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The Czech Rally 2002 and Much More
By Linda Bootherstone
Despite all my plans to have the bike ready months before (Anne Gale had kindly brought exchange barrels and pistons over in her hand luggage the previous November) it still ended in a last minute panic and, the day before departure when I should have been packing, a TV crew descended upon my dishevelled house and person to do a documentary on "interesting immigrants in Andalucia"! Four and a half hours filming later I resorted to a much needed tinto or four in the local venta and collapsed in an untidy bed, ignoring the early alarm the next morning.
Needless to say I eventually got on the road and put in 650kms that first day across the hot dry Spanish interior to arrive at a small village south of Toledo on Friday evening ready for their local bike rally. The organisers were surprised to see me but very friendly and I asked one of the wives to direct me to the nearest hairdresser as my tatty locks were driving me crazy. So, for the first time in my life I had a hairdo for a rally!
Spanish rallies are a continuous round of food and drink and all night dancing. I survived and won a long distance award so ugly that I resolved to give it to my mechanic for his garage display as soon as I got back. As usual I was the only foreigner but fortunately my Spanish is good enough to make basic contact and they were a nice group of people.
So then it was off to Girona near the French border to catch up with Katrin
who helped with our Spanish rally in 2001. A quick overnight stay with her and
the bump (she was 7 months pregnant) and I pushed on to arrive three days later
in Kirchheim near Stuttgart where my friend Frank holds an annual "Bushman"
rally for people he met whilst travelling through Africa 8 years ago. He had
dined in my caravan near Gib at that time while on his way south. He and his
fiancee Christine organise a big BBQ and pigroast in a cornfield for about 40
people. I was camped next to Ute and her 7 year old daughter Jannes. Ute has
a R80 BM almost as old as mine. It was a weekend of meeting old friends and
making new ones, watching interesting slides of far flung countries and drinking
lots of beer.
I had done about 3000kms by now and had no back brake, so off the bike went to its German mechanic Ralf, who mends it every time I pass by. This time it needed a replacement drive hub as, not only had the seal gone but the rear drive looked like a set of sharks teeth.
From Kirchheim I took a detour south to Davos Dorf in Switzerland. Thanks to
the excellent German signposting I was able to take a back route through enchanting
rural scenery. My friends in Davos also went down through Africa 9 years ago,
Peter on an XT600 and Annemeike on a Tenere. They married at journeys end in
Cape Town. If you can survive an African trip together the rest of life's hardships
should be a piece of cake, they thought. They now have 2 bouncing sons and no
time to ride but they are very happy.
Whilst in this extremely picturesque area I managed a short walk in the alpine meadows by taking a bus up to the snowline and walking back down the valley. However the day of my departure was cold and wet and I begged extra clothing from Peter and Annemeike as I had a very high pass to cross into Austria.
I rode with five layers on to Wels where the discomfort of my journey was rewarded by a very pleasant stay with Bruno and Ulli and their South African visitor Ryan. Ulli used to be a motocross champion until she had Tobias whose baptism I was fortunate enough to attend. Lots of wetting the baby’s head and our lips as there was plenty of beer and "most" (like a still cider) afterwards. The party that night left us all with hangovers but, headache or not I had to go to Rozmital pod Tremsin where WIMAworld awaited.
In a service session
two days before, Bruno and Ryan had unseized my front brake piston so in theory,
the bike should have been going better but it didn’t know that and seemed
to be very sluggish with the clutch uncommonly heavy so my wrist ached pulling
it in. No matter, despite a few wrong turnings I finally reached my aim; after
two weeks I was in the Czech Republic.
The first thing
you notice when entering Czech is the painted gnomes they sell near the border
and the next thing is the amount of painted women lurking singly in the forest
lining the road. Initially I thought they were selling fruit but soon realised
it was some what more than that. They are on the lookout for lonely truckdrivers
on the Prague run. I felt really sorry for them, especially on seeing the look
of disappointment in their eyes when they realised I wasn't a man.
At last I was at
the WIMA rally. Needless to say it was great to see so many women there, about
330. Some I hadn't seen since the International in Hungary in 1988 but some
had been in Spain 2001 and everyone was surprised that the old BM had made it.
The rally site was just outside the small village of Rozmital, Tremsin being
a nearby hill of 827m. We were in the middle of a forest used for logging and
on site were cabins in a large shaded camping area with a swimming pool. Lots
of space for bike parking, a big canteen and three bars. All was guarded day
and night.
The week was packed
full of activities starting with a procession around town and greeting by the
mayor, complete with brass band and drum majorettes. Other days we were bussed
to the Holy mountain in Pibram (a monastery and pilgrimage venue) and to Prague
where we crossed the Albert bridge full of artists and musicians and did various
tours around this very picturesque and lively city.
An unusual event
was a concert, especially for us, of the Christmassy mass in a small chapel
in Rozmital. The organist was very accomplished and sang parts too as he played
the 250 year old instrument. After the recital he even let some of the girls
who were pianists play on his organ (no rude comments please). Chopsticks has
never sounded so holy.
There was also a planned route to follow which took us through small country
lanes, past sleepy villages, over a large dam and to a castle. I rode pillion
with Pat as the bike needed as rest and so did my clutch wrist.
I was disappointed
that there was no cultural night like in Spain here we had various songs and
stories from each country but there were several impromptu singsongs and one
night Olli, the Czech girl and I shared her guitar and I had the crowd doing
"Gum Trees" to keep the Oz spirit alive in spite of lack of representatives.
