A Golf Course...

Yup, I was seeing it clearly. Below me in the narrow little valley, 6000 feet above sea level, appearing slowly from the mist, totally enveloped by mountains of dirty white snow (as opposed to Snow White, sister of Betty White) lay an astro turflike, green as an NFL rookie, 18 hole luxury Golf course! Here I was, surrounded by the Swiss Alps towering over me, all around me. Just having survived the 8000 foot, snow covered Furkapass, and as I'm finally heading downhill, switchback after switchback, these guys were out golfing. I was skimming by it throttled back, laughing into my lid as I shivered in the 40F "heat". Now I've seen it all, I thought aloud. Of course, I hadn't. There was plenty yet to come.

Andermatt was as lovely a little Alpine community as you'd see anywhere. Tight, narrow, cobbled streets... with hordes of tourists in leather lederhosen, complete with brown suspenders. Luxury Mercedes and BMW sedans everywhere. They weren't cheapo 3 series Beemers either, but the top of the line, maybe 9 or even 11 series... I gassed up at a Shell. My Credit cards wouldn't work for some reason. The elderly attendant, was obviously becoming annoyed when the third try with the second card didn't produce the desired result. "No... I didn't have any Swiss Francs, but I had Euro..." I gave him two tens to cover the nearly 18E fill (the most expensive tank of gas in all my travels! He disappeared into the office, which by the way, was across the narrow cobble stoned street. I waited for him to return with my change, as I adjusted some gear. And waited, and waited some more! After some minutes I followed him in, tracked him down and asked for my change. Reluctantly after "yelling" at me like a German SS officer, (I felt like I'd been sprayed by an MG42) he reached into his pocket and gave me some coins, which I slipped into my pocket as souvenirs of Andermatt. When I asked to use the bathroom, he abrasively replied that they didn't have one. Waving his hand in the direction from which I'd come he added... "Go to that restaurant, maybe they would have one."

So... I say again, do they have broom sticks stuck up their A___s? Far too serious a place for myself.

The Oberalpass was relatively tame and short. The rain however, was long and hard as pellets. I passed up Illenz for Chur where I happened to turn at the last second for St Moritz.

In my imagination, I could see myself, driving my Aston Martin, speeding around the icey curves, a beautiful Brunette besides me on the passenger seat, gripping the door handle with white knuckles. Two thugs in a coal black Mercedes, firing out the windows with a machine pistol... I reached for a button on the dashboard, shifting the transmission down one gear, the rear of the DB-5 snaking and shaking, slithering around the sharp corners, sprayed oil from a secret compartment onto the already slick road surface. The pursuers spun viciously, and the black car crashed through the barricade, thundering in a ball of flame to the valley floor, a thousand feet below.

Thinking I may U-turn and take the easy route Northeast, out of the mist I saw the Golden arches. Parking once again, soaking wet like a stray mongrel dog, I sloshed heavily into the McDs. I found a couple of computers there, and waiting for a child of 6 ish, to finish "playing" with the various buttons and keys and yelling at his Mom, who sat oblivious reading the local paper, I paid some bills and quick checked e-mails. Deciding where the day would take me, I dribbled around McDonald's with a cheerful (must have been a Swede) young girl mopping behind me continually.

Perusing the Map, I calculated that Liechtenstein was worth a look see, seeing as I was so close. Pretty country with less serious border guards. After a cursory check of my documents, I was once again following squiggly side routes. Bypassing Innsbruck in relatively decent (think Atlantic rain squalls) weather, I kept the throttle pulling against the spring and rode on to the pretty little city of Schawz. There I found the Hotel Der Schmalzerhof.

It turned out to be a hidden gem, modern three story ( I had a top floor room but arrived with my gear via elevator) and had a fabulous if rainy view of the Alps I'd recently passed thru. The cost was surprisingly inexpensive at 41E. I had expected at least 75 so was very pleasantly surprised. My Prexports had been soggy for so long, only fine Italian craftsmanship and tough leather kept them from disintegrating into dust and crumbling from my feet! Showered fed, feeling good... I was happy.

Lo and behold, turning on the television there was Two and Half men, one of my favorite programs. Charley was speaking in German (I didn't realize he was that talented) and it had something to do with drinking too much and not remembering whom he was sleeping with the night before. Go figure!

