IF responses from my 2012 visit are anything to go by, you had better go get a pack of cold 'uns or a pot of tea at best! Enjoy ►‘Prologue’ The adventure that is World Ducati Week has been with me ever since 2012 and the DuN, run to Italy and back for the seventh edition. Even with the event duration shorten by a day to Friday through Sunday, missing out was simply not an option with our only question being, how best to make it happen! As soon as the event dates of the 18th to 20th July 2014 were announced, frantic holiday negotiations were started by myself and initial travel companion & original 'Wild-Duc', Norrie to try and wrangle two full weeks away from work, in an attempt to see a little more of Italy this time. My trusty ST4s tourer was once again pressed into service, needing only routine servicing but actually getting a set of the highest rise handlebars I could find, to try and improve comfort for me. This entailed fitting much longer brake hoses so while work was ongoing, a cunning plan was hatched to get the forks rebuilt and fitted with RaceTech gold valves and sadly, for my bank account a pair of Brembo monoblock calipers mysteriously appeared in the post via EBay, which after a strip down and fitting with new (and very thin) pads, looked good on the bike with radial adapters that I could bizarrely, only purchase from Italy, of all places. Some very good quality, Venhill power brake hoses finished off the intended purchases but a discovery of worn front wheel bearings entailed the wheel coming back out & a trip to the local bearing stockist. The final addition of an AirHawk inflatable seat pad was the last item to fit before a test ride opportunity came up of a ride down to Wales, via Yorkshire and some of the interesting ‘day 2’ route of the Tour de France before an overnight charity ride from Holyhead to Skegness, in aid of MacMillan cancer support, a 900 mile, two day round trip that went surprisingly well for me and the bike until I realised why the handling was going off a little on the run home – the rear Diablo tyre was now down to the canvass! I was getting pretty adept at front wheel removal by the time I’d made my mind up to try the very latest Pirelli Angel GT tyres, they looked great when the rubber was fitted but were soon deflated as the geek in me struck once again. Dynabeads worked really well for my Aprillia, so instead of risking a balance weight fly off (again), I decided to install the tiny ceramic beads in the ST as well. It is time consuming getting the buggers in through the valve, with the core removed but, using an industrial sized syringe, I found blowing them in worked well. My final hurdle was to get the ‘lightly damaged’ Ducati / nonfango panniers and frames I bought via EBay to fit and work on the bike. My work place came in handy again as I actually needed a 3 foot length of pipe to bend the frames back into some semblance of shape. Next, not only had the pannier keys been lost but the locks had been prised away from the frames, not only making both mounts loose but also allowing the RH side pannier to be physically removed, without the key. ►‘T-Minus two days and counting’ Thank goodness I had the time off work sorted well in advance. I’d taken the pannier locks to a local lock-smith to be coded to the same key I use for my topbox – took two weeks for him to do, finishing only two days before sailing but, he only charged £20. Result. Just enough free time to print some Ducati WDW logos out for the battered panniers and have a little MotoGP fun making a Tricolore stripe for the fairing, then, it was time for final check over: sorted. I can still remember the excitement of the night before the ferry from 2012 never mind last time around. At least I was on track, until I realised I hadn’t printed out a copy of the route planning I’d done for the trek down. Tyre software booted up, I started getting the printer ready when… Nothing, nothing at all. The mains power had tripped off, causing all sorts of havoc and damaging the route mapping program, dammit. That cost most of the morning too and before I knew it, new riding partner for the ‘long way down’, Tony V arrived on his gleaming Airwaves 999. Then as soon as we set off, how I chuckled at the irony when my fuel reserve light came on just 10 miles up the road, meaning a limp along to the port. Norrie, it seems was having a problem too, having taken a slightly circular route to ferry but was waiting for us at the quayside when we arrived, early, but with a long queue of cars waiting to board ahead. Norrie’s Pikes Peak, multistrada looked like it had just been driven out of a showroom, so immaculate was it in the inspection area, I felt quite guilty having only wiped my bike over with polish but there again, I did see some rain forecast for the black forest… ►Stage Uno - Sat12th July 2014 – North Shields to Imjuden DFDS must have been impressed with mine and Tony’s zero emission Ducati’s as we paddled them silently across the customs areas, or maybe we were just too tight to waste the tiny amount of petrol we had left. We were soon on the bike half deck of the well organised ferry. Thick metal cables run down the length of some floors to allow bikes to be ratchet strapped, safely down. Some peeps use a single strap over the seat but with the option of a center stand, I chose to use that and a strap either side, to the pillion footrests and the added protection of having the bike in gear and tying the front brake on with a small strap. OTT maybe but I didn’t want my bike moving at all. Tony helped Norrie strap his bike down and while waiting for access doors to open, I could plainly hear a Scottish accent in the distance that turned out to Nick & Fiona also going to WDW on their Multistrada and even staying in the same Hotel as Norrie and myself. With a helmet, tankbag and pannier inner-bag over my shoulder we started the hike from the 4th floor up to the 8th floor accommodation level. A nice discount code previously from DFDS meant that a proper meal was a freebie for the evening entertainment, while having booked before us, Tony was in a separate cabin but managed to book a table with us so we could all enjoy a quite good steak meal together and even though he reminded us that he ‘does not really drink’, we managed to get some relaxant into him. I thought my geek impulse buying was finally paying off after searching for weeks into a way for us to all communicate together on the bikes. Very few bike-to-bike intercoms were either of a price I could afford to try or would give the range I thought would be needed. So, I bought three Midland G8 intercomms that have been adapted for motorbike use. Waterproof and light they seemed ideal for the job but were only first tried in earnest on that every evening, yes, with me walking around the ship, helmet on, talking away to myself. Actually, Norrie was on the other end and crystal clear too! I won’t prolong the conclusion, the intercoms were garbage on the bikes. OK up to 30 mph or so but after that wind noise and interference made them useless. They were thrown in my topbox for the remainder of the trip. A calm crossing, decent sleep and buffet breakfast set us up well for the coming long day on the bikes. The advice given by our funny Rock music mad, table attendant on remembering how to pronounce ‘good morning’ in Italian, “easy: Bon-Jovi”. After months of planning - we were finally on our way.... ►Sun13 - B500 - Cafe Gunter - Germany World cup! (431miles) There was an eclectic mix of machinery on the quayside the next morning, bmw’s in the majority but all sorts of tourers, cruisers, sports and off-road bikes, plus outfits and more than a few CanAm type three wheelers. I’m not sure if I was most impressed at the speed we got through customs or the lack of rain but both were very welcome. A slight instant detour to the closest fuel station for filling to the brim with the most expensive petrol of the whole trip was needed before we were off into Europe, proper. I’m not sure why I was a little nervous at riding ‘the wrong side of the road’ again. Probably because I doubted my multitasking ability of navigating, remembering odd-ball road rules and trying to think for three bikes instead of just myself. I didn’t see my Satnav recalculate on the go but I’m damn sure as well that I didn’t plot a route through the middle of Harlem! So I was having instant worries about the tyre software working correctly with the new updated map in my Garmin. Thankfully, it was a sleepy Sunday morning and the only concern were a few wayward cyclists, I was starting to enjoy riding the minor urban roads & riding next to waterways when that ended abruptly as we turned off on the E35/A2 main road and swung around Utrecht. Our initial concern was that Tony’s 999 was only suspected of 90 miles to a tank of gas, so we set a limit of 80 miles before looking for fuel which sadly came up just after passing a crowded service station on the main road. Next one was too far to risk so the first diversion of the day took us to a tiny Texaco station that just happened to be the first and only station of the whole trip that had not only free, but fast wi-fi. (Take note please, UK, Germany, Austria etc. etc.) The border into Germany almost went by un-noticed. I did remember seeing a Euro zone symbol but didn’t think anything of it until I wondered why the speed limit indication on the Garmin seemed to have disappeared. The penny soon dropped; Autobahn! And yes, I did hum a little Kraftwerk tune to myself for a while. After a second fuel (and coffee) stop and at midway point for the day, I thought I’d planned a nice lake side lunch stop at ‘Laacher See’, just west of Koblenz. Sadly, the website for the lovely restaurant didn’t mention the recent road block that had been installed, just where a fee was required to use the car park! We didn’t fancy leaving our fully laden bikes and walking even the half mile to the venue, so instead turned back to an interesting hotel complex I spied on the way in. Not just a hotel but, very posh restaurant, café, gardens and even a working church but sadly, all the food had just ended for the afternoon. In despair we raided Tony’s sizable rations and promised ourselves something warm at the next fuel stop that turned out to be the final fuel stop for the day & simply grand size coffees in lieu of a snack! In anticipation of a late arrival and since the fuel station also bore my name on a wall plaque, I decided to add a small bottle of Jägermeister to my tab. Speaking of spirits, some locals also came in the station on pedal bikes, full of high excitement for the Germany world cup match that was about to begin soon, faces painted and colours on display, I found it delightful how enthusiastic and friendly they were, even if one of the ladies had Germany flag contact lens! It was early evening when we swung around Mannheim for our last motorway destination for the day of Baden-Baden and upon finally reaching the whole reason for coming this way, to ride the (im)famous B500, the light was already failing rapidly. Just to make matters worse, we could see not only how good the road surface was and get a glimpse of the interesting views through the woods, along with a route almost designed for motorbikes but, while some rain was forecast, I certainly didn’t expect the dense fog that appeared as soon as we started climbing… Or the torrent of rain, that came straight after it! The Black forest is tucked away in the south west of Germany, 6000 square kilometers in size and a peak in the very south almost 1500 meters in height, it certainly is not flat in profile. I’m told that the B500 is just one of many wonderful roads in the area and the 20 miles of it that we rode were ‘varied’, we never got to see that. While, at this point, we were all wearing shower proof kit, there was simply nowhere safe to stop in the pitch-black that had fallen for donning full ‘wets’. Streams of water were running across the road but I had the feeling the forests were at least keeping the worst of any wind from us. The rain itself was relatively warm but after the 40 minutes or so it took to ride the short section to our destination of Kniebis and the 400 previous miles we were not only very late but hungry and weary too. At least riding in the wet so soon gave us all confidence in the new tyres fitted to our machines. Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever had such good feeling in the wet and been able to ride as confidently as I have on the Angel GT’s. The hotel café Gunter staff were excellent, preparing a simple, hot but wholesome and very welcome meal for us at such a late hour. Having stored the bikes away in the garage under the hotel and dripping wet gear drying nice in the hot-room, a few well-earned biers were downed with the meal. Tony even got his wish of watching the second-half of the World Cup game featuring Germany winning, while we were still in Germany! The local football fans were so well natured again, but so quiet too! Some hearty singing from the pub over the road & some sounding of car horns took place but after midnight; not a peep from anyone. Especially not from three Ducati riders. The hot shower before bed was SO good and I don’t mind admitting to having a ‘nip’ of German health liquor to help relax for the following big day… ►Mon14 - The best laid plans of mice and men... (320m) The next morning dawned bright, dry but changeable, with rain clouds visible all above the fragrant trees. I hoped for a cooked breakfast but didn’t have the heart to complain at the bounty of cold meats, cheeses, yoghurt's, fruits and muesli that was offered. It was filling enough and the coffee was good for kick starting itchy riders. The country roads and picture perfect scenery were a medicinal start to a days riding, even if we had all donned full waterproofs, expecting the worst. Which never happened, thankfully. Some spots of moisture and the briefest of showers at the next fuel stop, in Switzerland had me taking outer layers off as the sun warmed riders and roads, alike. Tony had managed nearly 100 miles between each tank on motorways so we started pushing boundaries a little now. As back up, Norrie had brought along a plastic 2 litre petrol container, not wanting to tempt fate once again but, on examination, no way would a fuel pump nozzle fit in the narrow cap hole! I hope the gentle reader will not be too disappointed to learn that it was never needed. Monday, Monday. The traffic seemed to increase exponentially the closer to Zurich we got. Then, the inevitable happened, right as the overhead sun blanked out my satnav screen and without any audio directions, I missed the turning we needed and saw the dreaded ‘recalculating’ sign. Well, the centre of Zurich is interesting, its same named lake and tributaries made we wish we were staying longer but the traffic, trams and need to press on, didn’t allow for any other diversions. Yet. Soon enough, riding around the pretty lakes of Lucerne swept us up in the involving passion that is motorcycling. Our next fuel stop was in the shadow of the Gotthard pass and as we’d missed lunch, a mid-afternoon warm snack was really needed. We knew we would be climbing steeply soon, so waterproofs were employed again but as wind shields this time. Try plotting a route, on Goggle maps or the like, between the Swiss locations of Zurich and Brig. My bet is that you’ll see a great big avoidance, west of the Gotthard tunnel! That’s where I was aiming us for; the Furkastrasse. I’ve seen negative comments about the route but I enjoyed the desolation and purity of the area. Enclaves of humanity in the shape of buildings and the very occasional hostel or café were present but more often than not abandoned or possibly waiting… Apparently, the Furka Pass was used as a location in the James Bond film Goldfinger, which I must re-watch sometime. It was hard to imagine a DB5 being thrown around some of the tight and degraded hairpins but in reality the roads were in better condition than some much lower altitude passes back in the UK. We stopped for a pause and photoshoot at the top of the 2400 metre pass and greeted a hoard of crazy Australians on hired BMW’s, I think they were doing their best to destroy either the bikes, themselves or both, judging by their happy stunt antics. ‘Selfies’ taken it was soon time for us to descend to the valley floor but not before I had time to comment on a road on the opposite mountain side to us, hazy in the distance but to me dissecting the mountain that looked every metre as high as the one we were standing on, into conical segments. The road down was as well made as the ascent but I was more wary of gravel and debris on the hairpin turns catching out an overloaded front tyre, hence our progress was probably only a little faster than the ascent. A few miles after the base was reached a brightly coloured building loomed up proudly claiming to be a ‘Biker Café’, I so wish I’d stopped as there was quite a mix and number of bikes parked up. The town of Brig was a further 20 miles ahead and we never reached it! Half way along, at the next fuel and coffee stop dawned the sad realisation that I’d simply planned far too much for a second day in the saddle. I was devastated at again missing what was to be a highlight of the day, a route south from Brig, into nearby Italy, on the E62 down to Verbania onto one of the most highly rated routes in the country according to the website I’d been using: www.bestbikingroads.com, then along the edge and around the top of Lake Maggiore to Locarno and down, roughly to our next hotel near Lugano. Projected arrival time from the fuel stop: Midnight. Thank you to Tony and Norrie for being made of sterner stuff than me, they didn’t even baulk when I told the Satnav to find the fastest route to the hotel, saving a whole two hours. Remember the road cutting the opposite mountain to pieces, dear reader? Oh yes, that’s right, 8 miles back the way we came, a right turn up what at first glance the sign read to me (and of course became its adopted name) of the ‘Neurofen Pass’, it is actually the Nufenen pass but our title is fitting as the gradient climbs are so steep it could easily induce a headache. Around an hour later and we were overlooking the outlook spot we first stopped at but there was no time for that now with light fading once again. A restaurant sign appeared pointing upwards offering a glimmer of hope for an unusual Alpine setting with great views but, of course, huge and modern looking and sadly, abandoned. Care to guess where the Neurofenstrasse actually brought us out at, gentle reader? Only the other end of the Gotthard pass. What could have been achieved in 17 mins normally, took us an additional 3 hours and 13 mins to loop around and we probably could of made the rest of the planned journey and in much better conditions. With failing light I realised we need to put the hammer down with minor roads indicated to reach the hotel, I figure the motorway section was averaged at 85mph, evening roadworks didn’t help near Lugano but what was a mystery to me at the time was why at the beautiful Porto Ceresio, the very southern point of Lake Lugano did the SatNav, take us up a difficult, unlit and tortuous, hairpin riddled goat-track of a back track to our hotel, when it was set for ‘fastest route’? Part of the answer lies in the fact the hotel is on a corner plot, I’m not sure what the locals would have made of three quite noisy bikes at 10pm in a quiet commune but, no-one seemed particularly bothered – just us then I guess. Once again the hospitality offered to weary travellers was heart-warming. The main meal constituent was pasta but we were very grateful for it and the copious drinks that eased it down. We were all sharing a triple bed room that night but none of us cared as we fell to our slumber, we didn’t need any extra alcohol either to have already made the decision to stay an extra night at the hotel and abandon my third day crazy attempt to get to the Italian Riviera. Note to self, don’t route plan after drinking malt whisky! ►Tues15 - Lugano Boat trip, extra night at Hotel Alpino (Mileage 0, Zero, Nada, Zilch) It’s a hard learned lesson for me now but at the end of a long day on the road, paying particular attention to the last few miles both in planning and on the bike itself, can prevent all sorts of grief. The Hotel Alpino for example is reached ‘Via per Cuasso al Piano’, one would think this is simply ‘the way to Cuasso’ but the word ‘Piano’ has at least 20 different meanings in Italian! One of which, meaning, gently or carefully is not only appropriate but would feature in our near future. It seems the Garmin attempted to plot a route to the middle of the above location rather than at the actual hotel. I wish it hadn’t, the sight of car headlights hurtling towards me as I turned on an uphill hairpin bend will be with me for some time. The next morning was beautiful, almost an apology for the night before. Rustic wooden window shutters were opened on a pure Italian village scene of chaos housing, narrow streets, beautifully kept gardens and everyday glory. The only slight issue being that it was 7.30am and the church bells, no more than 100 metres away had just struck their 20th (yes, twentieth) chime. Only the promise of a hot shower could drag our aching limbs out of bed, and yes, a damn fine breakfast followed. The hotel was quite dated in places but enjoyably so, I was invited to park my bike next to the newest looking feature of the dining veranda and perhaps, the playful Italian stripe on my fairing was worth doing after all? The lady of the family run hotel kindly offered to run us down to the nearby port of Ceresio and we were all stunned by how rapidly, and confidently she drove on the winding roads. The word Ceresio is said to come from the Latin word for Cherries, the area so being named for the abundance of cherry trees around the shore of Lake Lugano. In any event it was a refreshing and yet relaxing place to be, the pace of life seeming to be slower and almost as timeless as the waterway. Outside the café where we alighted, a group of sun-kissed cyclists were sipping coffee and to me, treading the boardwalk next to the lake, it seemed as though everyone was on holiday. Tony soon spotted a giant ice-cream cone signalling a Gelateria that was too good to ignore. Sight and smell were soon overloaded with literally dozens of flavours of frozen goodness to choose from, eating it so fast in the heat of the day already, outside almost seemed a sin. The only initial plan for the day was to have ‘real’ Italian pizza for lunch but a lake boat trip soon took precedence. The vessel ‘San Gottardo’ was our shining choice & what a smooth ship she was. Super-efficient, she only stopped for a maximum of two minutes at any berth, zig-zagging from one side of the lake to the other but after only a single mile, the boat crosses the border into Switzerland! It took less than an hour to travel the full 8 miles to the city of Lugano, with the added interest of slowing to pass under the road bridge of the E35. We need not have worried about our plans for Italian pizza being ‘scuppered’ (sorry, gentle reader), Lugano is the largest city with an Italian speaking majority outside of Italy. Quiz masters will know it as the first ever city to host the Eurovision song contest of 1956 but it is now a prime tourism attraction for a multitude of activities. Having been baked nicely on the forward viewing deck of the ship but not wanting to miss a moment the timing was right to step back onto land and seek lunch. The jetty just happened to be located near the town hall and right opposite, numerous eating houses to satisfy even pizza fiends. Sadly, a brief look around the bustling mashup of shops was all the time we had before the ferry was back again to take us to Ceresio, we elected to stay under cover, not the least reason being that siesta time was starting to be well and truly adopted by us now. The hour soon passed and back on shore we decided to take a coffee break at a nearby café while waiting for a taxi that the proprietor, kindly ordered for us. The mech-head inside me was intrigued by the array of different toilet arrangement we had seen so far, not so much for the main purpose, you understand but, how the Europeans and especially the Italians can devise elaborate methods for using ‘the smallest room’ without having to touch anything inside. I wont go too much further, dear reader but suffice to say that even the most rustic of chambers had foot pumps for flushing and foot bars at wash basins to activate water flow, so simple, yet hygienic. Back at the hotel Alpino we managed to twist Tony’s arm once more to have a low alcohol drink with us and got chatting with three really interesting guys checking out cycling tour routes for the Rapha company. Fit as lops, these guys were either cycling or studying maps or laptops and obviously played and worked hard. Speaking of bikes, ours were deemed in need of a little TLC so, after a look over, chain oiling was the only real requirement, which to be able to do, early evening in glorious sunshine and a bier in hand, is just enough work. As tempted as we were to experience the nightlife of Lugano we thought it proper to dine at the hotel that evening, since they had been so kind to us. We were not disappointed either, language issues aside, we had a good, filling meal and I got to sit within viewing distance of my bike too, a pleasant holiday novelty.
