Austria

Sunday 11th September 1983

We got up just in time for breakfast - at 9 o’clock because the alarm wasn’t set right. It was pissing down with rain and while we waited in the hostel porch for it to abate we chatted with a German who was heading for Jugoslavia on an MZ (German 1956 “Motorradwerk Zschopau” Brand) 125 motorcycle. He had travelled about quite a bit and the motorbike appeared to be a good touring machine. We took a liking to the scatty chap, who appeared to be travelling as rough as us. He, too, sported a bent right footrest from taking a bend too fast on a wet road. He took photographs of us and we set off when the rain stopped, George’s bike being the one reluctant to start today.

The rain soon started again and we travelled in misery to the Austrian border. We were waved through without so much as a passport inspection. George told the border guard that we were capable of 100km/hour and could hold our own on the autobahn. The sun came out for a while and the Alps loomed larger and larger. Text-book Austrian scenery appeared all around us, blotted out now and then by the long tunnels through the mountains. In these our pitiful headlights do no good and we rush along in the dim light, a roaring in our ears echoing from the other traffic. We are now in a lairy (ostentatiously attractive; flashy) café in a valley, a ceiling of cloud above us, giving everything a dismal appearance.

We have just been pulled over by the local police for driving on the autobahn “hard shoulder”, but we gave him the old “we can do 100km/hour” spiel. He was satisfied with this and told us to continue on the actual road. The Honda 90 speedometer dial went up to 60 mph which is 100 km/hr, unlikely to be achievable. We generally motored along at 50 km/hr or 30 mph. Earlier this morning I swerved to avoid the corpse of a cat in the deluge of rain. There appears to be millions of dead animals littering the roads of Europe.

I hope I don’t get ripped off as much as George did at the border for these coffees we’ve just consumed. He got caught for £1.50 for 2 small cups! We are in the Lackner Hof in Flachau. I did get fleeced – 36 Schillings! After a short walk around the ski slopes, which are currently green pastures with ski lifts hanging dormant above them, we hit the road.

The weather changed constantly, rain and sun coming intermittently. The Alpine pastures kept our attention and the time and miles flew past. We passed another dead cat and were brought up short at a toll gate. Here we had to cough up 180 Schillings (£6.66) before we were allowed to continue. We were appalled at this savage attack on our travel funds but we had no option but to pay up.

Soon after we pulled into a layby and had a read. It was sunny and we could see all the way down the valley that we had come up. We decided to move on when a huge black storm cloud moved over the mountains to our right. We donned our waterproofs and fled. It was about 18 miles to Spittal and we covered this quickly and still dry. We were happily received at the Youth Hostel, which was well sign-posted, and we rode back into town to try and get some grub.

Everywhere was shut and a storm was just starting so we returned to the hostel for a coffee. It was 19:00 hrs. The road through Austria was the most interesting so far with it’s deep valley falling away to our right and the many tunnels through the mountains, the longest of which was about 3.5 miles long. At one stage eagles wheeled above us.

The Youth Hostel is attached to a sports centre come stadium and the bar is full of locals. They noticed with interest the arrival of 2 members of the “English army”. Devoid of food we gained refreshment from a warm shower. Even the coffee here cost a King’s Ransom. We appear to be the only guests and have a massive dormitory to ourselves. I had finished reading “Horn of Africa” by Philip Caputo so I launched into J. R. R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit”, after redressing the graze on my arm.

The storm continues to rage outside and we hold an abortive exercise session. Travel and lack of food have taken their toll. Tomorrow we promise ourselves a feast! In bed we chatted nostalgically about old television programmes while thunder and lightning raged outside.

Bike Reading 14,630 miles.