Thursday 5th September

Yesterday had been a lovely sunny day, but when we came out today the sky was very overcast and damp looking. We were probably going to get wet at some point, but there wasn’t much we could do about it.

It did rain, and got quite heavy for a while, but before we got to any services to put rain suits on we went into the Gotthard tunnel. Ten and a half miles of relatively slow speed in a very warm tunnel. By the time we came out the other end the rain was only light drizzle and I had dried off.

We stopped at the Neuenkirch West services for a coffee and cake (in case you wish to go there) and before we got back on the road my brother went for a wee and came back laughing. “You must go and take a picture of the machine in the toilets,” he said. What an earth for? “Trust me, you’ll know”. I didn’t want to take my camera with me, imagine walking into a gents toilet and whipping out a camera. Who knows where that might end! But I did take my phone, and I could see what he meant. The vending machine was behind the hand basins, so if I took a picture nobody would think that I’m an old pervert (I am, but not for that sort of thing). But when I whipped it out I still got some strange looks from the other people in there. Until they saw what I was taking a picture of then they started laughing as well.

I shan’t display the picture here, in case you are offended, but you can see it here

CHF7.50. I thought about getting a couple to bring home as presents, but as I didn’t have any change on me I thought that I would get them on the way back - sadly the machines in those services didn’t stock them.

Back on the road again and it started raining and was getting quite heavy. I wanted to stop and put a rain suit on, but before we got to the next services we came to the Gotthard Tunnel. It was so warm in the tunnel that by the time we came out again I was dry.

From Como to Mandello took longer than I thought it would, but the rain had stopped, we were surrounded by mountains and as we got closer to Mandello there were more and more bikes heading in the same direction.

We were staying in a small village up in the mountains behind Mandello (as the whole trip was booked very late there wasn’t a lot of choice. It was that or camping) so we rode up there and unloaded the bikes, then walked back down into Mandello to enjoy the views of the lake, have something to eat and generally just soak up the atmosphere. It was quite a dark, steep walk back up but fortunately I had a small torch with me, so that in the unlit parts (with no pavement) we weren’t invisible to cars.

Friday 6th September

Who needs a beach when you can wake up to mountains and a lake? Sand just gets in your undies and chafes, but the mountain views lift the soul.

Second item on the menu after breakfast was to visit the local Moto Guzzi dealer to see if they had time to replace the oil seal on my brother's bike.

Let’s be honest, even if we didn’t need to go there I would have been looking for an excuse anyway…

Wouldn’t you?

“What’s the problem?”, “When do you need it?”, “No problem, leave it with us.”

I parked my bike round the corner and we set off on foot just to enjoy the town and the atmosphere.

Down by the lake is a park, the road along the back of it was full of stands with local custom builders, clothing vendors and the like setting up to show their wares over the weekend, and of course bikes everywhere.

Just along the road the dry cleaners were offering this unusual service.

I suppose that after a session with the Swiss teeth rattler an Italian helmet cleaner might provide a welcome break.

Rather more stylish than a diesel Ford Focus.

After lunch we went to the factory to visit the museum.

I’m guessing that it is choke, throttle and brake. But do you have to push the throttle lever away from the bars to cut the power, before pulling the brake lever? Or is the throttle the other way round?

A 500cc supercharged triple, developing 65bhp in 1940! And then the FIA banned forced induction…

A record breaking version of the Motoleggera 65 (this one is 73cc) from 1948.

The view from inside an enclosed record breaking bike. A roof would have been fitted for speed runs.

That evening I offered my brother a lift up to where we were staying on my bike, but he just gave me some old rubbish about not being a good passenger (it was only about 3 miles) and set off to walk back up the mountain. So that I didn’t get there too much before him I went for a ride along the lake.

Saturday 7th September

It was looking like it was going to be a lovely sunny day, but being less than impressed by the breakfast where we were staying we decided to walk down to Mandello and have breakfast there.

We went to a little cafe that my brother knew, in a small square with a church on the corner.

Behind the church the road goes to the local cemetery, which is next to (above) the Guzzi factory. Carlo Guzzi is buried beside the wall overlooking the old test track which ran round part of the factory. You can easily spot it on google maps.

