On A Scooter to Istanbul1967

Sat 20/5 Haarlem to Helmstadt - Germany, 550 kmIt was on Saturday May 20, 1967 when we loaded Frans’ scooter and left Haarlem (Holland) mid-morning. In those days I had no helmet and to make matters worse I had no decent motorcycle clothing other than a light jacket, neither had my brother Frans. The gloves we wore were not for protection but to keep our hands warm. Of course none of it offered anything in the way of waterproofing or for that matter water resistance. The weather was good for the time of the year. It was late spring. However the month of May does not always guarantee pleasant weather. We finally left at 10 am and headed for the freeway for the ride towards Germany and the border crossing near Emmerich in the vicinity of Arnhem. At the border we stopped to change 50 Guilders into German Marks and followed the E35 into the direction of Frankfurt. The Heinkel was supposed to have a top speed of around 115 km per hour. However, due to the fact that the scooter was new and had to be run in, 80 km per hour was the maximum speed allowed for the first few days. To make good time it was best not to waste it by stopping too much so we pushed on until it was time to fill up with fuel. At 9 pm we left the autobahn and pulled into a small town called Helmstadt and found accommodation in a small hotel.
Sun 21/5 Helmstadt to Matrei - Austria, 500 kmThe next morning we left with the odometer reading 600 km and we finished at 1140 km. Nearly 550 km in 11 hours made it a long day, with not all that much to show for it, but we enjoyed the ride although most of it was on the autobahn with cars racing past at 200 km per hour. We left at 07.45 and proceeded with a ride of 250 km to Munich. We decided to ride through the city centre just for a look instead of taking the ring road and as a result got totally lost. On top of that the Heinkel called it quits. Lucky that I had a fairly good mechanical knowledge as I owned a moped which I maintained myself. I quickly worked out that it had to be something to do with the carburation. There was enough petrol in the tank and a good spark at the spark plug. So out came the spanners. The carburetor was removed, stripped and cleaned. We found some red coloured flaked dirt in the carburetor we thought must have been paint from the inside of the tank and we believed it was this which had caused the problem. With the engine running again we quickly left the city behind us and set course for Salzburg for a coffee break during which we studied the map. From here there were several routes across the Alps. One of them was by means of a train where cars and motorcycles were loaded on a train with their drivers travelling in a separate carriage. Another choice was a traffic tunnel and the last option was crossing the Alps by riding over the 2600 metre high Grossglockner pass. We decided on the latter and followed the signs leading into the direction of the high mountains in front of us.Not before long we saw the first snow, not just in the distance but also on the side of the road. At 8 pm it was getting too cold and the riding became uncomfortable. We spotted a small hotel near the top of the pass. I was glad they had a vacant room as the thought of continuing did not appeal very much. The hotel was nice and warm inside with an open fire in the lounge and one in the restaurant area. A good place to be as we were also hungry. As far as getting meals today the best we could do was buying milk and cake, as on Sunday all shops were closed and the service stations in those days did not sell any food items at all.

Mon 22/5 Matrei to Slovenski Brod - Yugoslavia, 560 km
Early in the morning the friendly hotel manager ushered us into the breakfast room and served us unusual food consisting of thinly sliced dark dry bread with a sour taste. Maybe that was the reason these people didn’t smile much. Before loading up the scooter we took a stroll along the road to find the source of the noise we had heard all night. Near the hotel was a 10 meter high waterfall. The water flowed over rocks down into a pond and through pipes under the road to the other side of the highway from where it flowed further downhill into the valley below. At 8 am we left the hotel behind us and followed the road to Klagenfurt. Soon the crisp cold air made way for warmer wind coming from the valley in front of us. The southern part of Austria looked distinctly different from the northern part. The Alps have divided the land into two separate areas, completely diverse from each other.Many dark wooden buildings abound. Often villages were filled with large farmhouses made out of dark brown or sometimes black coloured rough sawn timber.Even the dress style was different. Many of what I believed to be farmers, were dressed wearing thick white shirts and dark coloured baggy pants held up with braces. The women walked around in wide colourful dresses and wore a head scarf. We passed a sign reading: "Yugoslavia" with an arrow pointing to the left but most traffic kept following the road through a narrow valley in a Southerly direction. "Loibl Pass - Karawanken" it read on the signs and nothing else. Besides leading us up the mountain range going higher and higher it also became steeper, some sections were inclined more than 20% and that was steep, especially for a 9.5 hp Heinkel scooter with two guys and luggage on it. Several times we had to stop for road works and found the only way to start riding again was for Frans to rev