►Wed16 - Maranello Village / Ferrari / Evening meal. / AutoGrill (165m) I was surprised by how well connected I’d been able to be in every hotel so far: If the internet is not to be hailed as THE tool by which human knowledge is being shared around the planet then, I hope its remembered as unifying so many people with shared interests via social media. For example, Facebook: WDW2012 buddy Stan, having his ultra-reliable 888 breakdown with electrical problems and rebuilding the rear loom on the road. Google: Learning of the Ducati club presidents riding down to the venue and following travellers adventures on the road, all converging to ‘Woo-Dee-Woo’. Ok, sometimes we are left wanting, such as the useful sounding WDW guide and events phone app that I could only find in Italian! All too soon it seemed, it was time to make plans to leave, originally, an early start over to the nearby Lake Maggiore and a short ferry ride to a recommended road on the opposite shore before autostrada blasting, seemed a nice idea but, a later start, leisurely breakfast and avoiding horrific rush hour traffic around Milan, won the day. Bike kit liners well and truly removed for the morning temps in the high 20’s already, it was another glorious day to be onboard a willing, mechanical, steed. Perhaps finding overnight lodging away from main routes was not too bad an idea when the roads and scenery on the byways were so good, especially for a gentile start to a long day. Driving standards had impressed me greatly in 2012 and in main land Europe that was still the case, perhaps with the exception of Italy. I had already on this trip seen some of the Italians deserving their crazy reputation for driving and more of the same was apparent now. Drifting over motorway lanes, tailgating, texting and phone use along with ignoring speed limits seemed to be normal, rather than the exception! We were told the nose-to-tail traffic jam was average around Milan, the evidence of a road accident being very quickly dealt with but the sheer volume of traffic reducing speeds to a halt. I was starting to look out for service areas with a good food hall named the ‘Autogrill’. The coffee was always good in taste but we soon had to deploy one of our only retained Italian words, from our last visit, ‘Caldo’ for hot, to get it served at anything other than lukewarm. While mentioning our previous adventure one pleasant change was that every single kilometre of Autostrada we rode this time had either the surface re-laid or was landscaped in some way. I wondered how the Italians could manage this feat and yet we in the U.K. are unable to! (The good ship 'Panacea' takes some shade) Just some of the places passed and road signs seen were enough to delight; Varese, Monza, Milan and our destination for today; Modena. Soon after our filtering skills had been brushed up passing Milan we turned onto the spinal cord road of Italy, the A1. This 760Km strada runs down via Bologna to Naples in the southwest and would be the first of a few visits to the ‘Motorway of the sun’. I was glad to leave the tedium of this section of A1 but instantly a little disappointed to see our next hotel appeared to be on the edge of an industrial zone and in a one-way road system to boot. Up close it was much more impressive, the Maranello Village is a multi-building hotel complex with each building named after famous race circuits. The reception was however, jaw-dropping. Ferrari engines and racing components decorated the floor space while poised on the back of the reception desk is a full sized Ferrari F1 car! The Ferrari theme continued everywhere, from the carpets to the guest rooms so, with equal flair we rode our bikes down the paved access paths to our lodging in the Monza block. After making such a decent choice of location, I was honoured indeed when the guys insisted I took the double bed to myself, while they took the adjoining room and its two single beds, the designation was a triple/family suite and very plush it was too! After a quick shower and change the taxi we had requested was waiting for us and it was off to the Ferrari museum and factory, without sparing the ‘Prancing Horses’ (sorry). As soon as the village was left behind, the outline of the main factory is visible and continues for another five minutes, at least, right to the museum entrance. I freely admit to not being a ‘car-junkie’ but the sight of the beautifully staged and prepared cars being made ready for a camera crew and photoshoot was an amazing first impression. A factory tour was not to be sadly, I’d contacted the museum before leaving and was told no English speaking guide was available on the day, I hoped a midweek arrival might improve chances of a standard tour but I badly underestimated the appeal of the marque. It might have been a blessing as the tour, in the main, seemed to be a coach trip around the facilities, not to mention the two hours or so it took us to see all the display’s and have a bite to eat in the museum café but, all very well worth the effort of going. Opposite the museum was a quiet café where we chilled out with a now obligatory cappuccino but, next door was a car rental and test drive business that also specialized in Ferrari’s. A constant stream of exotica and happy customers came and went into the early evening and I found it amusing that we could have got a lift back to our hotel in the cheapest Ferrari for a little more than three times the cost of our actual taxi. Back at the hotel, the restaurant was not due to open for another hour so we took the option of walking to the end of the car park to the ‘Ristorante Paddock’ where, not only could we have a cooling drink outside but the Ferrari theme still continued. Sadly, we did get forgotten a little as other guests were shown tables to dine at but, we didn’t really care as in the setting sun we were eventually seated next to a lovely English couple, cycling in the area and so enthusiastic about going to taste some Balsamic vinegar the next day in Modena! ►Thur17 - Ducati Factory / Cattolica (119m) After a great night’s sleep in air-conditioned splendour, breakfast was a low key but relaxed affair, the greatest surprise being that on checkout the cost was the lowest overnight stay of the holiday so far. Our route for the morning was to be a simple 40 minute run directly to the Ducati factory & museum but that went astray. Refuelling was easy enough even though we managed to find the very first station where an attendant insisted on filling the bikes personally. Next, after running through some interesting rural SS and SP roads, I refused to believe the MadNav was trying to turn us down a dirt track that it reported led directly to the Autostrada (sadly, the Via Foschiero, did exactly that – for once!) so, I took us on a short detour that brought us out to the same road 10 minutes later but, we would not have ridden next to fragrant fields of lemons, fruit and vegetables that seem to be such an integral part of the region. Soon enough we were onto the A1, once again (I still need to figure out how its European road designation can be E35 & E45?). Field after field of vital green slipped by on either side of the autostrada until we were allowed to side-step the dreaded toll booths to exit under the inspiring sign of ‘Borgo Panigale’. Before we knew it, there indeed was a giant red mural of a Panigale proclaiming ‘Bologna, dove corre la passione’, which rightly expresses the passion around the home of Ducati. I suspected the day before the main event might be a little busy but, the 500+ bikes filling the parking area was quite impressive. I think Norrie has Ducati blood running in his veins these days as he instantly commented on non-desmo bikes being allowed in, telling him that all bikes were welcomed during WDW, didn’t seem to help much. We signed up for a factory tour with an English speaking guide and were told to come back later, giving us chance to change clothing, grab a drink and head over to the adjoining museum. Perhaps seeing exhibits clearly marked out as ‘off limits’, as at Ferrari had gone to my head but, at the top of the museum staircase was a full blown MotoGP bike without any barriers or even ‘keep off’ notices, I instantly asked Tony to hop on, as no-one else was around and snapped a few photos before an irate security guard came and ushered us away from the bike, (oops). Sorry Dovi, guess it wasn’t a mock up then! Apart from a few new production line Ducati’s opposite the shop, the rest of the museum is a physical history of Ducati’s racing heritage. You can see a virtual tour of it in Google maps by typing in ‘museo Ducati’ and clicking the arrows. I was surprised at just how prolific the marque had been in historic local championships, newspaper clippings from various era’s being available to view alongside period photos and then usually an example of the machinery involved. I was annoyed to see a ‘security guard’ intervene when two Italians were examining and discussing the cutaway example of a supermono engine, clearly too close to actually touching it, his wagging finger, never mind tone of voice was enough to intrude. Yes, some items might be near priceless but we are talking of mature Ducatisti here and not quite children in a candy store. A few of the stands were empty as machines had been taken to Misano for various displays but we only just had time to whisk ourselves away for a drink & quick panini in the public café before the timeslot for the tour was on us. Our guide was a charming young lady called Simone who works for Ducati PR normally, she welcomed us all to the factory and the event of ‘Woo-Dee-Woo’, which I found utterly charming. After a quick safety chat we were walked out around the corner of the museum and past quite a few nice Audi cars that were present. Entering through a side door took us straight into a parts holding area. Monster, Diavel and Panigale spares were stacked in neat order, I’m struggling to get the order of events correct here as we were forbidden to use recording devices of any type, but I was very impressed with a Panigale being hammered on an enclosed rolling road having its basic check done! The first machining by hand area was empty as we walked by but looked a little archaic compared to the super modern efficient line production we saw elsewhere. Monster 1200’s seemed to be the main order of the day and it was as no surprise to us males that final inspection and correction of flaws was only carried out by female staff, draw your own conclusions, dear reader. In 2013 the Ducati factory produced 34,000 machines. The average build time for the main component, the engine, is a mere 70 minutes, while another 90 minutes sees most bikes fully assembled and running, monsters, a little less time & Panigale’s, somewhat more. As a footnote in December 2014 the 1,000,000th bike (a monster) was produced at Borgo Panigale. We were so fascinated at seeing the ‘womb’ of our machines birthplace that I was left wanting more when we passed the ‘Corse’ entrance door, firmly locked shut, but through the door window a row of landmark engines visible on stands, all in a long line and then we moved out sharply into the mid-day sun. It was back in the bike park that I commented on an immaculate Ducati 888 and a tall, well groomed Frenchman instantly agreed with me & then followed it up by stating that his was just as clean. I then noticed Stan’s, very individual 888 (Early MotoGP striped colour scheme, lots of carbon, 6-pot calipers and Marchesini wheels) & was so happy to see it that I told the newly christened ‘Mad Frenchman’ that here was a REAL 888, at which he nearly took a fit at the suggestion! Mad dogs and Englishmen kind of sprung to mind as we decided to walk around the block in the blazing heat, to the larger Ducati factory store only to come back and ride our bikes over after all but, Norrie did want a minor repair carrying out & that was done straight away. We resisted the charms of the shop but I’m not so sure about Nick & Fiona who we bumped into again before leaving. As you would expect, the factory is at an intersection of major roads, so