Wednesday 15th May 8th Day Arrival

Sorry folks for this being delayed, but of course once I got to my destination...... well back with friends and family.   Anyway it's now Saturday morning and I have a littele time to write the last bit of the story for the moment.

On thursday morning I really was up and at it good and early and having eaten in the hotel, I was on the road at 8:30 with a view to getting to PV by lunchtime.   I'd only ever come down fro France to PV either on a big bike or in a car before and had always used the Autostrade, which I'd forgotten cuts like a knife through all the mountains along the coast.  Tom Tom of course had different ideas and almost as soon as we had left Alessandria, turned off and pointed for the hills.

The next 100 miles were the most difficult yet on the journey as we climbed and dropped through continuous mountains pretty well the whole way, with the road and the weather getting worse the farther we went.   With 50 miles left to run I texted Grace to say I'd meet them at The Lord Byron for lunch at 1:15 and carried on.  By now the weather was turning pretty grotty with the roads running with water from previouse showers and the mountain mist reducing visibility to yards.  With sharp bends every few yards, the whole thing was becoming a bit of a struggle and yet again, I had set myself a deadline that I really didn't need to.  The prospects of them eating lunch without me was too much to bear so I sped on feeling less than safe on the wet twisty roads.

Eventually I arrived on the front at Portovenere outside the restaurant only 15 minutes behind schedule, which didn't seem bad after eight days of riding.  Grace was delighted to see me arrive safe, and dashed across with hugs and kisses.  Lovely to see her too.   After lunch I got back on the bike to ride the final 2 miles around to my cousin Ingrid's house and unbelievably with a matter of yards to go, with a large bang, the scooter expired by the side of the road.   The spark plug had unscrewed itself from the cylinder head, presumably it had been working towards this for hundreds of miles, and let go just before the final hill.

After I'd got it going again, I arrived at cousin Ingrid's where she and Grace had strung bunting round the terrace and adorned the railings with "YOU MADE IT".  Actually the wind had contrived to turn this into "YOU MAD TIT" which I think summed up everone's view of the trip.  Sparkling wine flowed and later a birthday cake with the worst singing candle any of us had ever heard.

Such a welcome fair brings tears to the eyes of your humble correspondent.

So that's the final bit of the story.  What to make of it all.   To me the journey, just as a journey was a total success.  I had set out to change a lifetime's habit of the end being the reason for the journey, into the journey being the reason and I have enjoyed pretty well every minute of it.   

If I'd been honest with myself and with you then I suppose I'd have put my chances of success at less than 50%.  How many of those who'se support I got at Miniaddicts the night before really thought I'd get there ?  Christine and Grace probably did, but I've been blagging them both for years and they just assume things happen.

The idea of the slow trip really worked, even when broken down by the side of the road, or being taken back to Ellesmere Port on the first day, If you can convince yourself that the journey itself is the reason, then the breakdown and holdup becomes part of the reason and not a distraction or irritation.  I know this is all getting a bit philosophical, but hey.

To those who have followed this missive, thanks for your support and comments, It's given me a real kick to hear from you all, either via the blog or through Grace and Christine.

Watch this space for next year's equally loopy idea, all suggestions welcomed

John & The Vespa

Wednesday 14th May 7th Day.

And God said on the seventh day..... Well I forgot that and made scoot work even harder than the other six days,  she can have a proper rest after tomorrow.   

It's my 59th birthday today, and hasn't it been a cracker.  

I was up just after 4am as I hadn't finished yesterday's blog, last night, when my laptop threatened to commit hari kari, if I didn't charge it up... I've only got one euro adaptor with me, which means that I have to spend most of the evenings switching between appliances that need a fix.  First in line has to be tom tom, who won't go the full eight hours on it's battery, I'd forgotten that when I used it on the HD last year I had it wired into the battery.  This year of course, no battery.  If it's not absolutely charged up then I don't think I would get to my destination each evening.  I also have to charge the Tom Tom head set (which is another adaptor, microscopically different from the main unit), then there's my phone, my ipod and lastly the MacBook.  I really needed a small 4 way adaptor, but there was no room for it.   Charging these and unpacking and repacking the rucksac (which has to be done with military precision or it won't fit back in) has to be done everyday, and is beginning to drive me mad.  

