Leod Escapes Asks What’s your favorite tour?
Tales from behind the curtain of Lead Escapes most intense motorcycle tour with track time, Sachsenring & The Italian Alps. (Names have been changed to protect the guilty).
How can the toughest tour to run be your favorite?
As the tour operator I get asked this a lot. “What’s your favorite tour?” This is it. It’s the hardest tour to run but has the fondest and craziest memories. In case you didn’t know, Leod Escapes runs motorcycle tours with track time on famous circuits.
That means for 9 to 10 days you are in a destination far from home. You’re riding the back roads on sport touring machines and doing some track time on proper sport bikes. Everyone on the tour is a track riders. This one element changes the flavor of these tours completely.
Brothel Belch on the Futon
I’d been bouncing in and out of various forms of sentience in the back of the luggage van for several hours. Mattias is filled with dangerous ideas, but the futon left in the back of the luggage van was a good one. A bump and some braking slid me forward a few inches and made me belch.
The smell of cheap brothel vodka and Nic Nacs, a fiendish German snack made by encasing a peanut a dorito-like shell, seared into my sinuses. It was time to wake up. My head in my hands, I looked down at the futon.
Eleven days, that’s how long this roller coaster had been going and how long since these pants had been washed. Could we wash the futon? Eleven days ago, at 5:30am, Mattias woke me from this very cushion, at a rest stop on the Autobahn. We were driving to Munich to pick up clients from the airport for the yearly running of the “Sachsenring & The Italian Alps” tour. My turn to drive. My official time as tour guide had started.
No problem, this is the fourth year we’ve run this tour. I’ve driven the autobahn dozens of times. Mattias’s new VW transport van had the sports package upgrade. This plus a cigarette and red bull should be a wonderful way to start a tour guides day right? The rat bastard had taken a different route this year. He decided it was my turn to drive at 5:30am on the A7. This is a road where men with names like Gunter and Thorsten grit their teeth and commute behind the wheels of their 911 Turbos.
Drop a gear and kiss your rear
The tour was off to it’s usual start. This tour has always been nuts. I love it and I dread it. Sort of like returning to a hot romance with a drug addiction on the side. Strange days lie ahead and it’s going to be awesome.
Other tours are a nice reward after months of hard work and planning but this tour is always ten days of fun mayhem and a whole lot of “WTF” moments. It’s our longest running tour so why doesn’t it run smoother? It’s the increased variables. There are just more volatile elements that are conspiring to make sure I only get 4 hours of sleep a night. It’s a constant battle and I don’t win them all but it makes for some great stories. Here’s a few examples.
Grits or Schweinshaxe
Mark Twain wrote, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness…”. He fails to mention however that sometimes these elements are a tough bitch to kill. Guess who’s job it is to kill them and find a place for the bodies at 2 a.m.? Mine. This tour more than any other drops clients into the deep end of sneakily different cultures. Authenticity is part of our secret sauce but it creates unpredictable situations. Real Munich beer halls are not as used to out of country tourists as you might think. Americans are rarely seen in the small mountain towns of the Dolomites.
Adapting to different languages, food, drinking games, methods of flirting, standards of service and body language is part of their normal experience. The large geography of the USA creates insulation, ignorance and a fear of foreign places. Track riders know how to mitigate fear but new tracks are easier to adapt to than new worlds. There are dozens of examples of this but here’s a simple one.
For 5 days now, Dan’s face had looked like someone had swapped all the boxers in his luggage for briefs during the flight. He was just too embarrassed to say anything. He was having fun but required a bit more help from the tour guides.The joy of discovering something new was a childhood memory that took extra effort to coax forth. He was tired and thought something familiar might sooth him, grits. He was teetering on the edge of an adult tantrum but grits at an east German beer hall? His accent and the noise level alone meant there was no way the waitress was going to understand him, even if she knew what grits were. It was really loud because Americans outside of the USA for the first time always talk at double volume.
The Dolomite Brain Fairy
In the fading years, when the grim reaper comes to audit my clients books, chances are they’ll be telling him about those perfect moments in the Dolomites. I’ve logged 1000s of miles there and I’m still amazed. It’s just too idyllic. To my cynical mind it’s absurd that some people actually live here. It’s like some nerdy god decided to make an over the top terrarium for his pet humans. From the impossible granite peaks to tiny details like flower filled window boxes, it’s just all too perfect. I mean the supernatural tweaker even put extra mascara on the cows. It gets positively ludicrous. For motorcyclists, it’s an impossible dream of vistas and curves, and fellowship with riders from all over the world. This awesomeness creates a problem… the Dolmomite Brain Fairy.
As top riding coaches and neurologists will tell you, we have a finite amount of concentration. Each pass urges you on. Another great set of curves, great pavement, surges of adrenaline and flat out “I can’t believe this is real” awe takes it’s toll and the horrid sounds of metal and plastic sliding on pavement follows. The Dolomite Brain Fairy strikes again and my day gets more interesting. It doesn’t happen often and thee injuries are usually minor. The worst was a broken collar bone but picking up and transporting damaged bikes in the Alps is a nightmare. Which of course creates bizarre situations and plenty of stories.
Ever have to ride the northern side of Stelvio 4 times in one day? Every wonder what the inside of an Italian Police station looks like? Sometimes crash delays can cause late night group rides on pitch black mountain roads you can only navigate by reflectors. Ever here your riding buddy get cursed out in Swiss German the rider he hit, in the hospital bed next to him? Ever discover the BMW R 1200 GS has a “limp mode” it falls into if there’s even a tiny hairline crack in the boxer engine case? The pattern is clear, hassles in the moment but always looked back on with a laugh.
