The seed
of this road-trip was sown at the Norton International Rally after a viewing of
'I Bought A Vampire Motorcycle' which starred Neil Morrissey and an 850
Commando. I thought it would be a good idea to get a picture of my own Norton
Commando next to Dracula's Castle. A bit of research revealed several castles
allegedly occupied by 'Dracula' or rather Vlad the Impaler upon whom Dracula
was loosely based. The best known of the tourist trail Dracula castles is Bran
Castle in the Transylvanian part of Romania so I had a destination to aim for.
Of course
it would be rude to visit only Romania and the countries in between so a
roughly circular route was devised. Some people when they heard about the plan
showed interest. David Templeman was sure his 750 Commando would be perfect and
Fiona Stewart was our back-up on her ER6 Kawasaki, while Fraser and Tracey
Currie came along on their modern Triumphs but went their own way for a 'proper
holiday'…
Preparation
Taking a
35 year old classic bike on such a trip involves some preparation, it would be
foolish to think you can just jump on your bike and go. My old Commando had
given long and sterling service and was in need of an engine rebuild which took
place over the winter. It was checked over thoroughly and serviced just before
departure and had new tyres (Avon Roadriders) and chain fitted. Tyres were a
bit of a worry as in normal use a Commando can knock out a back tyre in 3500
miles; David fitted an older style Avon Roadrunner to the back of his 750
Commando in an effort to get some longevity.
Just
before the off my bike appeared to be running a bit on the rich side. The
single Mikuni carb fitted around 60,000 miles ago was showing signs of wear so
I fitted a new needle and needle jet, hoping it would be fine. I had older
style Krauser hard luggage fitted whilst David kitted his Commando out with the
newer style Krausers. Spares included a complete Boyer ignition setup, coil,
rectifier, zener, spare belt for belt drive, clutch cable, inner tube and an
assortment of gaskets and electrical connectors. As always I went overboard on
the tools and included a clutch tool and exhaust spanner (useful also as a
hammer and a useful weapon for fighting off unfriendly natives)
The Trip
David
left the day before us using the Rosyth to Zeebrugge ferry whilst we left on
the Wednesday from Newcastle to Ijmuiden intending to catch up with David
somewhere in Slovenia. David had a two day, 1000 mile run down to Slovenia in
hot weather with not a hint of rain. We on the other hand had the run from
hell! Torrential rain greeted us as we emerged from the ferry, it was almost as
dark as night and an electrical storm danced above our heads. The Policeman on
immigration smiled when I handed him my passport and wished me a 'great
holiday'. He was obviously amused with the floods running down the roads. I
wasn't!
Despite
the conditions the Commando ploughed on relentlessly until lunchtime when we
found ourselves around 120 miles north of Frankfurt with a short respite from
the rain. We had arranged to stay with German friends near Frankfurt that night
and charged on. As we turned off the slip road a hesitation by me at a junction
led to Fiona crashing into the back of me, tearing a pannier off and bending my
right silencer. The ER6 had a small crack in the fairing and a problem with the
headlight, plus the top box mount was broken. Other motorcyclists stopped to
offer help which was refreshing as this practice appears to be dying out in the
UK.
We patched up the bike and rode to Tomas and
Andrea's house and set about more permanent repairs. Tomas took my silencer
away and came back with it welded, the pannier was beaten back into shape by
Fraser and Fiona (Fiona quite obviously enjoyed her new panel beating career)
and the ER6 was fixed up including a new topbox mount ingeniously fabricated by
Tomas |
| Repairs to the topbox |
Day one
over. What a start to the holiday. This was supposed to be the easy part!
We were
on the road for 10.30 the following day and we all rode together until Tomas
and Andrea took their leave. We decided that Fraser and Tracey should charge on
ahead; they were on faster bikes but needed more stops so it made sense. If you
are travelling as a group it's something you need to understand and agree on
otherwise stops become more common and you never get anywhere if you are
limited to a (self imposed) 75-80mph cruising speed.
The
combination of a late start and poor weather forced us to stop 130 miles short
of our target. Camping was out as we were soaked through so we found a nice
guesthouse in a small place called Jageredt (www.pension-jageredt.at ). The
owner let us put our bikes in the nearby barn overnight, they deserved some dry
time too. David had agreed to hang on for us at the campsite he'd found in Luce
just inside Slovenia and in the spectacular mountainous region bordering
Austria and Slovenia.
