One last Hoorahh!

There was no need to rush on my last morning. The ferry didn't sail till 12:30 and it was only a 15 minute drive from the hotel to the port. That said, for some reason I started to get nervous as I packed the bike for the last time. Was my watch right? Was the time on the ticket UK time and not Spanish time?

Of course there was nothing to worry myself about and I arrived at the port in plenty of time. There were already 15-20 bikes ahead of me. Lots of gleaming examples of German, American, Italian, British and Japanesse technology glinting in the mid morning sunshine. Their riders were resplendant in their immaculate riding gear. And here was I, the mud monster from Morocco.

My arrival did attract a bit of attention, firstly from a couple of guys ahead of me on Ducatis and later from a guy on the same bike as mine who's wife clearly thought I'd been having too much fun. It was a good ice breaker though and I made a mental note to stop and have a chat with the Ducati riders if I saw them again on the boat.

It's good being a biker on the Pride of Bilbao as they load you first. This means that (other than the foor passengers and mini-cruisers) you're able to get your cabin sorted, have a shower and be in the bar while all the shed pullers and cars slowly load. The down side, of course, is that you're on the boat longer!

With little else to do I sat in the sun at the end of the boat enjoying a couple of Guins whilst reading my book. These seemed to go straight to my head, so after a pannini for lunch and a little look at the whales and dolphins I went back for a snooze and to listen to the last part of the Richard Branson book I had on my iPod.

Later on I grabbed a bit of nosh, read some more and, around 9pm wandered past the 'show' bar. I was beginning to think it'd be an early night when I spotted the Ducati duo at the bar. I wandered over and we got chatting and were soon swapping stories as the drinks went down.

Later we were joined by mini-cruiser who appeared to have been given a pass by the Mrs and was looking like a kid in a sweetie shop. He was a nice enough chap, but he had kinda latched himself on and had spoilt the group dynamic.

The three bikers wandered off to the Casino area where we played a few games of Blackjack. The mini-cruiser's pass clearly did not extend to this area of the ship! However, as we wandered back to the bar for a last drink or two, there he was admiring one of the most hideously dressed women I've ever seen who was on the dance floor. It was hard to know if she was dancing or just staggering about as the boat gently rocked on on the waves.

We got some more drinks but only a short way into them the Ducati boys said they needed a smoke. I'd got a feeling they'd just pulled the rip cord, and so it turned out. Politely chatting with my new friend I finished my drink and headed for my cabin to roll my one-a-day.

By the time I finished my smoke it was gone 3am and the boat was devoid of people save the crew and various cleaning staff. It seemed a good last night of the holiday - one last hoorahh!

I was dreading the headache the next morning, but it turned out OK. Even so I didn't surface till gone midday. The ship wouldn't dock till 5 and there was little to do.

Later in the afternoon I bumped into the Ducati riders and we exchanged emails as the ship slowly slid round the Isle of Wight. They live in south west London so we could meet up some time for a ride.

The ship was a bit late docking due to other traffic, but we were soon on our way. The M27 / A27 was so much busier than many of the european roads and seemed somewhat clostraphobic initially.

Within the hour I was home and starting the unpacking routines, making different piles for the washing machine etc. My bike adventure had come to an end for another year.....

So what is art?

The coming Autumn had left the morning cool and crisp as I wandered the streets of Salamanca. I was looking to get some pounds changed to euros, but ended up using a cashpoint.

The architecture of Salamanca is fantastic (if you like old) and new vistas are around every corner. I'd recommend it to anyone wanting a city break.

I packed and got back on the road by 9:30 as I wanted to get to Bilbao by early afternoon so that I'd have time to visit the Guggenheim museum. Emily guided me towards motorway, but she was playing up. Maybe she's not liked being bounced around for 3 weeks, but she now only talks to me in one ear. If I re-seat her in her cradle she often improves, but music comes and goes. At least her directions are (on the whole) correct.

Then something weird happened. As I was cruising along at about 80 I suddenly had an extreme stinging pain in my left ear. Initially I thought a wasp had got inside my helmet and stung me, but this was not the case - Emily had electrocuted me! I unplugged my earpieces so she couldn't zap me again.

At a petrol stop I took a look at the cable which showed some bare wire. However, the voltage used by the ear monitors should not be enough to have given a shock. All very strange. I put a tab of duck tape over the exposed wires to ensure it didn't happen again. Emily still only spoke in my right ear.

It was enough for me to listen to an audio book I'd downloaded though and as I sped towards Bilbao Terry Pratchett's Thud! was expertly read to me.

I already knew where I'd try to find a room in Bilbao and luckily the Formula 1 had one. It's a cheap and cheerful cell, but it get's me ready for the room on the boat.

I dumped my gear, got changed and jumped back on the bike to go to the Guggenheim. My first parking attempt at the back of the museum was vetoed by an over zealous security guard, so I shot up a side street, parked, and then walked back along the river front.

There's a tremendous amount of building going on here as well as major road construction. The scruffy port city is now getting a very modern, very cosmopolitain district.

Entry to the museum was €8, reduced because the entire second floor was closed. The museum is housed in a spectacular building of glass, titanium and rock. Each material is used to form complex curves that weave together. It is very impressive.

The first exhibit I viewed consisted of waves and scrolls of 2 inch plate steel set in a massive curving hall. The steel formed curving walkways that carried sound a deceptively long way. The steel walls were rarely vertical confusing the senses as you walked between then.

I walked along one large scroll as it wound like a spiral towards its centre. At one point I was sure I could see a large black doorway into a dark cental void. I stepped forwards. BONG! I'm sure I could here the guards sniggering. I'd interacted with this piece more than I'd intended.

I'm sad to say that nothing else in the entire museum (save some video art) even came close to moving me. In fact much of it was just crap. One piece was a bunch of boarding cards sandwiched between two pieces of glass set on top of some bubble wrap. On top of this were cigarette ash trays stolen from the armrests of airline seats. These were then joined by a metalic chain.

The electronic talking guide that your given when you enter bleated on about the artists life journey and how each boarding card and ash tray interweaved with their existence. Wot a load of crap! It was a bunch of nicked ash trays, some steel rope and boarding cards. The glass would be better made into windows and the bubble wrap used to ship the whole lot back to the artist!