Beauty carries with it a price. In the case of Mandello, and I imagine all the towns by the lake, that price is that in front of the town is the lake and behind it the mountains, so flat land is at a premium and they’re not making any more. Because of this, space in the cemetery is at a premium and gets re-used. People such as Carlo Guzzi are honoured and stay where they are, but in the regular family graves coffins are buried on top of each other and eventually get removed to make way for new occupants.

To the left of the door on that church is an opening on the wall, and if you look in there…

Of course, I did the childish thing. Peered in there and said “oh, what’s that over there?” and then when my brother looked in, grabbed him by the shoulders and shouted “boo”.

Lots of people had arrived on Friday evening, so there were now even more bikes parked wherever there was space

There were a lot of volunteers, stationary and mobile helping to keep everything working.

To the factory to have a look around.

You might think this was set up for the weekend to meet the needs of any passing Hoxton Twats, but no. Moto Guzzi were (are?) a very paternalistic company. Not only is there an on-site barber, but there is a supermarket in town where employees can shop and the money is deducted from their wages, pre-dating electronic payments.

Built in 1950 it was the world’s first motorcycle wind tunnel. Designed by Carlo’s brother Giussepe, who had never seen one before. Originally powered by an ex-military Fiat V12 (aero engine I would presume), that was then replaced by an electric motor. Apparently, such was the power drain when it was switched on that the lights in the town used to dim.

The scale has got a light every degree round the edge, and when the wind tunnel is in use it shows the air resistance caused by the bike and rider. It’s visible to the rider in the tunnel and to the operators outside.

Earlier in the day we had spotted somewhere to go for lunch. There was a school for children with learning difficulties and they were putting on lunches to raise money. It was all staffed by the teachers and pupils - and it was very popular.

We got there before they opened and joined the long queue outside. Selected from the menu, ordered and paid as you went in, were seated at one of the big tables and food brought. The food was fabulous, the atmosphere was even better. It was like walking in on a big family meal and immediately being made an honorary member of the family.

Back outside wandering around again.

This looks to me what I would imagine an Italian station looking like.

I thought this was very pretty, probably not fast, but good looking (just like me really)

I fancy one of these (too old for a Le Mans)

I also rather liked this.

What?

My first thought was that someone had taken the engine out of a 400/4, but no. Back when De Tomaso owned Benelli and Moto Guzzi, Benelli were making a 350/4 when Honda came out with their 400. The Benelli engine was resized to be a 400 and rebadged as a Moto Guzzi.

Talking of which…

I must be old, I know what year that is just from the colour scheme.

It was not a Kawasaki desert though

I’m not keen on this though

Fake patina applied onto a tatty Vespa. Real patina is so much classier.

We wandered down to the park by the lake. The far end was a campsite, then in the middle it was set up with a stage, with live music going on the whole time (free), and tables to eat, food stalls.

Still bikes everywhere.

Someone always has to go a bit too far.

Cool As [censored]. Even if George Clooney himself had turned up he wouldn’t have been as cool as that couple and their Kwacker.

I sent my daughter a picture and said that George had just turned up in it. She believed me for a bit.

Ok, back to the bikes.

Now that’s patina.

One last picture for the day.

This bunch spent the afternoon, and then the evening riding round sampling from their on-board wine dispenser. But as the evening wore on they got louder and more drunk and were kidnapping people to take them for a ride and feed them free booze. Whenever they came past any policeman nearby seemed to find something else more interesting to look at.

We spent the evening wandering around, enjoying the music, the atmosphere, the food, and the ice cream. Oh, fireworks as well launched from out on the lake.

It was like a big family party where everybody was happy to see everybody else. Nobody bad tempered, nobody upset. A really lovely atmosphere.

The next morning when we were in Agostini’s we asked the man there if there was ever any trouble at this event. He said that in 30 years the only trouble he’d ever seen was two locals got drunk and tried to start a fight over something but all the bystanders pulled them apart.

Eventually we crawled up the mountain again and went to bed.

I see there was a complaint about not enough bikes. Some people are never satisfied!

Actually I meant to include this yesterday, but it was late when I finished writing it and I forgot. So have a few more bikes while I go and write up Sunday.

No, I can't explain the bagpipes either.

Sunday 8th September

What a beautiful morning in a beautiful place.

