April 2016 Distance: 4'300km Vehicle: BMW R1200RT
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The year had started very well because I shooked hands with, what some people call, "the best rock climber in the world" namely Adam Ondra (picture right) who was 23 at the time.
On Wednesday the 3rd of May 2016 I went to work and asked my evil boss if I could leave slighlty earlier on that day. Of course evil boss replied with a straight "NO" so I decided to do exaclty the opposite. We never got along anyway, so who cares. I left at 16:30 and drove straight to Finale Ligure, a small town west of Genoa. It was Ascension Day the next day, so traffic all over Europe was horrendous. It took me 5 hours in total, but shouldn't complain as some of my companions came by car which took much longer. I covered the 470km distance from Zurich to Finale in that same evening, which totally destroyed my bum. I reached Genoa at around 20:30 for fill my tank, and as the sun was setting and me not willing to break the golden rule of motorcycling of "never drive at night" I had to press on. I reached Finale Ligure just when the sun was setting, my bum complaining more that ever before. There I met up with some fellow climbers and devoured a good pizza and headed for a good night's sleep at Camping del Mulino (GPS 44.1736, 8.351). What was I doing in Finale Ligure? Well this year my bike trip was not just about the bike ride, this time there was some rock climbing involved, right at the start of this year's endeavor. |
Me with Adam Ondra
(no this is NOT a wax figure of him)
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After climbing for 3 days it was now Sunday. My fellow climbers had to drive for 10 hours direction North to get back to Zurich and back to work, for me fornunatelly the holidays had just started and I was now heading direction South, to Florence. A quick espresso in Pisa and on Sunday evening I found myself pitching my tent at the camping. |
Mercato Centrale
Unfortunately the famous camping "Campegio di Michelangelo" which was situated on a hill south of the city and offered great views, is now peremnently closed. I opted for another camping place (GPS 43.7658, 11.3156).
Although I had visited this city numerous times in the past, its great architecture never fails to amuse me. This time I also discovered more regarding the culinary culture of Toscana, by visiting the Mercato Centrale.
After leaving Florence I encountered two fellow bikers with german numberplates. It's always easy to start a cenversation with fellow bikers. They asked me where I was going, "Ancona and then on the the ferry to Greece" I replied, which came back with a "forget it, the ferries are on strike!" answer. Did I mention it was near the 1st of May? Yes, stirke again! The same thing that happened in 2015. This time the workers of the ferry company decided to go on strike for a whole week, not just on the 1st of May. I immediately went online to see how the situation was. Yes, strike, it was true. The strike would be over in 2 days but it would take another day for the ferry to leave Patras and arrive at Ancona, which was where I was planning on embarking. The fellow bikers then said "we therefore decided to deviate and go on holiday to Sicily instead, where the ferries are running". If you are reading this, Mr. Striker, please take a note! You are deterring tourists and only making things worse. No ferry was not all that bad, I just had to stay a few more days in Italy and enjoy the ride. Instead of sitting around doing nothing I decided to continue driving South all the way to Bari and catch the ferry from there. I was very lucky to have bumped into these fellow german bikers. It saved me from an embarracing moment when I would go to the ticket office, ask for a ferry ticket, and get the "ferry, what ferry?" answer.
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A fast motorway runs along both coasts (East and West) throughout Italy. This time I had decided to make it more interesting and avoid the busy highways. Later I realised what a great decision that was. On the way I discovered that the Alps is not the only mountain range in Italy. I passed through Parco Nazionale del Gran Sasso, Parco D'Abruzzo Lazio & Majella, among others. On the way I visited cities which I hadn't seen before, like Perugia, Foggia, Cerignola, Andria and Bari.
