Meandering on the Mosel - Part 2

This is part two of my Mosel trip. If you haven't already you should check out part one.

I woke up in the morning following a rough night’s sleep. Not to be vulgar, but a big learning from this trip was

“If the room is next to the toilets, walk away.”

Today was the day to meet up with Martin, Alan and Mark heading back from Eastern Europe. The phone signal in the hotel was terrible, I’d not been able to get in contact with them the night before to let them know where I was and I had no clue where between here and Austria they’d ended up. They could be further north or south, but either way they were east. I wasn’t quite prepared for how far east.

A little back story now for context. Prior to our trip to Europe, Martin and I had been on a ride out. On our way back from Somerset we were riding easy with the Sun setting in our mirrors. Turning a corner we were met with a large white van. The evening Sun shining on it made judging if it was moving, slowing or stopped difficult. It turned out it was stopped. Martin, realising too late, attempted a manoeuvre to the right. Unfortunately his shoulder caught the rear right of the van, smashing the light column and sending Martin up the curb and into the ditch. There was an “oof” over the comms of the air leaving Martin and then silence.

I pulled my bike over and ran to Martin’s aid as quick as I could. A crowd had gathered rather suddenly around him. Over our comms system I could hear Martin beginning to move. Thank God he was still breathing. As I approached Martin a pained voice came over my headset,

“Can you get the bike off of me please?”

We dragged Martin and his bike out of the hedge. A minor fracture to the hand, a bruised knee and a sore shoulder was all the damage he incurred. His Honda Fireblade was not so lucky. The damage wasn’t catastrophic, the bike was still rideable, but the insurers declared it a write-off. Two weeks before he was due to set off for Austria and Martin had no motorcycle.

There were options, expensive ones/borrowed ones but the simplest and most apparent was Martin’s second bike. His forty year old 850cc Suzuki. The team at the workshop declared rather emphatically that this bike would not make the journey. It had solid brakes from a Mini which didn’t work in the wet; it had weeping fork seals and a leaky head gasket; it had suspension which bounced you around corners and the electrics wouldn’t support any of Martin’s tech gadgetry. But when you’re faced with taking a bike on an adventure or not going on the adventure, we go for the adventure!

Anyway, the reason I’m throwing this context in is because this meant that Martin, riding an older and less capable bike with questionable handling in the dry, let alone the rain, couldn’t make the progress he usually does. They were therefore much farther east than I would have preferred.

This aside we formulated a plan. I would ride the Mosel, my aim for the trip, and they would ride westward towards me, taking nicer routes where possible, but generally aiming to make distance.

Overnight the rain had started. It wasn’t too bad where I was and the forecast said it should clear, but I followed my rule,

“If you think it’s going to rain, put your waterproofs on.”

Pulling out of the car park I waved the disturbing bedding of the previous night goodbye. Just down the road I came to Ballendorf. I wish I’d ridden on the night before. Ballendorf was a lovely looking little town with accommodation, a view of the river down the Germany/Luxembourg border and, most importantly right now, a petrol station. I pulled in, filled up, and headed out to see just where in Germany I would get to today.

There are some things Germany does well. Weissbier is one of them and so are their riverside cruises. The Mosel has a road which rides from Trier to Koblenz. Smooth asphalt through a vine lined valley crossing bridges and passing through picturesque towns. Castles nestled in the hills give you a sense of wonderment and the river to your side a feeling of calm followed by the excitement as you trace it’s meandering path.

The road to ride is the 53. Starting out from Trier you’ll ride through small towns and have the river hidden from you until the road opens up and the Mosel is yours for the taking. The further north you get the more tourist filled the way becomes. I was riding out of season, but the campsites were still full of caravans. Riding through the small towns following a campervan isn’t the way to spend a weekend, but luckily between each town the road was wide and visibility was clear so making progress was easy enough. There’s nothing too taxing about riding here, it’s about slowing down, taking your time and enjoying the scenery of the valley. With the Sun now out and in the shelter by the river this is exactly what I did. The people working in the vineyards really stood out to me. Passing them on my motorbike I’d see them look up from their labour, a few throwing a welcoming wave. I was particularly fond of the small trains that some of the vineyards had which weaved up and down the valley side to make collecting the fruits easier.

There are plenty of places to stop for photos and plenty of restaurants and accommodation along the way should you wish to extend your visit over a few days. There are hundreds of walkers and cyclists and the route is perfectly flat so there are plenty of opportunities to pursue other activities than motorcycling should you wish.

Cochem, maybe two thirds along, is a major tourist trap. Luckily the road rides straight through. If you do choose to stop there’s an excellent shared space for pedestrians and vehicles for you to park your bike on a stable flat surface just off the main road. You can’t miss it. The restaurants along the front are very tourist-aimed. There’s a hint of the Spanish seaside about the place. Leave your bike in the parking area and take a walk into the town, away from the river and up the valley side and you’ll find somewhere quieter and more locally focussed.

If you enjoy vineyard valleys, fairytale castles and waterside long sweeping curves then the 53 along the Mosel is the road for you.

Reaching the end of the Mosel I pulled over to call Martin, Alan and Mark. They had decided upon a motorway heading south to take them to a picturesque road which would bring the westwards towards me. Unfortunately the weather hadn’t been as kind to them as it was to me. Where I had ridden in the sun, they had nothing but heavy rain. Consequently they hadn’t made the distance they expected. If I was to meet them I would have to ride further east, but that would put more distance between me and the ferry the following day to get home and tropical storm Lorenzo was on its way...