August 25^th, 2003

Back on the road, the sun was shining and the morning air cool but pleasant. Perfect weather for another day of riding mountain passes; we would be zig-zagging over the border between France and Italy a few times before stopping again for the night. As the crow flies, the B&B we stayed in near Aosta, Italy, was only about 20 miles from France, but to get there we would have to take the pass of Petite Saint Bernard into France, switchbacks making the actual mileage about 2 ½ times longer. Once over the Petite St. Bernard, we continued along the French side of the border, riding the passes of Col D’Isere and Col de L’Iseran.

At the bottom of L’Iseran, we stopped for coffee on a sunny terrace and had a nice chat with some French bikers and with an English couple. The bike that the Brits were riding was a new model that Mike had had his eye on and he was curious how they liked it. We chatted a bit about traveling and favorite rides in France and then it was time to move on.

Heading south, we hit Col du Mt. Cenis, which dropped us back into Italy again, just over the border. Descending into the Italian town of Susa, we could feel the heat and humidity building as we wound down through the narrow one-way streets. Passing a small café along the road, we again ran across the Brits sitting on the sidewalk enjoying a good cappuchino, so we stopped for a few minutes to say Hi before hitting the road again.

We were not far from the border with France, heading towards a big black cloud looming in the distance over the pass. After a few moments of indecision (should we continue on or head back to the sun?), we decided to push on and were soon holed up under a bridge watching the rain pouring down, filling the fields with water and cooling the air. After a ½ hour wait, the rain was done so we continued on, carefully. Riding up the road we started climbing when started sprinkling again, lightly, but we felt committed at this point, because we were in the mountains again and between two towns. By the time we got to the small town of Cesana-Torinese, the rain had stopped.

Just outside the town, the road started to ascend again. We slowed to take the first curve, which was relatively gentle with a slight incline, when a small disaster struck. One moment we were upright, and the next thing we remember we were sliding across the road with the bike spinning away from us into the next lane. In the days afterwards, reliving the accident over and over again, all we could think of was that there must have been diesel on the roadway, and combined with the water from the rain had made the road slippery as ice. We were leaning into the curve to the right, and like a circus clown stepping on a banana peel, the tire lost its grip on the road and instantaneously slid out from under us. It all happened so fast that, like I said, it was hard to remember just what happened!

Traffic was coming around the curve from both directions, and drivers leapt out of their cars to help right the bike. We wheeled it to the side of the road and assessed the damage; the right side mirror had snapped off as had Mike’s foot peg on the right side. The handlebar was bent slightly and the right side turn indicator was broken, a hole in one of our side bags which holds Mike’s clothing, and there were a variety of other scrapes on the body one would expect from sliding across the road. Amazingly, Mike had no visible damage and I seemed to be ok except for my right hand; it felt like I had bruised the heel of my hand and it was starting to stiffen. We numbly watched the traffic pass; a truck’s wheels spin a bit trying to get purchase on the road but a group of bikers navigate past with no problem, including the Brits we were playing tag with, who wave at us as they pass, not noticing that we had trouble.

The bike seems to be drivable but the major problem is that Mike’s foot peg is gone, so as we drive back into town to get some help, Mike has to rest his foot on mine while I hold the broken parts. There are very few services available in this town, nor in the slightly larger town we had stopped in earlier when we waited under the bridge for the rain to stop. We wanted to find someone to weld on the foot peg (how do you say that in Italian?) but the only guy in town who may have had the equipment to weld aluminum had closed for the day.

We were about 15 miles from the French town of Briançon so we decided to suck up our courage to drive on, back up the curve we had fallen on. The sun has come out and the road is starting to dry (if only we’d waited a bit longer!). Aside from being in a slight state of shock, we had no problems going over the pass, thankfully a mild series of switchbacks, and were soon battling the traffic in Briançon. A small fortress sat on a hill overrun with tourists and was flanked by a parking lot full of cars. We stopped at a couple of car repair shops and no one was willing to consider welding aluminum nor did they have any ideas on how to jerry-rig something for us. We were sent from one place to another until we happened on a Yamaha shop/gas station where the proprietor had the brilliant idea of putting on a foot peg from another (more common) bike – not identical, but it worked.

We were back in business. Except for the right hand mirror, which was broken and could not be put back on the bike. Mike relies on it heavily, especially when passing, looking in it to see if the lane was clear to merge back into.  This is only a handicap, though, and we decide to find a room in a town called Gap, about 55 miles further. Briançon is just too crazy with all the people and cars and we needed a place to relax and calm shattered nerves. Plus the fact that Gap is a bigger town and we may have more resources for completing the repairs on the bike.

We rode through some beautiful country, the land gradually flattening out, the mountains behind us lit with the sun just starting to go down. I had a hard time concentrating on the scenery though, with our minds buzzing and replaying the accident over and over.