The condemned birthday boy ate a hearty breakfast and was away by about 9:15.   The road went into overdrive almost outside my hotel entrance and we were soon labouring away mostly in third, some in second, and once after serious grating noises into first gear.  The 40 ton lorries and I seriously got in each other's way, with the same four or five passing me on the straights and me re-passing them on the hairpins.  The scenery was breathtaking.  (We should run a mini trip down over most of this route sometime) and the road really good if not hard work.    The decision as to which route to take was made for me by the Col being closed due to being uncleared yet of winter snow,  so no choice, the tunnel it had to be.   

The tunnel itself is about 5 miles long but is pre and postceeded by about 5 miles on each end that has a snow roof over the top and pillars every ten foot on the outside edge, the other wall being the side of the mountain.  So you can guess that once up to this 15 mile stretch which is right at the top, it's no sunlight and freezing cold.  I'm travelling to combat the heat and because of the slowness only in a pair of trainers, light jeans and a thin leather jacket, with cardie and shirt underneath.  Wow I really got the shivers.   Once in the tunnel proper you have to pay up at the toll booth and I think that when he'd seen me through, the guy must have phoned ahead, cos when I got to the Customs Post, which is buried under the mountain, all the customs officers came out, walked twice round the scoot, slapped me on the back and wished me a safe journey.    I set my Halford's best flashing cycle rear light going, gritted my teeth and set off.

It probably isn't all that dark, but with no real lights and having forgotten to change from my super dark riding glasses back into ordinary ones, it sure seemed dark to me.  It's pretty narrow too, only one lane each way, and with no mirrors, I can't see what's behind me without looking over my shoulder.  No way was I doing that, so winding the bike up to it's glorious best of 80KPH I hoped for the best.

If anyone has read The Hobbit, they will remember when Smaug, the dragon, was woken from a hundred year sleep as the hobbits tried to steal his treasure.  Well as far as I could tell Smaug was behind me all the way through,  I couldn't actually see him, but I could feel his hot breath, and smell him, as well as hear his every complaint.   Only when out the other side and able to pull over slightly did Smaug turn into 6 huge lorries, who all blared their horns and flashed their lights as they went past.

There was nowhere to stop on the other side for about 5 or 6 miles, but as soon as I could I was off the bike and rewarming myself in the sunlight.   I think it was only me that was worried as the Vespa took it all in it's stride.  I didn't tell it of my fears of it having one of it's coughing fits whilst inside the mountain and no where to park other than in the direct line of fire as it where.

On the Italian side, workmen were still clearing snow deposits off the sides of the roads using what seemed to be huge jets of steam from a slowly moving cavalcade of vehicles.   You could tell immediately that we were in Italy cos the two lads who were in charge of the red and green table tennis bats that were being used to control the contraflow, were dressed in designer clothes and wearing sunglasses even though in the semi dark.  They just have to look cool.

It's amazing how quickly everthing starts to look really Italian within a few miles of the border, both the scenery and houses and people.  Driving standards also change immediately and any more chance of being given a wide berth are soon forgotten.   I don't remember the run down to Alessandria, although I must have passed this way once before, but it takes about an hour and a half to get out of the mountains, through never ending villages clinging to the sides of the mointain.  Once down on the plains, I rode for a good hour through what appear to be Paddy fields growing Rice.  The Italians must have cracked the manual work bit cos for miles I never saw anyone working the fields, some of which were flooded, some growing green and some waiting to be planted.

