Saturday

Raye and I get up early to eat fruhstuck – breakfast – with those leaving for the airport. We swap addresses and take pictures, promising to keep in touch. The men offer to host anyone wanting to stop through their area for a motorcycle trip to see local sites.

We take one last walk through the roads up the hillside behind our inn, talk about the amazing things we saw and did together, pack our bags and head for the Innsbruck bahnhof – train station. Our four-hour train ride turns into a seven-hour experience as our train is two hours late arriving and then stops quite frequently along the way for brake repair, we learn from fellow train passengers who have been on since the train originated early that morning in Wein – Vienna. The ride is as picturesque as it was a week ago when we rode through this region but this time we have the setting sun painting warm colors across the mountain peaks and lakes.

I will miss this countryside.  I am almost afraid to go back to my life.  Raye and I jokingly discuss just shipping the kids over and finding a way to make a go of it here.

The arrival into Zurich Hauptbanhof – main train station – is without much note. We manage to purchase tickets for the local train and only have to walk across the platform to catch it within just a few minutes of arriving. We make it on to our hotel by about 10 p.m. and immediately call the children. Signs of America are more prevalent now, and everyone speaks English here. We even tip our van driver with U.S. dollars. After a late night snack, we collapse into bed and make plans to catch our plane in the morning home.

Sunday

The 12-hour flight home is about half over now. I am determined to capture every last memory I have now before we even set foot in the U.S., and I am tempted to turn my cell phone on for the first time in nine days. I did attempt a sneak peek at my Blackberry in Zurich but fortunately the battery is dead. It wouldn’t have been worth it anyway – just make the trip home more stressful thinking about the emails I need to reply to.

Raye and I have already decided our next trip will be next year to Scotland or Tuscany, depending on the time of year these rides are offered. Raye suggests I learn to drive.  Knowing me as well as he does, he is sure I will enjoy the speed, control and challenge of that experience.

I’m not sure, though, if the pure luxury of simply hopping on the back of his bike wasn’t just what I needed.  I remember nine days ago, leaving my life to go on this trip was so incredibly difficult.  But as with any forced departure from daily life, such an escape makes you think.  And this time for me, it was about the journey.  I think of how blessed I am to have a great family and to love what I do.  My life is great, and the destination is no where in sight.  The getting there part is still going on, and that’s okay with me.

I am also starting to realize perhaps I am not the one who is driving afterall.  But regardless of where God decides to take me on this journey, I am determined to make the most of it.  I have always wanted to live life intensely.  Yet getting off the ride of my life long enough to rest and reflect has to be a part of the itinerary, too.  And being on the back of the bike is probably just where I belong every now and then.

As our plane prepares to touch down, my iPod sings to me one last time.  Sounds of Steppenwolf linger in my mind. For a person who doesn’t know how to move at any speed less than top, I am certain now that I actually slowed down for the first time in a long time.  “Easy Rider” may have been just what the doctor ordered, and the best description of this journey that matters in more ways than one.

Want to see more photos? Click on the set “Saturday: Saying Goodbye” to see photos of our hotel and the local countryside.

Epilogue

Well, the answer is yes.  I did fall in love with motorcycles, at least as much as a beginner can.  Since our trip, Raye and I have been riding a few times each month with friends who share the same passion.  Each time, I learn more fully what it means to enjoy the journey — that’s one of the great lessons of motorcycling.

I also enjoy meeting and talking with other riders about their bikes, their trips and finding out about great places to ride.  If you have a favorite route, please share it.

Raye is distressed to realize that today will be our last riding day. Neither of us is ready for this to end. We wake up to steady rain, which does nothing to lift our spirits. So we enjoy a long leisurely breakfast and decide to ride regardless of the weather at 10 a.m. Actually the break is welcome as we are a little more tired than we would care to admit.

This time we come to the bikes dry and covered in our rain suits so I am not that concerned about the rain from a passenger’s point of view. We determine to venture out slowly to avoid any last-day mishaps. As it turns out, as we ride into the region the rain is sporadic and we find dry roads fairly quickly. Gray skies remain but we are excited to be out again and I vow to memorize every site and scene of the ride.

