Previous experiences of my motorbike trips were as solo efforts.  It is now 1999 and our children are all at University or Equestrian College, leaving just Sue and me at home to rediscover our newly found freedom.  If I were to go on trips in the future, I realised I couldn’t leave Sue alone for several days or weeks and she would now have to get around to the idea of becoming a pillion passenger.

This was to add a whole new set of dynamics to motor biking, but first Sue needed the gear; helmet, leathers, gloves and boots.  Off to the BMW shop and we had her fitted out in a jiffy.  She did mention while we were there how could she tell me if she wanted a natural break enroute.  I suggested the most practical way was just to tap me on my arm and I would stop as soon as it was safe to do so. “But that would mean letting go of the side grips” she responded.  The BMW salesmen, never slow on the uptake, intervened and suggested perhaps we ought to have an intercom set.  They could fit it onto the bike and into our helmets; ear pieces and a microphone.

Arriving home having both our helmets and bike fitted-out with control boxes, unpluggable audio cables, it was necessary to adjust the microphones in the helmets to get the best reception.  So as not to attract too much attention, we decided to do this early one Sunday morning on our front driveway to our garage.  As we stood on the driveway with the bike on its stand wearing our helmets with the visors up, we plugged ourselves in.

Just then a small boy appeared from nowhere just as we were getting to the tricky bit of centring the microphones and ensuring Sue could hear me saying things like, “pilot to crew are you receiving me”.  The boy said” what are you doing mister ?”   The  first  response  that came into

my head was none too polite and certainly not suitable for children.  I decided to take the diplomatic route of responding, “We are aliens talking to our master could you take us to your leader ?”  “No, you are not”, was his reply, “your checking your intercom.”  I could have said, ‘well why are you are asking me when you already know’, but realised that would lead us down some long, leafy lane for no purpose.  We carried on despite the ‘minor’ distraction and eventually had everything set-up properly.

The other major dynamic of riding dual with the ladies is the question of what to take.  As it was coming up to our 20^th wedding anniversary, I had this romantic idea of sweeping my beloved off her feet, onto my steed made of steel, and whisking her off to Bellagio on Lake Como.  A fellow director had just been there with his wife and extolled its virtues as a lover’s retreat.  Why not a second honeymoon, a better planned affair than the first ?

I asked Sue to put all she wanted to take on a spare bed but reminding her we are now on two wheels not four.  Surprisingly, you can get the equivalent of two normal suitcases onto a bike.  There are the two side panniers, (I had always used before), but now I had a top box (over the rear wheel) and a tank bag placed on the fuel tank.  The tank bag was to prove particularly useful as you could slide your maps into a Perspex folder on the top and check your route directions, with care, without stopping.

When I returned, I was horrified to see a pile of clothes that would be ample for a round the world cruise but not for two weeks on the continent, especially when most of the time you are dressed in your bike leathers.  I was reminded of another biker who going to the same country.  Except, in his case, his wife wore a rucksack instead of the use of a top box.  All the neighbours came out to see them and cheer them off.   As he accelerated away, two legs drove straight up under his

armpits, (his wife had keeled backwards).  Neighbours frantically ran down the road to retrieve the poor woman.  Wondering what on earth had happened, her husband emptied the offending rucksack onto the bed only for a steam iron, hair curlers etc. to fall-out.  They did get away ever so quietly an hour later before the neighbours could spot them again.

I suppose to place the trip into context I need to briefly outline the first honeymoon experience.  Deep down, we men I suppose are all romantics.  The problem for many of us is that we lack the linguistic skills  and  natural  charm  to  express  ourselves.  In  my  youth,  I  was particularly charmless, and haven’t improved much since.  I suggest perhaps the closest we all get to the perfect romantic interlude is the honeymoon.  But despite our best efforts, for many, the reality doesn’t match the perfection in our dreams.

I married the love of my life, Sue (for the avoidance of doubt) in 1970.  We were planning to marry the following year but a career move to South Africa forced us to marry earlier.  Not as some of our friends had speculated because of the arrival of our first born early just short of 9 months later.  You can see them mentally count on their fingers when you say you were married on 25^th July and our son arrived on 19^th April.  My father and mother-in-law arranged and paid for a wedding in three weeks flat.

