vmaxaust

Cold but dry conditions dominated our exit from Amsterdam. The Autobahn awaits us. The plan I decided on was a stop at the East German city of Magdeburg some 550kms from Amsterdam. I would try to avoid this unless absolutely necessary. The real aim was to reach the Polish border today and bypass Deutschland. This was probably an optimistic aim, nevertheless only the weather conditions would dictate the final outcome. Our first stop in Poland was to be the city of Lodz, some 1100kms from Amsterdam. Regardless, even reaching the Polish border on that same day would have made us very happy. The tyranny of distance unfortunately was against us. The border was an additional 170kms from Magdeburg.

Amsterdam was an important interlude for us. For Sol it represented a re-unification of a once estranged daughter. She came to realise her father was not always the bullshit artist she painted him as being. Well I can tell you Sol definitely talks the talk but on some occasions will not match it with the walk. This is not necessarily because he doesn't want to but more often because circumstances outside his control prevent it. Regardless, his daughter soon woke up to the truth and we could now leave having seen some interesting sights and places in Amsterdam while mentally and physically recovering from some heavy duty emotional things we'd already experienced and of course the physical difficulties associated with our long, hard rides in often very inclement weather and road conditions. I was not looking forward to crossing through into the German countryside.

A successful and restful visit in Amsterdam. Everything comes to an end. Sol and daughter had made a tentative peace. She learned a great deal during our short stay, so did Sol. I was basically the wingman on this chapter of our adventure. Sol spoke about a visit we made to a woman right here in Amsterdam. A famility friend of Sol's back in Melbourne had asked him to see if he could locate a woman living in Amsterdam for the last 30-40 years. Her friend in Melbourne had toured Europe with this woman when they were in their early 20's. One of the girls came home, the other found love and stayed in Europe. Somehow along the way they lost contact with one another and Sol was given a mission to find the long lost friend. We walked into a local Police Station and asked for their assistance. All they could tell us was that the person we were seeking out was actually still living in Amsterdam. They were not able to elaborate for privacy reasons but their answer confirmed she was still local. It did not take too much digging to find her and the look on her face when she opened the door to be handed a letter from her old girlfriend in Melbourne was priceless. Mission accomplished.

Amsterdam was actually a diversion. The original ride plan did not include the Netherlands. The intention was to ride France, head directly through the top of Italy, Slovenia, Hungary, Slovakia and into Poland from the south. Why the diversion? Well, Sol had his older daughter living there and he wanted to prove to her that if he made a promise he would keep it. He promised he would visit her and spend a few days with her in Amsterdam on our way to our real destination...Poland. I didn't have to agree, after all it was my trip and not his. The problem is there is such a thing as doing the right thing in life. The right thing was to assist my friend in re-establishing a relationship with his daughter. She quite frankly didn't believe he would ever make it and continued to view him as someone who talked the talk but did not always walk the walk. Now my friend Sol is often guilty of talking much but doing little. Well my friend it was time finally to walk the walk and I was never going to be the reason he did not complete his required mission. In the same way, I did not begin this journey to not complete it to its final conclusion, with all goals achieved no matter how difficult this became. This was a one time deal and failure was not an option. In the same way, Sol became a part of this mission so his sub goals became my responsibility as well as his. This is how this had to be viewed. Frankly, I was not interested in imposing on Sol's daughter and her boyfriend. That's not my style. Sol had spoken to the young couple while we were in France and then again when we were in Belgium. I think at that point the young lady realised her old man may actually make it to visit but did not hold her breath. I told Sol I would stay in one of the many Hotels nearby where the youngsters lived and he could just stay with them and spend quality time with them. They were renting a small house with barely enough room for them let alone another two adults. We arrived into Amsterdam probably a day earlier than expected. The traffic and weather were both pretty nasty as we left Belgium. On the final 40-50kms into the center of Amsterdam the traffic was like negotiating the New Jersey Turnpike entering Manhattan via the Holland Tunnel...bumper to bumper. The good thing of course was that European drivers are very accommodating towards motorcycle riders and we actually were lane filtering for the final 30kms into the city without anyone running us over thankfully. We made very good time in the heavy rush hour traffic approaching the more peaceful inner city. We eventually found a hotel close to the young ones and settled into our home for this first night. Before the dark of the evening we actually took a walk and found the kids address but did not attempt to bother them. As usual, we were totally worn out and hoped we could spend a few restful days here before the nightmare crossing of Germany into Poland. This was the next leg of the journey but we were firmly focused on the job at hand in Amsterdam.