Our ride today takes us up gentle mountainsides. We pass one waterfall that is stunning, but we keep riding. In just another minute, we pass one even larger and more magnificent. Then finally we come upon a waterfall bigger than the other two combined. Now we stop. It is truly awesome. Part of the park, this glacier waterfall is a major attraction as evidenced by the many cars parked in a roadside gravel lot. People are walking along hiking trails to the base of the falls. It is common to see people of all ages out walking these sorts of trails and each walker carries a pole in each hand similar to the types of poles snow skiers use. As well, we pass many bicycle riders going up and down the steep mountain passes. Raye and I love watching the Tour de France every year, and in fact we pass one or two riders sporting a team uniform as we drive the switchbacks. We assume they are third string riders who are practicing and hoping to improve their stock on their team. We lament Americans’ lack of interest in such activities. Europeans seem to take to physical exercise more readily.

Finally we go on just another ways to the road’s end, which is also a ski resort in the winter time. A 10-minute walk up the hill leads us to a bridge overlooking the “mutterberg” – mother mountain – waterfall. This water comes straight from the glacier. I can only imagine the water temperature. It does look good enough to drink. This water may flow all the way down into the cities hours below. It all starts here.

As we drive more leisurely down the mountain, we pass another common scene: beautiful gray dairy cows grazing along the road side. They wander freely through the fields and across the road – this  must be what we call “free range” livestock, although from the looks of their udders and pleasant faces they are clearly for milk production and not to eat. Each cow wears a brass bell around its neck. We hear clanging bells quite often as we drive through the villages where there are so many farms.

We stop for lunch at a gasthaus on a farm, and I get a cow photo series going that features two or three beautiful heifers as they eat along the driveway. They seem totally oblivious to me and I make sure not to get in their way as they move sometimes quickly between grassy spots.

Once again we enjoy the local house specialty featuring Tyrolian food – we have a beef and potato goulash topped with a fried egg and with grilled bratwurst on the side. Raye and I split these sorts of meals – we have learned they are big enough for two. Big glasses of water, no ice. These mountain regions dry you out very quickly so we have also learned to drink a lot of water during the day.

We stop in a small town on the way back that has a large ornate church. This is a special site to see, although churches are in every town regardless of size – and the church is always the tallest building in the town. Steeples are shaped either like an onion on a pole or in a narrow triangular shape with a ball at the top. Roofs are painted either red or green in Austria to indicate what regional church government it is under. In Italy, the roofs are painted black. All these churches are Catholic, which is clearly the dominant religion of the region.

The church’s graveyard is nearly as impressive as the building. Each gravesite is topped with a wrought iron marker standing at least four or five feet tall. These markers are all different but nearly each one features a figure of Jesus on the cross at the center. They are works of art, just like the wrought iron signs in the marketplaces. I wander through the yard and take many pictures – they are just too pretty.

We move inside the church to find beautifully painted walls, ceilings and altars of all kinds. These are reminiscent of large churches you might find in Rome. Candles are lit in front of  altars. We stand quietly in the back and move around the worship area just to study the paintings and to take some pictures. The ends of pews are carved wood and the stone floors are laid in carefully planned mosaics. No detail is left unattended to here.  I think of many of my Catholic friends and that they would truly appreciate this hall of worship.

Our ride home is as any other day, except this time it is the last. We gather early on the back porch to meet up with others for storytelling, and we all stay late after supper for more of the same. No one seems anxious to leave this idyllic setting, although talk turns to family and friends waiting for us at the next stop. Some are going on to other parts of Europe, but most of us are heading back to the states or home to Germany, where one of our companions is from. What can we take with us that will help us remember the way we feel this week?

iPod playlist: Sting, Styx, Tom Petty, Queen, Bruce Hornsby and the Range

Want to see more photos? Click on the set “Friday: Glacier Waterfalls and Churches” to see evidence of God’s hand in our lives and hearts.)

Today we are rested and set to go to the Italian Alps and on to see a beautiful old town called Sterzinger. We ride along the misty, cold mountaintops and stop to see long-haired goats at a bend in the road. They seem to have no trouble meandering along the sides of these cliffs, just like you imagine as a child growing up. Are two legs shorter than the others?! I stop to take a series of photographs of these friendly creatures.  They are beautiful, and apparently the focus of a niche agriculture business in Europe, supplying milk for goat cheese and other high end dairy products.  Very expensive, Frank tells us.