Oddly enough... it was the same episode I had seen just prior to leaving Canada! Following me around I guess.

The next morning, slow going amidst packed downtown traffic, in the rain naturally, I inched my way past gridlocked cars, and headed east, riding thru Worgl and arriving in Kitzbuhel late morning, in the rain! The immediate area boasts 119 Ski destinations, and I can believe it. Even in late spring, there were ski shops open and doing brisk business. I looked positively drab in my Black riding gear amongst the plethora of rainbow colored people walking the streets, or sipping Gran Marnier at the sidewalks cafes and bars. Deciding to head towards Lienz, instead of North to Salzburg. At Mittersill I decided to continue on south. The skies opened the tap even further as if that were possible. Climbing thru one pass at 6500' in pelting rain, I had a very proud moment indeed. Enough to lift my spirits immensely. I passed a brightly colored van with 5 interlocking rings painted on the sides, followed by several runners... one of which was carrying an Olympic flame held high. That flame was on it's way to Canada!!! My Home. I found myself breaking into a poor but loud and patriotic rendition of

"O Canada, our home and native land..."

As if to wanting to dampen my new found enthusiasm... it rained harder still.

While fueling up at Lienz, I came across two hapless riders on Diversion 900's. This was the bike I had originally wanted to procure. One of the two bikes was stripped down with obvious problems, parts strewn every which way as if a grenade had exploded under the seat.

After introducing myself in German, "Guten tag, mein Name ist Franz... kann ich behilflich sein?" and having them answer in their version of proper English, "Oiy mate, we're not bloody Kraut, we're Brits!"

After a look see and some poking and prodding, I 'deduced' in my very best Dr. Watsonian fashion, that the battery was stone dead. I could see the immediate relief, apparently they were thinking it was much worse. Hopefully they were able to find a replacement and get on their merry way.

I thought long and hard about dashing directly east onwards towards Hungary and 'home' for what seemed at the time, an eternity (well several minutes) but decided to continue South, and make a run for The Adriatic coast. It had to be warmer and dryer there, just had to be. If it was still raining when I arrived, I was seriously thinking of Hari Kari, but the only thing I had was a 2 inch blade on my Swiss Army knife.

Barely enough to scratch myself with... I didn't relish the thought of jumping on it a few hundred times!

Several more passes including a ride thru a 4 km tunnel that cost me 8E, I came out at the border between Austria and Italia. Here I found a monument to Military action that took place in 1907, those were still the days of the once mighty Austro-Hungarian Empire, now in major decline and soon to be History as the assassination of the Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand, in nearby Sarajevo, was only 7 years into the future. That would kick off one of the bloodiest wars in human history.

Wandering around taking photos, including some of the snow clogged former highway, that had been replaced by yet another long tunnel, I wondered how many people and how much property we had destroyed between the wars mankind has fought over the centuries since we first came down from the trees, and got "civilized" ?!

Pinning the throttle, riding like a mad man possessed by a demon in my wrist, the Divvie left the great mountains behind and amongst sweeping turns, 30 km out of Trieste, just to let me know (as if there were any doubt)

Mother Nature dumped on me for 10 minutes so hard I thought my helmet was going to explode. I wonder if they test for that! Several Motorcyclists were pulled over under the protective shelter of overpasses. I couldn't care less at this juncture because by this time, ahead of me... I could see nothing but gorgeous, clear bright BLUE skies.

By the time I'd reached the outskirts of this immense port city on the freeway/autostrada, I was peeling clothes like an onion. One layer after another after another. I felt like crying... tears of joy! It had been more than a week since I was able to ride in my riding clothes! After passing briefly thru Slovenia, with blue Adriatic to my starboard, I crossed the border into Croatia's Istrian Peninsula, where I promptly adjusted that miserable chain for the Brazillionth time and peeled down to a T-shirt. A short ride down the beautiful Croatian coast along sweeping turns and little villages, I finally stopped for the afternoon. The Hotel Benedikt beckoned to this road weary, but happy guy!

"HEY, FRANK... STOP HERE NOW!!!"

Finally... heat, and sunshine. Enough to make a motorcyclist that's travelled 2000km in the rain, smile the widest of grins!!!