They think it's all over - it is now!

After 7 months, 25 countries, 38,000km, 3 punctures and a few tumbles, I rolled off the Pride of Dover onto the Dover quayside. The day before, I had met a couple of old friends in Epernay who had driven down from London to escort me safely onto English soil. Pete and Tim have a (completely unfounded) belief that I am a catalyst for accidents, natural disasters and other Acts of God, and thought that since I had made it this far without any major dramas, an upset was probably overdue. Obviously, as a bloke I did a totally inadequate job of explaining to them how touched I was that they took a couple of days off work and came all that way to share the final day of the trip, but it meant a great deal to me. From the very first day of the trip, I had imagined the journey ending with a great reception from my mates somewhere in Europe, although I thought that if I managed to entice anyone outside the M25, I would be lucky. The moment did not disappoint.

Guys, can I just remind you that the Transalp tops out at 75mph...

I set off with a mild hangover on the final day to cover the 200 or so miles from Epernay to Calais. The weather forecast was fairly grim, but fortunately the rain held off in Northern France. Unfortunately, it was blowing a gale, which provided my escorts with plenty of entertainment as I weaved my way down the autoroute (the panniers act like a sail in the wind).

Dumb and dumber...

I had assumed that they wouldn't see many vehicles with Aussie numberplates crossing the Channel, so I was amazed to see that the car in front of me was also from Melbourne - a 1932 Lagonda Rapier driven by a couple of similar vintage from East Brunswick (although they'd shipped it over for a round-Europe tour).

The exact moment of landfall...

Even though I had seemed like I was on my victory lap since I entered Western Europe, it was still a bit surreal riding the last few miles through the City of London, which used to be my old stomping ground on a ZX6 seven years ago. Felt bloody good to be back though!

Back to reality - breakfast with Emma and Joe

After a couple of nights with my brother Joe and his fiancee Emma, I headed up to Churt for the christening of my godson, Oscar. I think I managed to conduct myself appropriately, although I was out of my seat with my hand up pretty fast when the vicar asked who had travelled the furthest to be at the service...

My new godson Oscar, with Malcolm, Alicia and the vicar

After that, all that remained was the final 200 miles up to York to see my parents. And sure enough, the English weather lived up to its reputation. By the time I reached Newport Pagnell on the M1 at 8pm, the rain was so heavy and the spray was so bad that I had to put on the high-vis vest that had not been required on the entire journey thus far...

So did the trip live up to expectations? Of course, it far exceeded them. I had more fun, met more interesting people, and saw more incredible sights than I could ever have imagined. And the Honda Transalp performed absolutely flawlessly - the only maintainence required was routine replacement of tyres, filters, brake pads and chain, in spite of some pretty rough treatment and a few big stacks. It was always up to the job, even though it was up in the snow at 4,800 metres one week and in the sand at 50 degrees the next. It always started first time, even though it didn't get a service for almost 40,000km - hopefully this will still be the case after I've stripped it down and rebuilt it next week...

Would I do another trip like it? Of course - in fact I'd happily do the same trip again. But hopefully the next big ride will be Argentina to Alaska - may be a few years away though...

Almost there!

You'll have noticed that the blog updates are now coming thick and fast - all thanks to my swanky new iPhone which allows me to surf at my leisure in wifi-enabled cafes, and failing that, by loitering outside houses with unsecured networks...

Kotor in Montenegro was just a taste of things to come, as I worked my way up the Dalmatian coast through Dubrovnik and Split sipping coffee, camping by the beach and topping up the tan to impress folks back in the UK.

You say "one way street into Dubrovnik" and I say "racetrack"...

After a few days on the coast I decided to cut up through Bosnia, which is a beautiful country with some great biking roads. I spent an evening in Bihac (pronounced, somewhat amusingly, bi-atch), largely because I had forgotten that not many of the roads leading to Croatia actually enter Croatia (since it's a separate country...). Anyway, Bihac turned out to be a delightful place. In fact, I was really taken with the whole of old Yugoslavia. But even though there's been a lot of construction, there are still a lot of bullet holes around!