We were leaving Brugge after lunch time. It was a relatively long ride out of Belgium and into the Netherlands. We headed east out of Brugge and then due north towards Breda in Holland. An easterly kink and then north again had us bypass Rotterdam and then directly towards Amsterdam. Total trip time was about 290kms but we had a much smaller time window this day in which to make it happen. We had mixed fortunes with the weather but by and large we got wet cold and strongly wind swept. We were hoping to meet up with Sol's eldest daughter In Amsterdam. She was living and working there with her boyfriend from Australia. Sol and daughter had been estranged and he told her from back in Australia that he was coming to visit her while on this ride. She really did not believe him but humored him anyway.

Time to leave...but first a short stop at the chocolate shop.

Bikes are finally packed. Maxwell Smart gets on his bike and we ride about 400 meters to the Brugge Town Square to leave from that point. We will however make a quick stop at the Belgian Chocolate store on the way out to buy some goodies for the road and a few gifts.

The video is self explanatory but a few additional things if I may. The hotel owner with the big mouth and snide comments to Sol was not going to escape my wrath. I had not been out of the room since the previous night and had not seen the "boss" at the service desk yet. After preparing our gear we began carrying everything downstairs. After uncovering the bikes from their very wet rain covers, unchaining them from the pole and one another, we positioned them on the cobblestone pathway to enable an easy and direct escape path into the Brugge Square where we would be departing from. I loaded my bike before Sol had completed his loading. I ran back upstairs to confirm I had all my gear. Came back downstairs, approached the front desk and asked for the boss. "yes I am the owner" he replied. "how was the room?" he asked. I told him it was excellent and that the young man last night had been wonderful in assisting us to settle in quickly. I said to him..."what is your surname?" He looked at me with some apprehension when I asked him that question. I said to him... "you commented to my friend about my surname so I want to know yours". All of a sudden he was lost for words and the arrogant smirk was gone from his face. I then finally asked him..."do we owe you any other money?" he quietly replied..."no sir, thank you". I walked out and told Sol to go up and check the room in case he had left anything behind. It was time to leave.

A short walk from our hotel and the town square was upon us. A beautiful scene actually although the weather dampened our enthusiasm for sightseeing there. We looked for a suitable place to eat dinner but connoisseur Sol was having nothing of these decadent expensive fooderies. As we explored the smaller alleyways the darkness set in and we came across a small but very cozy looking Turkish Restaurant. We went in, had a delicious soup and salad dinner in warm surroundings prepared by the owners of the family run establishment. Sol's instincts were correct. A short walk home, shower and bed as the rain began falling all night.