The final night
consisted of prize-giving for those who had competed in the various silly games
during the week. I think the Germans won them all. Floh, the German captain
resigned after 25 years and they are trying an Oz style democracy by circulating
the centre of command around Germany every few years starting with a team in
Munich, Bavaria this year. Sheonagh tried to resign as International Captain
but, as there was no replacement she has decided to continue for one more year
with help from Floh and Doris Porter. The
British contingent did a token Morris dance to advertise the International in
Dorset, England in 2003. It was danced with paper napkins to the Rozmital Rant,
a "trad" tune specially written and played for the occasion by yours
truly.
Well, all too soon the week had passed and it was time to leave. Promises to meet next year in the UK, exchange of addresses and lots of lump in the throat stuff. Being contrary, as most of the others rode West, I rode East to near the Slovak border where I had more friends to check up on since my last visit 7 years before.
Andy teaches English
at Uni in Zlin where Bata shoes were founded. I spent a pleasant three days
with him and his family in the village of Uhersky Brod before starting my return
trip. "Don’t leave" they said "Bad rain is forecast".
But I had to. Sure enough, at midday the heavens broke and it took five hours
riding in torrential rain and six enquiries at pensiones before I finally found
a place to stay near the German/Czech border. I rode again in the rain to Dinglofing
in Bavaria, crossing the Danube which, in the next few days rose so high that
they had the worst floods for 50 years. I was lucky to get out when I did.
I spent 10 days
with friends in Dinglofing, mainly because my wallet disappeared while I was
sightseeing and I waited to see if anything turned up at the police station
but also I stayed for my friend Tom’s birthday party. There was no sign
of the money, bank cards or passport but Tom kindly lent me the money to get
home. (I still had 3000 kms to go). Despite the bad weather I had a great time
among very good people, went to a beer fest and ate so much Bavarian sausage
and drank so many steins of beer that my waistline expanded grossly.
Another tearful
farewell. The bike hadn’t wanted to leave either, a bad electrical connection
took us an hour to start . Only a short trip that day to Kirchheim during which
I was lucky enough to meet another good friend on the road and spent the night
with him and his new fiancee. And so the BM went back to Ralf again for various
other faults to be fixed while I stayed in luxury at Franks’ flat and was
treated to a trip to Stuttgart Zoo. Very impressive: large clean animal areas
and lots of trees and flowers. I left Frank and Christina preparing for their
imminent wedding. I was invited but couldn’t afford the extra time so I
wrote a song for them and had it recorded secretly by another friend to play
on the day.
My ride through the black forest into France was superb. The bike sounded wonderful with a new timing chain cutting down on the rattle factor and it seemed to want to go faster. The weather was just right and the scenery green and lush. I stopped at the Balons of Alsace where there are remains of WW1 trenches and a statue of Joan of Arc. Looking for a place to camp I was invited into someones front garden and given food and wine. The hard bit was trying to speak French without muddling it with Spanish, but they seemed to understand, and even gave me petit dejuene the next morning. I had a fright when, on moving the bike to load it, clouds of smoke came from under the seat. My wiring for the mobile had chafed on the frame and was burning out but I quickly ripped it apart. Scare Bleu! Fortunately no damage to the main wiring.
I stayed with a
friend on the French Jura side of Geneva. As I was passportless she smuggled
me into the city in her car. As Switzerland is not in the EU they still have
border checks but fortunately they didn’t stop us. I dawdled a couple of
days at her house as I was loathe to face the heat of Spain but my time was
running out so I headed south, stopping overnight in the Pyrenees before staying
again with Katrin (bump now larger) and talking WIMA stuff.
I was now down to thin leather jacket and T-shirt riding mode but luckily the heat was not too intense as I got lost as usual in Barcelona. At least I saw Gaudi Towers. Out of there and down through traffic until Tarragona where it finally thinned and then on inland from Valencia toward Granada. As the bike was going so well I did about 700kms that day and spent the night in a perfect setting by a beautiful rock pool in the National Park, not back in Andalucia. There was no one else around but I found a bar within walking distance. After more than 12 hours riding the beer tasted wonderful. So my last night on the road was great.
Next morning I
walked around the area and swam in the small rock pool before reluctantly turning
the bike for home. One more night with a friend helping her pick organic veggies
before riding to my house to be greeted very enthusiastically by my dog.
Three days later, on returning from Malaga to apply for a new passport the bike
stopped with another electrical fault. After an unsuccessful attempt to find
the fault I had to get a lift home, leaving the bike a week outside a friendly
Spaniard’s house before I could locate someone to help me fix it (he turned
out to be a German!)
My whole trip was over 8000kms, took 7 weeks because of all my socialising and
bike repairs and I have yet to count the cost, but I had a great time and it
was fantastic to see all those wonderful WIMAs again.
PS. My Spanish
mechanic, Antonio is delighted with the trophy, even though it is now somewhat
battered by travel.
Linda Bootherstone
Castellar de la Frontera
Spain
Linda is a long time WIMA member. Originally from the UK, she has travelled extensively including a mammoth solo trip across Africa on her BM. She lived for some years in Australia where she was instrumental in re-establishing WIMA Australia. She now lives in Spain and was one of the organisers of the WIMA 2001 Rally in Andalucia.
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