Stuart’s GoldWing Blog

Nice scenery, wonderful motorcycling

Three of us who live in the Preston Area met at my home to make the 130 miles afternoon journey to our Ferryport at Hull.  Since we were all fairly experienced riders, we simply rode as mates for the first half hour, making progress through the relatively slow-moving Saturday traffic on the A59 without difficulty – although Bill, who was bringing up the rear, did complain afterwards that he was having to leg it somewhat to keep up.

Up front I was sticking to the speed limit apart from brief spurts to complete an overtake with dispatch, so I didn’t think I would be hurrying him and there were no complaints from Maureen, riding pillion to John on the second bike, so we can’t have been going it too enthusiastically.  But it’s amazing how much of a flying start the lead bike of a group gets because he has first go at all the overtakes and of course the following bikes will often get held up until a safe overtaking opportunity arises.  There are a lot of double white line sections along the A59, so these effectively prevent overtaking at all for a while.

And of course Bill’s  wife had packed him four pairs of trousers and nine shirts amongst other things, while I was carrying quite a few less.  Lacking a trunk rack and also Bill’s snappy dress sense, I had settled for one pairs of trousers and one pair of shorts combined with just enough pairs of underpants for there to be any serious risk of having to use the Travel Wash stuff my wife had put out for me.

Squires Cafe in the sunshine

At Skipton we met up with Steve and Rose on their immaculate 2000 GL1500 EML trike; a magnificent machine to which Steve had recently added a pair of black leather Harley-style panniers, mounted on top of the mudguards, so with a trikes huge boot, the trunk and trunk rack bag and these two great big leather containers, they had room for almost as much stuff as Bill was taking.  Sitting between these two extra bags, Rose looked like she was enthroned.   Steve announced himself as a novice GoldWing rider so we rode to Squires Cafe at a measured pace and, thankfully,  in lovely sunshine.  It was a scenic and extremely pleasant way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

En route to Squires Cafe, as I was listening to Bill on the CB someone else suddenly joined in.  Since John on the other bike doesn’t have a CB and Bill was riding solo, it took me a while to work out what was going on.  I had recently upgraded my satnav to a Garmin 2820 which features a Bluetooth link to my mobile phone.  The mystery voice turned out to be Nigel Mackintosh ringing up to tell me that they had arrived at Squires.

The reception was extremely good and it was just like talking to Nigel over the intercom.  Bill didn’t know what was happening of course so he carried on talking on the CB and then my Talex Speed Camera device chipped in with a warning,  so it only needed my own satnav to chirp up and I would have had the lot.

So while I can report that the combination of a Garmin 2820 and a Kennedy Technologies interface (courtesy of Ian Cardwell) works a treat with a mobile phone, whether it’s a good idea to be taking calls on a mobile phone while riding is of course a moot point and as a general rule I don’t plan to have my mobile phone switched on while riding.  But having the facility when you are leading a group ride on a foreign motorway does adds a useful safety feature; it means you can be contacted by your Sweeper while out of CB range, for example if he’s had to stop with a broken down bike on a motorway,  so I thought it was at least worth a try.  Nigel and I did eventually manage to hold a brief conversation in spite of my confusion over the combination of voices I was hearing, so this first-time test of the system proved that it works.

On Ilkley Moor (but not of course, ‘Ba T‘At) we therefore made steady progress towards Squires Cafe to join Nigel and Dave.  For those like me who’ve never been there before, Squires Cafe is a very popular biker’s meeting place North East of Leeds on the B122.  It has a large car park and a grassed area on which some bikers pitch their tents, so presumably they allow camping too.  I was told they get upwards of 3,000 bikes there on a busy Sunday, so the place is a virtual bikers city, with traders as well as catering on site. Fortunately it wasn’t that busy on the Saturday we rolled up and once I found the top car park there was no difficulty finding somewhere to park my Wing.

Nigel had told me on the phone that a contingent from Yorkshire Wings (whom he described as my Fan Club) were already there but although as I rode into the busy car park I did see a few GoldWings, I didn’t see anyone I recognised to wave to other than Nigel and Dave, who were waving to me, which of course made it easy to spot them.

I enjoyed  a very tasty Ice Cream and chatting to some Wingers I hadn’t met before, both of whom were looking forward to this year’s Blackpool Light Parade.  I was told Tony Walton was there but didn’t spot him,  so I hope I didn’t cause offence by failing to seek him out.  It was only a fairly quick rendezvous halt and we had a Ferry to catch, so we were soon on our way.