After fleeing the traffic and then getting lost in the side streets of suburban Brugge, we finally made our way to the old city of Brugge on the right side of the river canal. Unfortunately there were no hotels. We rode around and around, saw no signage at all on the old buildings all along the canal roads. In frustration I stopped along the road when I saw a man and woman exiting one of the buildings which simply appeared to be personal homes. Then a third person wheeled several suitcases out as a car arrived to pick them up. We looked at the young man handling the suitcases and he looked over at us. We turned the bikes off and heard him say..."are you looking for a place to stay". I screamed out to him immediately..."yes, please". He told us to unload and come into the office as soon as we were ready. There was absolutely NO way anyone would have known this was a hotel. We were just guided here by our guardian angels and the day was saved. We unloaded our usual 65kgs of baggage each. Pulled our bikes up to a sign post, one bike in each direction so we could effectively chain the bikes together around the pole. Sol was so tired he couldn't be bothered wearing his helmet as he rode up to the pole. I watched intently as he did so with the Ducati's dry clutch plates rattling away. People came out of their houses and were staring at us disturbing their peace and tranquility. Some looked at us with disdain and anger. We didn't give two hoots. The young man looked after us very well. I pre-payed for the room and we shlepped our bags upstairs to the 2nd floor apartment with its window facing the canal from where we could see the bikes while in the room. After settling in we asked directions and walked to the famous Brugge old city center to find some dinner and just take a look around.

After paying our respects at the Poziers War Memorial in northern France the trip continued. We were headed basically north into Belgium with our stop for the night expected to be the old city of Brugge. The ride distance was a relatively short 180kms but the traffic was heavy and the weather attacked us on several occasions during the day. As had been our normal operating procedure since the very outset from England we did not make bookings with hotels along the way. The simple reason was that we were not always certain of our next stopping point. We had no real idea at this stage of the trip to what degree the roads, the traffic and the weather would affect our progress and hence the exact location of overnight stops. The one thing for certain was the fact that weather conditions till now had played a huge role in our physical condition and hence our ability to forge ahead. On our arrival on the outskirts of Brugge I had plugged into the Garmin Zumo GPS to find "lodgings". The Novatel came up and I instructed the Garmin to "take us there". Little did we know the city had been significantly closed down to traffic by a huge fun run and bicycling event. The cops were out in force diverting traffic away from our Novatel destination so we ended up "homeless in Brugge" unless we were able to find alternate lodgings. As usual, we were cold, wet and hungry so the search for a place to rest had to begin just before nightfall.

After taking evasive action forced on us by the Belgian cops we attempted to cross the rive to get us closer to the old city center. We assumed lodgings would be available there. To add insult to injury the weekend pleasure boat fraternity were returning after having a great day out while anyone like us trying to move around the city were forced to wait for the lift up roads to allow the little pleasure craft to tootle their way along the canals. We stood at this location for over 30 minutes watching the toffs pass on their pretty little pleasure boats. The traffic was already several kilometers long patiently waiting for these fools to piss off. We were at the head of the cue and just had not choice but to wait.

The small rural town of Poziers in the Somme region of northern France was the scene of brutal World War I trench warfare at its worst. The level of casualties, Australian, British, French and German was staggering. As each side attempted to wrest control of the situation and create a death blow to the other to hopefully succeed in ending the war. This unfortunately was not to be here at the Somme. The stalemate continued as a brief success turned into a loss as the other side counter attacked and won back the day. In the meanwhile the sons of each country involved paid the price without achieving a resounding victory. More Australian war dead are buried in Poziers than in any other single location anywhere in the world. After paying our respects and reflecting on our more fortunate life we were now done with our early mission in France and would proceed now towards Belgium.

A simple still photo view of the memorial sight area showing the surrounding fertile farmlands which once withstood the misery of brutal mechanised modern warfare. The beautiful serene view of today is a stark contrast to the death and destruction that took place here during World War I. One of the most widely forgotten human tenants is that "freedom is not free". However the real tragedy is that a few elites having a hizzy fit about almost nothing can lead us to wholesale destruction of the kind that took place on all the Great War battlegrounds. The other less obvious byproduct of such wars is the fact that the average people ultimately pay the price for the spats of the elites who personally lose nothing and indeed often benefit from wars financially.

