I caught a break!
June 28, 2008
Steering wheel, check; brake, clutch, accelerator, check; gearstick… on the wrong side but, check!
Pre-flight checks done I started the engine and cautiously eased the rental van that was to transport my bike to BMW Munich for repair out of the forecourt.
*CRUNCH*
Shit… Within 30 seconds of renting it I’d twatted the van into the post in full view of the guy who I was renting it from
To the sound of screeching metal and paint I reversed the van off the post and sheepishly drove off.
A few miles down the road I parked the van in front of my stricken bike and set about loading it.
Yes, well… Loading a 200kg bike single handed into a van 3 feet off the ground is somewhat difficult, and after abandoning a rather lame attempt at a pulley system I hailed I passing German holidayer who was more than glad to give me a hand.
Bike secured I headed for Munich.
During the 4 hour journey I discovered two things..
1) Driving a van for the first time through three different countries with the steering wheel on the wrong side after you’ve not driven anything with four wheels for half a year is SCARY.
2) Borders in Europe are amazingly fluid, the only way I knew I was in Austria was from the signs demanding I buy an “Obligatory toll sticker”.
I arrived in Munich at 5:00, somewhat later than I’d hoped despite ragging it down the autobahns, all that I had to do was find a petrol station and buy a map.
This proved somewhat more troublesome than I’d envisaged, and half an hour later I was wading my way through rush hour traffic when finally I spotted one.
Grabbing hold of the first map I could find I handed my prize to the cashier who asked in admirable English “Do you need directions?”.
Having been given the worlds best directions (concise and accurate, holy shit!) I arrived at BMW… HQ…
A towering office block with BMW in 20 foot high writing was an impressive site, but nary a mechanic to be found, I’d been sent to the wrong place!
Tearing the map in my haste to open it I traced my finger over my route and was off again.
5:45, only fifteen minutes to get there!
Even though Munich was a breeze to navigate in comparison to the likes of Rome it was still 6:15 by the time I got to the 3 storey mega-garage that was BMW Motorrad Munchen.
They were still open! “Yes sir, we close at 6:30″ I was informed to my delight by the receptionist.
I managed to locate Fred, the friendly service guy with whom I’d arranged this rendezvous in impeccable English only a few days before; and half an hour later I had given him a full list of all the problems my bike had and he’d given me a brand spanking new G650X with 150km on the clock!
An uneventful ride back to Italy and an uncomfortable nights sleep in the van later, I shamefacedly returned the van to the autonoleggio.
The proprietor of the establishment walked carefully round the van inspecting for damage and stopped at the dent he’d witnessed yesterday.
“This. I say nothing”
“Sorry?”
“About this dent, I say nothing, is no problem.”
Phew! Am I lucky or what?
He even helped me unload the new bike from the van!
New bike loaded up I headed off for Switzerland!
Oh, my, GOD the Alps are beautiful!
One particular pass was especially amazing, and something of a biker meeting point!
I took the opportunity to throw some snowballs and fill my water bottles up from the cascading waterfalls of ice cold snowmelt that dotted the landscape.
The roads through the alps were as a slalom, I was grinning from ear to ear with glee as I leant from one side to the other flying round bends and overtaking with impunity, ridding the bike of what slim chickenstrips it had accrued in its short life.
Entering Switzerland I came upon a checkpoint, but was swiftly waved through without even a second glance, big difference not being in the EU makes so far!
Switzerland was more of the same beautiful roads, and by this point I’d got tired of taking photos and was simply bombing along having the time of my life chasing Porsches and Hayabusas.
Little did I know my timing enjoying these tarmac masterpieces of flowing artistry was shortly numbered.
I entered the umpteenth hairpin I’d encountered that day with confidence, “Hey, I’m getting pretty good at this!” I thought to myself, smirking at the prospect of another dose of an adrenaline, g-force sandwich.
“Hmm, overcooked this a little”, my hand went for the front brake.
