Road to Tokyo

7 days and 1,108km (Total: 14 days and 2,852km)

Riding through Italy is like being in the landscape of the Teletubbies. Except when you get into the cities and people are wearing leather jackets, smoking rollies, and drinking aperol spritz at 11am.

On our first night in this sleeping beauty of a country we stayed in a luxury campsite on the beachside, just past the French border. €28 for a pitch! But, fair enough, the toilets were cleaner than my own. Local folks of older generations were there in their massive camper vans having a good crack on their yearly vacations. We setup our tiny pitch in the corner and headed out for a beer and pizza before returning happy and content.

The next morning we woke to drizzle so decided to pack up and get going. Twenty minutes later – halfway through packing the tent – and it was fucking torrential rain. We didn’t know what to prioritise packing away and keeping dry… The half-deconstructed tent? Helmets? Jackets? Shoes? Gloves? Ourselves?? Nothing could be saved so we sucked it up and hit the road in the down-pour, increasingly thankful to Gore-Tex along the way.

Much planning for this trip was last-minute, so we decided to take a day off the bike and get our shit together (sim cards, tax returns,… all that fun stuff). We found a guy renting a room just north of Genoa, about four hours away. The listing said there were a lot of cats and that’s enough to convince us. We arrived to a little home in the middle of nowhere with a fireplace, a tiny kitchen, and a stunning view over endless hills in their peak spring flourishings. I even did a bit of bike maintenance whist there – tightening the odd bolt, cleaning the mirrors, even lubing the chain. Bear Grills might now have a morsel of respect.

After a beautiful day’s rest we rode into Bologna and stopped for a coffee before walking around sweating in our riding gear (my new workout routine). Our “campsite” that night was a guy called Pietro renting out his garden for €20 per night. He cooked us pasta and gave us a glass of wine. Met a German couple who looked madly in love and pitched our tent next to the unmaintained pool now full of frogs.

The next day was a very long one. Too long. We rode two hours into Florence and explored the city, fitting squarely in with the droves of tourists with our riding gear and my camera dangling from my wrist. Our campsite/garden that night was three hours away. As K was humming along, on our right was infinite blue skies (“life is great” feelings) and on our left was ungodly deep grey clouds about to burst (“holy fuck” feelings). The next direction on Google Maps? 90 degrees left…

Soon, rain drops the size of acorns were hammering down on our helmets and, to add to the scene, the road had smoke coming off it as the rain evaporated from the tarmac. We pushed through and got to our next campgarden. The grass was drenched and the woman came down to greet us in a full umbrella poncho — she looked like the fucking grim reaper. We looked at each other and we both knew this wasn’t what the trip was about so decided we’d go somewhere else.

A quick Booking.com search and there was a place fifteen minutes away that had a rating better than “passable” (we know from prior experience that those ones are total shit). The phone number wasn’t answering so we got back on K and nailed it there. We arrived to two Italian ladies who looked very surprised to see anyone, let alone two people on a motorcycle as big as the tractor the old guy was driving in the field behind them. They couldn’t speak a word of English so tried ann embarrassing mix of English, Spanish, Portuguese, and French. When I put into Google translate “is there a room available tonight?”, and they still looked confused, I realised they might just not like us. Anyway, we finally got through to the owner and managed to negotiate €50 for the night. Worth it just for this dinner setting.

They also had shelter for the bike, which I’m quickly realising the value of. €50 very well spent.

The next stop was Rome. Getting there was a five hour ride. Ninety five perfect of which through beautiful Tuscany landscape, and five percent through a strangely gothic town during an intense hail shower that I’m not even sure I believe the memory of myself. It was like watching the Teletubbies and then suddenly Sin City interrupts for ten seconds before Teletubbies continues. “Did that really happen?”. Another gold star for Gore-Tex though.

Rome the next day was a great day out. We had a coffee, I bought a new pair of running shoes, and we saw close-up Pope Francis in his coffin ready to be buried in Vatican City. That night we went to a Roman Trattoria for dinner in the suburbs and ordered a ragu and a carbonara. Massive portions. I learnt that evening that pasta dishes are typically served as “primo piatto” (first course) followed by “secondo piatto” (second course) which usually has fish or meat. It explained why the table next to us was sharing one pasta dish between five whilst we had one each to ourselves. Zero regrets.

We’re having an incredible time. Every day is a different adventure and life is being simplified to “where are we going tomorrow?”

7 days | 1,744km

Japan here we come!

The 9am ferry to St Malo was packed with young families, presumably going on their Easter holidays, whilst we’re sitting there in our full riding gear and the entire contents of our lives downstairs in the cargo.

It was the perfect ride to start the trip. About four hours down through the country lanes of France. Mostly endless fields of different shades of green with the occasional yellow rapeseed fields and other colours from the splattering of flies on our windshield (honestly, I’ve already had at least 20 flies fly straight into my eye). Intermittently you pass through beautiful little French towns that look exactly as they do in the movies except no one seems to be in there and most houses have the shutters closed. Very interested to know what’s propping up the real estate market in these areas.

The first night we stayed at a “campsite” which was actually a small farm run by a husband and wife – Florence and Jean-Luc – who let you pitch your tent, use their personal kitchen, and shit into a hole in the field. It was perfect. Setting up the tent for the first time was an experience. My last ten years of writing emails and taking zoom calls hasn’t exactly trained me like Bear Grills. We slept for over 9 hours straight. And I dreamed. I can’t remember the last time either of those things happened.

In the morning Jean-Luc was shaving his sheep. He let me into his barn to watch — I couldn’t work out if the sheep were loving it or hating it. Either way, they must have been fucking freezing afterwards. Like going from a 4-season one-piece ski outfit to naked. Whilst the sheep layered-down, we layered-up and rode six hours south towards Bergerac, where we’d be staying with our friends Marcus and Laura. It was a bloody long ride but we had the warmest and kindest welcome you could imagine. Sun, smiles, and wine. The happiness of turning our lives upside down and setting off on this trip was really kicking in.

The first day was sunny and warm.

The next day a storm was heading into the South of France, so we stayed an extra night. The concepts of hours, days and weeks are starting to take different shapes in my mind — we literally have no place to be at any specific time. This might be the only way to truly “live in the present”? It’s a new feeling I’m getting used to, but it’s a beautiful one.

After two days of delicious food, great conversation, and loads of Rummikub (<– great game, I lost many rounds), we left and travelled south east to a hostel in Ceilhes-et-Rocozels. The hostel was empty (wasn’t surprised, it was freezing) so we had the place to ourselves. Cooked some food and figured out the fastest way to get to warmth tomorrow. Montpellier.

On our final day in France we rode down through Montpellier, Nice and Monaco. It was my favourite day riding so far. Weather was stunning and it was cool riding through architecture mixes of art deco, art nouveau, neoclassic, and I’m sure many others. Monaco had a very special vibe which is probably heavily pretentious behind its layers, but who cares when the sun is out is and you’re riding past beautiful men and women on scooters in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

We got stuck in tonnes of traffic so the ride took ages. And unfortunately you can’t skip traffic when your bike is as wide as card. On that note, to finish this first post, here’s a picture of our Honda Africa Twin which we’ve named K because “Kuro” is black in Japanese and K is the name of the main character in Blade Runner 2049. And yes, the license plate is a prime number.

Next stop: Italy.