left: Parco Nazionale del Gran Sasso |
I did do a stop over at l'Aquila to witness the aftermath of the 2009 earthquake and how it had impacted the city. 7 years had elapsed since the this catastrophic phenomenon, which had 308 victims, and the city was unfortunately still in ruins. There were also reports of rampant corruption with state money that ended up in mayor's and contractor's pockets which made the situation even worse. After l'Aquila I headed towards Monte Amaro and stayed at the camping place (GPS 42.1516, 14.0171). It's pretty much in the middle of nowhere but the owner of the camping place also owns the restaurant next door, dinner problem solved. Food always tastes better in little family restaurants off the beaten path. The owner there did not speak any english so I had to brush up my italian language skills. There, to my horror, he explained that the camping was officially open yet, it would open in mid-May, despite his website suggesting that it opened on the 1st of May, which was the only reason I chose this camping as opposed to others around the area. That also explained why the camping area had weed up to 1m in height, which I had to stamp with my feet in order to pitch the tent. To my horrow he explained that in the morning when I wake up I shouldn't be afraid of the "cinghiale" (he didn't know that english word). I asked him what that was, and he did some pig noises with his two index fingers stuck lift and right of his jaws. OK, I think cinghiale means wild boar! Why did he have to tell me this! Now I won't be able to sleep an night. He also told me not to be afraid and that if I did encounter one I should just shoult "chou chou" and it will leave me in peace. I trust this man's confidence and his choo-choo theory... After dinner it was ca 23:00 so it was time to go to mattress (i.e. go do bed but in a tent). The story with the wild boars was still vivid in my head, so I decided to move the tent as close as possible to the building which housed the toilette, and I left the door slightly ajar. In that way if I did encounter this blood-sucking creature I could jump out of my tent and flee into the toilet, closing the door behind me. Feeling really tired my fears of meeting a wild boar disappeared as I drifted into deep sleep. The next day my paranoia died when I got up and realised that I was still totally on my own.
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Riding South I arrived at Castle del Monte and then made my way to Bari. The strike lasted longer than anticipated so another 6 hours delay was added to the alread 4 day delay. The ferry left at 19:00 instead of 13:00 but at least it was running. I foundthe air-type seats on the ferry, found a cozy corner, and passed out. Picture: Castle del Monte |
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The ferry reached Patras the next day at around 17:00. By the time I was on my bike and out it was 18:00. I now had two choices, to step on it and drive to Athens and stay over at my brother's home, or take it easy and look for a place to sleep in Patras. Me, alway being in a hurry, I opted for the first plan. That was a silly idea as it was Wednesday and I had booked a flight back to Zurich for Sunday, i.e. heaps of time. I stepped on it and reached Athens when it was dark (i.e. golden rule broken) and did it all in one go i.e. my bum and back were totally acking. There is no need to rush in such trips, except if your visa is running out. Not the case here.
I spent the weekend rock climbing on the mountain range of Parnitha, situated just North of Athens. I then parked the bike at my brother's garage and flew back to Zurich. I would return in August in order to continue the trip. I spent lots of sad days at the office thinkg of my bike which was getting dusty and desperately waiting for me in Athens for more adventure.
Time is not constant and August did eventually come and I took a flight to Athens to continue my trip. First stop was Rhodos Island. The plan was to meet the same fellow climbers that I climbed with in Finale Liguria, in Rhodos. This year was the first time that I hadn't booked my ferry in advance, having learnt from another trip that cancelling a ferry was only possible after lots and lots of phonecalls and bureaucracy. This time it was a mistake. It was August and people were getting ready for their much deserved holidays. Me, being on a bike, I was pretty confident that I would find a ticket, as a ferry offers unlimited places for a passenger on the deck, and motorbikes don't take much space. That's where I was totally wrong. Even the bike places were fully booked! I tried booking a place for the bike in other websites, but to no avail. I then tried booking the bike as a "50cc scooter" and to my good luck it worked just fine! Now, ticket in hand, I boarded the ferry and set of for Rhodes. I spent ca. 4 days climbing there in the scorching heat at a crag called Ladiko (GPS 36.3164, 28.2011) and unanimously agreed with all my fellow climbers that August was really a bad time for climbing in Grece. I then caught a ferry from Rhodes to Sitia, a town in the East of Crete.
The ferry arrived at the rediculous hour of 4am at Sitia port. I had tied all my gear on a wire and on the bike. I unlocked my gear and as I stood up I bumped my head on a fire sprinkler under a staircase. I felt a bump was starting to build at the place of impact. Feeling dizy I didn't put on my helmet, but disemparked the ferry with my arm threaded throuth the helmet. I then felt something gui and warm running dowm my upper lip. I tasted it and (you guessed it) I tasted blood. I looked in the mirror and my head was bleading down and I had a vertical red line running down my face. I really wasn't as bad as I initially thought, I just waited for the bleeding to stop, put a tissue on my head, wore my helmet, and off I went.
I spent the weekend rock climbing on the mountain range of Parnitha, situated just North of Athens. I then parked the bike at my brother's garage and flew back to Zurich. I would return in August in order to continue the trip. I spent lots of sad days at the office thinkg of my bike which was getting dusty and desperately waiting for me in Athens for more adventure.