Bikes as far as the eye could see along the Car Deck

Now an expanded group of four bikes and two trikes, we set off again, still in sunshine, for Hull.  We arrived  to find the Check In booths already open and only a small queue – and a designated Check In just for bikes.  So I went virtually straight through and was then waived past the queuing cars and straight on board.

It then became apparent why P&O were making these special arrangements; it was end of the Isle of Man TT Week and the ship was heaving with bikes, far more than the ship usually carries.  They had therefore organised lots of extra parking space for bikes complete with deck cables to which the bikes could be secured, and my bike was nicely trussed up in no time.

Dave’s trike managed to block the Check In queue for a time while they sorted out some confusion over his booking, but this served to allow me time to get off my bike and be available to help the rest of the group park up.  One more bike had joined the group by getting on to the Ferry slightly ahead of the rest of us, so those of us who were using the Hull-Rotterdam Ferry had successfully got together in no time at all.

The system for securing bikes to the deck on board the Pride of Hull and Pride of Rotterdam, which are sister ships, is on the face of it a bit crude and insecure.  They stretch steel cables either fore and aft or athwartships (sideways) along the deck and provide in one case a single tie-down intended to go over the bike’s seat and in the other just short lengths of rope.  Bikers are expected to secure their bikes themselves.  Now I spent a few years in the Boy Scouts and then the Navy, so I reckon I can tie a knot or two when necessary, but even so it is difficult to get tension into these rope tie-downs without resorting to Trucker’s Hitches (a sort of pulley system using turns of rope) which unfortunately is one knot I’ve never quite mastered, and anyway you still have the problem of attaching the ropes to the steel deck cable at an angle, which is necessary to secure the bike when it is parked between a pair of lengthwise cables, as we were on the way out.  Ideally of course you need at least three pulls in opposing directions in order to prevent the bike from moving and it can be difficult to contrive this without relying on an angled attachment to the deck cables.

This bike didn't move during the voyage!

The P&O Deck Crew are all for cramming the bikes as closely together as possible, so this complicates.the process of getting a fair lead (as the Navy would term it) for the tie downs.  Had it not been for my previous experience of using these ships, and my confidence that even in a full gale they are so big and so well stabilised that the bikes are never going to move anyway, I might have been more concerned.  But I wasn’t, so I put the bike into reverse before switching off and dropped it on to its side stand, put three rope lashings on and left it at that.

Unfortunately the German rider next to me was not so laid back about tying his bike down, nor about my bigger and heavier bike being next to his without being tied down comprehensively, like Gulliver by the Liliputians.  He was all for tying my bike down with lots more ropes, so it couldn’t slide toward his even if the ship capsized.

As many of us will know from experiences with towels on sunbeds around hotel swimming pools, an assertive German can be a force to be reckoned with but fortunately he was reasonably tactful in his pushiness and he did seem to settle for going with the flow eventually.  What he didn’t know and I didn’t tell him, was that I had a Cunning Plan and a Secret Weapon, in the form of a clever knot called a Rolling Hitch, which is capable, when correctly tied against the lay of the ropes, of holding an angled pull on to a steel wire rope such as P&O were using for their deck cables.  My literary skills don’t extend to describing how to tie a Rolling Hitch but it is a very useful knot to have up your sleeve.  All you need to do is collar a Boy Scout, preferably a Sea Scout, buy him an Ice Cream and get him to show you.  Being a middle aged man in modern Britain, it would of course be sensible to ensure you have a companion with you, so your motives for buying Ice Cream for a Boy Scout while carrying a piece of rope in your hand cannot be misinterpreted. Alternatively follow this link for an animated demonstration. Once the knot is tied, the red rope in the illustration will not slip along the green one; it’s very effective.

So there we were in no time, gathered in the Bar for a drink, then a splendid Dinner and finally an after-dinner stroll on the upper deck in warm air to wave goodbye to the receding British coastline and the setting sun.  It was a very enjoyable way to start a holiday.  P&O had even arranged to dock the ship in Rotterdam at 9 am rather than 8 o’clock as I was expecting, which pleased Maureen no end.

Maureen, John’s partner and on her first ever biking trip,  had shown her hand as having the Tour Group’s most pressing need for coffee stop by expecting to stop for coffee 30 minutes after we left home, to which she now, in that winning way which Ladies seem to be able to deploy as necessary, added a clear signal that early or timely getaways were not her preferred style.  I don’t think she believed me when I told her the P&O would wake her up at 6am anyway, even if the Ferry wasn’t going to dock until three hours later, but of course they did. One thing you definitely don’t need on a P&O Ferry is an alarm clock; there is no danger of over-sleeping.