thankfully, it was straight out onto the A14 for our run to Cattolica. The literal Italian equivalent of the Spanish word ‘mañana’ apparently is ‘mattina’ and while I never heard THAT phrase used during our stay, I’m sure the same drawn out time effect prevented us from my original plan of getting to the Lamborghini factory that day, which is a shame given that its only 15 miles away from Ducati’s. As the locals were complaining of how hot it was, you can imagine how bad it felt to climb back into motorcycling kit, followed by how good it was to be on the move again, just to cool down a little. This was short lived as 10 miles down the road an expected toll booth loomed which we were all well used to by now however, with another 80 miles to go one more petrol stop was needed but at least this allowed body fluids to be taken on board, as well. The A14 Autostrada runs from Bologna, Southwest to the Adriatic, providing easy access to Rimini and the coast, all the way down to Taranto, almost in the ‘heel’ of the Italy ‘boot’. Cattolica itself rose as a resting place for pilgrims who travelled the Bologna-Ancona-Rome route in the 16th century. Three slightly more rapid worshipers of a different religion were actually glad to see the toll plaza that almost signalled, journeys end but, not before one more test of faith. We noted Tony’s hotel less than a mile from ours but we all wanted to know both locations so Tony followed us to the Hotel Senior – down the new, to us & unknown to the SatNav’s map, one-way road system. I won’t bore you, gentle reader with how the installed system seems designed to cause maximum annoyance but simply to say the easiest access proved to be riding our Italian stallion’s across a pedestrian precinct, which oddly, most locals seemed to really enjoy. I’ve never really wanted to return to any same hotel as a base, year after year but coming to such a friendly hotel as the Senior was a wonderfully familiar feeling. Myself and Norrie parked our bikes almost on the patio, next to the games room, just as we did two years previously and were instantly welcomed by the owner Maura and her staff. Tony came in too and was told he would be welcome to dine with us, so he zipped off to his hotel to get unpacked. After checking in we took Maura’s custom designed lift, still with a TV built into the floor, to our room and were very pleased to have been given a family room of twin beds and bunk beds so we (ok, so I) could empty topbox and panniers contents everywhere! I’m still not quite sure how Tony managed the next trick but, we had only just showered and changed and Tony was waiting downstairs for us with drinks at the ready, not that Tony drinks ‘much’, you understand. The evening meal was both simple, filling and, surprisingly noisy as quite a few other Italian ducatisti seemed to be using the hotel as a base, which was soon verified on our walk out to see the hotel garages full of Ducati’s. Another surprise on a Thursday night, throngs of people were dressed in best threads for an evening boardwalk in the coastal town. Hotels, restaurants, bars and shops were all competing for business but doing it with an Italian flair & unhurried style that were totally the opposite of some street traders. It was interesting to see how tuned in the resort was to events such as World Ducati Week. More than one shop was completely turned over to Ducati & motorcycling merchandise, a large open-sided truck was selling the same in the plaza and WDW & Ducati banners were draped majestically down the main avenue flagpoles leading away from the Adriatic Sea. We had experienced a ‘Rustida’ in 2012 & a giant version was taking place, in the plaza when we arrived with lots of interest & takers from the gathered crowds. A Rustida in Romagnolo dialect means a barbecue or grilling where crates of fresh fish are cooked along with regional delicacies, to be washed down, of course, with some local wine. After some sightseeing this prompted us back to the hotel for an aperitif & some ‘bike-watching’ with a steady stream of bikes, mostly Ducati’s flowing past our doorstep. We sat, in armchair comfort, next to our own machines, small drink in hand. A little biking bliss.
►Fri18 - Ride to Woo-Dee-Woo (6 whole miles We had just eaten breakfast when the familiar rumble of an Airwaves Ducati announced Tony’s arrival, keen to get to the circuit, it was just the catalyst needed to move me on as well. It felt good to have a ‘lightweight’ bike again, minus, panniers and tankbag but keeping the ever useful baitbox on the back. With ambient temperatures in the low 20’s, Tony and myself were happy to dress ‘lightly’ as with the majority of riders but Norrie, true to himself could go on with no less than jeans and jacket. It was nice to be able to remember the way to the circuit but the red river of Ducati’s provided a nice escort and soon we were being guided to the main entrance and entering under the giant WDW inflatables. Well, not all of us! Poor Norrie got held back, please note gentle readers, if travelling in a group to WDW that all three ID items; pass card, wrist band and bike band, need to have the same allocation number. I’d mixed mine & Norrie’s up but the staff didn’t check mine as thoroughly as Norrie’s, nice to know I can still carry off an impression of honesty. The wild, wonderful and wacky festival that is World Ducati Week is well documented now but actually BEING there and experiencing the emotion of the event is something I hope I will never tire of. That said, there was room for improvement. A fairly essential part of WDW is the welcome pack, it contains a map and event guide, WDW T-Shirt and a few little gifts for coming to the party. The only place possible for the actual welcome pack collection point to be further away from the entrance, would be for it to be at the exit! None of the staff knew where it was either and we only found it ourselves, by word of mouth. So a trip back to the bikes to store gift packs away, which was worthwhile as we then found a helmet and kit, storage facility (1 of 2), nearby. Quite a few format changes had been made from the last edition. All the main events were now within the circuit, the Diavel drag racing was now on the circuit start/finish straight. The stage show presentation was no longer at a nearby town but would be held on circuit & the oval stock car racing had been dropped completely. A giant fleet of Ducati Monsters were available for group test rides during the event. Some changes were not so welcome, the Ducati Art area that was a large unit and held my interest for hours with the graphic design and paintwork being carried out live was now only a single table with just a few artists. Sadly, political correctness has struck as the bikini bikewash was also absent, even Neil Hodgeson was drawn to this at the last edition! The International village was our next destination, a huge covered area with sections for grouped Ducati countries. The Italian area was, of course, always very lively with constant activities while the UK and English speaking area’s were, shall we say, a little more reserved. Tony took an interest in the temporary Ducati logo tattoo’s that the UK staff were offering, complementing his T-shirt a treat, while the police-liveried Panigale that they were showing, also attracted a fair amount of attention. The Ducati UK staff kindly alerted us to a Superbike Stars signing event only a few minutes later, the throng of red t-shirts nearby showing us the route as Ruben Xaus, Carlos Checa, Frankie Chilli and Carl Foggarty were all signing well, most items put in front of them. I was surprised by how much attention Foggy drew but Chilli fans were just as excited at seeing their hero. Myself included, Frankie happily signed my cap and shuddered in mock ‘cold’ when I mentioned we last shuck hands on a track day at Croft circuit – what a likeable guy. A sit down in the shade, with a not-so-soft drink, mid-morning was surprisingly welcome before a quick walk around of the paddock brought us up to the new Scrambler area, the bike not been seen by the public at that time. Norrie & Tony were especially keen on viewing the prototype bike, as was I until I discovered the private viewing was to be in the special yellow painted container crates! I retired to the Ducati garage contest, nearby & left the guys to bake in the crazy canned heat. Norrie gave up too & joined me just as I finished snapping as many photos of the amazing contest bikes as I could manage. Tony did get ushered into the sweat boxes, stripped of his recording devices and allowed to see the hot topic of the moment & very impressed he was too. After a tour of the paddock, we decided to grab a bite to eat and retire to a grandstand to watch some of the track activities. The Ducati track owner’s sessions had just finished and some factory riders circulated on parade laps. Shortly after, VIP guests were being allowed fast laps on circuit in some amazing Audi R8 sports cars. With a break in the track activities it was time to circulate again and look at the array of both concors and owners pristine machines, every piece of parking area now a sea of motorcycles. Snack time in the manufacturers ‘tent’ was a great idea as excellent coffee was also at hand. A small café area had been installed inside the huge awning that offered owners a chance to chat with Ducati partners at first hand. Brembo, Termignoni, Givi, Dainese and many other companies were all present and all willing to help, even if the language barrier did slow some answers down a little. After thinking we had acclimatised quite well, we found ourselves staying in the shade as much as we could, the heat was simply intense and energy sapping, 40°C was mentioned and I don’t doubt it. The reality of WDW is that there is SO MUCH to do, that for me, one has to be selective across the days and accept that without having a scooter on-site (or maybe a Segway that were being used) the majority of events were going to be missed. The international village drew us back a few times, not only because of the ace, tower fans blowing out cooling water mist but, it was a nice place to relax & chat to other English speaking visitors. After sadly, just missing out of the ‘Hip Hop Dance Desmo’ session we headed over to the pits complex to see the first of the Diavel drag race heats on the start/finish straight. A Giant Ducati inflatable gate marked the start a short way up the straight, for two riders to blast Ducati’s fastest accelerating street bikes, side-by-side in a bid for glory, or the next round at least. The assembled crowds were just as enthusiastic as we could hardly see the bikes, due to the masses in front of us. Seeing it was late in the afternoon we made to try another vantage point when eagle-eyed Tony spotted some Ducatisti making their way through what appeared to be an unguarded but restricted area! Obviously, we followed and ended up in the VIP section with a superb view of the track action. This interesting platform is made up of a series of tent-like structures above the track entry point, there was even a free water dispenser and a few left over nibbles but we thought better of risking those. Always a racer, seemed to fit the bill for more than one Diavel rider, as burn-outs and exact machine placement were made to achieve the slightest edge or maybe, physiological advantage. Fun stuff. Soon after, the venue was starting to empty and our stomachs were feeling the same. I however, was very keen to stay until a small delay was pointed out. An hour later the posted time I’d seen was to be an assembly of all visitors on bikes, on the trackside before being allowed a slow circuit of the Misano tarmac before riding to the ‘Scrambler Beach Party’. Even worse, it was expected the photocall would take an hour and riders were not expected to leave the track until 9pm! None of us could wait that long, not only due to hunger but Tony had preparations to attend to for his wife, flying into Bologna the next day. So, we took our leave of the track and returned to our hotels for evening meals & a chance to take some ‘fluids’, onboard.