Time is not constant and August did eventually come and I took a flight to Athens to continue my trip. First stop was Rhodos Island. The plan was to meet the same fellow climbers that I climbed with in Finale Liguria, in Rhodos. This year was the first time that I hadn't booked my ferry in advance, having learnt from another trip that cancelling a ferry was only possible after lots and lots of phonecalls and bureaucracy. This time it was a mistake. It was August and people were getting ready for their much deserved holidays. Me, being on a bike, I was pretty confident that I would find a ticket, as a ferry offers unlimited places for a passenger on the deck, and motorbikes don't take much space. That's where I was totally wrong. Even the bike places were fully booked! I tried booking a place for the bike in other websites, but to no avail. I then tried booking the bike as a "50cc scooter" and to my good luck it worked just fine! Now, ticket in hand, I boarded the ferry and set of for Rhodes. I spent ca. 4 days climbing there in the scorching heat at a crag called Ladiko (GPS 36.3164, 28.2011) and unanimously agreed with all my fellow climbers that August was really a bad time for climbing in Grece. I then caught a ferry from Rhodes to Sitia, a town in the East of Crete.
The ferry arrived at the rediculous hour of 4am at Sitia port. I had tied all my gear on a wire and on the bike. I unlocked my gear and as I stood up I bumped my head on a fire sprinkler under a staircase. I felt a bump was starting to build at the place of impact. Feeling dizy I didn't put on my helmet, but disemparked the ferry with my arm threaded throuth the helmet. I then felt something gui and warm running dowm my upper lip. I tasted it and (you guessed it) I tasted blood. I looked in the mirror and my head was bleading down and I had a vertical red line running down my face. I really wasn't as bad as I initially thought, I just waited for the bleeding to stop, put a tissue on my head, wore my helmet, and off I went.
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The adventue was not over. I had booked a room at Nikos apartments (GPS 35.1986 26.2542) in the village of Palekastro. I had also booked windsurf gear at Kouremenos beach at freak-surf club. The last time I was here was 2003, wow 15 years later and I'm back. Driving from Sitia where I disembarkued the ferry, it's a 20km ride to Palekastro. On the way I stopped at a petrol station and filled up. The guy who worked there told me "don't come here, it's too windy" and I answerd "but I'm here to windsurf!" to which he then added "then you are at the right place my friend!". I asked him how winds it was been this year and he said that from May to August there has not been a single calm day, welcome to absolute paradise. Picture: doing a turn on Kouremenos beach |
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At Palekastro village I met up with Jimmy, my windsurf -dude (actually University-dude but now also windsurf-dude) and we spent the next two days windsurfing. He had arrived a couple of days before and already tried some windsurf tricks. If you've ever been in the East of Crete, the wind in summer is INSANE. There are days that the sand whips your calves and there are days you can barely stand up, i.e. a total nightmare for tourists with kids, but an absolute paradise for windsurfers. Kouremenos means "hair-cut" which is what the wind does to the trees on the beach, hence the name. Olive trees grow at a 30 Degree angle facing SE because the wind blows from NW towards SW.
Picture: Jimmy & windsurf on the beach |
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After two days windsurfing I was off to Heraklion to attend my brother's wedding. The next day I woke up and realised that had shoes, a shirt, a tie... but couldn't find my trousers. The only alterantive was to attend the wedding in my motorbike gear... which was pretty filthy, even on my (low hygiene) standards. Dad came to the rescue who gave me a pair of trousers. They were slightly tight for me so I didn't believe him when he said they here his. He explained that the trousers were over 20 years old and yes, there was a time when he would fit in them. OK problem solved, off to the wedding.
Picture: brother's wedding (the trousers are not mine...!) |
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The windsurf gear in Kouremenos was rented. That's because there is no way in the world you can strap windsurf gear on a motorbike. What you can do though, is strap kite gear on you motorbike, don't believe me, click here.