I debated ploughing the GS through their glass front doors, dumping it on the floor and writing the blog address in black marker on the stone floor. The mud has been artisticly applied and all the squashed insects depict life's intricate struggle between existance and extinction. I think a quarter of a million sounds about right. I'll await your cheque Mr Guggenheim!

I left glad that the entire 2nd floor had been closed! Perhaps I'm just a philistine?

My hotel is near some of the out of town shopping centres so I've spent the evening grabbing some food and buying a few last minute gifts.

The weather looks set fair for my crossing and also for keeping all my mud stuck to the bike. A bit of Morocco will now be forever in Hove.

Catching Up

As I type this blog entry I'm sitting in the main square in Salamanca, however, the adventure is still a continent away in Meknes. I'm becoming like Ewan and Charlie, they were never where they said they were on interviews - for security reasons. I've just run out of time.

From Meknes we blasted back to the Moroccan border riding some excellent twistys through the Rif mountains near Chefchouen. My excitement inticators were working overtime. These are my boots. A little scrape through a corner - we're having fun. A bigger scrape = lots of fun. A scrape so big you have to move your foot = slow down fool!

The border crossing was no real problem, just a case of finding the correct person to process the various pieces of paper. There was a side show going on to. Some woman had a problem and was wailing and generally creating a scene. The border guards seemed unimpressed and said she was mad. As we left she had attracted a bit of a crowd and was on her side in the middle of the road pushing herself round in circles with her feet like some wannabe break dancer.

A quick beer at the hotel in Ceuta and then we headed down to a bar by the marina. I think we were all, in a way, glad to be back in a European country. Glad our insurance was worth something, glad our recovery service was valid and glad someone would pick us up and try to fix us if we did something stupid.

Back at the hotel Julian did a little presentation over dinner and we all recounted stories and thanked Bill for his backup.

My Berber belly had come back and I had an uncomfortable night.

The following morning Julian had us booked on the 08:30 ferry. This, in hindsight, was a bit keen as we were back in Malaga by mid morning. The group was now splitting. Phil was off to meet his wife's flight while the rest of us had one last night together.

After a lazy afternoon we all met up in the bar before heading to a really nice restaurant called Citron. The chocolate brownie dessert was superb. Shame I was only briefly renting food still! I was not alone, Jim was suffering even more than I.

As the die hard's headed off to a wine bar, Jim, Colin and I headed back to the hotel, unwilling to put our stomachs through more grief.

The Guernsey boys were off at nine the next morning, so when I looked at my clock at 9:30 I figured I'd missed them. Arriving in reception looking like I'd just got out of bed ('cos I had), I just caught Julian who was heading to the airport and said my farewells to the remaining four riders who had not left. They all seemed to be slowly falling out with each other. It'll be interesting to see if they all end up catching the same ferry home!

So all that was left now was Bill and I. He needed some help getting the bikes he was transporting on to the back of the Landy. I rented some breakfast and headed down to the car park to help.

It all turned into a bit of a drama with various Spanish drivers getting irate that we were blocking part of the manouvering area. It all came to a head when Bill offered to drive some woman's car, as she seemed incapable. This went down badly! She could speak English and gave us a piece of her mind Bill told her to tell it to someone who gave a ferk. Ahh, international relations - always a bed of snakes.

With the bikes loaded I packed up my bike, checked out and headed over to Phil's pad to stay the night. He has an underground garage and I used it to put my mudguard back on and give the bike a once over. I was worried about a couple of small oil leaks before I left and these were still visible, the Moroccan red dust sticking to the site of each leak.

Phil and his Mrs were sunning themselves at the beach, but later we got together with some of their friends to go out for a meal on the coast. We had a great time and were drinking fairly late into the night. However, once again my stomach was playing up. I decided I'd ask to try some of Phil's tablets the next day (mine went out of date in early 07. Oops).

After a intermittent night's sleep I wondered if I was ready for my ride from Mijas to Salamanca. I'd planned it to use all the wiggly roads and stay clear of the motorways. Sat nav said it was a 10 hour ride.

With some of Phil's tablets onboard I headed out just after 9 to take the paeage to my first set of wiggles - the famous road up to Rondha. It didn't disappoint, the bends coming thick and fast one after another. Captain health and safety had been at work erecting loads of pointless signs, but the tarmac was superb and I had fun as I climbed into the cool morning mountain air.

However, this was ultimately surpassed by the N502. A superb Spanish road that runs for hundreds of miles and has something for everyone. Forget the Stellio pass or whatever it was Top Gear said was the best road. Go drive the N502!

So here I am in Salamanca, my adventure slowly coming to a close. Tomorrow I ride to Bilbao ready to catch the ferry home. I'm just hoping the weather holds so I can get my bike home in the mud splattered state it is currently in!

Heading home.

The time had come to start heading north. The tour agenda had us crossing the Atlas off road, however, there had been no chance to reccee the route since the rains. It was too big a risk to ride the high pass as there were no roads should we find the route impassable.

We had another problem to solve first though. Mark (also known as Wally or Wol) had a problem. His ignition key would no longer fully slide home. There was a foreign object of some description at the bottom of the keyway. Whether this had been put their deliberately or whether the lock had failed with the vibration was hard to say. Wol felt someone had tried to steal his bike, I felt it was an equipment failure. The debate over this would continue throughout the day, but it didn't alter the basic fact that Wol was going nowhere.

But lady luck (depending on your point of view) was smiling on us. Way back at the Erg Chebi desert we'd run into a bunch of professional riders practicing for the Dakar rally. They also had the fully equipped support truck with mobile workshop. As we had gone from hotel to hotel they to had rolled up. It had become a bit of a joke between the groups, not that they spoke much English or us much Spanish.

But a broken bike is a universal language and they were eager to help. We dragged the bike over to the massive truck and as we did so the side of the truck swung down to reveal the workshop complete with generator and compressor. If the Landy had got a face like all the things in Bob the Builder then it would have looked jelous as we all drooled over their setup.