the engine and drop the clutch while I helped with a short push and then quickly jumping back on the seat again. This was difficult because Frans had to accelerate the bike to avoid stalling it while at the same time it was extremely difficult for me to run uphill to catch up. During those days Yugoslavia was a communist country, nearly all business was government controlled and freedom of its citizens was restricted. (This changed during the early 90’s into a free market economy and the area we entered is now called the country of Slovenia.) The border crossing procedures were relatively simple as we had acquired our visas beforehand. The border was right on the top of the mountain pass at about 1300 metres. There was a tiny village of just a few houses right at the border and a border control post. From there on it’s a free ride all the way down to the village of Podkoren in the valley below. From there the road continued and ran down the undulating plains of central Slovenia. (Incidentally, this control post was the same place I was going to blow up my BMW engine a few years later.) The city of Ljubljana offered a place to get some lunch at a little bread shop I had visited twice before during my hitchhiking trips the previous two years.From there on it got a bit monotonous as the concrete slab road continued east in a straight line. Via Zagreb we reached Slovenski Brod that night and stayed in Hotel Brod right on the city square. It was a warm evening. Through the window on the first floor we watched a ritual taking place which was played out in many large towns or cities in Yugoslavia. Young men and woman, boys and girls were walking around behind each other in large circles. The girls in the inner circle walking clockwise and the boys in the outer circle walking around them in an anti-clockwise direction. As both groups walked in opposite directions the males could look at the females and the females at the males. Interesting and amusing to see.The speedo showed 2280 km and we were now about 1750 km from home. The world and surroundings had started to look different. The fact of being in a foreign place was now more evident and gave me an exciting feeling.
Tue 23/5 Sl. Brod to Sofia - Bulgaria, 600 kmThe land around Belgrade looked barren and deserted. However, I realised the green dots in the field were newly planted crops of maize as I remembered that during my previous journeys we had passed endless kilometers of maize in full bloom up to two metres high. We passed Belgrade and headed for Nis. The flat countryside made way for the first mountains of the Balkans. The road followed a river and ran through about a dozen dark and dangerous unlit tunnels, some of these had bends in the middle. The road surface was generally in bad shape with plenty of unexpected potholes. On entering a tunnel everything turned black and moments before you started to panic you could see the other end and head for the spot of light in the distance. Being blinded by oncoming trucks and cars, there was no opportunity to cross fingers or anything else. The only thing to do was to hold on tight to the handlebars hoping to reach the daylight without anything going wrong. A sigh of relief when we finally reached the end of the tunnels only to find another one looming up in the distance. After more than ten tunnels we were glad to leave it all behind and head for the border of Bulgaria.The area we were in was called Serbia. For a foreign traveller the main difference was that the written script changes to Cyrillic (like Russian). Two years earlier I had hitchhiked through this area with my other brother and had faced some difficulties reading the road signs especially in the countryside. After arriving home I made the alphabet my own so in future I was able to make sense of the signs. (The main roads have signs in two scripts.)Getting close to crossing into a new country always felt exciting. Probably the fact that once you are inside a country you quickly get used to your surroundings and when the next border is in sight the feeling of new things ahead give you once again a bit of a rush. "СОФИЯ - Sofia" was written on the signs pointing east. A few hours later we handed over our passports to green uniformed Bulgarian border guards with red stars on their caps.The border facilities took only 20 minutes and we were on our way to the capital Sofia which is less than 100 km from the border. The roads deteriorated to badly maintained, rough concrete slabs full of cracks. It got worse on entering Sofia. Most city streets consisted of rough cobblestones. In the inner city another danger presented itself in the form of tram rails which often stuck out several cm above the road surface. Very dangerous for motorcycles and particularly so for scooters with their smaller wheels. Right in the center of the city was a large square on which the Balkan Tourist Hotel was located. Today it is a five star Sheraton Hotel. In 1967 it was the best and most luxurious hotel in town. Before and in years to come I visited this place many times, not to sleep but just to sit and rest in the large lounge next to the foyer. Frans and I sat outside on the steps to watch people go by. Soon we were approached and offered private accommodation which we accepted.We planned to ride to Istanbul or at least to reach Turkey the next day.We had been on the road for four days, all had taken a lot longer than expected. The distance we had to cover was around 2600 km depending on which route we took.
