With winds howling at 100 kilometers per hour, Donna-Rae and Gregory celebrated reaching the North Cape, Norway, as far north as they could ride a motorcycle on the European continent.  From here they turned around and headed south to warmer weather.

     The ride south was no easier than the ride north, and the clock was still running.  They were moving every day, trying to see as much of Europe as they could in the little time they had before having to be in Asia. 

     They rode to Helsinki, Finland, where they arrived at 10:00 at night after a day of riding in cold rain.  After an hour of trying to find an expensive hotel and having had nothing to eat since noon, they gave up their budget concerns and checked-in to a Holiday Inn.  The crying credit card was handed over to a receptionist who looked at the cold and dripping Donna-Rae like she was a nearly drowned cat.  Due to the lateness of the hour biker-friendly lady said she would upgrade the waterlogged pair from a standard room to “business class, with breakfast.”  While the rain pelted the window of their room, the road weary travelers luxuriated in a suite with fluffy bathrobes, cable TV, and heated drying racks in the bathroom for used towels.  An all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet, free English newspapers and free Internet at the hotel business center had Gregory and Donna-Rae arranging for a late check-out, realizing how nice the usual guided motorcycle tours must be.  Of course they both knew for what one of the organized and guided tours cost for two weeks they had been able to travel for two months and cover five times the ground.  However, they were both a bit envious of the comforts afforded the high-end motorcycle travelers after having had a taste of what it was like.  With a cold wind blowing the rain like bullets, they regretfully checked out of the Holiday oasis but did not look back.  Ahead was a ferryboat ride to the former eastern bloc country of Estonia and hopefully sunshine and lower costs.

     Their ride through the countries of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania was enlightening to see how each had moved up the economic scale from the dark ages of Russian influence.  The roads were well maintained or under construction, much the result of funds from the European Union.  New motels and gas stations with moderate prices said “Welcome Tourists.”  As they crossed into Poland they knew road life was getting easier when they saw a familiar fast food sign and Best Western hotel.

    The downside to leaving the less populated far north and returning to the more densely populated middle of Europe was more cars and trucks traveling at higher speeds.  Several near misses with oncoming cars overtaking slower vehicles, like trucks and tractors, forced their motorcycle off the road.  At the site of a head-on crash between a truck (winner) and car (loser) seconds before they arrived, Donna-Rae asked Gregory, “Is the driver OK?”  Gregory answered, “He’s not pumping blood anymore and his head is in the backseat.”  The fresh road carnage and death was a wake-up call to how close around them danger was.

      When they entered Warsaw it was during rush hour and Gregory was reminded why he hated riding motorcycles in big cities.  Between the heat from the BMW engine, exhaust fumes from cars and trucks around him and high August temperatures he immediately remembered why he quit riding motorcycles in cities like Bangkok, New York and Mexico City: “Life is too short for me to be this close to Hell."” 

    In Warsaw it was decision time again: to stay headed south and aim for Turkey, then work their way across Europe, or dally a bit with a right turn to Berlin, Germany.  From there they could go on to a motorcycle traveler’s meeting in the Harz Mountains where Gregory knew some of the attendees and they could meet other global road warriors.  Part of their decision was based on the economics of how to get their BMW motorcycle over or across Iran, Pakistan and into India without an expensive air transport and a bonding document called a Carnet de Passage.  Then there was the questions of whether or not they could get visas and if possible, the cost of the downtime waiting for them.  They decided to visit Berlin, where the foreign embassies were for their travel documents and where they hoped to find easy and inexpensive Internet access, something they had not seen for some time.  Donna-Rae also wanted to see Berlin and the Berlin Wall.  In Berlin they would decide how best to move east, whether by plane or overland by two wheels. 

     Berlin was the “deal breaker” for further eastward travel on the BMW.  The potential cost in time and money made riding past Turkey outrageously expensive, causing each their credit cards to start to cry before they had even come out of their hiding places deep in their wallets.  Probably the biggest contributor to the decision was Berlin traffic.  While not the worst in the world, it again reminded Gregory, especially during the heat of rush hour, that worse could be found as they headed east, coupled with worse drivers.  He had managed to stay alive riding through India on a motorcycle on a previous ride around the world but had sworn never to do it again, saying of places like Delhi, “No need to wonder what riding through Hell would be like, it’s here.”  Some jungle fever helped tip the scales.

   Once or twice a year Gregory is visited by an old enemy he met on the road somewhere many years earlier, a jungle fever that likes to throw him off his motorcycle and into two or three days of cold sweats, aching joints and crying muscles, as pictured above.   About all he can do is lie in bed and moan like some old bull rider with a cheap whiskey hangover.  Donna-Rae could only feed him liquids spiced with Aspirin through a straw.  She did manage to cheer him up, however, as in this picture, by having one of her three little bugs “buzz” him.

Bugs, whether in or around him, helped Gregory make a decision.  He decided to slow down, attend the motorcycle travelers meeting in Gieboldhousen, Germany, and then ride to southern Germany where Donna-Rae could visit a long-seen cousin and other relatives while he made motorcycle arrangements for their final dash across Asia.  Factored into the decision making were a few days of shopping for Donna-Rae and some inexpensive German-beering by the pilot/mechanic/motorhead with his German biker friends.  The target for their next stop would be the end of the “Hippie Highway,” Freak Street in Kathmandu, Nepal.