June 21-22, 2022

When I was born, my parents lived on a farm in north Texas. My father being the thoughtful romantic that he was, bought my mother a tractor for her birthday one year. In keeping with this heritage, I bought my first wife a cordless DeWalt drill/driver one year when we were planning to build a large patio cover. And to prove I’m a slow learner, two years ago I bought my now-wife tickets to the Hella Mega Tour in Groningen, Netherlands, featuring Green Day, Fall Out Boy, and Weezer, three bands she’s hardly heard of because it’s not her kind of music. But the concert was on her birthday in 2020, and we were planning to be in Netherlands anyway, and I like those bands, so…

Yeah, I know, thoughtful romantic.

Then of course came Covid and we weren’t going anywhere outside the US on a motorcycle or any other method, and the concert date moved to 2021. Then to 2022. Which is how we ended up in the Campinglaan Stadspark, camped out under absolutely perfect skies and within a short walk of the concert, which is on the other end of this beautiful city park.

While sitting at our campsite this morning, a woman from the local television station walked up and asked if we were here for the concert, first in Dutch before switching effortlessly to English due to our all-too-common deer-in-the-headlights stares.

“Yes.”

“And where did you come from?”

“Texas.”

Stunned silence.

“How the hell did you end up in Groningen?”, she asked, before quickly regaining her reporter’s professionalism.

We gave her a bit of the story, and pointed to the bike.

And ended up on the local news.

Local TV reporter getting shots of the bike.

The Stadspark turns into a concert venue this time of year, due to the weather and the perfect location. The stage is constructed and bands come several times a week to perform. Last weekend, Metallica played. Tonight it’s Green Day. This weekend is Iron Maiden. Heavy metal (and punk) are very popular here.

“Covid? What Covid?” Social distancing has definitely become a thing of the past here. We ended up about one foot away from being forced into a large mosh pit during Fall Out Boy.

Concert parking.

When the reporter visited us at the campsite, there were only a few tents on the field. By the time of the concert, they were packed in tight enough that I couldn’t get in our tent on my side because somebody else was sitting in a chair there. By 10am the next morning, the field was empty, and we were on our way back to Germany one more time.

McCarCharger

June 23, 2022

Back in December of last year, I posted a story on here about our friend Heike from Germany. She has a bike stored at our place in Texas (two now, actually), and comes once or twice a year to tour. At Christmas time we rode to Mexico together, giving her an introduction to the border crossing procedures with the bike, and a tour of some of our favorite places in Mexico.

Now it was our turn to visit her. We left Groningen and headed south again, taking the smaller roads along canals and crossing back into Germany, arriving at her house in Rees, on the Rhein river just before dinner.

Heike had read about our introduction to Aperol Spritz cocktails, and had them prepared for us when we arrived. While Diana unpacked the bike, Heike and I jumped on bicycles and rode to the grocery store to gather some dinner goods. It was great to catch up, and to see her world finally.

Sitting in Heike’s garden sipping Spritzes.

The next morning I changed the tires on the bike while Heike was at work. Although the original tires still had some life, I knew it would be difficult (and expensive) to find them in Norway, so Heike bought them online in Germany and had them waiting for our arrival.

Yes, even at my age, I can still change tires by hand on the ground, using tire levers. Which comes in handy. And will come in handy again, soon, unfortunately. Breaking the bead on these suckers is the toughest part, and I carry a MotionPro bead breaker, which hasn’t let me down yet. I’ve also found that going for a ten mile ride immediately before changing the tires gets them warm enough to help.

When Heike returned from work, we jumped on the bikes and rode the “back way” (a nice way of saying we went a way that might not have been perfectly legal for motorized vehicles) to a nearby town that had an outdoors store, as I needed a new can of camping gas for our stove.

With Heike just before leaving her place for a local tour on the bikes.

That evening, Heike took us to a buffet dinner at a place that is only open one weekend a month. The food was great, and we took the time to discuss her upcoming trip to Texas.

The next morning we packed up the bike, and Heike loaded her Africa Twin, and we again rode north into Netherlands.