We have coffee at a restaurant precariously propped on the top of a ridge overlooking yet another magnificent valley and series of waterfalls and rushing rivers. The women in the group laugh because we are all so taken with European WC’s (water closets). The bathrooms are small but beautifully decorated, with every marvel known. Automatic deoderizers that mist the air when you walk in, powerful flushing, automatic seat de-germers (that was in the St. Moritz sailing club) that slide the seat around through a grip that has bacterial spray of some kind (hard to imagine it until you see it). Every WC is immaculate. Wish the U.S. would pick up on this trend.

Our late morning drive is through another mountain pass that is covered in hemlock trees – they look like lacy cedars. The air is thick with their fragrance, and you feel as though you are in a scene  from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. It is peaceful and entrancing, and my music of choice only adds to the escape. My iPod has become an important accessory for me on this trip as I am, like most people, carried away by great music.  (See my play list at the end of each day.)  My mind wanders a lot as we ride, and I really have time to examine life and consider possibilities. It is an other-worldly experience.

Raye is a great driver, and I am starting to get used to not having any real assignment in all this experience.  I am just to hang on and take it all in, and then be sure to tell him what I saw since he is mostly watching the road. We see villages laid out up and down the sides of the mountains as well as waterfalls cascading down steep cliffs, barns, trails, pastures, rivers following the fall of the land. One scene after another – you just can’t imagine that things will get any prettier, and then they do.

We pass through a small town called St. Leonardo – it is apparently a resort town I fall in love with. As in many communities, there is a “sportsplatz” – sports field. Soccer, of course. This town also has the first public “swimmbad” – swimming pool – we have seen so far. Not too sunny during July and August, these are actually the rainiest months of the year in the Alps. We have been lucky to enjoy so much sun this week, and I sat out by the pool at our small inn two different occasions.

The buildings in St. Leonardo and many other towns like it are beautifully decorated with metalwork signs or murals painted on the walls. It is interesting to note a common practice that buildings feature tromp l’oiel painted trim around the windows to give the appearance of ornate wood carvings or stucco trim. At first you don’t notice that it is just a painted effect, but once you do it is fun to admire the artist’s abilities to fool the eye. And it becomes just something else to watch for and enjoy.

We see a lot of mothers out walking their children along the sidewalks during our rides. Not sure if I don’t notice this so much in the U.S. anymore since my children are now 9 and 12, but it does reinforce the more laid back atmosphere of this region. I am also surprised to learn from our guide that most shops close from 1-3 p.m. every day. My driven nature just can’t imagine doing this, but the concept grows on me a little. Raye and I have noticed we have both slept about 8 hours a night while on this trip and a number of other things don’t seem to bother us like they do in our hectic American lives.

Just another 30 minutes or so and we come down from the mountains into the town of Sterzinger set in a beautiful valley. We park our bikes in the town square and walk into the old part of town, a  pedestrian-only area of cobblestones with shops situated one after the other. I take dozens of pictures of the shop signs – pieces of art created out of metal and wood with painted letters and pictures to depict the business inside. I liken these images to ephemera – old advertising and labels that many people collect. I also capture a number of carved wooden doorways that are another indication of the craftsman so prevalent in the region.

We walk through a giant tower archway made of stone which is in the center of the old town. It features a large clock that appears to keep accurate time punctuated by the occasional chimes on the quarter hour. Lunch is in an old pub with a huge green tile stove just  inside the front door. A brief sun shower keeps the midday cool but not particularly wet, thank goodness.

We head back through a beautiful valley and another pass with a small number of turns, but mostly it is a leisurely ride with some spotty rain. Before dinner we all gather on the deck overlooking mountain peaks just behind the hotel. We laugh and talk of the sites of the day – everyone loves motorcycling, and the men talk for hours on end about bikes, cars and every kind of racing that exists. They even have a competition, comparing the number of cylinders represented in everyone’s garage back home. It is another fantastic day. I sleep like a baby.

iPod playlist: The Guess Who, The Doors, Steve Miller

Want to see more photos? Click on the set “Thursday: Goats and Old Town Sterzinger” to see my “goat series” and my “sign series” — plus take a step back in time into beautiful Sterzinger.  This is my favorite collection of photos.

