Ducati Sporting Club UK > Events > DSC & Ducati Events > WDW2012 Adventure, Team 'Wild Duc' V2

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Thursday 21st June: ‘Red Tide’

Even though it was the first day of the main event, I felt in an odd reflective mood on the morning, even after sleeping like a log from the previous day’s adventure. So far we had blasted through the Netherlands, Germany, Austria and Northern Italy in three days and while I was stunned at the sights we’d seen already, I knew it wasn’t even a single grain of sand on the beach compared to the history and culture we had passed by.

I guess I was living my own dream and didn’t want to wake.

A pleasant but simple breakfast in the hotel pulled us all around and the wise decision of getting a taxi bus to main event at Misano world circuit was made after the expected temp for the day was noted at 36 degrees! Sunblock and hydration, for me were the key personal points of the day. Medical issues were first for poor Miles at the circuit however, he’d sliced a nasty gash in his thumb during a maintenance session on day two. The clinica mobile soon sorted him out, even if it wasn’t personal attention from Dr. Costa.

The event used the whole of the circuit entrance and the entire pit and parking complex. Divided into a series of arenas, there was something for every type of Ducati fan, the international tent was a useful meeting point and was a fun, active place with its own centre stage and regular events. The ‘tech’ around the circuit was stunning in itself, wi-fi for a start and wireless camera feeds from each televised event beamed to any display area (most) with a display monitor, often in real-time. The Ducati shop in the main block had some great stock items and reductions with suitable queue lengths to go with them. Some of the guys made use of the Ducati bike service that could be booked, Ohlins and Pirelli were also available for advice and parts. Just the number of Ducati events beggared belief, custom bikes, classics, race & historic bikes. Bikini bike wash, art work / painting ( both bikes and humans!), free bike photography, race garage viewing and then all the various trade stands and Ducati partners that were present. Even on the opening day Troy Bayliss, Carlos Checa and a host of riders could be seen in the race garages, add in the talks in the Ducati University and the various stunt shows and - OK, you get the idea, way too much to see!



Once I’d dragged Norrie away from trying to steal a £4000 race titanium exhaust system on display for his Panigale, we bumped into some of the club presidents at the circuit, it was a nice chance for me to personally thank Mary from the SDC for all her help in organising cards and WDW tickets. She was quite weighed down with Ducati ‘shopping’ at the time and admitted she might need help getting it all back home. I then spotted Antony from the DSC and a trend seemed to be set for talking to Americans for the rest of the day, there seemed to be quite a few who were all incorporating the event with a holiday of some sort, after such a long trip. The WDW pack we collected next gave details of the following days events, a WDW2012 Tee shirt, badge and petrol coupon to be used at the circuit all presented in a nice Ducati bag. In one of my only smart moves of the whole tour, I decided to bring a drink system with me in the form of a CamelBak, a cross-over from my distant mountain biking days. Along with some powered electrolyte, I could carry a full 2L of water on my back and have instant access to a sip of drink, yes, I made a few more toilet runs than most but it kept me good, in the rising heat, supposedly hitting 40degrees during our stay in Italy. Where else but in Italy, would an over excited Scotsman be able to talk his way around the roped off security cordon of Rossi’s elite guard to stand next to his MotoGP bike, all in the name of getting a photo of it! Well that’s just what a certain Norrie decided to do and we pulled it off a treat I must say.



On the track, Ducati Riding Experience (DRE) events which included some 20 minute free track sessions and other paid sessions with a certain Mr. T. Bayliss were interspersed with real superbike race test sessions and apparently, Carlos Checa was also testing the new 1199 race bike. I was surprised at just how popular, even now, Troy Bayliss is with the Italians, while almost omnipresent, he was mobbed and adored wherever he went, seemingly to me, just as much as, if not more than, Rossi. After being fried in the sun on top of the main grandstand, we retired with a drink and a snack to the international tent once again to sit down and who was quietly sat on the next table to us but Paul Smart! He seemed happy in his own limelight to chat to anyone or give signatures without fuss. I did wonder at the many Paul Smart classic Ducati owners present who could have had their bike signed by the man that was an inspiration for their machine.



All too soon it was time to taxi back to the hotel to get ready for the evening festivities. I didn’t mind too much as it gave me some time to chat with the lady owner of the hotel Senior, Maura. I think it was Miles who said that Maura made the difference in an extra star rating for the hotel and he certainly got that right. Nothing was too much trouble to her, arranging taxis, translating in perfect English and organising anything that was required was all carried out with typical Italian flair. I did wonder if she ever slept at night, the design of TV, sunk into the floor of the hotel elevator, was just one of her many ideas. Maura was also a shrewd business woman and had secured an exclusive deal to sell a Cattolica perfume that was so good that myself and Norrie bought a bottle each for family at home.

