this case a big orange Austrianmade motorcycle ridden by a sleepdeprived , relocating Brit who has the filtering abilities of a garden shed due to his excessively wide panniers . For their benefit , said Brit doesn ’ t even know if it ’ s legal to ride down the middle of stationary traffic , and consequently is exhibiting extreme caution . This , combined with his obtrusive exhaust note , means no knees are knobbled by protrusions , wing mirrors removed by misjudgement and , if words of hostility or disapproval are spoken , they are not heard .
With the affronted and motionless behind me , I ’ m faced with the open mouth of a closed tunnel . It has the appearance of a facility that shuts at night , and the man who opens it has overslept . So , with the bike on its centre stand I get out my diary and try to catch up on the journey so far . However , before I ' ve got very far , Herr Schlafen has risen and raised
the barrier . My creativity is hastily stashed , and so begins the onslaught of all those outraged Audi drivers making up for downtime as I ride at a speed faster than any British law allows .
As I head east and see signs for Leipzig and Dresden , the sun shines . Nothing feels foreign and loneliness isn ’ t even a consideration . Again , this is a world away from how I felt on these roads two years ago on route to Iraq .
I ' ve got friends in the Czech Republic who enter my thoughts as I cross the border , but this is a destination-driven journey , not a social jolly . Another stop to rehydrate my body and tank . It might be 11 a . m . I manage to zero my trip gauge as I try to change the time , so that little statistic is gone forever .
Prague has a ring road that requires constant attention not to deviate from . When I do , there is stationary traffic in the other direction . I hope I don ’ t have to double back through that lot . A sign for Brno says I don ’ t , I ’ m on the right road . This feels fabulous . I stop for a slice of pizza and a coke and have my motorway snack in the shade of a parked truck . The stench of rancid piss radiates up from the asphalt . As a trucker for seventeen years , I did my part to contribute to this truck stop aroma , but it ’ s still a nasty environment and a heavy downpour doesn ’ t do much to dissolve it .
I change to cooler clothes and queue for a vignette only to find bikes are exempt . I suppose I ' m pleased . Into Slovakia and I think I need a vignette here , but I ' ll be out the other side in an hour and I ' m not stopping . Bratislava is a capital that , even from the motorway , coaxes out the camera . I glance at the castle and bridges as I cross the Danube . ‘ See you in Romania ,’ I say under my visor .
In Hungary I definitely seem to
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