Italy: Day 7 Backing Down

Overlook Hotel was no less creepy in the morning but the views were stunning. The elevator only took one person at a time and dipped disconcertingly as I stepped in. Breakfast was a lonely affair, a pair of Harley Davidson riders, apparently the only other guests, and I shared the cavernous dining room.

Blog transcribed and illustrated I checked out, it was indeed €90 + tax, I gladly paid. At the start of the day I have to select a destination, an onerous chore where I overestimate the achievable and suffer the consequences as time runs out. Time is not running out for my trip but it has started to jog. My initial estimate of 3 days to get to Lake Como had been woefully short and would have involved a lot of tedious roads and tolls, actually paid. “The journey not the destination” I told myself, I have to factor this into my return trip and, wishing to avoid any drama, elected to bail on the Dolomites in favour of reduced stress on man and machine. I’ve pushed my luck enough getting this far. There it is, I’m a quitter. A route around loud motorcycle unfriendly Switzerland, through Austria and into Germany, where the Black Forest beckoned, was selected.

That and the bill settled it’s on to the descent from the mountain top to the depths of the Morlock’s tunnels. I first mounted the 360 camera and then the bike. Pausing at the top to consider the 48 hairpin turns ahead. A German couple pulled up beside me on a 1970 BMW, we compared notes and exchanged compliments. They had been on the road for 40 days (and nights), my self doubt sprouted another branch.

I won no prizes for style or valour but lived to ride on into the sunlit valleys. For a better rider the fabled pass may offer more thrills and less white knuckled terror however for this hack the slow speed corners, seemingly dropping at 45 degrees, with a heavy load require skills I seldom practice in North London. More for me the sweeping high speed curves of the lower roads.

I crossed into Austria and treated her to 100 octane, was delayed, fortunately stopped in the brief gap between two tunnels, for what seemed like an hour, apparently while a large rockfall was cleared from the road. Then rolled on at a pace into Germany where the roads straightened and widened, the pace picked up, more of a grind but homeward miles have their own comfort.

At Campingpalz Fischbach on the Bodensee I set up camp, the efficiency met my expectations and the hospitality exceeded them. Stefan, an environment engineer from Augsburg came over to say hi. He was paddling a beautiful wooden canoe that he had built himself and wheeled up into the campsite. Also Dominic, from teh Netherlands on an extended cycle tour since May having quit his logistics job in search of a life.

We assembled in the bar-restaurant and exchanged stories, awaiting the Nachtruhe curfew at 10 when the noisy children have to shut up. This was relevant to our band of turn-up-and-hope solo travelling misfits allocated a patch of ground between the playground and the latrine. Not so lucky Fabio, from Hanover now living in Hamburg, He completed our band and on a walking tour he had strode 40 Km that day (2 short of a marathon) having been turned away from a campsite 8km away he had retreated to his tent to sleep only to be awakened at 9 by singing from the bar.