'Round the World with an Italian Supermodel

I am in Oxie, just before the bridge if you are heading back to DK, or taking a ferry to Germany via Malmo or Trelleborg.
Tools, fluids, and tyre changes possible if you need any help. (Have a set of SPs and Rosso corsas if required.)

You da man, 990Glen! Much appreciated. Unfortunately my body and my ride report are in different locations. Ended up taking the Ferry to Tallin. Pics coming up soon.

Siddhartha on a Panigale :: itz time to return back to the water side (stateside).; ;..

Anti- you mentioned in your coast to coast thread how bad the SPs are in the rain, and that you'd be swapping them out. Looks like you're still rocking the SPs on your Euro trip, though. What gives? Are they doing better in the rain than your first impression led you to believe?

BTW - Absolutely love these ride reports. Always looking forward to the next check-in.

Funny that you asked about the tire choice "derblott". I am planning a few long trips in the spring and wanted to know Anti was running. So to add to the 1st question, how does it holdup /wear with all that mileage?

derblott said:

Anti- you mentioned in your coast to coast thread how bad the SPs are in the rain, and that you'd be swapping them out. Looks like you're still rocking the SPs on your Euro trip, though. What gives? Are they doing better in the rain than your first impression led you to believe?

BTW - Absolutely love these ride reports. Always looking forward to the next check-in.

Click to expand...

I said SPs were bad in the rain? I mean, they're not rain tires, but I don't feel the SPs are at all bad in the rain for normal driving. Not at all. Hell, through torrential downpours in the PacNW I rode SC2s and had no issues.

Onward:



Made it to the Ferry with a couple hours to spare. There's a long road leading to the dock. The kind of road that has a rather lackluster clarity of purpose. Rather than spend my last hours sitting in a parking lot, I opted to enjoy the last remaining hours in Sweden sitting on a spool like a mouse in a cartoon (there were actually a few that were all bunched up together, which made a nice place to lay down for a bit).



It was clear that the Ferry area was more for commerce than for weekenders getting away. 99% of all humans arrived by semi-truck. Getting a ticket required a lot of questions. The guy directing traffic had said he didn't know where bikes went because I was the first motorcyclist he'd ever seen. ???



But I got a space in line and then just waited. And waited.



And waited. And waited.



And waited. Good thing I didn't need to piss.

Finally was directed on the boat. Found some tie downs and went to work:



Those tie downs were stiff as ..... Look at that one loose piece--it held its shape like a wire. I torqued it down as hard as I could. Ferry ride was an overnight deal, so just hoped it could withstand the 8 or so hours of sea travel. Walked up the seven or so flights of stairs to my room for the night. With two beds, I just hoped I had the place to myself for the night.



Dinner was cafeteria-style. As you can see from my sunken cheeks I was in need of some grub.



I ate in silence with a couple of Russians.

Then set sail we did. I was excited, as evidenced by that nordic grin.

Made it with no drama. I had no access to my bike the entire trip, so I just hoped that it was still upright when we docked. It was (booya!), but the straps had loosened up quite a bit. (Note to anyone traveling with a bike on a ship: zip tie the front brake lever to act as a parking brake.)


It was pretty fookin' cool being in E. Europe again. I felt FAR away from everything. All the abandoned cold-war buildings only emphasized the point. I was one of the first vehicles off the ferry. Being that there were several hundred Semi Trucks, I felt it wise (at the time) to not stop and take any pictures. I wanted to stay in front of the convoy. Bad idea from a ride report standpoint, great idea from a ride standpoint.



I had done absolutely zero research on Estonia. No surprise there, really. Made being there all the more exciting, as I had no idea what to expect.






As you can tell from the very first picture of this post, the road I was on was pretty straight. My M.O. is to land somewhere, type in a GPS coordinate that's far away, follow the arrow and then get lost when I see a place that's worth getting lost in, then find my way back. This section of the trip would be a little different, though. Heading south there were multiple roads that led off to the east and west. All dirt or aggregate. In the US, these are side roads/fire roads/lonely paths that I could take and feel secure knowing that they'd lead to solitude. Only these roads were actual roads. Well used roads. It may look like a great place to stop and eat some salami, take a piss or some pictures (or all three), but looks are deceiving. No sooner than I'd get off the bike, a Lada or an old truck would come blazing through, glaring indignantly at me in the same manner someone in San Francisco or Boston would glare if you just stopped in the middle of Main St.