*CRACK*
“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck” I thought to myself as I lay in the middle of the road, my foot trapped underneath my still running motorcyle.
I struggled desperately to free myself, visions of artics bearing down on me racing through my mind, adrenaline blinding me to the pain I was causing.
After what seemed like an eternity I wrenched myself free and saw a line of cars had stopped and people were rushing to my aid.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes! I’m fine!”
I tried to stand up.
I decided lying in the road for a little while seemed like a nice idea.
After I’d struggled to my feet and the passers by had moved my bike out of the way, I sat down on the grass verge to recover.
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yes, my foot’s a bit bruised, but I’ll be fine in half an hour or so.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to take you to a hospital?”
“Nah, I’m fine, thank you very much for your help!”
I sat in the sun nursing my foot for an hour before trying to put weight on it again.
Yeah.. not going to be riding my bike today.
I flagged down a passing troupe of bikers who were a mix of American and Swiss and after explaining what happened, asked if they knew of a cheap place to stay nearby.
“Dude, go to the fucking hospital, I’ve had a few accidents myself, you need to get it checked out”
Secretly grateful despite my protests I agreed, as despite the lack of pain I feared my toes were broken.
By this point a pick up had stopped to see what the fuss was about and I gratefully accepted their offer of a lift to the hospital, as I had not been looking forward to riding pillion with my foot!
In a matter of minutes I was being taken care of by the best healthcare in the world.
The doctor informed me that I’d broken the small bone in my heel that ran up the back of my leg and I would need surgery straight away.
Within an hour I was transferred to a bigger hospital and was sitting on a gurney having a local anaesthetic injected into my back.
“You’re making us all miss the Germany Vs Turkey game you know!” My anaesthetist cheerily rebuked me.
“Don’t worry,” she continued, “This op is very common amongst skiiers as well, we do it all the time, it will be very quick!”
And she was right, though that’s not to say that the sensation of someone drilling woodscrews into your leg with a black and decker isn’t somewhat disconcerting…
I spent the night in a private ward and in the morning was cheered to be transferred to a communal ward that was 75% bikers!
During the first day I had time to mull my situation over.
I realised my most pressing concern was securing BMWs bike, as I’d left it by the side of the road for any tom, dick or harry to bundle into a passing van and make off with.
At this point, Misha and Mattias rode in like knights in shining armour wading into the thick of a melee to turn the tide of a losing battle.
Words cannot express how grateful I am to these two doctors who went so far above and beyond the call of duty.
The drove to where I’d had my accident (a good 45 minutes away), bump started the bike and drove it back to the hospital so it would be safe.
I still can’t believe the generosity and good will they’ve shown me, some-one they’ve only just met, nor the amount of problems they’ve saved me from!
Since then they’ve visited me repeatedly to cheer me up, laughing and joking and promising to return on Sunday night with cocktails, some relative of the Mohito that they’re horrified I’ve never heard of!
Guys, if you’re reading this, thank you again, and if there is ever any way I can repay you, don’t hesitate to ask.
So there you have it!
I’m being discharged on Tuesday with any luck, the view is great,
The food is awesome.
And I have a cool scar and a super sexy boot to show for it!
Phew, I’ve had to write this post twice as for some reason wordpress decided to delete the first draft, so for now, I shall bid you Aufweidersehen!
Next time on TK-TV, why my F650 repairs cost €2,500 and what I’m going to do next+
In Amsterdam.
July 3, 2008
Well, I’ve answered one half of the cliff hanger from the previous post already!
Tuesday morning I was discharged from the hospital and said a fond farewell to the doctors and nursing staff that’d helped me so much, they even went so far as to drive me to the train station, which was a mere 15 minutes hobble away!
I caught a train to Chur, which happened to be a measely half hour train ride away and disembarked with difficulty looking like a pack mule, as my 15l rucksack was woefully inadequate for the amount of stuff I had to carry and I’d resorted to strapping stuff to the outside of it with my cargo net!