Alessandria looks really good, and I will explore and take some photos a bit later on.  It's funny really but now that I'm so close (only 120 miles to go, in a car, I'd just drive on no matter how tired), I just want to get there, and am really looking forward to seeing Grace and my extended Italian side of the family tomorrow.   If I get up early enough I could get there for lunch... who knows.

Tuesday 13th May 6th Day

Besancon, which I didn't really get to see last night, as I was on the outskirts, is amazing on both sides of a major twisting river.  There are steep sides to the valley with a huge castle on the top of one side.  Almost immediately the road to Pontarlier begins to rise out of the valley along one side with amazing views back over the town.  

The vespa made off willingly enough, as the road climbed fairly quickly up to a height of 1050 metres.  A fair amount of gear changing required to keep the bike running well without it feeling strained, plenty of time spent in third gear.  All good practise for tomorrow's major haul I suppose.

It's amazing how quickly the landscape changes and it almost immediately has an alpine feel to it all.  Fields are smaller, and there's much more grass, and less wheat growing.  The farmhouses have a real Tyrolean look to them, long sloping roofs to master the snow that must fall up here.   Every house has huge long piles of split logs neatly piled up in readiness for winter.   The herds of cattle have changed as well, they are smaller, and all equipped with bells.

Roads are different as well, we are now on routes running north and south from France through Switzerland and into Italy, so I was expecting much heavier traffic.  There was a lot more than I'd seen previous days, but still small in comparisin with the UK and pretty civilised.  Even the big stuff powering past as I crawled along at 30mph gave me a pretty wide berth.  Closest I came to a problem was when I was off the bike taking a photo.   

In comparison with previous year's trips, I've enjoyed stopping whenever I wanted to take the odd photo.   All day long we kept slowly climbing up what at first I thought were the Alpine foothills, but only when I came to a vast area, probably 20 miles across at the top of the rise,  and completely separated from what I now glimpsed in the distance were the actual Alps.  From a distance they looked vast and with each passing mile, they got more impressive and I have to say slightly intimidating.  

Nearly all the tops are snow covered and really dramatic, and from my hotel, which I reached early in Martigny, now very close.  It's worth mentioning my slightly cavalier approach to hotels as it could have so easily gone wrong here. Although I have Phil's trusty Rough Guide to French Hotels packed on the bike, it's not so far been out.  Normally I get to where I plan to stay, ride around the town, and book into whatever I fancy.  Tonight however, the first three that I tried were full.  FULL..... didn't they know I was coming.  I'm not really sure what I'd have done if they'd all been full as unlike in a car, I could have neither have ridden on for more than a few miles, nor wound the seat back and kipped where I stopped.

I've been over the Grand Saint Bernard Pass, the first time I rode down to Italy about 16 years ago on an 1100 cc Yamaha, with enough "torque"  (Mini Addicts members will know what that is)  to pull the Alps down, and I seem to remember that there were two available routes.  The first original route is on a very swisty minor road, with about a 1000 hairpins.  The newer route has a long tunnel and hundreds of lorries battling along it.  Either way seems pretty difficult on the Vespa and I am both excited and slightly daunted by it.  Last time I went on the old road, cos I stopped at the monestry to get Grace a toy dog, which she's probably still got.  I remember he rode all the home on the handlebars.

Monday 12th of May 5th Day

I was dog tired this morning, up till pretty late last night, and had a couple more drinks than were absolutely necessary.   So rose a bit late and eventually got away at about 9:30 with 135 miles to ride to Besancon.

Tom Tom was at his absolute best today, taking me off the first main road within about five minutes of setting off and cross country for near enough the whole day.  The roads were incredible through huge areas of countryside that were divided up into small herds of cattle standing about in the odd bit of meadow, acres and acres of some sort of cereal crop, but growing in fields that have resisted any attempt to conformity.   The fields are all odd shaped and up and down everywhere.  The rest of the landscape is mature traditional woodland, with the odd hamlet encountered every couple of miles.  The whole to all intents and purposes deserted.   I doubt if I saw 100 people all day over the complete 135 miles.  Everywhere is however well maintained and looks prosperous.   