Their engineer tried initially blowing the blockage out with a compressor but it was wedged too tight. After some trials with other tools there was only one option left. Out came the disc cutter and the entire lock barrel was cut off the bike.

The remaining base part of the assembly could then be operated with a screwdriver. Not very secure, but at least we were up and running once more.

All this drama had delayed our departure, which only added to Julian's pace as he guided us towards Meknes. Not a lot to say about the ride really. It was long and my bum ached. However, there was still the stunning scenery, occasional twisty bit, unseen policeman and near death overtaking experiences to punctuate the time.

Once at Meknes we headed into the Medina to look around the market for some fake designer goods. It was rammed and we had no idea where we were going, just jostling or being jostled by the crowd. After a little while and a few dead ends we found some watch sellers. The fakes were really poor quality though and we left empty handed.

We got a taxi back to the hotel with a mad Moroccan driver who did his best to kill us, but unfortunately for him the other vehicles kept on getting out of the way. We celebrated our survival with a couple of ales.

Delivering memories

I awoke from what had been a spasmodic nights sleep. My Berber Belly had been grumbling away, but was settling down. Walking to breakfast I had to cross the pool area. The view from the hotel's elevated position was stunning in the crisp, clear morning sunlight.

Today was supposed to be Bill's chance to ride with us on a route between the Dadés and Todra gorges. However, once again reports were not good so the day had been replanned. We were now going to ride on road to the Todra gorge, then head back to the area we rode yesterday and finally, if we had enough time ride on road to the Dadés gorge. Julian would accompany us to the first gorge. After that we were on our own.

Leaving shortly after nine we set course for Tinehir and the road up to the Todra gorge. Tinehir was some 30 miles away across a largely flat scrub desert. The roads were largely straight and we blasted the bikes across the bumpy Moroccan tarmac. There's very little traffic till around midday for some reason so the roads were fairly empty.

Having passed through the centre of Tinehir, we turned left and began the climb to the gorge. We had been expecting to be greated by scenes of devistation from the rains, but things were not too bad. The roads in places were covered in some sand and stones and in other areas by a bright red mud. This had now baked hard in places, but still didn't offer that much grip.

At the gorge the imposing walls rose around 1000ft almost vertically. Once again there didn't appear to be too much awry. We rode for some way north of the gorge but even here things were OK. Perhaps our planned ride could have been possible.

Returning to the gorge we parked the bikes up and crossed a small wooden bridge to a hotel on the far bank of the river. It was in the sunlight and offered a stunning view of the gorge. I'm not sure I'd have wanted to stay at the hotel for too long though. It nestled into the overhang of the towering gorge wall with millions of tonnes of rock just waiting to fall on it some day. I'm not sure I'd have slept too soundly!

We hit the road again heading almost back to the hotel to pick up a road into the mountains. From there we would pick up the piste to Nekob and I would get the chance to tie my two trips together by delivering a photograph. For this part of the adventure there would only be four riders. Colin and Julian had decided to go back to the hotel and Mark hadn't left it earlier.

My plan was to tie my two trips to Morocco together by delivering a photograph that I'd taken two years earlier. The photograph was of a small Berber boy sitting on my big GS at the top of a piste from Nekob to Tinehir. This was one of my best memories from my previous adventure and I thought it would make an excellent gift for the family.

Many Moroccans have camera phones nowadays and often whip thwm out to take shots of us as we pass. However, I doubt many get the chance to see them other than on a small screen. It's also hard to get photographs a lot of the time as they are shy or superstitious of cameras.

I knew the boy's family ran a tiny 'hotel' at the top of the mountain called Hotel Tizi. This was now our intended destination.

Shortly after starting the trail Jim started blasting his horn. His sat nav was telling him to go a different way. We tried Jim's route for a short while but it was heading away from my intended destination. After a conflab and at a fag break I discovered Jim was following one of Bill's set of waypoints that I already knew did not go to the hotel. I explained that we were now freestyling and Jim cancelled the route on his sat nav, happy that now we were on a true adventure!

A further 20 or 30 minutes riding and we were there. It was now bigger than I remembered with larger walls and more 'rooms'. We took tea with them and I presented the photo. I'd been expecting a bit of a reaction, but it was muted. The boy (I think his name was Yasif) was not around but was well.

One of the rooms had been turned into a tiny boutique. A couple of us bought trinkets. They were probably overpriced and no different to what we could have found elsewhere, but you knew the money would help the family.

We took a few photos and headed out. Phil and Simon headed back to the hotel whilst Jim and I went to take a look at the Dades gorge. The road to the gorge was flowing and allowed the bike to be ridden. There were more washouts and debris on the road though so caution was needed. At the top of a famous hairpin section we stopped for a coffee.

We were peckish, it now being late afternoon, and bought a couple of chocolate buscuits and the Moroccan equivalent of Pringles, called Kracks. Jim and I sat there giggling inwardly like a couple of schoolboys as we munched away. I bought another tube to show the rest of the lads.

We visited the gorge and then blasted back to the hotel in the fading daylight. It had been a long day in the saddle.

Back at the hotel the boys were congregated around the pool. I asked if anyone would like to try my seafood flavoured Kracks. They tasted awful. Phil said he'd tasted worse.

The Berber Backfire

It was probably around midnight that my stomach began to tell me that it wasn't that happy with either the tea in the market / shop or the Berber pizza.

Always one to save sensitive conversations to the appropriate moment I asked at breakfast fast whether anyone else was suffering with a bit of 'Berber Backfire'. It transpired I was not alone, there were others dreading each backfire lest it turned out to be heavier than air!

This just added to the list of tablets to be taken of a morning! However, undaunted, we set of around 8 for an hour or so's ride to the start of our next off road section crossing the Jebel Sarhro mountains from Afnif to Boumaine Dadés.

We had been warned that part of this route was inpassable and long before we reached the start of the off road we started to see the effects of the recent rains. Just outside Rissani we came across a truck that had been swept off a bridge in the rains. The cab had been teathered to a part of the bridge in an attempt to stop it being washed further downstream.