June 25-26, 2022

Each year the MotoGP roadracing world championship holds a round in the United States just 45 minutes from our home. I’ve always wanted to see a European round of the championship. In Europe, MotoGP is the motorsports equivalent of World Cup Soccer; it’s huge.

Assen, Netherlands is only about a half hour south of Groningen, and it just happened that the concert we had bought tickets for two years ago, that finally happened this year, was only three days before the Assen round of the MotoGP championship. So even though it meant more money, we bought tickets months ago to attend, and Heike bought a ticket and joined us.

On the way to the campground, we stopped for lunch in a small town. Nearby was a hair salon, with this ad on the side. Diana and I were trying to decide which look I should try: Moe from the 3 Stooges, or Flock of Seagulls. Seriously though, are there really that many people in this small town that want one of these?

We camped about 20 miles south of the Assen TT Circuit at Camping Goed Vertoef (“Good stay” in Dutch) to avoid the craziness of the MotoGP camping crowd. It seemed to work: we were the only motorcycles there, with the exception of a gaggle of Moto Guzzis that belonged to Frank, the owner of the campground. The rest of the guests seemed to be an older RV crowd, and probably regulars. All very friendly. In fact, while cooking dinner one night, another camper walked up and handed me four potatoes. So, hey, want fries with that?

Pitched up and relaxing at Camping Goed Vertoef.

Frank joined us for a drink and some riding tales during the evening. A great guy with a nice campsite, AND a rider. He offered to store our bikes inside, shared local beer with us, and gave us some tips on places to see in Netherlands. Couldn’t ask for more from a campground.

The ride to the race track was uneventful, at least until we got there. Then we joined the queue of other motorcycles (and bicycles) to get into the track. It was fairly orderly, considering the numbers. We parked under huge solar panel awnings over the motorcycle parking area, along with several thousand other motorcycles, and walked in and around the track. We had General Admission tickets (not reserved Grandstand seating), so we could pick anywhere on the grass hills surrounding the track. We watched each of three races from different spots.

The Moto3 race was as close as ever, with the top four or five riders gaining and losing three positions in one corner on a regular basis.

The MotoGP race was a bit less exciting, at least after Quartararo crashed out…twice.

The races were good, but as with just about every motorcycle race I’ve been to, you see much more of the race on television. At the track, you watch your one section, then watch the giant TVs for another minute and a half until the bikes come by again. The crowd experience and people watching are more of a reason to attend these races than to see the whole race.

One thing we noticed both at the concert a few days earlier and here at Assen: beer and other drinks are sold in clear plastic cups, by the thousands if not tens of thousands. There are no trash bins or places to dispose of the empty cups. At the end of the day, the ground is literally covered in plastic cups. It looks extremely trashy, in fact it looks horrible, but I suppose it’s easier to sort the recycling. However, since there are no trash bins, plastic cups aren’t the only thing that ends up on the ground; food and all sorts of other trash is everywhere also.

When the races were over and we began the long walk back around the track to our bikes, we noticed another “experience”: people lighting fires. They were piling up the plastic cups and other trash on the grass hillsides where we had just sat watching the races, and lighting it, causing plumes of black toxic smoke. I was reminded of my friend John’s comment about “I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out”. This looked like “I went to a riot and a race broke out”. I don’t know if this is normal activity at other European races, but it kind of stained our experience. Okay, more accurately, it further stained our experience. I never really got over all the trash.

Still, I’d like to attend an Italian round of MotoGP at some point. Mugello, perhaps. It was clear at Assen that even a year after Valentino Rossi’s retirement, his merchandise was still out-selling all the other riders. Even without being present, there was a huge section of yellow-clad spectators waving yellow “46” flags, and a VR46 MegaStore in the vendor area that was several times larger than any other merchandise booth. His legend lives on.

This is the bicycle parking area at the Assen TT Circuit. It’s tiny compared to the motorcycle parking area, both in size and quantity.

June 27-28, 2022

The plan was to leave Camping Goed Vertoef and head to the very top of Germany, just short of the border with Denmark, and camp there for the night. But the weather had other plans. And other problems conspired to slow us down as well.

We packed up at the campground, but were moving slow. Heike was packed before us, so we hugged and said goodbye, and she hit the starter button on her Africa Twin.