Wed 24/5 Sofia to Plovdiv-Bulgaria, 150 kmIn the morning as we were about to leave, we noticed that everything was shut and that thousands of people were lining the streets. Apparently it was a public holiday. We noticed that festivities and parades had been planned so we decided to stay and watchwhat was about to happen.
Unexpected things make a journey much more interesting. We parked the Heinkel and joined the crowds. As mentioned before I was able to read the signs and banners but could not understand the language so we had to guess at the nature of the festival. Eventually we figured out that it was some sort of sport celebration day judging by the sportswear of the participants and the slogans displayed on the banners and floats.The whole procession took about 2 hours and had many floats mixed in with political messages and anti-American propaganda. At noon it was all over, we bought some food and got ready for departure. Interesting to note that in the shops everything was written in the local language, so we looked at the label of a can and guessed what the contents would be by the picture on the outside. We bought an attractive looking tin with an inviting piece of artwork in the form of a drawing of some kind of exotic fruit. To date we still don’t know what was in it other than some sort of unidentifiable slippery substance which did have a reasonable taste. Frans wrote in his diary: “Blik slijm leeg gegeten” (Ate a can of slime). After stocking up on food at a nearby shop, we checked the position of the sun and headed east for the high plains of the Bulgarian countryside.
After we had left the city we were looking forward to a nice afternoon. However after about one and half hours whilst in the open country, a wild storm broke out. It started suddenly and gusts of wind threatened to push us off the road. It became fairly violent and as riding became impossible we decided to stop and secure the Heinkel against a tree. We spent almost two hours hiding under a bridge which became a problem in itself as the water was steadily rising during the time we were there.
We passed the time talking to a Bulgarian farmer who spoke German. He told us a lot about the way of life and the strange unusual way Bulgarians were forced to buy cars or motorcycles by means of having to pay for it in American dollars. Needless to say he asked if we had some dollars to exchange - which we hadn't.Just before dark we reached Plovdiv in the pouring rain and, having no waterproof gear was uncomfortable to say the least as we were both soaked to the bone. We found a place to stay and called it a day.

Thu 25/5 Plovdiv to Istanbul -Turkey. 450 kmBulgaria had a strange visa system. A tourist visa was expensive and a transit visa cheap. However with the transit visa a visitor had to stay in the country for a minimum of 48 hours. If you wanted to leave any sooner there was an eight US dollar extra charge which was a large amount of money as you could get a nights accommodation in a decent hotel for that. This way the authorities forced transit visitors to stay overnight and spend money in the country and not merely use the road system, as was with the majority of Turks travelling from Western Europe to their home country. They would prefer to drive straight through coming from Yugoslavia and arrive at Istanbul the same night. We waited at the frontier for an hour for our 48 hours to expire and crossed the border for a ride through 50 metres no-man’s land filled with chemical baths to stop the spreading of diseases. Crossing into Turkey was exciting as we realised that we were a long way from home. The usual customs procedures were that all luggage would be checked and the Heinkel’s details entered into Frans' passport to make sure we leave again with the same mode of transport. Two years before I had crossed into Turkey and after crossing the border had left the paved road system behind for a part dirt road all the way to Istanbul. Now the roads had been rebuilt and completed. The narrow two lane road which were only tracks in places had been fixed and replaced by a four lane highway. We pushed on to the city of Edirne for a bite to eat. During the ride we had seen lots of military vehicles along the road but thought nothing of it, however once we entered Edirne we saw the reason why. The centre of the city was blocked off with barriers and troops were standing at ease on either side of the road. There was no way around and we were asked to wait by the police in front of the barrier. As soon as the policeman turned away Frans just shifted into low gear and rode around the barrier towards the two rows of troops. Looking back at it now we behaved like idiots but at the time we found it hilarious. I guess if you would do this nowadays they would shoot you as you could be carrying explosives. However in 1967 the world was a different place. We must have travelled at no more ten 10 or 15 km per hour. Meanwhile Frans had switched on the headlight and… the windscreen wiper!While proceeding at slow speed no one knew what was happening. I stood up on the foot pegs and held myself in balance by holding on to Frans his shoulder and brought my hand to my forehead giving a military salute.Within seconds there were shouts everywhere which must have been “Atten…tion!! (In Turkish) because all soldiers were brought to attention and saluted us. It was now important to keep a straight face otherwise we might have been in trouble. I wonder who was more surprised. We didn’t waste any further time and headed straight for Istanbul.
