Off to Germany I went.
This involved arguing with CATSA people in Montréal because I had a small CO2 gas canister. It kind of went like this:
“You can’t bring that on board.”
“Yes, I can, it’s safety equipment. Look, it’s attached to my airbag. As long as it’s connected, it’s okay to bring on.” I should note here that I use an airbag whilst on the bike, most times (except for that one time… we’ll get to that…) it inflates if I come off and protects the important bits. You know, ribs and such.
“No, it’s a gas canister.” (I admit, it doesn’t sound great, right? I also had an aerosol which on my return caused some consternation because the x-ray machine saw it as CS Gas! That was a fun conversation!).
“I know, it’s safety equipment. Look, like this helmet.” (Which I also carried on).
“Grumble Grumble must talk to supervisor.”
“Go ahead.”
Moments pass. Then minutes. I read in a travel book that in some places you either spend time or money. If you have one or the other, you can generally get what you want to happen, to happen. In Canada, it’s all about the time, since we don’t do bribes anyway. I had time, and regardless, the CATSA people do a great job with often difficult people (like me) so waiting patiently with a smile was the least I could do.
The person returned.
“It’s safety equipment. As long as the bottle is connected you can take it on.”
“Thanks. Have a nice day!”
(As an aside, the bottle also was allowed in checked in baggage on the way back (I checked!), but since then it was packed with the airbag and confiscated (just the bottle, not the airbag, fortunately!) when I flew through Montréal a second time. This involved my suitcase being broken into with gusto it would seem, despite my being in the airport and just a page away. It is what it is. We live and learn).
I rented a bike (a nice but heavy BMW 850GS) from nice people in Frankfurt (Allround motorradvermietung) and went to my conference (all about Trust and AI) in a beautiful little stately home/castle in Rauischoltzhausen, and then after 3 days went to camp in Wetzlar. If you’re into photography you may have heard of Wetzlar in Germany. It’s where 35mm photography was invented, at Leica, and they have a nice museum there, as well as some pretty cool pictures around town.
But I was there for an Iron Butt.
Arriving at the campsite on Thursday evening, I slept until 3am on Friday and then, slightly worried (I’d never done an Iron Butt anything before!) I got up. I’d prepped the bike (chain, oil, lights, luggage) the night before so all was ready. I just had to get my kit on (#ATGATT All the Gear. All the Time. Saved my life…) and go.
Long distance motorcycle riding is not like driving a car a long way. For a start, it’s noisier, so earplugs are highly recommended if you want to be able to hear next year. Or tomorrow. You’re also sitting exposed to hurricane force winds for hours on end, so it is a physically demanding task – windshields do help, but passing (and being passed by – but we’ll get to that) cars and trucks has its own additional demands with respect to wind and buffeting.
It’s demanding work and being rested and moderately fit is a great help.
More, though, is the mental thing. Riding a motorcycle is inherently dangerous: you are the carbon fibre crumple zone most cars have built around car drivers, and a small fender bender becomes life-changing in moments. Paying attention, all the time, is required, and a loss of attention is inviting disaster.
This makes it sound stupid to do, but when you think about it, the same applies in driving anything. Please do bear that in mind as you whiz down the highway in your cage.
Needless to say, at 3am it was dark, and the GPS took me on side roads for an hour. I wasn’t thrilled (this is an understatement. I said a rude word) when I had planned a different route, but I didn’t know the area well enough to correct, and eventually we got onto the highway. Driving on highways is not my idea of fun on a bike, for the reasons above (wind, attention, and other drivers not having any of the latter), plus they are rather straight. Still the GS had cruise control, so I pressed the button and rode on. By the time I got to Berlin, a couple of gas tanks later, I was ready for a break, which was good because the skies had opened and I had to put my rain gear on.
Did I mention riding wasn’t like driving? The riding gear I have is armoured and waterproof, but at the speeds you ride, water gets in, and rain gear is a must. Although, it is a pain to get into and out of and it is hot, because it doesn’t breathe well! I have a video of myself at the gas station outside Berlin though, and the rain is intense.
Not long after Berlin you head through Dresden and then cross into Czechia, also the Czech Republic and before that part of Czechoslovakia (and before that Bohemia and so on). The ride took me through the capital city, Prague, which was pretty if industrial, and slow going (it’s a city, I try to avoid those too!) before spitting me out south toward Slovakia (the other part of that Czechoslovakia thing), which amongst other things is apparently the world’s largest per capita car producer. Name that brand!
Czechia and Slovakia are very pretty countries and I’d love to see more of them. There are mountains for one thing, and mountains are a thing for me. There is agriculture and there is industry and there is a sense of moving forward about the places, the war to their East notwithstanding. But I didn’t stop and popped right into Hungary.
Hungary was an eye-opener. Hard to explain why except the language is a little difficult and it kind of hits you when you get there. Hungarian is, to use the right words, non-Indo-European, so relating to it was difficult for me, but the country itself was nice, similar to the other Eastern European countries and very pleasant to ride through, although it was beginning to get dark around then. I also like Hungary because its first king was Stephen I, so clearly, they have something right, but more recently the leadership has left something to be desired, although that might be for a different time to talk about.
Darkness was well and truly fallen when I hit (although not literally!) Austria. As well, my plans changed as the route I had planned had somehow got broken in Hungary (it’s that language thing – I didn’t understand the road signs!) but that was okay as I had built in a lot of extra kilometres. The ride through Hungary and Slovenia was without event except for at the Slovenia-Croatia border, where the GPS sent me down a road, then another which rapidly became a track and ended at a large chain-link fence overlooking what must have been a border once. I have to say it was spooky and fascinating. Turning round and navigating on hope, I found a back entrance to the proper border which I am pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to use, but no-one shot me, although there were some cross-looking people with guns, so I got into Croatia the back way. Not recommended (although that portion of the drive itself was kind of pretty and reminiscent of ages past). But hey, motorcyclists are sometimes given a rather surprisingly wide leeway with things!
