Following the Smiley

Five minutes after walking through the door into the appartment and the big guy put a whisky in my hand. The hospitality of Anders and Maria is very nice indeed, as is their home. Another twenty minutes and young Andreas had joined us, also now with a whisky in his hand. We had a nice evening crossing the North Sea together a month ago. Where did that month go? Tomorrow we will ride together north up the coast, collecting Pelle en route, but tonight we can push back and relax. A bus ride into Goteborg Centre to a very nice restaurant. Later I would yet again be mugged by the Beer Fairy, but for now we are having a civilised steak dinner with a couple of large Samual Adams. Very nice indeed in the early evening sunshine that replaced this afternoons heavy rain.


At some point if you are not paying attention, particularly if you are men, Convivial drinks with friends becomes boozing. Where is the line? We all have Viking blood, so no idea! All I can say is that after a wonderful night I woke up in an unfamiliar room confused. The Beer fairy had been, emptied my wallet, hit me on the head with a sledge hammer and filled my mouth with dirt. Over breakfast it became apparent that I was not the only one. Anders was also suffering. Worse actually. Exactly which part of "I'm going drinking with some Swedish Trucker Bikers" had I not understood. Late on he met Vatta. In a squeaky little voice Vatte said "I can't drink any more". The big guy heroically drank mine as well.

As soon as we are sober enough we set off on the iron horses to hook up with Andreas and Pelle. Andreas has also been attacked by the Beer Fairy. Pelle who missed the tomfoolery of last night has no sympathy for us. He stayed home laying a wooden floor in a house he has gutted. He is living in caravan until he can move back in. I am very impressed with his project indeed.


It is simple. Anders leads. On his number plate is a flourescent yellow Smiley. We follow the Smiley. The big Yamaha is a beast indeed and manages to look small riden by Anders. I follow up on Elsa. Andreas next on the K1200S, and bringing up the rear with no fuss and all efficiency is Pelle on the big silver Ninja. We wind our way north along the intricate shore of the Bohuslan Coast. Following the edges of Fjords. Hugging the rocky outcrops into harbours, some of which take my breath away. Clear blue skies and it's warming up. My mild hangover is clearing but I am nasel indeed. If I hadn't got a hangover I would say I had a cold. Northward for hours, slowley adding the miles to the return journey. Late lunch on a very smart harbour front where the big boats belong to well healed Norwegians. Norwegian can be heard in the restaurants as well. Prices reflect the clientel. The wonders of oil money. This coast is as beautiful as any I have ever seen. No surprise it looks like Norway with which it shares a border further north. At times inland I could be in New Zealand.

The afternoon is slipping away and we are more than a hundred miles from home. Shunning the highways in favour of the little twisties we start back, following the smiley. This time we are moving at pace. The others have big powerful machines capable of high performance. Elsa is a gentle giant. Still riding number two I can demonstrate that evenin if left a little on the straights, I catch up in the corners. Elsa is not far off the pace of the sportsters. I never cease to be impressed at how the RT gets into the corners every time. Just exactly where in this machine did BMW install the cornering demon? If there is a problem it is as always I over think. No problem. Let Vatta loose for the evening. Follow the smiley. Yipee! It is a long time since I pushed it a bit, and the adrenalyn rush is amazing. I did back off from the smiley a tad though. I need that extra half a second reaction time. Getting slower old man? That or just slightly less mad. My hangover went ages ago, but I deffinately have something not nice developing in my nasel spaces. I suspect a virus. I pit stop for fuel and we all agree our energy levels are dropping. We switch to the highway to finish the journey, common sense prevailing.

Retiring to a much needed bed, there is no no doubt. I have a cold or something.

Sunday morning and light rain. After breakfast with Anders and Maria, we are off sightseeing around Goteborg. Andreas joins us, and Anders provides the tour guide commentary. The quality of English spoken by Swedish friends never ceases to amaze me. I will mention Maria's wonderful cooking here. firstly because it was absolutely delicious, and secondly because I hope for more another time.

By now unfortunately my throat feels as if it has been cut with a rusty knife. I have an invite to catch up with a friend in Torsby, but contagious and in pain, and with torrential rain, I decide to head home to Fagerhult immediately. I know this body well. I have had it a long time. I have experienced viruses that felt like this one, and I know I am going to get worse very soon. I'm heading for my bed!

Thor the god of thunder knows me well. I am his Motor Cycling plaything. "Ah the little one has his bike out again" his immortalness observes. "Let me see if he can stay upright through this shit". Horizontal rain is his speciality, with buffeting wind. It's OK. I do storms very well indeed. I am not nervous about cornering. I know where the limit is. Elsa does wet just fine as well. Would a Triumph Tiger 800 do this well? Eek! Elsa was listening. I said it out load! Where is the thunder and lightning Thor? Lost your hammer?

Finally I limp into Fagerhult unable to swallow any more. I have a temperature and feel absolutely aweful. Bed and fitful sleep. Rest for two days hoping to be OK to ride up to Stockholm on Wednesday.