Gotta get a schedule together for 2008 to test at least one new bike a month. Can't wait. The Hypermotard has to be on that list. Then My mate and I can have a tear up, he's got a gorgeous KTM 950 Supermotard. Should be interesting! Roll on spring!!
Anyway without further ado, the next thrilling instalment of the road trip
Mine was the same spec, but with less luggage and twin alloyYoshi's
Thunder boomed across the low hills out the back of the hotel, quite fitting really as the rumbles pealed out of the sky, earlier we had also thundered through the same hills, bouncing hellish sonic V-twin booms down the valleys.
Sorted and showered and once again in civvies we slunk out of the lobby finding a nearby pizza house, we ate mightily and consumed more yellow beer before stumbling back to the nights temporary HQ. My sleep was interrupted by Edmund The Snorebastardmeistergeneral throughout the night, but darkness, relaxation and warmth rejuvenates the soul remarkably well even if wakefulness cannot be shrugged off.
We awake (or rather Phil and Eddie did) rather early, the scrum for a position at the circuit would be intense. We needed to stake our claim and fly our flag.
We trouped down too reception, as luck would have it (or not) it was my turn to sort the bill out. I had forgotten the 5 languaged notice proclaiming 'Absolutely no way whatsoever do we accept credit cards' and calmly palmed my shining plastique to the receptionist. Fully armed silicon equipped holographic authenticity sparkled in the rogue shaft of yellow sunlight. It was motioned away with a dismissive gesture of the hand and my attention was brought to the aforementioned notice. I shrugged and gave it the best crinkling around the corner of the eye type, half teeth revealed smile to get over the 'Look I'm basically honest, I have no cash but you can make an exception for me (cheeky but pleasant) geezer offering credit card, what a nice young man, despite the leathers look, reminds me of my grandson' scenario that I could muster. No feckin Italian dice however.
What was I fucking vampire or something? Tsh!
The elderly matriarcial crone (probably the owner) gesticulated and cackled briefly, the younger pidgeon interpreter woman managed to get over the message that there was a Banco up the roado that opened at 9.00, get up there, score some dough on the plastique and then offski to Mugello.
For their security I had to remain at the hotel with two passports out of three, whilst Phil and Fast had to go and sort the loot out. Bit of a result as they would have to use their own cards.
They returned with the loot and 'Crone Iceheart Matriarch Hotelier Cash Only You young upstart English pup' swapped thousands of Lire in return for our stay and temporarily hostaged passports.
Apparentley when the lads went to the Banco, the dozy trainee bint behind the screen gave them £1000 quids worth 0f Lire instead of £100. If it wasn't for the manager noticing the mistake as they left the building we would have been quids in. Like I said Tricky bugger Johnny Lire even for the locals.
We departed for the short excursion to Mugello, we had arranged to leave our luggage at the hotel because we would need a bed for the night again before embarking on the next leg of our journey. The bikes unfettered with luggage were covered in dead fly filth, but looked great and sounded magnificent as we started our engines and shattered a few windows.
We got to the circuit, which was mobbed, found a parking slot in some old farmers back yard amongst several hundred others, paid our dues to greasy palmed and dirty fingernailed peasant type and hoofed it to the circuit. We didn't have tickets but we managed to score three off a tout and we were in. We had made it.
It was heaving, barely a blade of grass was not covered by a human occupant or their blanket, campfire, tent etc, all around the circuit. To be honest we couldn't see a great deal, the bikes were specks and it started to rain. The desultory conditions were a pisser, we spent more time trying to stay dry than watching the race. When the 500's made their way round on the practise lap it was sluicing down. McWilliams managed to bin his ride so the Irish interest for Eddie was gone. The great Valentino Rossi triumphed. I felt dejected and damp. So much effort to get here and an absolute wash out when we did. It may sound a bit strange but this was the lowest point of the road trip for me. We would have seen more on the telly, the saving grace was that we had jumped on our bikes and done something with them, giving them their head and exercising them far more than most other days.
It took hours to get out of the area after the race, covered in quag and mud from our parking area, spraying it around as we crept slowly to the exits, still at least we had the loudest bikes there which was quite gratifying. We returned to Manse Iceheart Mother in Voglia, holed up for the niight once again and plotted our return leg home.
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