Motorcycling is Good for your Mental Health

John Chivers, Tuesday, 8 October 2024

On Monday, 30th September, 2024, at 09:58, I pulled into our driveway at home on my faithful 2007 Honda CBF 1000, following a ride in torrential rain from Harwich, having disembarked the ferry from the Hook of Holland 07:00 after a smooth overnight crossing.

I'd just returned from a great week of riding and a bad week of life and I reflected throughout the week on the words of Karen Cole from Mental Health Motorbike at our CWAM September club night, which had resounded very strongly for me on this trip - specifically, regarding the close similarities which have been found between meditation and motorcycling in terms of mental wellbeing.

So, let me rewind a little…

Earlier in the year, my old friend, former work colleague, and former fellow CWAM member before his move to Wales, Chris Thompson, and I discussed what we might do for an annual motorcycle trip this year. We initially discussed repeating a journey very similar to one we did 14 years ago when we did a tour taking in ten countries. Chris was quite keen to do this, but I was less keen, reminding him that as our first big trip, we had made the rookie mistake of planning by distance rather than time and had ended up doing some stupidly long days. We never made that mistake again! I've subsequently learnt to plan 5-6 hour days in Garmin Basecamp as the basis for a day's ride. Always plan by time, not distance.

We decided instead for a slightly more modest trip from Calais, through Belgium, Luxembourg, Switzerland, across the north Italian Alps, then through Austria, Slovenia, Czechia, Poland, Germany, and then back through the Netherlands and across the North Sea. Still somewhat of a journey!

Then, not long before the planned departure date, Chris' dad passed away suddenly and he had all that to deal with. Initially, I thought we might call off the journey, but Chris was all the more determined to get some time away. We looked again at the plan and, Chris having stated that he wanted to avoid motorway riding, it was clear the outline route couldn't be done in the time allocated. Instead, we determined to take a non-motorway route from Calais across Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, and briefly into Czechia. We'd then meet up with my Germany-based brother in Stolpen, Saxony, who had planned a couple of day's riding with us in the area, and booked accommodation, before Chris and I would return to the Hook of Holland in a single day.

I planned a route using the German kurviger.de route planning website, which has received good reviews for planning nice routes and my younger brother has used in the past. Having planned the route, I imported the track into Garmin Basecamp and did my usual tricks to turn it into a navigable route for the Garmin Zumo XT satnav.

For this year we determined not to book anything in advance other than the first night's stay. We'd taken this approach before and it of course offers maximum flexibility. Get to a stop at some point in the day and look for the evening's overnight stop. Booking.com is your friend! It takes the stress out of planning everything in advance and having to keep to a schedule or faff around cancelling plans.

Sunday, 22nd September

A mere two days after Chris' dad's funeral, we headed to Folkestone, having booked to take a cross-channel train at 14:18. The weather all the way down from Warwickshire was terrible. Indeed the CWAM social ride for that day to Wales was cancelled. With heavy rain all the way until I got to around Kent, Chris, travelling from Wales, encountered similar.

We met at a McDonald's in Ashford, around 20 minutes away from the Channel Tunnel terminal in Folkestone, by which time the weather had improved. Then, after a breakfast, we made our way to the Shuttle.

No sooner had we checked in than we were told we could head straight for the next train, so we ended up boarding the 12:48 train, which meant we arrived at 14:22 (CEST), 34 minutes later, in France.

Our first night was booked at Basècles, Belgium, which was a 4 hour 'interesting' ride from Calais, or a 2 hour fast route. Having already braved the deluge in Blighty, we opted for the shorter, 2 hour ride, and arrived at our accommodation, the Villa Eden, set next to a lake, and a short evening walk from the rather nice Taverne Diôle restaurant.

Monday, 23rd September

The following morning, I awoke with the initial thought that it was 35 years to the day since my mum died. Many will know that those sad anniversaries never leave you and of course, it was in my mind as we headed out for the day.

We were off at 09:00 and headed across the Belgian countryside, eschewing the motorways for country roads - A and B road equivalents. And let's dispel a myth right here…

I've ridden now enough abroad to know that the state of roads abroad can be as bad as and worse than UK roads. It's true that the standard of roads in some countries in mainland Europe tend to be better than the average UK road, but this is not universally the case. The Belgian country roads were as bad if not worse than some of our UK roads. This varies from country to country and indeed between states within countries (where road maintenance is a local or state government matter), and road types. I think the impression that 'foreign roads are better than UK roads' is an impression held by those who routinely confine themselves to the better-maintained main routes.