River bridges in Morocco are often different to the UK. We go for large arches and few, if any, supports. With lots of low lying flat desert liable to flash flooding the Moroccans have a different approach. They build long heavy slab bridges with a few tiny arches only 6-8 inches above the summer water level. In the rains the river just flows over the concrete slab creating a ford.

The one we had to cross was only 4-6 inches deep, but was moving at a reasonable rate. We all crossed it in our own individual style, some riders standing and others sitting and trying to keep their boots dry by holding their legs up. The road also held a few other suprises. Areas of sand that had been washed onto the road had now dried leaving 10 to 20 meter stretches of soft sand. Coming across these at 70 mph led to a few sphyncter constricting moments.

Bill had left before us in the Landy and had arrived at the start of the trail just before us. After fuelling up we headed of after the Landy like seven little ducklings. Following a few false starts we finally found the trail, passed Bill and began to climb into the mountains.

There was blue sky as far as the eye could see but it was not too hot. Nevertheless, the effort of riding a big bike through rough terrain soon had me perspiring. I could feel the dry air striping the moisture from you as it passed through my motocross gear. Keeping hydrated, as always, was important.

We rode for quite some time before finding a place away from any villages to stop, take some snap and let the smokers refuel with nicotine and toxic hydrocarbons. As always a few locals appeared as if they'd stepped out of solid rock. They were OK though.

The next section of the trail took us up to a high upland plateau. The scenery was stunning and I stopped every now and then to take pictures. The Guernsey quadruplets were enjoying the trail and sped off ahead. We'd got the route on our sat navs so there was little chance of us getting lost or separated, particularly as there are very few other trails.

Phil, Julian and I plodded along at a reasonable pace, occasionally having to aid eachother if we overbalanced in one of the dried out river beds. We eventually caught up with the lead group shortly after the trail became tarmac at a hilltop village. The next piece of piste, we had been told, had suffered a landslip. Rather than ride for a couple of hours only to find the route impassable and have to ride all the way back, we took the safe option and headed for the hotel on tarmac.

The hotel is brilliant (again), and has a great pool area. Phil and I had intended to go out and ride some more, but after a couple of coffees we ended up by the pool instead, with alcohol replacing caffine.

Some of the boys tried to ride the afternoon's trail in reverse to see if there was a blockage. After a couple of clicks they found loads of heavy machinery at work and had to turn back. Our decision to take the tarmac had been a wise one.

A day with Mohammed

We left the hotel at Erfoud around 9:30 and headed for the next hotel on the edge of the Erg Chebi dunes. Once again this was a fantastic hotel with lovely rooms and good facilities. After a quick change we all pilled into the back of the Landy to go into Rissani to meet Mohammed.

He gave us a tour of the market and took us to a herb and spice seller. The guy had a small seating area and we all crowded in. He gave us tea with the most elaborate pouring ceremony yet. It involved singing what sounded like a French nursery rhyme whilst pouring the tea from a great height.

It was really comical and great fun. A few of us bought some spices. I bought some of the herbs and spices they add to a regular green tea so that I can try to recreate a Moroccan brew back in blighty.

Mohammed had arranged for some 'Berber Pizzas' to be made for our lunch. As we left the market a chap stepped forward with the pizzas sandwiched between layers of cardboard and tied with string. This was pizza delivery Moroccan style.

We drove to a tourist shop where they let us eat whilst also taking more tea with them. The Berber pizza was a large round flat bread that was filled with spiced beef and onions and then baked. We had two large pizzas between the eight of us, which with Bill observing Ramadam was ample and we didn't finish them.

Once we'd eaten the shop keepers swang into action showing us a whole range of Moroccan merchandise, from carpets to clothing via trinkets and ornate boxes. I gave the others a laugh by dressing in a traditional long robe and with a shesh wrapped round my head. In the end I bought the shesh, but the robe would have been a step too far.

We then visited a workshop where they made fantastic fossil artifacts. Some of the pieces were stunning but would have needed a more space than we have available once securely packed. I couldn't resist making a couple more purchases and can only hope I can find room for them in my luggage.

We gave Mohammed a lift back into town and thanked him for his time and generosity. As we drove back to the hotel I tried to tie my shesh. I as going for the Laurence of Arabia look, but was told it was more Audrey Hepburn!

Back at the hotel I made a couple of minor running repairs to the bike as well as taking a swim and catching up on the blog.

Diner was excellent with a wide variety of Moroccan and western dishes. Over a few beers we discussed the options for the following day. It's an early start, but there's still some debate as to whether the off road section should be attempted. There is also a forecast for more rain. Let's hope not.

Playing in the sandpit

My immediate thought when I awoke from a good night's sleep was where's my ibuprofen. It would be quicker to list the bits of me that didn't ache! Clearly hauling heavy bikes around in the mud was not what my body was ready for.

Suitably drugged I wandered off to breakfast. Clearly everyone else was feeling it as well from the moans and groans being uttered. It was decided that rather than move on to the next hotel we should stay an extra night where we were. That way those that wanted to have a rest could and those that wanted to go for a ride in the desert could also.

I opted for the desert ride along with Phil, Colin, Jim and our glorious leader Julian. This turned out to be a fantastic decision as we had a fabulous time.

Initially we collected Mohammed from Rissani, he would be our desert guide. Then we headed out into desert surrounding the high dunes of the Erg Chebi Their golden orange sand were a stark contrast to the surrounding desert which has a top layer of black rock.

This is known as hammada and is firm and easy to ride on. In the dips there is often soft sand but with all the recent rain it was firm, if not boggy. We were having a great time speeding across the open desert watching out for any dips or large rocks.

Bill and Mohammed were heading to a small house in the middle of nowhere. We all pulled up with big grins on our faces. The homestead consisted of a few mud brick buildings and a small shed for a donkey. The man of the house came out and via Mohammed offered us tea. We graciously accepted and carpets were brought out of the house for to sit on even though we were covered in dust.

Around the corner the lady of the house prepared the tea along with the children who kept themselves out of sight. Considering it is Ramadam we were honored in their hospitality as they were not eating or drinking during daylight hours. We took tea and some nuts that they offered us.

When we left we gave the family some money as well a tin of biscuits for after Ramadam. It was nice to have left them with something to improve their lot.

