Tuesday, August 17th

Another strong start, confidence high once more, but I've been strong and confident on other mornings and my mind pulls at the the only disaster not faced, having to change a tire.

This is flat farm country around Torino and not too interesting, but there are mountains ahead, this time the Italian Alps and undoubtedly more hairpins to negotiate, becoming more comfortable, to the point I'm starting to lay her over a bit. Careful, fella, confidence can bite you in the ankle.

Into France---surprise, didn't know I was going to France, but here we are and the country is like the Montana Rockies, with an accent. Breathtaking gorges, wild rivers, rugged peaks---the adjectives are inadequate and, after a hundred kilometers, back into Italy, Ventimiglia only 11 kilometers. We made it, still running strong and arriving tired, filthy, sunburned, windburned, in clothes I'd slept in and ridden in and repaired in for five days, but, shit, coming in with our head up and both cylinders firing. Feels pretty damned good.

Grand welcome from Elvia and the long awaited hot shower, clean clothes and a huge plate of the best pasta ever eaten---life don't get any better than this, no matter what the beer ads say. 1500 kilometers, about nine hundred thirty miles and the hundred mile circles, radiating from Prague on my map on the wall at home, show it as 450. Well, shit---the roads wiggle a little.

Anticipating the return, from Elvia's back terrace, gently shaded by grapevines on the trellis overhead, I know I need to get a generator, new plug caps, a fuse box (I have the wires twisted together), a couple of spare plugs and someone who knows how to properly set the timing and weld the left foot rest, for the return home Saturday. Broke the footrest loose in all that kickstarting, yesterday and they put those things there for a reason. I've been feeling lopsided, all through the last patch of Italian Alps, fumbling with my left foot, to keep the damn thing jammed home into its socket. If none of these goals can be accomplished, she's running strong enough to try it back anyway, but I hate to run without lights and wonder if the battery is capable of four more recharges. We'll see.

With Elvia's help as interpreter, found a repair shop willing to take a look. The several motorcycle shops were overloaded with repair work, about to join the vacation crowd and unwilling to take us on--- interested in the vintage Czech bike, but not interested enough. At least I was able to buy two spare plugs and new connector caps. Another repair man who's very helpful, but he thinks the generator has pretty much melted from too much engine heat and, as it's an integral part of the inner workings, connected to the crankshaft, it must be a Jawa part and will have to wait for the return to Prague.

As an alternative, bought an extra battery, so that when one poops out, I can change to the other and at least drive to a recharge, alternating as I go and saving hours of messing about and hitchhiking unknown distances. Repairman says I should be able to run a full day, without lights, on one battery. Sounds good to me and I don't know now, what unknown problems lie ahead, but have more confidence I can handle them and have to hope I have the timing set well enough to get home and can avoid transmission or tire problems. Changing a tire on this baby looks like major work. Found a welder, to put right the footrest, but he eyed the proximity to the fuel tank and we had to negotiate who's responsibility it would be, if she blew up or caught fire. I made some carburetor adjustments, listening for heartbeat, pulse and respiration and she seems anxious for the return trip.

Saturday, August 21st

Here we go, headed for home and off along the coast, through Monaco and Nice and up toward Switzerland. Eleven pretty good hours on the bike---one battery charge and that was a piece of cake, with the new system. A needed change of plugs, when she lost power in one of the passes.

The most incredible mountains, these French Alps. I've bee in almost all the Rockies and they don't compare for absolutes---maybe the Beartooths, above Yellowstone come close. Rushing water, wild waterfalls, long vistas, winding hairpin turns above timberline, abandoned castles, sheep in the road, along with black goats and a very relaxed shepherd, mountain lakes and a road that's great fun on a bike and she runs strong as a bull, with new plugs.

Have to see what tomorrow brings, as Sundays are always chancy in Europe and impossible in Italy. Have a full tank of gas and I'm carrying oil, 'cause she's a two cycle bike, but wish I had another extra set of plugs.

What an incredible trip and here I am, first night out, bedded down in a meadow, below a monastery, with Elvia's sandwiches and a bottle of water for dinner---very happy guy. Rode over two passes today and I think there are seven on this route, before I get out of the Alps.

Sunday, August 23rd

Reflecting on the day, from under the covered entry of a Marche Supermarket in Martigny, Switzerland. Not my preferred resting place, but there's a bad storm coming over the mountains, lots of wind, practically blew me off the road, dark clouds and thunder in the distance, along with a hell of a lightening show. I need shelter and this is better than an underpass.

Day started typically, with a succession of backfiring and lost power---road vibration must be loosening the adjustment screws. Getting to know what to do though and, sure enough, the points for the starboard piston weren't opening. Adjustment came fairly easily and the bike has run really well all day. That's one of the rewards, the instant gratification of a powerful little motorcycle, telling me she feels better and thanks for the diagnosis and cure.