Most of our group decided against a meal as the Ducati Beach party that evening at a nearby beach club, also came with food. We met up with a few other UK riders and all walked the mile or so along the very nice Cattolica beach front, hearing the sounds of tortured engines and thrashed tyres in the distance. Hundreds of riders had been organised to ride in from the nearby town of Riccione and the allotted parking area was already full of turbocharged testosterone and some oestrogen, it has to be said, as a haze of rubber smoke blanketed the area a few times in the evening. Considering the event was free for WDW multiday ticket holders, it was very well planned. Row upon row of tables at the sea’s edge served anchovies and bread, with a small glass of wine or water. I only had two possible reservations for the entire evening, one being that I didn’t fancy the strong fish and that all the dialog on the stage was in Italian with no translation of any type available. The food issue was easy to sort as some delicious ‘buritta’ was being sold on the same site that was tasty and a good price. A minimum of introductions on stage were followed by flame dancers and a very good rock n roll band made up from the factory workforce, kept the crowd entertained for most of the evening. I’m not sure if the fireworks in the distance towards Rimini were to celebrate the longest day but it seemed a good preamble to the Ducati illumination at the end of the show.



The heat of the day had taken its toll on me so I decided to leave a little early to indulge the petrol head in me and gaze at the some of the hundreds of bikes assembled nearby, on my way back to the hotel. I was going to be ‘good’ and go straight to bed but spied a lonely bottle of ‘The Macallen’ whisky and decided a tipple might be in order, the night manager must have taken pity on me as he poured ALL the remaining contents of the bottle into my glass! Who was I to argue? Sat on the armchairs at the hotel entrance next to the road packed with Ducati’s was good entertainment in itself. Before I’d downed half the glass, I’d seen, a desmosedici, various 1098’s, an 1199s tricolor, a fleet of 916’s and monsters, one in particular with a set of Audi car ring badges emblazoned on the framework, very up-to-date. I bade goodnight to the other weary guests who were also watching the display as a girl in just a bikini zipped past on a 749, must of been the anchovies!


Friday – 22nd June - ‘The Big Money’

After a light breakfast, the morning of WDW day two was much of a repeat of day one, but hotter again, even earlier. The number of bikes in the main area was larger than the previous day already and queues were staring to form at the more popular drink and food stands, where there was none the day before. The Ducati garage contest for custom bikes was a first port of call, all the bikes looked so good they could have been built in a factory and I couldn’t resist voting for the JHP built Pierobon race bike I’d seen as just a rolling chassis previously at Ducati Coventry..



The track action was continuous all day long and we made our way to the east grandstand as the seats would be in the shade to allow us to cool and enjoy some of the qualifying sessions for the 848 Challenge from the UK. Owner track sessions followed, which I thought had some fast riders in until Mr. Bayliss came out on the two-seater Ducati for some demonstration runs! I hope the pillion leathers had a removable lining. The ante was then upped again for more superbike test sessions, followed by some of the Audi supercars lapping the track at outrageous speeds. More drink and food needed, saw us decamping to the nearby display area where a Moto stunt team, including quad bikes were pulling impressive tricks on the varied ramps and courses. It was simply too hot to walk around for too long, even with the giant water mist blowing turbine in the main arena, so we ended up, in the area that turned out to be the surprise of WDW for me, the Ducati Art area just seemed to be artists displaying their work and temporary tattoos being sprayed on punters along with two glamorous models who didn’t mind being body sprayed topless at all. The reality was much more interesting (honestly), bikes and bike parts were actually being wheeled in and out to be custom sprayed by the very professional artists present. After only intending to stay under the shade for a quick drink we were still there over an hour later having seen numerous helmet creations, panels worked on and a lovely tricolour effect painted on the nose fairing of a red multistrada 1200. The action here was just as relentless as on the track but seeing the how well the artists worked with the owners gave me an idea for my own design but I was told to come back first thing next morning. I think it was around this time we bumped into Ducati-addict ‘Tony V’ and a tentative plan was hatched to come and watch Tony ride his own bike around the circuit on one of the very first track sessions the next morning….