Riders have their off days and to be fair it’s not always the riders fault. Yes even your author still cringes at the thought of the beautiful BMW HP4 I had to run into a barricade to avoid an idiot in an SUV. It may be the most amazing place to ride a bike in the world and we’ve developed specials strategies and techniques to boost peoples skills in this environment. Still you have to beware of the Dolomite Brain Fairy, she hates shiny new bikes.
Munich’s Natural State
German’s are well known for their ruthless precision and addiction to procedure. The side effects are occasional bureaucracy served up with a chilly personality…when sober. Germany takes pride in getting the job done right and it’s well earned. The same attitude thankfully transfers to leisure time.
The local people and police in particular consider drunks a humorous part of daily life. Probably because they know they’ll be just inebriated soon themselves. Unless you are hurting someone the police just smile. Sometimes the police will help prop you up so you can get that perfect drunken selfie. Munich dwellers are rather practiced at dealing with people who are completely hammered.
Motorcycle riders are independent minded people, track riders even more so… now add alcohol and stand back. The tour always spends at least two night here. Many people arrive a night early for a chance to drink with the guides and then walk off their jetlag/hangover in the morning. Things go off script pretty fast. It can be a serious challenge to keep the group together on just a 4 block walk but we get it done. Although we did loose Matthias once.
The Matthias Factor
One key but unstable element of this tour, is the uncommon character of Mattias. He’s one of our German guides but is the most un-german German I know. He’s spontaneous, creative and is repelled by schedules, routines and procedures. The best and worst words you can hear from Matthias are “I have an idea”. He’s a bit of a genius but his ideas either turn out to be brilliant or disasters. He also has an amazing talent for convincing people to do things they shouldn’t, myself included.
The final Matthias variable, he doesn’t pass out from drinking. His brain gets drunk in sections, until everything’s gone except what I call his lizard brain. He’ll stagger about like a drunken iguana for hours until he sobers up. Trying to get him back to his hotel room is like asking a wild animal to please get back in the cage, it’s not going to happen. You just turn him loose with a separate “drinking wallet” with 500 euros, a burner phone and a lanyard with tag on it that says, “If found, please return this man to the Park Radison Hotel” in both German and English. Matthias is not a normal human but he is our most requested guide. People LOVE Matthias.
Autobahn Day
To get from sport touring paradise to MotoGP wonderland we travel 450 miles in one day. First from the Alps to Munich by Motorcycle, then from Munich to Chemnitz by cars. By now you are starting to notice a pattern. More chances for fun, more possibilities for delays and things to go wrong. More crazy stories. This is the day to open it up and go fast. It also means adventures in fuel management at high speed.
The Attitude Adjustment
Lets get right to the heart of it. In central and northern Europe, sex is viewed as an enjoyable fact of life. The worlds oldest profession here is legal and regulated, making it safer for everyone. I once watched a dinner party ending at a restaurant in Germany and as couples were leaving I witnessed something I don’t think I’ll ever see in the USA. One gentleman said his goodbyes and began leaving on his own. A woman, apparently his wife, said in German, “Honey, do you have enough money for her?” She suddenly realized she’d said that a bit loud and began to giggle in slight embarrassment. Her husband, laughed slightly and said “Yes dear, I have enough” and walked out. For older couples where men still have a sex drive but their wives are less interested, professional services are available. Certainly there are varying opinions but I’ve heard several Germans say this helps keep families together because there’s no affairs.
In other cases I’ve heard stout testimony about how this lowers the crime rate. Regardless, of all the destinations we serve this tour offers the best of selection of these types of services. A minority of our clients arrive with more pressing “needs” than others. It’s a rather sad state of affairs that some of them have gone “hungry” for so long but it’s my job to act as tour guide in these realms as well. Mishaps here are far less common than one might expect but it does introduce a variable as to how long our late night evenings might take.
Festive lounges, a variety of service providers and the standard issue polite but ominous big men looking like giant action figures at the door. More interesting is the sometimes vast difference between before and after. Some clients are far easier to work with after a simple “attitude adjustment” and I’ve been thanked profusely for it more than once and not just by the client.
Gute Laune
It had been an all nighter at the brothel, looking after several clients. The damnable sun was already up and I had airport transport duties. One of my favored establishments offers free drinks with the cover charge… a sensible businesses arrangement but takes it’s toll as the night goes on. We’d parked the luggage van in an Aldi parking lot but the gates were down. I was too drunk to drive but gave Randall clearance to engage in the Matthias style solution of driving the luggage van over the rather tall bushes so we could escape and do a 6am airport run. It had been a great tour.
We’d had only one small crash in the Alps. Sachsenring had been two brilliant sunny days of shredding slicks with no crashes. Memories were made, livers abused, friendships had been forged over huge steins of beer. Many had contributed their own personality to give the tour a unique flavor.
Four trips to the airport later it was almost done. Matthias kept repeating the phrase he’d learned from a 3 day rock festival. He explained that each morning the crowd would be roused from their marijuana smokey haze with the words “Gute Laune” which roughly translates to “good feelings”.
The crowd would reply back in “stoned out of their gord” German fashion “Gute Laune”. He’d managed to get everyone on the tour to say it right to. So it had been a tour of good feelings, the best yet…until next time. Randall thankfully was happy to drive north as I ate my bag of NikNaks and passed out on the futon. Gute Laune until the next adventure!