Loved all the side roads in Estonia. Didn't love the mosquitos. But they loved me.

Mosquitoes

As you were the only warm-blooded creature for 1000s of sq. kms it should not come as a surprise that you'd be a feast for them

What's the update Dennis?... What part of the world are you in?.... How's you're health?

This is the best ride report what I have ever read, have already use my whole weekend to it. So Glad that I bought Panigale, wouldnt find this thread without it. All the best Dennis, stay safe!

After over a month of silence, I'm getting worried about our boy. Dennis, where are you?

He's posting on IG so he's around. Must be busy.

My wife bought me one of his pieces of art over the holidays. It was the best surprise gift I received.

It sounded like from the amount of correspondence she received from him that he was around. She said the communication was great.


Dennis if you're reading this thanks a million for helping her out and I am extremely pleased with the final result.

He is posting this ride report on the adventure rider forum as well and it's more up to date. Last post was 12/28.

Hey guys, my apologies. All is well--just been lagging on updates. Can't believe 6 weeks has passed since my last one. So let me try and make up for it:



A little perspective: When I first set out across the US, I wanted adventure. And ......' eh did I get it. And then I became addicted. Nomadic life hit me hard. Staying in motion is not easy. But I found resting harder, so I kept moving. Yeah, there are moments of dread, of exhaustion, of monotony, of sacrifice, hunger and illness, days when it's all stick and no carrot. But even so, the feeling of being in control of my destiny has been a tremendous motivator.

Immediately upon entering Latvia, I saw an abandoned building of some sort. It had been drizzling a bit and the sandy earth surrounding this place looked hard on top, but tenuous underneath. A man shoveling ground a hundred or so yards away eyed me. I eye'd him back, while glancing at the burnt out structure. As curiosity turned to suspicion, he stood up, chest out, and both hands rested limp over the top of his shovel. I could have just taken out my camera and he would have gone back to burying bones or whatever he was doing. But I went for it instead. As soon as I cleared the grassy area bordering the road, I hit the soil. And yeah, it was far more tenuous underneath. The front end weaved and slithered, building up sandy snake-like wedges on both sides of my tires. And instead of focusing on what I was doing, some of my concentration was flashing back to the guy watching me. CAN'T DROP IT NOW! The motor bogged, and, knowing exactly what would happen if I stopped on top of this softy sand dune, feathered the clutch and rolled the throttle as carefully as I could. More concentration was lost on more inappropriate internal dialog: where did all this sand come from? And why is there so much of it? I never noticed sand while in motion feels an awful lot like thick water.

While all of this invasive and involuntary dialogue is going on, I'm just trying to keep my speed and the bike up. More voices joined the conversation. Who built this building with no parking lot or road leading to it? Maybe that's why it was abandoned--no one with a car or bike ever gets out alive! I kid you not, half way there I even began wondering if any locals ever came and laid out on 'the beach' in the summer. I do everything I can to keep it up because I know if I drop it, and pick it back up, I'll never get it to the other side from a standstill. That shovel carrying Soviet dude will probably come help--and probably bring his sickle and hammer-carrying friends over with him, but I'll have to pay for it with a copious amount of dishonor. You guys will understand why I traverse the terrain I do on my bike....but to anyone else (ok, and to a few of you), I'm just an idiot.

I did end up making it. I even got lucky and found parked on a spot that wasn't liquidish. But the kickstand sank every time I put it down. There was a piece of wood nearby....and visually it looked within reach. I leaned way over to get it and, not calculating how high my center of gravity was with my backpack on, almost did a faceplant. Now those voices are silent...with all that chatter you think someone could have warned me.

Stand firmly planted, I got my pictures.





I hung around for a bit. I wish I had a salami sandwich or a bag of beef jerky. Or maybe even a cigarette. Yeah, that would have showed the guy (who was still watching me) how cool I was. Eventually he gave up watching (I'm sure he spun some yarn at supper time with his wife about what he'd seen earlier). But I knew I'd still have to start the bike up and get OUT again. And look at all that .... that was in my way (I wasn't going to go out the same way I came in, which was from the left).

Instead of going straight out, I figured I'd hug the promiscuous vegetation growing on the border of the sand pit. Unfortunately, all of the pieces missing from the building were also there....just hoped nails were a valuable commodity around here and every last single one was removed from all that driftwood. (It was. I made it.)

