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• Monkey tour in Istria Bitten by the monkey
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Monkey tour in Istria

Monkey tour in Istria
Bitten by the monkey

Three crazy people who set off on the trail of a veritable rally with tiny Honda Monkey replicas. A mix of Gulliver’s travels and Joe Bar Junior. Or: a Paris-Dakar for gnomes.

Daniel Lengwenus

07/16/2001

Maximum payload: 67 kilograms! It can only be a joke. Even if I sat on the thing naked, it would be hopelessly overloaded, according to the signs. Of course it was a crazy idea to do the »Istria Scramble« with this tiny Jincheng. But only now that I was before ?? or rather about the tiny Chinese pirated copy of the legendary Honda Monkey I am really aware of the extent of this madness. Klaus and Klaus, my two comrades-in-arms, are not doing any better. While our eyes rest on the dwarf motorcycles, we silently think of daily stages of over 250 kilometers. The steep, stony paths through the Croatian Karst. On gravel passes, rocky passages, thousands of potholes ?? and on our intervertebral discs. But the seat sample is not all that negative. Only the lower edge of the helmet rubs against the kneecaps a bit. So: no whining now. It’s too late anyway. We are already in Opatija, the starting and finishing point for the fourth and fifth stages of the MOTORRAD-ACTION-TEAM rally, actually designed for thoroughbred single-cylinder enduro bikes. Well, we can at least meet the single-cylinder requirement: trust Foto-Klaus and I to 50 cubic meters, four cycles and a whopping 2.9 hp in the so-called Crossfoot chassis. Screwdriver Klaus, an expert in the field of ape science, relies on a 70s Quickfoot with at least 6.8 hp, a real seat and tuning spring elements. Of course, Foto-Klaus and me were too boring. After the comparatively huge road book holders have been mounted, off you go. The program includes 132.5 kilometers and a special stage that will of course be canceled. Because there is nobody but us. The rally will not officially take place this year. That means: We have the route to ourselves. Without competition, without a special test? and free in the afternoon. Actually, with a generous 5.5 liters in the tank, we climb the steep coastal road. Even on the first kilometer, the little engines are at the limit of their speed resistance. And after another kilometer, we definitely know: this will be anything but a children’s birthday party. Neither for people nor for the material. Turn down first gear until the acoustic rev counter howls heartbreakingly. Yes, it hurts the soul, but there is no other way. With a merciless step in the second. And turn, turn, turn again. Show no pity. Full throttle! Until everything trembles, trembles and screeches. And then: throw your foot up hard … Damn it. Not correct! Up is down and down is up, because of the reversed circuit diagram and so on. Unfortunately, the first is back in now. At an estimated 14,000 revolutions. The propulsion stops abruptly, helmet and upper body go far beyond the handlebars and the lamp. What remains is a black line on the asphalt. Poor little things: How did you deserve us? Via Rukavac, the route leads from the promenade to Kuceli, 500 meters above sea level. A total of only six kilometers. But they demand everything. With maximum concentration we screw ourselves up to cruising altitude, there is no time for the gigantic view over the Croatian coast and the Dalmatian islands. After all, we’re in the running. Somehow. My cerebrum is also working at maximum speed. No, not because I can just remember the gearshift diagram, but because the road book only shows the kilometers to the next point and not, as usual, the total distance as well. With a speedometer without a trip counter, something like that degenerates into a mathematical horror trip, although you have to be glad that Jincheng even screwed an odometer on the tiny ones. A horrible noise tears me from the realm of Adam Riese & Co. Something rattles a lot. Death? Now? On the contrary: My little one is starting to think along with them. In view of the burden imposed on her, she spontaneously decides to radically optimize her weight and throw off the lower chain guide. It’s not that important either. The part is in the rucksack of ?? of course not me, that would hardly help, but from Quickfoot-Klaus, who has a full 70 cubic meters under his bum and just 70 kilos on his ribs. Something’s going on! Shortly after the slimming measure, the road book tells you to turn left into the gravel. Another dimension begins, which is deeply shaking my newly regained confidence in the Cross-Monkey: The part has no shock absorbers at all! It has feathers, yes. And the feathers too. But when it comes to cushioning, nothing happens. The rider’s back muscles are responsible for this. Stand up? Is not, because then you can no longer get to the handlebars. Handstand ?? True, doing a handstand would be a solution. If you could. So: sit out. Thankfully, the route leads through extensive beech and pine forests, the slopes of which are covered with soft carpets of leaves and long needles. At least nature has an understanding and provides some comfort. After about 70 kilometers we dare to take a break and the first glance at the clock: “2.00 pm”. Ergo we’ve been on the road for five hours. FIVE hours for 70 kilometers! What a devastating result. While Foto-Klaus stalks through the undergrowth and holds the camera up ironically, mechanic-Klaus and I fall into deep depression. As funny as the idea of ​​the Monkey Rally at home at the kitchen table seemed to us, at the moment nobody can laugh about it. But: “Have you ever seen a driver laugh at the Paris-Dakar?” “We’ll pull this off, folks.” “Sure.” It’ll be dark soon. ”“ It doesn’t matter. ”“ Crazy! ”“ Memme. ”We set course for Vela Pli ??, Rijeka’s local mountain, which soars to an impressive 1141 meters and wraps its summit in a generous blanket of snow at the end of April. That’s exactly where we have to go. We have about 30 minutes of twilight, after which it suddenly becomes night. Only the white splendor