Zip. Zilch. Nada. Okay, maybe just a slight buzzing sound.

At which point Frank and Sandra (the owners of the campground) came to the rescue. Sandra grabbed a battery booster and we wheeled Heike’s bike over to an electrical outlet. After about ten minutes on the quick charger, it fired up, and she was gone.

“Bye!” Click. Click. “WTF?” A little more conversation with Diana, Heike and Sandra while standing around waiting for her battery to charge.

She’ll be in Texas a few days later, picking up her Royal Enfield Himalayan to head further south.

We continued packing, got another late start, and headed north, directly into a black cloud. The skies opened up, and it rained steady — not particularly hard, but heavy and steady for quite a while. Eventually I could feel water running down my back; I wear a Buff bandana under my helmet, and it hangs out the back, just enough to act as a wick and direct water up and down my collar. We continued on until I realized I had a good water siphon going at my collar, and decided I’d had enough. We pulled off at a roadside service area that had a small motel, and got a room for the night. Of course, not long after we unloaded everything in the rain, it stopped.

Home Not-So-Sweet-But-Alarmingly-Loud Home.

The room looked like 1940s, and smelled like 1960s; that is, it smelled like it was smoked in continuously for the past 50 or 60 years. I opened the windows and it either got better, or I got used to it. The bed was comfortable enough and I was tired enought that I fell asleep fairly quickly. Until 1am. That’s when the smoke detectors in the entire building started sounding off. I could hear the other guests walking the halls so I walked to the parking lot to find everyone standing there. And realized that we were at least twice the age of all the other guests. This place wasn’t cheap, but it was inexpensive by European standards, so I guess it gets used a bit like a hostel.

I walked around to the front of the building where the restaurant and convenience store are located. Everything was locked up tight and lights out. Apparently there are no employees that stay overnight. When the store and restaurant shut down, everyone goes home, and the motel guests are on their own.

After thirty minutes or so of the alarms going off, we all got tired of it. It was clear that there was no fire or smoke. So we started taking the batteries out of all the smoke detectors. Somebody hit the jackpot and all the remaining alarms ceased when they pulled that battery. We all returned to our rooms and got a few hours of sleep.

In the morning we decided to re-route. Heike had mentioned a ferry to Denmark, and Google Maps confirmed that it was a shorter route, so we decided to pay for the ferry and head that way.

Just south of Lübeck, in the fast lane at around 130kph (80mph), I felt a vibration from the rear tire. I immediately started moving right, and by the time I got slowed and into the right lane, it was clear that we had a flat rear tire. I moved onto the shoulder, and luckily there was an exit a couple of hundred meters ahead. I turned the flashers on and we limped slowly up the ramp and around the corner into a parking lot. Within a half hour or so I had replaced the tube and we were ready to go again.

In 2015-16 I went 34,000 miles, changed seven sets of tires, and came home with the original factory inner tubes with not a single patch. Never had a flat. Hopefully this isn’t setting a new standard.

However, we were now without a spare tube, and being a bit superstitious, I figure if I have a spare tube, I won’t have another flat, but if I don’t have a spare tube, well…

Technically, we had a spare tube for the front tire, which might work in a pinch, but it’s not the right size, so I would prefer to have a correct rear inner tube for a spare.

I check the GPS, and found a Triumph and Indian motorcycle dealer about a half mile away. We drove there, and I asked for a tube. The salesman went in the back and searched for a while, but came up empty handed. He said he could order one and have it in a couple of days. Then he gave me an address for an auto parts store that he thought might have one. We went there. Nothing. I looked again and found a Kawasaki and Ducati dealer nearby. We drove there. They didn’t have any inner tubes and also offered to order one and have it in a few days. It seemed odd that not only did no one my size inner tube (a fairly common size), but no one had ANY inner tubes. Granted, many if not most street bikes today come with tubeless tires and no inner tubes. But it’s still a fairly common service item. The Kawasaki dealer suggested a motorcycle repair shop in town, so we drove there. The woman there was very helpful, and called four or five other shops for us, but no one had an inner tube.

I thought for a moment that perhaps Germany was like Central and South America: you didn’t get inner tubes at the motorcycle store, you got them at the place that fixes flats on cars and motorcycles. But it seemed like one of the dealers or repair shops would have told me that.

