European Motorcycle Travelogue

Part 2 - “I HATE THIS!”

Jean enjoying Annecy, France in early August 2023. Image: Gary J Boulanger

As I explained in Part 1, there was a certain luxury in not having time constraints when planning our first European motorcycle tour. After a few years of passive research, it was time to commit.

First, we chose August to tour the Alps for several reasons: agreeable weather to summit high passes (10,000-plus feet above sea level); drier conditions, because riding for hours in the rain sucks no matter how prepared you are; more time for prep rides in California’s mountainous terrain; a longer runway to decide which gear to wear and bring; and a clearer head after enjoying summer and all its loveliness.

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The trade off? Higher travel costs (airline, Airbnb/hotels) due to August being the peak European tourist season and heat. In my experience it’s easier to deal with heat than cold or wet, so we rolled the dice and accepted our fate.

My packing list

Aether Draft jacket with outer rain shell; Tourmaster lithium ion heated vest with battery and  charger; Nelson Rigg Solo Storm rain pants; Bell DLX Qualifier helmet with Sena charging cable; Hold Fast neck gaiter; EarPeace ear plugs; BMW GoreTex gloves; Holy Freedom checkered gloves; Stylmartin Rocket boots; Pando Steel Black 02 Dyneema pants; red/black checkered belt; two Smartwool shirts; Giro merino wool shirt; MaD cotton t-shirt; Smartwool underwear; swimsuit; Club Ride gray shorts; black Crocs; MaD socks; RayBan sunglasses; Caddis readers; tan newsboy cap; Red Rock beanie; red bandana; Studebaker bracelet; nylon backpack; Euro wall outlet converter; iPhone with charging cable; AirPods; a few soft cloths and ziplock bag; toiletries. My passport, wallet and International Driving Permit were packed into a small shoulder harness hip pouch.

I decided to wear my riding jacket, pants and boots on the plane to save space and minimize luggage. Removing my D30 armor for better comfort, I managed to fit everything into a standard roll-on suitcase and Bell helmet carrier bag. 

Important choices

Our AT&T International phone plan was $15 a day combined (two phones) for a maximum of 10 days from August 9-24, the duration of our time in Europe. We paid $828 for AAA trip insurance, and $215 for two weeks of AirMedCare in case of emergency.

Bonus!

We originally booked United Economy seats for $1,700 round trip each, nearly a 30 percent premium due to the peak tourist season. Days before departure, Jean mentioned our trip to a member of her management team, who cycled a similar route with her father years ago. Knowing this was our first big adventure in 34 years, she pulled some strings with the owner to upgrade all three of us to Business class! We felt slightly out of place at first, sauntering into the United Club for a posh breakfast in our black leather jackets and boots at SFO after daughter Samantha dropped us off at the curb around 5 a.m. on Tuesday, August 8. The upgrade was a godsend, spoiling us with luxury we’re most likely never to experience again. 

First, Annecy

After landing in beautiful Geneva at 7:30 a.m. local time on August 9, we caught a bus to Annecy. We walked from the train station to meet our host Airbnb Beatrice at her small shop to get keys and directions to Le Pigeonnier, the small apartment we called home for three nights, up a spiral staircase to the fifth floor of a 17th century building in the walled city portion of old Annecy.

A bit exhausted from travel but excited to absorb Annecy, we sauntered around the village in search of brunch. Jean’s German and my broken high school French got us served, with Brian all smiles as usual. The narrow cobbled streets were teeming with tourists, different languages filling the summer air, with humanity spilling in and out of cafés, boutiques and glaciers (ice cream shops).

With nothing to do but absorb France, relax and adjust to the nine-hour time change and higher elevation (about 1,500 feet above sea level compared to 105 feet here in Mountain View, CA), we strolled through the village, met the owners of Cafe Bunna and returned every morning, rented electric bicycles to explore Lac d’Annecy, swam in the lake, bought groceries, enjoyed the robust farmer’s market, and talked about our upcoming motorcycle adventure over a few drinks the final night. Our Airbnb cost $738.

Meeting everyone in Aix-les-Bains

The French Ride tour included a night’s stay at the Best Western Aquakub overlooking Lake Bourget, a little more than a mile from Aix-les-Bains-Le Revard train station and a mile or so from The French Ride headquarters. We opted to walk from the train station to the hotel, and after unpacking we ditched our luggage with the front desk to be picked up at the end of our adventure.

Brian and I walked to fetch our bikes with New Zealander Jon, who met Brian on the elevator. The Gandalf-esque farmer-turned-pastor was riding two-up with his wife Vivienne on the same make and model as Jean and me, a ‘22 BMW R 1250 GS with top and side cases, heated grips, heated seats and TomTom GPS with our preloaded route. Brian was excited to try the Yamaha Tracer 900 GT. We decided to pay an additional $200 for ride insurance, and rolled back to the hotel to finish packing and enjoy dinner.