The only real let down of the day came next, being left in the baking sun at the circuit entrance for 30 minutes by the taxi firm that said we would be picked up in 5, they lost our business for the rest of the stay. Spirits were soon lifted by drinking a few more alcoholic spirits back at the hotel and swapping tales with other Ducatisti. My cash reserves were running very low, so when Norrie announced he’d had enough of restaurant dining for a while, it fitted our evening plan nicely of going some where more modest. An Irish friend of Norries, Graham who had rode his Bayliss special Hypermotard all the way over popped up again as we were leaving the hotel and announced not only was there a 24 hour bank nearby but a short way again to a nearby plaza was a McDonalds! Graham had eaten already but didn’t turn down the offer of a bier bought from the same super-clean McDonalds, whatever next. Well, a mobile disco, with light and sound mixing, built onto the back of a stripped Goldwing, appeared to be next, entertaining families in the plaza. A scaffold structure unfolded on the back of the bike, complete with generator and guitar hookup which the owner played with great skill, he even brought his own poodle dog with him, which seem very content to sit in the tank bag on the bike throughout the performance.

The evening was degenerating nicely when I finally bumped into a Facebook buddy, Stan, that I’d only met via the social network, I’d seen his beautiful 888 custom paintwork bike already in a hotel sidestreet nearby. Stan’s two cohorts seemed in grand spirits already so the logical course of action was to find a nearby pub and get acquainted. After a few drinks, I zipped out to try and get some cash, only wanting to make a single transaction, I choose to try and withdraw the same amount I had brought with me, 300 Euro’s. Turns out that the maximum I was legally allowed to withdraw was 250EUR, (I was told later) so in my semi-drunk state, I didn’t think to try and withdraw a smaller amount and wasted another two attempts drawing the same amount. At least I had a legit reason for throwing my remaining cash in ‘the pot’ and only having a few more drinks until our return to the hotel (where we were running a drinks tab on our room anyway!!!). Once again there was a constant stream of Ducati’s of every type, rolling right past our drunken den and I remember seeing 1am when I realised we were getting up ‘early’ to try and make it to the circuit. Norrie was having way too much fun matching his Irish friend drink for drink, so I made my weary excuses and headed to bed… 


Saturday 23rd June: ‘To sleep perchance to dream’

Well, there was plenty of both in reality, even after the roar of L-twins died down in the early hours. Sadly, a little too much dreaming as I slept right though my alarm and we both missed Tony’s dream ride at Misano circuit. Norrie joined me for breakfast but was very much worse for wear and decided not to join me as I’d hatched a plan to ride to circuit and save some time. First, a small detour was needed. The madam of the hotel, informed me of the nearest good cycling shop and after gassing up the QE4s, I was soon buying a very good and surprisingly cheap pair of gel cycling shorts to wear under my Halvarsson trousers. The recent Sargent seat I bought, while being stunning quality was really a pain in the butt, literally, mostly due to insufficient saddle time but I thought wearing padded cycle short might help and later on, it certainly did.

More rules broken and a slow ride to the circuit in shirt and shorts, simply as even at that time of morning I would not of been able to function in bike clothing in that heat. I did wear my boots, which were changed for trainers at the circuit. Misano by that time was simply an ocean of motorbikes, the main area and the next two parks were full to capacity, thankfully I knew a shortcut and slipped through to near the pit area for the 848 challenge bikes. Nearby to my first stop of the day, the Arai service stand. I was worried my aged Arai might be unusable after its fall at Bologna but the technician assured me it was still in good condition for its age, (better than me then). It was my first visit to an Arai service and I was so impressed, the visor mechanism was tested and adjusted and the chin strip that I’d had to tape into place, removed and replaced properly so it looked as good as it possibly could – all for free. Thank you Arai. Next was a spring clean inside the helmet, courtesy of the nice Wurth ladies in the main pit complex who did a helmet refresh and a very professional job too.

After this was my main mission of the morning at the Ducati Art stand and I had a plan to have some sort of winged design painted on the back of my helmet. The artist looking after me that day just happened to of been born in the UK, so communication was easy. PC tablets were brought into play but I wasn’t sure I liked the stock designs I was shown, then, while looking through the artists own sketch another idea came to me that seemed perfect to me as a ‘north-east’ lad, for so many reasons. The Angel of The North is one conversion point that bought myself and my fiancée together and it seemed fitting that we while we were the furthest apart in distance we had ever been that an image could be the very symbol of our unity. The artist had not actually painted ‘The Angel’ before but together we came up with a pretty good variation of Gormley’s Gateshead giant. The cost for having this done was very reasonable but the downside was that it would be a few hours before my helmet would be ready. It wasn’t as though there was nothing to do, shortly after, Rossi and Hayden were both on track drawing huge crowds, a stunt team had fun trying to see how many tyres they could destroy on the start/finish straight and while taking some bike photo’s, who should pull up on his scooter but birthday boy Mr. Giancarlo Falappa!