Bosnia to Croatia - road closed!

Bihac - peppered...

A nicer view of Bihac

Onwards and upwards, through Slovenia and into Italy. By now I'd been in and out of the EU a few times, but it wasn't until Italy that it started to feel like mission accomplished. There are some breathtaking roads in the Dolomites, and I enjoyed cruising through the mountains with Matt Monroe's 'On Days Like These' on the mental iPod. In fact, the roads are so good that I found a cozy B&B in Arabba, ditched the luggage and went out to scrub the edges off my new tyres on the racetrack that masquerades as a public road around the Dolomites - Passo Campolongo, Passo Gardena, Passo Sella, and Passa Pordoi. The Transalp took everything in it's stride, which is more than can be said for me when I tried to run up the Passo Pordoi later that day - I blew a gasket after about 15 minutes and found myself coughing my guts up next to a couple of friendly cows called Nesquik and Hannelore (it's so fancy up there that the cows have name badges...)

Parking in the Alps - keep the Jags on the left and Astons on the right, please...

After the great roads in the Dolomites, I didn't think it could get much better - but it did. There weren't many landmarks on the trip during planning, but one of them was the Stelvio Pass. Which turned out to be 46 hairpins of pure pleasure (they're numbered - I was too busy to count them) - and that's just the way up. I felt quite a sense of achievement at the 2,800 metre summit, so you can imagine how all the cyclists felt after 2 1/2 hours... Is is better that the 1148 in Thailand? Who cares - they're both incredible. But as a measure of just how good it is, the Stelvio Pass sticker was only the third one to get valuable real estate on the bike screen. On the way down, I was planning to cut over the umbrella pass to Switzerland, but then I saw the way down the Stelvio Pass - missing it would have been like climbing up the stairs but not taking the slide down.

The final few curves on the way up the Stelvio Pass...

...at the top...

... and back down the other side

Now I'm back in Europe, I'm starting to miss the constant attention I got throughout Asia, which is probably because the roads here are full of touring bikes and nobody recognises my numberplate. I lost the AUS badge from the back of the bike somewhere in Nepal, so in order to comply with EU law (but mainly to attract some attention) I made a new sign with some insulating tape. Unfortunately most people now assume that I'm from Austria - not the best outcome...

No, not Austria, STRAYA!

After a chilly night of camping in St Moritz, it was on to Zurich to stay with Paul and Sue Calthrop, who provided great company, a delicious Sunday roast and a very comfy bed. Next day I crossed the Bodensee by boat and continued north to Ulm, where I called in to see Claus and Rainer, a couple of the Africa Twin riders that I crossed Nepal and India with. It was great to see them again, and I suspect that there will be many more adventure rides for us.

Reunited...

Another day of riding northwards brought me to Frankfurt to visit the Bohles family. Unfortunately Carlos was away on a business trip, so I took the opportunity to corrupt the kids - sorry Carlos, but I think the girls are all expecting motorbikes for their birthdays now!!!

Meet the Bohles...

Next stop? Well tomorrow I'm meeting up with my guard of honour, who will be escorting me the final few hundred kilometres to the UK. Jenksy and Morris have arranged a final night out in Epernay, which suggests that they have far too much money and no idea how low my standards have slipped over the past 6 months...

Er, which country is this please?

Over the past few weeks I've done the rockstar thing and jetted into Glastonbury for the weekend (well, Luton to be precise) and I'm back on the road in the Balkans.

Glastonbury was a blast and provided a gentle reintroduction to life in the UK - great music, happy people and even some sunshine (what do you mean England`s not usually like that???). Actually, it rained constantly from Thursday evening to Friday lunchtime, which completely justified Pete and Caroline renting a campervan, which seemed far too bourgeois when the trip was planned six months ago.

Slumming it at Glastonbury

That`s more like it...