Istanbul was as chaotic as usual but well sign posted. Following the Ankara signs we rode through the city to the blue waters of the Bosporus Strait which separates Europe from Asia.A ten minute ferry ride took us across the other side to Uskudar on the Asian side. From there we just followed the road along the Bosporus in a northerly direction until we got to Beykoz which was the final destination. However ... 10 minutes before Beykoz we ran out of petrol and had to push the Heinkel back to the village we had just passed. The village service station was in the middle of closing down for the night but luckily was still able to help us. At long last we reached Beykoz in the dark and arrived at the house of our friends Eniz and Zeliha who we planned to visit.
The following day, early in the morning, we walked to the centre of Beykoz to catch the ferry to Istanbul, a pleasant two hour journey zig zagging the clear blue waters of the Bosporus. Getting off at the Galata Bridge we entered into the old quarters and headed for the underground markets and anything else that came our way. Several hours we spent in the spice, gold and silver markets. As many trades have their own designated area you didn’t have to go far if you were after something special. In the souvenir area you can find a myriad of products, ranging from carpets to elaborately carved chess sets or just walk around admiring all the trinkets for sale. It is hard to imagine that this market has been going seven days a week for hundreds of years and continues to do so every day.
For lunch we bought some undisclosed local delicacies. Frans decided on a bottle of yoghurt or yoghurt like substance or whatever it was because it didn’t go down well.We were walking just outside the underground market in a narrow street full of market stalls when Frans said: “I feel sick, I think I am going to throw up!” Quickly we went around the corner into a side street which ran uphill. A few seconds later Frans started to throw up in the gutter, not just the contents of the bottle of yoghurt but the entire contents of his stomach as we had been snacking at the market and drinking coke plus the leftovers from this morning’s breakfast including some olives and bits of tomato. The mixture started to move down the gutter and across the busy narrow street where hundreds of people were walking along. When I saw some them trampling through the spew I just could not stop laughing, it looked amusing. People walking along with bits of vomit, slime and what not, clinging to their shoes. Frans didn’t see he funny side of it, I wonder why… I know it is not funny to laugh at things like this, it really isn’t...errr... no it is not!!! Hahahaha.Anyway his day was spent. We walked over to the nearby Istanbul University and sat down in the shade of some trees. A true oasis only one street away from the noise of the markets. An hour later we walked slowly back to the ferry as Frans was still not well. Just after dark we arrived back in Beykoz.
We had been away just over a week but it felt like a lot longer as we had experienced a lot in such a short time. The next day Frans felt better and once more we headed for the city with its more than 2500 years of history it has to offer. This time we took a tiny 12 person ferry straight across to the other side of the Bosporus. Here we found a complete reversal of Beykoz. An affluent part of the city with modern houses, nice gardens and well-made roads of bitumen instead of the rough cobblestones of Beykoz.We checked the map and took a bus towards the outer edge of the old city from where the ancient walls of Constantinople could be reached. From there we walked slowly back to the city centre.We climbed the old walls at places and checked out the brickwork which is more than 2000 years old. After a long stroll we passed a mosque and stopped to wash our hands and freshen up a bit. A kind gentleman invited us in and told us that the service was about to begin and if we wanted we could observe from the balcony. We thanked him and removed our shoes as requested and went upstairs trying not to make too much noise on the creaking old wooden steps. We watched things going on while sitting on thick bright green carpets. In front was a wooden balustrade with the turned wood in the shape of thick rope.Looking through the slats, the only person we were facing was the Imam who I assumed was the equivalent to a vicar in a Christian church. Below us we could see the people (all males) with their backs towards us. In unison they were praying while standing up, kneeling and bowing down with their faces pressed against the carpet. We didn't stay long because first, our socks stank to high heaven and secondly, we had spotted a man who, when he bowed down, accidentally exposed himself as his pants had a tear in them). We looked at each other and had to struggle not to burst out into laughter as this would have been most embarrassing and would have shown a lack of respect.We quickly left the building and headed for the Istanbul University grounds again as we knew that it would be a nice place for a rest.After walking for 5 hours it was nice to use this little oasis in the busy city centre. After an hour we strolled down the hill towards the ferry terminals and boarded the vehicular ferry across the Bosporus to Uskudar from where we took a Dolmus (shared taxi) back to Beykoz.