►Sun20 - Ride to WDW 3. Leave early, Tavullia. Dolce Vita by Bus! (20m) The Sunday morning wake-up call came in far too early for my liking but, it turned out my spirited room-mate had agreed to an impromptu photo session wearing the cycling outfit that he (and myself) had both bought after they looked so good on a display stand in the hotel. Probably still hung-over, I agreed to match him in the crazy stakes and we hurried down to our motorized cycles to pose together, like mad-dogs in the not quite mid-day sun! At least we were not last for breakfast, for a change and got to see more of the Ducati Catania club members having an enthusiastic start to their day. Some of the same Italian attitude to life must have affected me as, not only did ‘dressing down’ and not bothering with the Satnav to ride to the circuit seem fitting but we also politely waved the parking directions of attendants to one side as well to make our way to the International area, no one, of course, seemed the slightest bit bothered. People had perhaps made their way early to the circuit for the last day but, it felt to me that numbers did not seem as vast as the Saturday or that the atmosphere was quite as vibrant. 58 entries were listed in the event guide for the day, mostly repetition of the day before but, we did arrived just in time to see an interview on stage with Falappa, Battaini and Pirro take place that the locals flocked to. Soon after we met up with Tony & Pauline and as we were we discussing the Dolce Vita from the night before the larger-than-life, main man from the Desmo club involved appeared, calling for photos of us all together, and looking even more insane than normal! The schedule was as relentless as the burning sun that seemed determined to fry us all, in its own finale. Next on the interview stage were Frankie Chili & Carl Foggarty. The Italians could not get enough of Foggy, the applause was rapturous and I noticed more than one fan bringing parts of fairings along in the hope of them being signed. Sadly, the interview didn’t go quite as well as we hoped. Chili was relaxed and enjoyed the occasion while Foggy, to me, came over as uninterested and distracted however, in his defence the majority of the talk was in Italian (without English translation) and he did take time to give autographs and requested that those with parts to sign, bring them back stage, which was good to see happen. Even in the shade of one of the eating areas, by midday, it was too hot to eat anything more than a snack and down a much needed drink. We decided that a final walk around the paddock would be enough for our WDW this time and set our sights on visiting Valentino Rossi’s establishment nearby. After retrieving my Satnav, I struggled with the spelling for the location we needed. Not to worry, a group of Ducati clad locals nearby knew exactly where I was talking about but all the males shied away when I point to my dreaded box for input; the only female in the group was ushered forward and entered the datum easily as though born to it! A steady stream of riders were leaving already and thankfully, all the exit booths were manned so our escape into the cooling wind was not hampered. Tavullia is a pleasant 8 miles ride away from Misano circuit, it was good to once again see countryside, working farms and vineyards. However, on the outskirts of the town we peeled off the road at the sight of a few huge MotoGP transporters bearing the VR46 legends and parked next to a high-tech looking building in the same guise, we guessed to be part of Rossi’s own Moto2 team. We didn’t need to worry about finding the Rossi camp in the town as a massive poster of Rossi, astride his Yamaha with a sea of fans in backdrop adorned the town wall, pointing the way. I was glad of riding to the high point, instead of walking up to the fan club, the elevation was only 500 feet above sea level but being away from the coast made the heat totally oppressive. First surprise at the fan club cum restaurant was Rossi’s minder, Uccio, sat at a shaded table on the terrace, watching a live Formula 1 race, without anyone bothering him at all. Drinks were quickly downed and much needed, followed by a cursory look around the impressive multi-storey building. A steady flow of customers were arriving, so we decided to treat ourselves to some special ice-creams, just a well we did in good time as the chef, working alone made them all, by hand, preparing fresh fruit as he went. I wish my memory was better, I believe Norrie had a ‘Rossi Special’ while I felt a ‘Hailwood’ was appropriately English. Delicious they were too! A final look around the premises and photocall highlighted the idyllic surroundings that I’d hoped to find in the foothills of a least one location on the trip. Sadly, the downside was that the heat was simply intolerable now, the extra air conditioning of the bar perhaps, making it feel much worse outside. A direct ride was made back to the hotel, where a drink, shower and I’m afraid to say, late afternoon nap were all required in equal measures! A text came in from Tony asking if we fancied getting the Cattolica bus over to the Dolce Vita, which seemed a great idea but meant Norrie & myself, hightailing it to the hotel restaurant to catch the end of the evening meal. No sooner had we finished than Tony and Pauline were waiting for us but thankfully, the bus stop is now directly over the road, so we could see the buses arriving from armchair comfort. Our bus was as immaculately clean and air conditioned as I remembered them from two years before. Some, but not ours, even had WiFi on board now for those with itchy fingers. Memories of a bus ride to the grand stage party in darkness previously were dispelled by being able to see some of the sights in daylight, mainly lots of holiday makers enjoying the seaside atmosphere. How odd it was to see the previous night’s venue again that had been the center of such hysteria, now quiet and returned to its normal use. Some Ducati riders had the same, late ideas as us with a few tourers and even an 888 turning up... but not many riders were making use of the bar, so we thought it best to make up for that. It turned out to be a very pleasant and relaxing evening, talking over drinks as the sun set. The only slight glitch being the arrival of a travelling Jamaican beggar, for want of a better phrase, he seemed to think offering a plastic animal gift gave him the right to request funds, especially seeing as it was his ‘birthday’. Sadly, his poverty seemed a little false when his mobile phone started to ring, that combined with an icy stare from Norrie was thankfully, sufficient to send him on his way. We moved on soon after him, as it happened as we didn’t want to miss a ‘last-bus’, Tony & Pauline were dropped off near their hotel and us, right outside ours. The gentle reader will be pleased to learn we only had Cappuccino’s to end the day while sat next to our steeds, once more, good habits being hard to 'brake' ►Mon21 - RAIN! (La Fornace) Urbino, San Marino – Autostrada (140m) So, our World Ducati Weekend was at an end and as strange as not being woken up by motorbikes was, the coolness of the air seemed even more unusual. Of course, the weather gods had planned rain for our first, unscripted day in Italy. Over breakfast we etched out an idea of riding to the Principality of San Marino, without a specific route plan, to let the ride shape itself. Even the breakfast hall was quiet, well, until the reason became apparent as a cacophony of revved Ducati’s on the main road, signalled the departure of the Desmo club that shared the hotel with us, heading off south… It was to be our destiny too. Despite heading North on a backroad route to the A14, the skies above our intended destination were black with menace. I instantly made a decision to turn South on the autostrada after signalling the rain front to Norrie, in an attempt to move inland, which we did only 5 miles later, leaving the 3 lane blacktop behind us. Sadly, the air temperature was falling by the minute and after another few miles along a rural road the first spots of rain were falling into vision. Just when a soaking seemed certain, as nowhere suitable to stop could be seen, the café-bar ‘La Fornace’, came into view as the only venue serving an industrial zone, opposite. No sooner did we park than the heavens opened up, making us sprint inside for shelter. The rain could be seen bouncing back up off the ground but, at least some of the road dust was getting washed off the bikes. Quite a few patrons were in the rear of the café but, wanting to keep an eye on the bikes, we stayed in view of them and enjoyed more than a few coffees. Only one couple came in but a steady flow of gents seemed to swell the eating area, the volume of friendly banter rising constantly. The rain lasted a good hour but thankfully stopped, as rapidly as it had started. By the time we paid the bill and lightened the coffee load a little, the steam was already rising from the ground and roads. Bikes dried off, we took to the winding roads once more. I knew we were now riding directly away from San Marino, so I was searching for routes to get us back on-track. Nearby however, a walled citadel looked very interesting and despite the coffee, the aroma of food being prepared in houses lining the roads was making me hungry! After a steep climb we parked inside the walls of the City of Urbino. I was instantly attracted to the medieval feel of the surroundings. Once again we had parked outside a small café and treated ourselves to sandwiches and pastries with our cappuccinos, this time. What an interesting and diverse place we found Urbino to be. Taking to foot along the narrow streets, we saw part of the university and student accommodations, museums, churches and town hall and sown in amongst all these were bars, restaurants and sorry to say after what seems to be a coffee and food fest so far, wonderful ice-cream shops too (yes, we did!). The heritage and pride of the community was obvious in the people all around, even the students seemed to have vitality from the location and I felt privileged to have happened upon such a special place, by chance. Bizarrely, it was only back in the UK when looking up the history of Urbino that I found out it is also the birthplace of Valentino Rossi! Whose current home town, we only visited the day before. Time to get the disappointment of the day over & done with, the Satnav once again. It simply would not compute a route to our destination other than going back to the same AutoStrada that we rode first at the start. I found a detour for the first few miles away from Urbino but we soon saw our rain-haven café before blasting up the A14 to our exit point of Rimini. The city of San Marino is literally a jewel of the region, 2400ft in elevation that is achieved only in the last few miles of road, the opulence of the area was obvious as we swept in & got carried along with the fast moving tea-time traffic. The ‘castle’ road sign was very handy but I thought I’d missed a turn (again), even though the GPS without-a-clue, kept us on the correct road. We were directed away from the obvious line of sight path and taken through a heavily urban district before climbing once again & apparently riding in spirals, hairpins and every other type of road feature before appearing without warning in front of the booth of a traffic policewoman! With no obvious parking visible we were glad to be directed to a bike park area tucked into the city walls, only a few hundred feet away from an entrance portal, looking every inch a miniature castle gatehouse and for us, appropriately called the ‘Porta del Loco’. It is said there is no flat ground in San Marino and its easy to believe as we tired ourselves out trying to cover as much of the city grounds as possible. Shops were closing already and we wanted to buy gifts from here as the selection was as interesting as it was varied. Mission accomplished we set about refuelling ourselves, the very posh looking restaurant of the Hotel Titano caught my eye as soon as I saw the glass enclosed viewing platform commanding a good view of the area. The meal was good but expensive, as we expected in such an elevated location. Curiosity got the better of me, so I fired up Wikipedia for some regional background; the Republic of San Marino (although I do like its other title of ‘The most Serene Republic’) is an impressive sounding landlocked, enclaved microstate. Its claim to be the oldest surviving sovereign state and constitutional republic in the world is enforced with one of the wealthiest gross domestic product figures and a tiny land mass of just 24 square miles. Evening was drawing in already but that‘s not what our bodies or the ambient temperature gauge outside told us. 8pm at night and still 26 degrees! A wander up again, this time to the wonderful cable-car at the far point from our entrance was all we felt we had time for…Even though it meant walking past the ‘Museum of Torture’, yes really and apparently, quite interesting. Photo opportunities were just too numerous in such a rich vista, one shot I really liked though was near a square tower with impressive long banners, flowing in the wind, I almost expected horsemen to come riding past. An English plated Ducati was parked next to ours on our return to the bikes, a reminder of how popular the ‘Citta’ really is. The descent to ground level was much easier than our arrival, the roads opening quickly into dual carriageway but inevitably, for the time of night, another repeat of the roads we had used already, the city of San Marino is brightly lit and a visible focal point for miles around, I felt truly thankful for being able to experience it and Urbino in a busy, but memorable day as we returned safely to Cattolica. Lemonchello & coffee were our rewards, getting back so early at a mere 10:30pm, so we sat next to our cooling steeds as we planned an even bigger day for tomorrow.
