Amid the swirling dust on the empty King George V car park Honda Goldwings began to materialise. We are due to board the overnight ferry to Zeebrugge in Belgium, only this year most of the group are late, including the Tour Leader. I don’t usually believe in omens and all that stuff, but this was a bit disturbing! “Embark at your leisure any time NOW please” came the metallic order from the tower, two 1800cc solo’s and a streamlined purple 1500cc Trike (streamlines as in, bits keep falling off) were the first to roll on board, followed by a plethora of Fords, Vauxhalls, Toyotas and huge stinking lorries.  We were waved to our parking spot by the crew, we duly lashed our babies to the steel decks and made our way to our cabins, Julie and I changed quickly and went to refuel at the bar at the stern, we stood out on the aft deck in the warm sun to wait for the others to arrive and to chat to other bikers who were setting out on their adventures, we chat to two uniformed policemen, they were on the look out on banned football fans, oh yes I forgot to say, the 2006 World Cup is on in Germany. I suppose will do well until penalties….again. The rest of the group appear at the dockside, twenty minutes late. I watch them fuss around searching for tickets and passports, Russ and Elaine get a push start through the ticket area, their engine splutters back to life, it IS the infamous 1500 breadvan after all! Once through the checks they begin to embark on the ferry, a motley crew of people to say the least, this year with an injection of a few new faces, my own breaks into a smile at the thought of last years adventure, what the hell will we get up to this year this year? I muse to myself.

Just to recap for you, last year 15 Honda Goldwing 1500 and 1800cc motorbikes and 2 Trikes went on tour into Europe, it was a fabulous adventure into the Alpine region of Austria, Italy and Southern Germany, it was enjoyed so much that Barry felt compelled to “Do It Again in 2006”. Colin Appleyard Goldwing Centre deserve a mention as they pulled out all the stops again with valuable tech support, they really really helped us carry the flag and presented us with great shirts. A special mention of course goes to Barry Walton our silver tongued team leader as usual he did a great job organising it all.

So here we all are again having dinner, catching up on the gossip much drink is consumed before bed and the usual shortest nights sleep ever as we loose that sacred hour again! We trundle off the ferry at Zeebrugge in the early morning holiday sunshine, with bellies full of expensive breakfast we hit the road on our first 300 and something miles run to our first stop in Germany.

Before long on the first leg Barry speaks up on CB, he asks what’s up with the black trike. There is a very large gap developing, I move forward to have a look, Barry tries to call Jim on the CB but can’t get an answer. I draw up alongside him on this not too busy section of Belgian motorway, to be met by a site I won’t forget for a long time. I see Scottish barbarians sat motionless, transfixed even, it’s hot, sunny and 28 degrees already, and these two are wrapped up for a run to Norway! “Jim, Jim”! I shout, still nothing, “Fuck me he’s had heart failure or summat!” His head slowly cranks in my direction, I point and urge him forward, “Keep up you bugger” I shout, and he just continues to look blankly at me. I point at my mouthpiece; Jim dangles his unplugged socket at me! Barry doesn’t believe what I tell him, I don’t blame him because I don’t believe what I’m saying either! This gap stays for the rest of the day causing no end of problems as we pass through Belgium and Luxembourg, with cars nipping into the gap and splitting the group, we’ll have to do something before the Germany Auto routes.  As you adventure types know, there is no mercy on their auto routes. A strict road discipline is essential for us to stay together because the moment an articulated lorry gets into the sixty foot gap that Jim insists on leaving; we could loose bikes easily as other vehicles get in front of the lorry, especially at turn off.

The first day ends safely as finally we pull into Freiburg and our first stop, everyone is quite excited, we get the serving fraus to ourselves and enjoy dinner. A few of us peruse the problem of Jims gap we need to do something about it, meanwhile Jim falls asleep in a corner Mrs B explains that at home he sleeps a bit then works a bit back home in Scotland on the farm! Nowt wrong with that except we are riding for about 6 hrs tomorrow. This gap went on for nearly all the holiday, it shortened in length thankfully but it was still there! All ideas failed, Elaine suggested that as he was a sheep farmer perhaps if she made a montage of a flock of sheep and hung it out in front of him, it might spur him on a bit? I had a more practical idea like buying a Panzerfaust (bazooka) from some old veteran at the bar and blowing Jim off the road. Sorry Mrs B, sacrifices have to be made!