Our first honeymoon commenced on a windy but bright day in Nottingham.  After the reception, by the banks of the River Trent, we left in the early afternoon in the mini for our honeymoon in Saundersfoot, South Wales.  We planned to spend our first night in Newtown just across the Welsh border.  The main hotel was full so we pressed on and eventually arrived at a pub/hotel right in the middle of the mountains on the way to Aberystwyth.  We had arrived too late for a meal and I  remember  dining  on  a  pint  of  bitter  and  a  packet  of

cheese and onion crisps.  That night the rain pelted down and vast quantities of water gushed through the drain pipes.  It induced a kind of natural resonance resulting in a constant banging of the metal joints (no humorous interjections please).

The next morning, we did manage a breakfast, and having put our luggage in the car, it failed to start.  I realised I had parked the car on a slope facing straight into the strong wind and rain.  The electrics and ignition system were completely soaked.  So, as Sue sat in the car and the rain not letting up, I wore the ugliest rain hat and raincoat and got to work.  I put up the bonnet and set-about dismantling the electronics, passing each piece to Sue for her to dry them out from a box of tissues.  Eventually I got the car to restart and set off for Aberporth so Sue could visit the farm where I spent my school holidays bringing in the harvest, milking the cows and visiting the beach close by.  There, as a family, we enjoyed magical weeks.  For a young boy, this was paradise compared to life on a Nottingham council estate.   Apart from all the fresh air, driving the tractor from the age of eight, milking cows and living off butter you made yourself and water drawn from a spring, there was also the spectacle of watching a bloodhound missile being fired just a few fields away.  The whole ground trembled under your feet.  What it is like in Cape Canaveral can only be imagined.

Sue met the special Mrs Blake who was one of the most amazing women I have ever met.  The sharpest intellect, even in her advancing years, and a most generous spirit.  She and Sue and hit it off immediately to the point Sue had to give up her posh wellingtons when Ma Blake took a shine to them.

The honeymoon lasted a week and apart from just two hours, it rained every single day.  For two young people in love, this was no issue and we enjoyed every moment.

Just a decade later, after the children had departed, I turned to Sue to say that she needed to pluck up courage and join me on the motor bike.  Having kitted Sue out in the gear, we started by just travelling to the garage around the corner, then to the disposal centre and then gradually further and further.  Sue took to it as a natural.  She rode with the bike rather than as some try and resist the movements of a bike on two wheels rather than four.  Her only problem was motorways which she detested but anything else was a great pleasure and she began to wonder why she had left it so late to experience this new form of travel.

We were now ready for the second honeymoon.  To avoid the motorways, we decided to enter the continent of Europe via the Hull-Rotterdam overnight ferry.  The route was planned over the two weeks covering 1,350 miles, travelling from Rotterdam to Metz, to the Swiss Border and then the last bit, a short ferry ride across Lake Como to Bellagio and then days of rest and bliss.

The day of departure finally arrived and we were all packed and ready to go one Saturday afternoon.  The packing had gone very well with every conceivable space taken up including under the seat and two covered side pockets in the front fairing.  The only problem is I couldn’t find a space for the video camera which in those days was quite bulky.  I thought why not buy one of those new slim lined cameras on board ship, duty free.

We had only travelled 6 miles down the road to Newark when we encountered our first challenge, a lorry had turned over on the main roundabout outside Newark blocking the traffic in both directions and a diesel fuel spillage all over the road.  I gestured to Sue to dismount, walk around the mayhem, and with kind permission of the traffic police carefully manoeuvred the bike through the carnage on what  was effectively a skating ring.  Better to get the problems out of the way early on rather than face them later.

Soon we arrived in Hull, following the estuary to the ferry port.  Ah, but after boarding and changing into casual clothes, let’s first buy that camera.  Apparently, according to the shop assistant in the boat’s shop, today was my lucky day.  The ferry company was celebrating their 50^th anniversary and with major purchases to selected customers, there were free gifts. Having chosen the perfect camera, it was down to selecting the free gift.  The first choice was a shopping trolley on wheels.  But I responded we are on a motorbike, that would be totally impractical.  The next choice was a large stuffed dog.  This is getting worse I thought, haven’t they something smaller.  Then, with my newly born granddaughter in mind, Romany, I thought I have some straps I have brought in case of such emergencies and decided to take the dog and strap it on top of one of the panniers with Sue sat at its side.  Brilliant, a clever fellow you are Ronnie when forced !

