Gibraltar

Back on good European soil which I was tempted to kiss, I took the chance to get a bit of the UK again. I rode up to Gibraltar.



The road to Gibraltar is also part of the runway there, so we are stopped by proper British bobbies while an easyjet plane lands there. Weird.

I went to Europa point and looked back across to Morocco.

After about half an hour I had recharged on my home feelings and blatted back into Spain.

Goodbye Morocco

I did the final ride from Assilah to Tangier in the morning. Customs and ferry departure was straight forward.

As I left Morocco I knew it was the right time. It was a great trip, but the country slowly drains you until you begin to resent its charms.

Goodbye Morocco, we danced beyond the song.

Food poisioning part two - the sardine stikes back

It looks like I couldn´t avoid the curse of the sardine. He brought the sausages of death to get revenge.



I came down with food poisioning in the middle of the night. It was riding the porcelein bus time for me.

In the morning I still had massive stomach cramps and the like, but I couldn´t afford any time off from the riding as the ride north is fairly tight. So I ride north all the way up to Assilah, just outside of Tangier, making short pit stops in the abandoned petrol stations.

The ride was actually quite lovely with beautiful sunshine and a lovely cool breeze which you get in the north from Rabat onwards.

A guy in a cafe called me Valentino Rossi which, considering how I ride and also the size of the bike, is a bit of an overstatement. Can´t say I wasn´t impressed though.

I stop at the same hotel as when I first got to Morocco. It feels complete and appropriate. Roll on Tangier...

Marrakech to Casablanca

Took the bike on the toll roads and had a nice long cruise all the way up to Casablanca.

The petrol stations aren´t built yet on this side of the motorway. They built the signs saying petrol, but didn´t build the stations. The first one I went to was a parking lot and the second was abandoned.

I checked my tank and only had a cupfull of petrol left. Since it is Morocco and road rules don´t apply here, I drove the bike clear across the motorway to get to one on the other side while watching other people do the same thing after me.

Two paths

Rob and I went our separate ways. He flies out of Marrakech and I start taking the bike back north.

It was sad riding off in different directions, but made sense and was certainly time. In saying that, Rob is flying down to Malaga to meet me in a few days time for the ride up through Portugal which will be fun.

I said goodbye to Rob, gunned the bike in a bit of showboating, then promptly proceeded to get lost at the first turning.

Setti Fatma

Rob and I took the opportunity to go to Setti Fatma since I had accidentally booked us on the road down that way.

We get there via cracked and broken roads. The town is one of those tourist villages and there are backpackers and people that have come here in the crazy mercedes taxis.

We get ripped off for a tagine, but have to admit it was beyond delicious, so don´t really mind.

The driving is so bad here that the peaceful little village is turned into a cacophany of horns and cars all jostling for an inch of space. We watch mildly amused from a cafe overlooking the little road. Well, that is until someone touches my parked bike and then it is all shouting and hand waving as is the Moroccan custom.

Marrakech Hotel

I made a bit of a mistake and accidentally booked a hotel 25km out of Marrakech. It took a couple of hours to find the place, asking people for directions and getting the usual mixture of daft responses pointing in opposite directions etc.

Here is a tip for travelling which works time and again: When you need to find a place always ask an older person. They are the ones who know the town, have the patience to listen, and will be polite in a way that I don´t think our generation will ever be.

In Morocco people will help you even if they don´t have the knowledge or ability. It is endearing, but can be tricky for trying to do anything or get anywhere.

As I say, it took two hours to find the place and a lot of ribbing from Rob for being such a numpty, but in the end he agreed it was worth it. Check out the hotel and view...



Happy Days!

After such a long ride, we settled down to a swim and a few beers, and... ahem... a candlelit dinner for two next to the pool with a view of the mountains. A little bizarre for both of us I think.

Essaouira to Marrakech

On the way back to Marrakech I clocked over 2000 miles on the trip so far. The trip meter rolled over again. Man this bike can take some punishment.

As we got nearer to Marrakech the driving got crazier and the tension bubbled.

We pass a muslim funeral procession with the body being carried by his mates in a small stretcher bed. This is the only situation where someone doesn´t see fit to beep their horn like an idiot.

Later we also see a guy a get knocked off his scooter, get up, get hugged by the guy that hit him and then ride off. This place is rubbish when it comes to vehicles.

Goodbye Essaouira

We blow this popsicle stand and head back towards Marrakech.

Essaouira was a nice little town. Our last night here was punctuated by an ethnic concert in the town with a couple of thousand people in the square. Due to our hound-like ability to find drinking establishments in a dry town, we end up with a view over the entire square and concert at the top of a terrace bar. Ace.





Rob did a sterling job of acting normal during the day when he was actually very sick. I hope I don´t catch the same thing.

Essaouira still cool

This place is pretty ace. Last day here...