We then drove to an old fossil mine that was built during the French colonial days, but now lies empty and derilict. A group of fossil sellers appeared and we haggled over a few bits and bobs for souvenirs.

It was getting hot and we were now tierd so it was time to head back. We tried one route but it ended up going over a small area of dunes. We'd played in some smaller dunes earlier with Jim showing the skills he'd built over years of beach riding in Guernsey.

These dunes were a lot softer and it wasn't long till the heavier riders, that'll be Phil and I, were struggling with our bikes bogging down. You then had to dig them out and pick them back up again. I was soon hot, angry and exhausted. But as you can see I did find the time to raise a smile.

We changed our route and took a longer ride to avoid the soft dunes. As we drove back to the hotel we could see a massive thunderstorm storm adding more rain to the copious amounts they've already had. We got a little wet, but managed to avoid a complete soaking.

At diner we met another group that had tackled some of the areas we are soon to ride. The news was not good. It is possible that the bikes might make it, but the Landy probably wouldn't. This would leave us without support should a rider or bike have a problem. We'll take some more advice, but it doesn't look good currently.

The only blessing is that the tarmac roads through the Atlas mountains are also fabulous to ride.

Biblical

Firstly two pieces of good news. No animals were harmed in the making of today's adveture. Secondly the tortoise was seen by someone behind me and didn't appear to have a headache.

We were up reasonably early as we had some long off road sections to complete today. After discussions we decided to skip one section as the locals were saying there had been so much rain that we couldn't get through. They also said we wouldn't be able to get to Erfoud, today's destination. However, very little of this information is first hand and has to be treated with some scepticism.

As we left Fez the skys were a leaden grey and the air was cool. We were going to get wet at some point and that point was only 40 minutes into the ride. we all stopped to don our rain gear and, after yesterdays events, became more cautions in our riding.

As we climbed into the Atlas mountains the air became colder. Even though it was no longer raining it was too cold to take this extra layer off. Near the top of the Atlas we found our first track of the day. Every dip in the surface was a puddle, but the surface was hard enough to ride on.

After a few miles the track began to climb through some stunning Ceder forests. Some of the trees were massive. There are, I'm told, monkeys also living in the forests, but I didn't see any.

We dropped out of the forest and went through a village in a valley. They had clearly had a lot of rain, and although the river was no longer in flood, large rocks were scattered everywhere.


Climbing away from the town we found that the trail was being 'converted' into a road. The heavy equipment used in this process had churned up the soil and the rain had turned the mud into a thick sticky clay. This stuck to the front wheel and then to the underside of the mudguard. Eventually the build up became so solid it would stop the wheel turning.

Then you'd have to spend 10 minutes or longer scraping every bit out, only for it to happen again a few hundred yards further on. Progress was extreemly slow and tiring - and muddy!


I then got my bike well and truly stuck. Along with Colin's KTM my bike had to be towed out (at one point on its side). This was becoming a nightmare. Still, look on the bright side we me one guy who'd been stuck in his truck for two days!

We decided that the best option was to remove the mud guards so that they could not become clogged. Once again my bike was on its side as there was no way it could be put on the centre stand in the soft mud. The back of Bills Landy war rapidly filling with bits off of GSs. We joked that he might be able to build a whole one by the end of the holiday!


Removing the mudguards did the trick though and we could now make some progress. However, we were now seriously behind schedule as we'd only covered about one mile in two and a half hours!

We were soon back on tarmac and heading as quick as we could towards our destination. I'd ridden this road before and knew, that whilst it was great on the bike, it was also long. We blasted along risking getting pulled at one of the police checkpoints that are outside most towns.

Eventually three of the more exuberent riders got pulled over. However, he took pity on them when Mark took off his helmet to reveal a broken nose. He'd done this on the last section of the mud fest, but not told anyone! Apparantly he's a fighter not a lover - so it's often broken!

As we got closer to our destination there were massive threatning thunderclouds. We put our rain gear back on. The debris from the recent flooding in the area is everywhere. Most town centres have massive puddles and patches of drying silt. The roads were often covered with water and more dangerously slippery mud or rocks. The rains must have been biblical.

The light was fading and riding in these conditions was not a great idea. As we neared our destination we were treated to an electric storm on one horizon and a massive rainstorm on the other which was coloured pink by the setting sun.

With the light completely gone we safely completed the last 10-20 miles to the hotel. A desert fox ran across the road in front of me at one point making me jump. It looked like a ghost in the bike headlights.

The hotel is great and we were soon at the bar telling tales of daring do.

Carnage

Before I dive into the telling of today's tale I should quickly calm the fears on any readers who have loved ones on the trip. (I know they've all told you to read the blog so they don't have to bother calling!) Unless you're a chicken, dog, cow or, possibly, a tortoise, your loved ones are safe.

I hadn't slept well. Ramadam's fasting during the day is followed by big parties in the evening. Even young children were up till gone midnight and the noise from the town didn't die down till gone 3.

Breakfast was good and we were soon packing the bikes for the day. I usually keep all my documents in a small leather case which then goes in my bike's tank bag where I can keep a good eye on it. Today we would be doing a long river crossing though so I had packed into a waterproof bag along with clothes and tools. This was then strapped to the rear of my bike along with my lunch under an elastic net.

We rode for a couple of hours on small winding tracks through tiny villages As we made our way though one a chicken decided to play 'chicken' with me He won't be playing again. Other than not wanting to kill other living when riding, the sad fact is the family that kept that chicken may have been using it for eggs and, one day, meat. Left in the road it would only feed the wild cats and dogs.

Julian's bike (well it's Bill's actually) had developed a misfile and lack of power and we stopped so that Bill could catch up in the Landy and look at it. With little that could easily be done at the side of the road Bill told Julian to just keep the revs up.

We began our first off road section and within a couple of minutes I'd made a complete tit of myself. With Bill filming I'd managed to fall off just turning the bike around. Within a few more seconds I'd got it stuck up to its rear axle in soft sand. It was so wedged that that I could walk away from it and it stayed upright! I had to get help from the others to get it out. I was so annoyed with myself as everyone else had handled the obstacle with relative ease.