We stopped at midday, via a brief turn into the French Ardennes, in the town of Givet, for a bite to eat and to decide our destination stop for the evening. At this point, I flicked on my phone, which had rung a few minutes before, but I'd chosen to ignore the call, as I was filling up with fuel.

I flicked first to Facebook and was knocked sideways at the news that an old friend and band-mate, Dan, who I’d known since 1990 and played alongside in bands and notably in the originals band I was with for years, BAiT, had suddenly passed away, aged 54. It transpired that the person phoning me was the other founding member of BAiT with me - Andy, to give me the news. This was also the second friend who'd been a member of that band who'd died prematurely - the previous one, Nick, was taken by a heart attack in late 2019. The usual initial shock and disbelief of grief kicked in quickly and I cursed 23rd September again for being a shit day, though it transpired Dan had died towards the end of the previous week.

Nevertheless, Chris and I had to carry on the journey.

Crossing back into Belgium, we got to around 13:30, to Auffe in Rochefort, when, complaining of back pain, seemingly aggravated by the state of the roads and the twisty route, Chris decided to head directly to our planned evening stop, just over the border from Luxembourg in Germany, near Trier, via considerably smoother and less curvy motorways.

For my part, I continued on the country roads through Belgium, then into Luxembourg (great improvement in local roads in Luxembourg - here be money!). In both cases, I'm more familiar with passing through on motorways, so it was great to experience the character of the countryside and villages of these Benelux countries. I had already had the opportunity to explore the Netherlands' countryside roads on previous rides, but never explored the other two, barring my Zero DSR/X experience day riding in the Belgian countryside a couple of years ago in the Flemish part of Belgium. But I was riding in Wallonia this time, which I'd been told by other Flemish Belgians was a more interesting part of Belgium to ride.

In Luxembourg, I stumbled by chance on Schumannseck - the memorial site to the Battle of the Bulge.

Now and again, the shock of Dan's passing would hit me, but, concentrating on my riding, it took a 'back seat' in my mind as I planned the next section of road.

I arrived at the German hotel in Newel-Beßlich at 17:20 and, after trying and failing to make contact with my friends and fellow former BAiT bandmates, Andy and Chris, through poor hotel WiFi, Chris and I headed for an evening meal. Then retired to our respective rooms, where I gathered my thoughts and played in my earphones some of the music Dan and I had recorded together in the past… loudly.

Bloody 23rd September!

Tuesday, 24th September

We were off again at just after 09:00, and this time we were donning the waterproofs, as we were greeted by rain to start the day. The route took us initially through some woods and progressed through a forestry area of the Hunsrück (the setting for the acclaimed German 1980s' mini-series "Heimat" - a staple for me in my German A Level days, and worth a watch if you have a few hours to spare).

A road closure on our planned route near the pretty town of Meisenheim saw us ride through the town centre and ultimately stop to figure out a route around the closed road. No big deal, and we were on our way again, having shaped the route and skipped a via point to stop our satnavs from trying to send us back.

Chris' back seemed better, no doubt assisted by the pain-killers he had taken and possibly the slightly better roads.

Just after 13:00, we stopped in Osthofen, just to the north of Worms (of "Diet of Worms", Martin Luther, Protestantism, et al, fame) for some lunch and to book our evening's accommodation. By now the skies had cleared of rain, and though cloudy, we decided to shed the waterproofs, as the forecast looked fine. We found somewhere to book that evening around 40 miles away - a two room apartment based above a "Wellness" place. Essentially, this proved to be above a massage place (no, not that kind, but the Ayurveda type) with lots of the associated trinkets, Buddahs, Reiki magazines, and so on one would expect at such a place. The owner of the place met us and, given that I had conversed earlier in the day with her on the phone in German, proceeded to offload her frustrations surrounding her son being kicked off a football team for swearing and the landlord of the place increasing the rent drastically, so that she had no alternative but to close down at the current location, and likely permanently, in the very near future. It seems she wasn't having a good day.

I could see that this long conversation was part boring and part frustrating Chris, but she was clearly upset, while simultaneously wanting to be welcoming. Ultimately, having shown us around for quite some time, and vented, she headed off and I finally got to catch up with my friends and former band-mates regarding Dan's sudden death.