Maybe it was the sun, but I actually felt quite emotional to shake the hand of a man who is still, such a hero to so many. A rest stop was now well and truly needed so after buying a huge steak sandwich, I sought the welcome shade of the east grandstand once more, arriving just to see the end of another 848 race session. There in the block next to me, I spied a familiar figure and thought I’d try my feeble Italian language on him, which failed but got a laugh anyway. I’d be surprised if Gordon P isn’t known to every Ducati owner in southern England as he seems to take part in any and every motoring event going, he, with his brother were great fun to chat with and pass the time of day but I realised how gutted I was to explain that today was our last day in Italy and that tomorrow, we would be missing the premium days racing and events to start the return back to England

I could almost hear the clock ticking away my remaining minutes at Misano World Circuit. Having said my farewells, a walk around the trade stands and displays I’d not had chance to visit before, left my feet aching but my head elated at having been a part of such an amazing spectacle. Thankfully my helmet was finished and ready to be collected by the time I’d managed to get back to my bike and ride over to the artwork tent. While its just a rendition of the Angel, I was still really pleased to have been involved in a piece of artwork that I can look at, and even wear, whenever I choose to. The spectacles were not over for the afternoon either, as I spotted ‘Wild-Duc’ Neil sporting his Kilt, with yet more ladies apparently wanting not only a photo but to ask the eternal question … ‘What have you got worth hiding away’! Everyone had returned to the circuit for the final day, the newest member of our group, who was joining us for the ride home, ‘David B’ even had a leaking Ohlins fork overhauled by the technicians after borrowing tools at the 848 pits. A final highlight of the day was riding to the photo tent to have a proud image captured of me, my bike and helmet creation, all under the Italian sun, prefect!


[Another present from Ducati - Photo Emailed via WDW Website]

As I rode away from the circuit along the Daijiro Kato road, the thought came unbidden that I might never get to return here and that every remaining moment should be savoured, so it seemed appropriate to slip my big old Duc’s clutch and indulge in some very unladylike acceleration that my QE4s is well capable of. A group of Ducati fan’s applauded my efforts and gave thumbs up, maybe expecting more but that was enough to inspire me to think that while I might well not return to Misano, I was determined that I would, one day, return to Italy. Back at the hotel, our host seemed concerned we had not eaten at her establishment at all, which we decided to put right on our last evening, the buffet was simple, delicious and so inexpensive that I wished we had eaten there earlier. With no time for delay, it was announced that a public transport bus stopped right opposite our hotel going to the all star stage event at the beach front of Riccione. The novelty of bus travel didn’t last long as the number of bodies crammed into it rose ever higher. It was dark by the time we reached the impressive Piazzale Roma, already packed to capacity with expectant Ducatisti while some of the Glitteristi had been introduced already by the time our little group arrived. The road in front of the star’s hotel had even been roped off to allow the creation of a runway, direct from the hotel lobby, through the crowds to the main stage. Some winners of public competitions were presented with their prizes, including the keys to a brand new carbon Diavel, just for buying a WDW ticket.

Once again almost all announcements were in Italian language but the crowd seem to appreciate the sentiments expressed by cheers at appropriate points. We inadvertently choose a good location next to the VIP guest restaurant running parallel to the walkway, drinks and toilets were nearby and when the all-star band started playing our ears were not too badly damaged. The music was really good as I’m sure YouTube will let you dear readers appreciate, I’m not so sure the hotel guests opposite will have appreciated the enthusiastic swearing of the lead vocalist at various times, in a call-to-arms to join in with the singing but, it was funny. All too soon the event was winding down and large numbers of the crowd started drifting away, we ended up running to catch a capacity bus, fearing another might not be along for some time and then laughing at the decision as the bus actually got stopped by local police to allow two bikes to perform full blown ‘doughnuts’ in the middle of the road! A short while later and back at the hotel, the realisation dawned of our last night in Italy and a few more drinks were downed in appreciation of being able to enjoy such an occasion. 

