From: noemi@maui.cs.ucla.edu (Noemi Berry)
Subject: The European Adventure, Day 8
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 92 19:37:38 GMT

This is the next installment in the tale of my 9-day
motorcycle adventure in Europe during the summer of '92.
I apologize for its length and hope that your news/mail
software will allow you to skip over it easily if it is
of no interest to you.

noemi
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10/21/92
The European Adventure
Day 8: The Day of the Mountain

  His people were commanded to ascend the highest mountain in the land.  
  They obeyed, but the cost was high.  The task left Adnoh parched and 
  wailing with an undying thirst.  Soon his people would be forced to 
  endure their greatest challenge. 
                                   -Daemonthenese 

Thursday, September 3, 1992
Assling, Austria

It was warmer this morning, and cloudier.  I woke up weary, but showered
and packed up in time for the 8:00 breakfast.  After paying a very
reasonable 180 oS (about $18), I headed toward Lienz, Austria.

Lienz would have been a great place to spend a day or two shopping
and absorbing the culture, but I didn't have even half a day.  Still,
I lingered around a little after exchanging money, and enjoyed half
an hour of human contact.  But overall I knew I was much happier in
the mountains, away from the cities, and half an hour of civilization
was plenty.

Lienz is at the bottom of a mountain that leads up to the spectacular
and famous GrossglocknerStrasse, a road that winds by the highest peak
in Austria (3728 meters).  Going up was steep, but the road was wide
(meaning: plenty of the dreaded tour buses) and it was easy to pass
the cars, which were just numerous enough to interrupt a good riding
rhythm.  It got pretty very quickly with every meter climbed.

The road is a privately owned road, actually, and so the owners charge
a staggering 380 oS ($38) toll for car passage.  For motorcycles it was
200 oS ($20), a nice break but still very steep.  Right before the toll
booth, a jet helicopter had attracted the attention of most of the
passersby.  The helicopter was picking up large building items,
apparently without the help of someone on the ground.  The road itself
is a real engineering feat, with covered parts, dams and large buildings
at the top of a truly formidable mountain.  Much of that must have
been done by helicopter.

Grossglockner is the biggest tourist trap I had been to, as attested
to by the huge parking lots full of tour buses.  The cars parked in
a multi-level parking structure with a corkscrew ramp (the ultimate
twisty!), but me and the FT were shooed down to a small parking area
outside a concession stand.

One could take a funicular down to a glacier at the bottom of the valley,
or for the truly survival-impaired, there was a trail to walk down.  The
peak itself named Grossglockner was glorious, with clouds hovering at
the tip in such as way to look like a smokestack.  The area was very
crowded, and a trip into the souvenir store for the requisite postcards
had me wanting to go back to peaceful St. Martin.

Now I had a new concern: my chain was adjusted OK, but hadn't been lubed
in a LONG time.  The only rider I was able to ask happened to be riding a
shaft-drive Suzuki Intruder, so I sheepishly rode away from the tourist
trap with a dry chain.

Leaving Grossglockner actually means you still climb up toward a mountain
pass, since the road to see the Grossglockner is a side trip.  This ride
was beautiful, climbing high and well above the snow line.  It was cold,
but there were lots of shirtless bicyclists trudging their way up the
steep incline.  At the top, one is rewarded with truly remarkable views,
seeing farther than you ever imagined you could see in one direction. 
My eyes had never been stretched like this before!  The mountains almost
looked painted in in the background.

The way down had more hairpins paved with cobblestones, and lots of water
in them from melting snow, so when I made it down below the snowline
toward the warm, sunny valley, I let my FT loose and did the
car-blasting again.  Man, that's fun!

This road (#107) ended in Bruck, where I turned west on #168 to
Mittersill.  This stretch was fast (yay Austria!), and in Mittersill
I did a quick money change.  Outside of Mittersill, I stopped for
gas and found a car garage, hoping to find some sort of lubricant
for my long-neglected chain.  My pitiful German made it very
difficult to convey that I just wanted one gratuitous dose of lube,
in the spirit of happy chains everywhere, rather than purchasing
a whole [no doubt expensive] can.  Once we established that "spray"
is how you say chain lube, my phrase book had a rare moment of
usefulness and provided me with the key word "buy".  "Fausen -- NOT!"
I said, and they caught on.  Imagine, German Valleyspeak!  A mechanic
gave my FT a generous helping of chain lube, and I lamely thanked him
by pointing to the motorbike and making a smiley face, as if to say
it was happy.