Good thing too, as we climbed eight passes in eleven hours, all of them steep, all spectacularly beautiful. The last, St. Bernardo, was extremely high, well above timberline and almost unbelievable in its grandeur. I know---too many adjectives, but they abound in this country. In France twice, Italy twice and bedding down in Switzerland, all in one day's riding. These mountain towns seem as ancient and interesting as the hill towns of Northern Italy and nothing is closed up here, they're taking full advantage of the August tourists.

Been a long day and a hard running day---dead tired, but wound up and exhilarated by the scenery and the joy of the bike and these narrow hairpin turns and roads. The climb and descent of St. Bernardo, all on the outside road edge and scary as hell, with no guard rails, unpredictable oncoming traffic and thousand foot shear drops. Towns that I'd just passed through, looked like miniatures from the incredible heights climbed and then descended.

Must say, I prefer the climb, particularly with the bike running so well. The downside screams against second gear and even so, too much time on the brakes, as these are old mechanical drum brakes and not the hydraulic discs of the newer bikes, taking lots of hand and foot pressure and I don't trust them to stay cool.

Okay so far, though. Great bike, great trip, although we didn't get very far on the map and rode hard all day. This trip may total five or six days for the return home.

Monday, August 23rd

This is Switzerland, so how come they're all speaking German? Must be getting close to the border, but the map creeps by, which is great for the riding and scenery, but tough on the schedule. My "friend of a friend" house guest, expected tomorrow in Prague, will just have to find a hotel for a day or so, because me and the bike are going to be late. It must sound strange, that countries catch me unaware, but the border definitions on my maps are very unclear, with just a shading at the boundaries and no identification by name.

Writing this from a hotel, in Zizers, Switzerland, which I know is cheating, but I'll back into the circumstances that made it a choice between hotel and death.

Had an early parking lot morning and things were going too well---motorcycle running like a champion, good miles by eight, both batteries conveniently charged between 8 and 9 and time for a couple of cups of much needed strong coffee, the first since leaving Elvia. Off again, in good shape and over the highest of the passes, with honest to god glaciers, not just leftover snow and many cascades of water down the mountainsides, sometimes falling 500 feet at a clip and in huge quantities, like something expected in rainforests, rather than mountains. The old Jawa is just eating the road and I feel like I'm skiing Big Burn at Snowmass, flying through the gates and just leaning all the turns, but this high beats a Rocky Mountain high.

Scattered spitting rain, but nothing too hard to handle, except raindrops sting at road speed, without a windshield or helmet visor. The country has changed, with lots of farms and mountainside pastures. Dairy cows, with the damnedest bells you ever heard, almost like church bells and a bunch of them, make quite a racket, startling, even above the noise of the bike. Villages every three or four miles and Heidi must have been born here, because each is from a postcard of what we hope Switzerland will be. Andermatt, driven through at noon, is what Vail or Aspen wishes it could be.

Over St. Gothard pass, ignoring the tunnel shortcut in favor of the highs of the high country and then the port cylinder quit firing and it was back to adjusting points, something now quite easily accomplished. Then the rain set in, light, but steady all afternoon and it's a thrill, when the trucks pass, from either direction, and all I have is an open face helmet and sunglasses. One more pass, learning to run wet roads, but pretty cautious, by the standards of other bikes flying by. That's okay---the brakes are iffy and neither the bike nor I am a kid anymore.

Battery pooped at Chur, Switzerland and changed it in the rain---heavy stuff now and I can't seem to outrun it. Nearing six in the evening and I should have lights. Soaked and cold, I thought about sleeping in some barn, as there are lots of them around, but all seem to be in the middle of pastures and there's no access, the ground too soggy and wet for anything but hooves.

Stopped at a hotel for coffee and thought about an underpass for the night, then had a second cup and thought about a hot shower and a soft bed. Talked myself into believing that I had earned one night out of nine in a hotel, with a complimentary breakfast and that means hot coffee for a start in the morning. I hope this rain blows through. Soft bed feels great.

Tuesday, August 24th

Eight-thirty AM---had a great German breakfast, even in Switzerland and it's raining too hard and steady to ride. Have to wait it out and hope for a break, but it looks pretty extensive, with clouds nearly at ground level. Hard to tell in the mountains, but there's not much wind, it may be a while and I think I'm still two full days from Prague. Sounded like it rained all night and that's not a good sign.

Eight-thirty PM and a wasted day. I'd have been willing to chance the rain, but the cloud cover never lifted and the ceiling all day never got above about a hundred feet---can't disappear into that, without lights. Running out of money again and it looks like tomorrow morning, I'll have to hit the road, no matter the circumstances and try to drive out of it.

Ran into fog yesterday, for a short period, at the top of one of the passes and it's pretty scary, hugging the road edge, with about ten feet of visibility and only a left turn signal on as a warning. Everyone was going slow and careful and I was out of it in about twenty minutes, but it seemed like two hours. Caught the weather report on TV in German and it seems this stuff is coming in directly from the North Sea, across France. Trying not to be Type A, but I've got to get out of here, it's still a long two days home and morning will find me on the road, no matter the circumstances.