Today was our long awaited excursion to St. Moritz in Switzerland. We chose to make our way there via the Italian Alps.  After a hearty breakfast, we gather in the hotel parking lot overlooking the mountains and everyone climbs on board their bike.

As I soon discover on this trip, the mornings are my favorite part of the day.  The air is cool and crisp, the mist is still hanging in the mountains, and the sun is shining.  There is nothing like the moment you slide onto the back of the bike.  The anticipation of the day — what you may see in this incredibly beautiful countryside, the inspiration you know you are going to feel from just being in this moment.  Holding onto Raye, racing past life, the rush of the bike’s power, feeling the wind blowing by — it is hard to describe, but I can tell you it is an intoxicating feeling.  The experience made me feel like I can do anything.  That somehow there is still much of life to discover, something still amazing left for me to do and I can’t wait to get there.

Our first stop is an interesting site.  On the edge of the Italian/Austrian border is a lake that flooded a valley years ago.  You can still see the church steeple coming up through the water where the town stood.  Very reminiscent of the last scene in the movie “Oh Brother Where Art Thou.”

Out in the flats between passes, we come across two gigantic windmills positioned just beside the lake — this is such a windy spot and hydro-electric power and wind power are the two alternative sources of energy in this area.  I think about one of my clients in the oil and gas industry that is working to be a part of the energy solution in America by developing a new natural gas find in Arkansas.  Alternative fuel sources are great long-term ideas but not practical for all of us who love to sap up as much energy as we can to move at high rates of speed in our lives.  I don’t know many people, really, who would give up easy access to energy — even at today’s prices.  But a lot of the world’s problems wouldn’t exist if more people did have the affordable energy sources they needed.

We drive through an old town that has cobblestone streets and many old buildings.  Children holler “hallo” to us and wave as we go by.  Motorcyclists seem to be a common and welcome site through these communities.  In fact, we pass many other motorcycle groups throughout this trip. I’ve learned the biker’s greeting — simply drop your hand out off the side of your leg in a very nonchalant wave.  I knew of this gesture in the states, but I didn’t realize it was a sign of camaraderie that is universal.

Heading into the mountain passes, we encounter more switchbacks — kehren (turns) — that are numbered and also show the meter height.  We are about 2,500 meters high, which is the equivalent of 7,500 feet or so.  Nearly as high as Vail Pass I think.  But I don’t feel the effects of the altitute, probably because our base hotel is also in the Alps.

Our guide leads us through an interesting engineering creation found throughout the mountains of Europe.  They are open tunnels on one side called “galleries.”  As you ride through the tunnel, you can see out one side and down into the valley below.  There are a lot of these, and it’s fun to look out while you ride through them.  Frank tells us these are built to catch snowfall and prevent avalanches that close roads.  Passage through these areas is critical, and you can’t have major roads shut down for months at a time from snowfall.

We stop to eat lunch just on the other side of the Swiss Alps at a small “gasthaus” guest house (hotel) that has an outdoor café beside a creek.  This is very common, to round a bend in the road and see a gasthaus standing by the side of the road.  “Zimmer frie mit warmen kuche.”  Rooms available with warm cooking.  Then also the name of the family, “Familie Schmitt.”  We guess this is a longtime tradition of local families opening their homes to travelers for extra income to supplement whatever they get from their farming enterprises. On evening walks behind the hotel where we are staying, we follow a narrow road up to a hilltop and we pass no fewer than three or four of these small family inns.  In fact, the inn where we are staying is run by the Wilhelm family.

After lunch, Raye and I are tempted by the hammock hanging in the yard — riding through the Alps is hard on Raye to watch the road and we move around a lot as we speed up, slow down, turn right, turn left.  It’s great fun for me, but Raye watches the road and really concentrates.  Several friends said before we left on this trip: “Be sure to come back in one piece.”  As you grow older and have children, you begin to realize the importance of taking only calculated risks.  Those black diamond runs on the ski slope during our winter vacations used to attract our adventurous spirit, but we have come to appreciate the fact that someone has to raise our children — and we’d like it to be us.  So we don’t take as many chances on our trips like we did when we were in our 20s and invincible.  This trip is no exception.

