Diversion Excursion

Summer 2007, Britain in full monsoon season, the only sensible option to get out of Blighty and head for sunnier climes. The original plan for three of us to catch a ferry from Dover, but yet another breakdown on the steaming Bavarian turd that was my R80GS left me in desperate need of cheap reliable transport. Alex and Carl had gone ahead on the ferry on Saturday morning, Alex on his ZXR750, Carl breaking his Euro-cherry on a K75RT. By midday Tuesday I was on the ferry to Calais playing catch-up in possession of a '96 Yamaha XJ600N with 32K purchased for the grand sum of £1000.

The cheap purchase cost due to the bike being a cat C write-off at some point in its history and also being used as a courtesy bike by a dealer. The bike felt very light but stable. The clutch basket had a slight rattle at tickover, probably nothing a carb balance wouldn't cure. There was also a rough spot just before 4K after which the engine was silky smooth. In fact the engine was so quiet the chain could be heard in the background when riding.

About 60 horsepower was never going to set the world on fire, but for everyday riding the bike was very relaxed up to 80mph (just under 6K) and with a comfy seat and sensible ergonomics this was a speed the bike could maintain all day. The monoshock was non-adjustable but still had plenty of life left and didn't struggle carrying my 14 stone of lard plus throwovers and a tent. The bike seemed a bit slower than the original XJ600F but didn't need to be revved as hard to make forward progress.

I'd say the performance was identical to a Kawasaki GT550 (or a host of other 550-600cc UJM's of the past two decades), okay up to eighty-ish, with a top speed of 110mph give or take. Speeds close to three figures largely dependent on gradients or headwinds.

The first day's ride under a rain sodden sky, heading through heavy shower after heavy shower. After about three hundred miles I hit a particularly fierce storm, couldn't see where I was going, so pulled off into the first services I could find and set up the tent .

It wasn't until south of Lyon the next day that the first hint of blue sky appeared. I had read about the RN85, the Route Napoleon between Grenoble and Nice, so went to explore. The ride to Gap was okay through low Alpine foothills but the highlight for me was the N202 before Grasse and then on to Nice. Nearly 100 miles of well surfaced roads running parallel to a wide river bed meandering through scenic gorges.

I hit Menton at ten o'clock Wednesday night and caught up with Alex and Carl. The XJ had used a fifth of a litre of oil in eight hundred miles but had otherwise been flawless. I didn't even feel particularly tired, if I'd done the same ride on the boxer I would have felt like a survivor from a ten round bout with Tyson. Alex's bike bore a few battle scars form the ride down, most notably a footrest hangar on the left side held on by jubilee clips after a low speed tumble.

The dynamic duo also managed to take an expensive detour through the Frejus tunnel on the way down which liberated them of 24 Euros apiece. If you ever have the option of going through a tunnel or over the top of a mountain in Europe always choose the mountain. Later on in the holiday, eager to make some progress I broke this rule and the three of us ended up being mugged for 33 Euros for the privilege of riding through the Gt. St. Bernard tunnel. You have been warned.

The original plan had been to head as far south in Italy as time and money would allow, but given my late start and purchase of a new bike neither of these were in great supply. We decided to spend the next day chilling out in Menton, followed by a 100 mile bimble down the coast in the direction of Genoa. Progress was slow but the scenery on the coast road was nice, plenty of nubile lasses on scooters to distract the attention from the kamikaze Italian driving, the sun was shining and all was right with the world.

I lost count of the number of scooter riders overtaking on blind bends, but the seemingly inevitable carnage never happened. Another night camping on the med, the next day we upped the pace, picking up the autostrada to La Spezia. The road was like something out of an arcade game, with lots of bends, tunnels and viaducts leading the road away from the coast and up into the hills.

By the time we reached La Spezia we decided the south of Italy was going to be a non-starter this year. The map showed a range of mountains just near the coast, the Apennines, so we headed north east with the general intent of heading for the Dolomiti mountains. The Apennines were great, not as dramatic as the Alps but still very pleasant, lush forest scenery, well surfaced even cambered bends leading higher and higher until the road was closed at the top of a pass due to a biker wiping out.

Luckily the rider was still in one piece, we saw the air ambulance airlift him out of Dodge. We decided to camp in some local woods but were booze free. There were no shops for miles and I didn't know the Italian for "hello I'd like to purchase some indescribably rank vino collapso." In the end I managed to pick up some homebrewed vino from a friendly old guy in a cafe. Call me a connoisseur if you will but as long as it's at least 12%, doesn't actually make you gag when you drink it then I'm happy. By the time you've finished the first bottle the second tastes a lot better. I'm sure it is perfectly possible to sleep in a tent without being half cut but I for one have no intention of ever finding out.