As we continued the ride I was not concentrating enough and failed to notice two things. Firstly Jim was no longer behind me and secondly neither was my waterproof bag! Realising this contained all my documents I immediately stopped and went back.

I eventually came across Jim. He'd picked up my bag and then waited for Bill. I was even more annoyed with myself now! And I'd lost my lunch!

We left the bag with Bill and sped off to find the group. However, we found no one. We sped back to a small village square to make sure we did not miss Bill who knows the routes. As we fell in line behind Bill like a couple of ducklings the locals started shouting and Jim beeped me. It transpired that my lunch and elastic net were still precariously hanging on the bike. As I pulled over it went through the back wheel turning it into more road kill.

I had reached boiling point. I grabbed it all, threw it in the gutter and sped off to find Bill. When he led us back to Julian we discovered that Phil and Colin were also MIA. As we pondered our options they appeared on a ridge line above us.

They had taken a wrong turn and ended up seriously stuck in the mud. So much so thet they'd had to pay two local farmers to help them haul the bikes out. Their bikes and they were covered. We knew that the region had experienced higher than average rainfall for the time of year. And to make things worse, more rain had started to fall.

As we got ready to leave Phil said "Did you see the tortoise on the trail?", "No" I said, "Ohh" he said. I was now worried I'd run that over too! Could this day get any worse? Ohh yes!

After a couple of miles off road we once again joined some tarmac for a ride to the trail with the river crossing on it. The rain had made the surface slippery and the bike felt uneasy beneath me. I was also dropping back from the other riders. I began to wonder to wonder if I was holding up Jim and if I was losing my bottle.

My intuition had been correct though and as I came around a kink in the road on a fairly steep downhill section a multi-bike pile up was happening at the next corner. Julian had gone down, the bike shedding bits and scraping the tarmac. Mark had managed to stop but had lost his footing and had to lay his bike down. Colin had swerved off the road and stopped in the gravel. Phil had unwittingly also bought a ticket to the bike crash jamboree and now it was his turn.

His rear wheel had locked and the bike was fishtailing badly. On about the fourth swing the bike decided it had had enough of Phil and spat him off. Phil landed heavily on the tarmac next to Colin who then dropped his bike to go to Phil's aid. So as I went by there were four bikes down and two riders down.

I parked up and went back to the scene. Everyone was OK and the process of picking up the pieces and seeing if the bikes were rideable had started. Phil's ribs hurt, but his body armour had done its job and saved any broken bones. We waited for Bill to arrive with tools to repair his bike.

I'm out of time for this blog but later;
* Colin's mudguard got ripped off.
* Wheels jammed with mud stopped turning.
* Mark's bike hit the deck.
* We crossed a river.
* Phil and Julian fell over again - and they weren't even on their bikes.
* Phil took a swim in a pig poo puddle.

Switching continents

The early start was fairly painful. There was no breakfast at the hotel because they weren't stupid enough to be up at 6:30 on a weekend! I had a bit of a hangover so I grabbed a Red Bull from the back of the Landy to kick start the system.

We hit the road at 7:30 heading West out of Malaga and looking to pickup the toll motorway that circumnavigates the large coastal towns. Within seconds of hitting the main dual carriageway Julian had missed the turning. To be fair Julian realised his mistake quickly and suddenly dived down a slip road.

However, this posed a somewhat trickier conundrum to myself and a couple of guys behind me as we were still in the third lane overtaking an artic! I sliced across the traffic just making the slip road. How the two behind me managed I don't know. I'll have to look in the Touratech catalogue when I get back to see if they've launched some sort of quantum displacement option for the 1200GS!

Settled on the correct road the sun rose in our mirrors lightning the many villa complexes with a soft and hazy rose light as we made good speed towards the port.

As soon as you get to the port at Algeciras you know you're at a place where many cultures, languages, creeds and colours mix, move and (undoubtedly) collide. It's a bit like visiting Phil in Cardiff. Suddenly all the signs are in multiple languages (one of them just a bunch of squiggles) and even when you're being spoken to in English you can't understand. Tidy!

There was very little chop to the waves but there was a reasonable swell and the ferry rolled around quite a lot for a non-nautical man like myself. Twas but a mere ripple to the boys from Guernsey.

We didn't stop at Ceuta other than to fuel some jerry cans on the Landy and grab some water. At the border Nuri, Bill's Morrocan fixer, was waiting for us. These guys earn around 2€ per person to 'ease' their passage through the somewhat complicated immigration procedures.

The last time I visited you were also able to change money and get insurance at the same time. However, you can't now. This caused a problem for Phil and I as our european insurance is not valid. So what's the fix? Well you promise the border official that you'll buy some at a town some 50 miles away. Clearly there's no chance of a problem between the two!

Finding the insurance firm was not to difficult as we picked up a 'helper' on a small motorkike at the outskirts of the town who guided us to a place where we could park the vehicles and then took us on foot to the office. We also changed up some money before he showed us the road we needed to get to Chefchouen some 50 miles further into Morocco.

The new back tyres on the bikes were not scubbed in so we all had a few uneasy moments as we rode the twisty tarmac to the hotel. We're vising during Ramadam so getting food is difficult and it's not polite to eat in front of others who are fasting.

However, the hotel was prepared to cook us a lunch, which was very nice. Having gained 2 hours by moving continents we had time in the afternoon to prepare the bikes for the start of the off road riding tomorrow. Later we jumped into the Landy to go into town. I'd stopped in Chefchouen on my previous visit and had my first Moroccan mint tea. I took the boys to the same place for their first experience!

It was Bill's birthday today. There's not many people that can say their birthday lasted 26 hours and was held in 2 continents. Bill had brought a present from the UK. It was a pair of furry dice for the Landy - classic. Happy birthday Bill!

Breakfast with Bill

There was no rush to get up today as I was already in Malaga and all I needed to do was get my rear tyre changed. As I wandered into the breakfast room I spotted Bill sitting on his own and went over to join him.

After talking to him for only a few minutes it became clear we had a lot in common. He once ran a successful business, but now runs a lifestyle business. He too has a sense of adventure and a wander lust. He too has direct debits imposed by a divorce court. He's way ahead (or perhaps behind) me though as he has three!