Istanbul is a beautiful city which is best to visit in stages. We were tired of all the walking and decided to stay in Beykoz town where we met up with lots of people, both new and old acquaintances. Early evening we ended up in an open air cafeteria to listen to traditional Turkish music and drink some raki. Some Raki? - it must have been a bit more than "some" as during the night I got sick and threw up. Raki is like the Greek Ouzo, tastes like aniseed and contains 40 % alcohol. The following day after a stroll through town, we took the Heinkel and rode to Uskudar to visit a large mosque. In some nearby shops, we bought some souvenirs for us and gifts for the family where we were staying and headed back to Beykoz to sort our luggage and get everything ready for departure the following day.
Wed 31/5, Istanbul to Sapai - Greece, 350 kmIt was time to go. In the morning, after taking pictures of the family, we loaded the Heinkel and left Beykoz around 10 am for the ride towards Greece. First we had to ride back to Uskudar and across the Bosporus to the inner city and continued this riding along the other side of the Bosporus following the ancient city walls enjoying the views over the water. Once past the airport we entered the open road and commenced a straight run west with only the town of Kesan between us and the Greek border. In Kesan we could see evidence of the ongoing tension between Turkey and Greece as we passed many army camps with large parking areas for tanks and other military equipment.
Arriving at the border near Ipsala we ran out of petrol, the reason why this was happening again was that the Heinkel did not have a fuel gauge. This seemed to have been overlooked by the salesman when during his sales presentation he made a comparison between the Heinkel and a car. All cars have fuel gauges, furthermore there was no reserve tap on the Heinkel’s tank either. The only way to keep track was to estimate the fuel usage and keep a record of the distances we had travelled or look inside the tank at regular intervals. The nearest petrol station was on the Greek side of the border. However at the border no one was allowed to walk across, possibly because the actual border line was right in the middle of a bridge crossing the river. A soldier was asked to get some petrol for us. A few minutes later we were given about a litre free of charge and sent on our way. Right in the middle of the bridge there was a white line flanked by Turkish and Greek flags marking the exact border between the two countries with on either side a soldier, one Greek and one Turkish. These soldiers faced each other all day without speaking a word.
We continued to Alexandropoulos to stay for a few hours and then continued west. We stopped somewhere in a small fishing village for a walk along the pebble beach, taking in the Greek way of life. Interesting how a few kilometres of land offers such a great difference in culture. A bit further west we stopped in the town of Sapai to stay for the night.Thu 1/6 Sapai to Thessaloniki - Greece, 280 kmOnce again the weather was great and we enjoyed our breakfast looking out over the Mediterranean Sea. From there the road hugged the coast all the way to Kavalla. We took it slowly and made many stops along the way to spent time relaxing at various pebble beaches. Riding west from here there was only one main road. There was no need maps anymore as all roads lead to Thessaloniki where we arrived mid-afternoon. The early start had given us plenty of time to explore the city during the remainder of the day and evening but first we relaxed on the terrace enjoying a drink and watching the pretty waitresses of Hotel Rotunda serving their customers. Thessaloniki (also known as Salonika or Saloniki) is a large city and is the capital of the northern province of Macedonia which in bygone days was a separate country. It was first established in 316 BC and named after the half-sister of Alexander the Great. The old Ottoman city walls have remained intact as is the fort along the harbour. In the early evening we strolled along the waterfront and enjoying the balmy weather, not noticing at all that great things were taking place in Greece. A few weeks before King Constantine had been challenged which had led to a coup d’état where he was replaced by a military junta. The fact that there had been a federal election on May 28 was no doubt the talk of the day.