Tuesdays apparently being a rest day in the area, we decided to make do with a German Deliveroo equivalent. No bad thing, as we were in no real mood to tog up and venture out again.

Wednesday, 25th September

A dry, if not brighter start to the day and we were on the road again at 09:00 and we were straight onto some nice tree-lined, climbing roads with twisties, though as in Belgium, some of the road surfaces left a bit to be desired.

By late morning, following a breakfast stop at a supermarket, Chris was complaining about his back again. Despite the efforts of Ibuprofen, he could feel the pain increasing.

Shortly before 13:00, he said he needed to pull over, as it was becoming extremely unpleasant to continue. It was at this stage when, despite his desire to continue, he recognised that the prospect of five more days of riding in pain wasn't a sensible option. But he was clearly also conscious of how it might affect my enjoyment of the trip to continue alone until meeting up with my brother. That really didn't concern me at all, but I was more struck with a sense of guilt of carrying on while he would miss out on something he'd really wanted to do.

But the sensible option was for him to get home as quickly as possible. We threw back and forth ideas. I suggested we might try to arrange storage of his bike and he fly home, returning to collect it and ride it back one weekend. But Chris wasn't keen on the practicalities of that and in any case, where could we store it locally and how could we arrange it?

No, it was only sensible for him to head home. Once decided, I messaged my brother to request that he cancel the rooms he had booked for Chris in the three nights we all planned to ride together. This shouldn’t cause an issue, as all were at least 24 hours ahead. Then, we rode along the road looking for a reasonable place for Chris to turn around and head back the other way. As we were doing so, he briefly re-considered, but then, quite rightly did the sensible thing and we parted company, as he headed back to Wales.

I continued alone and started to become aware of what sounded like something sticking on my chain at lower speeds. I couldn't see anything obvious, but wondered whether it might be some frozen links on the chain. Shortly before 15:00, and with a clear view of threatening skies and a patch of downpour ahead, I pulled over to put on my waterproofs. If I were going to ride into the rain I could clearly see ahead, I was in for a soaking.

Naturally, having donned the waterproofs, I didn't encounter the heavy rain. But at least I knew I wasn't going to be concerned with having to stop again to put on the rain gear.

For accommodation, I had provisionally looked the night before at two or three places we might reach, based on riding for around five hours, but I held off booking anything and determined to ride until I'd reached the point where I had five hours' ride remaining for the following day to rendezvous with my brother, at which point I would look at local availability. Booking a single room for a single person was likely to be even easier than booking two single rooms, so I wasn't concerned.

At just before 16:30, the satnav told me there were just under five hours remaining on the journey for the next day and I was starting to tire a little, so I decided to pull over and look for suitable accommodation near where I had stopped. By sheer coincidence, it transpired that I was a mere 2 km from one of the three places I had identified as potential overnight stops the preceding evening, in a village called Zell im Fichtelgebirge. So, I made the booking on booking.com for a single room and made my way there. On arrival, I received a notification and apology that the room wouldn't be ready until after 17:00 and could I please wait until after then to arrive.

I duly took the opportunity to head into the nearby town of Münchberg and seek out some possible provisions for an improvised evening meal. I wasn't in a mood to eat out on my own and just decided I preferred the idea of heading back to the accommodation, calling home, then having a relaxed evening.

But the sound of the chain was becoming increasingly obvious and I could feel it at low speeds. It had definitely worsened throughout the day. Once at speed it wasn't an issue, but it was really starting to annoy me. Back at the accommodation, I took an initial view, but visited by the rain god again, with the bike necessarily parked close to a wall, and not seeing anything obvious, I determined that I'd seek out a bike mechanic in Münchberg to check it over the following morning and in a more positive frame of mind.

Thursday, 26th September

I'd located a motorcycle mechanic at PB-RaceTec in Münchberg and so I made sure I got there for around 09:00, though the opening hours stated from 08:00. It was tucked away in some clean-looking industrial units, with some nice graphics on the outside but an apparent lack of windows.

Assuming it was open, I tried the door and sure enough it opened and I was greeted by and greeted a chap at the other end of the workshop - the owner, Patrick, as it transpired. He was met with the image of a Brit in wet waterproof clothing.