Once the bills have been paid, our group sets out for dark-looking skies toward St. Moritz.  The ladies are determined to shop there.  We can see it off in the distance set in a stunning valley.  As we pull into town, the evidence of wealth is everywhere — in the cars, the hotels, the architecture, the shops — even in the sailing club set beside the beautiful lake that the entire town overlooks.

The ladies are given exactly 30 minutes to power shop, of which 10 minutes are spent climbing the steep hills to get into the middle of the shopping district from where we park our bikes down by the lake.  I am used to working at a fast pace, though, so we make quick work of a gourmet chocolate shop — gifts for family, friends and clients.  And I manage to grab a fleece jacket for myself with the town’s name stitched on the chest.  We simply window shop the expensive designer establishments manned by well dressed attendants.  Our motorcycle attire hides any sign of money any of us may have, but the way we looked I’m not so sure we would be that welcome anyway.

Just now at 4:30 p.m., we hop the bikes for the two-plus hours back to home base in Austria.  As luck would have it, we encounter not just rain but lightning and hail, which makes an impressive noise when it hits your helmet.  I know Raye and the other drivers are becoming concerned about the slickness of the roads.  They look a little frothy on the edges, which is surely an indication of the rain mixing with the oils and other liquids left standing on the roads since the last rain.

We stop in a small town under the only available covered spot and don our “frog togs” — rain suits.  This is no small feat to get these suits unpacked from the saddle bags and then pulled on over leather clothing and motorcycle jackets.  Everything sticks together, but finally everyone is covered the best they can be.  Even still, we are already wet and cold and for the first time I am wishing we were already back at the hotel.  My wet leather gloves stay wet and my hands never warm up the rest of the way back.

No one seems too excited about the rain as we ride through small town after small town.  People have disappeared from the streets for the most part.  Even at the Swiss border we are waved through without so much as a passport check.  After an hour or so and a painfully slow maneuver  through the Innsbruck evening rush hour traffic, the sun breaks through to light up the last leg of the way.  Tired and ready for dinner, our guide doesn’t hesitate to take on the last few miles. We race up the side of our mountain at 130 kph — at least 70 mph.  Conversation at dinner is quieter than usual as everyone is ready for a good night’s sleep.

iPod playlist: The Moody Blues, The Doobie Brothers, Steve Winwood, Santana, Steppenwolf.

Want to see more photos? Click on the set “Wednesday: St. Moritz” to see highlights of the hairpin turns and immense peaks.)

Today was a rider’s day.  Our main focus was on experiencing one entire mountain pass of nearly 50 consecutive switchbacks.  It sounded daunting to all of us, but really I think the drivers in our party were absoutely beside themselves with the challenge.  I wasn’t so sure how it would feel to ride on the back of the bike with absolutely no say-so in the speed or arc chosen for all those turns.  But I was set on putting it all in Raye’s capable hands and focusing instead on the thrill of the ride ahead. The switchbacks were carved into the Austrian Alps, the most beautiful mountain passes I have ever seen. As you look up the mountain, the road looks like a pile of ribbons, looping gracefully back and forth all the way to the top.  Raye maneuvered us carefully up through the turns without a hitch.  This was breathtaking and thrilling all at the same time since the sides of the road simply stop at the edges of the mountain.  Not much to catch you should you misjudge things too significantly.  We stopped at the peak near a dam holding back a beautiful “see” –- a lake — and enjoyed an espresso and some Austrian chocolate with our riding companions. Moving on, we passed through a quaint town with a chocolate factory, and you could smell the fruits of their labor all throughout the city. Frank took a pretty good ribbing from the ladies who couldn’t imagine not stopping at the chocolate factory gift shop.

Calling on my German more and more, today I successfully translated lunch menus for our table, and I can read many signs in the towns we pass through. Fierwehr – fire protectors, geminde amt – city hall, backeri – bakery, artz – doctor, apotheke – apothecary (pharmacy).

We stopped for lunch and ate sausages from the grill at an outdoor café on a mountainside. The weather has been warm, so we actually take off jackets, zip out the linings and sit outside under some shade to cool down. I never imagined the Alps region would be this warm but it is only like this when you are not sky-high.  At the top of the passes, it is quite cool.  And the mornings are always chilly regardless of where you are.