►Tues22 - Strada time - Lambo - Futapass - LOST.... (309m) Starting a day with glorious sunshine and a head full of riding ideas is an amazing invigorator to me, breakfast was just a necessary delay as was heading down the road to fill tanks with slight cheaper fuel than the inevitable Autostrada A14 that we really could not avoid. I felt bad about petrol-head Norrie missing out on the Lamborghini museum, when we had been only 10 miles or so away, visiting the Ferrari counterpart. At 100 miles, it seemed an easy hop until we arrived at the Autostrada & nose-to-tail traffic then, after seeing the same ‘sights’ many times in the last week, after an hour, I could take no more. On a quieter stretch of road I searched the SatNav and found the Ducati dealer list that I’d installed before leaving the UK. There was an outlet only 10 miles away so I instantly told the SatNav to ‘go-get’. Norrie only had the main route in his own SatNav but bless him, he never, ever left my tail, no matter how wayward I was. A short ride down a pleasant smaller dual-carriageway, brought us to the town of Lugo and next, the industrial zone where the Moto Europa, dealership was located. My heart sank a little when all I could see was a small compound, with neatly ordered rows of scooters & small bikes, in front of the Ducati clad unit. Thankfully, good things do come in small packages. Inside were friendly staff who answered all our questions about the area and some of the different Ducati regalia they stocked. They even took us up stairs in the stock area where I had spotted two race prepped 888 & 851 bikes that had been stored by the franchise owner, apparently a keen racer. The workshop was nearly as big as the store and if it was not dinnertime, we could have been given a closer look around. To make up for this, we were directed to an eating establishment only round the corner that was recommended. The ‘Senza Nome’, diner was nearly full to capacity which we both took as a good sign, again almost all males eating out but this time, huge long tables with 20 or so settings, all with loud conversation taking place. Very little English was spoken by the staff and no menu translation made for an interesting choice of food. We didn’t worry as the three courses were all fine and seemed a reasonable price too. At least we had sheltered for some of the hottest part of the day but it was still 50 miles to the museum, so time to crack on. Traffic was moving but dense on the A14 once more and as soon as we hit the outskirt of Bologna the traffic came to a standstill. I could see an exit up ahead and didn’t really care where it would take us as long as we were moving to keep cool. No sooner than a car sped down the ‘hard shoulder’ next to us than I did a long look back, motioned to Norrie and we did the same! Soon enough we left onto the A13 and a much cooler run towards our goal. Which came up really fast; the super-stylish Lamborghini factory building loomed in the distance and was announced nearby with road signs, anyway. I saw a car turn in through a set of gates and turned left to follow behind. I nearly ran a fully suited man down when he jumped in front of my bike & made a slowing gesture. ‘Museo Please’ I tried to pronounce, which obviously didn’t impress as he spoke in instant English, ‘The public park is out left, one kilometre and left again’. I was quite disappointed at the sentiment expressed, especially when the second left turn took us to the security gate for the car production line exit. Two Lambo’s were sitting with protective plastic strips still in place, engines running, ready for a road test. A guard came to see us who showed interest in our bikes but directed us to take the next left and park in a small compound. We were not amused, it must be said, parking in what appeared to be a lot, only fit for demolition, then, with no short cuts, we faced a kilometre long walk in the blazing sun, carrying our helmets and jackets as we didn’t feel safe leaving them with the bikes. The saving grace of all this came soon enough as we were fortunate enough to see more than one brand new vehicle being ‘test driven’ down the road, with some drivers hitting the rev limiter just for fun, or so it seemed, the sound was addictive though, almost like metal being shredded… Entrance fee paid we left our bike kit in a safe area and grabbed a much needed drink while absorbing the atmosphere of the display. Very clinical and business like was my initial assessment. Around a dozen vehicles from all production eras were visible on the ground floor with engines and other items of history. More recent vehicles were displayed on the first floor and even though we took our time and read lots of the literature, we were finished in just over an hour. We did enjoy the spectacle but, I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed, comparisons with the Ferrari museum were, for us, inevitable, even though the financial might of the former, was obvious. (Can I have THIS ONE please!) A café would have been nice but we were directed over the road to a private franchise, just to be able to get a hot drink. We didn’t stay long as I was keen to press on to try and ride some of the ‘Futa’ pass that the Ducati test riders are claimed to use but, that was on the other side of Bologna and it was mid-afternoon already, so press on we did. It was a pleasant surprise riding past the Ducati factory once more, our visit last week seemed such a long time ago. The city was as busy as I expected but I managed to get a ‘tow’ from a local R1 rider, two-up with a lady pillion & riding very well, a little too quick at times for us to keep up, but safe. I could see our final exit coming up soon and dived into a garage that had a diner section, so we could grab a much needed drink after fuelling the bikes. The heat of the day had certainly got to me and I was glad of the chance to recharge, I think we even went a little crazy with some highly priced ice-creams as well. Poor Norrie looked as hot as I felt but was obviously coping with the heat better, partly due to the superior design of his modern Ducati, but more likely, due to his active lifestyle, I imagine. Our initial plan for what was meant to be the end of the days riding, (oh, yes, fun is a coming, gentle reader) was simply to ride in some scenic countryside, grab a meal and head back to base. Does anyone remember the scene from Mad Max with the masked, body builder, gang leader shouting, “You, in the compound… What a puny plan!” I think that comment was specifically aimed at me, just for this occasion. Even now, I still don’t understand how the ‘SP’ (Minor roads) numbering works in Italy. On the map the numbers, disappear, change and re-appear, almost at random and actually on the road the number signs seem to be displayed with the same regularity – none! All this preamble is, of course, simply an excuse for my own lack of competence. I thought I’d get around all the road number issues by making the SatNav take us to the hamlet of Pianoro (yes, the Piano theme again) which is situated on a road I was advised to take, SP65. On leaving the petrol station, all I could see were sign posts for cities and oddly, Pianoro, the SatNav was in agreement too, so in the absence of road number signs and especially when we turned away from choked city roads to wonderful, smooth and empty strada… Well, obviously, the riding pace got a little faster. It’s a good job the road was so good, because it wasn’t the one we were supposed to be on! The SatNav, can’t be blamed for doing its job of finding a shorter but hard to notice Route to the same place I requested. Sadly, it put us on the wrong side of a river and even worse, in a case of tragic irony that I only discovered once back home, if we HAD of been on the correct road, we would of ridden past the Marchesini factory, of wheel building fame. To tell the truth, I didn’t care, I looked back to Norrie and got a thumbs-up, that was a sign enough to me of the quaint Italian roads that we had sought all along. Rolling hills and ordered vineyards sound too blasé but they were a pleasure to ride through. Decaying bridges and once brightly painted but now faded houses, raced by us too and that just added to the charm of the ride. SatNav now said ‘off-road’ but I still didn’t care, the Kilometer markers away from Bologna were going up and that was fine by me... Until, after only 25 miles of fun from Bologna. We were stopped by a set of cross-roads, two roads now pointed to Autostradas, one, minor road swept back behind us and the other, swept, temptingly into parabolic heaven, ahead. Obviously, that was the one I chose, which was the wrong one again. None of the minor roads again had numbers showing and I was so tired of stabbing at the Satnav (small ‘n’ notice) that I think I turned it off. To cut a long story, well, slightly shorter, after another 10 miles of fun, mixed with trepidation at heading directly South, we ended up at the village of Castel. The sight of neglected fuel pumps attracted me to the Bar Faldini but, the smell of pizza cooking soon made me realise how hungry I was. The bridge we just crossed was well signed, informing us we were riding the SP60, a stretch of legs, crossing the interesting Torrente Savena river for photo’s was all the time we needed to decide upon sustenance. A delightful, elderly couple came out to greet us but did not speak a single word of English! I thought it was so apt and fitted the moment perfectly. Thankfully, our well versed ‘two cappuccinos - hot’ came in useful and we managed to discern, by sign language that food would be available at some time. We were struggling to even find our location on Norrie’s map when our drinks were brought to the table and the wise gent instantly kept a finger on our map position. He then pointed to the city of Florence, some 30 miles to the South and I gathered he was questioning our destination. I shook my head and pointed 50 miles directly East to Cattolica. His eyes widened and he held his hands, palms up in an obvious gesture of disbelief that didn’t need any translation to understand. A similar story with fuel, pumps broken, no fuel nearby. The A1 autostrada was only 5 miles, as the bird flies to the west but there was no way to reach it, well, not for me, I’m sure Norrie would have been fine in ‘off-road Mode’. Thankfully, that wasn’t an issue, two thirds full our range was the same, even if I did have to carry more gas, on a slightly less fuel efficient bike. Our advisor mentioned Tuscany, for fuel and that indeed was the only direction that seemed reasonable on the map. Two slight issues then became apparent, food would not be served for another hour, so that was our prompt, and after another coffee with thoughtfully supplied biscuits this time, to aid us in our trek. That brings us nicely to the next item, altitude! Our guide forgot to mention that although it was only 8 miles to the road we next needed, that distance was in forest all the way, with almost continuous switch backs and hairpin bends and to a height of 3600 feet up and down again! Great views at the top but, challenging elsewhere and very time consuming. Once again, green farmlands and scenic villages appeared along our route with additional real Italy charms such as religiously themed monuments and delightful viewpoints that we really didn’t want to ride away from. However, there had been a very timely comment made by our host back at the café, that I don’t ever want to forget. After warmly shaking our hands as we left, he sat and looked us up and down; “Motorcyclisti – rapido?” it seemed a question to me in any event and my hand tilting action, I hoped, indicated yes/no. “Ahhh”, he answered, then, with both palms down, in a calming gesture, “Pianooo, Pianooo” and we certainly did heed his warning to slow down but, with an inevitable increased time penalty. We had to slow, eventually. We were running out of gas! Every village we went through, either no gas station or no one in attendance or only taking local fuel cards. I was astonished to see a sign to the Mugello autodromo (circuit), only 10 miles further South, time to cut-and-run for the Autostrada, dusk was drawing in and we had been on the road for over 12 hours already, even