Three months around Europe

I write this from Pamplona, Spain having travelled 3500 km since I picked up the V strom 650 on May 9. If I can be a little emotional: the bike is sweet- nimble with good mid torque range and frugal at 24/25km per litre. So far I would say it is smoother than the V Strom 1000 I ride in New Zealand
Two days later I headed north to the National Motorcycle Museum in Birmingham. I arrived in the middle of the new Honda Crossfire launch and with the only parking available in the middle of the launch I was about as welcome as a pork chop in a synagogue. A little fat Honda person asked me to move but as he could not suggest where I should park I stayed put.
The museum is a must see for anyone even mildly interested in a. the innovative nature of the British Motor Industry, b. the decline of British industry due to quality control, poor marketing and insular management and c the phoenix like rise over the past 10 years. There are more than 700 bikes housed in five halls – with interesting snippets of information to satisfy the technical or lay minded.
I hit the motorway in pouring rain, heading for Aberdeen. The strom was surprisingly dry and the lower seat than the 1000and higher windscreen setting kept wind buffet to a low level . Took a detour through the border country , just letting the GPS direct me and keep me away from motorways but I couldn't cross the Forth Bridge due to high winds.
After a few days annoying the grandkids it was back south via Berwick, York, Chester and through the Cotswolds to Oxford. UK is still a green and pleasant land, much cleaner than when I worked here in the 70s. I love the names of the villages: Wallop, Chipping Norton, Veruka ( made that up). The drivers are courteous to bikers, giving you plenty of room, little tailgating and allowing you through if there is a jam.
Then it was on to the Newhaven to Dieppe ferry where I got a 20% discount for being over 60. In the bar I met two, 70 year plus ex Manx riders heading to participate in the Giro d'Italia. They were riding a veteran Triumph and Ducati and said the event attracts some 500 riders from around the world.
They said it was never a problem telling the nationality of the riders as the Brits and Italians were always head down, arse up repairing their bikes.
At Dieppe I was stopped by French Customs and asked to strip my bike. But before I could dismount , one of the officers spotted my NZ sticker. Asked what I was doing in France , I said visiting the D Day beach where my father fought. He then just waved me through, though I noted the German behind me on a BMW got the full treatment.
Normandy is a treat to ride. Little country roads sunk between hedgerows, villages with museums each dedicated to an aspect of Operation Overlord, free parking for bikes, discount entry for seniors and happy to take your jacket and helmet.
I spent two happy days wandering from museum to monument in awe of the logistics and scope of the operation and humbled by the lines of white crosses that dotted the landscape.
On my way to Le Mans I had my second brush with officialdom. Stopping at a roundabout I was booted up the back. My bike reared up, went over on its side but I managed to catch it before it fell and pull over to the side of the road.
Looking behind me I saw a blue Porsche with a stoved and scratched bonnet and a driver who looked as if he had escaped from a porn film set.- hair in a pony tail, gold chains visible through his slit front shirt. I hopped off but kept my helmet on – I probably looked like Stig on steroids - and waited for the verbal , I hoped, assault. However, before anything could happen , he was rushed by two gendarmes and what I took to be two plain clothes cops.
He was grabbed and spreadeagled on the ground. One cop approached me asked if all was ok with me and the bike. I checked. No apparent damage so he said get on your way. I proceeded. Thinking about it later I believe our Porsche driver was being tailed and our contretemps gave the police an excuse to act. Always ready to help officer. Yeah right.
Le Mans museum is also a treat . It deals with the race, the cars, the people behind the event but also pays tribute to the often idiosyncratic French motor industry. Hispanos, Simcas, CitroenSM, Panhards, Bugattis as well as some interesting bikes are on show , along with some great fire engines . Another three happy hours.
Then it was down the French Atlantic Coast: La Rochelle, Bordeaux, Biarritz.
Great beaches, heavy Atlantic surf and good motorcamps. Yes they are good but I have yet to find one that supplies toilet paper. Do the French know something we colonials do not. And no, there was no bidet.
The road between Biarritz and Pamplona is through the Pyrennees. Twisting, climbing , descending , up and down. Big tunnels , big bridges and red bereted traffic cops with big guns.
Spent two days in Pamplona- resting and followed the route where they run with the bulls. You either have to be mad, drunk or Australian to participate.
The only bulls I would run with would be gerbils.
The museum is also good with several Goya masterpieces as well as some minor Spanish artists specialising in the tortured medieval look.
This place is full of pilgrims walking the trail to Santiago de Composmenta. Met a couple of earnest Americans with huge packs and a couple of Leki sticks each beginning their walk. Looking at them I thought they would be lucky to reach the first Mcdonalds. Symbol of the walkers is the scallop shell. But European scallops are so small you have to look hard for the shell on their packs or hats. Nothing like the tasty monsters we get out off Home Bay.
My next stop is the Guggenhiem in Bilbao ,then following the pilgrims to SdeC.

Till next time

Safe riding.