At 8:30 the following morning we met the group in a nearby parking lot before departing for Thun, Switzerland, 290 kilometers away. Ours was a nationalities and bike maker melting pot, with ride leader Michael (France) on his KTM 890 R Adventure; Jean-Yves (Switzerland): Triumph Rocket 3; Patrick (Belgium): BMW K 1600 GT; José (France): Honda CRF 1100 Africa Twin; Michel (France): Yamaha Tracer 900 GT; Renée and JP (France): BMW R 1200 RT; Nathalie (France): Suzuki Gladius 650; Jon and Vivienne (New Zealand): BMW R 1250 GS; Franck (France): Honda CBR 500 R; Laurent and Christina (France): BMW S 1000 XR; Jean and I (United States): BMW R 1250 GS; and Brian (United States): Yamaha Tracer 900 GT. Some knew English, we didn’t know much French, and in time Google Translate became our communication conduit. It didn’t matter just yet.

Ride leader Michael was gregarious, handsome and a true leader with a slight swagger. Cupping his hand to block the wind as he lit a cigarette before outlining group etiquette and other details before departure, he explained how he would designate a corner marshal at each roundabout and turn (whoever is immediately behind him at the time), who waits for the designated sweeper wearing the yellow safety vest to toot their horn, signifying the group is all together once more. In time, everyone but the sweeper takes a turn corner marshaling. Genius!

Brian’s smile says it all at the moment of departure after eight months of preparation. Image: Gary J Boulanger

Michael also shared important hand signals: pointing at natural landmarks (glaciers, water falls, etc.) so everyone can enjoy the sights; making a five-five-five gesture with one’s right hand to warn of speed cameras; and a thumbs up from the sweeper once everyone is accounted for before leaving a rest stop.

Shomer shabbos

Despite the summer’s heat, the valley’s meadows and hills were emerald green. We set off on one of the few highway stretches on the trip before climbing. Roads narrowed as we climbed skyward, sharing space with Sunday drivers and cyclists through tiny village centers.

Our first fuel, bathroom and coffee break of the trip.

“We’re doin’ it!” Jean squealed like Spongebob in my Sena Bluetooth speaker.

We were riding mid pack at a good clip when the switchbacks and hairpins started. Then all hell broke loose.

Michael turned on his KTM’s afterburners, and one by one our friendly crew flipped on the red mist, passing me like I was standing still. To make matters more challenging, everyone started passing cars on the narrow roads, sometimes on double stripes and in blind corners. Grateful to have smiling Michel as the designated sweeper on his Tracer 900 and my guardian angel that day, but I was still pissed.

Here in Mountain View, California we host monthly Sunday Moto Club rides from Red Rock Coffee. The goal is a gentlemanly pace to keep everyone together and mitigate risk. Been doing it since August 2017, and riding two-up isn’t easier to take risks than rolling solo, in my opinion. Guess I’ve grown into a calculated rider in my old age, but I like to hedge my bets on not experiencing calamity in a foreign country in the Alps.

And try as I might, Jean and I seemed to get pinched and stuck behind traffic at the worst possible time, furthering my frustration to be so far off the back. Unfortunately I had a few Walter Sobchak moments and freaked out Jean just a couple hours into our dream vacation.

Her words of encouragement were ill-timed in my view, which led to more anger on my part. Silence ensued between us as we did our best to catch up to our group, nowhere to be seen. In a last bout of stubbornness I decided to slow my pace waaaay down, with Saint Michel on my tail. 

We finally caught up to the group, and I asked Michael why he was setting such a furious pace.

“We have riders of all skill levels, and everyone just needs to ride at the pace they feel most  comfortable,” he said through smiling teeth, clenched around his ciggy. I cooled my heels and had a cold drink with the others at a tiny mountain pass café. More silence ensued as we climbed and dropped through idyllic, postcard-worthy terrain. Mentally stewing, I was desperate to hit pause and cancel the trip. Unfortunately in her helmet behind me, Jean was thinking of trading me in for a more agreeable husband, and rightfully so.

By the time we reached Thun I was still slightly steamed. To make matters more challenging, we neglected to join the WhatsApp group to get updates from Michael, so we were clueless about evening plans; it was blazing hot without air conditioning or fan with only a duvet covering the bed in a room without a window screen; and I couldn’t figure out how to use the outlet converter. Plus I was starving, my back hurt, and it was more than a mile’s walk to dinner despite the 3-star Chartreuse hotel having a beautiful outdoor dining area (which was closed on Sundays). I sound like a whining American, and it’s embarrassing. 

Needless to say, I wasn’t my usual chatty self on the way to the restaurant Beau-Rivage, despite walking along the Aare river with everyone. Everything changed once Michael sat across from us 30 minutes later, cheering me up with his French gusto. I took his advice, and the next morning I volunteered to wear the sweeper’s yellow vest, solving everyone’s dilemma before the real riding began as we pointed our bikes toward the Gotthard Pass and the mighty Stelvio the following day.

Coming up next: Part 3 - Embracing Awesome.