Prague - Pilsen - Karlovy Vary
After arriving in Karlovy Vary, I learn that dad is leaving the next day for a trip to Holland… hmm, I think… the perfect opportunity to let him know that I’m also leaving for a little trip. I’m already dialing it on my mobile phone: Me: “Hi dad! So you’re going to Holland and you won’t even tell me? 🙂 Just so you know, I’m going to Morocco tomorrow! On a motorbike. ” Dad (after a slightly tense pause): “On a motorbike? Hmm… so you’ll drive through Germany and preferably around Stuttgart. Call aunt, you can sleep there .” Food for thought: Does the phrase “dial on the phone” still make sense? I’m dialing aunty. It’s been a few years since we saw my aunt, but word got around, and together with the fear that my aunt wouldn’t have any idea who I was, my plan to not stay in Germany longer than necessary also fizzled out.View this post on Instagram
DAY 1. First stop on the way from Prague to Morocco was Pilsen. It was around 11-13 C 🥶 That’s the reason why I’m posing like a frozen man 😶 On the second photo you can see my ultra modern GPS navigation 😎 Maybe I should buy a map 🗺 #ontheroad #frozenmotorbiker #hondarevere650 #revere #motorbike #hondarevere #motorcycle #nomadlife
Karlovy Vary - Stuggart
I have other concerns, like avoiding highways. I’m not ready for a fast ride. It is true that I have ridden half of Mexico and also the north of Vietnam on a motorcycle, but in both cases the maximum speed of the motorcycles was around 60 km/h. The unlimited speed of the autobahns in Germany would only make me panic.
An hour later…
I drive on highways all the time and my eyes nearly pop out of my helmet. They strictly reflect my fear and nausea caused by the speed of 130 km/h. And that’s mainly because I’m without a doubt the slowest vehicle by far. When you are afraid and have no choice, there is a simple solution. Clamp the halves and continue.
I tried to pull off the freeway several times, but always immediately lost track of my current location. And so I always preferred to return to the highway, where there was no shortage of signs for Stuggart. It was not pleasant. That in 15°C on a motorcycle at 130 km/h in cycling gloves from Decathlon, that’s not exactly a hit parade. It is widely known that the line between courage and stupidity is very thin. This time I felt on the silly side of th border. Maybe I should have waited another year or two and really prepared for it… Eee… no.