After sitting down at the station’s café I dumped my bag-cum-fishing-net on the floor and had an unsettling feeling that something was missing
“Shit! My camera!”
I’d left my camera on the train!
Of course by the time I’d hobbled back up to the platform the train had dissapeared.
Sweating profusely from the summer heat and unaccustomed three-legged parambulation I stumbled into the lost and found office to find a rather self satisfied attendent who informed me with a less than well concealed smugness that he did not have my camera.
Oh well… Last I’ll see of that, time to buy a cheapo compact I guess… Money go THATAWAY!
So yes, I apologise for the lack of photographic evidence of my journey, I’d intended to get some spectacular photos as we rattled quietly through the alpine scenery in the sunshine but… T’was not meant to be!
Many hours later I arrived in Amsterdam at 11pm and hobbled into a taxi and tried in vain to explain the difference between “Hostel” and “Hotel” to somebody who really only spoke Farsi.
He dropped me off at my hotel.
“Sorry sir, we have no vacancies”
Ok, this was starting to look bad, budget splitting as my situation had been a few moments ago it looked as if I’d have to call another taxi, and another, and another until I eventually found a hotel with a room.
“Vacancies” A neon sign flickered gently across the street.
“Yeeeah! Thank god!”
I flopped thankfully into the first room I’ve had to myself for months and fell asleep watching a Dutch subbed version of “Mars attacks”, has anyone watched this film all the way through? I’ve seen the beginning about 5 times now!
The next day I was tasked with acquiring a fresh supply of Fragin, which is a class A drug new to the market tha… No seriously, it’s a blood thinner to prevent DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis) in bedridden cripples like myself!
I hauled my recalcitrant body the 200 exhausting yards to the Apotheke.
“Ah yes, you’ll need a prescription for this”
I hadn’t been given a prescription? Had or? I searched through my “Pockets of holding”and after inspecting enough scribbles of paper to rival the library of babylon I resigned myself to a wearisome trapse to the tourist doctor to get myself a prescription.
2 hours and a full mile and a half round trip later I’d given up and gone back to the hostel, that was 10 yards round the corner from my hotel of the previous night, with a box of asprin and some calesthenics in mind.
I spent the rest of the day in a cafe across the street smoking a box of 25 cigars I’d bought for 10 euros and trying the Rosé beer they had, that even the waiter screwed up his nose in disgust over when I ordered it.
It was… alright… More like bacardi breezer than beer but, better than a 69cent carton of wine for example.
The evening I whiled away in the common room of the hostel talking to a lovely canadian couple who shared their purchases with me, which as previously elicited little obvious affect to myself… I must be doing something wrong…
Upon the morrow I sat in the common room steeling myself for another attempt to find the tourist doctor when
“You check out today yes?”
“No, I was thinking of staying a few more days”
“No room!”
Grr, I really did not want to pack up all my stuff into that ever shifting, clattering mess I’d assembled it into previously.
Still, to their credit they arranged another hostel for me, at an admittedly pricey 30 euros a night and I wandered off via tram to find my bed for the night.
No problems, found the tram, found the hostel, yay for things going smoothly!
My stuff dumped I still had to find my Fragmin, and after half an hour of arguing with the girl behind the counter over my swiss prescription I had an order placed and was told to pick it up tomorrow.
Right… One last thing, a book!
Amsterdam’s not short on English bookshops and I found one no distance at all from the chemists.
“One man and his mission to fight his evil half brother to rescue his love/dog/budgie”
“Miss Pennywhether couldn’t decide which suitor to entertain at this evenings ball and was in a terrible muddle”
Hmm, I seem to have found a bookshop specialising in literary diarrhoea.
I eventually settled on a Sharpe novel and retreated back to the hostel.
And there we are! Not much of note really, but tomorrow my mate Alex arrives and the fun begins!