 
| Motoeuro
2009 - France and the N-85 Napoleon route awaits
Motoeuro...... |
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On arrival in Antibes,
Marky tries to get us in an old hotel he used
to stay at when he worked here, (hotel Modern)
it’s full. He wanders off in search
of accom while I rest on a bench for leg-relief.
GS smug-Steve chuckles at my agony. 20 mins
later, we’re in a hotel room with no
loo, but we do get a tiny shower, at 60 Euros,
we can’t moan. Mark shows us old haunts
and the old town of Antibes, we soak-up ice
cold beer at a favourite bar but gasp at the
price, 6 Euros for a pint! It's busy here,
but the atmosphere is fantastic. We are running
late as usual for food, so we grab a table
and enjoy marvellous Chinese grub before bed.
Oh, and the hotel owner wants our bikes in
the hotel for our security, you want our bikes
parked along the bar? Very odd. |
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We
escape the busy old town and ride to Cap d’Antibes
and the Hotel Miramar from 2008 the following
day, we have no choice but to get 2 rooms this
time and blow the budget out the water, but
we get air-con which will later prove to be
worth every penny. Still love that honesty bar.
Towels, shorts, camera, fags, cash, we’re
off to the beach.
We enjoy our lunch and Sangria outside in the
shade, rent 3 sun loungers and relax in the
baking sun. Steve is off for a swim, Spark and
I doze. I’m melting after an hour and
join Steve who’s found an octopus moving
around in the rocks, I swim over and we spot
tiger fish too, it’s like a Sealife Centre
here. A passing swimmer reminds us to watch
for sea urchins, I’m off; no-one is weeing
on my feet. We round off the day with ice-cold
drinks and wander back to the hotel to grab
a cheeky one before heading off for tonight's
grub and beer.
We’re all sore, me and Steve especially,
but we brave a taxi back to the livley old town
and get some beers in with food, by 11pm, we’re
showing signs of sunstroke! We opt for an early
retreat, my legs are glowing, the air-con saves
my life, but in Steve’s room, it’s
not working properly, but the thought of sharing
our small room is worse. We take brecky in the
shade the following morning, I can hardly bend
my legs, Steve’s shoulders are on fire
and even bomb-proof Spark is a tad sore. Bloody
English abroad!
I wrap-up my bright pink shins in old T-shirts
and we ride to Grasse for start of the N-85
Napoleon Route. In the baking sun and my bike
is running at 106 degrees, dumping the heat
on my shins. Arse. I know all too soon we will
be back in the crappy English weather, with
yet more rain despite the false promises of
Michael Fish, soak it up while we can. |
Just
outside of Grasse, Le ‘Snack Napoleon’
welcomes us with cold drinks before the classic
ride to Gap on the superb Route Napoleon. My
bike’s alarm is playing up, Mark uses
the Jedi mind trick and we’re off. Not.
The KTM tries to throw him over a hill, the
hydraulic clutch has gone. Arse, arse, arse.
AA bike recovery if officially shite so it's
iPhone to the rescue; KTM dealer 6 kms away,
we free-wheel and push the big Adventure but
the slave unit needed is not a stock item. The
dealer won’t take it off a new bike for
us, so Steve and I head to a dealer in Nice
(27 mls away) as they have the part.
Baking heat, a heavy downpour and stupid, mad
traffic means it’s around 3 hours before
we’re back, just in time for the 5 minute,
10 Euro fix and we’re off at 7pm. Another
heavy shower hits us as we touch the first turn
on the N85, fortunately it gets dryer the further
we ride and the ever impressive N-85 is still
feels special regardless of damp roads. We're
on dry bits as we arrive in Castellane and the
views over the French coast have disappeared,
we're rewarded with the impressive Verdon Gorge
chapel at the top of a huge rock. The summit
of this rock was originally the site of the
Roman fortified town of Petra Castellana, but
gradually, over the years, the people descended
and settled at the base of the crag. By the
13th century the exodus was complete. The present
town of Castellane in the Verdon Gorge, Provence
sits at the junction of the Upper Verdon Road
and Route Napoleon.