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Sunday 24th June: ‘A man can lose himself, in a country like this …’

The mood at breakfast next morning was surprisingly upbeat, considering the hangovers, everyone seemed to be looking forward to riding the bikes properly again instead of simply looking at thousands of others… and we had a welcome addition to our group in Mr. Burnie, riding a very sweet sounding multistrada 1100, the flying-five were due to become; a strung out six! The quickest roads were, once again, the very roads that had brought Norrie & myself to Catollica under darkness, in the heat of the day however, Bologna and Verona were passed with only two fuel stops to carry out. Just north of Trento however, we bade a farewell to the E45 (and Toll) to take on smaller roads towards our overnight stop in Austria. The well paved route allowed us to make good progress and an hour later in the small town of Sarnonico, our leader, Miles made the inspired observation of a large group of motorcycles, assembling in a sports complex. As it was 2pm already, stomachs were next in line to be refuelled and it turned out a motorgiro was in progress with astonishing cheap and tasty food on offer for any ‘hairy bikers’. I’m still not quite sure why the period costume was called for but one of the more mature ladies, certainly took a shine to Norrie!


XXVII Edition of the 'MotoGiro delle Dolomiti'

With no obvious petrol stations in sight we pressed on for another 25 miles until a name-and-shame episode in the small district of Lana. Not a person, but the unattended petrol station on the SS238 is to be shamed. Refuelling stops had become a routine by now; tip-toe off bike, put said QE4s on centre stand (more fuel in tank), unclip tank bag, unlock gas cap and leave key in lock. But…..these are the dreaded Italian automated pumps that not only ignore UK cards of any type but then will devour a 20 Euro note and REFUSE to dispense fuel! I was surprised at just how livid I became, no attendant anywhere in sight and then a local at least tried to assist but, possibly made things worse by suggesting that if I’d taken too long to start filling then the pump would simply cut out and NOT refund any cash! As I only had 50 Euro notes left I had to borrow another 20 Euro note off Norrie or I might well still be sat on the shop doorstep, waiting for the owner to arrive to a few choice northern slurs.

The heat and long hours in the sun were getting to us all and since no drinks were available at the previous ‘auto-ripoff’, five miles further along we stopped at the picturesque Hotel Alpenhof. The bier was very tempting but being weary, we decided soft drinks all around was a much better idea and we each put at least two large iced glasses away. Sadly, Norrie’s generosity was about to prove a downfall as I intercepted him going to the bar, offering to pay. So, since I owed Norrie from the gas station, it seemed the least I could do was pay for the drinks. This must of interrupted Norrie-san’s inner harmony and rhythm, resulting in a misplaced wallet that we didn’t realise wouldn’t be seen, possibly ever again….

The Italian gods must have been unhappy with us leaving their domain as heading for the Timmelsjoch pass we exited one of a series of tunnels to be lashed upon with a rain of great vengeance, sorry, a little over over-statement, it was heavy but at least it was relatively warm (at that point) and at the shaded entrance to another tunnel we could don waterproofs without getting water in them at the very onset. Under cloud cover the scenery and roads were still amazing, even if the multitude of hairpin bends did become challenging and then arduous as the rain refused to let up until we were almost at the summit. A little later at the toll station was the point at which Norrie’s missing wallet was discovered as he didn’t have any other cash on him! We paid his tab and after some searching I discovered I’d kept the receipt from the last drink stop, where we suspected the wallet might have gone AWOL. Some friendly German bikers came to our assistance with translation for the toll both attendant who rang around for us but, to no avail, after a few photo shoots we decided it was futile to backtrack and decided to press onwards and downwards….

I’m still not quite sure how myself and Norrie managed to get separated from the group so close to the end of the ride, perhaps through one of the long ‘stir-crazy’ inducing tunnels, or the occasional bouts of rain but there suddenly, like a fire red beacon beside the road was Derek, who set off again on our arrival to guide us along. Except, at the next turn, bless him, he took the wrong turning, either due to another malfunctioning SatNav or because we were so close to our destination and in reality needed the very next turn along. The other ‘wild-Ducs’ had only just parked up so, what time we lost exploring, we made up for in our headlong flight to the guesthouse.

Our overnight stop in the Pension Köhler guesthouse had an instant good vibe. The staff, especially the lady co-owner, Simone, simply could not do enough to help. A dry room in the basement for dripping waterproofs, a meal prepared for us to eat (at short notice) outside in the delightful gardens and covered eating area and drinks brought to the table, was service well beyond the call of duty. Once back inside, I asked what the local after dinner drink would be and of course, a complimentary round of schnapps appeared, which tasted just as good after the third, or was it the fourth round?



In between, Norrie and myself had some serious tasks to complete,. Another missing wallet call still revealed a blank so it was time to bite the bullet and cancel credit and bank cards which took the best part of an hour on the phone but Simone would not hear of taking a penny for the calls and Internet usage. I did sneak a look at the Ducati website to see that 65,000 visitors had been to the Misano circuit and broken the attendance record once again, I actually dread to think how long the queues must have been on the Sunday!

