Hi y'all,
Previously I bloged: "Germany was next on the list and that meant I was picking up my bike and was finally on 2 wheels in Europe. Unfortunately, the first leg those 2 wheels experienced was 1500 kilometers of autobahn. Fast, god-almighty-fast, and just about as boring. 160 Km/hr sounds like fun, for just about 5 minutes. After that it's butt-numbing time, as the high engine revs seem to create some weird harmonics in said gluteus - maximus. It was enough to turn my legs to Jell-O and make my bum-crack hum like angry bees."
So, as we continue along the journey: myself on my happy moto and my companions in the compact Italian rental car... southward the angry bees traveled, keeping in tune with my hind side --and onto Switzerland for a quick overland pass into Italy, skipping the majestic beauty of snowcaps for a latter time. As the rush was on to get ourselves into the romantic culture of the "boot," as well as getting a hold of the second motorbike so the other 1/3rd of the entourage could get himself on 2 wheels.
Okay, that was the general idea anyway. Sadly/Luckily/Adventurously, the plans ended up changing rather dramatically because of a simple logistical mistake.
Now... I'm not going to say this mistake was wholly my fault, but let's pre-empt this tangent of the story by acknowledging that Ralph Waldo Emerson was certainly correct we he observed "to err is human, to forgive: divine." Quite simply, when crossing the mountain border pass between the Swiss and Italy border, my colleagues in the auto made a swift advance. While I, unfortunately, struggled to extract the 35 euro toll fee from the bottom of my pant pocket. Never an easy task, mind you, when one is covered in layers of waterproof vinyl and balancing 500 lbs. of motorbike and gear precariously between the legs. So, after a confusing conversation in broken English (me) and rapid-fire Italian (the toll guard) I moto-ed away, stopping briefly and distractedly as the border patrol gave me a subtle glance over and waved my onward. Onward through the long kilometers of dark, dank, and empty tunnel.
Hmmm, empty tunnel?
Where were the rear taillights of my auto dopple-ganger? The Fiat's red glow was nowhere to be seen. A straight line of a tunnel 5 kilometers long and no familiar vehicle companionship? Slowly, some concern began to creep into my helmeted noggin.' Shouldn't the car be readily in front of me? Surely it should. And shouldn't my auto pals have paused if they've gained too much distance ahead of me? Surely they should. Yet, my reasoning just wouldn't jibe with reality. Suddenly I seemed as isolated as Crusoe on a West Indies Isle. And that isolation continued for the 15-kilometer underground traverse of the mountain pass. My logic switched to alternate explanations. The one it finally settled on was, unfortunately, this: I must have passed the Fiat at the pass. Distracted by the toll, I could have zoomed ahead while my moto buddies were detained by the Italian border patrol. Obviously, that was the logical reasoning, yes? No problem, the newborn logic concluded. As soon as the tunnel is complete a simple stop alongside the first highway pull-off would be the perfect waiting station to rest and let the auto eventually make it's way past the patrol and catch-up with my lead. After all, I was in front of the convoy at this point, right? Of course, my logic was infallible!
So I put the moto up on the center stand and waited.
And waited.
Then after that I waited.
Okay, I waited again.
Then I fell asleep next to my bike in the mountain sunshine.
When I woke up, I waited.
And waited.
Now, let's be clear, my logic may not always be correct (usually not) but the one thing it IS, is stubborn. It doesn't like to admit it maybe wrong, (it's a guy thing) and only 2 1/2 hours of reality can make it begin to shift its point of view. And only after close to 3 hours of isolated facts screaming into its face, did it consider alternate possibilities. Sadly, by that time, the twisted experiences of the situation made me, and my convoluted logic, consider the far more fanciful explanations rather than the simple truth. What could have possibly happened? They haven't driven by my obvious perch alongside the road, that much was obvious. Were they still contained by the patrol? Oh, what a dilemma! ...Compound that misconception with the fact that earlier in the day one of my colleagues was vaguely searching for his missing "herbal refreshment" left over from the Amsterdam itinerary... and suddenly I'm adding one plus one and answering with a confounded "three." Arrested by the sharp witted and perceptive border patrol! Egad, I was on my own! Lost without nary a Friday to be seen!
Or so I thought.
Regardless, the only "logical" thing to do was to continue on my own to the original destination. The small city my pal was going to receive his motorbike. Let's see, the town was about 300 kilometers away, the sun was setting below the white-capped mountains, and the name of my destination was... um, it was... let's see, the name of the village with the moto was... uh... uh...
Okay. The city was somewhere... SOUTH.
As you see, my logic wasn't completely misguided. Now, as I was at the most northwest corner of Italy at that moment, it's no surprise I was easily able to conclude: "SOUTH." Hey, I was accepting whatever obviously correct logic than ran through my brain as a victory! So, off I went. Somewhere south. Into a country I've never driven through before. To a destination I had no idea how to find. Down a highway I had no map to navigate. Without any help. Without any companions.
I was riding with a smile.
This was going to be the most fun I've had in a long time...
...ah, the story is turning into a really long-winded yarn. I don't think it's even possible to attempt a "long story, short" segue, so I'll just leave this installment where it's at.