Back down to sea level and heading north-east the full force of the Italian summer began to take hold. It was hovering in the low nineties, Alex and Carl both being roasted alive by their fairings. Crossing the a river we spotted what looked like a perfect camping spot. We pulled over to do a reccy. Not being overburdened by the ravages of intelligence it took a while to twig that that the preponderance of middle aged men in leather thongs and moustaches that would've made a world war one squadron leader proud wasn't a coincidence.

We beat a hasty retreat and hoofed it to Lake Garda. We were so tired we actually felt grateful to be offered a postage stamp of gravel to camp on for a tenner a head. The magic of vino collapsio worked its wonders yet again and the next day started out well, with a slow bimble up the eastern side of the lake. Lake Garda is stunningly beautiful, with high mountains overlooking both banks. Well worth a detour if you're in the area.

The southern end seemed the most touristy with a large amount of traffic and the obligatory German riders on Japanese Harley clones wearing chaps - why doesn't someone tell them? (what, and spoil all the fun – Ed). The traffic thinned towards Trento as we began to enter the Alps proper. Heading into the mountains as the light began to fade we stopped for food in a roadside bar.

By the time we set off again, with a couple of bottles of the obligatory plonk, it was dark, and raining. To make life more interesting an electrical storm began to kick in. We turned off the main road and eventually camped in a picnic area. Waking up in the morning we found out we had camped next to a series of waterfalls.

By midday we were ready to roll again and after finding the main road picked up the signs for Cortina. Two things struck me about the area I was riding through: the quality of the roads, easily equal to anything in Switzerland or France and the lack of traffic. Most places you go in the Alps your progress is hindered by a variety of obstacles, lycra clad Tour de France wannabe toss-pots riding three abreast on push-bikes, geriatric Alzheimer befuddled coffin dodging retards wrestling monster motor-homes over high passes at 15mph, cruiser riders in chaps with tassel laden luggage scraping footboards as they wobble around corners at one degree past vertical, local drivers in hot hatches aiming to do a "Grace Kelly" with last minute overtaking manoeuvres on hairpin bends... but the roads in the Dolomites were mercifully traffic free.

A few more passes saw us next to the Marmolada mountain as dark approached. We camped down a lane on the north side of the mountain. A roaring fire and a bit more vino did the trick until we woke up to find ski lifts passing within feet of where we had camped. By now we had got the hang of free camping. The trick is to look for a likely spot before it gets dark, hang around for an hour or two to see who turns up, avoid camping on anything that looks remotely like private land, only set up the tents when the light begins to fade and leave no mess behind.

Once hidden by the cloak of darkness you're home free. Nobody telling you to shut up after ten o'clock and very reasonable rates. I found the best combination to be a couple of nights of free camping followed by a night in a campsite to wash clothes, have a shower and sort yourself out. Another advantage of riding bikes is that your basic riding gear, warm waterproof jacket, leathers, boots etc, is ideally suited for being outdoors at night. After a few previous trips I had got the packing light down to a fine art - a change of skids, two T-shirts and a pair of jeans on top of riding gear was more than adequate. I figured that I could always buy another T-shirt for less than a fiver if I got too appalled by my own crust.

The only thing I didn't skimp on from bitter experience was tools. Carl impressed me by picking up a tent for less than £20 brand new. Granted it wasn't actually waterproof, but it managed to get him around Europe for the best part of three weeks.

It was a wrench to leave Italy a few days later, beautiful weather, even more beautiful women, petrol eighty pence a litre, cheap fags and booze and some of the best roads in Europe. We took two days to reach France via Switzerland, including a memorable dusk ride over the Furka pass. Bastille day in Bourg St Maurice left us too hung-over to do anything the next day. The hoof back took two days including another luxurious night in a motorway services. The XJ shrugged off another 500 mile ride back to Calais, Alex and Carl carried on to Bristol finishing a 700 mile ride at six the next morning.

The XJ had performed better than I had any right to expect. Another 15 horsepower and some higher spec suspension would be nice but then they probably wouldn’t be so cheap to buy. I would recommend the bike as a cheap practical, reliable workhorse, ideal for commuting or touring. I’m hoping to get plenty more cheap miles out of the one I’ve got.

John Rodgers