Fri 2/6 Thessaloniki to Nis - Yugoslavia, 320 kmVery early in the morning we did another short city tour after which we continued our journey and headed North West towards the Yugoslav border. Our first port of call was Skopje which had been partly destroyed by a disastrous 6.9 magnitude earthquake in 1963 in which nearly 1100 people died and almost 200.000 people became homeless. Now, four years later, the city was still partly in ruins but in the area where buildings had remained standing it was business as usual. After visiting a small supermarket to buy some bread rolls and a few cans of fish we left the city and headed for Nis. This time we approached the city from the south and had to cross the same mountain range with equally hair-raising moments as during our previous approach and with the same type of roughhewn dark tunnels dripping with water, full of potholes and just a tiny dot of light indicating where the end of the tunnel was located. Oncoming trucks with their headlights ablaze did not help the matter either. After battling through a dozen tunnels, a sigh of relief as we left the mountain range behind us and headed towards the city.Mountain ranges not only divide land masses but often weather patterns as well. Coming out of one tunnel we were suddenly confronted with a sudden change. We had enjoyed beautiful weather all day until we entered a long tunnel and reached the other end when things had become very different. The blue skies had changed to dark almost black threatening clouds which were hanging low over the mountains.Just before we reached Nis the weather turned sour and again we spent time standing under a bridge to keep dry. Late in the afternoon we turned into the driveway of Hotel Nis and were able to dry our clothes on a heater in the room we had booked with the reluctant receptionist, who saw us standing dripping wet but was mainly concerned about the watery mess we were creating on the floor.
Sat 3/6 Nis to Belgrade and Trieste - Yugoslavia, 240 kmRain rain rain, but we had to go. Our jackets were still damp from the previous day. Thirty minutes after leaving the comfort of our room we were soaked again. The Heinkel did offer some kind of protection as the front had metal leg shields as part of the chassis plus the “dashboard” was fitted with a large windshield. It was a horrible bleak day and we often stopped to get out of the rain.Late afternoon we arrived in Belgrade and stopped in front of a large hotel. Here was a place like in Sofia to pretend we were guests so we could sit in the lounge to have a rest and dry ourselves.Relaxing in the lounge we discussed our options. One of them was to take the train down the length of Yugoslavia and travel to Trieste on the Italian border. The cost of doing this 630 km distance by train could be offset by subtracting the amount of fuel we were saving plus one or possibly 2 nights’ accommodation. Travelling by train would also give an opportunity to dry our clothes.Although the cost was a hefty 75 guilders, once the other costs were subtracted, it turned out to be a very cheap, but above all, a good and comfortable alternative.Our enquiries at the desk were met with a “No problem we can arrange" answer. The receptionist had made a phone call and wrote a few things down just in case no one spoke either English or German. While handing over the note he said "Just go to the train station and present yourself, they have a goods wagon in which they can place the scooter.” The train station was only about 4 km away and they knew we would be coming. At arrival we were directed to a large shed where one of the goods wagons was located. We were told to leave the scooter on the platform but after some insistence on our part we were able to load and fasten the scooter ourselves.
The train was only half full when we entered. We both had a long padded comfortable bench seat each. The type of train we were in had separate compartments with a walkway along one side. We closed the door and curtains and went to sleep. In the middle of the night some people tried to enter but we just pretended not to hear them and to be fast asleep. In the end they went away - perhaps the smell of our socks had worked in our favour.We finally arrived in Trieste at 9 am. The weather had cleared, the sun was shining and it was going to be a beautiful day. We unloaded the Heinkel and headed for Venice 160 km away where we arrived well before midday.
Sun 4/6 Trieste to Venice - Italy, 165 kmVenice here we come! We parked the bike at the entrance to the town and changed our clothes in the car park next to the Heinkel, which I found a bit embarrassing at the time.For hours we walked through the narrow streets until we came to Piazza de St Marco. It was early evening, at the large square several orchestras, situated on raised wooden platforms, were playing light classical music. They took it in turns, when one finished playing the other would start. We gathered that during the day there must be people around who operate market stalls because we found some wooden tables tops placed against the side of the cathedral. The temperature was nice and warm so why not do something different and stay here, at the square, for the night. Around midnight we arranged the table tops in a tent like fashion and crawled underneath to catch some sleep. It first it was a bit uncomfortable but with some newspapers as covers it was actually enjoyable until we woke at around 5 am when the cleaners arrived and started to hose down the square.
Mon 5/6 Venice to Milan, Italy, 280 kmAs we wanted to catch at least one day of sun we headed for a beach at the nearby island of Lido which we reached by ferry. The boat ride was nice but by the time we arrived on the island the sun had disappeared. We gave the idea of laying on the beach a miss and went for a walk just filling in time to catch the next ferry back to Venice. We decided that we had seen enough and departed about 3 pm. It was time to leave Venice for the other tourists.