Next day some folk went into Freiberg on foot exploring, whilst at the suggestion of the GPS some of us went across the border on the bikes into France to a car museum, a HUGE car museum in fact the biggest I have ever seen, it was in an old industrial building and the walkways were lined with streetlamps imported from Paris.  There they were, every car imaginable from Europe starting from the original horseless carriages up to the present day tin (plastic) boxes.  Now I’m not a car person, I don’t even own a driving licence but this was a brilliant visit. A quieter, expensive looking hall held all the luxury cars, Buggati, Rolls, Mercs, and other high class types, they were huge sumptuous works of art, it was so awesome it made you whisper, the cars simply begged to be stroked and patted gently. It was truly an art gallery of cars, I found it quite breathtaking.

Right at the other end of the scale, race cars through the ages sat in a long line seemingly straining to go! Ferraris, Lotus, Bugatti, Honda and, and, well, just dozens of them, blue ones, canary yellow ones, green ones, lipstick red ones. Over the other side of the walkway sat those strange beasts that ran the Le Mans 24 hr race, those Italian red things with a horsey insignia, British racing green Jaguars, Jaguars, and more Jaguars by the bloody dozen! Why is it they all have big cat names, can someone explain this to me? You will probably call me a heathen for asking no doubt!

After breakfast the next morning we went for a ride  into the splendid Black Forest countryside, along smooth twisting tarmac, taking in acres of fir trees, and huge areas of lush green looking grass laid out over the land like some huge Subbutio football cloth! Houses that just looked so pretty with huge balconies decked in huge blooms of multi coloured flowers, pretty is a word that springs to mind here. We start to climb up one crest and down the other side to do it again and again, we pass quite a few Germans and Dutch on their bikes and every one waves. The French bikers just drop a leg, as they pass to say hello, the Germans sort of drop their hand downwards off the bar and do a kind of peace V salute, if you know what I mean? I am keen to look the part and follow into this way of greeting fellow bikers. Some bikers pass through our long group courteously, except for one Herman who tried to bully through, a couple of us pulled hard and blocked him in the next few bends to play with him for a bit just to let him know we can do it too, before easing off the throttle and letting him pass on his merry way. A funny thing happened now, Herman was trying so hard to pass he missed his next turn and had to turn round, I saw him shaking his head , Ha ha ha, you silly bugger! I muttered. We stopped for tea here and there and tested the local Frau waitress’ with our long tea orders and re orders! We passed dozens of bikers and Boom trike riders on the road, not only Germans either just how it should be really isn’t it; it’s funny how everything seems better on holiday. The next day was a transit day to Switzerland so Barry kept this days riding short. It was really hot today too, up in the 30’s. That night our fluid levels were topped up with wholesome German lager our Roland turned into Dr Doolittle before befriended a local dog, Mary imagined a passing goods train was the air conditioning system kicking in. Good stuff this lager!

After a photo call arranged by the hotelier and the local paper we waved our goodbyes and set of south. Snow topped looking peaks came into view a few hours down the road; Yes yes yes we’ve arrived! I thought to myself. We passed into Switzerland smoothly after the local border guards looked over the first couple of bikes hoping for a few fines (he was checking that we were displaying our “Vinaigrettes” these were autoroute passes that we had to pay a small fortune for and display) Us joining the EU is supposed to get rid of all this nonsense isn’t it? This border officers thought he was on a winner, until he saw we all had them, his face and shoulders visibly dropped and waved us on, it was worth the price just to see his disappointment! I was still thinking about “nicking” something to justify the large toll cost as we passed through some great engineering works in progress, tunnel, valley, tunnel, and valley. Before we knew it the GPS took us into the centre of the city of  ZURICH, I have never seen such quick changing traffic lights ever, the inevitable was going to happen any minute, me and the solo’s were held at a set of lights as Barry and the trikes were pushed along ahead out of sight by the volume of traffic, he called down the CB “Head for CHUR Dave, head for CHUR” we rolled forward to the next junction to find a sign for CHUR pointing in both directions Oh crap! I made a snap decision and peeled left, pulling everyone with me the traffic didn’t allow for any of the usual U turns, Barry shouted “Aw Shit bollox, wrong left Dave!” I called Mali up from the back quickly he reset his GPS for St Moritz and lead us out of this pigging place! 10 minutes down the road we met up again with the others, after a bit of “I’m not going through THAT bloody place again!” Did you see those fekkin traffic lights! Calm was restored and the old glue came back together! Thinking back it would have been OK we all had maps stashed on the bikes, everyone where we needed to be at the end of the day, and as a “catch all” everyone had Barry’s mobile telephone number too.

We clicked into first gear, pulled into the Swiss traffic and pressed on southbound.  Have you ever followed closely behind 4 trikes in a tunnel? It sounds very much like old World War Two bombers  “Drrronnne! drronnne! drronnne” as the twelve wide tyres in close proximity passed over the tarmac at speed. I’m into old WWII aircraft and thought it sounded great, I could imagine I was that Spitfire escorting the bombers. I had been christened later by some wag as “The Tank Commander” I was minding the trikes and often zipping up and down the convoy, busy work but full of fun.