About half way through the journey at a cross roads, where I was instructed to halt.  Sore buttocks and back got the better of me, and I dismounted.  I could see the road in all four directions for probably a mile each way.   I stood stretching myself and waited, and waited, in the end giving up after about 10 minutes, for any sign of a vehicle coming from anywhere. This wasn't on the top op the moors or anything, but well cultivated land and the roads were all first class A roads.   I'm only travelling at 40 mph and a fairly easy target for overtaking, but I reckon today to have only been overtaken about 20 times all day.   I can't believe it.

All in all today was fabulous, the new plug lead gave no trouble, and the only worry was fuel.  When I set off from Troyes, this morning, I had a nearly full main tank, but none in the spare as I had used that last night.   I didn't pass one garage until I was again running on reserve, with I should think less than 5 miles left in the tank.  Then of course, there were three in the same town, but no more for the rest of the day.  Again I have filled the main tank up from the spare and MUST fill both up again tomorrow before heading for Switzerland.

I can hardly believe it, tomorrow I am aiming to reach Martigny which is just the other side of Lake Lausanne and in sight of Mont Blanc.  

Must tell you about the hotel tonight.  I'm staying at one of a chain called Premiere Classe associated with Campanile and Kyriad group.  They really are excellent value for money and intriguingly run.  Reception is only manned for a few hours a day, and when not manned, if you just turn up, there is a machine outside, into which you stick your credit card, 10 seconds it tells you if there is an available room.  Continuing,  2 mins later, you have a printed bill, and a key card for your room and to access the car park gates and you're in.   Rooms are pretty basic but, for 33 euros tonight I have a double bed with a bunk bed over the head of itwhich at a push will sleep three, en-suite bathroom a bit reminiscent of the ones you get if you have a cabin on one of the longer cross channel ferries.  Perfectly servicable and all for about £24.

I'm off out now for another night on the solitary razzle.  Will have to go easy tonight as I have to ride a couple of miles into town.

Sunday 11th May 4th Day

Sunday morning in Paris.  What a revelation, what a change from the night before.  Saturday night, thousands of people milling everywhere, lovers kissing, horns blasting, cars, vans, scooters, bikes everywhere..... Sunday morning up and out at eight... silence, empty streets,  bar tenders with fags hanging from their lips moving tables and chairs back outside after their few hours indoors.  The Paris street cleaners, machinery washing down the streets, painted elderly ladies walking their poodles, plastic bags at the ready, bakers shops open already, bags filled with a dozen baguettes, going where.  Amazing pastries ready to be bought for Sunday lunch.  

This is so different from anywhere in the UK.  I walk round the corner from my hotel to breakfast in a cafe on the corner of Rue Gobelin.  Freshly squeezed orange juice, a croissant, a tartine, buttered and served with jam in a little glass pot, Cafe au lait, dark and freshly brewed with a jug of hot steamed milk.  What more could you ask for at the start of the day.

I'm amazed to find on the other corner of this intersection, that there is a Starbucks.   Why in the city that made coffee available in quality for everyone, would there be a need for a Starbucks.  After breakfast, I walked across to take a look.  The place was really buzzing, with of course Americans, not a French voice, there they stood like the pillocks that they are drinking substandard Lattes out of paper cups, when just across the road, there existed the world that they presumably had come to visit.

Tried to see cousin Patricia again this morning, but couldn't raise her on the phone, so eventually got back on the bike to travel only a few miles to visit my Aunty Andrea and Uncle Maurice who live just outside Paris at Champigny sur Marne.  

Those who read the previous blogs regarding the HT lead repaired last night by the man with no tools, will not be surprised to hear that again it let go today, but this time on what the French regard as a major road or motorway.

