It’s hard to say—and it’s the thing I’m most often asked—where my favourite place has been. Each one is visited not just by me but by the weather, the time of day, crowds and—as a consequence and in addition to those things—a different frame of mind.
That considered, I was cold, recently awoken, and inside the clouds climbing the San Bernadino pass. So while it was very atmospheric it was not the most enjoyable drive.
I arrived at the top of the Stelvio Pass without actually climbing it due to a small lapse in navigational attention. It was once billed by Top Gear as “the greatest driving road in the world” and at 2756m it was also the highest my bike went on the whole trip. I ended up riding down and then back up its 48 hairpin turns. It’s more of a novelty: the turns are sharp, steep and there is a lot of traffic. I would recommend the route that Top Gear take from Davos over the Flüela and Ofen passes though.
Once in Italy I camped at the foot of the Sella Pass in the Dolomites. I awoke to skies clearer than the previous morning and the view I’d had from my campsite became expansive and illuminated as I began to ride. At the top of the pass I felt, with elusive certainty, that I’d ridden the most beautiful road of the trip.
Immediately following the Sella Pass are the Pordoi and Valparola passes. The scenery remained astounding and I was similarly certain that these were the best driving roads of the trip. They were wider and less trafficked than those in Switzerland with corners that swept rather than whipped back on themselves before pitching the bike, with perfect rhythm, into another turning the opposite way.
BMW also thought highly of them: Looking down from the top of the Valparola Pass at about 7am I saw a fleet of six cars working their way up the road, sounding at the ragged limit of traction. No sooner than they’d got to the top of the pass they turned around and headed back down. At least the lead car (judging from the one half-decent photo I got) was a pre-production 2014 M3 with a Munich numberplate. Munich is where the BMW factory is and also where my next stopover was to be.
Before leaving Italy I wanted to take the cable cars to the top of Monte Cristallo. Due to snow only the lowest of the two was open but I trudged up beyond that until it got too difficult. It was still an incredible view and I can’t imagine how good it would be to do one of the via ferrata routes at the top—some day.
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In Austria I settled down for what I expected to be my final night’s camping. An hour into the next day and the weather really caught up with me: I was in a downpour for the majority of the remaining journey.
One of the few downsides to travelling this way is that it can be hard to appreciate one place immediately after another, especially if they are similar. That was the case with what I saw of the Austrian and subsequently the German Alps. Not only was the weather against me but had I just come from some of the best scenery and riding of the trip in The Dolomites. If anything it’s a good reason to revisit another time, in different weather and with a different state of mind. But for now my time in the mountains was over.
Next update: Munich.
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I arrived in Munich fairly haggard after five days and four nights of consecutive camping, the longest on the trip. The beard had become too much, and I decided to lose some hair as well while I had the opportunity.
My sole reason for visiting was to see Benny, original Cheltenham shredder, who now lives there. Really I had no other expectations.
A city can be much like any other, but since it had been six weeks since I’d stayed overnight in Granada I found a renewed appreciation for how life is in one. Everyone looked so healthy—though Bavarian food is hearty and delicious—as they walked and cycled around the tidy streets, feeling unthreatened late into the long dusky evenings, each passing one the full stop at the end of a million small stories, my own included. The story of one lifetime would, as its backdrop, see the city changed beyond recognition, bombed and rebuilt. The lifetimes of a dozen people combined would take you back before its existence.
Time on a human scale is too light to register with mountains, lakes or forests; to be in a city is to feel the weight of every hour.
I stayed with Benny and Franzi for a week and reiterate here my heartfelt thanks for everything. Next time: the final leg.
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After all the slow miles I’d done through the Alps I treated myself (and the bike) to some autobahn for the final leg. I thought it would just be a case of sticking headphones in, listening to some German music and watching the miles slip by. In reality it is a very fast way of getting from one tangle of congestion to the next. Though I did discover, on a clear stretch, what the top speed of an SV650S with a big top box is…
I stopped for a few days near Cologne to stay with Jan and Jana who I met grape picking in Australia. We caught up about the months passed, ate good food and swam most every day. It was lovely and strange to see them half a world away yet so close to home.
Towards the end of a long trip the homing instinct activates. Everything reduces to numbers: 46, 57, 120km/h speed limit through Belgium and 219km remaining to Dunkirk, A67, A10, 240km on the trip counter, need fuel, A18, 14:00 channel crossing. Before I knew it there was M25, junction 16, A40; the world narrowing back down to familiar corridors.
I arrived with no sense of achievement. I had lived the trials and delights of each new destination, but home is no destination, it is a beginning—of this trip and whatever is next—and I felt nothing.
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Two weeks on and the trip has caught up with me enough that I can finish its documentation. In total I covered:
- 6802 miles or 10,947 kilometers
- Not including four separate boat journeys
- From May 17th to July 17th, a total of 62 days
- 42 days of which were spent with friends and family; 22 days of which were spent on the road with 3 nights in hotels and 15 nights camping in the wild
- For a rough average of 320 miles or 515 kilometers per day on the road
- Resulting in exactly 1000 photographs stored on my computer, 130 of which I posted here
Each of those numbers exceed what I expected from this trip yet kiss so lightly the surface of what was done and can’t be undone. I’m glad to have this record, but I don’t think that it’s important to squirrel away the memory of every day in preparation for some winter. To have known is enough: it means it is possible to know again, of some other place, at some other time, tremendous and impermanent.
It was also a harder trip than I expected (not that it is any grand achievement, certainly not beyond anyone willing to work towards it). While Australia taught me how to travel with nothing, relative to life’s usual menagerie of possessions, this trip was about learning to travel with nobody. At the longest stretch, from Bordeaux to Provence, I spent eleven days without seeing anyone that I knew. But to travel alone allows one—that final number—to flicker, just occasionally, so that for a moment it is gone, and all that remains is everything.
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I would like to finish with a huge thanks to the friends and family that I visited. Without your kindness it would have been a much more difficult and much less interesting trip.
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