My opening salvo was to apologise for bringing the rain from England, which produced a laugh from him. Always start with a disarming stereotype!

My German technical vocabulary around motorbikes isn't excellent, beyond the basics - chain, gears, oil, etc., but I was quite happy to describe what I was experiencing and could make out the German terms he was using - German nouns often having the distinct advantage of telling you what things are: Spielzeug (literally 'play thing' = toy), Flugzeug (flight thing = plane), Schlagzeug (beating thing = drum kit), Staubsauger (dust-sucker = vacuum cleaner), etc.

He made some space by moving some bikes out into the yard and took a look. Rear sprocket looked fine, chain looked good. Sure, it could use a small tighten, but it looked in good condition otherwise.

"Let's take a look at the front sprocket." he said, and removed the cover over the front sprocket and shone a torch down onto the sprocket. Turning around he pretty much said (I'm paraphrasing for comedic effect, but it's close)…

"For you, Tommy, the ride is over."

I took a look and it was clear that the front sprocket was toast. My brain went into immediate panic, then trouble-shooting mode. The first thought was "this isn’t the first time I've arranged to meet my younger brother in Germany and have been held up by a motorcycle issue. The last time was ten years ago, in June 2014, on the same bike, but that was caused by the infamous Honda stator issue. I now carry a spare stator and regulator/rectifier with me on all long touring journeys. But a front sprocket wasn't in my arsenal of spares.

Patrick informed me that he could order a replacement, but advised replacing the chain and rear sprocket with the front as a set. I asked for a rough idea of price (as though I had an option) and he said it would likely be around 350 euro, all in, including labour. He reassured me that he would only fit quality stuff - in this case a DID chain, and that it would likely fair far better than a cheaper alternative, and I agreed, and said I subscribed in any case to replacing all three as a set. It was obvious from everything around and the reviews I had read the previous evening that he had a good reputation and produced quality work, so I agreed.

He made a quick call and arranged for express delivery of the parts, but said it would likely arrive at around 11:00 the next morning, and that he would immediately jump on the job as soon as he had the parts and would let me know when I could pick up the bike.

The best thing about the bike community is they treat you as they would want to be treated. He understood I was on a holiday and that this was already going to take the shine off the trip. I said I'd sort out a local hotel and he offered to drive me there with all my luggage, so that I would be certain I had everything with me.

Clearly working alone, once I had booked a nearby hotel in the town for the night, he duly closed up his workshop and took me around to the hotel in the van. I really appreciated that act of kindness. It was only just around 10:00, so I was anticipating asking the hotel if it would be ok if I left my luggage somewhere and then I could occupy myself for a few hours in town until a room became available.

But, explaining what had happened, the hotelier clearly also took pity and said it was fine for me to access a ready room with immediate effect and furthermore asked if I had any clothes I needed drying. I thanked her but I was dry, as were my clothes. She helped me to the room with my luggage and I put on my civvies and contacted my brother, Peter, now to tell him not only could Chris not make the evening booking, but neither could I.

To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, "To lose one booking may be regarded as misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness!"

I told him not to worry and that both Chris and I would of course cover the expense of the booking, if necessary. As it transpired, the hotel owner was sympathetic and didn't charge us anything. Perhaps because Peter had stayed there before and struck up some good conversation.

I used the time to catch up on other tasks and update our BAiT band website in light of the sad news about Dan, then, the sky looking better, decided to walk into town. I got five minutes outside before the heavens opened again.

I remembered fellow CWAM member, Roger, recently mentioned always having a fold-up umbrella in his bike kit and so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone - invest in one and make immediate use of it!

I had an evening of German television - watching "Gefragt - Gejagt" ("Questioned - Hunted", or The Chase, as we know it), "Watzmann ermittelt" - a police drama set in the backdrop of Berchtesgaden, and the obligatory collection of German shows, which, like many other mainland European shows, feature a group of people sat in a circle discussing current affairs.

I had a relatively early night for me, then was awoken at midnight by my phone ringing. Somewhat in a daze, I answered. It was my eldest daughter, crying on the end of the phone.

And so my brain instantly thought "Who now?"

It transpired she was travelling home to the house she shares with her boyfriend and that their less than one year old kitten had managed to drink some anti-freeze. The vet had told her boyfriend that she'd never encountered a cat survive drinking anti-freeze. Apparently they like the taste of it and it effectively makes them 'drunk'. It was duly euthanised a short time later.