Uploaded a couple of videos of the riding in Estonia. Think about this: you're in Germany and, on the Autobahn have to worry more about going fast than slow. Then you hit Denmark. And then Sweden. And then Norway. And then you're on a ferry. It just gets slower and slower. The fines are ridiculous. And the drivers....well, lets just say the speeds are slow enough so that no one really pays attention to anything, making those three countries (esp. Norway) the most dangerous, imho.

And then you land in Estonia. As with every new country I'm in, I just ride the way traffic does. And this is a beautiful thing. Saw a guy approaching on a bike behind me (I was basically doing the speed of the big rigs). He passes, I follow and learn how you ride when you're in Est/Latvia/Lithuania. We're not talking crazy stupid speeds. Nor are we playing Russian roulette. Nothing senseless, suicidal or invigorating. But after Scandinavia, .... it felt good to just flow and not have to trod along at 28 mph. And look at the drivers. Every car pulls to the right, including the oncoming ones.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=min6YcshO2c&feature=youtu.be

Of course, with EU expansion, there was a lot of construction, too. Not quite as fun.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibcSkHi2XfE&feature=youtu.be

Lots of this:

and lots of this:


Europe, in general, has much, much better drivers than the US. With the exception of Norway, Sweden and, to a less extent, Denmark. Laws are so tight and people drive in such an organized, unaggressive and slow manner that boredom becomes its own distraction. Even I found myself wanting to slumber there. By comparison, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania all had excellent drivers, but they're also a little crazy and daring. You know everyone is paying attention, because identification of a motorcycle is instantaneous, as you can see from the video above. You come up behind and they move over for you. And before you even cross a center line to pass cars in the opposite direction slide over, too. Like Paris or Rome, it's inconsiderate NOT to make a pass. Everyone was cool and courteous and competent.

Some sad news came my way recently.

Anyone remember Asura, the friend I fought in a parking lot who nearly tore my thumb off before I choked him out? (This was at the end of the C2C ride report and it was a friendly, if not particularly violent fight). This is him puking after the scuffle, which I posted on the C2C thread.


At the end of the episode, under this picture, I posted this:
"Remember that .... I said early on in the R/R about it being the stupid things we remember? That reckless, fearless stupidity is the prerequisite for building the kind of memories that can sustain us until a final sleep rounds our lives? (When it doesn't kill us.) Well, this was one of those examples. Priceless."

Well, a final sleep rounded his life last Friday. Motorcycle accident. Panigale 1199.

He and I had originally met in a (ha) parking lot in 2002. He recognized my S2000 off of the S2ki forum and says, "Nobody?" Completely random. We ended up becoming good friends. We both loved cars, both had little tolerance for the routine litanies of life and we both experienced a general weariness and discontent that required healthy doses of risk-taking activities. I took my smoking-tire aggression out at the track. He was the canyon racer, bombing up and down 17 or Skyline at midnight, fireballs popping out the Ti exhaust he hand fabricated in his shop.

Now, I do not know anything about the incident other than this: a car slowed to make a turn, there was a collision and Asura was pronounced dead at the scene. Oh yes, and he was hauling ass. Now, I am no saint and I'm not going to pretend I've never done anything that could have ended poorly for me. I have. But I also have a good sense of where the fun part of the motorcycling bell curve peaks and where the declivity of fatalities begins. The bell curve he operated with looked quite different than mine.

This incident that made me realize a mistake I've made more often than not: sugar coating criticism or turning a blind eye to how a buddy rides. His death made me realize that, if you've got a friend who treats mountain roads (or any other public streets) like his personal racetrack, it's your responsibility as a friend to tell him he's a ....... idiot. Don't just shake your head and let him off with a verbal .... Punch him in the face with your opinion. And if you know a rider who's incompetent, tell him he/she sucks. Don't stay silent and for ..... sake don't encourage them. Tell 'em they suck and always will. Losing a friendship is better than your friend losing their life. Be as brutal and honest and critical as you can. Do not be gentle. Speak razors. You do not want the responsibility of guilt that comes from silence.

And Asura, wherever you are, bud, I wish you eternal peace if not eternal consciousness. Sleep well, ya ........



And the rest of you: I won't say be safe out there, but damn it, make sure you always come back in one piece.