I'm sitting in a pleasant rest area by the roadside, shaded by woods. I'm sure I caught a waft of brewing coffee just then. The air is thick with motorbikes like mosquitos, their riders drawn to the magnet of the Nurburgring race track that I rode by - but not on. My first youth hostel was ok-ish. There's something about being alone but pressed up against crowds that is a bit depressing and makes me prone to feeling more self-conscious than I like to be and rather uptight. I like being alone but the environments so far I have not found relaxing.
Its midday and I'm already half way to the second hostel back in Monschau that I drove through on the way down here. As I ride, too introspective as usual, I ask myself 'Why is this enjoyable? Is this enjoyable?' Well, yes, is the answer, when the road is nice and winding with a nice surface (a group of 6 bikes just roared by sounding like a race-track) and the sun is shining and the breeze is cool and there's nothing behind me. My GPS does its best to stop me riding on the best roads.
Lessons to learn for my next trip: 1. work out how to use the GPS properly to avoid autobahns; 2. proper pacing: neither too little or too much mileage. Two hundred and 50 is too much and 100 is too little. Between 150-180 could be ideal. I'm wondering about tomorrow's journey where I have to press on to reach the ferry terminal by lunchtime. I think I will surrender to the GPS come what may. Another first for this holiday (and for someone who has only recently passed his bike test) wil be riding in the dark - from Harwich to home. I'm so pleased I took the trouble to sort out the headlights - now both lights come on at the same time and I have changed to much brighter xenon bulbs. I remember I had to dismantle the whole front of the bike to fit them - but it was worth it to get to know the bike.
I wish I had a gripping novel instead of this introspective analytical book on Houdini. German church bells. Bring back my memories of childhood holidays. I remember on Sunday mornings, lying in bed staying with our relatives, they rang and rang, sometimes, I think, more than one church joining in. It was so good stopping by the Mosel river yesterday and taking my boots off in the sunshine. I started the day tired and a little anxious but the day has turned out well. Now I've finally arrived at the last youth hostel at 4.15 only to find that its reception is closed until 6.30 and I was looking forward to a shower and getting changed. I've come out to lie on the grass in the shade to escape the screaming children. My good humoured contentment I gathered from successfully ordering and eating Bratwurst and chips with Mayonnaise (on the ferry some bikers warned me never to ask for vinegar on my chips in Germany) has evapourated by arriiving here hot and tired to find no one to let me into my room. I'm not sure about the accommodation in the future. I have learnt that I don't really like youth hostels. There are too many families and children. Maybe next time I will chose nicer hotels or camping. Or travel with a couple of other people.
According to the GPS, tomorrow is 176 miles and time is 2 hours 47 minutes: so realistically, with a short stop, 3 1/2 hours including time for a break.
Finally I get into my room at 7pm. These youth hostels seem to specialist in unfriendly young men working in them. (Actually it was my days as assistant warden in a YHA hostel in Dorset in the mid 1970s that first introduced me to riding motorbikes - as a pillion of course). I have a six-bedded room to myself - I have the key. The assistant warden gave me a pile of stiff sheets, pillow slip and duvet cover. No towel - so I use my dirty t-shirt. The shower is down the hallway and the toilet even further. After showering and changing into anonymous wear after my biking costume, I walk down 25 minutes into the town, looking (maybe I could say 'desperate') for a drink. It is a long but beautiful walk and the town is absolutely beautiful.
Finally I found a small bar where I could sit outside and drink a nice draft Bitburg and smoke a cigarette or two.
Germany seems sympathetic to smokers. Phew. Things are more pleasant than an hour or so ago after a flood of drugs (the booze and fags) into the system and escaping the hostel. After reading, musing, smoking, looking around from my table, I set off back up the hill through the tall woods and characteristic tall German houses. I write this on my bed in the gloom. The scent of a wood fire is coming through my large open window. The sheet is crisp. The shouts of teenagers in the beautiful green grounds are starting to quieten. Its half past 9. Shall I set my alarm? There's probably no need. Breakfast at 8 then I zoom off on a route I've been through on the GPS but still can't make sense of. I'm a bit daunted by tomorrow's branching motorway drive but I will feel great to get onto the ferry..... I am on the ferry and I do feel great! Now seven hours to amuse myself. The GPS was worth its weight in gold on that ride full of complicated motorway branches, turning and ringroads. I don't know how I would have managed without it. I would have got completely lost. But it was such a windy ride. In the end I was sticking to 65 mph, though overtaken by one or two bikers going much faster.
My mileage today was 176.7 miles. A bunch of five 'Chimera', riding Lithuania plates on real old customs, brownish leathers, matt black helmets, really noisy bikes pulled onto the ferry ahead of me. The are sitting with their shaved heads and cans of Heineken almost in silence, over on a table near me, just looking around. Are they criminals or just hard? Lithuania is a long ride from Holland. They certainly are cool and forbidding. Then there is a tall German and his shorter rather lovely partner riding a big R1200gs (he told me it weighs 280kg unladen but I don't think this can be right). They have a huge amount of luggage strapped on the back including a camping table and chairs. In contrast to them is a very down to earth, old school Englishman on an ancient Honda 250, wearing an old hoodie for a jacket, also carrying camping equipment including a tin mug strapped to the back. I wonder how far he has gone.
After that very windy ride to H of H, I spent an hour or so up on deck with the wind but beautiful sunshine. 
I saw my unshaven face in the mirror here and thought for a few seconds about growing a beard, then decided not. Now I feel sad I have to leave this disheveled chin behind and return to normal life. Am I escaping anything? A realisation, a fear that I might not be making nearly enough of my life. I could do with a drink. Back downstairs I am surrounded by families playing noisey board games.
Summaries: total miles 788 Fery: £180 accommodation €85 petrol €85 (that was a cheap trip). Here I am back home after riding through dark Suffolk and Cambridgeshire. H was there cooking for Gam and took this triumphant photograph.
