The moral of my story about my triumphant return to the Eifel Forrest is never leave your rain suit behind. Our story begins in the Dutch town of Echt. That is funny in itself because echt is Dutch for "really". I arrived and was shown to my new ride at MotoPort Echt.
The man to see there is Peter. He was very friendly and helpful and got me going in no time at all. I liked the looks of the CBR600f and before I knew it, it was time to start off.
The weather had improved, and I was hot in my leathers. At the last second, I decided not to take my tank bag because of the shape of this bike's tank. Inside the tank bag was my rain suit and my rain gloves. Rene arrived and we split. Needless to say, 20 minutes later, it was pouring down and the temperature had dropped by at least 20 degrees. All through Belgium and Luxembourg, I was wet, really wet and very cold. I couldn't complain much though because a wet ride here is better than a dry commute to work any day. I was well wet be the rain slowly stopped and I could laugh at myself for bringing my Dutch bought rainsuit back to Holland, not taking it - and needing it. I managed a small grin here, I mean really, who could complain?:
I got to the campground where the extended family had already made a perfect place to relax. We had a spaghetti dinner and lotsa beer. Here is out home base in Wallendorf Germany.
The next morning our plan was to head out into the Eifel and look for squiggles on the map. That wasn't too hard because the map is ALL squiggles. I knew it was going to be a good day when I left knee slider plastic for the first time in Europe on the Germany-Luxembourg border very early on. The border is a strange place for a hairpin, but I wasn't complaining.
We went up, down, left, right for hours.
I then realized one of the best qualities of this area: All roads are good and you never have to stop. I spent well over an hour at a time either tear-assing open sweepers or bombing hairpins without putting a foot down.
Zero traffic lights and on the rare occasion we came to a town, the only control was a roundabout. To say there are great roads is just silly. Most of the time the roads are alot like route 28 between Franklin and Deals Gap. And the view. Jiminy Christmas, the views were so nice. A post card in 360 degrees out of my visor.
We ended day one and back to the tents and the beer. Not bad huh? Day 2 was dedicated to the area near the Mosel river. It was now Saturday and I began to see more and more bikes. All in full leathers and all looking as happy as I felt. I saw many BMW GSs and a ton of V-Stroms. Oddly enough, there were alot of KTM RC8s as well. We got to the Mosel River valley and stopped for a pee. You may want to avoid Mosel wine with a vintage of 2011, because we both had no where else to pee but near the grapes. And again, the view was just silly.
We found this totally alpine road that got you down the valley in no time and we felt the need to do it 3 times. It was like Deals Gap turned sideways 25 degrees. If you look in the middle of this photo, you can see the first hairpin going up. Well, on my third trip up, I noticed a bunch of guys had stopped there on their sportbikes, so I figured I would come through hot and give them a show. In my excitement, I lost track of what gear I was in and I was in way too low a gear. I decided to get through the corner anyway, to please my audience. The too-low gear, combined with my boot, knee and peg on the ground caused a violent near-high-side that threw my feet off the pegs and made me wobble. I had blown my chance at stardom. Those guys are prolly still telling their friends about the idiot they saw at the Mosel.
We got back safe and repeated the good food, beer and family time.
The gopro clips just had to be examined though.
Day 3 was the Nurburgring day. I suited up, complete with Bob de Bouwer backpack compliment of my nephew Joost.
Since I was on my way to a racetrack, my beautiful and talented wife was my official brolly girl. This was just as good as the trip to the ring. My very own brolly girl-at last!
thanks, Pien!
The road leading to the Nurburgring is almost as good as the ring itself. I stopped for a pee and was greeted by a bathroom complete with helmet-holder. Pretty cool, I say:
Really good time getting there and after a counting down the kilometers, there it was. I wasn't even in the parking lot and I was intimidated.
We didn't really know where to go or what to do, but we found ourselves at the parking area.
We talked with some guys who had just come off the track and they told us how crazy it was. Rene insisted on providing me with my very own "Ring-Card" that was good for entrance to the Green Hell. I was getting a bit nervous as I went through the toll booth and used my card to open the gate. I was about to ask Rene what was next and he took off like a rocket on his ZX10, passing a Porsche GT3 on the straight. I always say "when in doubt, give it gas", so I nailed it and went through a few corners. I was being passed by supercars who carry an alarming amount of corner entry speed and it really spooked me for a moment. Then it sank in where I was and what I was doing and I let out a disturbing primal scream in my helmet. The course is cray, where every corner is blind and most are very fast and it isn't uncommon to change a few hundred meters in height between the start and the end of each corner. That is the single aspect of this place that photos and video do not show: the massive elevation changes. I sorta got into a groove in between groups of Lamborghinis, Ferraris and Masaratis, and accomplished one of my goals: to leave some of my knee sliders at the Nurburgring. I accomplished this, but I am no 'Ring Slayer". That is the most humbling peice of tarmac anywhere. The sheer anarchy and speed of change was mind blowing. I loved it.
We came back just as the track was closed due to a crash. We met an American serviceman stationed in Germany who spends his weekends here and we both agreed that this set up would never, ever, be allowed in the USA. AS I left, I saw the car I am glad I did not meet on the course.
We got home and everyone smiled and told Rene and myself that we were giggling like children and we both had a little-boy-who-did-something-wrong look about us. We went back out for some celebration supplies:
The next day, I was on my own, bike-wise because Rene had to get back, so I toured around and took it easy.
Fun, I tell you. To say I am fortunate is such an understatement. I have to be one of the luckiest guys in the word. Before we all left......we agreed to do it again next year.
PS: I am 43...........still funny:
