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!
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