Tour de France - Part deux

I found a few more pics of our french voyages moto and scanned them. The story continues after we left the Bretagne.

Let's go South on A62! 800km later, easy-peasy for the GS, we arrived at a winery-turned-two-wheeler hostel in Moux, a small town in the Southwester region of Languedoc-Roussillon. The then-owners Rolf and Rosi, avid riders themselves, had had their own share of unfriendly encounters while looking for accommodation.

And so the couple found it was time to offer a motorcycle and bicycle friendly place where tired riders could find rest either in one of the cozy rooms of their B&B, or on the adjacent campground. Needless to say that there was shelter as well as a workshop provided for the bikes.

They also offered motorcycle rentals (cheap) and guided tours in the area (at no charge). At one time I had rented an F650GS, which was fun to ride. It were those fond memories which made me buy my yellow Beemer Nella last year.

The medieval fortified city of Carcassonne. From here it looked like time stood still.

Enjoying crepes and cafe au lait in some small town restaurant.

 

Here's "The Dispousal Unit", an excellent and reliable long distance rider, posing in front of a picturesque scenery.

In a place were motorcyclists gather there is a lot of talk around bikes, and one fine day it happened that rides were swapped, which gave us the opportunity to enjoy the vibes of a Harley Davidson for the very first time.

We returned to Maison Las Clauzes many times. Due to its excellent location the B&B became our base camp for travels in and around the area, to Andorra (B) and to Spain (D), to the Pyrenees (I) and the Mediterranean beaches (F).

Good times!

It would not have been the perfect round-trip without the Alps involving a lot of chasing the twisties, collecting mountain passes, and getting rained and snowed on along the way.

If you are in the area you have to ride/drive the Route des Grandes Alpes and get all 17 passes in one tour.

Map found here

Some people make the conscious choice of cycling the route. I certainly prefer the motorized version. 

The Col de l'Iseran at 2,770m (9,088ft) altitude is the highest paved mountain pass in the Alps.  It looks deserted but tourists of the two or four wheeled kind had actually lined up to get their picture.

 At Col de la Cayolle at 2,326m (7,631ft) altitude

Chasing that many twisties is hard work, for all three: rider, pillion and motorcycle. The GS turned out to be an ideal vehicle for this task.

One of my fondest memories of France was our (almost daily) 'milk-run':

a) grab a warm and crisp baguette from the bakery

b) pick up a bottle of regional wine at the grocery store and 

c) visit a local cheese maker to collect some goat cheese or Camembert.

During lunch hour we would find a nice shady place for a picnic, enjoy the food, have a glass of wine (in public...), relax and watch the world go by. Good times!

Into each Generation a Rider is born...

As a student my brother was an avid rider living on a tight budget, and keen on saving in vehicle cost, gas, maintenance and insurance. So he got himself a Yamaha XT, which he rode all year round for many years, fixed himself, and didn't spend a dime extra on upgrades.

Then the 'family thing' happened. He got married, breeding ensued, a bigger vehicle and more living space was needed, and so the motorcycle, a Yamaha XT600 was left forgotten in a dark corner of the shed for many years.

The next thing I hear: The kid is finally tall enough. What does he mean by that, for heavens sake, she is six years old? Actually in Germany a little person that is able to reach the passenger pegs can legally ride pillion, and my niece has reached that very threshold.

As a man of action he recruited family members help funding his daughter's first motorcycle gear (I ended up sponsoring the helmet.). He undusted the bike, did some basic maintenance, such as fluid exchange, spark plug, fresh gas, and that awesome XT came to life like it had never been parked.

 Here's my niece is in front of a big pile of gear. 

My brother is particularly careful when he rides with her. The first trip was 40km one way to visit Oma (grandma, my mother). Naturally my mom was not amused. (Actually she was plain shocked!)

The little one liked the adventure, but she says she cannot see enough on the back of the bike. I guess somebody is already planning to get into the front row... soon.

How and why did I get into Motorbikes?

Gary, you were asking...
Here is my own albeit unspectacular story about how and why I got into motorcycling.

I was not born to ride. In fact I hated bicycles, because from where I used to live, everything seemed to go uphill.

There was this young fellow, Lothar, the neighbour's son. I had a bad crush on him. He was the wild one, with a black leather jacket, long hair, and a bit of a scarface. He was maybe 15, had an intoxicating smile, looked a bit dangerous, and was oh so cool. But I digress.

He rode what I thought was the coolest bike at that time. A Honda Monkey. Please forgive me, I was seven and easily to be impressed.

One fine day while my brother and I were (pedal) go cart racing in the yard, Lothar zipped around us, stopped in front of me (be still my heart), and asked me something along the lines of Here's looking at you, kid! No wait, wrong movie.

However, suddenly I found myself on the back of that moped, nose and hands buried in his worn out leather jacket. It was only a ride around the block in shorts and sandals, no helmet, no gear. Of course it had to be that the very moment we turned around the corner my mom spotted us... She must have had a special radar for such things. Lothar, my hero, got in trouble, I got a bad burn from the hot exhaust when dismounting the bike, and a memory that lasts a lifetime.

This event made me a dedicated pillion rider on many occasions until my brother got the motorcycle endorsement along with his car driving license, a package that my parents had denied me... so unfair! So, just because... I saved up and paid for it out of my own pocket, and got my own motorcycle, too.

I kept riding along with my "dispousal unit" many years when one day we found out that our views on life weren't compatible anymore. We eventually parted ways without fighting or battling over property, and we are still good friends. I pursued my career, and constant changes in life and career took priority over motorcycling at that time. In fall 1998 I sold my last bike.

Fast forward to Christmas 2008: Another life, another partner, another continent. We sat with our friends over a bowl of strong brandy punch when Guido and I started reminiscing about 'the good ole days of motorcycling'.  The seed was planted. The sleeper awoke.

Right on cue I got laid off during the beginning of recession, and took that as a sign to start shopping for a reasonable priced re-entry bike. I was back in the saddle on a Honda NT650 Hawk GT in summer 2009.