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.