Beware the sardine

Rob came down with a bit of food poisoning for a couple of days. Beware of the evil sardine...

Essaouira

Relaxed tourist town. It will be good to stay here for a couple of days...

Agadir to Essaouira

Rob and I headed up to Essaouira after our time in Agadir. The ride along the coast and through the mountains was lovely.

Marrakech to Agadir

Rob hires a little scooter and we head off to Agadir. It is funny watching Rob's reactions as the drivers in this country show him how they do things. He was as surprised as I was. We spend the next three hours trying not to die on the roads while riding through a moonscape of rocks and sand.

Rob arrives

Rob flew down to Marrakech so we can have a bit of fun and do a bit of riding together.

We spend the evening in Marrakech in the Djeema El Fna, drinking orange juice and watching snake charmers and story tellers.

Marrakech

Yay, I did it! I've ridden my motorbike from London to Marrakech. Happy days!

A fairly daft endeavour, but absolutely worth every minute - even with broken chains, saddle sores and bugs in my teeth. There was beautiful scenery, wonderful rides, warm sun and lovely and kind people.

Down to Beni-Mallal

Continued south along the mountains to Beni-Mallal.

I got run off the road a couple of times. Cars pass each other and come straight towards you in a game of chicken. Most of the time the pull in, but sometimes you have to swerve to avoid them.

Most Moroccans shouldn't be allowed to operate a vehicle. At least it keeps you on your toes.

Middle Atlas

Riding along the ridges of the middle atlas. This is what I came here for. I cruise through this town called Mrirt. I thought about donating a vowel to help them out, but then decided that Unesco probably has a department for this sort of thing.



The town comes and goes with its own happenings. Goats tied to the tops of vans bleating for freedom, trucks overloaded beyond any sensibility and me on the cruiser.

I get off the bike and walk down the street in my leathers with the Camelbak swinging on my shoulder. Old men stop and stare, while teenagers point to the bike and touch their heart to show appreciation. This town is cool.

Middle Atlas Mountains

Took the bike up the middle atlas mountains into a town called Azrou. The winding roads are a treat after riding the toll roads here. A few beers and a yummy tagine later, and the world seems pretty good. Some Dutch girls come over to talk and try to get me to drink with them. I blow them out - not really up for it. I miss Nic, boo.

Volubilis

Went to Morroco's biggest roman ruins, Volubilis. A whole roman town, complete with an arc d'triumf still there after hundreds of years. There are still complete mosaics there. It was very cool.



Getting lost on the bike for about 60km was less fun but the people would all help me find my way.

Into Morocco

Crossed to Morocco on the ferry. Was fairly easy. It helped that I can't speak French because when customs asked me any questions I would just shrug my shoulders and say I don't understand. Eventually we would settle with making brmmm sounds at each other and pointing at my bike.



Was sad leaving Nic this time. We won't see each other for a month, boo.

Dodgy signs...

I saw this is the main shopping district in Malaga. I guess Malaga is okay with gay policemen and gay tourists mingling...



I have no idea what this is supposed to mean...

Malaga!

I made it! All the way down Spain on a 125cc cruiser to Malaga. Nic flew to meet me for a few days rest on the coast before I head to Morocco. Meeting up with Nic was lovely after 10 days. To think that we were apart for four months previously.



A couple of days here should recharge the batteries ready for the Moroccon fun.

Other machines..

Check out the panniers on the bike next to mine...



I saw this while cooling down in a cafeteria. He came out and asked if he could swap bikes with me. I politely declined and complimented him on his great "side bags" - my Spanish wasn´t particularly eloquent but he got the understanding and rode off laughing heartily.

Mesquita

I visited the Mesquita today. It was charming and very popular. I figure small town Spain is the way to go and head out of Cordoba to see what is around.

Tight chain - broken roads

Tightened my chain today. It was rather lucky I did because I then proceeded to get diverted into road works again. I went about 6km through horrendous road and then just pulled over and stopped. In this heat I can't run the bike on the clutch the whole time and without any air running over it. So I stop and let the bike cool down while I sit under a digger drinking water.



After an hour a car evetually comes the other way and I ask what the road works are like ahead. She says it is really bad for the rest of the highway, so I turn around and go back and find another way.



I stay in Cordoba. Nice little city. To secure the bike I have to check into a nice hotel. See the photos of the pool I was swimming in...

Long rides

Rode from dawn to dusk today. Not intentionally, I just couldn't find a place to stay. The towns are so small that they only have one hotel each. So I went from town to town trying to find a place.

I have to take the bike into cobbled streets. The sound of my exhaust echoes down the lanes, and the old men in the squares watch me as I go by.

One hotel owner eventually gives me the name of the hostal in the next town and I slowly make my way towards it through the twisting lanes asking each person as I go. They all point and say "left, right, go to Maria's house then right again" etc.