From Mittersill, I took #165 west, with the intention of joining
Autobahn E60/A12 to head toward Rosenheim, Germany.  By now it was
about 1pm, it was warm and sunny and perfect riding weather.  At first,
165 was so narrow that only one small car could fit -- no room for
passing at *all*.  Runoff room was nil with a rock wall on one side of
the road and a steep cliff on the other.  Not the time to ask myself
if I'm acrophobic.  We're having fun now.

As the road climbed, it had some seriously blind corners with mirrors
mounted where the two walls joined to form a corner.  At one of these
corners, I saw a motorcycle in the mirror, and vainly watched myself
in it -- until I realized that it was another motorcycle coming around
the corner!  Duh.

The road widened later as it ascended into more remote areas, and peaked
at GerlosPass.  There I was treated to the prettiest scene I had yet
encountered: a valley with a lake at the bottom, and tree-covered,
snowpeaked mountains in the background.  This was heaven on earth!

The road down was sweeper paradise, a nice change, and I took full
advantage of the FT, stretching my limits.  Wheee!  Later it turned
wooded and ran alongside a river, which I had long since decided makes
for the prettiest sorts of roads.  The sun coming through the trees
reminded me or Oregon, and made me homesick.  The road somehow ran
alongside a valley, rather than *in* it, lending gorgeous sunny views
of the valley on one side, and a steep incline on the other.  There
were a few fun hairpins into Zell, then the road met up with #169 north
toward the Autobahn.

When I saw the sign for A12 toward Munchen, I was filled with regret.
Choked up, I knew my adventure was over.  The rest of my riding now
would be to get from one place to another.

Right now I had to get to a tiny town outside of Rosenheim, Germany,
where my friend Chris lived with his girlfriend.  Since I was ahead
of schedule for once, I decided to ride all the way into Munich and
try to catch the Hein Gericke store before it closed at 6pm.  This
meant a lot of top-speed cranking in heavy wind and foreboding clouds,
and for the first time I wondered what it's like to ride a motorcycle
with enough power, or even, too much.  At a gas stop along the way, two
riders came to talk to me, curious why a woman was travelling alone. 
Again I was frustrated by the lack of language, but we could communicate
a few things: "holiday", "how many days," "where from," that sort of
thing.  I was pleased that they tried, anyway.

I made it to Hein Gericke in time to find that they were fresh out of
my size in the boots I wanted.  After rapping for a while with a German
Harleyhead (Panhead T-shirt, tattoos, ape-hangers and all) and headed
south toward Rosenheim.  Chris' directions took me right to the doorstep
of his luxurious farmhouse in a rural area, and I spent an enjoyable
evening catching up with an old friend and slowly becoming human again.
I'd had no rest stops today; just gas stops, hassle stops and picture stops.
Somehow I didn't feel it until I got to Munich.

Today had been a relatively easy day; lots of gorgeous scenes and fun
riding, with really no problems at all.  I had great pangs of sadness
when I remembered that tomorrow I had to crank back to Frankfurt
and give my beloved motorcycle back to its owners. I had just gotten
into the swing of travelling by motorcycle: I had a good feel for how
long it takes to get from one place to another, how to choose roads on
the map, how to communicate (sort of), how to manage stress to optimize
rider attitude (do NOT underestimate this, especially when travelling
alone!)....but that knowledge would not turn into another glorious day
tomorrow.  Now it was time to head home.

Little did I know my worst day had yet to come.

End of Day 8.

noemi
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noemi@cs.ucla.edu (for now)     				KotSBL
DoD #443  						'82 KZ 305 CSR
							(R.I.P)
	Next Motorcycle (NM) countdown: one R65LS to go!
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