This was getting silly. How many bits of misfortune could occur in one week?

Friday, 27th September

Following a pleasant breakfast and a good chat with the hotelier and her mother, who said it was no problem to occupy the room as long as it took for the bike to be ready, as they didn't in any case need the room to be available that evening, I returned to my room and started writing a Facebook post about the curious chain of unfortunate events of the week, accompanied by suitable selfie at the window which summed up the mood.

On the positive side, I reflected that if I had further delayed getting my bike checked, the front sprocket might have failed at a much worse moment or in the middle of nowhere. Indeed, if I had left it another day, I very likely wouldn't have been doing anything with the bike until the following Monday - many workshops being closed at the weekend.

At 11:00, I got a call from Patrick, saying that the bike was fixed and ready to be picked up and that he would come and fetch me and the luggage. I politely declined and said I would walk over to his workshop, collect the bike, then come back to the hotel and collect my luggage, rather than have him close his workshop again.

I togged up in my bike gear (I had left my helmet and gloves at the workshop) and made the 15 minute or so walk over via a cashpoint.

Patrick showed me his handywork and talked through a couple of other minor things he had spotted which would be worth attention at some point. Handing me the invoice, it was pretty much exactly what he had quoted, with an additional small charge for express shipping of the parts. We chatted for 15 minutes or so and he said he'd love to get over to the UK and ultimately the Isle of Man. He said his English skills were minimal and I said that if he were ever around the area, he could certainly call on me for assistance and I told him that Triumph was on our doorstep.

I thanked him very much for his excellent and fast work and friendly manner and returned to collect my motorcycle luggage from the hotel. Likewise, I thanked them for their extreme hospitality and then headed off towards the edge of town. Later, I left glowing reviews for them both.

Meanwhile, I had arranged to call my brother at midday to establish a meeting point.

Our original plan was to travel on Friday from Stolpen in Saxony westwards via a nice, wiggly road in the very north of Czechia, to a destination which was in fact only around 20 km to the north of where I was. Keen to be back on the bike, and in nicer weather, we worked out that I could get to a point on his planned route in a couple of hours - via point 20 on his route, in Nové Hamry, Czechia. As it transpired, it took 2 hours 10 minutes after a fuel stop on route, so that worked out really well.

We rode out initially through some woodland roads and then across some lovely countryside, only tarnished somewhat by the grey skies and occasional light showers, but I was happy to be mobile again on a much better feeling bike and with my brother.

Eventually, after we had passed through the border town of Kraslice and some fine examples of Stalinist 'Plattenbau' appartments - brutalist examples of 20th century totalitarian socialist ideals, now humanised across the former Eastern Bloc through refurbishment and the widespread application of pastel colours - we reached the border with Germany and entered into Klingenthal in the Vogtland region of Saxony, where we pulled into an Edeka supermarket and enjoyed a coffee and cake on the terrasse café.

Noticing the V place marker on the number plates (German vehicle registration plates are assigned to their owner and the first letters denote towns or areas), I commented that it was strange that the single V (signifying Vogtland) hadn't previously been used by a West German place prior to reunification in 1990 and mused that perhaps some key letters had been reserved in anticipation of an eventual reunification. I asked Peter if he could think of another example of a former east German place with a single letter.

This was a very silly question.

He pointed out that Potsdam (his home for almost 30 years), the capital of the state of Brandenburg, in the former GDR (East Germany), and the place I had called my home for several months before him as a student, had P as its letter. Boy, did I feel stupid! Though it at least adds credence to the notion that the former Federal Republic (West Germany) had always anticipated eventual reunification. Indeed, the German Grundgesetz ('Basic Law' - the Federal Republic's 'constitution') avoided using the word 'constitution' until such time as such a thing were drafted by a reunified Germany - something which is still yet to happen, and likely never will. Post 1990, the former territory of the GDR and now new states of the Federal Republic, simply adopted the existing Federal Republic's Basic Law.

From Klingenthal, we pressed on due west, back on some pleasant country roads and through some pretty villages, passing under the impressive Elstertalbrücke A72 Autobahn bridge. We remained dry for the rest of the day, the sky clearly not sure of its mood, with apparently menacing clouds which amounted to nothing and patches of blue sky.

