Packed up and ready to go in Phillidelphia the day before our trans-atlantic flight. Two backpacks, two sleeping bags, two camping matresses and one tent.
We landed in Munich without Phil's luggage but a few liters of Augustiner raised our spirits and led us to the Easy Palace Hotel. There we met Gunter. A better mustache you will not find.
Here we are at the Hofenbrau House with our German friend Simon. He let us camp out in his backyard while we waited for Phil's bike to arrive. To repay him we bought his beer all night until he could not stand (pictured). Note: Germans do not take kindly to the concept of the "floater".
Here is Simon's little house and our makeshift camp ground beside it. Simon's hospitality was enormous and he went well out of his way to help us begin our journey.
The English Gardens in Munich are the largest municipal park gorunds in the world. There is a powerful man made river which people surf on or float in. We had a beer in the beer garden with traditional music and radish dishes, enjoyed a large drum circle under a willow tree and perused the fields of naked people. Note: All pictures featuring both phil and I were arranged precariously and taken via timer.
This is Ted. He sold me my '99 Honda Transalp 600. He moved to Germany when he was a young man but is originally from Missouri. He is racist as hell.
We split for Switzerland and climbed up to a glacier in Grindelwald. The steps were a veritable death trap that plumeted down the side of the mountain. Their cratsmanship was questionable to say the least.
At the base of the Grindelwald pass there is a quaint little town that has a mountaintop rotating restaurant that was in a James Bond movie. This is a goat.
200 yards behind us the only passage is on foot. The trails slither up into the mountain and reveal endless waterfalls. The camera was balanced on the back of the bike.
Phil took time out to play basketball with some local children. What a good hearted guy.
(This is a real photo)
This picture is in the north of Italy near Ora. The mountain roads there were some of my favorite. It took me forever to balance the camera on the side of the mountain and I fell in a thorn bush.
Every little restaurant in rural Italy is a treasure. We found the remote Ristorante u Rustego by accident. This is Giacomo one of the proprietors. He is hyperactive and loves WWE Smackdown.
Rural italians are passionate and do not speak english. Phil did his best to communicate. Note: Phil's sweet stache.
We took a ferry from Livorno to Corsica. Corsica is an island off the coast of France. It has the most wildly diverse and beautiful topography. Note: I managed to hold onto the Duffy's pen, in my right hand, for the whole trip.
That little speck is Phil in the mountains of Corsica where the roads are shaped like paper clips.
Corsican roads are also shared by livestock. Check Phil out on his 2002 Triumph Thunderbird.
If you see a bench in the middle of nowhere, take a minute to sit on it. Someone put it there for a reason.
Though cows were my favorite there was no shortage of goats on the roads either. Most hazardous were the speedy pigs though. Phil clocked one running 20mph.
The Corsican town of Porto has pebble beaches and bizzare rock formations. We celebrated the 4th of July by getting very drunk and renting a boat. Breaking with tradition I enlist the aid od a stranger on a boat to take our picture. After a delicate exchange of the camera she took it in low quality. Damn it.
Here I am floating in the warm, clear Corsican water, drunk.
Phil being sweet on board.
Me doing my best to not fall into the water.
This campground in Corsica was quiet and covered in cottony spider web plants. Very strange.
We bought a bottle of wine and some cuban cigars to cap off a day of riding.
Goodbye Corsica! On the way back we took a ferry to Mersaille. Don't ever go there.
Opting for a break from the bikes, we spent the weekend in Barcelona and traveled by train.
We should have stayed on the bikes. Trains are the worst. After much hassle, we arrived in Barcelona and stayed with Phil's friend Mike.
While in Barcelona we saw some incredible architecture, met up with some friends and ate some good food.
From Spain to France we bolted from Mersaille and headed east. On the way we found some wild horses.
Often in the mountains we would stop in tiny little towns to rest or eat. Here we are casually dining at the best roadside burger stand in the alps.
The panoramic view of Annesy. We celebrated bastille day here and saw the best fireworks ever.
People jump off the top of the mountain and float down with parachutes.
This nice family let us camp in the yard of their mountain top bed and breakfast at no charge. They invited us into their home for food, wine and to listen to green day with their kids. They spoke little english and we spoke no french but we had some great conversations.
Phil took one picture of me hangliding—after I landed.
Wengen, Switzerland is not accessible except by wire car. The skiing there is incredible.
Wengen looks down upon Lauterbrunnen, which means, running water. It was so named because of its numerous large waterfalls.
Phil inquired to this woman about renting a room. Unfortunately the price was too dear and she was completely insane.
This is a serious glacier. It was freezing up there.
Phil stopped to put on a couple of sweatshirts.
Here, Phil gets crazy next to a cow. Cows are sweet.
Though we tried to resist, the comfort, affordability and familiarity of McDonalds got the better of us on several occasions.
The night before I left, we spent my birthday in Munich on a serious pub crawl. We drank literally gallons of beer punctuated by shots of Jaager. I remember very little of the whole ordeal.
All in all, what a great trip. The pictures don't nearly do it justice. I will never forget all the people we met and the things we saw. Hey Phil, what are you doing next summer?