A civilised way to cross the Channel

Come 9 o’clock the following morning we were all breakfasted, packed, dressed and ready as they opened the Car Deck doors to let us get to our bikes.  Those who hadn’t made too much of a meal of tying their bike down were ready to go in no time and P&O kindly let bikes get off the ship before all except the necessary few cars which were blocking the way.  Quite right and proper too.

Unfortunately it was raining steadily, as we could see clearly through the ship’s windows as we approached the jetty, which I suppose did have the benefit of forcing all of us to don our wet weather gear from the outset.  There is a handy area just past Dutch Passport Control to pull in and gather the group, as I had briefed everyone to do, so in no time we were all buttoned up in waterproofs and rolling.

As we headed for the motorway there were bikers parked under every bridge stopping to put on their wet gear and quite why they had set off not wearing it was difficult to imagine.  From the forecast I was expecting to have to ride through a relatively short band of heavy rain or showers somewhere during the first 100 miles or so of our journey – and of course hoping that it wouldn’t materialise.  But materialise it did, big time.  And it was a lot wider than fifty miles too.

We soon found ourselves riding in very heavy rain and also in motorway traffic which was heavier than expected on a Sunday morning. Why the Dutch couldn’t all stop in bed or go the church on a rainy Sunday morning goodness knows but they clearly didn’t.  It really wasn’t much fun riding through that heavy rain and heavy traffic.

We had a long day’s ride in front of us and a group of mixed experience and enough rain and spray to reduce visibility and areas of surface water which were enough to present a risk of getting distinctly slippery.  Oh, and there were road works, lots of narrow lanes and temporary road surfaces and deviations.  But there were only seven bikes at this stage (others were crossing via the Tunnel and meeting us later) and four had CB radio.  With two trikes immediately behind me and a solo bike with CB in the middle as well as at the back, we could keep together fairly well and I was able to observe or keep in touch by radio with how everyone was coping.

By no stretch of the imagination was this an enjoyable ride; it was uncomfortable and at times worrying, but we were able to keep together without real difficulty and press on in relative safety. I did of course keep a close eye on the trikes and bikes behind me, especially the first one which was ridden by Steve, the self-declared novice.  Inevitably in such conditions Steve was not at ease, indeed neither was I.  It was of course necessary to moderate our speed for safety reasons but we nevertheless made reasonable progress.

I had planned our first refreshment stop in Helmond, which has an attractive canal-side area with lots of Cafes in its centre and routing through it avoids Eindhoven’s complex motorway bypass.  Unfortunately I hadn’t anticipated that when we arrived there at about 1130am, still in heavy rain, the place was deserted and all the cafes were still shut.  Maybe, unlike the citizens of Rotterdam, the Helmonders had all gone to Church.  The one Cafe which did have open doors refused to allow us in, even to let the ladies use their loo for security reasons, because they were counting the previous evening’s takings. If you don’t go to Church in Helmond on a Sunday morning, you stay indoors to count your cash.

Chance came to the rescue because eventually we did find one Cafe which was open before the magic hour of noon, when the rest would come to life.  There had been a cycling event (presumably a very damp one) and one Cafe had opened at 8am to serve their needs. A procession of dripping motorcyclists entered gratefully and left a trail directly to the toilets and thence back towards the tables, where disrobing, often accompanied by mutterings and groaning, took place to the sound of ripping velcro and a variety of squelching noises. Poor Dave T seemed to be worst affected, or at least he moaned loudest and longest, but the one I felt most sympathy for was poor Nigel, whose brand new bargain gloves had got completely soaked and satined his hands a deep black colour.  Everyone else had their own concerns about water ingress somewhere or another so he got little sympathy, although there were one or two consoling suggestions about being well equipped to form yet another new GoldWing club called the Black Hand Gang.

Despite the best the Cafe’s washing facilities and Bill’s Swarfega (he’s not all trousers when it comes to packing up wisely) Nigel’s hands were hanging on to their new colour scheme very convincingly.  When you get really soaked like this it takes more than a little strength of character to get back into your wet gear and back on the bike to resume a long journey when it’s still raining.  The worst bit, in my experience of such tragedies, is getting your underpants soaking wet.  As Dave pointed out, presumably from experience, at least if you leak internally it feels warm for a while.

But we did it – or rather they did it, because I and a fortunate few others had actually stayed fairly dry inside.  I felt it appropriate to keep a bit quite about my own state of relative comfort but Neil, wearing his boil-in-the-bag oversuit had also stayed dry as a bone and was keen to keep telling Dave about this, which for some reason Dave didn’t seem to want to hear.  Humour among bikers can be terribly cruel and in these circumstances I could have forgiven Dave for taking one of the cafe’s forks to Neil’s oversuit, but he didn’t and took it in good spirit.

