Day 41: Vienna to Linz

The morning is grey and overcast. The thunder has moved on leaving the air cooler, although humid. I seem to be taking forever  to pack everything away today. I seem to just be shuffling stuff around and not getting it actually packed in the bags. I give up and make my morning tea.

I drink slowly and by the time I finish the second mug, the bare chested guy with the vicious dog packs and moves on, walking out of the site with a battered rucksack on his back. I wonder how he travels. Does he try to hitch-hike with the scarred bull terrier or does he simply walk? It can't be an easy life when your best, maybe only,  friend is a psychopath.

Driving through the streets of Vienna, Satty gets stuck in a loop. "Turn right then turn right."  A minute later, "Turn right then turn right." A few repeats of this and I start to recognise the turns. I'm going in circles.  For the hundredth time on this trip, I ignore her and continue in a straight line in the direction I think I should be heading. "Continue three miles then..." I've broken her out of the loop.  

Twenty minutes later, she seems to lose signal briefly. "Continue three hundred yards then perform a U-turn, then perform a U-turn."

 We're in another loop. I turn her off and ride out of the city keeping the morning sun on my back. Hopefully, that should mean I'm heading Northwest-ish.  I start Satty up again. "Drive seven miles on current route." That's better. 

This area of Austria is absolutely flat. The uninterrupted landscape means that it's windy and today,  the wind is right in my face. I can feel the little Honda shudder as a gust hits. I tuck down behind the windshield. I feel a little silly. I must look like a wannabe racer on an overloaded old scooter.

After my journeys through Albania, Greece, Bulgaria and Romania, one thing that stands out, returning to the richer countries of western Europe is that there is no litter. None.

Everything is clean and orderly. Grass is immaculate; hedges trimmed with mathematical precision. Every wall has been painted, seemingly yesterday.

I see people out brushing and washing the pavements in front of their house. Why does it remind me of the film 'The Stepford Wives'? I imagine it would be hard to be a rebel in a village in Austria. I wonder how they view this hairy man on a battered, fly-spattered Honda C90.

At last, there are the layered, pastel-grey outlines of hills rising from the horizon. A church spire needles upwards to prick the blue sky above.

A town draws near. Weitenegg. It hugs the banks of the slow, blue-green Danube. It really is a beautiful colour- more jade than blue, which complements the rust-orange of the Austrian tile roofs. 

At the campsite near Linz, I find the locals to be particularly friendly. It's a well organised site with lots of facilities: restaurant, laundry, showers and... ducks. They waddle up and look pleadingly at any food you may have. I try to ignore their smiling quacks. Bread is bad for them so I hear. They waddle off one way in disappointment, I head the other towards the restaurant. I'm sick of schnitzel. I long for proper food with vegetables and greens. I ask the waiter what he has.  "Chicken salad?" That seems fine. I wait and drink a cold local beer. The salad arrives. It's a few lettuce leaves, two slices of tomato and a chicken schnitzel chopped on top. 

I head back to the tent, dwarfed by the enormous motorhomes around and think what I would be eating at home: A mixed salad? Beef and butterbean stew? Home-made lasagne with rocket, tomatoes and salad? Roast vegetables...

I give myself a mental kick. People would give everything to be able to experience this - even  to be bored of schnitzel in Austria. I think how fortunate I am to be on this journey: the distance I've travelled, the places I've seen and especially the chance to overcome challenges along the way. I'm glad to have had them all - even the schnitzel.