worse with only one substantial meal! It was only 5 miles to the next village which was also the next entry point for the A1/E35 Autostrada, it had an automated fuel station that would take cash at last but, after my problems, two years we decided to try a small denomination note, first. No sounds, no pump whirring: No fuel, just a receipt appeared. For some odd reason, this incensed me sufficiently to return to a police station I spotted up the road and try to complain in English to the staff present, to their credit they were sympathetic but could do nothing, only pointing to the motorway as the closest fuel stop. We had only covered 25 miles since leaving the Bar Faldini and yet it had taken more than two hours, just to get to the motorway. Things then declined rapidly, the entrance road to the small toll plaza was both narrow and twisting and as I was slowing down, wondering why there were so many paint marks and impact craters, when the answer was provided, what I thought was ‘just’ a single lane was actually for two-way traffic! Next, was a harrowing ride, North up the autostrada on one of the most HGV filled roads I think I’ve ever encountered. Just when I was deep into reserve and pottering along, again, to conserve fuel, non-stop streams of Euro-freighters, most with trailers in tow were having to overtake us. It took us 30 stressful minutes to finally roll into an Autogrill for fuel and warm, if motorway service style meals. Even that was amusing, more than one visitor in the food hall was wandering around with pets and my meal was better than I expected from UK standards: soup, chicken arrabiata and Tiramisu, very welcome it was too. Fully fuelled, all around, at least we were replete for a 100 mile ride in the full darkness of night, back to base, Norrie commented that his bike too felt almost turbo-charged in the cool air as we circled around Bologna, yet again and up to three figure speeds that allowed us to shave, at least ;-) 20 minutes off the journey time. Good job the hotel Senior always has great coffee available, nearly midnight (a bit of a habit) when we silenced the bikes and reflected on the adventure over a caffeine fix. Just over 300 miles for the day and thankfully, all the missed turns and problems worked out for the best. I did start to wonder if, on a motorcycle, and away from cities there would be any minor roads in Italy to truly avoid. I hope not... ►Wed23 - Lazy day at Cattolica (0m) A few taller drinks were also consumed the night before which, was bound to happen for what we knew was our last full day in Italy. Catching the end of the breakfast service was a smart start to the day and provided the energy for us to start repacking all of our bags that had been completely emptied during our stay. Bikes had to wait as Norrie was very keen to check his charge card balance, which led to some fun and games. The nearest bank wouldn’t accept his card, the next didn’t have any connection outside of Catollica and after another mile or so the last bank could provide a service but at a cost! I think this might have offended Norrie somewhat. It was pleasant, wandering around in the heat of the day but why I suggested walking to what I thought was the nearby train station, with my feet starting to pain me already, is still a mystery to me now. I did know what a petrol/diesel head Norrie is of course and probably hoped that some engines and maybe a high-speed train would help make up for my pilot errors of the day before. Most of the trains did indeed, whistle through at speed, with only one, stopping during the time it took us to devour yet another cooling ice-cream. Trying to keep in the shade from the now burning midday sun, as we left the station, a wander down a side street soon had us heading towards the beach again but the unexpected smell of a bakery, lured us inside the front shop. Although quite small inside, every available space was filled with breads, cakes and fancies with such variety that Ive not seen since childhood. Hot pizza and soup was also available but the hot sandwiches looked very appealing, so two of those with suitable afters, as we didn’t want to offend, along with obligatory coffee’s made for a welcome lunch. Sitting outside, under pavement umbrellas, felt such a natural place to be and with no real itinerary for the day, we kicked back and enjoyed the atmosphere. It’s a good job we were so chilled out, 30 minutes & a short walk later, we arrived at the aptly sand coloured and imposing town hall. A large elegant water feature drew our attention and sadly, distracted me from two, ‘gentlemen-of-the-street’, who even mid-day, seemed to be more than a little worse for wear! “Ahhhh, Duuu-cat-eeeee”, was the call as one fellow, came staggering towards us. That was the end of our sightseeing as I gathered Norrie up and we made a rapid, Exit stage left. The ‘pretend’ Ducati shop was shuttered up once more but a display cabinet outside still had some red-planet items within, while walking past the biggest ice cream outlet simply wasn’t an option as yet another delicious cone each was consumed. That led us back to the hotel once again. While Norrie sorted out his belongings, I decided to blag a bucket and some soapy water to give the bikes a wash over before maintenance tasks. In reality there was little to do on the bikes, just the basic chain and tyres. Packing was much more time consuming as we had each bought a few extra items that took up precious room, having clothes washed and neatly pressed by the hotel service helped. As seemed fitting, we ate in the hotel restaurant that final night, I think we even took lemoncello’s to the table with us. Norrie was keen to put in big mileage in the next two days to leave us a much shorter ride into the ferry terminal on the third day. I wanted to try & see something of the Stelvio region, either the pass or the forest which was a long shot as we knew we were looking at 800 miles or so, in the two days. With that in mind and after a few coffee’s, next to our clean machines we both knew an early night might be a wise move….
►Thurs24 - Pension Kohlar (437m) ... Stelvio?, No! Sun?, No! On time? Dont be Daft. The weather next morning was more somber than our moods. Grey and overcast, even the neighbourhood seemed subdued as though almost nobody would be out and about on a day like this. Breakfast was quiet too, we were two of only a handful of guests dining. Bills paid, bags on bikes, or in my case, panniers and topbox filled, just as two years ago, we zipped a few hundred yards down the road to fuel the bikes at an attended gas station. Ready as ever, now for the toll plaza next we rolled through as though it was second nature. Oh, the delights of the A14 yet again, dear friends. San Marino was barely visible in the murky distance so it was easier to wind the bikes up and power on to the next fuel stop. Which was not too much later as we could see a rain front in the direction we were heading towards, time to top up on fuel and coffee! The run around Bologna had been relatively easy, mid-morning but now & wearing full waterproofs, progress started being hampered as the road spray from vehicles reduced visibility. Heading North now, around Modena, the temperatures had dropped a little, which was welcomed in our rain attire, next was a left turn for these two ‘gentlemen of Verona’. Our next road, the A4 took us along the southern shore of Lake Garda but that was shrouded in cloud banks from us, at the 200 mile mark the rain decided to intensify and that neatly matched up with a large service area for us, so we agreed to fuel up and then have a lunch break. The venue was another Autogrill but this one had a distinctly ‘truck-stop’ feel to the place but, it was clean and efficient and the food was hot. A consult of the tv screens showed not only congestion but heavy rain to the North so trying to view any scenery around Stelvio was sadly, going to be pointless. After a little more refreshment, the decision was made to U-turn back on the Autostrada as soon as possible to ride the 10 miles or so to pick up the A22, that was the original Google recommendation for our journey. Our next fuel stop required leaving the main road as no station could be found within a reasonable range. The attendant at the IP garage was a bike fanatic and was stunned by Norrie’s bike and showed keen interest. Norrie made his day by planting a SDC club sticker on his cabinet and made a friend for life! At least the rain eased a little as we continued north once again, progress was slow, our average speed for this whole segment was only 50 mph, it simply wasn’t safe trying to overtake with too great a speed difference, even if the majority of drivers were being attentive to conditions. Tunnels were a fun way to get warm again and hanging my head into the wind usually provided a dry visor, if the protection lasted long enough, the down-side being that one needed to be prepared for the tunnel ending and usually being plunged into fading light and rain. We had been on the road all day now and still not left Italy! Another service station and time for a snack instead of the usual ‘splash-n-dash’, I don’t think we even bothered taking our oversuits off completely, thank goodness for modern synthetics & Goretex. On the road again, the brenner pass was passed smoothly as was the border into Austria, apart from it seeming to get dark very quickly and this led to one issue that I thought might crop up eventually. The headlights on Norrie’s Multistrada are quite literally, dazzling, we were skirting around the base of huge hills and as we approached Innsbruck, narrow roads, so I could see why Norrie was sticking, so closely to my tail. However, that’s ALL I could see, the glare in my mirrors at times was blinding and affecting my riding as well. If the brand new bikes with LED lights are any brighter, I would pass on the offer of a night time group ride. Innsbruck struck me as an interesting place, lots of full bars and music, a winter paradise, I imagined. Our overnight destination was ‘only’ 40 miles away now but we were both cold and tired by this point, never, ever a good combination. Riding the main road away from the city was tough enough but the constant twists and turns of the minor roads, as we turned South, down to Jerzens were nearly our undoing due to more than one blind or heavily cambered hairpin turn. Those last 40 miles took nearly 90 minutes to complete and I was just about done in by the time we finally reached the Pension Köhler. Extra point for those who remembered that this hotel was also on our itinerary during the return leg of WDW2012. I’d still recommend it to anyone but (isn’t there sadly always a ‘but’) the distance away from main routes might have riders looking elsewhere and that’s a shame. We were offered use of the garage and even though it was 10pm when we arrived and a full meal was offered we insisted on something less elaborate and hearty soup with many trimmings was made ready after we had sorted luggage, a shower and a change of clothing. It was good to be motionless at last and the food, and yes, a tall beverage made the mood much better. Poor Norrie soon bade his goodnight while I think I still needed to wind down a little and did so with the assistance of a glass of schnapps, to celebrate our arrival in another country. I’m glad we made the effort to return to the Pension, being comfortable and in familiar surroundings counts a lot to me, especially at the end of a twelve and a half hours ride and I only booked the venue two days before using my mobile phone! Sleep came easily as I tried to recall some events of the day, the familiar rhythm of riding longer distances, once again and just how much wonderful scenery we had missed, once again but, my main thoughts were of our even longer ride tomorrow and of locating our city centre hotel… ►Fri25th – Duisburg (451m) Unlike our last visit to this area the next day dawned wonderfully bright and warm. Another warm shower helped me feel more refreshed but I think it’s the clean alpine air that really invigorated me. Breakfast was the usual interesting & large but largely cold variety of healthy eating. We wandered outside with our coffees to take photos & move the bikes nearer to