A stroll down the mountain for breakfast and coffee which should have been labelled “charging to 200. Clear”

Sunday, A day to go to church, A day to worship.

We decided to give the nuns a miss and go straight to the two wheeled high altar to see if our prayers would be answered.

This man was very proud that he had worked at the factory and wanted to tell us about it. My brother translated for me (he claims to speak Italian, he may have been making it up). It’s nice that the company still has such loyalty.

I can’t remember now if he was riding the derny on the magazine cover. It was of course a Guzzi, a Galletto.

Someone else who had come to worship - the nuns only let you light candles.

People were bringing various historic bikes (Guzzi of course) and parking them along one side of the square. One by one they were brought over and put on the rollers to start them up, then wheeled off the rollers and warmed up, and, well, you know the form. The assembled throng were there to hear sweet combustion music.

But of course, lovely as these were, everybody wanted to hear one of them in particular. Otto.

I know what this particular beast sounds like because many years ago at what I think might have been the first Goodwood Festival of Speed I was standing in the pits admiring Otto (it might have been a reproduction) and a Mr. Surtees came along, fired it up and rode off on it. Two greats in one place.

Because of this knowledge I made sure that I was standing in front of it and had earplugs in. It was still loud but at least my eyes didn’t bleed this time.

The mic on the camera doesn’t convey the volume. Turn it up until your eyeballs rattle and you’re getting there.

I’m told that in previous years it’s been ridden round the town. That must be a wonderful audio treat to hear that engine note echoing through the streets towards you.

Before we, temporarily, depart the square let me show you something.

Imagine trying to stop in the wet with that as your front brake. Even in the dry it must be terrifying on any kind of slope or mountain.

After looking at the bikes and chatting with people it was getting towards lunchtime so we wandered round to the school and joined the queue again.

My brother was happy because they let him have the menu as a souvenir. I’m sure they were going to be throwing them away later anyway. Still, simple things and all that.

I’m not sure who started this.

We couldn’t leave there without buying some souvenir t-shirts and a pile of raffle tickets - all for a good cause. First prize was a V85TT, but I haven’t heard anything yet. It’s a pity, I was looking forward to going and collecting it.

We went back to the chapel square, which was pretty deserted apart from a couple of bikes.

Carlo Guzzi gazing towards two of his greatest creations.

I have to comment on something at this point. The “keepers” of these bikes had parked them there earlier and then gone off, no doubt to have lunch with friends. Nobody was keeping watch over them. Everybody who was interested came and looked and took pictures but nobody touched them.

I know from being involved with events in the UK that had it been here then without people present to stop them, children and adults would have been sitting on them, fiddling with the controls, posing for pictures. Climbing all over them. But there, people showed respect.

We’d met some lovely folks from Northern Ireland, and they said to us that we should go with them to see where it all started…

No, not Bethlehem, I’ve finished with the religious analogies now.

Here, Carlo Guzzi’s first workshop

That was a pretty special place to look around. There were things there that he had made.

That’s it for Sunday. We did nothing more interesting than going down to the lake and enjoying the views as dusk fell, then filling our faces.

Tomorrow we bid farewell to Mandello del Lario.

Mandello del Lario and Lake Como.

I don’t think you can see the Guzzi factory in this picture, it’s somewhere over on the far left.

The plan for the rest of the day was to head north past the top of the lake and then turn off the motorway and head towards St. Moritz, turn left and go over the Julier Pass, but with a maximum altitude just a couple of feet short of 7,500 we needed that sunshine - no point in going that high to look at the inside of clouds. After that we’d come down and get back on the motorway again at Chur, head up past Zurich and back into France at Mulhouse.

We had nowhere booked for the night, but were going to rely on technology - when we had an idea of how far we wanted to go I’d use one of the apps to find a cheap hotel.

We stopped at the factory gates to take a few more pictures and then left Mandello heading south to Lecco to get on the motorway. Before we got there though we stopped so that my brother could fill up.

Road vehicles fill up one side, boats on the other.

We turned off the motorway at Chiavenna and onto the road towards St. Moritz. It’s not a big road, so speeds weren’t high - but there was very little traffic, and mountains either side. About 10k along we crossed the border into Switzerland and the road surface improved and houses were much tidier -  nowhere needed decorating or the grass trimming.