Castellane is a lovely town, with black clouds
looming we grab a room in Hotel du Roc, food
at an outside restaurant overlooking the town
square and experience another ‘Night of
Fire’. This time, we join in after a few
beers jumping over bonfires with the locals.
Well, it would be rude not to. Hic. |
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The
following day, the N85 seems narrower than I
remember and at times is littered with fallen
stones, oh well, no big deal. 24 kms later,
I’ve taken the gang the wrong way. Arsey,
arse. I've taken the D952 instead of the D4085
(N85). Nice road mind. We ride the rest of the
Napoleon route to around Gap in the brilliant
sunshine with dry roads, we’re back to
loving our bikes and these roads again, rain
is forgotten. The N-85 Route Napoleon is just
amazing and will always be a very exciting road
for all bikes; take it easy on a Harley, razz-it
on a sporty missile or do a bit of both on your
big trailie, every bike you see will offer an
excitable nod or wave, timing is important so
give yourself a whole day to fully experience
these 200-ish miles of biking paradise and there
are plenty of small towns to enjoy a coffee
break, lunch or top-up on fuel.
We are massively behind now, little chance of
getting to Lake Geneva or have a tasting session
in the Champagne region. We pick-up a busy,
if not twisty, road past Greoble, then on to
the motorway heading for Troyes. We've missed
the top part of the Nap route as we've got the
ferry booked and gawp at the mega-miles still
needed. It's head down for the next gazillion
miles. I hate sport bikes. Owch. Of course,
we take a wrong turn and need to go cross-country
on the N77 to Troyes, we’re very late
arriving but the sight of the sun going down
over the countryside and Chablis vineyards was
worth it. Good fortune offers the Hotel Arlequin
with a massive room and delicious Italian food
in the picturesque old town. Magic. |
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Back
on the motorway today heading for Calais which
we remarkably make for 2pm. Steve heads for
the Chunnel while we spend an hour in the
old town of Calais hunting for smokes. We
take our last French Expresso's in the sun
and make an effort to ride the last miles
along the coast to Zeebrugge.
Just when we thought we have missed the turn
off, a small sign takes us off these busy
roads to the P&O ferry port. We’re
first there, we’ve done it. 10 minutes
later, it’s a MotoGP grid, as soon as
the gates open it’s every man for himself
on to the ferry – by Christ, the others
are keen. Strap-up, kit off, hit the bar.
We’re looking forward to tonight's band
as we're on the same boat from Motoeuro 2007,
but we’re offered ‘Jedi’
– a odd shaped bloke for Portugal with
a drum kit and guitar, oh, deary dear. The
ferry is quiet and we’re the last ones
to head off for bed after ending the trip
with silly quantities of drink and boring-to-death
a cycling couple we meet. Hic. Hung-over,
knackered and clueless about which way to
go, we’re lost in a time tunnel the
next day, which spits us back out in Tyneside
years later. I can’t feel my legs anymore,
I hate sporty bikes.
It’s been eventful yet great fun, my
personal highlight was those magic Spanish
roads and mad evenings, but just being with
your mates and riding everyday is a laugh,
you should do it. Like Steve said “It
wouldn’t be Motoeuro if it wasn’t
a challenge!” In the back of my mind,
I know the Daytona is too focussed for touring
with my long and spider-like legs, but she's
great where it counts. The adventure-bike-boys
never suffered much with distance and still
enjoyed those great roads, so perhaps Trumpet
and I aren't suited too well for distance
work.
We had our problems on this trip that cost
us time, dearly. But sometimes things just
don't go your way, we still managed 2,300
miles, still found fantastic roads and still
had a great laugh. Every Motoeuro is different
and we'll still be smirking come the winter,
get yourself away and enjoy it. Oh, and take
a spare fuse.
‘Till next time then, adios amigos.
[DH]
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