Back on the motorway towards Aachen we stopped for fuel and this also gave us an opportunity to scratch our heads about a warning light which had appeared on Dave’s trike.  Someone had brought along his GL1800 Owner’s Handbook which advised that the light meant there was a fault in the fuel injection system and the bike should be taken to a Honda Dealer as quickly as possibe.  Not terribly practical on a Sunday in the far corner of Holland, but the trike seemed to be running normally so we carried on. It wasn’t Dave’s day – although at least the rain was easing up and it even seemed to stop for a while as we were fueling.

Nice roads and sunshine - much better than the motorway rain

Having got past Aachen we left the motorway behind – and thankfully also the rain.  As we arrived at  Monschau the sun was shining and the hedge around the motorcycle parking area came in very handy as a temporary drying facility.  Things were definitely perking up.

Monschau was also where we hoped to rendezvous with more of our group and indeed an extra bike and trike were there as we arrived, having crossed the Channel via the Tunnel and stayed overnight in Brugge.

Morale lifted even more when a successful telephone call to the ever-helpful Barry Walton of Appleyards revealled that Dave’s warning llight was probably an oxygen sensor fault indication, which it might be possible to reset (and he explained how) and even if it didn’t reset there would be no damage done by continuing the journey; the trike would merely use even more fuel than usual.  On the strength of this news (and a huge portion of chips bought from the nearby eatery)  Dave started smiling.  Fed, watered and at least partially dried out, a combination of nine trikes and bikes set off again for Klotten.

We were now in relative heaven; dry roads, sunshine and pleasant scenery.  This was what we had come to Europe to enjoy.   For me as Leader however, another problem had loomed.  I knew from previous experience of Germany that when the roads signs have some of the town names crossed out with reflective tape, there is a road closure ahead.  They don’t say there’s a road closure, the only clue is that while the closer towns listed as being on the road you are using on the big yellow signs as not crossed out, the ones further away (in this case Trier and Kblenz) are crossed out.

If you ignore this warning and keep going, you will eventually come to a barrier across the road and you will be forced to turn off.  They don’t (or don’t always) signpost a diversion route as in UK, you are left to find your own way around the closure.  The only clue as to where the closure is comes from which town names are crossed out.  The closure is before the first crossed-out town.

A Garage big enough for all our bikes and many more

We were heading South East (along the B258, a lovely biking road) so I had to make a loop either left or right and I chose, pretty much arbitrarily, to go right.  Fortune continued to smile on us and we worked our way South a bit earlier than planned (actually riding South West for a while before turning East) and we found ourselves riding roads which were just as scenic and enjoyable as the primary route would have been.  Satnav helps enormously in situations like this and I was able to zoom out to get a the general picture of the options to loop around, choose a road to divert on to, then cancel the satnav’s existing route in favour of a recalculated route to the Hotel.

My own basic error as leader of failing to ask the bikes who had joined us at Monschau about their fuel state led to an unplanned halt when one of them suddenly dived into a garage to get some, but thanks to Bill’s alert on the CB radio I knew immediately what was happening and it was merely a question of pulling over for a few minutes until we could all get going again.  I decided to keep the group together all the time rather than use drop-offs and this worked out well.  We managed to make reasonable progress without anyone getting outside their confidence zone, including through a few twisties when the trikes surprised me with their ability to keep up.  I kept my own speed at no more than 50 mph during this cross country phase, rising to 60mph only when we were on a conspicuously open and easy section.

A welcoming glass of Fizz

Because we had to divert around the road closure we rode a bit further but probably only 15 miles or so, and we got to the Hotel by 6pm, which was earlier than I expected to in the first place.  Within a few minutes the Hotelier’s daughter had handed out welcoming glasses of sparkling wine and, after a very enjoyable last section of the route, we were mostly in a position to have forgotten about the rainy morning.  Dave still had damp underwear and Nigel still had black hands, but both were wearing smiles.

Raining again as evening fell - but we didn't care

The final member of the tour  group arrived about twenty minutes after us, having ridden independently from Brugge, so we had finally all got together.

We had arrived and stood around in warm sunshine sipping the welcoming glasses of fizz which the Hotel laid on.  Fairly quickly all the bikes (and trikes) were garaged, we had showered and unpacked, gathered for another drink and then enjoyed our first taste of Klaus’s excellent cooking.  We were starting to enjoy our holiday and even when the rain we had ridden through caught us up and started coming down heavily as we went to bed, it didn’t matter at all.  We were on holiday.