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The journey to Italy had been in the planning stage for many months.
Monday's ferry from North Shields to Ijmuiden left in calm seas and we spent a few hours in the bar trying unsuccessfully to enjoy the Tuborg beer. Then we spotted the Newcastle Brown Ale in the chilled cabinet. We consumed sufficient quantities to sleep peacefully on the overnight trip to Holland. I was on my 1960 A10 Golden Flash, and Ian McGregor was on his 1969 Rocket Three.
A few midnights had passed me by in the previous week to get the bike ready, and this included re-fitting the re-wound dynamo (which stopped powering the lights two weeks later when I really needed it), fitting new chains, changing fluids and tyres etc., digging out my old leather panniers and of course packing up for the trip.
We left Ijmuiden in Holland the following morning at around 09.30 am, passing Amsterdam, and heading into Germany. By something of a necessity, it was a case of motorway driving as we had to pick the lasses up from Firenze (Florence) as they had taken the plane. Not daft, those two....
En route, we had good weather and few problems. I checked my oil and forgot to replace the oil tank cap. This must be the 6th cap I have lost, and it was one of those nice 'oil brand embossed' ones; – damn.
Switzerland charge a fixed fee of 40 Sfr for using motorways and so it was a good excuse to head for the B roads and see the countryside, which was truly outstanding. I expected Julie Andrews to come bounding over the hills at any moment in full song. We stopped to help a Danish Rocket Three rider who was having problems with his clutch, but his three pals were able to see he was not stranded.
We crossed the Alps via the St. Gothard pass in gorgeous weather, and were treated to more outstanding views, and stopped for many photo shoots. We reached Milan in darkness, and the A10 began misfiring and losing power. Ian diagnosed a problem with either a failed magneto bearing, or the paper gasket that prevents the bearing from shorting out against the case. It got worse....and worse…
We struggled to make headway on the Italian motorways, and as the freight wagons were starting to emerge for the night, it was getting scary.
We pulled off the motorway into a service station at around 1.00 am, by which time we were dog tired. Clearly we weren't going to make any campsite, so we parked the bikes in a quiet parking bay and slept on the tarmac between the bikes for an hour or so. We awoke, took a cup of tea in the services, and the sole attendant asked us if we always roughed it on the bikes. Puzzled by such a question, we then spotted the CCTV that was focused on the very spot where we had been sleeping !
Now is was nearer 3 a.m. and the A10 was losing more power. Ian decided there was nothing to be lost by dismantling the magneto. Sure enough (thankfully), his diagnosis was right, and it was the paper gasket that had disintegrated. My brand new Italian Road Atlas cover was just the right thickness to fabricate a new gasket using nail scissors, and we were back on our way by 04.30 am. We decide to carry on through the night amongst the vast numbers of large nocturnal trucks that disappear again in daylight to reach Florence at 7.30 am. We covered a substantial number of miles that day.
The day was still not over, as we had to cope with our first exposure to maniac Italian Scooter riders on their way to work as we struggled to find a campsite. Words cannot describe the pandemonium that takes place in the rush hour in Florence; something we were to later experience in other cities, and even eventually begin to enjoy.
We collapsed in our tents at around 10 am and slept all day until it was time to collect the lasses from the airport. Their flight had been delayed and so they missed their connection at Paris, and the few intelligible words they managed to string together, gave rise to the fact they had been well looked after by Air France with free wine vouchers !
The next day (Saturday) there was no pressure upon us to meet any more deadlines, so we took off for Siena via a delightful road through the Chianti region of Italy and happily rode along some super mountain roads through vineyards, and through sleepy little towns. This was a great day, saddened only by finding Davy Campbell and his broken A10 at the side of the road. He had already brought John Hewitt by pillion as John's B33 had given up the ghost (snapped crankshaft) much further north, and now he too, was the subject of a major breakdown having a collapsed piston. We said we would get help and left a mobile phone with them so we could text updates.
We made it to the BSA International Rally site to find an appalling situation. Some have referred to it as a car park, and indeed it was. You had to find a space between parked cars to erect your tent.