Our dusk visit to the cemetery was in windy blustery conditions but it was dry and a little sunny. The battles in this town were crucial to the eventual allied victory over the Germans. The Australian infantry played a key roll in the taking of the town a second time. Once the Australians were completely under the leadership of their own Australian officers rather than led by the British, their unique tactics of flanking the enemy paid huge dividends. Australian Supreme Commander Sir John Monash pioneered these brilliant new tactics which saved many lives by avoiding the head on over the top charges which were so common throughout the four years of the Western front battles. In fact it's ironic that Irwin Rommel one, of Hitlers best Generals of World War II had carefully studied Monash's tactics and in fact used them against the British and Americans in the second World War on many occasions. Ironic because it was a Nazi General who copied the Jewish Sir John Monash's tactics some 20 years after WWI.

Several more hours elapsed and the evening was fast approaching. Alas, the sun even came out but the relentless winds continued unabated. I put the bike camera onto Sol's bike for a different viewpoint. At about 2/3's through the video you will see some of the open sandy fields on the left. This denotes the sight of a memorial or war cemetery dating back to World War I. The lush fertile farming fields of these areas in the Somme region were the scenes of some of the most violet mechanised murder regions of the "Great War". I decided to bypass Amiens and head directly to the Villers Bretonneux British War Cemetery and memorial. Since we still had some daylight we would stop there and pay our respects before going bak to Amiens for the night. All lodgings in the small town of Villers Bretonneux were simply closed so staying there the night was not going to happen.

Our rain gear stayed on to help with the 100kph freezing cold winds. The good thing was we were moving away from the heavy dark rain clouds as we proceeded north east towards Amiens and the Somme Region of France. As we approached the large span bridges over the Seine river if you look carefully at Sol on his bike in front of me you will clearly see the wind gusts moving the bike like it was a toy, and the angle his bike reached while the winds were stable and continuous. Of course those bloody toll booths continued to drive us crazy. At this one I had an attendant who refused to allow me to pay for both bikes which we did every other time. She relented after some heated objections and we moved forward. It was like pulling teeth with some of these obstacles.

After finally getting out onto highway from the small farm areas surrounding Omaha Beach, the rain was simply tropical. The problem of course was the winds and temperatures were absolutely freezing. We arrived on the edge of Caen and rode into a fuel stop attached to a large shopping centre. That itself wasted more than 40 minutes as we were forced to ride all around the perimeter of the shopping center to reach the petrol station. We filled up and then had to get in line to pay at a singly manned payment booth while the rain continued to belt us. I was in front of Sol so I paid and then ran back to the booth to pay for him so he could stay on his bike and keep all his clothing on. I got ready and soon followed him out of this ridiculous situation. If you wanted a petrol station off the highway as is common in many parts of the U.S or Australia you simply never saw them here in France. The further along we rode, the clouds began breaking up and small patches of sun tried to break through. The very first fuel stop we came across some 50 or so kms further along, we stopped at. This video shows that fuel stop and the frustration we felt. I was speaking Yiddish to Sol which was our parents primary language in Poland amongst Jews there. A very expressive language which I tend to use often, particularly to express feelings simply not as well expressed in English. Sol told me he was going to the toilet to do a pee and I told him while you are at it do a number 2 as well. Just sounds much better in Yiddish.

We have a series of still photos here which help show our arrival at the D-Day (June 6th 1944) beaches where the U.S armies landed on what was named Omaha Beach. As you approach the beaches the remnants of the hedgerows leading to the beach front areas remind us of the horrendous killing fields these hedgerows became for the U.S, British and Canadian troops moving forward from the beaches once they had established a beachhead. The close battles in these hedgerows are synonymous of the close hand to hand combat that occurred there. The famous story of the Band Of Brothers series was heavily focused in some of their earlier episodes on these hedgerow battles. When you actually reach the beaches, they are so clean, well maintained and orderly that only the numerous memorials scattered over all the beaches including Utah beach, the 2nd U.S army landing beach. Sword and Juno beaches where the British and Canadian troops landed were further north. Unfortunately, for the Americans Omaha Beach was the most defended and the most difficult geographically to move forward against. We were very fortunate to stumble across the small hotel when we did. It was one of the best lodgings we had the whole trip. I walked into reception and asked the young lady for a room for the night for the two of us and she refused to give us a room till we had inspected the room and approved it. When I walked into the spacious room I couldn't believe my eyes. It was gorgeous, spotlessly clean and fully modernised. I always thought it was actually TOO good for a couple of bikers like us. We had a home cooked dinner in their office, bar and grill rooms. Dinner was prepared by the young lady's father and was delicious. I think we realised that we would be unlikely to have service and lodgings like this very often on the rest of our trip. In the morning the rain was falling, the weather had turned and the winds were freezing cold. Off we rode the 500 meters to the U.S Military Cemetery sitting above Omaha Beach. This was in fact exactly where the German fortifications were situated reigning terror down on the landing troops. A very emotional 24 hours. As we rode off in the pouring rain and became quickly disoriented in the small rural side roads covered with mud and water. I felt even more emotional. It was no time for that now and eventually Sol found the way out of the maze of roads and tracks to get us onto the main highway to head north east towards Caen.

