Aride over Klausen

[Sparke]

If I have any hope of traveling in Europe next summer I need not to work on my bikes and spend money on them this cold winter. So I invented a project for myself. I have started writing and illustrating some short stories about true happenings that have taken place on previous motorcycle trips. They are posted on my blog page of my website www.centuryofspeed.com as well as here. I am also inviting other riders to send me their short stories and I will illustrate them as well.

Here is the first story.



A Ride Up The Klausen Pass

I once had a very eventful ride up the pass traveling west to east from Aldorf. As soon as the road narrowed and started to climb and twist I could hear over the wind and engine noise of my bike, a sound from lower down the switchbacks, of a fantastic high revving engine accelerating and shifting repeatedly. Much sooner than I ever expected, I caught a flash of red in my mirror as I entered another tight hairpin. A second later we were both on the same short straight away. With a blast from his horn a super-wide Ferrari Testarossa squeezed me to the very outside edge of the narrow road surface, guarded only by a railing made of three inch steel pipe, and rocketed past. He was soon out of sight but not out of earshot. I listened to the song of his V-12 interrupted by an occasional horn toot as he continued toward the top of the pass. Not too long after, as I returned to my lost rhythm of rounding the ever-tightening hairpins, I came around a rocky inside wall to be confronted by a man waving his arms frantically. He had been heading down the mountain and had just jumped from the cab of his truck. The front of the truck hung over the edge of the road, one of its front wheels in mid-air over a drop of at least 100 ft. The truck had gone through the pipe guardrail and one of the horizontals had pierced his air-brake tank mounted on the outside of the chassis. I guess the loss of pressure had locked on the brakes and saved his life.






I pulled to a stop and listened to the drivers rant in one of the many Swiss dialects. I don't speak any of them but I do recognize the word Ferrari when I hear it. It did not take him long to realize I could be of no help. After a few minutes he calmed down, pulled out his cell phone and waved me on my way. I went on another few kilometers to the top of the pass and the Hotel Klausen-Passhohe. It was the old site of the hill climb finish line, the cars having started off from the far valley to the east. I pulled in and parked next to the wide red car. I walked into the cafe, peeled off some gear, sat down and asked for a coffee. Then I sat back and looked for the patron with the most gold jewelry.