I rose early in Saint Jean de Losne, blogged and packed up ahead of the maddening crowd. A picturesque town that I omitted to picture, my regrets, often I have them moments after but roll on thinking that the next vista is just around the corner. This happened again as I rose up into the mountains and crossed Pont de la Pyle over the mystically blue Lac de Vouglans, I thought about it and stopped to fit a camera to the bike. Recording a 360 degree photo every 4 seconds, a lazy way to capture my viewpoint without stopping at every view point.
I took it easy on the old girl, she rattled on and I, like a careworn spouse, ignored her. Concerned more for my electronic charges I rigged up a cable to recharge the camera and Beeline navigation device and to keep an eye on the battery voltage. A healthy 13.4v reassured me that the alternator was serving, the alternative being unthinkable, although I do have a replacement regulator/rectifier should that fail.
I broke my fast, having not eaten the day before (restaurant ferme) I pulled into a very civilised services and parked out of the scorching sun under a convenient scooter shelter. The services, rather than the UK equivalent, had separate establishments, a boulangerie and a restaurant. I elected to sit outside, in the shade and enjoyed a salade César while keeping a weather eye on the bike.
Lac D’ Annecy was my destination, the town was mad busy, I stopped in a car park and looked for a campsite, picking the one farthest from the chaos, at the far end of the lake, I crawled along with the heavy tourist traffic. There was no room at the inn until a phone call to, presumably the owner, secured an expensive spot in the ‘Garden’. I pitched then pitched my sweaty self into the lake amongst the assembled tourists.
Vincent rolled up on his Yamaha and we struck up the kinds of conversations that only solo motorcycle tourers have. Discussing routes he dispelled my misguided assumption that I could make it to Lake Como from here in one day and suggested avoiding Lombardy would avoid boring straight roads. Route Napoleon down to Gap was his suggestion for great French roads, also avoiding motorbike unfriendly Switzerland at all costs. Gap to Col de Izoard would put me back in the direction of Como.
I’d done some shopping and after Vincent had been swimming we headed out to a restaurant where I enjoyed a local chicken dish with spätzle (pâtes Alsaciennes), conversation and a bottle of Mondeuse. Vincent is from Paris and without his persuasive skills in getting us a table and kind recommendations from the menu and wine list the evening would have certainly been less of a triumph. We ate and smoked and drank and talked then polished off the evening with a glass of Genepi (mountain flowers spirit) that went down very well.
Le Mans man 