Trying to avoid the toll booths became counterproductive. The extra mileage and ride time simply proved the exercise to be pointless.

A well deserved food stop and rest at about the half way point. The total ride to Omaha beach was approximately 400kms.

A little rain but the real drama was the freezing cold temperatures and 100kph winds blowing strongly from the south west right off the Atlantic ocean. The bikes constantly ran on choke mode so the fuel consumption was astronomical. Worse still was the lack of fuel stops along this main highway to the south west. At one point we were nearly running on empty as the reserve lights would soon come on.. We had no idea where the next petrol station was located. The Garmin Zumo 550 GPS was asked to find a petrol station so with our luck it took us to one off the main highway some 20kms west of the road. The petrol station of course was abandoned and had been decommissioned. A slow limp back to the highway where every 20kms or so we continued to encounter those ridiculous toll booths. At the last point in our desperation we were travelling at 60kph while all the traffic went around us and regularly sounded their horns basically telling us to speed up or get off the road. All of a sudden the sun came out, we negotiated a broad sweeping bend and there it was...a petrol station. To say we were thankful was a gross understatement.

Some still photos with commentary regarding our start from Felixtowe and arrival at Dover for the ferry trip across to Calais France. The people you meet makes the trip what it is. The pattern that developed for us was one of being told the right things at the right time. There are no coincidences regardless of that word being bandied around when an explanation is not obvious or readily available.

Our video blog says it all but some elaboration on the Australian lady we discovered waiting to board the ferry in Dover. It's important to realise that had we not had their guidance to follow their car off the ferry and down the disembarkment ramp we would have certainly been in trouble. The hordes of African refugees camped only a meter from the ramp created great opportunities for those people to assault, rob or otherwise attack vehicles and people coming off the ferry. This is the reason our Aussie lady had guided us to follow their vehicle closely down the ramp. They came down at a relatively quick pace in order to avoid providing the refugees easy opportunities to grab us or the bikes as we came down. She knew we would be totally in awe of the scene and would not realise some of these people were very violent to people and vehicles alighting from the ferry. When safe and well away from the ramp area and the entry/exit gates to the refugee compound she explained why she wanted us to follow her in the manner that we did. She had not warned us why and we were glad she hadn't. We said our goodbye's and promised to contact her family back home. Riding around for a short time we came upon a motel and hunkered down for the night after the receptionist warned us we could not leave the security gated compound if we could not return well before 7.30pm A shower and a relax and we hoped for an easier day of riding the next day.

Our fortunes did not quite go as planned. The rain intensity increased the further south we headed. The towns of Colchester and Dartford were on our south westerly route towards London. After crossing the river Thames and into Dartford we stopped for fuel and food with the knowledge that there was still 120kms to travel to Dover in what had become colder winds and much heavier rain. From Dartford we swung away from the westward M2 highway to London to travel due east and then south east on the M2 into Dover to the ferry terminal where we would board the Dover to Calais ferry to take us across into France.