I resigned myself to the idea that we would be traveling without a spare tube, and figured maybe I could order one on Amazon and have it shipped ahead. We headed back onto the highway and towards the ferry.

About fifteen minutes later I decided to check the GPS to see if there were any more motorcycle shops north of Lübeck, and a place called “Schwerin” came up; that’s all it said. But it was just off the highway, so I decided to try it. It turned out to be a Honda dealer, and there were two new-style Africa Twins in the parking lot, which use the same size rear tire as my 700 Tenere. I walked into the store and the salesman, who spoke good English, immediately said, “Sure, I have one of those.”

“Do you have two?”, I asked.

“Probably.”

So I bought two. And we talked Africa Twins, both old and new, and the Isle of Man TT. It was a great experience. And we were back on the road with backup inner tubes.

We made it to the ferry, and lined up behind two BMWs with Swing side cars. The side cars sat some distance away from the bikes, because the bikes lean side-to-side like a regular motorcycle, while the side car sits rigidly upright. It’s a bit odd looking at first, but probably a lot more enjoyable than a fixed sidecar.

Swing sidecar. Although it’s actually the bike that swings, not the sidecar.

These ferries run every thirty minutes. Three of them passed us going the opposite direction in the 45 minutes that it took to go from Germany to Denmark. These are Hybrid-powered ferries; they run on a combination of diesel and electric power.

Onboard the ferry.

We arrived in Denmark, our 14th country in the past two months, and rode northeast to Rødvig to camp for the night.

June 29, 2022

Around 8am this morning I heard somebody pull into the camping space across from us and start setting up. It seemed a bit odd: who arrives at a campsite at 8am? I looked out of the tent and saw a silver Fiat camper van. Later that morning, after eating our great pastries (order them the night before at the campground office; pick them up in the morning), as we were packing up, a woman approached us. “Where are you coming from?” she asked, with an accent that sounded a bit like Italian.

I pointed at the license plate on the bike, as usual. “Texas. And you?”

“Southern Switzerland, near Lugano”.

“Ah, that explains the Italian accent”, I replied. She laughed, and we started talking about bikes. It turns out Silvia is also a motorcyclist, and by preference, a solo female traveler. She has a Triumph Speed Triple at home, which has seen many trips, although she now has the camper van also, which she admits is luxury compared to our sleeping on the ground. It turns out she arrived at 8am from another campground because she needed good wi-fi, as she is working while traveling.

We talked for so long that we missed the noon check-out time, though nobody seemed to care. We definitely shared similar outlooks on travel and our reasons for it. In the end, we invited her to stay with us if and when she tours the US (her dream, like many Europeans we’ve met, is to ride Route 66 on a Harley); and she invited us to stay with her in Switzerland, which we may well do later in this trip.

This is Silvia. She’s quite a find. She rides a Triumph Speed Triple, loves motorcycles and traveling. Finds it hard to decide whether to travel by motorcycle or camper van. Lives in a beautiful part of Switzerland near Italy (as if there is a part of Switzerland that isn’t beautiful). Has a great outlook and attitude towards life. If I weren’t married, I might consider moving to Switzerland. 😉

We had such a good time talking with Silvia that we forgot how late it was getting, and ended up not leaving the campground until just after noon.

We left Rødvig and headed towards the Oresund Bridge, just outside of Copenhagen. This bridge connects Denmark and Sweden, and is nearly 8 kilometers long. The west end is a long tunnel under the Oresund Strait, which eventually emerges onto a man-made island in the middle of the strait, and then onto the bridge. A railroad line runs along the bridge as well, making it the longest combined auto and rail bridge in Europe. It’s also a toll bridge: it cost $35.00 one way for a motorcycle to cross; nearly double that in a car.

Before we got to Copenhagen, we passed a small hotel on a side road. There were several brightly painted trucks in the parking lot, and lots of people working around them. I immediately recognized it, and turned around to go back and take photos.

I wasn’t aware that the Tour de France was starting in Copenhagen this year, until Sylvia mentioned it this morning. Then we saw these trucks in a parking lot as we rode past. If we had known earlier, we would have stretched things out and stayed in the area a bit longer to watch the Prologue.