It might have been the time spent at the computer or perhaps being tense riding the bike in the rain with it so heavily laden but my lower back was starting to give some warning spasms, which concerned me given the mileages we needed to put in, yet. Thankfully, there was a heat treatment lounge in the basement, so I made good use of it. A small glass booth, housed a unit that channelled some type of infrared heat into the spine of the client and I’m afraid the room and ambiance were so relaxing that I did fall asleep, good job the heat was timed. After a quick shower, all I could do was fall into bed for the deepest sleep I can remember in a long time.


Monday 25th June: 'La Villa Strangiato' or “The wrong Rüdesheim”

I was surprised I’d had the presence of mind to set an alarm to wake us up but, I did grin upon hearing the rain gently falling on our roof window and pretending to be seasoned traveller by thinking to myself, ‘its raining, it must be Austria today’. Breakfast was simple and traditional and just right for the schnapps-addled on a morning. After packing bags and some flying maintenance including the now endlessly amusing two-man-crab-walking event of oiling the rear chains on bikes without centre stands, it was time to bid our fair host, farewell. Even that proved ‘entertaining’, Simone asked us to say how much alcohol we thought we had to drink, as she wasn’t counting! I think it fair to say that we were all astounded at how inexpensive the bill came to.

Dried out waterproofs on once again we set off on a 400mile trip for the day, aiming roughly for Frankfurt, only to have trouble appear a mere 10 miles further down the road, I could see the giant train of motorbikes, rumbling along in the distance but didn’t see them as a threat until a left turn junction came up and I got isolated by them. Almost every one, gestured in some way, even through the gloom but my wheel-spin on take off warned me that conditions were deteriorating again and care was needed. Thankfully, Norrie had seen this and stopped for me but at a motorway that went in two different directions and we didn’t know yet, which one the other Wild Ducs were on! Both our large scale maps of Europe were essentially useless in these circumstances but we studied them in the easing rain while I tried a hard reset on my disgraced phone cum SatNav. We both remembered the town of Bregenz and Lake Constance being mentioned, when my SatNav came back to life and with all the hotel towns being plotted in already, it pointed us past the same two points, so, with a wing and prayer, we set off, myself in the lead, with Norrie’s demonic Panigale LED headlights, very, very close behind.

The tantalising glimpses of scenery were lost upon us as the borders of Switzerland and then Liechtenstein came and went in sheets of rain, with only the density for variation. Our first two fuel stops were just that, fuel, coffee, toilet and back on the road again but a guiding text came in from Miles, confirming we were taking the correct route. I should of figured the SatNav was still playing games when it took us into the centre of Bregenz instead of using the main road tunnel around it. Perhaps there was a reason I’m not supposed to understand that made a cyclist ride across a wet pedestrian crossing without seeing the car that was directly in front of me. The car braked HARD and I could hear tyres on the limit of their traction as I was hitting my own brakes. Maybe I am meant to know that I can match an ABS system but only by having the rear of my bike come around at an angle to the car or else I would of nudged a rear bumper before coming to a final stop.

Having had its fun the SatNav skirted us to the very edge of Lake Constance which might be beautiful when not enveloped in a grey mist that did its best try and fog up the visors of passing motorcyclists. That took us nicely through the boarder into Germany and then for a reason that WAS to become clear to me later, the SatNav decided to take us away from the E43 autoroute that seemed the logical choice and onto some tiny, narrow, but brilliantly surfaced roads that wound its way between farms and tiny communities. It was not until a lunch / fuel stop was called in the hamlet of ‘Vogt’, that an interrogation of the infernal NaffNav showed that while setting it into motorcycle mode, the equally naff operator had also chosen ‘scenic route mode’ whose ultimate purpose I dare not guess at. We asked the petrol station operator where we could eat and a phone call later a local gent appeared who could speak English and was as pleased as punch to tell us that he worked for a few years in Scotland and missed the place sorely. Sadly, all the places he wanted to recommend for us to eat at were not open yet but a local entrepreneur had a stall at the rear of the petrol station on the grounds of the local D.I.Y. store, next door. Very good it was too, his own variation of spiced sausage, with sweet cake and coffee was just right when we could feel the pressure of our situation on us. Scenic route mode ‘OFF’ made little difference as there was only one route forward (and back) to the E43 that we had left! But it was SOOO worth it, the next 10 miles back to the autoroute were like a race track with the odd farm, house or church thrown in for decoration, darting between trees on flat and wide open roads with faultless sight lines for me, was easily the best part of the day.