First priority was to get the help for Davy Campbell and John Hewitt and we asked the rally organisers where their breakdown facility was. Of course, we should have known better; they hadn't even considered it. Asking around for help, we were disappointed to find the first British person with a trailer to be asked would not assist. It is hard to accept that people are unwilling to help biker friends in trouble, and this left an uncomfortable feeling inside.
Richard Pawson kindly offered to help with his trailer (thanks, Richard), but then Ray Burgess-Lowe came up and said he would be delighted to help, and he had a van. Ray and John go back a lot of years, and Ray was happy to do his bit. Ray and I traced back along our route, and brought great smiles to our broken-down friends as we produced cool bottles of beer ! They hadn't drunk anything for some 5 or 6 hours.
The awful camping arrangements were not acceptable to us, so we carried our gear over to a much nicer part of the campsite, away from the Rally, and started to put up our tents. The campsite officials were quickly on the scene, but we made it clear our tents were going up on that spot or we were heading home. Then they were OK about it.
George Martin of Peebles and I took a day trip into Rome, and were waved into a parking area at the Piazza Popolo by the most helpful Caribineiri, who said “Park you r bikes here, and we'll look after them for you. Off you go and enjoy Rome”. In the words of the band America, “the heat was hot and the ground was dry”, but a few chilled drinks and ice creams took care of the 35 degrees c that we experienced.
There wasn't really much more to say about the rally itself. Because the organisation was so poor, people made their own entertainment. We later discovered the two young people on the Rally Reception were not bikers, but were in fact language students who were being paid small change to man the reception for the week. They unfairly took a lot of flak from angry rally attendees whilst the 'real' organisers kept out of sight, and when all the facts emerged, many felt guilty at giving them such a hard time. Later in the week, they were taken to a restaurant by a large group of rally participants. Francesca, in particular, was grateful for the kindness, and must have given a hundred hugs to all the rally participants as they left!
Our homeward journey took us back to Florence to drop our ladies off at the airport, and then Ian and I headed back through Switzerland, this time through the magnificent snow-covered Simplon and the Brin passes. As we came down off the Alps, I ran out of fuel and switched to reserve. I pulled into the only filling station for miles around and was greeted by an elderly gentleman of 80 who had just been to see his 107 year old mother ! Such is life in Switzerland, I guess…
He asked us where we were from and we said Newcastle. “Coals from Newcastle” he quipped, and in a conversation of English and smatterings of French, he referred to Manx Nortons and other bikes of that era. We only had VISA and Euros, neither of which were acceptable, as Switzerland, like the UK, have not moved over to Euros. “Fill those fuel tanks up” he gestured to the young attendant, “I'll pay for my English friends. I am happy to help any riders who undertake a journey to Rome and back on these fine machines!” He then tried to hand us a SFr 50 note to have an evening meal as well, but we really couldn't accept such a kind gesture. We tried to reimburse him in Euros but he wouldn't hear of it. We left that filling station with a warm glow in our hearts that we had met a real angel in Switzerland.
From then on in, it rained….and it rained. For the next five days we suffered wet clothing and wet gear. My three week old Hein Gericke 'guaranteed 100% waterproof ' boots were slammed on their counter when I got home, but to be fair to HG, were refunded without question, and in fact a different model was offered
In the rain, Germany seemed a blur of spray and fast cars, and we reached Holland to find dry weather, better roads, and dare I say, a change in personality ! This was our second visit to Voorthuizen in 12 months, and we found a superb quiet campsite. A small group of what appeared to be young mothers and children came over to us to look over the bikes, and it turned out they were a group of 'at risk' children who had to be removed from the family dangers in their homes. We let them all sit on our bikes for photographs, and then one of the supervisors asked me if she could ride pillion on the bike. As I had to go to the bakery for our breakfast anyway, it was no problem, and then she mentioned she was 6 months pregnant, and could I avoid too many bumps ! I rode rather carefully…
We then rejoined our ferry and had a much rougher overnight sailing back to England. The return ferry journey is never the same as the outward one; the feelings of high excitement and anticipation have gone, and been replaced by a desire to get home quickly.
All in all, 2,600 miles and few problems. Ian's single SU carb on his Rocket Three proved it's worth, as he averaged 65 miles per gallon; which was better than my A10 ! His bike chewed up the rear chain, mine needed the magneto gasket replaced. I also wore a hole in the underside of my fuel tank due to the thoughtless positioning of a jubilee clip on the rocker feed oil pipe. Oh yes, and I lost a second oil tank cap in the last week !
