It must have been July or August 1977. As a drowned cat I ride with my girlfriend Julie on the pillion into the city of Ettelbruck in Luxembourg. It is getting dark and we are getting fed-up of motorcycling.

In front of “Hotel Zur Post” I park my faithful Yamaha XS2. Looks expensive, the “Gaststatte”, en very conservative too, but surely the rooms will be dry. And we will need that after 300 km in pouring rain. Our classic British Belstaff suits and cheap bicycle rain trousers are more wet on the inside than on the outside. Once we are in our room we put all our clothes on the large cast-iron radiators. In this atmosphere we warm each other and the boiling central heating takes care of the clothing.

As we did not eat a lot during the day and our “warming-up” also took a lot of energy we decide to have a break in the restaurant of the hotel. Once behind a large “farmers omelette and a big beer, Julie sees a poster. “There I want to go tomorrow!” she says excited, “I do hope the weather is nice”. I start reading the poster. “To the motocross....? I ask surprised, “....I do not think that is a good idea”. I have never been to motocross but I am convinced that this mud plugging with shrieking two-strokes cannot be any good. I hate two-strokes and therefore I say that I prefer to continue as planned to Paris, our destination.