The ride up the next mountain is also filled with switchbacks and we see some minor incidents on this leg. One time we were riding too close to each other and our bike almost ran into the bike in front of us in the middle of a curve. The rider in front had to stop suddenly because an older man on a bicycle was just a few yards ahead of him but in the center of the road. Usually bicyclists stay to the edge of the road, but this one had wandered too far out. Fortunately no one was hurt, but the bike behind us had its rider slide off the back in the sudden stop. She hopped off but then hopped back on without too much trouble.  Believe me, you’re not going very fast in these curves, but the last thing you want to do is misjudge the apex of the curve.

Another time as we were riding down the mountain, we had to stop as a young man coming up the pass had just jumped off his motorcycle, put down the kickstand and jogged back down to the edge of a curve to help his female traveling companion with her bike. The young lady’s bike was off the road and up against the face of the rock wall, a victim of too much speed at just the wrong point on the curve. He helped her pull the bike back down to the road, and we slowly passed by them as he waved to assure us everything was under control and he did not need assistance.

We also find that, to move along in a timely manner, we have to pass slow-moving cars on these passes even when you cannot really see much ahead of you. This is always an interesting experience. Raye is very careful, but since I have no idea how fast the bike will go when we really need it, I just don’t watch at these moments. One of our fellow riders says his philosophy is that double yellow lines are just “suggested no-passing zones” as far as motorcyclists are concerned since we can move at a much higher rate of speed much more quickly than a car can.  Raye comments that on occasion the bike we are on sputters a bit when he turns up the juice. But otherwise I think it has been great fun to drive.

Dinner is always served at 7:30 p.m. in the dining room of the restaurant where we are staying. The cream of carrot soup and wienerschnitzel were sumptuous this evening. Raye and I have taken to the fresh salad bar and the cheese buffet afterwards – Austrian cheese is better than desserts.

iPod playlist: Steely Dan, Boston and Van Morrison

Want to see more photos? Click on the set “Tuesday: Switchbacks and Lakes ” to see highlights of the hairpin turns and immense peaks.)

Breakfast early this morning consisted of a buffet of sausages, meats, cheeses, breads coffee and cereal. Hearty Austrian food, I think. It nearly held us through until dinner. We left right at 8:30 a.m. with beautiful sunny weather, and a few wispy clouds, which seem to hang right at the tops of the mountains.

Our route took us into Deutschland – Germany – to see the famous King Ludwig’s two castles, Linderhoff and Neuschwanstein. The drive to the castles took all morning, and we cruised through many picturesque, small villages mostly farming communities. It must be harvest time for hay because everywhere farmers were on tractors mowing tall fields of grass and flowers. We also saw many people using scythes, cutting hay by hand with long, thin curved bladed instruments.  These hand reapers were mostly seen on narrow, steep hillsides where obviously tractors could not function without tipping over.  Some people we saw had even tied themselves to trees to keep themselves from falling down the mountainside while they worked.  Bales were rolled and piled sporadically across the fields at the bottom of the hills. As we came to learn, farmers here wrap their hay to make it ferment. Apparently cattle love it, and our riding companions from farm country in Wisconsin loved speculating about this.

The architecture in the Austrian alps is consistently simple and beautiful. Most buildings are white or a pale color stucco with pale shutters and gingerbread trim around the roofline. Balconies and windows are filled with flower pots — pink and red flowers always spilling over the edges of pots. House after house looks like this, even most buildings in small towns. We wonder if there is a strict building code that enforces this, or people here just have great taste and understand the concept of a cohesive design style for a community, and the graceful impact of well placed flowers. Many buildings also have painted murals and trim around the windows. Against the near neutral stucco, these designs — as well as the flowers and windows themselves — stand out like artwork on a wall. Nearly every scene could be on a postcard.

I am enjoying getting my German back. I took six years of it in high school and college, and lived in southern Germany for a summer as a foreign exchange student. I have worked up the nerve to order in German once and pay a gas bill at a convenience store using my German. So far, no missteps, but then I could be short a couple Euros in my pocket and I probably wouldn’t know it.

