Trucks and a glimpse of Romania.

I woke with the best intention of getting a jump of the world but ended up chatting and catching up on my diary instead.  With this, and final goodbyes, done I set off playing catch-up with my self-imposed timeline.  I headed north intending on crossing into Romania ASAP and get to Gavin’s house in the late afternoon. 

When I got to the border crossing over the Danube River I pulled up at the first check only to be waved straight on without paying a penny (unlike the cars).  Next came a long queue of cars waiting to get through passport control.  I bypassed this and went straight to the front and, after a cursory glance was waved on again.  Now it was time to get onto the bridge and cross the border.  This was largely unremarkable other than a simple observation that the road changed from being a mess to being freshly tarmacked at the mid-point.  Long may it last. 

Crossing the Danube.

It didn’t, within the blink of an eye I was onto a stretch of road that had been chewed up and spat out by every truck in Europe.  The trucks where there to prove it, I’ve never seen so many.  Trucks outnumbered cars and I was stuck in a tail back that went for miles and turned out to be normal traffic.  I soon got fed up of sitting in line but couldn’t overtake because the road was only wide enough for 2 lorries and the traffic for the other direction was as bad.  Desperate times indeed.  Fortunately driving in Jordan has taught me a thing or two.  One of those things is that where there’s space there’s a way forward.  I pulled off the road and went around the traffic on the hard shoulder which was just wide enough for the bike and rough and potholed enough that I had it to myself.  This didn’t last and soon I was stuck again. 

The rest of the ride north was a mixture of busy roads and the odd (50km) motorway leg.  By the time I got within an hour of Gavin’s house I was ready to skip Romania and head anywhere.  Then things changed and traffic was replaced with a lovely road through a beautiful area.  When I finally arrived I found Gavin’s village to be charming with wide streets and brightly coloured houses sitting in the hills, not big imposing hills but lovely little comfortable hills.

A British registered Land Rover marked the house and as I pulled up the gates where opened and I rode inside.  As with the previous night I was soon enjoying a cold beer. 

Loki with Gavin's 1150 GS.

While we chatted Gavin proved that it is indeed a small world by letting slip that he worked in Derbyshire for some time and not only knew the farm where Harriet lived but also knew her Grandfather.

He was also kind enough to offer use of his washing machine for some clothes so I chucked them into the washing machine and went to shower before we headed out to a Rock bar to meet some of the riders from a local bike gang.

When I came down Gavin was wondering why the quick wash hadn’t finished.  Closer inspection revealed that my clothes where on a long hot wash.  Luckily for me Gavin quickly switched the machine over and disaster was averted (all my socks where in there).  I think that the machine decided that, when presented with my socks, a quick wash simply wasn’t going to cut it and flicked its self onto a long boil wash.  I’m surprised that one of the socks didn’t get out and turn the temperature down itself.

The Rock Bar was great and played exactly the kind of music I like, as for the bike gang (I can’t remember the club name).  They were a great bunch and we spent the night drinking, talking bikes and about the best roads in Romania.

We got in late and had something to eat before I called it a night and retired.