Yeah, come on Pete, more pics.... Oh hang on, not more... Any?

Kid brother heckling , shouldnt be allowed .......

Leaving the hotel, the owner's son had told me I MIGHT get lucky with the rain, but it would be wet up in the hills. The father of the swiss biker had told me that visibility would be so bad, hinting I should not be up there... Ominous warnings....
I skirted west a little but then hit the hills. It actually wasn't so bad. So I killed any motor a way options as well as pay routes, and ended up on a twisty, well surfaced road that twisted and turned about the motorway. Especially enjoyable as the motorway ground to a half as I shot along 'at some speed'
Just after the motorway jam, the road I was on headed for the sky, literally. The road was climbing, and this was a main road. Hairpins, sharp bends and then the rollercoaster! The weather had been quite good, and the mist descended, just as the road reached out into the sky on concrete legs, and went into a long tightening curve. I don't mind admit saying out loud that ' I don't like this much'.
Other curves, had half a turn in the sky, but a whole turn was something else. I seemed to get a break on the other side of the 'hill and the weather was lovely. I came to a junction and stopped to choose my route.
I could carry on, or I could hang a left and go over Furkapass. I ask... Who could resist that name. I couldn't. I should have......


The first half was great, I got to about half way I up before the signs of things going seriously pear shaped first showed.

Some kind of classic car thing was on, all on coming to me. I started noticing raindrops on the cars. And the change was as good as immediate. Rounded one bend, and hit a fog bank. Could see nothing. Thoughts flashed through my mind of how you turn around a Vstrom on not much more than a goat track. But almost as quickly came the rain. Before I could safely stop, my jeans were soaked, glass's were steaming up if the visor was closed, and covered in droplets with the visor open.
I wondered when it had last rained here. I find going down hill harder in the mountains than going up for some reason, and now with the rain lashing down and running in rivers across the roads, the wind had picked up and it was now I had to start to descend. I would lover to say I was flicking it from left to right,overtaking everything in sight, but I was pathetically just wanting to survive it. It was as low, tortuous descent,and I was not enjoying it one little bit. The closest thing to joy was the occasional maniacal laugh of a surely doomed man. A lot of cars had pulled over, but somehow, I'm thinking they would not have let me in to shelter with them.
The vstrom is fitted with the Anakee2 tyres, and I have to say, apart from the odd bit of wet over banding, they performed brilliantly. Far better than me.

Eventually, I came across a hotel called the Grand Glacier du Rhone or similar. Very old, and very posh. I squelched my way through until I found a somewhat haughty woman, who luckily handed me on to some other chap who was far more helpful.
It was as expensive as it looked, but in the discussion the guy mentioned the rain would be worse the day after, and that it might even snow. I decided to carry on, especially as he said the road to Brig was much better. He just meant lower. Rain still washed across the bends, wind was still a bit gusting but the mist was gone. I should say, after the initial fog bank on top, the mist did come and go.
Slowly the mountain roads changed to long Swiss valleys complete with picture postcard views. The rain stopped and I got sunshine. Heading west it was right in my face now, and the BMW helmets internal sun visor was flipped down. Unfortunately, the earlier rain etc, had made the visor impossible to see through so it was used as a sun strip instead.
Good progress was made on these roads, and I found myself filling up with fuel at a place called Visp. Also it was past time to look for a hotel. I started to find closed hotels and full hotels.Some kind of festival in town judging by the PA systems blaring. Round and round I went, with some local road changes confusing the hell out the zumo (and me to be fair).
I had seen the campsite earlier but discounted it. But sure enough, I rolled in there with half an hour before dark. Talked to the guy in charge, who was helpful but obviously needing to go home. He waved in a direction when I asked for a restaurant. This was found later in spite of his directions, and those of the woman on the ticket booth of the footie club next to the campground.

I had been told to report to the non English speaking guy at the campsite at 9 am prompt to cough up the dosh for a surprisingly refreshing night's sleep. Might have been all the walking along dark paths, underpasses etc to get to town for some food and drink. Only seemed to be one one serving food as all as drink, luckily it was a good one.