Journey's end for the day was the lovely Hotel Ambiente, in a countryside location near Töpen. This was apparently run by another mother/daughter combo, the husband of the mother having passed away and left it in their capable hands.

Töpen brought me back into Bavaria - the very north of the state of Bavaria, bordering the 'new' (since reunification) German state of Thuringia, and in fact Töpen had marked the former inner-German border between the Federal Republic of Germany and the German Democratic Republic (as an old friend once commented, if a country has 'Democratic' in its name, it almost certainly is anything but!).

Peter and I ordered some food and generally caught up, then returned to our respective rooms for a well-earned sleep.

Saturday, 28th September

A more leisurely start, following a very pleasant breakfast, we were on the road at 09:30.

Peter had planned a route for the day so that we were heading in a NNW direction, initially straight across the state border on mildly moist roads into Thuringia and towards Weimar.

The route took us predominantly through countryside, dotted by villages, as the roads started to dry throughout the cloudy but otherwise clear morning as we weaved through the Thuringian Slate Mountains/Upper Saale River Nature Park. The view from the K501 just before we reached Quaschwitz was quite an impressive vista over Pößneck and into the distant hills and I found the winding L1062 through those hills and the villages of Gumperda and Reinstädt especially picturesque.

Presently, we came to the famous city of Weimar. Weimar is the 'Stratford-upon-Avon' of Germany, being the home of Germany's two most famous writers and friends: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller. There is also a William Shakespeare statue in Ilmpark of the city, in a nod to the English bard.

It's also of course the city in which the constitution of the post WW1 Weimar Republic was debated and drafted.

Parking on a residential street close to the city centre, we walked into the centre, past Goethe's house and past the Goethe-Schiller monument and the National Theatre. Then, we headed for a coffee before walking back a different route to our motorbikes.

From Weimar, we continued out, flanking Erfurt and then over the rather fun B85 over the Kyffhäuser hills which dropped us out of the state of Thuringia, into the state of Saxony-Anhalt and into the Harz region.

I'd visited the Harz region previously back in late August and early September 2019, when I took my son over on the motorbike for a long weekend and we met up with my brother Peter on that occasion, and based ourselves in Wernigerode for three days of riding around the area.

On this occasion, we returned to the picturesque, half-timbered, and stereotypically German town of Stolberg - the "pearl of the southern Harz" - for a couple of reasons. Firstly, because it is a beautiful place in its own right, but also because Peter had been given an order for the local Friwi biscuits. I was tempted initially, but feared they wouldn't survive the journey home, either through being shaken to pieces or possible, erm, human intervention.

From there, at 16:20 we set off on the final section of the route for the day, travelling onward through the heart of the Harz, passed another location we had visited back in 2019 - the Rappbodetal dam with neighbouring Titan RT pedestrian bridge, which spans the gorge and is a great experience to walk across for those who cope with heights.

Clearly, we had timed things well as the roads had obviously recently had a decent soaking, but the sky was mainly blue as we made our way through the village of Rübeland and presently came to the town we had stayed in back in 2019 - Wernigerode, which Peter has returned to a handful of times since.

Climbing the hill out of the town centre through residential areas, we came to our home for the evening - the Regiohotel, sat right next to the "Zwölfmorgental" ski jump. The name of the successful former East German (later just German) ski-jumper, Jens Weißflog, sprang to mind, as I remembered my days avidly watching Ski Sunday in the 1980s.

Changing into civvies, we took the 40 minute walk down into town, enjoying the view of the castle, perched across the valley, on the way down. Pondering where to eat, we ultimately decided on a Chinese restaurant Peter had visited before and enjoyed a very pleasant final evening together, then took the walk back up to the hotel, before enjoying a beer then turning in.

Sunday, 29 September

The day started with a traditional continental breakfast, then I packed up the remainder of my stuff and loaded it onto my motorbike. The skies were clear and the forecast was great for the day, which was good news to me as I had quite a day ahead of me, as I had to get from Wernigerode to the Hook of Holland for the overnight ferry back to England.

Despite it having been 600 miles and taken three days from west to east on the journey across, using less of a winding route on my return, the journey from Wernigerode to Hook of Holland was only 362 miles.

For his part, Peter's journey home to Potsdam was only around 2.5 hours on his planned route.