Wednesday, August 25th

What can be said about a day that starts cold and wet and progresses steadily downhill, toward disaster? The incompletion of a perfect trip, or the completion of an imperfect adventure? Neither, perhaps. The trip itself has certainly been perfect, in any event and all true and memorable adventures go awry.

On the road at eight, after another complimentary breakfast, more guiltily eaten, for having spent the second night, but I'd have been no less soaked and cold, the second than the first. Manageable light mist blowing and no idea what the wind chill is, at 50 MPH, when I can see my breath. Mist quickly turned to rain, to hard rain and the sunglasses only serve to keep the drops, taken full in the face at road speed, from blinding---stinging, none the less. Rainsuit working, for the most part, but water wicks in at the cuffs, collar and midsection, my feet are soaked and wet cloth at the ankles, working its way up the legs. Fairly miserable, but it's okay and don't much mind flying blind, because the scenery is shrouded in low cloud cover, hovering fifty feet above the road. Wishing for lights, but everyone wishes for something.

Morning turns to afternoon and Munich becomes a goal, still 210KM distant and I'm pretty well soaked, looking for a coffee stop and finding nothing, even when I pull off at a town. This is Autobahn now and everyone is flying, but where the hell are the gas station/restaurants, that the Swiss so thoughtfully put at regular intervals? Can Hitler's Autobahns do less? Apparently so.

Pop into a tunnel through the mountain and it's not the first, there have been many of varying lengths along the way, but this one is a little over ten miles long and, even with overhead lights, I'm intimidated. A considerable gap has opened, between me and the traffic ahead and I'm pushing her to 90 KPH, the oncoming cars and trucks all flashing their lights at my lack of one. Good guy behind me, riding shotgun at a considerate interval and keeping anyone from thoughts of passing me---probably has a bike at home. It's dry in here and warmer, but I feel I'm pushing her to the top of the line and worry about some sort of unexpected failure in this endless subterranean tube. Daylight ahead and I explode into the rain, waving my thanks to the guy behind me and he honks on the way by.

Another two hours and the cold and wet and endless monotony of the road allows my mind to wander, from hot coffee to hot soup and then to varieties of hot soup and then to whether or not the hot soup would be better with or without croutons.

Four in the afternoon, at 80 KPH, raining steadily, just 50 KM from Munich, it happens. A sound like a rifle shot and that queasy, soft tailed lack of control that tells me a rear tire has blown. I've no experience with this, but they say stay off the brake of the blown tire and a soft touch on the front hand brake, brings us to the side of the road, upright, safe and suddenly very alert once again, as all thoughts of soup have fled.

Rear tire---damn! A four hour roadside repair, involving removal of the drive chain and entire rear assembly, but still I'm told, safer than a front blowout. A day from home and the last and most dreaded failure has come full circle, to fill out the possibilities. I take a look and find the sidewall, for four inches, entirely blown away and the spare tube I'm carrying won't help this one, as I put the old Jawa on the stand, offload all my stuff and stick out my thumb.

I'll have to catch a train from Munich to Prague and Jay and I can consider the alternatives from there---abandonment or a rescue mission, but I know there's no choice really, except to come get her. The seventh or eighth car stops and a thirty year old German, who speaks very good English, picks me up and offers a ride to his Munich suburb, where a train can be caught to catch another train for Prague. Warm car, nice guy and a motorcycle owner, but as we pull away and I glance back, it still feels like leaving a good friend by the side of the road. Damn, so close . . .

His apartment is just a block from the station and he asks me in for a cup of coffee and to meet his wife. Bernhard and Constance, wonderful people, who tell me the disasters of their bike trip to Greece. Coffee is followed by the offer of a hot shower, eagerly accepted, succeeded by a place at the dinner table for a memorable supper of bratwurst, boiled potatoes, carrots fresh from the garden and a lovely glass of chilled Rhine wine. Afterward, an evening of conversation and swapped roadside calamity stories, until they put me on the proper train, having checked the schedules for Prague.

Bernhard will call the Police, to tell them the bike will be removed by Monday, our earliest practical rescue day and promises to check on it, each way from his drive to work. He thinks it will be okay, but offers to go get it, needing to rent or borrow a truck for the job. I hope it will be okay and can't bring myself to ask him for so huge a task, as it would be tough to muscle on a truck without help and, after all, there are limits to hospitality and they've already been over kind to me. Waves good-bye, another of the many kindnesses by complete strangers.

Epilogue

Jay and I agree a rescue is in order and he borrows a wheel, with tire already mounted and I check the night train schedules to Munich. There's a night train Friday and a Saturday pickup is possible. With the wheel in hand, the whole procedure is much simplified and the train gets into Munich at 6AM, so with a little luck, the bike and I will be back Saturday night. If not, then Sunday for sure. For sure? Who knows what's for sure?

Six in the afternoon, two hours before my train leaves, Bernhard calls. On his way home, the bike was missing. He called the police and they don't have it, so someone picked it up and it's not likely we'll ever see her again.

Hope whoever got her, treats her well--she's a hell of a bike and I feel as though I've lost a good friend.