gives a little brightness. We fight our way through deep cornices, lift the monkeys over protruding branches, navigate long stretches between slopes and fields of snow. And finally we experience how big can be: If one of the mopeds wants to go into the abyss, it has to anchor feet, accelerate quickly and pull the particle up between the legs. Later, much later, we reach the asphalt. Now we can let it fly again. However, my Lutte is now severely disabled: In favor of a further voluntary weight optimization, she left her fender and taillight somewhere on the track? like a lizard on the run. The headlight hasn’t worked for a long time, so the Cross-Monkey comes in the middle. Foto-Klaus, a master when it comes to exposure, drives in front, the mechanic-Klaus plays the red lantern. Moved together to a compact three meters, we blow in the chase chain along the Dalmatian coastal road. Depending on the positive or negative incline, our bonsai caravan reaches speeds of between 50 and 70 km / h, and it’s a lot of fun purring barely perceptibly in the darkness of the mild summer night. Not to imagine how a drunk passerby might feel when we appear ghost-like to him like the adolescents from the Joe Bar comics, only to have disappeared from his field of vision at the next blink of an eye. We reached Opatija around midnight, and at breakfast in the morning there was a mood of crisis. One thing is clear: we calculated too tightly. We never cover the entire rally distance in just one week. Half a road book day already cost us 15 hours and all of our youthful vigor. Completely disaffected, we pump huge amounts of coffee into us, discuss, weigh up and finally decide: one more stage. Rally day four. 258.6 kilometers plus a 30-minute ferry crossing to the island of Cres. Should be possible in three days. “Sure.” “Easy.” However, the easy going is over quickly. We doggedly fight our way through the Ucka Mountains, which rise up to 1400 meters directly behind the coast. We don’t really notice the fantastic views of the Bay of Rijeka. All senses concentrate on the road book, route guidance and mechanical noises. Shortly before sunset we reach Brestova and with it the ferry to Cres. Three hours later than planned? and meanwhile pretty soft in the pear … »Cres, you beautiful rock garden, you adorn yourself with gnarled olive trees, with venerable holm oaks you give the hiker shade. You are a jewel in the middle of the deep blue Adriatic Sea. «So it can blow your hard drive under the skull if you drive a monkey all day and calculate in distances. But Cres actually offers a bewitchingly idyllic sight from the ferry. In the short term, real holiday feelings inspire us, but then the road book opens a new chapter ?? sends us off the asphalt and into the middle of a field of rubble that is declared on the map as a dirt road. Stones, stones and more stones. Some are the size of a child. Only now and then does Mother Nature manage to spread a soft carpet of tender grass over the bare, rugged rock. Otherwise there are jags and edges everywhere. Up to a speed of 20 you need training wheels, above that extreme concentration. Because if the front wheel, prancing back and forth, suddenly hits a Wacker at an angle, does the direction often change suddenly? not infrequently by up to 45 degrees. Anyone who has ever tiled up an embankment without will knows what is meant. It’s horrible. I want to get this over with as soon as possible. Regardless of losses or Klaus and Klaus. Get out. Now! Let the others see where they are. Ciao. Gaaas. Go then. Look how fast the Dani hops over the slope. Hairpin after hairpin and then … it hits me hard. A sharp pain runs through my leg. The little bitch threw me off. Without any warning. And to the left? in a right turn! Nasty bitch! With the knee right on such a shit stone. Sch … rocky island. I sh … on your rock garden. Damn filthy carst. Put your idyll in your pocket … And why are my damn knee pads actually in that damned hotel room? Man, it hurts! But don’t show any weakness now. Act quickly: get up, retrieve the monkey, sit on it, dry your tears, lick blood from your bitten lip and pretend nothing has happened. As if I’ve been waiting here for a long time. Studying the map. Somebody has to take care of the direction. The two Klause come late enough, nobody notices anything. The reputation remains unsullied. I check the current navigation data coolly. Because here on Cres the rally comes up with a particular meanness. The road book no longer contains any representations of the respective intersections, only so-called march numbers. That means: stop at every fork in the road, take out the compass, set the number, align the pointer, read the direction on the long arm, continue poking around. That makes the orientation without a trip counter a lot more complicated. The wrong ways on the already hated rocky island (what is supposed to be beautiful about rocks?) Wear down. We hop from one marker to the next just above walking pace. Jesus Christ, what a set of 19-inchers I would give. If my butt was cooked on a low flame, it would pass as a tender Argentine fillet of beef. And the intervertebral discs clap sneering applause. If I survive this stage of the rally, I will definitely shrink by ten centimeters. After countless trials and tribulations, we finally get back on asphalt and run into the picturesque harbor of Cres on our gums. There is something forgiving about the old walls of the island’s capital. It’s lunchtime and we’re giving a small fish restaurant a chance. Two Aprilia Scarabeo scooters with Italian license plates are parked in front of it. Their 16-inch wheels look really huge. We confidently place our five-inch monkeys next to it and are already being watched curiously from the terrace. As we take a seat at the table next to the scooter drivers, they ask the longed-for question: “Where are you from?” “From Germany,” we answer, leaning casually in the chairs. “As? On the little things? Wow! And we thought we were real heroes, «they show us unashamed respect. We grin and leave it at that. We deserve it. Was it that hard enough too? but still horny.

