" We sup on dangerously evil red
AUSTRIA
Finally the descent begins , down and deeper down , taking glorious miles to drop to the valley floor , we savour every last moment at the bottom with a smoke and a slurp of Fanta . John ’ s arms are bulging from the strain of hustling a V-Max around the curves and he trembles through his nicotine break .
Now to Lienz and across to the valleys , similar to Wales now , but a wee bit higher either side ( ahem ), down some 70 miles of “ interesting ” A road twists and crowded towns . The road is now peopled by more bikes than I ’ ve ever seen , we stopped waving hours ago as they ’ re too numerous to count , it ’ s like the British GP at closing time , but seemingly endless . Chasing the valley floor for miles and miles in increasing heat , we stop for a cooling brew and scuttle into the shade for respite .
ITALY
Refreshed , we push on over the Italian border , marked only by some deserted custom offices , slowly rusting in the sun and finally to the Autostrada for the final run in to our overnight destination in the hills below the Dolomites .
We swoop down and down , through the jagged peaks to Trento where we leave the “ strada ” and head into the mountains once more for Madrano Canzolino and our hotel for the night . Settling in to a luxurious apartment , we shower and change out of sweaty riding gear into something cooler . The nearby restaurant overlooking the lake serves us stunning Carpaccio and huge pizzas from a wood fired oven , all washed down with Italian ale , we stumbled through the darkness round the lake to bed .
After a night punctuated by thunderstorms , we leave in the freshening air and continue our descent out of the Dolomites for many more miles . The “ strada ” continues its sinuous way south , we continue to monitor the mirrors for crazy Italian drivers … opening onto the plains , the mountains are suddenly a memory as our destination of Venice closes in .
Out on the causeway , it ’ s a wee bit “ high ” in the summer heat , right at the Port before the island delta proper , we ’ re soon in the bowels of a huge ferry . As we wait for the Greeks to fill the ship , 3 hours later we ’ re still waiting . The words “ piss up ” and “ brewery ” are bandied loosely about .
Soon forgotten is the disaster of loading as we haul out of town up the Grand Canal . There can be few waterbound sights more impressive than Venice from the ferry . Endless streets thronged with tourists baking in the sun , waterways busting with water taxis , water buses , water delivery trucks … it ’ s all on the sea round here … Towers totter uncertainly as waves of architecture crash in on one another … stunning .
The town slides slowly by as we creep up on the Adriatic and all too soon it ’ s a memory and we ’ re all at sea …..