The
following day we set off again in the pouring rain. I noticed a ring of soot
round the weld on the exhaust, of course being the eternal optimist I ignored
it… but just as we turned onto the motorway the weld gave way. The silencer
flapped about wildly, only held on by the two rubber bushes. A quick repair
with duct tape lasted all off 500 yards! I stopped and asked Tom Tom (until now
it had been mainly lying in the tank bag) for directions to the nearest car
repair garage and amazingly it took me to the Austrian equivalent of the AA.
The young mechanic was excellent and in no time we had the silencer off
repaired and refitted. He asked for €10 I happily gave him €20 and asked for a
guarantee, he reckoned it would last no problem till we got home!
We turned
off the motorway and the weather improved. The sun came out, the roads were dry
and the Commando seemed happy also. We headed for the Slovenian border near
Eisenkappel. The last 30 miles were superb, hairpin after hairpin, all the
local guys were going up and down in droves on their trick supermotos, enjoying
the Saturday night fun.
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| Supermoto heaven for the locals and the scenery was quite spectacular also |
Of course
we missed our turning and carried on unaware into Slovenia for about 10 miles
before realising and turning back. Even with an overloaded Commando I wasn't
bothered, this was fun! We eventually arrived to find David having an evening
brew. After the tents were up and servicing done we treated ourselves to a few
beers and used the site's free Internet to find a camp site around 200 miles
away in a National Park south of Zagreb.
The
Sunday consisted of sunshine and excellent roads, more hairpins, on towards the
Croatian border. Dave was having carb sticking problems with his Mikuni so we
stopped just after the border control to fix it. By this time the mercury was
up in the mid-30s and we were hot and sweaty in the leathers.
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| Campsite in Slovenia, David doing "stuff" |
 |
| Croatia Border |
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| And some maintenance required |
South of
Zagreb, Dave's throttle started coming off the handlebar so we stopped again.
At the previous maintenance stop one of the screws holding the throttle on the
handlebar had stripped so we spent about an hour trying to effect a temporary
repair. Leaving the services I noticed David's bag containing his money,
passport and documents (normally firmly attached to his waist) slipping off the
back of the bike. A lucky save: that could have been a disaster!
We turned
onto the back roads to Sisak then along the river into the national park. Cows
were being grazed at the side of the road and storks made their nests in the
overhead telegraph poles. We arrived at the campsite and spent the next hour
and a half on maintenance including a more permanent fix to David's throttle
cable. We stretched the spring in his Mikuni and gave the carb a good clean out
to try to improve the throttle sticking problem, using one of the longer screws
holding the points cover on to overcome the stripped thread problem.
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| Relaxing in "the swamp" |
During
the night I was bitten by an insect on my face and woke up looking like I'd
gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Then I thought I'd lost my passport so
followed a call to the British embassy in Zagreb… and then I discovered it in
my pocket! Who put it there?
We stayed
another night here, exploring Bosnia for the day. We set off down the
picturesque road which passed through small villages looking like they were
from a bygone age. It took our full concentration; there were potholes
everywhere and parts where the road turned to hard compacted rubble. The
Commando coped admirably though. We came across a burned out tank and a
memorial to the soldiers who'd died there, a reminder of the recent conflict.
Many houses still bore evidence of shell fire and I wondered if I should really
be there at all.
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| A reminder of how raw the conflict still was |
After
refreshments we set off for the crossing, then after around 20 miles we
realised we were going the wrong way and turned back. We found the border
crossing just 80 yards from the café we had been in -- unbelievable. Neither
country seems to acknowledge the presence of the other so on these roads there
are no signs to towns in the neighbouring country or even to the border itself.
At the
Bosnian border control we were asked for our documents. It became apparent that
we had no insurance for Bosnia and would have to buy temporary insurance at the
border post -- but not before the guards fully understood why we were there,
where we were going and what route we intended taking. It didn't help that
David had the wrong documents, he'd inadvertently brought the documents for his
Ducati Monster! After much tutting and debate amongst the border guards they
finally allowed us in, charging €13 for our temporary Insurance.
From
there the road signs were in Cyrillic so we didn't have a clue what was going
on. Our original plan was to do a loop around a national park before heading
back to our original crossing point, but luckily we decided to just head back
on the same road we had come in on.
 | ||||||||||||||||
| Ok of course I know what it says
Petrol
was the cheapest yet at under £1 a litre and we had three burgers and drinks
for under €7. We returned to the same crossing point and then made our way back
to the campsite. An interesting day, all told.
