The Harz
21 & 22 September
It’s with some trepidation that we set out for the Harz region. If there’s anywhere I’m going to get into hot water because of my noisy Ducati, it’s here. And I really don’t want to mess with the Polizei as they view policing by consent as a somewhat quaint concept. It’s more about enforcing rules and strict penalties for transgressions are an effective deterrent.
In the autumn of 2020, during the pandemic, Germany was the only European country open to visitors. It was just possible to pick your way through the confusing and contradictory travel restrictions and get into the country legally. The result was areas like the Harz Mountains and Black Forest were invaded by swarms of visitors from all over the continent. The locals got heartily sick of this influx and lobbied for measures to curb numbers, singling out motorcycles for special attention. I knew that puritanical, nannyish speed restrictions had since been introduced on the B500 Schwarzewaldhochstraße, and thought similar acts of cultural vandalism may have been perpetrated on the Harz.
Coupled with what the retired police officer had told us a few days ago, about noise restrictions being applied in the most scenic areas, the omens were not good.
I needn’t have worried. Harz by-laws seem to dictate that every man over the age of forty must own a motorcycle. They must also ride it somewhere bucolic on a Saturday for a Wurst und Bier before an invigorating ride home. And some of them are very, very loud…
So the car park of the memorial to Kaiser Wilhelm I (he of the comedic pointy helmet) at the highest point of the Kyffäuser mountain range is rammed with bikes by 10:30. They’re not a terribly engaging bunch preferring to talk only in their little huddles despite my hesitant ‘Guten Tag’ but that’s OK, on balance I quite like Northern European reserve.
So after taking in the expansive views of the Thuringian Forests to the west, the plain to the south and the Harz Mountains to the north, there are the famous 36 consecutive corners over less than two miles to negotiate on the descent. The multitude of bikes, the wide range of rider abilities, smug cyclists and the odd Japanese hatchback piloted by a geriatric Jerry make it a frustrating, sub-30 MPH trundle down. For me, this is not made any easier by the lumpy V-twin of the Panigale. Make sure its a weekday if you visit. I did four years ago and had it to myself.
The remainder of the roads in this region are mesmerisingly good but it’s best to stick to the more major ones which are fast, with long, sweeping corners. This way, you’ll avoid villages ever few kilometres, most of which now have an understandable 50 Kmh speed limited.
Later, the Hotel Englischer Hof in Herzberg comes up with what we’ve missed for the last few days. Dinner, bed & breakfast for €160 a piece. It might not be the most inventive food (think French Onion soup and a Chicken Cordon Bleu) but it was fresh, precisely cooked and served by a young smiley waitress who then introduced me to the joys of German Malt Whisky, albeit without too much persuasion. All so much more satisfying than a few out-of-context Spanish morsels at three times the price.
The day after, quiet roads, lit by the slanting-sun of an early autumn morning, lead us out of this mysterious region. I can’t understand why more British bikers don’t come here. Maybe it’s the German thing: I know a few people who still think Germany is just an industrial powerhouse, a souless and efficient model society. And as you approach the region dominated by Cologne, Dortmund, Dusseldorf, Essen, Frankfurt on the cats-cradle of autobahns strung across this enormous country, it does rather look like this. But a few hours east, it’s another world that borders on something quite magical.
Where we are heading is Koblenz. It conforms perfectly to the image of the stereotypical northern German industrial city. Astride the junction of Rhine and Mosel rivers, its clearly prospereous and orderly but by God is it dull? Dull, dull, dull and even duller than dull.
OK, it’s got a very nice restaurant, Landgand, in the parodically expensive Fährhaus Hotel. It has a terrace with views east over the town, each duller than the last.
And it did supply me with the title photograph for this piece. This is a wallcovering above the urinal in a posh hotel that’s not even in Koblenz. It’s the most interesting wallcovering I’ve come across and the most interesting thing in Koblenz. Other than it’s not.