So in keeping with tradition, the place turned into a quagmire and everyone got to wear their Hunter wellies, except for yours truly who decided to brave it out on flipflops. Which would have worked well except for the fact that I had absolutely no traction and needed a tow whenever the going got tough. The game was finally up when I got stuck in the mud and did irreparable damage to my footwear (apparently the technical term is 'blowing a plug'). Anyway, Neil Young rocked, Bruce Springsteen had the time of his life, and the company wasn't bad either...

Eminem called by at our campervan to say hello...

Not much to report from Istanbul - retrieving the bike from customs was the same frustrating ten-signature process as before, only in reverse and over ten different lunchbreaks. I managed to run out of petrol on the way back to the city, but fortunately the few drops in my stove were enough to get me to a filling station - good trick, that...

Back on the road, I headed north and crossed into Greece at Ipsala. Fortunately I had bothered to get green card insurance from Arisa, because I was asked to show it at the border. Unfortunately, the cover note was still in the mail. But my new iPhone came to the rescue, because I had received a copy by email. Now the customs officer was clealy bamboozled by the technology and wanted me to go back to Turkey to buy another policy, but I utilised my 'firm' negotiating approach (I've been trying to do 'polite but firm', but I can't pull it off), and his boss relented. So I'm claiming to be the first person to achieve an e-crossing into Greece...

On to Thessaloniki, which has changed massively since I was there as a teenager (or maybe it was because I was too broke / stupid to go beyond 100 metres from the railway station back then). Anyway, the waterfront is very fancy, the girls scrub up really well, and the party keeps going all night, even on a Wednesday.

The original plan was to head from there to Naples to visit some friends, but it turned out they were all going to be on holiday (next time I'll give them less notice), so I decided to collect some more stamps in the passport and head through the Balkans. Some of those countries are so small that they should really be called counties... In fact I managed to pass through the first two without spending any money, which is my idea of a successful visit...

Peaceful Albanian scenery? Look closely for gun placements in the background...

Admittedly, I stayed at the Sheraton in Tirana and busted out the frequent flyer card for a free stay - I'd been keeping the points in reserve in case I got really stuck anywhere, but they tend not to have Westins in the hotspots of the world, so I figured it was time to cash in on those many months of servitude as a consultant for a hot bath and a comfy bed.

If only all my hotel rooms had been like this...

I offset this indulgence by dining on bread and cheese that I'd been carrying from Greece, thus avoiding the need to change any money into Leks. On the way to Tirana, I managed to pass through FYROM (that's Macedonia to you) in an hour and a half (including a 20 minute kip), and I never even found out what currency they use...

Ever wondered what Macedonia looked like? No, neither had I

Albania was nicer than expected, with some fetching commie-era relics and a breakers yard every kilometrew. Surprisingly, the place is full of cars with UK licence plates - mercedes e-classes to be precise. In fact, most of the cars on the road are mercedes e-classes with Italian number plates, german number plates... I was told that most of the working population have left the country, and are just back for their holidays...

Is that a gun, or are you just pleased to see me?

Onwards and upwards, to Montenegro (I guess FYROM was already taken). Now when I was at primary school, I think I could name every capital city in the world (I was a lonely child...). But Podgorica was a new one for me - although to be fair the whole population is less than half a million. Combine that with some mountains and you end up with fantastic biking roads. Once in a while on this trip, I have a 'wow' moment where I have to stop the bike and take some totally inadequate photos of a stunning view, and I cetainly had one of those on the road from Cetinje to Kotor, which winds it's way from a cliff about a kilometre high to a beautiful medieval port with mountains on all sides (google it!) over the Trojica pass.

View from the Trojica Pass

I was planning on pushing on to Dubrovnik, but it was 6pm, I was hungry, and Kotor looked interesting, so I figured out what currency they use and stopped for the night in Montenegro (it's Euros, in case that question ever comes up in a pub quiz).

Kotor - the super-yachts are just starting to arrive...