AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE EVENTS IN THIS SECTION ALL TOOK PLACE IN 1986
THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW.
ALL THE COUNTRIES VISITED (EXCEPT TURKEY) ARE IN THE EU NOW (2024) – NO VISAS ARE REQUIRED.
THE BULK OF THE TEXT IS AS I WROTE IT THEN – SLIGHT ADJUSTMENTS HAVE BEEN MADE IN THE AID OF CLARITY NOW

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A lot of you probably do not remember January 1974. I suppose that quite a number of you might not even have been born then. I have to admit that, at such a remove, my own recollections of that period are a little bit hazy.

But, one thing I do know is that it was in that very month when I read the first of a series of articles in a biker magazine called “Motorcyclist Illustrated”. This detailed a trip in which two intrepid bikers rode a Norton Commando from England all the way to Turkey.

For some unknown reason, the idea of doing something similar (read crazy) like that myself appealed to me greatly. The tale gave me a hunger to visit exotic places on two wheels myself.

I did start, soon afterwards, with a ride to Monte Carlo, with a friend on the pillion seat, on the Honda CB350 I owned at the time. Despite the considerable difficulties that we encountered during that trip, I was, as they like to say, well hooked. Ever since then, I have enthusiastically disappeared into the wide blue yonder at the slightest opportunity.

By coincidence, the very same issue of “Motorcyclist Illustrated” contained a road test of the (then) brand new, top of the range, BMW, the R90S. It was on the successor to that model, the flagship of the time, the BMW R100RS, that I finally pointed my front wheel in the direction of Turkey some twelve and a half years later.

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Friday, July 18th, 1986

St Albans, England to Felixstowe England

Distance travelled 162 kilometres

The previous three weeks had been a long series of frantic preparation, which then, as now, was not really my style. I am usually far too lazy (although I prefer to say laid back) to make any serious plans whatsoever. Because, to get to Turkey, I would need to go through (the then) Yugoslavia anyway, I had decided to include a sweep around (what were also then) the other  “Iron Curtain” countries into the trip.

This necessitated, numerous visits to (what were then described as) “Eastern Bloc” embassies, where large amounts of cash changed hands just to get permission to enter their countries. I really left it too late and was only able to obtain a 30 hour Transit Visa for Bulgaria. A real visa would have taken at least fourteen days. It was the same for Romania, although for some reason, a man at the embassy took pity on me – and did it in an hour.

Currency for those countries could not be purchased in the UK, so I made do with a large wad of low denomination US dollar bills.

Next I encountered problems with my insurance.

My regular company completely declined Green Card cover for Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, Czechoslovakia and Turkey. As this happened at the very last minute, I decided to buy cover at the various borders but, in the end (and somewhat foolhardily), I never got around to actually doing it anywhere.

Thus it was that, with my Passport duly stamped with the requisite visas and a pocketful of dollars, I eventually left St Albans and headed east. In Felixstowe, I boarded the Friday night ferry headed for Ostende in Belgium. On board, I encountered another British biker who was living in Ostende. He was riding a very interesting Honda of a model type I had never previously seen. It was an air-cooled, 750cc, shaft-drive, V twin in Trail Bike configuration. It looked very flashy and was surprisingly light. He assured me it did excellent “wheelies” !

When he heard where I was going, he very patriotically tried to prevent me leaving with large amounts of lager – but ultimately, he failed.

Saturday, July 19th, 1986

Ostende, Belgium to Klagenfurt Austria

Distance travelled 1232 kilometres

The morning found me curled up in a Belgian lay-by, not far from the coast, with a bit of a throbbing head.

This soon cleared though and I headed off into the sun.

There is not really anything to report about that day, it was just endless kilometres of motorway.

Luckily, if you have a reasonably rapid motorcycle and you apply yourself, you can make very good time on auto-routes and autobahns.

By the time it got dark, I had exited Belgium, crossed Germany and was deep into the greenery of southern Austria. Then, I came into the mountains, where I found myself a rest area, not too far from the border of Yugoslavia. Out came my poly bag – and down went my head.