It was not long till he too had come to a similar conclusion and asked if I was up for an adventure in 2010. It turns out he's working on the logistics for the first hovercraft crossing of the Sahara. Was I interested in talking to the organiser? Sorry Michelle, I told him I was.

I figured that in a country where the moped, scooter or motorbike are primary forms of transport that it would not be that hard to get my new rear tyre fitted. And so it proved. After 5 minutes of cruising I found a bike dealership. Figuring that a Spanish motorcycle mechanic probably spoke little English I had got the hotel receptionist to write a note for me.

He gave me a price of 28 Euros including balancing and I decided that, whilst a bit expense, he was probably better that the Spanish version of QuickFit. In an amalgum of "Spanglish" we got the job done. He got to learn of the benefits of UltraSeal as it fell out of the old tyre all over his floor and I got to see his chaotic and hot workshop.

As I croutched on his workshop floor desperately trying to squeeze a new bottle of UltraSeal in through the tyre valve and sweating like a condemned man he laughed and left the workshop. Great I though, at least he could have helped. A couple of minutes later he walked back in with a large bottle of ice cold water and told me it was for free.

I'd decided to hold on to the old tyre to put in the support vehicle that way if any of the Beemers get a badly sliced rear tyre we can put on my old one. It was, however, still full of ultraSeal. Now what they don't tell you on the packaging is that the bright blue colour that is supposed to show you've got a puncture is also an effective dye. Still, the condensation from a few beers should soon wash my blue hand away!

On returning to the hotel I could only see one other bike with off-road tyre fitted was a KTM so I figured the other boys were not around and headed into town solo.

I'd always thought of Malaga as just an airport for low cost airlines but it is a major port and historic city. I wandered initially along the seafront road, but it soon became apparent that this was not the heart of the city Heading north I was soon into the commercial area with inviting side streets. I found a nice bar and sat down for some lunch.

The seating overlooked a fantastic church. I grabbed the menu but couldn't understand much of it. I picked a salad that I could tell had bacon and prawns in it. However, when it turned up I couldn't recognize one of the main ingredients. There were scampi like prawns, bacon, salad and loads of things that looked like short spaghetti. But they were grey on the top and white underneath with tapered ends. This was all presented in a really light and crispy tortilla.

Having tasted the "spaghetti" and examined it more closely I realised they were elvers - baby eels. It was delicious.

With a good lunch inside me I wandered back to the hotel taking in more of the sights. We all then met up in the bar for our tour briefing. Julian had arrived from Portugal and Phil had flown in from Wales. The team was assembled.

After the briefing we headed out to a tapas bar for a selection of Spanish delicacies with lashing of beer and wine. We had to be on the road by 7:30, but that didn't stop me drinking too much!

Going all the way

Sure enough at 5:45am the ship's tannoy system sprang into life informing us that we would be docking at 6:50 (7:50 Spanish). After ignoring the first message it was repeated in Spanish and then after a brief break there followed a message from the First Officer.

Realising this to was about the repeated in Spanish I grabbed last night's clothes, threw them on left the cabin to get a coffee and pastry for breakfast. It was still dark and the harbor lights were twinkling off of the calm sea.

By the time we disembarked the sun was up although the mountains to the south of the port were still covered by cloud. I'd programmed the sat nav the night before and Emily whispered her instructions to me as we headed south.

About 20 miles south of Bilbao I pulled over to put in my custom made earplugs which also are speakers. These cut out all the wind noise and let me listen to music stored on the sat nav. I also clipped my Wrist Rocker onto the throttle. This simple piece of plastic makes long distance riding a lot easier as you no longer have to grip the throttle, just rest your wrist on it. It's a liability around town, but great for long motorway rides.

The beemer and I were soon eating up the miles, me singing away to the music and Emily interrupting every now and then to keep us on course. The roads were fairily empty and the miles were slipping under the wheels with ease. I decided that Cordoba was not adventurous enough and told Emily to go all the way to Malaga. "Ride for 167 miles on ....." was her somewhat unromantic reply.

A Red Bull stop in the mid afternoon kept me alert and the occasional stop for a stretch stopped the bum aching too much. Emily kept me on course and I arrived at the hotel we are starting the tour from just after 6pm. The bike and I had munched up 580 miles and if needed we could have munched a whole bunch more.

As I checked in I bumped into Jim, one of the four guys from Guernsey and a veteran of one of the Portugal off-road trips. He helped me get my luggage from the car park which is some way from the hotel. I was very hot and leaking prefusely by the time I got to my room.

Fortunately it was like walking into a cold store. The air con was on max and was uber efficient. I'd arranged to meet the boys in the bar so I grabbed a quick shower to freshen up. On getting out of the shower I discovered the downside of the air con and switched it to a warmer setting. The damage was already done though and I stood there shivering as my sperm count increased and my manhood decreased.

It was good to meet up with Jim and Simon again as well as their two mates and Bill, the support vehicle driver and guide. It was not long before the banter was flowing and the 2 years we'd not seen eachother just melted away I guess that's the way it is with friends, you kinda just pick up from where you left off.

The boys had been told that Toremalinos was jumping on a Thursday night so we grabbed a couple of cabs and headed out. I'd not been to "torrid shag nasty" since I was in my early 20s - not a lot has changed. Still we had an OK meal and then sat at an ice cream parlour watching the human traffic.

Back at the hotel the room was still arctic. I killed the air con completely for fear of discovering a polar bear trying to get into the room during the night.

Rudely awoken

The crossing during the night was quite smooth, but by the morning there was a distinct swell and I could feel my body getting lighter then heavier on the mattress as the boat rode the oceanic rollercoaster.

With little to do on board I decided a lie in was in order. I do appreciate that many of you think my life is one big lie in nowadays and in part I'd have to agree with you. However, today's lie in was rudely interrupted by a steward who seemed eager to talk to me.

I explained that neither the cabin or I needed any form of servicing and waved him on his way. Within 30 seconds his master key was once again opening my door this time to leave a small note on a dresser table.