aid with loading. Neither of us being in a hurry to leave this near idyllic spot made that proposition of the journey in front, all the less inviting. After paying our host we chatted to two young guys about to head out for a full day of mountain biking and trail hunting, I’m going to have to admit to a real pang of envy here, gentle reader, probably at no longer having the energy to complete such an adventure or perhaps at doing so in such a picturesque location, both really. Bikes loaded and bladders emptied, we headed off to a major victory for us; an automated fuel station that worked flawlessly! Hurrah, a good omen. Riding the same road that we did last night, didn’t last long, mainly, as I tend to avoid doing that at any reasonable cost. The minor roads that were a pain the night before became a joy to ride and thankfully, continued on as we headed further North, avoiding the main road for a while and bend swinging for a change on dry roads. Some traffic did build up, signalling some lane-splitting action as I knew this simply meant the approach to the main road and what a surprising road the E532 turned out to be. Quite flat now but running through various forests and alongside twisting rivers, it reminded me of parts of the old A1 road back in the U.K., this road was only a little wider on each carriageway but with much better safety and maintenance, which was just as well as this road didn’t have a speed limit! Even my old tourer felt effortless cruising along at 100mph with the occasional car-blatting spurt to 115. Crossing into Germany gave the false impression we were doing well but only 50 miles travelled, told a different story. Our progress was next, if not halted, then, diverted by a road closure near the city of Ulm, we made the best of this though, by incorporating a fuel and drink stop, once a station was found. Early afternoon now and the Ducati freight train was heading North West when our tiny supply of luck seemed to spring another leak, vehicles stopping in the distance with hazard lights on across all lanes of the Autobahn. After thinking I was still temperature accustomed to Italy and being so cold at times, the day before, I was surprised how hot I was getting, despite wearing my lightest bike clothing again. I don’t think the heat from my slowing bike was the main cause but it didn’t help. Turns out that this was just ‘normal’ traffic as we crawled around another city: Stuttgart. Filtering was a distraction for the first 5 miles or so but squeezing though gaps was starting to get a little stressful. Just then a clever soul shot past on the ‘hard shoulder’ as we would call it, so at a suitable gap, we did the same. Oops, seems that biker was taking the next exit road however, lady luck smiled on us and a garage was visible shortly after so, we slowed down and eased into a splash and not-quite-such-a-dash mode. Once the traffic started moving again, we continued on in the same direction until the town of Karlsruhe, where a northern heading would take us past the Hockenheim circuit. Just as we were making some progress, I think lady luck must have decided to emigrate. On the run around Frankfurt, we again saw stationary vehicles across all three lanes of the Autobahn however, once around a corner we could see, certainly the longest queue of traffic I have ever seen in my life, stretching as far as the eye could see into the distance. A service station was again visible and yet again, we hopped on the hard-shoulder-express to take advantage of fuelling. It seems a major accident had happened which blocked all lanes of the road ahead. Only sandwiches and snacks were available so along with many other road users, we stared down the road straining for glimmers of movement. Looking in the direction we had travelled didn’t help either as that was now also grid-locked with traffic, we lost an hour sat beside stationary vehicles in spooky silence however, the service station seemed to do a roaring trade. Thankfully, the traffic started moving and while most vehicle owners waited for the roads to clear a little, on motorcycles we took advantage of the ebb and flow, being able to change lanes more easily and making good progress until the edge of our destination: Duisburg. In my tiredness, I came off the road a junction too early but at least it was only an extra 5 miles or so detour towards the very centre of the city. Norrie was over the moon as he used to visit this city many years ago and enjoyed revisiting some parts that he swore he remembered. I think he was trying to make me feel better after a 13 hour day on the road. An impressive hotel, it seems the ‘Ladhaus Milser’ was used as the base of the World cup champions, Italian football team in 2006, a fact they seem very proud of. We would have been more impressed if even a snack or perhaps just an alcoholic drink might have been available but, both outlets were closed and there were no exceptions! The best that could be done at ‘such a late hour’ (11pm) was a cup of coffee each. Poor Norrie was sound asleep within 15minutes of drinking his nightcap. I needed a shower and that brought the novelty of a massive bathroom with walk in shower that was just as big as the bedroom, what a long, good shower for stiff and aching muscles. After setting the air-conditioning to keep us comfortable during the night, I must say I was in the land of nod, minutes later too, not even bothering to ask for an alarm call in the morning. ►Sat26 – Ferry (157m) The next morning dawned damp, foggy & cold. Not the start I’d hoped for on our last day in mainland Europe. A massive breakfast spread had been laid on and we relaxed in the heated outdoor area, overlooking a delightful lake, to be waited with tea and coffee and, as if that wasn’t enough, we were surprised to be offered a cooked breakfast as well! Perhaps, they felt they needed to make up for the night before in some way. Bags packed again and checked out, I mused about the hotel as we loaded up the bikes, very reasonably priced for such a great looking venue but the location and facilities have it down as an entry in the “wont be returning soon” list. Fuel was as always, next on the list and the Nav found one near the main road option we needed. The steel industry of Duisburg was obvious everywhere, the copious amount of bridge’s also seemed to trigger a quote from a leaflet in the hotel that the city has the world’s biggest inland harbour which, from the waterways, I would not doubt. A massive Bayer manufacturing complex dominated the view as a modern looking suspension bridge provided our safe passage over the river Rhein to immediately enter the Netherlands. The main road we were using has THREE different designations to confuse my addled brain even more, didn’t matter, it was heading North-West and Amsterdam was clearly marked everywhere. Forty minutes later, an unscheduled stop was needed to don waterproofs due to the black rain front that we were obviously about to encounter. I must say the rest stop we choose, was the cleanest I have ever seen! I dont remember stopping at all in the Netherlands outside of the ferry port in 2012 but this area, without even a service station was immaculately kept with not a piece of litter dropped, never mind any type of graffiti. Stopping also meant we missed the main body of rain, and once moving again we only had a brief spray of water with the road drying in no time at all. Laughably, just after passing over the river Waal, the sun shone and I was soon roasting behind the large touring screen on my bike, we were due a break soon and on the edge of Utrecht I hoped fuel would be cheaper than at the ferry port so we filled up and decided on doing the same ourselves as well as getting out of our oversuits for the last time. We even ate our sandwiches outside as the climate & rest area were so pleasant, thoughtfully, set well back from the station and main road. It was kind of nice too, knowing we didn’t still have 9 hours or so of riding to do, unlike the last two days. Norrie wanted to get to the ferry port early, so we soon set off again, riding the wide A2 road to the outskirts of Amsterdam where a surprise was waiting for us, a flash deluge of rain, just when I could see no easy way to leave the main road. Norrie was fine in his textile suit, as were my legs but upper body, I only had my mesh Ducati jacket on which the rain penetrated easily despite my best efforts at hiding behind my screen. Next stop was the ferry approach road where I was only checking that Norrie had everything in order and didnt need any fuel for his ride home in the U.K., all was good so I passed on the offer of stopping at the cafe just down the road for a cup of tea, I was in no mood and getting cold from the damp with the temperature definitely cooler by the coast. Check-in was efficient but a final kick in the teeth was that despite us and the bulk of the motorcycles boarding the ferry being present early, we were left outside in another downpour of rain, left to watch heavy goods and other vehicles loaded in front of us, while we soaked gently. A black mark for DFDS then! Loading was stop/start affair too, many riders thinking we were 'in position' and climbing off machines, only to be told to move forwards once again. I made haste strapping my bike down so I could give Norrie a hand and we both scooted up to the cabin decks. For the first and last time, I jumped into the ferry shower straight away, mainly to get warm but also to give Norrie some room in the snug, two berth cabin, to get unpacked and changed into casual clothes. The ship was away from the harbour before we had even sat down to some compulsory refreshment, and yes, it was nice to let someone else do the driving for a change. As only two weeks ago, we had an evening meal booked in the steakroom and after another decent meal, I forced a tall glass of ice cream on Norrie which he duly managed to polish off, in fine style. A walk around the ship and a few more drinks to pass the time, were all that was required to tire us enough for bed. Norrie had another 170 miles to home in the morning, while mine was a mere 25. Praise be, there were no other incidents, worth mentioning to end our second visit to the home of Ducati. Facts and Figures… According to Ducati, WDW2014 equalled the 2012 attendance record, attracting 65,000 Ducatisti, despite lasting one day less. Participants arrived from five continents and 56 different countries, 60% were indeed from Italy but the other 40% literally spanned the entire planet. The Diavel Drag Race Victory was claimed by Regis Laconi (former official Ducati SBK rider). A total of 10,192 laps were made by bikes and cars during WDW2014 4,000 people saw the new Scrambler Ducati. Over 700 test rides of the new Monster 821 were completed. 118 D.O.C. Presidents from 26 countries attended. The 'Elite 2' Panigale custom won the prestigious Ducati garage contest. and .... I still don’t know who won the Mr. & Mrs. Ducati competition! Chasing the Red Planet dream, my speedo states I rode 2707 miles, while Norrie cracked the 3000 mark with his extra saddle time from & back to Glasgow. As far as I can work out, total cost each for the actual fortnight was around £2000, with the highest individual cost not being petrol for a change but hotels. I have erm… ‘forgotten’ to factor in the amount spent on prep work for bikes & bodies , I know I bought my Ducati mesh jacket and a flip-up helmet for myself, nevermind how much I spent on the bike however, I like to argue I would have needed (treated), myself to those items anyway! WDW is pretty much a fun but done deal for me now, Italy however, NEVER will be and I will return on the very next chance I get... WDW - Ducati's 100th anniversary, 2020???
Cheers - 20 images limit per post meant I had to delete loads and for some reason - 19th day didnt display even though I can see it in edit One day, I'll get a round to posting a BIG write-up: Canada 2015!!! Ahhh - 19th day (WDW1) has reappeared - I'd incorrectly embedded a video clip and that seemed to halt the rest of the post display for some reason.
Here's a suggestion. Instead of one gigantic, indigestible post how about splitting your stuff into 20 or so reasonably sized posts, each with its own photos?