We got a nice room in Gap, where we stayed for 3 nights. The woman running the hotel sympathetically gave us an enormous room on an upper floor and a bag of ice for my swollen wrist. We had a close-up view of the pointed cathedral steeple, striped with alternating rows of grey stone and a lighter pearly grey stone. Beyond the cathedral and the old town below, we could see the points of the mountains showing in the background.

All in all, we were very lucky. The damage to the bike was mostly cosmetic, except for the right rear-view mirror which had broken off, and the right handle-bar, which was a little bent and was now scraping paint off the fairing. Our leathers were a little scraped in the right knee as you would expect from sliding across the road – which is why we wear leather! - and my right glove was also scraped up a bit. My wrist is a little swollen but doesn’t hurt much and doesn’t seem to be broken, and both of my knees were now black and blue; other than that we are both fine. I really don’t understand how both knees got bruised as I don’t remember hitting them, nor do I remember hitting my hand…

Mike spent the days in Gap making calls and visiting all the bike shops in the area, scouring France for parts he needed to put the bike together, while I relaxed. No luck in finding a new mirror, but we managed to get it glued onto the bike with some sort of self-hardening putty. The guy at our favorite junk yard in Paris has the body piece we need and promises to set it aside for us when we return in another month.

Our days took on a simple rhythm. In the morning we’d walk down to the sunny main square in the middle of town for coffee and wander narrow streets while it is still cool. In the afternoon we would return to the square and chose one of the many restaurant/bars around the plaza for lunch under a large umbrella and enjoy the warmth of the sun. We would make another foray into town in the evening when it cooled to a balmy temperature to find something for a light dinner and a stroll through quiet streets in the dark.

Time to leave Gap. Most of the shock has worn off though we are very cautious as we set off, gaining confidence as we go. Just before noon, we decide we’d better get some food for lunch as the stores will be closing soon, as they all do in France. So the next town we came to, we stopped at a grocery and got some cheese and roasted chicken, and went to the bakery for a baguette. A notice in the window caught my eye; with today’s date, it warned of a storm that would be passing through the area with “violent winds and rain, and possible flash floods”. Yikes. The man at the bakery confirmed this, shrugging his shoulders as to when it might hit, some time this afternoon, I suppose…

Conscious of an impending storm, we stopped at the first picnic area past the town that we came to. The wind was building so we didn’t linger over our meal; 15 minutes later we were back on the road south, heading into the wind. The country was very interesting, with gorges of bare stone laid in layers along winding streams, hilly country and flat pastures. As we came into Provence, the country became gradually stonier with low shrubs then flattening out into a vast flat area full of vineyards.

We hit the highway near Nimes and continued south into a strong headwind. The sky ahead was a murky dark grey and the air was hot and thick with humidity but we managed to make it to the coast near Perpignan for the evening without getting rained on.

The next day we continued south towards Andorra in the Pyrenees. It was still windy although the sky was clear. As we wound our way up through the mountains, the wind would gust, pushing and shoving the bike around as if we were caught in a crowd of rowdy teenagers. I closed my eyes and held on tight, trying not to panic as I pictured us going down again. Soon enough we were in the town of Andorra La Veilla waiting for the parts store to open after siesta at 3:00pm.

As I mentioned in a travelogue earlier this spring, Andorra is a good place to go shopping and have bike work done. Mike wanted to get a new rear tire and new brake pads put on, so we picked up the parts then went down the hill to a shop we had used before. The mechanics at the shop were very competent and by late afternoon, after waiting a couple hours for them to complete the work, we were finally free to try to find a hotel for the evening. One of the guys at the shop suggested one in a town up the road so we went back up the hill to find it. We weren’t too impressed with the looks of it and knew of another hotel where we had stayed before so we turned around and headed back down.

The traffic was building from bad to truly horrible and was moving slowly through the narrow streets when Mike suddenly noticed that the engine light has come on, indicating that the engine is overheating. We pulled over the first chance we get and started stripping the bike to see what is going on. The fan that is supposed to turn on to cool the engine is not coming on until Mike jumpered it using a bent paperclip. We put the bike back together and stopped by the shop we had spent so much time at earlier that day. The mechanics were just leaving for the day but after listening to our problem they suggested that the thermostat needed to be replaced and for us to come by the next morning.

The next morning, Mike took the bike back to the shop and to make a long story short, the mechanics had only come in on a Saturday morning to help us out on their day off. (I am so glad we stopped!). One guy ran around town looking for a thermostat that would work, calling back to the shop occasionally to get other guy’s opinion on something. In the end, we ended up with a Bosch part meant for a car and they only charged us about €50 for the part and the labor. Such a deal… It would make the fan come on at a lower temperature (sooner) than the original one, but it works fine.

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