It asked me to report to reception, so I continued my shnoozing. When I eventually roused myself and went to reception they wanted to confirm that I was on a mini-cruise. This is where you sail from Portsmouth to Bilbao, get off for an hour and then sail back again. I shuddered at the thought and told them they were mistaken.

I shouldn't dis the Pride of Bilbao too much though. The prices are reasonable given that they have a captive audience and there's a good selection of films at the cinemas and food in the various restaurants.

After some reading and taking in Night at the Museum 2 I ate before seeing England secure their place in the World Cup next year whilst supping a couple of ales.

Tomorrow there'll be no lie in. The ship docks at 8am local time and i've got somewhere around 450 miles to do to get to Cordoba. Sat Nav don't fail me now!

We are sailing, we are sailing...

Well actually we weren't! It turned out that ferry had a technical issue with its main engine and our departure would be delayed.

After finding my cabin I had a shower and then headed up to 'The Show Bar'. For those of you that have traveled on the Pride of Bilbao you will relise that this is just like the show bar at any holiday camp or caravan park. They have broken no advertising rules, there is a bar and a show. But nevertheless you feel that you've been had. Your vision of a star studded night soon evaporates.

It transpired that the star act was on first. This was because the Captain, by law, had to make an announcement before we left port and this would have interrupted the star act and destroyed his flow. So the entertainment director had decided to play his trump card first.

This hiatus over the announcement seemed inappropriate on two levels. Firstly anyone stupid enough to have sat onboard the Pride of Bilbao for 3 hours for no reason only to have an epiphany that they'd intended to go to Tescos on hearing the announcement deserved to be trapped on board. Secondly an announcement in the middle of Acer Murphy's swing set would have actually been a welcome respite. I left after two songs.

Back in my cabin I decided to listen to my first talking book, Sir Richard Branson reading his recent book "Business Laid Bare". Accompanied by some peanut M&Ms it made a good end to the day as I waited for the ship to sail.

Around midnight I went out on deck to smoke my "1-a-day" and watched the lights of the Isle of Wight slip by as we headed out of the Solent and into the Channel.

Ready to roll

Well I think I've packed everything. Had a quick blast around this morning just to check nothing fell off. If something did - I never noticed.

As with my trip in 07 I'm carrying a tyre which I'll get put on in Southern Spain on Friday before we cross to Morocco. I believe a lot of the other guys are having their tyres changed from road tyres at the same time.

The tachometer says 20200 miles. Any guesses what it'll read when I get back?

Right then, a spot of grub and off to Portsmouth!

Is it just me that's addicted to eBay?

Well addicted is probably too strong a world. But it's so blinkin' useful!

Or maybe it's a bloke thing. But being able to shop without having to leave the house and interact with the rest of humanity just seems such a blessing! And they've got everything on there. It's no wonder Woolworths went under! [Tesco's in Portslade now does Woolworths Pick 'n' Mix - Result!]

Here's just a few of my recent purchases - all completed from the comfort of my home office / sespit, without the need to interact with a 'knowledgeable' sales assistant.

- A new back tyre for my Morocco trip.
- A second hand Lumix camera, works brilliantly.
- A camera case for the Lumix.
- A memory card. 16GB for £8.03 shipped from Hong Kong. An absolute steal.
- A bandana to stop the Moroccan dust. Actually a bit cheap and tacky.
- A second hand game for James. It's as good as new.
- A foil & cutter plus cleaning solution for my electric razor.
- BMW Vario pannier mounting brackets to replace one I broke in Morocco in 2007.
- A Neoprene sunglasses strap.
- Goggles to stop the sand getting in my eyes.
- Latex gloves so I can work on the bike.

Now you're probably wondering if there's something better you could be doing with your time than reading my shopping lists - but my point is that this really wide range of often specialist items all came to me via eBay. I've never been ripped off. I often buy second hand items that are almost as good as new at silly prices and the feedback system keeps vendors honest.

So when you're next wandering down your local high street looking at the boarded up premesis, charity shops and fast food outlets, avoiding the vagrants and drunken teenagers, then think of me. I'm sorry, but I helped make it that way. I got addicted to eBay!

One week to go

This time next week I will be sitting on the Portsmouth-Bilbao ferry bound for another jaunt to Morocco. Unlike the trip in 2007 (where I ended up on my own for most of the time), this trip is an organised trip with 6 other riders. I'll be meeting up with many of the same reprobates that fraternised my previous expeditions to Portugal. But more on them later.

[Never read my Morocco 07 ride report? Find it here: http://www.helifly.co.uk/uploads/MoroccoTrip07.pdf]

Perhaps it's my age, perhaps it's the times we live in, maybe it's just the apprehension one feels before any long journey, or the thought of leaving loved ones behind or perhaps it's the fact that I've not organised this trip - but something feels like it has yet to click in place.

I've been fettling the Beemer in advance of the ride, but even here I'm worrying myself. I've changed the engine and gearbox oils even though they didn't need changing. I've bought a Fuel Pump Controller (something that is a known 1200GS problem component) just in case, I've even stocked up on tie wraps should bits come lose and I'm still figuring out how to re-attach my semi-broken sump guard (it's a long story).

I'm even thinking of cleaning the bike in an effort to uncover any hidden gremlins! Yes, it's come to that! It would be a shame to wash the Moroccan sand from 07 off of it only just to add some more.

As with my previous trip I will be initially catching the ferry from Portsmouth to Bilbao. From there I will make my way across Spain in two days to meet up with everyone else at Malaga. From here it's off to Algeceras, a ferry across the Straits of Gibraltar to Ceuta and then into Morocco.

Joining me on this intrepid venture and making up the Magnificent Seven will be; Big Phil from Wales - a veteran of two previous Portugal trips, Jim and Simon from Guernsey (1 Portugal Trip), a couple of their mates and our glorious leader Julian.

There's also a guy in a flat back Land Rover that will be carrying our luggage and picking up the pieces. Now he clearly can't be in the Magnificent Seven due to the fact that firstly he has no mighty metal steed and secondly the maths no longer work! However, should my steed or my body be in need of rescue I am reserving the right to promote him instantaneously to 'el magnifico' - the magnificent one!