Once I'm there, it is beer time. The village, Balacazar, is having a wedding and it is a big deal. They have the reception in the hostal that I am in, so I'm treated to the visual spectacle of the entire town in its best gear. It is wonderful to see that Andalucian women still use the hand fans that you see in the old drawings and paintings.

Heat

It should be noted that I haven't yet seen a single person riding with leathers on this trip, barring the bikers I rode on the ferry with. Here, it is too hot to ride with them. I use the Camelbak I have to constantly pump water into me. I also use the old bikers' trick of soaking my shirt in water before the ride. It slowly evaporates and provide a cool air flow under the leathers.

All the Spainards simply ride in shorts and t-shirts. Hats off to them.

We wave each other the same as the UK. A club of enjoying the roads; of loving the machine.

Spain is having a heat-wave and it is getting up to 45 degrees in the peak of the day. I have started to have to get off the bike and sit under a tree during the siesta hours.

Carrion for the mind

Rode through the Parque de Montfrague today. Vultures circled above menacingly. They won't be feasting on me today hopefully.

At one point there were about 50 vultures circling a rock in the morning sun. It is beautiful and disturbing, so I ride on and try not to think of the cold whisper of death that they carry.

Jerte

Rode to the top of the valley Jerte, but coming from the north. This means you don't get to see what you are entering until the last minute.

I come over this rise and suddenly can see for miles before me down a giant valley. There is a sequence of about 20 switchbacks going down i.e. a biker's heaven. I take the bike down slowly feeling every swing of it with every turn. Cars pass me, but they don't get to feel what it is like. Even going 10km an hour down these is like a dance with gravity.

In the valley, I stay in a beautiful hotel that feeds me raw sausages and pineapple slices from a tin. Sounds grim, and it is, but the Russian salad is amazing and the service is so wonderful, I can't seem to fault them for the watery uncooked meat parcels.

Had a bath. A magical experience, except for my washing which had to join me too. Heh.

Nic joins the unemployed

Welcome to bumsville, population Nic and Marky. Nic resigned today. That makes both of us out of work. We are going to have to raise the question of delaying our parents' retirements because I don't think they can support all of us!

Look at my pants

I had lunch at Avila. I bought some empanadas and took them to the park. Then proceeded to lay out my washing which wasn't quite dry, and then lie in my leather trousers, drinking a coke.

I'm not sure this is a usual occurance in Avila because everyone was staring at me. Have they never seen wet pants before I wonder? Maybe just not ones with such a big front pocket... ahem.

Coca Castle

I feel better about the bike today after the good run yesterday, so I decide to take a detour to Coca. It has a wonderful castle there. I wake up before dawn and run just at the break of it.

The sun is glorious at this time of day. It hasn't had time to sink its teeth into your skull yet. I ride on the b-roads, being ever so careful about the bike and, after a long ride through the woods, I come over a rise and see a giant, well preserved castle next to a lovely little village.

It is too early to visit the castle, but someone is there and she lets me in when I ask her nicely in Spanish. Inside the castle are wonderful tudor-style beams holding up a second floor, like a mezzanine all around the patio. It is lovely and I thank her profusely for letting me in.

Afterwards, I take breakfast in the local cafeteria in the village. I try to pay, but the girl won't take anything. I walk away more confused about the Spanish than I have ever been, but am grateful that there still exists a culture like this.

Where did the power go?

People told me not to take a 125cc down to Morocco. They said "It won't last!". But I didn't listen.

On reflection they might have been right you know. Since the bike has been fixed, I have noticed that there is a power problem with it. I might be being paranoid, but it seems about 10% down on top speed; and this is after the bike has been lightened.

I suspect I wore the pistons a little taking it up the mountain fully loaded.

People told me not to take a 125cc down to Morocco. They said "It won't last!". And damn it, I'm still not listening! Go little bike, pump your heart out. Next stop, Marrakech!

Chain reaction

Heh. I wouldn't believe it, if it weren't for the fact I was in Spain. The chain the mechanic got was too short!

He came through in the end though. He went around the other two bike shops and got one the right size. He showed me how to adjust my chain so it doesn't happen again, and then he gave me his card in case anything went wrong again.

I gave him the panniers as a thank you and he seemed more than impressed. He gave me free chain lubricant and I was off on my way again.

Yay! Crisis solved, now to catch up to where I want to be...

Anonymous alcoholics

Every time I see it, I can't help but map my own (British in this case) culture against it. I watch Spanish men go into a cafeteria and instead of ordering a coffee, they order a beer or a coffee with a shot of liquor. At eight o'clock in the morning? And then going to work? In Britain we have a name for that, but in Spain it is rather normal. I guess the difference is that they don't then continue to drink a bottle of white ace to wash it down.