This day ended in Switzerland, in St Moritz to be precise; over dinner that night we made plans for the next day to ride The Stelvio.  I’d seen a postcard of this pass a couple of years earlier and thought it would be good to go up it one day, that day was here, an exciting day ahead I thought, Barry informed us over breakfast of the journey I kept thinking about that zig zagging road on that postcard back at the bike shop in Keighley and wondered how hard it was to do.

I packed a fleece and an apple or two and bottled water, I “squirreled” away some stuff from the breakfast bar to everybody’s amusement, “It’s something I do often” I explained to quizzical Wanderers “Oh  no, it’s not about the money you know” How often I was to hear that phrase over the next few weeks We headed out of town alongside the lake, before turning right to start our long run from the valley floor to the start of “the hard bit”; After an hour or so we paused for a fag and a word or two of instruction from Barry. “Right then off you go on your own, I’ll see you at the top”, Ok ok, 14 words to be precise! I quickly let out the clutch and began the run up first; free at last of my little tanks, much as I loved them I wanted a clear run on those tight bends ahead. It was going quite easy to start with, the road was quite pitted and scarred, we were after all on Italian tarmac now and the state of the roads were predictably poor, in defence of the Italian authorities it has to be said the alpine passes are usually closed and covered with thick snow for about 9 months of the year, then full of bikes the remaining 3 months.  I stopped after a few kilometres to take in the mountains air and  huge amounts of silence. We sat a bit took a few pictures, Julie had a smoke break, we sat there saying nothing, before long we heard the rumbling of my four tanks as they approached from far below, I waved them by before putting my lid back on and mounting up to give chase.

This was the easiest part of the road up The Stelvio, quite wide flat tarmac but with plenty of dreaded over banding!  We zoomed up the first slashes in the mountain and saw the first of a dozen or more switchbacks, they appeared to zig zag up the steep looking mountain side, and it just went up and up and up into the sky. I, away to our left lay nothing, and loads of it, to the right a mere couple of feet away sat a stone wall that held the mountain back and supported the road that has now turned back on itself and climbed so steep in the opposite direction that your pillion has to look back up high over ones shoulder to call out  “Clear” “Cow” “Car” or “Bike”, to allow one to slow and let them negotiate the corner before one  reached it, one could then swing to the opposite side of the rode drop the bike into the camber that dropped steeply away in the wrong direction! gunning it hard  zooming up on the right side of the road to the next corner only 100 metres away to do the same again, in between all this I dash past the “tanks” I drop in behind a Dutchman on his Harley, his partner on the back is doing a fine job of spotting ahead, she give me an extra 10 metres “sight”. The temperature of the Goldie’s engine is heading to the red as we crest the top, Yahoo what a ride! I shout at nobody. Now at the top we find a flat piece amongst the hundred or so other bikers, they came from all over Europe to do this judging by the number plates, the usual plethora of “tat shacks” were in attendance as they are on top of every pass selling stickers, tee shirts, postcards and hats and “Brattis” a type of hot dog. I saw my Dutch Harley man and slapped him on the shoulder “Hey, thanks for the last couple of bends Dutchi” He replies “Hey was that you on that damn Goldwing up my ass?” We laughed and joked, firm friends for the moment… a biker’s moment. We looked down the mountain quietly reflecting at the thing we had just done, the tiny streak of tarmac just went on and on and on as though some giant had poured a thin line, it zigged and zagged all the way down, it disappeared from view about 4 kilometres away as it clung to the rock and curved away out of sight. Julie massaged her neck muttering “bloody hell, any more roads like that?” she asks, “Time for a cup of tea I reply”. We drank tea as the trikes arrived followed by the solos in dribs and drabs, some had big grins some looked glad to be alive; some had had really hairy moments. One chap amongst us had been christened “Stretch,” due to him having abnormally long limbs he thought he could ride a bike, he kept telling everyone he had been riding bikes 30 years. Over the two weeks he made lots and lots of mistakes, lots of silly mistakes, he rode like a total cretin! I began to wonder if his 30 years riding had taken place on the M1 back home. Not a man to be near, on such taxing roads. I began to wonder if he had ever ridden in a group before. A thought flashed through my mind as I sat there on the wall, that “Stretch” was on his learning curve and it had now just gone ballistic.