Eventually the lead was a replaced by yet another second hand one, and I was able to motor on towards my destination in Troyes.   Almost exactly half way there, 560 miles to go and the same already completed.

Saturday 10th May 3rd Day

Boulogne to Paris today.  What a difference a country makes.  Up reasonably early, breakfasted and on the road by 08:15.  Within minutes I'm back on roads that I know and love so much.  Mile after mile of well surfaced and mostly empty roads stretch before me to Paris.  

The bike seems to be running really sweet and is fair galloping along.  Mileage today is set to be 150 miles which seems a lot, but is so much easier on uncongested roads..  The most danger is seem to be in from the day is when someone trys to reverse over me whilst I'm sitting having a mid morning coffee at a little cafe on a square.

The countryside between Boulogne and Paris is really charming as it crosses the battlefields of the Somme, gently rolling hills with lush farmland and acres of mature woodland.

Came across the starngest re-enactment of some military manoevres harking back to the time of Madame Guillotine based upon the costumes worn.  Two squads of men were being exercised along the side of the road, one set of which at one point all fired a musket round over the road, where I was watching.  Presume they were blanks, but it sounded realistic enough.

Twenty five miles out of Paris, I stopped once again to refuel and parked up for a ten minute break.   AAAAAARRRRGGGGGHHH.  The bike refused to start yet again.   I thought that I would test for evidence of a spark and broke the cap off the cable that fits on the plug.  

Perhaps this has been part of the problem all along.  Intermittent fault caused by corroding cap and wire.   I was still in the garage where I had filled up, so took the broken end into monsieur mechanic, who pronounced the fitting as merde.  Then like some crazed lunatic he tore the other end away from the coil, pronouncing this as merde as well.  I had to agree with him, and was just eager to dissuade him fro butchering anything else.   He then produced some other fittings from the workshop and using reams of insulating tape bodged together a new lead, charging me 10 euros in the process.

This bodge lasted me to Paris, where it fell apart.  At least I now knew what the problem was. At nine pm I called the RAC who despatched their finest.  Two hours later Serge turned up on a relay truck complete with two cars and their passengers in tow.   Unlike British Breakdown services apparently 90% of waht they do is removing the vehicle and towing them to the nearest garage.  He was ill equipped to really do any sort of repair, but having borrowed a kitchen knife from the cafe across the road and a pair of pliers that one of the other hapless towees had with him, he appears to have fixed the problem.   I have to say that I think a new cable is what is really required.    This weekend being a French Bank Holiday, I hope I can keep on top of it all till Tuesday.

Good place for this to happen though, as I was still spoilt for choice in eating at midnight within 200 yards of the hotel.

Friday 9th May 2nd Day

Up and at it pretty early, eschewing breakfast, which I had paid for to get on the road as soon as possible.  This was a mistake on the English part of the journey as I had made arrangements that turned into deadlines that had to be kept (or broken).  Yesterday I had ridden far to far because I hoped that I could keep my arrangement to stay with friends in Didcot, and of course, because stupidly and for the first time ever I had booked a ferry crossing and the hotel in Boulogne on Friday night.  I've never booked anything before, and had I done the same as always then I would have had a more relaxing start to the trip.   (Even more stupidly I've done the same for tomorrow and arranged to meet cousin Patricia in Paris).  Another deadline to make on Saturday now, although the journey should be a bit easier.

Anyhow back to day.  I knew that I had 179 miles to do to catch the 6pm ferry. I now know that this is too far in a day on the Vespa.  Tom Tom planned the route directly through central London, which didn't really help, although at least I got to have lunch at a little Afro Caribbean cafe that I new south of the river.  Fish Patties, dumplings and fried plantain, weighed me down considerably.

