Alps
15 September
The town of Konstanz sits at the end of a peninsula projecting into the north-western corner of Europe’s third-largest lake: Lake Constance, or Bodensee in German.
Larger than you might expect—and not nearly as picturesque as Meersburg, which lies a short ferry ride away on the northern shore—it is useful mainly as a convenient overnight stop. Within walking distance of the town is Ophelia, a terrifyingly expensive two-Michelin-starred restaurant to which we have never quite summoned the courage to go.
Lake Constance is shared between Germany, Switzerland, and Austria. From here, we headed for the spectacular B200, which winds its way up into the mountains near Dornbirn, climbing to more than 2,000 metres. Even in late September, snow still lay piled at the roadside.
The route also passes through the Bregenzerwald. Peaceful and beautiful though it undoubtedly is, I’m not sure I’ll be returning. The locals appear to have lost patience with their roads being used as a playground for bikers and have imposed a strict 95dB noise limit.
I discovered this when I was stopped in Weißenbach am Lech by two perfectly friendly and professional Polizeidamen and asked to produce the papers for my Ducati Panigale V2. As one of them suspected, the V5 recorded its noise output at 102dB.
I briefly considered protesting: “Do I look like a pauper to you, Madam? This is the full, £4,000 Akrapovič titanium system, so it’s probably closer to 112dB.” Sadly, my German is nowhere near good enough for such nuance. And goodness knows what the fine would have been for that level of cacophony, given that a mere 7dB infringement already cost me a hefty €220.
Later that evening in Gries am Brenner, after a gruelling final seventy miles battling day-trippers returning to Innsbruck—and others trying equally hard to escape it via the Brenner Pass—we spoke with a retired German policeman and the owner of the Gasthaus Alte Post.
They confirmed that antipathy towards motorcycles is widespread across the German-speaking world. While Anschluss may be forbidden in perpetuity, coordinated policy against bikers apparently is not, and many of Germany’s most celebrated roads are now limited to 77dB.
The heavenly Tris—traditional dumplings made with pasta, parmesan, garlic, and spinach—followed by Bambi & Chips at the Alte Post are certainly worth returning for. But if the only realistic route there is now via the Autobahn, the destination inevitably loses some of its appeal.
Of course, you could take your chances and still cane your steed around the magnificent roads beneath the looming presence of Zugspitze. Both the policeman and the proprietor insisted I had simply been unlucky. But get caught twice in a week and you might as well have eaten at Ophelia after all. You’d just need to take it easy on the wine, mind.
