other bike folk as you tend to do and then before you know it the train is beginning its long stop ready for us to depart. The wonder of the tunnel.
Hats and togs on. Bike started. I set off from the train and out. Brian seems a little way behind and doesn’t emerge. I wait at the top of the ramp out to the road, but no Brian. Hmmm.
Eventually a GS emerges but not looking too well.
Yes, we’ve had our first breakdown only a few feet on foreign soil
Good job I kept old my FPC as a spare eh.
The Eurotunnel recovery man appears. He’s trying to be helpful but seems a touch disappointed there’s no towing to be done.
But in less than 15 minutes things are sorted and the GS is set to go.
The weather is pretty mixed. Sun, light clouds, dark clouds as we begin our trundle along the coast motorway to join the main drag down towards Brussels. It begins to rain lightly, but it doesn’t look like it’ll continue so we press on without changing into boil-in-the-bag gear. My new fuel strip comes up with an oddity- range instantly goes down to less than 50 miles and the fuel light is on, despite the tank being still half full or so. I drop off the motorway to add some petrol to see what’s going on, and only 17 litres go in, so the new fuel strip is having a wacky do. Meh.
Back on the road the rain starts again. Again, the rain looks light, but before you can say it the rain pours down and in minutes we’re soaked. Oh the joy. So then follows a wet circumnavigation of the Brussels ring, followed by a soggy run down towards Aachen before we leave the main road to head down to Monschau. I don’t mind being wet, but I don’t like being cold. And now with the temp down to ten degrees or so I’m cold, miserable and in a foul mood.
‘In a few days time you’ll be wishing for this’ I keep telling myself.
The weather gradually clears and the B258 which runs down into the Eifel Mountains changes my mood. Everything becomes typically German, including the motoring, which is a joy. We pass by the Nurburgring, where the ‘Rock Am Ring’ weekend is being held. The place is swamped with folks and road closures a plenty. There are lots of young ladies in party gear and wellington boots. They obviously knew more about what the weather might be doing than we did.
I had a couple of stipulations for Brian - the chief route planner of the expedition - about where we were going. I wanted a morning ride along the Mosel. I wanted a good German meal. I wanted a good German bier.
Late in the afternoon we hit the long and entertaining descent down into Cochem, where we had booked an apartment a ten minute walk or so from the centre. It appeared everything in the town itself had been booked up and so this was the best that could be sorted. It was a Friday I suppose. We collected the key to the apartment, got ourselves sorted out and without delay took the pleasant walk along the river to the centre.
At which point we discovered why the town was so busy.
The Cochem Wine festival no less.
And what a terrific affair it is.. a huge number of stands of different wine producers.
What to do eh, I guess we’ll just have to work through it. Perhaps the German bier can wait until tomorrow. Cheers!
Local Currywurst fayre. Splendid gear.
Move yer hand.. I’m trying to take a picture of the label!
.. thanking you. This is the stuff:
Some photos perhaps..
This is Ronald and Mrs Ronald (I don’t recall the term he used for her name, it was translated as ‘little wife’). They had travelled from the North of the country, close to the Dutch border for the wine festival. They were excellent company and we spent a few hours getting lightly mangled together.
A great laugh with Friendly locals, what. I bet she felt a right tit.
Evening bustle with live music.
A terrific atmosphere.
Fireworks late in the evening..
Brian is now heavily mangled.
I reckon Brian walked roughly about four times the distance home to the apartment, having weaved so much.
An absolutely cracking evening