In addition to settling back into the language, I am also remembering how it felt to immerse myself in another culture. You have a strong sense of both anonymity and freedom when you do this. No one knows you here, so you can just relax and be yourself. No need to organize people or talk about your life. Just enjoy stepping into someone else’s daily life and be a casual observer or minor participant. The world is a big place, and it takes getting out of your cultural box to remember how small a role you really do play on this big stage.

The king’s castles were ornate and dramatic. As we neared Neuschwanstein on our bikes, I could see the castle hanging on the side of one of the mountains in all its glory. I had seen pictures of this castle since my high school German class days and had always dreamed of seeing it in person. It did not disappoint. We actually toured the smaller castle, Linderhoff, due to the hours of wait and tour time it takes to go through Neuschwanstein. The building was full of extravagances of every kind, including tapestries that took women years to make because of the finery of the stitching. Gold-plated furniture, mirrored halls, tables that were lowered up and down through floors carrying food to the king, even a throne room.

But the grounds were even more beautiful in my opinion. Gardens were filled with statuary, pots, fountains and manicured flower beds and lawns.

Really, this king was over the top in all he did. A loner who let few if any to come into these magnificent buildings. He died young and by himself. Many of us wondered how his subjects felt when they finally got to see his estates after his death. Apparently they came in droves. Think of all the good he could have done with his wealth had he been less ego-centric. Yet the irony is even today people still flock to see the monuments he built, and we thoroughly enjoyed viewing the extravagance.

iPod playlist: Phil Collins, Neil Young, Dave Brubeck, Diana Krall

Want to see more photos? Go to   and click on the set “Monday: All the kings’ castles” to see highlights of the ornate buildings and grounds.)

Prologue: Forget that we had been planning for this trip since January. Six months later, as my husband and I stand in line to board the flight from Dallas to Zurich, I’m still struggling to unplug from my life for a while — I lob in one last call to the office.

Perhaps you have the same feeling right before you leave on vacation — is it really worth it to go?  The answer is always a resounding yes, of course, but it takes unplugging before you are sure.  And this trip could not have come at a better time for us.

Many people have asked me about this vacation: How did we decide to take a motorcycle trip through the Alps?  From the beginning, I should confess that I am a destination person, much more interested in finally getting somewhere rather than experiencing the journey itself. So a nine-day trip to Europe — with most of that time spent on the back of a motorcycle riding through the mountains — was a bit out of character for me. Shouldn’t we be seeing famous cities, museums or monuments, collecting passport stamps? I should be taking a cooking class at some Italian culinary academy by day and European art classes by night. But this trip was the right idea for us: I wanted to go back to Europe, and my husband wanted to do something with motorcycles, which he truly loves.

So with Raye an experienced rider but me never having so much as ridden with him to the corner market, we decided to book a biker’s dream trip through the Alps.  We agree to rent just one bike, and of course Raye will drive.  I have signed on for a true back-of-the-bike experience, determined to find out if I can learn to like motorcycle riding and, most importantly, to see if I can make the journey matter.

I hope you enjoy this travelogue.  Indeed this trip taught me a lot.  Please feel free to post comments, share your reflections on the joys of motorcycle riding, traveling in Europe, or simply what your own travels — wherever they may be — have taught you.

Friday/Saturday

We arrive in Zurich after a 10-hour overnight flight from Dallas. We did score an exit  row, however, which helped immensely. I only worked a few hours on my laptop, and the rest of the time dozed leaning on Raye’s shoulder listening to my iPod.  It is hard to sleep with the anticipation of the trip ahead.

Once arriving at the Zurich airport early Saturday morning, we catch a local train to the Zurich Hauptbahnhof (main train station). We only have about 90 minutes to wait for our train to Innsbruck, but in that time we simply sit on top of our luggage and watch people scurry by.

Saturday morning must be a busy travel time — or at least it appears so — as we watch couples, families, school or children’s groups and young men dressed in military uniforms moving all around us. At least they seem to know where to go, which is more than I can really say for us. We are a little bit turned around but find some young women who speak English. They point us to the correct train platform. Our train arrives remarkably on time, and we board with no problems, finding the first class coach easily — it is simply marked with a big “1″ on the side of the car. Locating our seats, we gratefully sink into them for the four-hour trip.