The journey was not without events as within an hour and a half of setting off, and in some obscure deserted road, the Vespa gave up the ghost again and just stopped.  I have to admit to feeling pretty dejected at the prospect of giving up the trip.   Anyway, phoned the AA again, who having finally located where I thought I was, told me it would be an hour and a half to wait.   To pass the time I kept kick starting it every 5 mins and eventually, for no good reason, it burst into life again.  

With the throttle held wide open, I phoned the AA to cancel the call, then phoned Christine back to stop her booking the nurse for my return home, and cracked on again.   Brilliant trip, through Oxfordshire with only the faintest hint of drizzle to upset the day, down through, Aylesham, Hemel Hempstead and along roads, that only Tom Tom knew existed.  If you ever instruct TT to avoid motorways, then it thinks you have given it carte blanche to take you down every short cut and bridlepath that it can find...  

Finally beaten by the drizzle which was becoming a downpour, and as usual left it far to late to don the weatherproofs, I stopped on the side of the road just before crossing the M25 to get kitted up.   As per the norm, this was the cue for the rain to stop, and leave me looking like a real prune in all the gear on the hottest and sunniest day of the year.

I kept all this on until the Vespa did exactly the same thing as before in the middle of Watford.  Again, stopped, refused to start again for 20 minutes, then just after I had abandoned hope and again called the AA it roared into life.   Cancelled the call yet again, refuelled and set off.

There is a pattern here both these stops would have been just about at the point when it would have run out of main tank and gone onto reserve.  The third stop in the day, I cleverly stopped to refuel before it ran out or whatever.   Surely someone at Miniaddicts must have a theory on this.

The weather just got better and better as I piled on the miles towards Dover, and eventually, absolutely knackered, I got to the wrong ferry port with an hour to spare.  My booking made on line through an agency didn't actually tell me which ferry terminal it was, nor the name of the ferry, and I made an assumption, that it was the usual eastern terminal.   Having been waved through security and passport control, without a glance, because terrorists never come on a scooter do they, I got to the booth only to be turned back and sent out again.   This time of course, because I was now shipside, and there were no ferries arriving, I was met with some hostility at security and passport control as someone trying to gain admittance to the country without the necessary paperwork.  

The crossing was fine aboard the last remaining seacat plying the channel routes, and by 8pm I was in my hotel room in Boulogne.

Job done for today!

The First Day. Thursday and Disaster strikes

Well what a day Thursday has been.   Up at the crack of dawn and full of all sorts of joy. Set off nice and early at smack on 8am, and made really good time through Wrexham and towards Oswestry.  Had Mc D breakfast at the Llangollen turnoff and cracked on.  Just this side of Shrewsbury at the 50 mile mark, the engine spluttered and died as it always does before I can get it switched on to the reserve tank.  Could I get it going again, tried everything, filled it up from my can, put it back on main tank.... Nothing.  In the end resorted to the AA who came in about 30 minutes and pronounced that there was no spark.  He tried to get it in locally for me, but eventually we resorted to towing it back to Ellesmere port to Turners for them to have a look at.  Got back there at about 2pm, and give them great credit, they dropped everything that they were doing and set about replacing, first the points and condensor, and then with still no spark, the coil as well.  That fixed it so at 5:15 pm I set off again, undaunted, to try and get as far south as I could. The bike ran like a dream and I finally gave up fighting tiredness, and the onset of severe backside pain having arrived at Broadway, just the other side of Evesham.   Total mileage for the day was 166 miles, which would of course have got me exactly to where I had planned if not for the duplication of 55 miles.

I was far to tired to do the blog, so my apologies for it being a day late.  Had a decent enough curry and 6 gins before collapsing.  

The night before........

All packed up and really wanting to get going now.   Spent the pre trip evening demonstrating the vespa to friends at Miniaddicts.co.uk at our monthly meeting.  I suspect that most think I am barmy, but lots of encouragement from them.  Aim to set off at about 8am tomorrow and travel down to stay with friends near Didcot in Oxfordshire.  Google tells me it's 177 miles.