Days Km: 588, Total Km: 2583
The Romantic route. A stretch of road winding its way down from Wurzburg to Fussen, a town on the German border overshadowed by the towering, timeless Asutrian Alps. First off I just have to get something off the chest. This is a quote from the Romantic road website:
“If you are travelling by car, mobile home or motorcycle, simply follow the brown signs that link the individual towns along the Romantic Road”
I’d like to draw your attention to the word simply. It is in no way, means or form simple to follow those evil little brown signs. Beware. If you happen to be a couple thinking of a drive along the romantic route to kindle a bit of fire over the long weekend make sure you know where you’re going beforehand. Yes, in areas it is rather well sign posted but around the first couple of towns and especially the larger cities you’re guaranteed to lose the signs and end up riding/driving in a fair few circles. If Bruce and I were a married couple divorce would be on the cards.
Having said that once you’re on the route, it is quite spectacular. It’s a journey from rolling farmland and meadows, through ancient forests, across multitudes of turbulent rivers, and all culminating in the dramatic vistas of the Alps. Along the way quaint hamlets, villages and the odd castle can be found dotting the landscape. It was an absolute dream on a motorcycle as we could really make the most of the magnificent country roads, drive the cobble streets, park in the squares and generally do the things we probably aren’t meant to be doing but that an expression that’s 2 parts lost, 3 parts smile and 1 part cheeky always seems to get us out of.
I feel as if more needs to be written on this magical route as it truly is worthy of poetic praise but its late, been a long day and I’m more in the mood to gripe so I’ll leave you with this… Its not all been sunshine and castles, one the realities of the trip I’m slowly coming to face is the never ending pain in the buttocks.. The literal kind. Not Bruce. It creeps in after a couple of hundred Kms on the road each day and is slowly becoming a constant companion. I’m still undecided as to wether or not I’ll have an ass of steal, envious of the greek gods themselves by the end of this trip or a jelly bum akin to that of an 80 year old man. I’m hoping for the former but fear the latter may be the more likely of the two after so many hours in the saddle. The sacrifice of the open road is a reality.