day 7, friday 6 ^th august 99

It didn't rain overnight! The sky is beautiful and we're up early to gaze at, in turn, the maps and the beautiful surroundings. Jeff finishes off my hair, thank god, which means I am now fit to go on.

We leave at around 9:00 and head for Col de Petit St. Bernard. I'm following Jeremy, who is going at full tilt boogie and I have to work myself and Trixie very hard to keep up. I am, however, very pleased that I do stay with him. This Col is pretty and high, but as nothing when compared to the previous day's efforts. At the top of the Col we pass into Italy. Like all mainland EC borders, there's barely a sign to let us know we've changed countries. The Italian drivers are slightly madder and there are lots of curious 3-wheeled (and very slow) vans on the roads, but otherwise it's pretty much the same as France.

We nip through some towns and then up the Col de Grand St Bernard. This is incredible. Tight, demanding roads and irresistibly lovely views. In several places there are bends and other road sections that are built on concrete rafts, out of the side of the mountain - a technique we'll see again in Switzerland.

At last we're at the top and at the Swiss border. Jeremy shows the border guard the route, finally convincing him that we don't want or need motorway permits and we're off down the other side of the pass. At first the Swiss roads are fine. Once we're off the mountain roads, however, all this changes.

This country undoubtedly has the most fuck boring riding conditions I've ever encountered. We do 100 miles at no more than 50mph – the national speed limit (outside of cities) being 80kph. On roads that are utterly straight the Swiss have put double white lines and lots of 'no overtaking' signs. The towns are both ugly and rigidly restricted for speed - 40kph (25 mph)!

We eventually reach the aptly named Brig - our lunch rendezvous - with only one incident to break up the monotony. A Swiss BMW pulling a trailer cuts Jeremy up quite badly. Jeremy loses it rather and gives it large, overtaking them and kicking their left wing as he passes – hopefully denting it.

A decent spaghetti bolognese for lunch, served by a surly waitress. We are now in German speaking Switzerland and are hopelessly lost, language-wise. At lunch marvin chats with a friendly Finnish biker who reveals that bikes don't usually have a problem over speeding with the Swiss police. This is a relief as we'd been very careful to follow the speed limits – the Swiss having a reputation for being somewhat anal about the enforcement of these things. We also see a 996 Spada with a top box screwed to the back!

As well as being tedious beyond belief, the Swiss don't believe in giving either road numbers or distances on their road signs, the helpful bastards. We get lost, briefly, trying to find the way out of this god-forsaken country, but end up heading into the mountains again and Jeremy (leading our group) gives it large over the passes. I follow as Crispin and Jeff fall behind a little.

These roads are higher and a lot more interesting. As we go through one town, we see a sign advertising a restaurant serving Chinese fondue. What a horribly weird concept! We ignore no overtaking signs and speed limits and have fun hooning up a very high pass, where we stop to stand within 30 yards of a glacier. Astonishing. The countryside is beautiful - and (of course) is the one good thing about Switzerland - and the one thing for which the population can take no credit.

Swiss drivers are the most ill-mannered and aggressive we've seen by a long way. They pull out or accelerate to stop us overtaking and are generally bad sports. This will eventually bring us to grief...

This day's journey is intended to be our longest, 350 miles, so we can be out of Switzerland by nightfall, so we have to push on.

A white Sierra gives Jeremy a bit of a hard time about overtaking on one of the lower passes. He does get past reasonably quickly, but they don't like it and give chase! The traffic and their idiotic driving means that I can't safely (and so won't) overtake them until we're off the pass, through a town and into the valley. I overtake on a long, clear, sweeping right-hander and the fools try to race me. I drop a gear and leave them standing, giving them the finger with my left hand as I pass. Most satisfying.

Going up a pass that leads towards St. Moritz, Crispin and I are following a line of three cars. The car immediately in front of Crispin leaves a big gap between it and the next car, so when there's a bit of a straight, Crispin overtakes. The Swiss driver immediately accelerates hard! Crispin is left with the choice of going even faster or pulling back in. He chooses the former. Around the bend comes a blue Golf, followed by a red one.

To our left is a stopping point and Crispin, knowing he can't get back into the right hand lane 'cos of the accelerating Swiss git, makes for it. The red Golf pulls over into the same space as both oncoming cars brake hard. I watch all this, horrified. Crispin catches the wing of the blue Golf with his right hand pannier, which doesn't throw him off, but does cause an almighty wobble, finally ending with him clipping the red Golf's wing and coming to a stop in the passing place.

I do a stoppie on the right hand side of the road - frankly, at this point I think Crispin's been seriously hurt. As my back wheel lifts, the tank bag's magnets let go & that flies up, only held by the strap around the headstock. The bag falls down the left hand side of the tank as the rear wheel descends. As I come to a stop, I push the side stand down only to miss and push her into first gear instead. The bike jolts forward and topples slowly onto her left hand side. Arse arse arse.

Incredibly, Crispin is totally uninjured and he runs over and helps me get the Trixie upright. Damage - a crack in the fairing where the indicator's been punched through, a broken left mirror and a mangled clutch lever. Only now do I think to check Crispin's all right - of which I am somewhat ashamed...

Both Golfs have been damaged, but beyond a scaring, Crispin and the ZZR are totally undamaged. The Swiss drivers call the police as they don't speak virtually any English and Crispin speaks no German.

Astonishingly, the Swiss police are top fellows. While they talk to Crispin, the drivers and then me, Jeff and Jeremy come back looking for us. They helpfully change my clutch lever for me as I'm talking to the rozzers. They decide that no offence has been committed and supervise the exchange of insurance details. Crispin's bike being OK, he uses it to follow them back to the police station so that they can photocopy his green card and all is settled with smiles and handshakes - you wouldn't get that in the UK!

While Crispin is away getting his green card copied, I realise that I have no lighter and that there are no other smokers around. Double arse! Jeff hears of my predicament and offers me a light from his bike. In his luggage he has the business end of the lighter socket he uses to power things like his mobile charger and I am soon getting a light for my ciggie from his bike. Not many bikes come complete with a cigarette lighter!

We set off again as the sun is setting and traverse a high, unlit (of course) Col in the pitch black - not helped by my headlight being poorly adjusted. We get only as far as St. Moritz before stopping at a garage for fuel and chocolate- and bang into Iain, who says that he and marvin have camped just down the road. Andy and Jim are 50 miles away in our original destination - more bloody miles to make up.

At the campsite, Jeff's Starship Enterprise goes over again - but no damage this time. Pitching tents in the dark is no fun and we head to the campsite's bar and eating area to drink and eat. The food's finished. More Swiss bastardlyness, especially when compared to the way we sat up late eating good Pizza and drinking good beer in the French campsite last night. We settle for beer and curiously tasteless crisps. Crispin is worried that his front wheel-bearings are in poor condition and he decides that tomorrow he will find a bike shop and get them sorted. I never want to return to Switzerland & think the others feel the same. Off to my bed, cold and hungry.

Mileage: 324