We came off the Oresund Bridge into Malmo, Sweden and headed north. We stopped for fuel, and rang up a total of 283.64. Of course that’s in Swedish Krona, so about $27.75. As we were about to leave, our second friendly encounter of the day happened. Another motorcyclist approached us and asked if we would help push-start his motorcycle. His MV Agusta starter had died a few days earlier, and it was going to take two weeks to get a replacement. Being on holiday from Rome, Italy, he didn’t have two weeks to wait, so decided to just keep going, bump-starting it along the way.

As he and I walked towards his bike, he asked the usual: “Where are you coming from?”
“Texas.”
“Wow. On a boat?”
“Yes, the bike came on a boat, and we flew to Germany to meet it. We’ve been across Europe for the past two months. And you? Where are you coming from?”
“I am from Rome, but I’ve been to Nordkapp. Now I’m heading home.”
“We’re headed to Nordkapp now! How is it?”, I asked, excited for some very recent updates.

Have you ever watched a television show, or a cartoon, where someone asks the main character a question, and the character has a flashback? One of those where the camera zooms in very close to the person’s eyes, and you get that blank stare, then the picture slowly fades to a memory of something horribly painful?

That’s what I saw. I asked about Nordkapp, and there was a second or two of a thousand-mile-stare from a set of dead eyes. Then words seemed to uncontrollably start falling out of his mouth.

“The wind was terrible. It was so strong. The temperature was very cold, about 2 degrees (36F). And it rained very hard the whole time.”

I tried to switch to something more positive. “But it’s paved the whole way?”

He pointed at the parking lot where we stood. “Don’t expect this. There are many potholes, and many areas under construction. And the road is very slick with the rain and wind.”

Clearly he didn’t have a good time. Then he said, “I hope to do it again some day. Perhaps on a bicycle.”

Now THAT is a glutton for punishment. Or a true enthusiast. He did admit that he seemed to arrive at a very bad time as far as the weather; he was there one week ago, and today it’s 76 degrees there, with a low tonight in the upper 50s.

I stood behind him and pushed his motorcycle until he dropped the clutch and his bike fired up. We wished each other a safe journey, and he rode south, while we headed north to Varberg, and our campsite for the evening.

June 30, 2022

I was aware from previous trips to Europe that different countries and areas have different ways that motorcyclists wave to each other as they pass. But as we rode along the other day, it occurred to me that I should put them all in one place. So here are some that we’ve seen in the past two months. I’m sure there are others — some less friendly, perhaps — but here’s the short list of what we’ve seen.

This is what you see most commonly in the USA: arm at about a 45 degree angle down, sometimes swept back a bit. Two fingers extended. There are variations, of course, but you see this from everyone from Harley riders to sportbike pilots.

Standard European wave: arm out to the side, palms facing each other. If unsure, this is the norm.

Another common version in Europe. Usually reserved for smaller roads where you are approaching each other closer together. Sometimes used as a last-minute acknowledgement when you don’t have time to take your hand off, or if you’re riding something so unsafe that you’d rather not take your hand off (or if you’re simply safety-conscious).

Increased enthusiasm, typically reserved for riders on the same make, brand, or type (ADV, for example) of motorcycle.

Used when overtaking another rider. When riding on the right side of the road (as in most European countries), the rider overtaking the slower rider hangs a foot off as a wave, since removing the right hand would release the throttle. I’ve seen this mostly in Italy and France, but also used elsewhere.

Used exclusively in England, where you ride on the left side. Since you approach each other on the throttle side, taking the right hand off to wave would release the throttle. So approaching riders nod their head to the right. It takes a little getting used to; nodding forward just isn’t the same.

At the end of the day, what really counts is that all riders are friendly and acknowledge each other.

Except scooters. Never acknowledge a scooter rider. That’s a whole different story. (Okay, some riders of big scooters may be okay, and some scooters can be mistaken for motorcycles when viewed from the front, so some errors are acceptable). Also, one person told me they only wave to other riders that are wearing full gear, and never to idiots that are wearing shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops, etc. Seems like a good rule to me.