After the wedding I went to my parents house and picked up my windsurf gear. I hadn't used then in years so I took the very sad decision to give them for free to some fellow windsurfers. Here I am with my mum's car, saying goodby to my gear for ever. Good buy old gear, it's been emotional :-( Picture: me and my old windsurf gear |
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After my brother's wedding my social obligations were over. I could now serlfishly sit on my one-seater vehicle and go wherever I wanted. I now had ca. 5 days to get back to Zurich. I embarkued the ferry from Heraklion, which would reach Athens the next day. To my great surprise an old school friend, together with his wife and two kids, were travelling with me. The kids were a 7 year old daughter and a newborn baby. I enjoyed dinner with them and we all went to sleep, or at least tried because the baby kept us up all night... but it's ok, it wasn't his fault. He didn't actually ask to be born. Picture: me and Nefeloumba on the ferry from Heraklion to Athens. |
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The ferry reached Athens at 6 in the morning, perfect time to miss the early rush hour. I stepped on it and drove straigth to Korinthos, then Rio (not the one in Brazil) and crossedthe Rio-Antirio bridge. It then suddenly got really hot, so I decided to take a dip in the sea which lay just next to the road. From there I drove North, had a frappe-stop by the Bridge of Arta, and then off to Ioannina camping place (GPS 39.6772, 20.8425). Picture: Bridge of Arta |
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From Ioannina I crossed the border into Albania at Kakavija and drove north. This time I opted in driving along the coast to admire the views, insted of through the middle of the country. Picture: coastal road of Albania near Palasë |
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From the west coast I heade norht and as I do every year, I stay at my favourite camping place. It's loacted to the west of Tirana and it's called "Pa Emer" (GPS 41.182, 19.478). Picture: Pa Emer camping |
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After Albania I crossed the border into Montenegro, then Bosnia & Herzegovinia, Croatia, Slovenia, Italy and finally Switzerland. I took the usual route, the same I took in 2012 & 2015 so no need to take any more pictures. For pictures along the way, click on Trips Done/2012 & 2015.
A moment to remember: in Croatia, between Zadar and Rijeka, there is a very scenic road dug through the mountain. It stretches for ca. 200km and it's one of the most breathtaking coastal roads I have taken in southern Europe. This is where I had a near-death experience, thank God I made it out alive. I was driving along this scenic road when I caught up with another fellow biker with a BMW GS. Our bikes have the same engine so the fastest through this windy road was only a matter of skill. I overtook him and realised that he did try and keep up with me for a long time. Along the way, after getting hypnotised from the monotonous twists and turny (it looks very slimilar along the whole 200km stretch) I came upon one of biker's biggest fear: the road had been grated for a new layer of tarmac to be poured. There was no sign to warn us about these upcoming road works. If you've a biker, you should know that grated surfaces do not provide the best of grips. The grated part was along a tight corner i.e. placed at the worst of places that it could have been. I was doing ca 90km/hr and was leaning all the way. The lower friction freaked me out so I decreases my leaning angle and tried to take the turn as wide as possible. Losing grip here would mean certain death as 50cm to the right the tarmac ended and there was a vertical cliff. I took the turn wide untill my tires touched the side-line of the road. Me, still not trusting the grip, I took it even wider and managed to drive over the line, in the last ca 20cm of tarmac left, before the ditch. That's when I just made it out of the curve and in one piece. I came out alive from this very close call with death. I must admit that I had just seen devil face to face. Right after getting out of the curve my heart started pounding like a jack hammer and I felt that my pulse hitting 200. My hands were shaking and my face must have turned pale. I saw a petrol station a few km ahead and stopped to fill up. The fellow biker overtook and gave me a big thoumbs-up. He had no idea whad I had just gone trough. That was a very close call... asdf(place pic of edge of road).
A moment to remember: in Croatia, between Zadar and Rijeka, there is a very scenic road dug through the mountain. It stretches for ca. 200km and it's one of the most breathtaking coastal roads I have taken in southern Europe. This is where I had a near-death experience, thank God I made it out alive. I was driving along this scenic road when I caught up with another fellow biker with a BMW GS. Our bikes have the same engine so the fastest through this windy road was only a matter of skill. I overtook him and realised that he did try and keep up with me for a long time. Along the way, after getting hypnotised from the monotonous twists and turny (it looks very slimilar along the whole 200km stretch) I came upon one of biker's biggest fear: the road had been grated for a new layer of tarmac to be poured. There was no sign to warn us about these upcoming road works. If you've a biker, you should know that grated surfaces do not provide the best of grips. The grated part was along a tight corner i.e. placed at the worst of places that it could have been. I was doing ca 90km/hr and was leaning all the way. The lower friction freaked me out so I decreases my leaning angle and tried to take the turn as wide as possible. Losing grip here would mean certain death as 50cm to the right the tarmac ended and there was a vertical cliff. I took the turn wide untill my tires touched the side-line of the road. Me, still not trusting the grip, I took it even wider and managed to drive over the line, in the last ca 20cm of tarmac left, before the ditch. That's when I just made it out of the curve and in one piece. I came out alive from this very close call with death. I must admit that I had just seen devil face to face. Right after getting out of the curve my heart started pounding like a jack hammer and I felt that my pulse hitting 200. My hands were shaking and my face must have turned pale. I saw a petrol station a few km ahead and stopped to fill up. The fellow biker overtook and gave me a big thoumbs-up. He had no idea whad I had just gone trough. That was a very close call... asdf(place pic of edge of road).