A super journey. There will be no more BSA International Rallies in Italy for us, but we may head back to Switzerland again. I was quite astounded by the beauty of this picturesque country, and would be more than happy to revisit.
Monday's ferry from North Shields to Ijmuiden left in calm seas and we spent a few hours in the bar trying unsuccessfully to enjoy the Tuborg beer. Then we spotted the Newcastle Brown Ale in the chilled cabinet. We consumed sufficient quantities to sleep peacefully on the overnight trip to Holland. I was on my 1960 A10 Golden Flash, and Ian McGregor was on his 1969 Rocket Three.
A few midnights had passed me by in the previous week to get the bike ready, and this included re-
We left Ijmuiden in Holland the following morning at around 09.30 am, passing Amsterdam, and heading into Germany. By something of a necessity, it was a case of motorway driving as we had to pick the lasses up from Firenze (Florence) as they had taken the plane. Not daft, those two....
En route, we had good weather and few problems. I checked my oil and forgot to replace the oil tank cap. This must be the 6th cap I have lost, and it was one of those nice 'oil brand embossed' ones; – damn.
Switzerland charge a fixed fee of 40 Sfr for using motorways and so it was a good excuse to head for the B roads and see the countryside, which was truly outstanding. I expected Julie Andrews to come bounding over the hills at any moment in full song. We stopped to help a Danish Rocket Three rider who was having problems with his clutch, but his three pals were able to see he was not stranded.
We crossed the Alps via the St. Gothard pass in gorgeous weather, and were treated to more outstanding views, and stopped for many photo shoots. We reached Milan in darkness, and the A10 began misfiring and losing power. Ian diagnosed a problem with either a failed magneto bearing, or the paper gasket that prevents the bearing from shorting out against the case. It got worse....and worse…
We struggled to make headway on the Italian motorways, and as the freight wagons were starting to emerge for the night, it was getting scary.
We pulled off the motorway into a service station at around 1.00 am, by which time we were dog tired. Clearly we weren't going to make any campsite, so we parked the bikes in a quiet parking bay and slept on the tarmac between the bikes for an hour or so. We awoke, took a cup of tea in the services, and the sole attendant asked us if we always roughed it on the bikes. Puzzled by such a question, we then spotted the CCTV that was focused on the very spot where we had been sleeping !
Now is was nearer 3 a.m. and the A10 was losing more power. Ian decided there was nothing to be lost by dismantling the magneto. Sure enough (thankfully), his diagnosis was right, and it was the paper gasket that had disintegrated. My brand new Italian Road Atlas cover was just the right thickness to fabricate a new gasket using nail scissors, and we were back on our way by 04.30 am. We decide to carry on through the night amongst the vast numbers of large nocturnal trucks that disappear again in daylight to reach Florence at 7.30 am. We covered a substantial number of miles that day.
The day was still not over, as we had to cope with our first exposure to maniac Italian Scooter riders on their way to work as we struggled to find a campsite. Words cannot describe the pandemonium that takes place in the rush hour in Florence; something we were to later experience in other cities, and even eventually begin to enjoy.
We collapsed in our tents at around 10 am and slept all day until it was time to collect the lasses from the airport. Their flight had been delayed and so they missed their connection at Paris, and the few intelligible words they managed to string together, gave rise to the fact they had been well looked after by Air France with free wine vouchers !
The next day (Saturday) there was no pressure upon us to meet any more deadlines, so we took off for Siena via a delightful road through the Chianti region of Italy and happily rode along some super mountain roads through vineyards, and through sleepy little towns. This was a great day, saddened only by finding Davy Campbell and his broken A10 at the side of the road. He had already brought John Hewitt by pillion as John's B33 had given up the ghost (snapped crankshaft) much further north, and now he too, was the subject of a major breakdown having a collapsed piston. We said we would get help and left a mobile phone with them so we could text updates.
We made it to the BSA International Rally site to find an appalling situation. Some have referred to it as a car park, and indeed it was. You had to find a space between parked cars to erect your tent.