Big cities were always easily identified by the big planes flying around them and Stugartt came and went by in the same fashion, waterproofs were finally removed at the next fuel stop but just after we started off again, the CrapNav decided to die after being good for the last 100 miles. Nothing to do but wait, let it cool and try yet again. On the move once more, Hockenheim and its circuit was a slight distraction but with another hour of riding in front of us, I was getting weary and starting to wonder if Norrie-san wasn’t actually some little known Scottish superman. I jumped with surprise when the SatNav announced it was time to leave the motorway for minor roads and we had less than 10 miles to travel. My pace picked up in anticipation and the road signs for Rüdesheim, our 'destination', began to appear. Those alarm bells were driven by atomic engines this time upon reaching the nucleus of a hamlet with no hotels of any type being visible. Just as we stopped and shut down our own engines a friendly voice from behind shouted, “hello! You are in the wrong Rüdesheim”. Astounded by this observation and at seeing Norrie leap off his bike as though stung, our guardian German gent went on to tell us that he ‘knew’ we needed the ‘other’ Rüdesheim , which is situated on the other side of the river Rhein! He was spot-on when we explained our confusion and that we were looking for the Parkhotel which was indeed on the other side of the river in Rüdesheim am Rhein. I could feel there was a ‘but’ coming and it was a cracker…but, he didn’t know how much longer the ferries would run for and the alternative was a 50Km detour to the nearest bridge: Game on. His directions were so good, that we thanked him heartily and didn’t even bother with the FaffNav but shot off like veal being invited to a schnitzel party to try and make the ferry before the last crossing for the evening.

Even seeing the ferry return to its jetty on our approach, didn’t console me until I had the tickets in my hand to make sure we were getting to the other side. Norrie and myself hugged with relief, in the best traveller tradition and enjoyed being transported for a change instead of doing the driving. I could see the hotel in the near distance as I could now recall the outline from the image on its website while a small warning of unrest came on our arrival, when we were told for the first time on the whole holiday, that we would have to pay to park our bikes in the hotel garage….. While the entrance seemed very inviting, the lobby, lounge and bar areas were all jammed together in floor space no bigger than 30 foot square. Our priorities were to get unpacked showered and changed and to find out if our comrades were ok, Norrie had just filled the room with steam after discovering there was no extraction fan in the bathroom when I heard the sound of Ducati’s rumbling the distance. I think the poor maid nearly collapsed when I vaulted through the open window, over the gravel terrace separator and hung over the terrace dining area railings to signal to team Wild-Duc riding by the hotel front. Once I’d seen the guys turn in correctly, I took my turn in the steam bath and got dressed to make our way downstairs hoping to smooth the way for the other guys with the staff, which only sped things up marginally, sadly.

Our impression of the hotel, (after speaking to some very well travelled mature ladies on yet another, apparently monthly coach trip) was about to decay even further to something like a mix of Bates Motel meets the Adams family. I did wonder why the room windows were triple glazed, this is because of the kilometre long goods trains that run every 20 to 30 minutes, 24 hours a day some 30 odd meters away from the hotel, ear plugs anyone? Then, to improve the mood our fellow travellers, excepting the newest Ducatisti, had gained the impression that we had eaten already and hurried through the lobby leaving two very hungry bikers wondering what had happened. One of the elderly ladies again seemed to take quite a shine to Norrie and I was almost ill from laughing when I heard another say to me, ‘your friend is fixed up there’!!! Thank goodness Mr. Burnie dragged us away in search of cash and food but we were only successful in the latter, finding probably the only Italian restaurant in the area but it was good.

The night watchman sportingly poured us some local bier in consolation as yet another train thundered by, we drowned our light-hearted sorrows with the few remaining coach travellers, keeping a stiff-upper-lip in the ‘lounge’. The trains did indeed run all night long with stunning Teutonic precision.



Tuesday 26th June: ‘Caravan’

The day dawned crisp and clear for our last day in mainland Europe. An uninspiring breakfast was enough to get us ready for the road but this and the cost of the rooms also wound Norrie up into a sufficient frenzy to lodge a formal complaint with manager, I have a feeling they might have some experience of that already. We were given some excellent advice by two elderly gents getting ready for their day of cycling, that of, staying alongside the Rhein instead of heading straight for the motorway. I can’t ever remember seeing so much history and architecture, so densely crowded together before, castles, churches, monasteries, spires reaching into the skies and verdant hillsides made for compulsive viewing, which isn’t too good to take in on a bike. Still, we shadowed the waterway for another 30 miles or so and I certainly wished it could have been more but we had a 4pm appointment with a big ferry and couldn’t be late. The DumbNav was actually behaving itself when a little later it showed me that on our return we came to within 3 miles of our very first snack stop in Königswinter, only nine days earlier. Time and Rhein of course, wait for no Duc and two fuel stops and a lunch break later saw us arriving at the ferry port once again with enough time in hand for a nice drink before boarding, except one very Wild Duc went missing just before this, the mysterious Mr. Burnie apparently had his own plans prior to the ferry crossing? A final laugh on terra firma was asking the cafe at the port if they had ‘any’ tea, only for them to produce a huge box full of every mainline tea blend one could think of.



