This is Somerset --I dropped down a gear approaching the 180° hairpin bend.
The exhaust burble echoed back from the mountainside. Only two more bends to go until I reached the Swiss border.
The bike responded like the thoroughbred she was, not showing her age in the slightest, sticking to the narrow mountain pass like a limpet.
A nervous glance in the handlebar mirrors: nothing. I was home and dry. I accelerated past the unmanned border post and into the land of cuckoo clocks.
Ahead was a café with the welcome white flag against a red background fluttering in the breeze.
I pulled over and switched off. The engine clicked as it cooled down. I'd made it.
After ordering a heiße schokolade und sahne (hot chocolate and cream), I sat outside in the sun reflecting on the mad trip that had taken me back 50 years to 1963, when Steve McQueen hunked his way to film posterity on a Triumph Bonneville, leapt over a barbed wire fence on the German-Swiss border into the Neutral Zone, but became entangled in the second line of the fence and was captured… on the same bike that stood parked, still cooling down, with the Austrian border just a few metres away.
Well, if I'm honest, not the same bike, but near-as-dammit the same; a 2013 replica still lovingly produced by Triumph.
Steve's was a bit of a fake, really; after all, the "Bonny" was first made in 1959, the film was set in 1944, and it was supposed to be a machine stolen from the German Army. But who's counting? That's Hollywood.
Steve, as I like to call him, actually rode a "Bonny" in real life, and was a highly accomplished rider. He did most of the stunts in the film himself, but his nervous insurers vetoed the famous aerial scene that made The Great Escape the highest grossing film of '63, and a classic ever since.
Happenstance had brought me to this delicious bit of escapism. On a trip to Austria's Paznaun area, I'd noticed the High Bike Test Centre, offering a range of swish machines to try for a day. These ranged from whiplash-inducing Ducatis to fat BMWs with armchairs instead of seats. The former scared me, the latter made me laugh; but, lined up among this brash modern moto-bling, was the beautiful white Bonneville, fluttering its headlamp-lashes at me. I simply could not resist.
I swung my leg over the saddle and settled on to the seat. Time seemed to flash back to the Sixties. E-Types; Minis (and mini-skirts); biking down to Brighton from London; Mods and Rockers. Then I remembered the film, and the idea formed in my head. I'd "do" a Steve McQueen and ride my 'Bonny' over a high mountain pass to 'freedom' in Switzerland.
I booked the bike for the next day, and began to study the map. There are 30 mountain passes within a day's ride of Ischgl, where I and my 'Bonny' lay tucked up for the night.
It was feasible to do three countries, Austrian, Switzerland and Italy, and be home in time for tea, but I settled on the classic back road which was only open for a few weeks each summer when the snow and ice melted. It would take me through the mysterious-sounding Schwarzwasserlift (Black Water Lift) and into Samnaun, an ancient Swiss border village, once notorious for smuggling.
I didn't need identity papers forged after 'lights out' in a Stalag, just a passport and UK driving licence for motorcycles.
Neither did I require fake civvies, made in secret by fellow prison-camp tailors, or escape maps printed on silk. The High Bike Test Centre lent me helmet, boots and protective clothes.
'Escape Day' dawned crystal-clear, and, with heart thumping, I fired up 'Bonny' and took her for a few swoops along the valley from which my road to freedom branched off. She responded to my touch as I checked out everything; gears, brakes, cornering. All OK. As we approached the turn-off, I glanced up and down the road. Empty. A flick of the handlebars and we were shooting up a single-track road through pine-trees, cool in the morning shade.
The road began to climb steeply now, and trees gave way to rocks with snow patches here and there. Each bend or hairpin was passed with a minimum of fuss. My helmet visor was up so I could smell the champagne-high-mountain air, even though bugs and flies constantly pinged me in the face. I clearly heard cow bells as we passed wild-flower meadows.
Then, just when it seemed we'd never stop climbing, there was the Swiss border sign.
'Bonny' and I had done it.
The adrenalin pumped through me as I considered what those brave men who really did try escaping must have felt like.
After my drink, we swooped down and along a superb way back home not a care in the world, savouring the day and the moment.
That evening, with 'Bonny' safely bedded down for the night, I celebrated with an astounding meal at my hotel, the Yscla, whose chef, Benjamin Parth, at the grand old age of 25, is one of Europe's youngest to be awarded chef de cuisine.
I tried to keep note of the creations Ben served up, but lost track after course eight. I do remember the finale: his take on childhood memories of the kitchen. Served on giant Lego bricks, he'd conjured chewing gum ice lollies, whisks coated with toffee mixture to be licked clean just as your mum let you do, and crazy confections that exploded in the mouth.
Watch your back, Heston.
In the space of a couple of days I'd ridden back 50 years with 'Bonny', and forward into the future with Ben.
FactFile
Michael Cranmer travelled courtesy of the Paznaun-Ischgl Tourist Office
Three UK tour operators have summer trips, Inghams, Zenith Holidays and Crystal. Nearest airport is Innsbruck (easyJet via Gatwick, Bristol or Liverpool), or Zurich (BA; Swiss). 4* Hotel Yscla, Ischgl, prices from £75 per person per night half board.
For more information, go to Paznaun-Ischgl Tourist Office via paznaun-ischgl.com Reported by This is 13 hours ago.