First priority was to get the help for Davy Campbell and John Hewitt and we asked the rally organisers where their breakdown facility was. Of course, we should have known better; they hadn't even considered it. Asking around for help, we were disappointed to find the first British person with a trailer to be asked would not assist. It is hard to accept that people are unwilling to help biker friends in trouble, and this left an uncomfortable feeling inside.
Richard Pawson kindly offered to help with his trailer (thanks, Richard), but then Ray Burgess-
The awful camping arrangements were not acceptable to us, so we carried our gear over to a much nicer part of the campsite, away from the Rally, and started to put up our tents. The campsite officials were quickly on the scene, but we made it clear our tents were going up on that spot or we were heading home. Then they were OK about it.
George Martin of Peebles and I took a day trip into Rome, and were waved into a parking area at the Piazza Popolo by the most helpful Caribineiri, who said “Park you r bikes here, and we'll look after them for you. Off you go and enjoy Rome”. In the words of the band America, “the heat was hot and the ground was dry”, but a few chilled drinks and ice creams took care of the 35 degrees c that we experienced.
There wasn't really much more to say about the rally itself. Because the organisation was so poor, people made their own entertainment. We later discovered the two young people on the Rally Reception were not bikers, but were in fact language students who were being paid small change to man the reception for the week. They unfairly took a lot of flak from angry rally attendees whilst the 'real' organisers kept out of sight, and when all the facts emerged, many felt guilty at giving them such a hard time. Later in the week, they were taken to a restaurant by a large group of rally participants. Francesca, in particular, was grateful for the kindness, and must have given a hundred hugs to all the rally participants as they left!
Our homeward journey took us back to Florence to drop our ladies off at the airport, and then Ian and I headed back through Switzerland, this time through the magnificent snow-
He asked us where we were from and we said Newcastle. “Coals from Newcastle” he quipped, and in a conversation of English and smatterings of French, he referred to Manx Nortons and other bikes of that era. We only had VISA and Euros, neither of which were acceptable, as Switzerland, like the UK, have not moved over to Euros. “Fill those fuel tanks up” he gestured to the young attendant, “I'll pay for my English friends. I am happy to help any riders who undertake a journey to Rome and back on these fine machines!” He then tried to hand us a SFr 50 note to have an evening meal as well, but we really couldn't accept such a kind gesture. We tried to reimburse him in Euros but he wouldn't hear of it. We left that filling station with a warm glow in our hearts that we had met a real angel in Switzerland.
From then on in, it rained….and it rained. For the next five days we suffered wet clothing and wet gear. My three week old Hein Gericke 'guaranteed 100% waterproof ' boots were slammed on their counter when I got home, but to be fair to HG, were refunded without question, and in fact a different model was offered
In the rain, Germany seemed a blur of spray and fast cars, and we reached Holland to find dry weather, better roads, and dare I say, a change in personality ! This was our second visit to Voorthuizen in 12 months, and we found a superb quiet campsite. A small group of what appeared to be young mothers and children came over to us to look over the bikes, and it turned out they were a group of 'at risk' children who had to be removed from the family dangers in their homes. We let them all sit on our bikes for photographs, and then one of the supervisors asked me if she could ride pillion on the bike. As I had to go to the bakery for our breakfast anyway, it was no problem, and then she mentioned she was 6 months pregnant, and could I avoid too many bumps ! I rode rather carefully…
We then rejoined our ferry and had a much rougher overnight sailing back to England. The return ferry journey is never the same as the outward one; the feelings of high excitement and anticipation have gone, and been replaced by a desire to get home quickly.
All in all, 2,600 miles and few problems. Ian's single SU carb on his Rocket Three proved it's worth, as he averaged 65 miles per gallon; which was better than my A10 ! His bike chewed up the rear chain, mine needed the magneto gasket replaced. I also wore a hole in the underside of my fuel tank due to the thoughtless positioning of a jubilee clip on the rocker feed oil pipe. Oh yes, and I lost a second oil tank cap in the last week !
A super journey. There will be no more BSA International Rallies in Italy for us, but we may head back to Switzerland again. I was quite astounded by the beauty of this picturesque country, and would be more than happy to revisit.
The Italian Job