Leaving Rotterdam, the next morning after wonderful dinner the night before, refreshed, my beloved on the back totally content sitting next to the stuffed dog, we were ready for the journey to Metz.  Everything was going beautifully until I noticed in my rear-view mirrors cars, who were closing in on us, would start veering off course or ride up to our side and point fingers at us.  I pulled up at the next turn off and checked over the bike.  There was nothing to worry about until it dawned on me what was happening.  As we were travelling along, the dog’s ears would flap in the breeze and motorist would believe it was a real dog !  In order to avoid any accidents, the poor dog had to be relocated on the tank top now obliterating my map but at least avoiding any explanations to the police why cars were driving off the road following us !

We made good progress thereafter and duly arrived in Metz and then the following night a hotel on the German Swiss Border which seemingly was used by the coach companies as a convenient stopover point.  As normal, I parked the bike at the front of the hotel for Sue to gain access to the hotel reception with me following with the luggage, normally confined to the tank bag and top box.  Having booked in, I asked whether there was a secure car park.  I was directed to go to the rear and go down the ramp to the basement dedicated parking area.  The rear of the hotel was an open area containing a large public car park for cars and coaches alike and sure enough, there was the ramp with a sign for use of hotel guests only.  I then realised the ramp seemed to decline at nearly 45° so that cars had the space to manoeuvre around the bottom of the basement car park.

The next morning, remembering the steep inclination of the car park ramp I suggested to Sue she waited in reception with the luggage while I extracted the bike from basement car park.  At that time, the door to the car park had already been opened by the brewer’s dray delivering kegs of beer and crates of bottled drinks.  The external car park was deserted so I thought to avoid stalling on the ramp and trying to hold a heavy bike, I parked the rear wheel touching the wall facing the ramp which looked even steeper from this angle.  Then just as you would take off from an aircraft carrier in a fighter jet, full throttle and I accelerated rapidly upwards.

I think I may have overdone it a ‘tidge’ as at the top of the ramp the bike took off and I landed bouncing along the open car park.  From my sparse knowledge of German, I heard some draymen as I passed his dray say words, minus the stronger expletives, “What the hell was that!”

I just parked the bike at the front of the hotel when a coach drew up by my side to pick up its passengers and their luggage as I was engaged in packing mine.  The Germans tourist were intrigued as to how I was

going to get all my luggage onto our motorbike.  When I strapped the last item, the stuffed dog onto the tank bag, I received a spontaneous round of applause, they just didn’t believe I was going to achieve it.

When I asked a local how I was to get to the border he told me just to follow a particular road all the way and we were on our way again.  The sun was out, the Alps beckoned, the flowers were in full bloom and the fields were a very rich green.  The air smelt fresh and clean.  Like all long rides, there is an ‘investment’ you make until the most wonderful ride of your life unfurls.  This was no exception, the bike just purred along and the mountains grew even more majestic as we progressed towards Bellagio.

I suppose we had been averaging by now 350/400miles a day so by the time we had arrived at the ferry at Lake Como for the short trip across the lake, I was getting tired and ready for a nice dinner and a rest.  Everything had gone well so far; the journey had gone as planned and, importantly, we were safe and close to our final destination on the outward-bound leg.  But always look out for the ‘sting in the tail’.  The ferry was designed to take cars two abreast with single lane entry and departure loading.  I had parked in the middle of my space normally designed for a car, placed the bike on its side stand and walked to the side of the boat to look for Bellagio and relax for just 20 minutes as the ferry glided across the smooth lake.  The sun was very warm and I was feeling a bit sticky in my leathers and was looking forward to freshening up for dinner.

To my horror on returning to my bike I find a German family in their 4×4 had parked right up against my bike making it impossible to lift it fully vertical off its side stand. There was no sign of the family or driver and I was being beckoned to come off in advance of the cars.  Then the red mist came down, right Fritz you are going to pay for your bad manners.  On the side of my panniers is a thick  rubber  strip  designed

to protect the case should the bike topple over for any reason.  I then proceeded to lift the bike as far as I could and wheeling the bike by hand scraped the side of his 4×4 all the way along leaving a lovely black mark.  I knew it wouldn’t damage the paintwork but it would need some hard rubbing to remove the rubber debris left behind.  Now you are going to have to ride round for the rest of your holidays seemly scarred for life.  I am slightly ashamed to say I had no regrets after all his countrymen had tried to bomb my grandma out of her home and my mother was strafed by a Messerschmitt while working on a farm in Lincolnshire !

