Meandering on the Mosel - Part 1

This year I couldn't take part in the full European road trip that Martin and Alan had planned. Due to other commitments I was unavailable for the first few days of their trip. So instead opted to meet them on the road and join them for their final few days. This presented me with an excellent opportunity. I would take my first unaccompanied trip across the channel; ride solo through several countries; stay a night in an unplanned location; meet up with people at an as yet unknown location and then ride back. All from a Friday to the Sunday.

The reason the location point was as yet unknown was simply because Martin, Alan and Mark - who I would be meeting - didn't know where they were going to be by the final Saturday of their trip. They were riding as far east as Hungary, Slovakia and Poland before returning through Germany. Their plans allowed for them to be anywhere between Frankfurt and Warsaw on Saturday when I was scheduled to meet up with them. Planning therefore had to be delayed until the Friday night or the Saturday morning.

I couldn't go with them for the entire trip because just before they were set to depart I took part in a 100k charity walk. Not wanting to risk injury from the walk affecting my enjoyment of the trip I settled to meet with them later. Luckily so as well, as during the 100k my hip-flexors took a beating and I was left at the finish line unable to walk any further. Two days of not being able to move was followed by a persisting pain in my hips. It was a lucky thing that I hadn't decided to go on the entire trip after all.

On the Wednesday prior to my departure I received a text message from Martin asking to confirm whether or not I would be joining them. I had been recovering from the hip injury and was also getting over a flu-like virus that had made the rounds. The worst thing though was looking at the weather. Tropical storm Lorenzo was about to bear down on Europe with strong gales and heavy rainfall. Hardly the most ideal riding conditions. Yet, knowing all this on Thursday night I pulled my Africa Twin out of the garage to scrub the new tyres in. This gave me opportunity to review my hip's progress. I found out at my first junction that I could put my left foot on the floor to hold myself, but getting it back on the bike was more painful. I reasoned that in Europe the camber is opposite so having to use my right foot at to keep myself upright shouldn't be an issue. Stopping off to grab some Euros on my return journey it was decided. I was going to Germany.

The boat ride across was a breeze, there's a lot to be said for Dover port. The staff are friendly and helpful, the facilities are ample and clean and the loading is efficient and timely. My plan was to get to Calais early, take the E40 north past Dunkirk, Ghent, around Brussels and on to Liège. Here I would leave the motorway and take smaller roads south-easterly through Luxembourg and out into Germany stopping for my first night in Wallendorf.

It amazes me how different countries can be, even over a land border. In France the motorways lined with trees prevented views of the surrounding scenery, but in Belgium there were no barriers between you and the view. In Luxembourg the crops changed and the road swept more in long arcs across the tops of plains. Crossing into Germany you instantly fall into coniferous forest, riverside drives and high peaked castles. I passed through several towns on my way to Wallendorf which looked as though they belonged in a fairytale. The smell of sweet bread from bakeries and the wide open roads with guest houses providing sheltered parking were plentiful. I had however decided upon Wallendorf, so on I rode.

When I arrived in Wallendorf, not to disparage the town any, but it was smaller and less well maintained that I expected. I pulled up outside the hotel I'd researched, they weren't open. Damn. I recalled a nice looking town that I'd passed through on the way which had a good looking guest house with parking outside. Turning the bike around I headed back down the road as the first drops of rain appeared across my visor. Pulling into the carpark for the guest house I realised the folly in my translation. No beds were to be found here. A sign pointing down the road signalled a hotel not too far away. Standing at the front door a passer-by informed me that the hotel was closed. "Closed closed". My last resort was a smaller bar-restaurant-hotel I'd passed on the way in.

Stepping through the front door the thick smell of smoke invaded my senses. I walked to the bar and asked in my finest German if they had any rooms available. Thankfully they did. I asked to see the room before agreeing and the landlord beckoned me upstairs. Turning the corner of the ladies toilets he unlocked a door and gestured me in to a single room. The air now stale, the bed was laid with a duvet set of scantilly clad women and a pillow case of a naked man. The man I was currently talking to...

What had I got myself into?

Continue reading part two of my Mosel trip to find out!