Documents shown & after a short wait on the quayside we were all ushered together on the ferry to lash bikes down and find rooms once again, which instilled a little dread in me for later. As the ferry slipped away from the port, it stuck hard that our adventure was over and even the anticipation of returning home couldn’t immediately replace the melancholy that I felt. Things were slightly put into proportion by chatting outside to an Australian lady who had taken the same length of time as our journey but she had travelled from Australia, being unwilling to pay a ridiculous excess to fly into London due to price hikes for the Olympics, making an adventure holiday out of it, instead. Getting around the ship was much easier this time, having been onboard 10 days previously as we settled into the same routine of drinks, light meal and a few more drinks, with good banter thrown into the mix. I’ve always found travelling with experienced riders to be entertaining in some way or other, maybe its just the life-skills learned along the way or in my case, trying to sail on calm waters, as we were thankfully managing to do once again for our return crossing. The Jagermeister was summoned once again, for medicinal purposes, obviously and then shortly after, half of our numbers bid their evening farewells, leaving Neil, Miles and myself in the lounge to pass the time. Poor Neil had the furthest UK distance to ride on our return in what looked like, good old rain to greet us but, this didn’t stop him providing a wonderful Whisky tasting session that I cant believe, I nearly resisted! All three Malts were superb and made better still under Neil’s tutelage.
It can only of been the drams that got me to sleep like a baby that night, as I knew nothing else until sunrise.

During breakfast, I was able to make out the shoreline of my home town of Hartlepool but couldn’t quite identify the coastline of my new home a few miles further north. The grey skies overhead didn’t seem appealing but at least the jetty was dry as we rode ashore and into the long queue waiting for the English institution of UK Customs. Two booths were open initially but one was vacated and our waiting time doubled; good to be home!

After bidding farewell to our fellow travellers, Norrie and me rode to a nearby retail park to exchange details and don waterproofs as the heavy rain that was forecast had begun, our little clan had dispersed much faster than the weather that in the following days in the north east would flood roads and cause disruptions…..

Almost like we were never away.

Epilogue: ‘Hope’

Two months down the line now and Italy seems a distant memory, the joy of riding on unknown roads, no longer fresh but still bringing a warm afterglow. So many fractals of time still occur to me occasionally about the trip, children running barefoot from school on roasting hot pavement, laughing, even though laden with backpacks. Over taking a private Armoured Tank in Austria being driven through a small town and sadly, seeing a car turned on its side on an Alpine road, thankfully, the occupants seemingly uninjured.

Thank You for coming this far with me, gentle reader; I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to even match the extent and emotion of this journey but, who knows, maybe, if I can still get my leg over a bike at 73 years old, I’ll go and buy the latest lightcycle and try to re-emulate Norrie’s achievement.

No apologies for Canadian band, Rush, references during the text, I’m besotted with the latest album, so much so that some final quotes seem appropriate to sign off with:

“All the journeys,
Of this great adventure.
It didn't always feel that way.
I wouldn't trade them,
Because I made them.
The best I could,
and that's enough to say….”

I wish that I could live it all again”.

Finally a WDW video that Ducati produced to give a better flava of the event.

http://youtu.be/hs6M7qJGqNY

[Iconic944ss]

Sorry its taken so long to get this written up but getting dates, facts and figures correct always takes me time to get right to my own satisfaction....

By way of co-incidence, Norrie is actually in Almeria right now on his very first trackday event ever, in style, with Ducati UK and Focused Events on a Panigale only owners spectacular.

Hope you enjoyed the read.

Cheers - Frank

[antonye]

Nice one Frank, excellent read.
This has to be *the* picture for me - have you spotted it yet?

[antonye]

...and you just made the front page!

[Col996s]

Very good. Sounds like a canidate for Pronto, except I've aready read it!

[BDG]

Great write up Frank and so glad you finally experienced the thrill of riding in Europe again after so many years.

Strangely enough I was in Italy at the time but didn't get to WDW as I was travelling with a bunch of heretics on KTM's and even worse some Oriental stuff.