Info

Opatija, the starting point of the tour, belongs to Istria. The city is located near Rijeka on the Croatian coast, which these days is considered an unproblematic travel destination with a good tourist infrastructure.

ARRIVAL The A 10, Salzburg-Villach, and the Austrian »Pickerl« can hardly be avoided. Then you go either on the A 23 to Trieste and from there on the E 61/65 to Opatija, or you drive via Villach, Ljubljana, Rijeka, which takes a little more time Season extension downright. Only the journey can get a bit chilly. But already from March, April a summery warm breeze blows, which lasts until November. ACCOMMODATION The agency Matulji Tours offers information on all overnight accommodations on site. The office is located above the center of Opatija right on the main road ?? one speaks german. Telephone and fax: 00385/51/275055. In Opatija we had very good experiences at the Hotel Paris. Although the ugly, socialist “new building” is rather a deterrent from the outside, the rooms are quite comfortable and clean. The friendliness of the staff ensures a feeling of well-being, and the breakfast is impressive. Phone: 00385/51/271911. Fax: – / 711823. GASTRONOMY Everyone who goes to the »Yugoslawen« from time to time already has experience with a Croatian menu. Right on the coast, the usual cevapcici meatballs and ra ?? nici pork skewers are accompanied by fine seafood that can be enjoyed fresh. However, with the so-called Quickfoots you have to look for pleasure beyond torque and lean angles. Only then is the performance available for a fun trip through thick and thin. The Jincheng is a Chinese pirated copy of the legendary Honda Monkey. The importer Open Concepts offers them in a normal version (the red one in the photos) and as a Crosser (picture above). Both variants are available with a 50 cubic cylinder and 2.9 HP or as a 70 with 6.8 HP. The big drive is enough for 70 things. However, the spring elements are sufficient. That is why the importer offers accessory shock absorbers for 99 Marks that deserve this name. In the 50s, the approved Quickfoot costs just under 3,000, as in the 70s, almost 5,000 marks. The Crossfoot is available from 2300 Marks ?? without lighting system. Contact: Open Concepts GmbH, 22880 Wedel / Hamburg, phone 04103/180280, fax – / 180281. LITERATURE Overview map: »Istria / Dalmatian coast, north and center« by Marco-Polo. Scale 1: 200000. When orientating on the small field and forest paths, we trusted in the “Istria” and “Krk / Rab” sheets from Freytag&Berndt on a scale of 1: 100000. The travel guide “Istria and Dalmatia” from the publisher “adventure and travel” provides impressions of the country, people and tourist destinations for 29.90 marks.

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