Not much excitement today. Lots of mindbending, disorienting pitch black tunnels that go on for kilometers, some corkscrewing up through the mountain, cold, wet. The darkness and sensory deprivation makes then dizzying. One is almost 5 miles long, and the coloured arcs of rough hewn rock, dimly illuminated by the weak lights, pass at intervals with a frequency that becomes hypnotic, till it feels like I’m not moving and could just step off. One of the things I love about motorcycle travel is the acknowledgments from other bikers. In England it’s a nod, in the north of England more a tilt of the head. The French give a can’t-be-arsed, half-arsed, half wave / half shrug. The Italians are too busy looking at themselves in their mirrors to wave to other bikers. In Germany it’s a very precise one finger horizontal point to the other rider. A Russian biker will stop for a chat, invite you home for tea, fix your bike and take you out on the town. In Sweden and Norway, it’s a full hand out to the side until you pass, almost like a handshake (with the wrong hand because they drive on the wrong side of the road), but without touching. Whatever the style, it says "Hi there. Nice one, another biker. We’re the same, you and me. If you needed help with something, I’d be offering it. Hope you’re having a good ride. Enjoy the road!" Car drivers don’t get that. German motorhome drivers and dutch caravan pullers certainly don’t get that
Day 28 Voringfoss
7
Jul