The Alps By Hog

THE ALPS BY HOG

Recipe for a good time: Take 24 Harley-Davidson riders; combine with the best roads in Europe; stand back and watch.

DAVID EDWARDS

THIS IS HOW THESE THINGS ARE done. CYCLE WORLD’S editor-in-chief, Paul Dean called me into his office to discuss a possible feature story. Werner Wachter, you see, had called once again. Wachter is head of Edelweiss Bike Travel, an Austrian company that specializes in motorcycle package tours. Wachter is a good businessman who knows the value of public relations. As such, from time to time he invites motorcycle magazine writers to come along on his tours and do stories about the goings-on. Wachter had tried for several years-without success—to presuade CYCLE WORLD to do such a story. Now, we like two-wheel travel stories as much as anyone; but we kept saying no to Wachter’s propositions because we didn’t want to publish a story that was so patently similar to those that numerous other magazines had already done. This time, though. Wachter had something different to offer: Its name was HOG. HOG is an acronym for HarleyDavidson Owners Group, sort of a club for those who ride the bike that made Milwaukee famous. HOG (whose toll-free phone number is 1800-CLUB HOG) was started in 1983 as a service and social organization and has since grown to 63,000 members, which makes it the largest single-brand club in the world, second only to the AMA in terms of outright membership. Part of HOG’s benefit package is the chance to rent Harleys ($50 a day, $250 per week) at nine locations, six in the continental United States, and one each in Canada, Hawaii and Germany. For 1986, HOG also instituted a $1500 Alpine package tour run by none other than Werner Wachter of Edelweiss Travel.

When Wachter called us to suggest a story on this particular ride, Paul’s editorial gears began to churn. The juxtaposition was just too good: American riders on American iron taking on the most demanding roads in Europe, usually the happy hunting grounds of ballistic-velocity sportbikes or long-legged dual-purpose machines. It was just the angle we needed; and Paul had already decided to go ahead with the story when I was summoned to his office. All that remained was to choose the writer.

Editor Dean was almost apologetic when he asked if I could possibly take two weeks out of my end-of-summer schedule to ride a Harley-Davidson around on the dream roads of Europe. Gee, tough choice, Paul, let me check my social calendar, and when did you say the plane leaves?

Jump ahead two weeks. A Lufthansa 747 has delivered me and my riding gear to Frankfurt airport, a mere $30 cab ride away from HarleyDavidson of West Germany’s headquarters. There, a root-beer-colored 1987 FXRS Low Rider awaited my arrival. Before handing over the keys, district manager Hans Weschta gave me a quick tour of the new building and told me a little about the operation. In 1986, Harley-Davidson of West Germany sold all the bikes it brought into that country, about 1000 in all, with the 883 Sportster being an especially hot item. As in the U.S., that model is Germany’s least-expensive Harley, but that doesn’t really tell the whole story. The 883 sells for a reasonable $3995 here, but over there, thanks to shipping costs, taxes and dollar/ deutschemark fluctuations, that price soars to about $7000. And my FXRS loaner, which goes for $8500 in the States, has to burden under a $13,000 price tag in the Fatherland. For his hard-earned deutschemarks, a German Harley owner gets essentially the same machine as his U.S. brethren. There are some minor changes: quieter mufflers that rob about five horsepower; a small, rubber flap-like extension to the rear fender; a brighter, halogen headlight; an honest-to-goodness fork lock in the steering head a la BMW; rockertype turnsignal switches; and a higher second gear, which allows the bike to squeak past the German government’s stringent noise-emissions tests, an examination that includes a second-gear strafing run past a sound meter.

After strapping on my soft luggage, I pointed the Harley south. The HOG riders had begun their tour two days earlier, and I was to catch up with them in Munich. We rendezvoused the next night for dinner at a cozy hotel on the outskirts of town. I didn't know quite what to expect as I walked back to the noisiest, most American-sounding section of the dining room to find the group. I wondered just what manner of Harley rider plonks down a grand-and-a-half plus change for a two-week European vacation?