The next
day we set off for Serbia before 07.30. The heavily laden bikes made the rough
stretches of road more interesting. At the Serbian border the guard barked
'papers, green card'. I had no green card for Serbia (so if going on a European
trip outside the 'normal boundaries' you should insist on a green card from
your insurers even though they will try to tell you it's not necessary). The guard
threw my passport with disgust into the corner of the table and said, 'over
there' pointing at some portacabins. 'When you have a green card come back for
your passport.'
There was
no discussion about turning back offered. A green card cost us €85 each, which
was steep, yet we really had no choice but to pay it. Welcome to Serbia indeed!
Shortly after the border we stopped for fuel and food at a service station. The
food was excellent and the toilets spotless. This was the major finding of the
trip, always head for a large petrol station if you wanted reasonable food and
a clean toilet. The worrying thing was that the security guard on the premises
was tooled up with a revolver! It's bad enough the police having guns but the
guy who is there to stop shoplifters was taking it too far...
As we
left Serbian soil the border guard barked the same 'Papers, Insurance'
questions at us and he was clearly disappointed when we produced the insurance
documents we bought six hours earlier.
The
Romanian border guard gave our passports a quick look and then told us to wait
for customs clearance. After about 10 minutes it was obvious the customs man
had gone missing so we were waved in to Romania without any further hindrance.
Almost as soon as we rode across the border in
Romania the roads deteriorated. There were potholes everywhere and we saw the
first of many horses and carts; still transport for many of the people here. We
stopped at a railway crossing and were amazed when the train rumbled past. It
was an old Soviet engine pulling carriages that looked like something out of a
John Wayne western, with youths clinging precariously to rails outside having a
cigarette and watching the world go by.
We arrived in Timosora as it started to get dark,
Timosora is a reasonably big town and was where the uprising against the
Ceaucescu dictatorship in 1989 started. We opted to stay in a 'pensione';
excellent en-suite rooms worthy of a 4-star hotel in the UK for €30 each. Euros
are accepted but we learned in the local café that the black market exchange
rate isn't favourable!
The road to Lugoj was terrible with potholes the
size of small towns, constant roadworks and suicidal driving. The back streets
were not only cobbled but had suffered the ravages of years of heavy traffic.
The shaking the bike got was unbelievable and David's speedo cable fell apart
due to the shaking it got. Onwards into Deva where David suffered a puncture.
We set about changing the tube but the 40-degree heat made what should have
been a 30 minute job turn into a two hour job.
After six hours and only 100 miles Fiona had enough
and demanded we stop for lunch. We were all getting a bit grumpy with the
constant hard work the road was providing and with the heat approaching the
high 30s.
We carried on despite the suicidal driving and poor
roads to the town of Pitesti before heading back towards Bran. At one point the
traffic was tailed back for about half a mile, waiting for a train to go
through a level crossing. We rode to the front of the queue. I was feeling
rather pleased with myself and thinking we would have a clear road ahead. Then
as the barrier raised I accelerated away and -- horror of horrors -- the
Commando spluttered to a halt!
I pushed it across the junction and into a two-foot
wide path at the side of the road. The lorries were leaving just inches to
spare as they passed us, it was quite scary. After the traffic died down I set
about finding the problem and it took three hours to get the bike going again.
The main problem was the bike running far too rich due to the wear on the
Mikuni. We got going just as the sun set.
I'd also been blowing fuses and used all my spares.
After checking everything out and taping up potential problem wires, I
hard-wired the fuse holder but was scared to put my lights on in case the
wiring fault came back and set the wiring loom on fire. So I set off with no
lights. Darkness fell as we headed into the mountains towards Bran with David
in the front leading the way and Fiona behind protecting my back. We rode like
this for over 20 miles on the mountain road, still avoiding the mad truck
drivers. I couldn't see the potholes so that was starting to get to me. It
began to feel like a suicide attempt so when a bar loomed out of the darkness I
stopped -- across the road there was a pensione and luckily they had rooms so
we booked in. It was 9.30 at night, we had ridden 11 hours in the saddle and
done 210 miles.
The following day, things all looked better and we
had a great run down the twisty road into Bran. We took photos of the castle
and booked into Vampire Camping to set up camp and do some proactive rather
than reactive maintenance!
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