The next few days was absolutely bliss.  I thought if heaven is like this, and the good Lord lets me in, that would be reward enough.  The hotel room was very comfortable, the food fantastic and under the guidance of the head waiter, the wines perfectly complimentary.  If that wasn’t sufficient just around the corner from the hotel was an ice cream parlour selling the most delicious Italian ice creams you have ever tasted if you had enough space to eat them.  It was one of the few times that I couldn’t wait to taste the next gastronomic delight.  At one meal, it was the first time I had tasted truffles in the form of a soup.  It was a sheer delight and on prompting from my by now friendly waiter there were generous second helpings.

One totally unexpected delight was when Sue and I went for a gentle stroll after dinner struggling under the effect of another superb dinner when we still sampled some ice cream and admired perfectly preserved Italian and German motorbikes parked in the Piazza to the rear of the hotel situated on the marine esplanade.  We continued strolling across a high bridge in view of a church with steps flowing from its front portal.  A temporary viewing had been erected on the main arch of the bridge for passers-by to sit on and spotlights fixed onto the front of the church.   A  few  minutes  later,  a  crowd  gathered  and a group of

choristers arrived on the church steps to sing Italian sea songs.  What a magical moment – this was the honeymoon you really dream of but never quite manage.

We spent the next magical days visiting the town of Como and local villas.  Many celebrities make for Lake Como as a summer retreat.  The most notable recent addition is George Clooney and his wife Amal.  We were also to meet, when we moved to France, a couple who had lived on the Lake around the time we were there.  Sue and I did have one minor tiff when I played a juvenile prank that backfired.  It was all my fault but we soon made up so as not to spoil our perfect holiday.  It was made quicker by me apologising early as I recognised I could get three days of earache over three days on the intercom with no off switch !

I didn’t want to leave, but England, friends and work were pulling us back. T he return was bound to be an anti-climax.

To try and keep the momentum going, I decided to stop-over on Lake Luzerne at the Grand Hotel.  It is aptly named, beautiful architecture overlooking the lake and mountains.  We drew up at the front of the hotel and was about to go through the normal routine when I was approached by the door commissionaire.  “I am sorry sir but you can’t park here”.  “Not even for guests”, was my reply.  Then there was a sudden change of gear.  At the snap of his fingers, the hotel trolley arrived for our luggage and then was asked if I minded parking the bike in the reserved car park.  They would normally park it for me but no one was able to ride a motorbike !  The car park was full of Bentleys, Ferraris and Porches and, of course, in pride of place my bike.

At the reception, I asked for a room overlooking the lake.  It was then the  receptionist  said  you  do  realise sir that our cheapest room is 300

Swiss Shillings.  Yes, that’s OK I replied but have you got better rooms.  They were getting this all wrong and began to wonder whether I had made a mistake with this stuffy welcome.  We were shown to our room, I booked dinner, and was shown into the most amazing hotel bedroom I had ever seen.  The décor was out of this world and the windows opened onto a breath-taking site of Lake Lucerne.

As Sue prepared for dinner, I started on the partial unpacking.  Then the phone rang.  It was the manager.  He asked how the room was, to which my reply was, exquisite.  He then said he would like to offer me the room at the standard price and my parking would be free.  I gratefully accepted.  They had obviously recognised their mistake and were furiously back peddling to make amends.  For us, it made the visit even more memorable as all the staff were super attentive.  I signed of course the visitors book in the room containing the names of famous Hollywood stars and European Kings and Queens.  Ronnie and Sue’s name fitted neatly in the pages I thought.

Eventually, we arrived back at Calais for the ferry back having visited Fontainebleu and Arras on the way.  I had talked to Sue before of not making the mistake of judging bikers by the images of the rockers in the movies – you can meet the most interesting people. To prove it, I suggested we went as usual to the front of the car ferry queue to see if we could find someone interesting to speak to.  Sure enough there was a slim guy at the front in his leathers sporting greying hair tied in a pony-tail.  I casually enquired where he had been, to which the reply was Poland.  “Ah, have you family there,” I said.  “No, I went to see the birthplace of the composer Liszt.  I am a concert pianist”.  He described how he had turned up unannounced at the composer’s home and was ushered in to be shown the actual piano where he composed his music.  To his astonishment, he was invited to play on it.  He accepted and decided to play extracts from many of his works. What a tremendous moment for him.

So, next time you are driving home from your second honeymoon, ask yourself was it all you expected.  In my case, it was some of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

Ron Kirk

Saint-Malo

November 2016