Anyway, the clouds still hung to the hills, but it was obvious I would have to risk it, or hit the motorways. The modified roads meant it took a while to be pointed in the right direction. But eventually I started to climb in zigzag fashion, the hill I was on remaining flour and rain free while I could look across the valley, and see the flat bottom of the cloud there. I had plenty of more curves before finding myself riding along the southern shore of Lake Lucerne, passing back into France without hardly even noticing.

Before long the road twisted and turned again. The any got much heavier, then it rained. Cold and persistent, I had to stop to put the liner in and the leggings on. Hotels in that are are either seasonal, or bust. That applied to both the ones found by zumo, and those advertised on boards. Point to French hoteliers... If you go bust, take the damn boards down!

The end result of this was a serious consideration to putting tent up in some field, where I would no doubt be trampled by cattle, the was s many of them. I was tired,and my headlight was going the wrong way (not an issue much, as there was few traffic on these minor roads.

Eventually though I was on a major road, well more major than the minor ones. And after asking in a bar, for a hotel,and then getting though that I didn't think that her place was a hotel, she directed me,with some impatience,it has to be said, to a hotel just up the road. I got the impression that she thought it was obvious where the hotels were. I almost missed the hotel,as it was set back from the road.
Parking outside it looked like it might be expensive, but I was past caring. It had a room. It had a garage for the bike which would be well hidden behind a fairly ancient looking trifold wooden door. The young lady from reception opened 2 doors to tease me, but when I asked about the third one, it was a'non monsiuer'. Also,the road I was coming from, was a bad angle, and the concrete ramp was made to use the part of the door that wouldn't open. Had I been less tired I might have been more sensible. But I've read 'adventure bike' books, and RTW, and everyone has these moments where they have come to the conclusion they have to 'gun it and go for it'
Poor sap that I am, this went through my addled brain and I 'gunned it' and'went for it'. The vstrom powered over the ramp and crashed into the garage. Unfortunately, more or less ripping the door that wouldn't open right off its hinges, having caught the edges of the middle part with the top corner of my right hand pannier lid. Now, I'm not one to advertise for other people, but these cases are made my ARD cases, and I can safely say, they are no better or worse than any other panniers for carrying 'stuff', but should you feel the need to crash through old (probably antique French garage doors, these are the kiddies :-)



Picture the scene, French receptionist standing in the garage, probably wondering why I'm so hesitant to try with only 2 does open, then the door and her world, to an extent, come crashing in.

The look on her face, and the shriek she made was noticeable even as I struggled not to fall over. With the bike safely on its stand, we wear the door. It was buttered, but had been busted before, as the immovable door seemed to be screwed to the door frame. Well, to be more precise, it was, She informed me she must call the owner. I could only imagine the torrent of abuse I was about to get from some Frenchman, who would scoff at my lack of skill, before sleeping me with a huge repair bill...

As it turns out the boss man was a woman, and was more concerned about the bike than the door. She came out, we closed the door with some brute force (me) and 4or5 bungees. Apparently hotel inspectors had told her a month previously that the door not opening want good, and she said it needed replacing anyway. Had I known that, I could have charged for demolition :-)

The hotel had a bath AND a lift... Bliss!
The restaurant was exceptional. Really nice end to a trying day :-)

And i just put to the back of my mind that I had to get the bike out again in the morning...

Any advice welcomed..... As I'm doing the same as I did for the Usurper pic, which was on the web and worked great.

Presently I'm in Ypres, and have had a few strong s, and intend a few more :-) so keep it simple, in case I get a reply by the time I've got back to the house hotel :-)

Who put a house in the hotel??? :-)

I am assuming the other two pics I uploaded, apart from the Usurper, show as broken images for everyone... Not just me???

I see the sub in your OP but no pics since then - never mind, your writing paints the picture!

You've done well to get to Ypres - there's good there of course.
I guess you have been to the Menin gate for 8pm.

__________________
Dave

Thanks, I was originally going to pop over to Belguim to look at this, but Garmins routing , and rain made me think, lets go to Calais...
Once the rain cleared, and I saw that it was only 30k or so from the motorway I was drying out on, I put in the hill 62 location , headed back down the way I had come for about 5 kms, then off to good old Belguim, home of, well.. mainly

I did do the Menin gate at 8pm, October and still about 300 peoples there..