mcatrophy
Privileged to ride a 2018 FJR1300AS
Preamble
I've been wanting to do an Alpine trip for years, but it's not easy to do without some pretty boring riding.
Possibly because I may be coming to the end of my motorcycling career (a significant heart operation impending, and glaucoma affecting one of my eyes), my good riding friend R organised this little trip. There were three of us, R, my son, and me. No-one else was invited, we knew that we would be covering a lot of ground fairly quickly, and a larger group would inevitably lead to delays in keeping the group together, and we needed to "make progress".
Timing was also an issue. Son was committed to an event, running up hills for charity (sometimes I can't believe he is my son) on the Saturday, I have a hospital test on the Monday week. We didn't want to delay because later in the year the weather can close the passes we wanted to do.
R decided a route, and booked hotels. He's very good at this sort of organising, and knows most of the passes we would be riding, though he'd never done such a concentrated event.
So, Son gets home on Saturday approaching midnight, we need to set off at 7:30 in the morning. He is going to be tired. Oh, well, he will recover. He made sure his bike was packed before he went off on his little exercise.
My preparation? Friday I decide to check my tyre pressures. Look at my rear tyre - yes, that's got a couple of thousand miles left in in it. Front tyre? Oh, less tread than I thought. And it might rain. And I'm going to be riding in the mountains. So, ring up my local tyre supplier, "Have you got a front tyre for me?" "Yes, I'm looking at a BT023." So, whip the wheel off, newspaper in the boot of the car (it's still "her" car, so I daren't get it dirty), in goes the wheel, and I have a nice new tyre on the wheel in short order. Put the wheel back on the bike, and as I fiddle the brake callipers to get them on, I notice the depth of the pads. Not exactly worn out, but I will be doing some braking in the mountains, possible heavy and prolonged. So, ring up my dealer, "Have you got some brake pads?" "Yes, in stock." So, jump in the car, round to the dealer. Brings out the pads. They're EBC. I really would prefer Yamaha, but that's all he has. Ok, they will have to do, and I install those. Now the bike is ready. I spend Saturday getting my laundry up to date and packing, ready for the Sunday 7:30 start.
Day 1, Derby to Pontavert
In the past, we've generally used a ferry to get to the Continent. this time, we decided to meet in France, and because of Son's running commitment, the only way we could get to the continent in time was using the Eurotunnel railway shuttle. R (who lives on the island of Guernsey) would go by ferry directly to France, we meet up at our first hotel. So, Sunday at 7:30 son and I head for Folkestone to catch our train.
Because we'd allowed for contingencies (traffic, roadwork, accidents), we had one of the best motorway runs I've had in years, we arrive a couple of hours before the train we are booked on. So, we can get on an earlier train. This means a better arrival time (read: more bar time) at the hotel.
(Click on any image for a larger view, clicking on a route image will give you an interactive map)
Bikes parked in the train. The morning route.
35 minute trip (plus riding on and off we are in the last carriage and have to wait while all the cars in front move out), and we are in France. Then, it's motorways, mostly toll (peage) roads to our first hotel near Pontavert, where son and I meet up with R.
First day's stats. The afternoon route.
607.4 km
=
377.4 miles
94 km/h
=
58.4 mph
126 km/h
=
78.3 mph
Day 2: Pontavert to Chambéry
Today was another slog along French motorways, again, mostly peage. It's the only way to cover ground in France, but it is expensive. Good run, no problems.
721.3 km
=
448.2 miles
97 km/h
=
60.3 mph
144 km/h
=
89.5 mph
Countries so far: England, France.
To be continued. (That's the first boring bit out of the way.)
I've been wanting to do an Alpine trip for years, but it's not easy to do without some pretty boring riding.
Possibly because I may be coming to the end of my motorcycling career (a significant heart operation impending, and glaucoma affecting one of my eyes), my good riding friend R organised this little trip. There were three of us, R, my son, and me. No-one else was invited, we knew that we would be covering a lot of ground fairly quickly, and a larger group would inevitably lead to delays in keeping the group together, and we needed to "make progress".
Timing was also an issue. Son was committed to an event, running up hills for charity (sometimes I can't believe he is my son) on the Saturday, I have a hospital test on the Monday week. We didn't want to delay because later in the year the weather can close the passes we wanted to do.
R decided a route, and booked hotels. He's very good at this sort of organising, and knows most of the passes we would be riding, though he'd never done such a concentrated event.
So, Son gets home on Saturday approaching midnight, we need to set off at 7:30 in the morning. He is going to be tired. Oh, well, he will recover. He made sure his bike was packed before he went off on his little exercise.
My preparation? Friday I decide to check my tyre pressures. Look at my rear tyre - yes, that's got a couple of thousand miles left in in it. Front tyre? Oh, less tread than I thought. And it might rain. And I'm going to be riding in the mountains. So, ring up my local tyre supplier, "Have you got a front tyre for me?" "Yes, I'm looking at a BT023." So, whip the wheel off, newspaper in the boot of the car (it's still "her" car, so I daren't get it dirty), in goes the wheel, and I have a nice new tyre on the wheel in short order. Put the wheel back on the bike, and as I fiddle the brake callipers to get them on, I notice the depth of the pads. Not exactly worn out, but I will be doing some braking in the mountains, possible heavy and prolonged. So, ring up my dealer, "Have you got some brake pads?" "Yes, in stock." So, jump in the car, round to the dealer. Brings out the pads. They're EBC. I really would prefer Yamaha, but that's all he has. Ok, they will have to do, and I install those. Now the bike is ready. I spend Saturday getting my laundry up to date and packing, ready for the Sunday 7:30 start.
Day 1, Derby to Pontavert
In the past, we've generally used a ferry to get to the Continent. this time, we decided to meet in France, and because of Son's running commitment, the only way we could get to the continent in time was using the Eurotunnel railway shuttle. R (who lives on the island of Guernsey) would go by ferry directly to France, we meet up at our first hotel. So, Sunday at 7:30 son and I head for Folkestone to catch our train.
Because we'd allowed for contingencies (traffic, roadwork, accidents), we had one of the best motorway runs I've had in years, we arrive a couple of hours before the train we are booked on. So, we can get on an earlier train. This means a better arrival time (read: more bar time) at the hotel.
(Click on any image for a larger view, clicking on a route image will give you an interactive map)
Bikes parked in the train. The morning route.


35 minute trip (plus riding on and off we are in the last carriage and have to wait while all the cars in front move out), and we are in France. Then, it's motorways, mostly toll (peage) roads to our first hotel near Pontavert, where son and I meet up with R.
First day's stats. The afternoon route.


607.4 km
=
377.4 miles
94 km/h
=
58.4 mph
126 km/h
=
78.3 mph
Day 2: Pontavert to Chambéry
Today was another slog along French motorways, again, mostly peage. It's the only way to cover ground in France, but it is expensive. Good run, no problems.


721.3 km
=
448.2 miles
97 km/h
=
60.3 mph
144 km/h
=
89.5 mph
Countries so far: England, France.
To be continued. (That's the first boring bit out of the way.)