In the 40k between Chivanna and the turnoff for the Julier Pass the road climbs about 1500m, but it’s not continuous, nearly half of the journey is alongside lakes. It’s very pretty - the sort of scenery that you get in holiday brochures.

This is Silsersee.

There’s a stunning 360 degree drone shot on google maps (not mine, I just saw it when I was writing this)

5k further along you turn left and start climbing up the Julier Pass

And get to the top. It’s 2284m high, so I’m not sure if the tower is there to allow you to climb to 2300m.

As you can see, plenty of snow - but heated grips meant that my hands were still comfortable wearing summer gloves (my brother had taken his off to take some pictures.)

Lots of snow, but the road looked as if someone had been along with a snow plow, then swept it and then wiped it dry!

Actually, apart from the roadworks, that was true of the entire country.

Coming down the other side the scenery was very pretty, eventually we dropped below the snow line and started going through small towns in the valley - being very careful to keep below the speed limit. I didn’t want to have to sell a kidney to get out of the country.

Between Chur and Zurich we made a stop for a late lunch at about 3pm in the motorway services. How much? I know we didn’t stint on the calories, but it was only a Burger King! I was slightly surprised that I didn't get a phone call from the fraud department at the card company.

Not much further on, heading towards Zurich you come out of the mountains (well, the real ones) and the road was quite boring.

At Basel the road went into lots of tunnels, splitting routes inside them and we needed to make sure that we followed the correct tunnel to get to the border.  Adding to the fun it was the evening rush hour so it was hard work keeping together, but we managed it and the French motorway was sanity after the last few miles.

Technology had got us a room in a budget hotel on the outskirts of Nancy, a bit over 200k away and the sun was going down. I enjoy riding at night (when it’s warm), especially on a motorway or dual carriageway where the bends aren’t suddenly going to tighten up but my brother was less keen blaming Italian electrics so he tucked in behind me. Such trust.

Going through the Vosges mountains there’s a 7k tunnel which saves going over a pass. I’ve just looked it up and it has an interesting history. It was very strange because it had originally been built as a railway tunnel so it is fairly straight, but we seemed to be the only vehicles in there.

Somewhere after the tunnel the motorway was closed so we followed diversions along the D roads, which was harder work at night and cut our speed back (to the annoyance of some French car drivers) and we didn’t get to the hotel until 11pm. But the room had all the important qualities - two beds and a bathroom.

Distance for the day: 371 miles.

Tuesday 10th September

It might have been a budget hotel, but there was no shortage of breakfast, so we fuelled ourselves up before setting off on another sunny day to ride across northern France.

The motorway must have been closed at some point, because I wouldn’t have stopped on the motorway to take this picture.

And I know from the metadata that timewise it was about halfway between the hotel and lunch.

We stopped for lunch in the motorway services just before we got to Reims. The food was lovely and much, much cheaper than our Swiss lunch.

South of Cambrai we made another stop for coffee and snacks, and soon after parted company.

I had booked my crossings in the tunnel, but my brother insists on taking the ferry from Dover to Dunkirk - and back again. I reckon that with the extra road distance on each side and the crossing time it must add 3 hours to the journey.

I had a short wait at the terminal and then onto the train with a couple of other bikers and back to old Blighty.

I don’t know why, but I dislike the M20/M26, so although I had no need of a break I stopped at Maidstone services for a coffee. I could have gone straight into south east London and picked up the south circular to go to the bit of south west London where I live, but it’s slow going, so I went round the M25 to Leatherhead and then across to the A3, which passes close to where I live.

Despite the extra stop I was home at 21:46, so a little less than 12 hours from Nancy.

Once I’d said hello to my wife and the cat, had a cup of tea and unloaded the bike I took it round to the garage. But despite having to be in work the next morning I couldn’t go to bed yet. I had persuaded my brother that instead of travelling 100 miles further on to his home he should stay the night with us, which eventually he had agreed to. But, with the extra time taken on that ferry crossing, and then getting caught in road works coming round the south circular “it’s quicker than the M25” (clearly it’s not) it was about 2am when he arrived. Ah well, I can catch up with some sleep tomorrow evening.

Distance for the day 425 miles.