After changing back into our riding gear we got on the Heinkel and headed for Milan. Although we used the toll road to make some miles we finally arrived in Milan at 10 pm. Having late sunsets often plays tricks with the mind, especially if you don’t feel tired and forget to check your watch from time to time. Every now and then it feels like 7 pm when in fact it is way after 9 pm. The trouble is that most businesses were shut by that time and that included small hotels.After trying a few places we found a small hotel near the railway station. After a night in the train and one on the street, it felt good to sleep in a normal bed again.
Tue 6/6 Milan to Grenoble France, 390 kmMilan is a nice city. Unfortunately we didn't see much of it as we spent only 4 hours riding around the centre of town, but at least we got some idea of what it had to offer. At midday we left the city behind us and headed for Turin and the French border. The Alps in this area are again very high but luckily it was not as cold as it was in Austria, the only visible snow was at the tops of the highest peaks. The straight road had made way for steep inclines and hairpin bends when suddenly the Heinkel stopped and gave up. What was it this time I wondered. Dirty petrol again? We unscrewed the petrol cap; it literally blew off into the air. The petrol was very hot and either the air vent in the cap was blocked or it was too small. Inside the petrol tank there was that much pressure that it effected the flow of fuel to the carburetor. We were high on a mountain pass and it couldn't have been in a more beautiful place. We looked straight across a deep valley to a rocky mountain on the other side. While we let the engine cool down we killed the time with yodeling and shouting loudly so we could hear our echoes bouncing back from the mountain on the other side of the valley. After behaving like kids for 30 minutes the scooter had cooled down and we continued our journey up the pass only to discover that just around the first corner a few hundred meters away, there was a building which looked like a hotel. On the terrace outside were dozens of people enjoying their coffees and cakes. They must have heard our shouting and possibly wondered who those idiots were. Fifty meters down the road we were stopped at some sort of police checkpoint which at first we thought to be the border however, we still had about 10 km to go. At the border our passports where stamped, and we exchanged some guilders for French Francs. As with many borders the control post was right on the highest point of the pass so downhill we went to a small town at the bottom of the pass for a drink and as we had lost a fair amount of time hurried on to Grenoble for a nights rest.
Wed 7/6 Grenoble to Metz France, 600 kmThe day that followed was merely just a run north From Grenoble via Lyon, Dijon and Nancy to Metz. Not stopping much but just making kilometers on the motorway. The highlight of the day was a confrontation with a policeman who wanted to give us a fine for something we had no idea about and were not aware of what we had committed. He pointed to a sign in French, we had no idea what it said or what he was on about. Just outside Metz we stopped at a small hotel overlooking a fast flowing river. The hotel only had a few rooms and was made entirely out of large round river pebbles which were not only used for the construction of the walls but also for the bar and seats outside.Thur 7/6 Metz to Haarlem Holland, 470 kmUnfortunately, it rained again, but who cared as it was our last day and tonight we would be home. In Belgium we entered the Ardennes where the light rain changed into a downpour, so again we had to stop and wait it out for some time. We followed the route via Luxembourg to Malmedy and Spa to Luik (Liege) in Belgium and crossed into Holland near the city of Maastricht. Via Den Bosch we reached Haarlem at around 6 pm. Checking the speedometer, the scooter had covered about 6500 km.
The Heinkel had done well. My brother Frans owned her for many more years and it was always trouble free. The fact perhaps aided by the 175 cc engine which by today’s standards would have developed between 15 and 20 HP but only had an output of 9.5 HP. The fuel consumption had been excellent at around 27 to 30 km per litre. The only gripe against the bike was the lack of top speed and power for acceleration and passing.I hope you enjoyed the journey, the start of a lifetime of motorcycling which is still going on 50 years later. The question with regards to motorcycling being a dangerous past time, I have to answer with a "Yes it is." However, it is not the motorcycle itself or its size that makes it dangerous. Smaller bikes can be more hazardous than larger more powerful bikes as they can't keep up with traffic speeds or get you out of trouble quickly if need be.Larger motorcycles these days are safer as nearly all of them have ABS and some even Traction Control. Safety on a motorcycle is determined by skilled observation of one's surroundings, decisive actions and a good judgment under all circumstances.The most important condition in making a motorcycle safe is control over the right wrist. In 1985, a good friend I went riding with told me: "You ride like an old man". "Yes", I answered, "that's why I am still riding."With the right attitude it is a safe and very enjoyable hobby.