Stay tuned,
Matthew
Previously I bloged: "Germany was next on the list and that meant I was picking up my bike and was finally on 2 wheels in Europe. Unfortunately, the first leg those 2 wheels experienced was 1500 kilometers of autobahn. Fast, god-almighty-fast, and just about as boring. 160 Km/hr sounds like fun, for just about 5 minutes. After that it's butt-numbing time, as the high engine revs seem to create some weird harmonics in said gluteus - maximus. It was enough to turn my legs to Jell-O and make my bum-crack hum like angry bees."
So, as we continue along the journey: myself on my happy moto and my companions in the compact Italian rental car... southward the angry bees traveled, keeping in tune with my hind side --and onto Switzerland for a quick overland pass into Italy, skipping the majestic beauty of snowcaps for a latter time. As the rush was on to get ourselves into the romantic culture of the "boot," as well as getting a hold of the second motorbike so the other 1/3rd of the entourage could get himself on 2 wheels.
Okay, that was the general idea anyway. Sadly/Luckily/Adventurously, the plans ended up changing rather dramatically because of a simple logistical mistake.
Now... I'm not going to say this mistake was wholly my fault, but let's pre-empt this tangent of the story by acknowledging that Ralph Waldo Emerson was certainly correct we he observed "to err is human, to forgive: divine." Quite simply, when crossing the mountain border pass between the Swiss and Italy border, my colleagues in the auto made a swift advance. While I, unfortunately, struggled to extract the 35 euro toll fee from the bottom of my pant pocket. Never an easy task, mind you, when one is covered in layers of waterproof vinyl and balancing 500 lbs. of motorbike and gear precariously between the legs. So, after a confusing conversation in broken English (me) and rapid-fire Italian (the toll guard) I moto-ed away, stopping briefly and distractedly as the border patrol gave me a subtle glance over and waved my onward. Onward through the long kilometers of dark, dank, and empty tunnel.
Hmmm, empty tunnel?
Where were the rear taillights of my auto dopple-ganger? The Fiat's red glow was nowhere to be seen. A straight line of a tunnel 5 kilometers long and no familiar vehicle companionship? Slowly, some concern began to creep into my helmeted noggin.' Shouldn't the car be readily in front of me? Surely it should. And shouldn't my auto pals have paused if they've gained too much distance ahead of me? Surely they should. Yet, my reasoning just wouldn't jibe with reality. Suddenly I seemed as isolated as Crusoe on a West Indies Isle. And that isolation continued for the 15-kilometer underground traverse of the mountain pass. My logic switched to alternate explanations. The one it finally settled on was, unfortunately, this: I must have passed the Fiat at the pass. Distracted by the toll, I could have zoomed ahead while my moto buddies were detained by the Italian border patrol. Obviously, that was the logical reasoning, yes? No problem, the newborn logic concluded. As soon as the tunnel is complete a simple stop alongside the first highway pull-off would be the perfect waiting station to rest and let the auto eventually make it's way past the patrol and catch-up with my lead. After all, I was in front of the convoy at this point, right? Of course, my logic was infallible!
So I put the moto up on the center stand and waited.
And waited.
Then after that I waited.
Okay, I waited again.
Then I fell asleep next to my bike in the mountain sunshine.
When I woke up, I waited.
And waited.
Now, let's be clear, my logic may not always be correct (usually not) but the one thing it IS, is stubborn. It doesn't like to admit it maybe wrong, (it's a guy thing) and only 2 1/2 hours of reality can make it begin to shift its point of view. And only after close to 3 hours of isolated facts screaming into its face, did it consider alternate possibilities. Sadly, by that time, the twisted experiences of the situation made me, and my convoluted logic, consider the far more fanciful explanations rather than the simple truth. What could have possibly happened? They haven't driven by my obvious perch alongside the road, that much was obvious. Were they still contained by the patrol? Oh, what a dilemma! ...Compound that misconception with the fact that earlier in the day one of my colleagues was vaguely searching for his missing "herbal refreshment" left over from the Amsterdam itinerary... and suddenly I'm adding one plus one and answering with a confounded "three." Arrested by the sharp witted and perceptive border patrol! Egad, I was on my own! Lost without nary a Friday to be seen!
Or so I thought.
Regardless, the only "logical" thing to do was to continue on my own to the original destination. The small city my pal was going to receive his motorbike. Let's see, the town was about 300 kilometers away, the sun was setting below the white-capped mountains, and the name of my destination was... um, it was... let's see, the name of the village with the moto was... uh... uh...
Okay. The city was somewhere... SOUTH.
As you see, my logic wasn't completely misguided. Now, as I was at the most northwest corner of Italy at that moment, it's no surprise I was easily able to conclude: "SOUTH." Hey, I was accepting whatever obviously correct logic than ran through my brain as a victory! So, off I went. Somewhere south. Into a country I've never driven through before. To a destination I had no idea how to find. Down a highway I had no map to navigate. Without any help. Without any companions.
I was riding with a smile.
This was going to be the most fun I've had in a long time...
...ah, the story is turning into a really long-winded yarn. I don't think it's even possible to attempt a "long story, short" segue, so I'll just leave this installment where it's at.
Stay tuned,
Matthew
salsa43:
and then...?????
normal:
...And then I went off to work on a gig far far away. In the process I smashed my iBook *sniff* And I haven't made the time to conclude my writings since I returned home to my desktop 'puter. I will, I will...