We said our farewells and he headed off shortly before me as I considered my route options heading back. I've travelled back from various points to the Hook of Holland several times over the years, and there's no point in arriving at the port before early evening, since boarding doesn't start for the overnight ferry until at 18:45. So, I wasn't in a mad rush to get there.

Instead, I decided that I would use MyRouteApp to navigate me to somewhere around Hanover, avoiding motorways and built-up areas, at which point I would jump on the Autobahn for a stretch until I reached the town of Rheine in the state of North Rhine Westphalia, not too far from the Dutch border.

This ultimately proved to be another pleasant ride through the countryside and some picturesque villages.

As a bit of a buff on German history, and it having been an integral part of my studies, I always still get a slight thrill from crossing where the former 'inner-German border' (as it is known) once stood - the dividing line between the two former German states, Europe, and indeed the world. I'm also acutely aware of how easy it is to make that crossing now… a crossing which some people sacrificed their lives attempting in trying to escape the former GDR.

Indeed, while I was studying for my German A level in early 1989, we had discussed the potential for a reunification of Germany and concluded that it might happen one day, but wasn't likely in our lifetimes. We couldn't conceive that a mere three months or so after we had done our exams that the demonstrations would begin against the socialist regime and by November we'd be staring in disbelief as people hacked away at the Berlin Wall, while under a year later, on 3rd October 1990, reunification would indeed be achieved.

The sign erected along this former inner-German border was on a nice stretch of country road, where I crossed the state line between Saxony Anhalt and Lower Saxony near the village of Osterode am Fallstein.

My journey continued under clear blue skies across the German countryside and through a succession of villages, before I ultimately came to the city of Hildesheim, through which I passed with relative ease. My route continued, skirting the south west of Hanover and then, just after midday, I picked up the A2 Autobahn, which is my normal route across to and from Potsdam when visiting my brother. I'd done enough country road riding and it was time to make some progress.

After an hour and a quarter, I left the Autobahn to get some fuel in an old schooldays haunt - the town of Rheine in North Rhine Westphalia. My secondary school had a school exchange with the Bonifatius Hauptschule in Rheine, which I'd taken part in a couple of times. On this occasion, I had a little bit of a ride around the area, which felt strangely familiar, but I couldn't remember the addresses of my former exchange partners, so simply headed for a bite to eat.

Shortly after 15:00, I headed off again, rejoining the A2 Autobahn. Rheine being a mere 18 miles from the border with the Netherlands, I was soon in the land of stereotypical windmills and clogs, only as in Germany, you're more likely to encounter wind turbines nowadays.

Following another brief stop for fuel before I reached my destination, I arrived at the ferry terminal at the Hook of Holland at 18:11 and joined the short queue of vehicles, where I chatted with a couple of cyclists for a few minutes before boarding started and I had safely restrained my motorbike with the provided ratchet straps in first gear, on its side stand.

The Hook of Holland - Harwich overnight crossing is my favourite way to get to and from mainland Europe. On the outbound journey from Harwich, I can get to Harwich after a full day's work for the overnight ferry and the overnight return journey gives you plenty of time to get to the port too. The cabins are nice, the food in the 'Taste Restaurant' is reasonable, and the crossing is generally pretty smooth.

Monday, 30 September

Back in Blighty, I didn’t rush down to the vehicle deck when the call went out, but took my time. It was raining outside, so on went the waterproofs, and they proved absolutely essential for the return journey home. Disembarking at almost exactly 07:00, and despite the best efforts of the poor weather, I pulled into our driveway at 09:58.

After unpacking immediately and a change of clothes, giving the bike time to cool down, I treated it to a very thorough clean, the weather having improved enough to make this possible.

Glad to be home, I reflected on the week which hard started off with bad news after bad news, but actually ended quite nicely, spending time with my brother riding some great roads.

Chris had got back home to Wales safely after riding a couple of days in rain. And given closures to the M25 and M26 caused by flooding, it had taken him eight hours to get from Folkestone to his home in South Wales. But he was safe and recovering.

On reflection, Karen Cole's talk at the September Club Night hit me. It was motorcycling, and specifically what we do when we use our Road Craft skills, which had actually helped me through the start of the week by allowing my mind, meditative-like, to focus on the task at hand.

Motorcycling really is good for your (mental) health!

You've read the book, now see the movie!