As it turned out, just about as wide an array of motorcyclists as you're likely to find. There were 24 HOG members on the tour. Ages ranged from the late-20s to “just say past retirement,” with bike preference running the scale from open-piped custom to full-pop dresser. Included in the group was a New Jersey electrical contracter and his wife; a Chicago head-shop owner who will undoubtedly be an extra in the next Cheech and Chong movie; and a 33-year-old Pennsylvanian who lives off his investments. Then there was a mother and daughter duo who run a Massachusetts Harley dealership, and a confused Harley lover from Cincinnati who also owns a sport-kitted Honda Ascot and belongs to the Gold Wing Road Riders Association. We even had a real-life love story: he a welder and Softail rider from Indiana, and she an FLH1200 rider and army staff sergeant stationed in Kentucky. And as the icing on the cake, there was a portly Pennsylvania priest with an affinity for black leather.

The next 10 days were going to be very interesting.

Leading this motley assortment were two tour guides supplied by Edelweiss. Joe, an Austrian, had been with company for five years, and even met his wife on one of the tours. Wolfgang—quickly shortened to Wolfy—was a wild-haired, Mozart lookalike, a psychologist by trade, who rode motorcycles in the summer

and went downhill skiing in the win-

ter. Also along for the ride was a Harley-Davidson representative by the name of Gunther, who looked exactly like a German named Gunther should. Gunther is in charge of Harley sales in France, where he lives with his family and spends his weekends fixing up an old farmhouse.

The scenery Joe and Wolfgang took us through damn near defies description; it was just too beautiful, too stunning, too breathtaking, for words. The tour route led us from Germany to Austria, a idealic, pasture-dotted land that is not so much a country as it is a gigantic movie set waiting for Julie Andrews to return for the filming of The Sound of Music II. Next came Switzerland, a place of chocolate and cheese and chalets. The description “picture-perfect” was invented. I’m sure, just for Switzerland: Everywhere you cast an eye looks like an ad for Kodak film.

We then made our way through the Tyrolia region of northern Italy, an interesting, schizophrenic place that is half German forced-march efficiency and half Italian devil-maycare attitude. From there it was back though Switzerland and again into Germany, where I left the tour, dutybound to a three-day stint at the Cologne motorcycle show.

For a motorcyclist, the roads that connected the tour stops were pure, 100-proof heaven. There were savage, hairpin-strewn streams of asphalt that cut their way up and down the mountain passes that make travel through the Alps and Dolemites possible. There were gently sweeping roads that spiraled down to tiny towns set against backdrops of impossibly green hills or dense pine forests. There were narrow cobblestone avenues that led through tiny, offthe-beaten-path villages where the smiling, waving inhabitants would come out to marvel at the sight and sound of 27 V-Twin motorcycles reverberating through their town.

As if the scenery and roads weren’t enough, the agenda that the Edelweiss people (Steinreichweg 1, A6414 Mieming, Austria) set out was tailored perfectly for motorcyclists.

Basically, they arranged all the lodging for each night and presented the riders with addresses, maps and directions. Each morning there was a briefing during which the best route to the next hotel was outlined, and some of the day’s sightseeing possibilités were discussed. Then it was up to each rider whether to tag along with the tour leader, break up into small, independent groups or go it alone. A chase truck was provided for luggage or for use in a roadside emergency.

The pacing of the tour was just right, as well, with non-riding, sightseeing days scheduled to break things up. For me, those days were good, but I couldn’t wait to get back on my FXRS and into the mountains. One day in particular stands in my memory, as all of us hooked up in a freight-train formation that boomed through the foothills of an Italian apple-growing region, stopping for lunch and photos and castle visits. We averaged just 1 1 mph that day, and arrived at our hotel almost too late for dinner, but everyone agreed it was the best day of the tour.

Which is really saying something. On my final night with the group, Jerry, the electrical contractor from Jersey, bought champagne for everyone and proposed a toast in my honor. After his words, I stood up and spoke from the heart. I’d ridden all kinds of motorcycles with all kinds of people in all kinds of places,

1 told them, but never had I had a more enjoyable time. 1 meant every word.

So, Paul, the next time you need someone to ride a Harley through Europe, I’m your man. My expense account may be a little steep that month, though. You see, I’ve got these 24 friends I’d like to take along.