I was looking back down the valley for the tell tale plume of smoke of a burning Goldwing (just joking folks) A long 20 minutes went by before the last four arrived, they had had a “moment.” on their way up. “Stretch” stopped suddenly on a switchback; he had planted his huge feet firmly on the ground as only a long legged bugger like him could! This caught “Fatha” out, who was just behind him, stopping suddenly his bike keeled. “M” went bouncing down the road on her bum bless her but still was still plugged into the bike via the intercom, Mali and Barry saw this and ran back to assist, thankfully damage was minimal to the bike and crew, “Fatha” had unfortunately hurt his knee trying to take on the huge weight whilst laying the bike down as gently as possible. An hour or two was spent here at the summit buying things that had “THE STELVIO” on it Tee shirts hats and post cards, we had our sandwiches, rested limbs, drank tea and generally sat quietly taking in the momentous views and for some, it was a time to gather nerves for the run down the reverse side of the mountain. One of the ladies, had a huge fear of heights and was at the height of her fear now, friends offered ideas to help her overcome. “Whatever you do DON’T LOOK DOWN” was one I heard!

We had several days here and became seasoned in “Pass bashing” Going over the border into Italy, Austria and back into Switzerland several times a day was a new experience for us, the had grand sounding names like The Stelvio, Monta Spluga and The Jennerpas. We had sunny cloudless weather that just capped the days with icing really!

It was time to leave this paradise and head north to BERCHTESGADEN our next hotel in Southern Germany. We encountered heavy traffic and couldn’t make the progress we’d hoped causing mild agitation to the GPS and Barry, the trikes and the solos split at some point due to heavy traffic a double junction and a failed CB unit, mild agitation turned to severe frowns and oath muttering…Im being kind now everyone! Barry me and the trikes hit the Auto route over The Brenner Pass to the hotel the solos went elsewhere! We arrived at the hotel followed about 30 minutes later by the solos. We stayed here last year so got the same room overlooking the same fantastic mountain views, and ate the same chocolate left on the fluffy pillows! We the saw Germans progress in the World Cup and the English bugger about with farcical football. Tell me again how much are these guys earn will you?

A tour up to Hitler’s Alpine residence known as The Eagles Nest via the official tour was taken the next day, it was quite a fascinating 4 hour trip, whilst on the theme we decided to visit Dachau the next day a mere 100 miles or so away near Munich. It has stuck in my mind ever since. The camp was used as a concentration camp during the last world war. I recognised the initial layout, which puzzled me until I learned it was built and used originally as a prison before the war. (I’m a serving prison Officer) The thing that struck me was the enormous size of the place, photographs and text can only show so much, the last thing we saw was the ovens and the gas chambers disguised as showers, all neatly tucked away from sight in wooded corner it really sent a shiver down me.

The trip back to the hotel was quiet for all of us and we got caught in the worst downpour ever, so much so that we had to run for cover in a service station, I shared a spot under the pump canopy with a Lufthansa airline pilot and a soaked German jet jockey who peeled off his useless shower suit and we laughed at our plight together. We chatted about bike stuff, the old pilot told us he used to bike around South Africa on a BSA years ago. You meet bikers in the strangest of places don’t you?!

We got back to the hotel that evening as the clouds finally emptied of water, it was a difficult ride made so by severe spray and impatient van drivers, we got back to another good meal and sat in the evening warmth watching the water evaporate from the wooded mountainside just a couple of miles away. A transit day awaits us again in the morning; we all retire to pack a ready ourselves for an early start.

We set of in steady drizzle through the wet mountains, tar over banding on super smooth roads made us weary as bikes occasionally slipped an inch or two this way and that. GPS and Barry led us to the auto route and northwards towards the Mosel Valley, our last stop. The rain fizzled out around noon, we were able to peel off rain suits and enjoy the day again before getting stamped on again just 20 miles or so from our destination, this time we left the auto route and stopped under a huge bridge to put our over suits back on again how tedious this was becoming! We turned round reformed and set off for the last leg along the auto route.

The Mosel is a beautiful area reached easily from the seaports in a day, we stayed in a biker hotel with all our bikes in the huge shed next door, the owner was a nice bloke, but kept us waiting for dinner one evening whilst he and the staff saw Germany progress further in the cup in spite of penalties. The next morning we had a boat cruise and a nice chilled out day before our last run in the morning to Zeebrugge and the overnight ferry home. On this night it’s the English football team that keeps us waiting for dinner as their match goes to penalties, we all know what happened so I wont upset myself writing it! It’s been a really fun adventure, no disasters no injuries no damage just plenty to talk about. Largely due to “The Southern Bastards Falling Down Display Team” appearing elsewhere this year. At the end of tour dinner I read from the holiday log of who did what and what we did where, Stephen our intrepid retired Scottish banker filmed it all so every word is true. Appy Wanderers have made their mark on Europe once again. We are looking forward to sitting still for a few days now; we have after all just ridden. 2,800 miles in two weeks.

Dave Sharp