The train takes us alongside a beautiful lake outside of Zurich and then on through the Swiss and Austrian countryside. At every turn, Raye and I are just stunned with the beautiful scenery. The lake is gorgeous, glacier fed and glassy. The mountains are soaring and covered with lush trees and shrubs. Very jagged and steep. It’s not even like the Rockies because these mountains are so green and soft looking. It reminds you exactly of the opening scene from the “Sound of Music.”

We meet and visit with two college girls from Georgia who are headed to a six-week program at the university in Innsbruck. I helped them with several questions and thought of our intern, Luci, who is on a similar program in Florence this summer. Raye helped them unload their giant rolling duffel bags. After hitting the ATM together for Euros, we wave good-bye. They were very excited about their adventure.

Our hotel is just across the street, as it turns out. Traditional European style with wood paneling covering the walls and ceiling. I love hotels, having worked in the lodging industry for many years. First-class facilities and attentive service. The employees wear traditional Austrian attire and speak excellent English. We have an expansive view of the mountains outside our hotel window. The whole city sits in the heart of the mountains, and everywhere you look they are standing guard over the area. Must be why the Olympics were held here. I am hearing German spoken everywhere, and some of it is coming back to me. Raye can’t believe it since he thought I was barely able to translate “Hogan’s Heroes.” It will be interesting this week to see how much I really remember.

In order to stay awake this afternoon (and hopefully acclimate to the correct local time), we walked through Old Innsbruck and ate lunch at a café outside a hotel that was built in the 1500s. Wow. Lots of people wandering around looking at everything. It must be a real tourist city. After a short nap (we hadn’t slept since Thursday night remember), we have dinner on a terrace of the Weisses Rossl (white horse) restaurant. It is a gorgeous evening and it stays light even nearly until 10 p.m. We enjoy traditional Austrian fare – glazed pork with dumplings and green beans, and a beef and potato hash with cabbage and bacon salad. Then homemade apple strudel and coffee for dessert. We talk about the adventures ahead.

A short stroll back to the hotel and we collapse into bed by at least 11p.m. Current time at home: 4 in the afternoon.

Sunday mid-day
We slept 11 hours last night and this morning walked across the street for cappuccino and a brie sandwich for breakfast. The weather is about 70 degrees and sunny. It is just a slice of heaven here. Our biggest concern right now is hooking up with our tour company to get to the base hotel, which is in a small town outside of Innsbruck. The tour company is supposed to pick us up here. Since we are across the street from the train station, if our wires get crossed, we are simply going to catch a train to the closest town and figure it out from there. Headed for the shower now.

Sunday evening

We did make our pick up with no problems. Frank, a friendly outdoorsy kind of young man, quickly loaded our bags into a van and took off flying down the autobahn to our new hotel in a small town in  the Alps. As it turns out, Frank is our tour guide and host for the week. He and Raye hit it off from the beginning as most avid cyclists do.

We met several other couples on the ride up; all are friendly and conversational. They are from different parts of the United States including Georgia, Wisconsin and Washington — and we also have one fellow from Germany.

A first look at our bikes was a thrill for the guys. Not being a big motorcycle fan at this point, all I can tell you is our bike is red and big. Its engine just hums, according to Raye, and it’s very powerful. I find out that we are driving a BMW 1200 RT and determine to commit that to memory in case I am ever asked.

We eat in the hotel dining room from a buffet of traditional Austrian meats served directly from the chef’s kitchen.  Then we convene to a cozy meeting room with a window looking out over the Alps by twilight.  I struggle to stay focused on the conversation led by Frank, which is a review of the map and road rules for the week. Conversation on the back deck of the hotel and a walk through nearby trails ended our first night. What a beautiful place this is.

I hope I like riding on the back of the bike. I came a long way to find out about something my husband loves.

Want to see more photos? Click on the set “Innsbruck — Arrival Day” to see highlights of this beautiful Winter Olympics city.  You will also find my favorite photos put together in one set.  I recommend you view each day’s photos by clicking first on the set you want to view, then click on the words “view slide show” in the upper right hand corner of the screen.  At any time you can find out more about each shot by simply clicking on the photo itself.