Swiss
In the morning, after a great nights sleep for me in a large double bed and for Kev, on the bathroom floor, we were ready for another day. Thankfully when we awoke in the morning inside the nice warm Swiss style hotel, in a Swiss style town that has pointy red roofs and lots of snow, we found that the weather was sunny at last. We also found out that this hotel was over 1650metres above sea level and has fine skiing in the area. That probably explains the reason why our bikes were struggling so much. We did not really notice how steep the roads were as our heads were down, trying to hang on for dear life in the torrential rain we were riding through.
Tony
Xmas day. Khenifra, just 100km away was our next destination.
Long gone are the days when we used to say, " Come on, lets go 250km to the next town".
It's been slow going. I stopped a couple of times to adjust my timing as the Vespa was slow. Very slow.
Passing through the villages and towns we noticed that half the houses were being propped up with scaffold etc due to the extremely, ferociously bad weather that we had suffered the previous day. Sandbags and boats were issued to all concerned. It was that bad. Noah would have loved it here.
We arrived in town and had some food.
Food.
Now there's a subject me and Kev spend endless hours talking about and applauding. Applauding the fine spices that Morocco has but does not like to use in their cooking. I could devote a whole section about the menus we encounter and I will one day. When I'm really bored. Actually there wouldn't be much to write about and I would repeat myself quite often.
Family Robinson
The town was home to a university which meant lots of nice young people. Even when they are out with their mothers the girls could not help but admire the English talent. Unfortunately, we never made it to the local Disco where were planned to show them all how to do the 'Peanut Duck'. Kev got so excited that he snapped his kickstart, which he later got welded back together.
It was here in Khenifra that we found out Kev could get a brand new engine for Munchy. 110cc or 125cc. What a choice. The choice actually was, what does he want....? Chinese or Japanese? I don't think this was the first time he's had this choice either but that's another story.
The Waltons
After a couple of days in town we got back on our bikes, which were by now beginning to squeak and knock more than ever. My bearings need changing once more and Munchy needed some serious attention. The Vespa was drinking about 3 x more than usual so frequent stops were needed. At one petrol station we stopped for a coffee. After a leisurely drink I went to pay, using my finest local dialect.
"Kawha, bisshal?", I coughed. ('How much for the coffee'?)
"9 Dirham" was the snappy reply.
"Bezzaf"! was my astonished answer. ('That's a lot'!)
The waiter leaned forward onto his toes and staring straight into my face asked, "Problem"? in a rather menacingly way.
"No problem". ('Crumbs'!)
I whispered to Kev along with a signal that suggested we get the f out of there sharpish but he was too busy watching the local retard directing the traffic, which consisted of 2 cars, a tractor and 5 cats.
"Kev. Psssst"!
"Huh? What"?
"Lets get the f out of here, its going to kick off".
Two things I found out in life that day.
1) Vespas and C90s are not really made for fast getaways in sticky situations.
2) Kev still wasn't really sure what had just happened.
Our escape was like watching 2 snails trying to get out of the soup bowl they found themselves in.
What am I now, What am I now?
We set our rendevous point to Beni Mellal which is about 260km from Marrakech. In true spirit, we arrived seperately. Without realising I had passed Kev whilst he was filling up with petrol, I carried on through Beni Mellal towards Marrakech as we could almost smell it, it was close. Kev in the meantime headed into town. I was heading out of town. The force sent me back into town, whilst Kevs force sent him back out of town. So we were forced in and out of town. Our paths never crossed and it was here in Beni Mellal I laid my crash helmet down for the night, wondering where David Blaine had gone this time.
Kev in the meantime, pleased with a good days riding, on a nice sunny day, decided to carry on towards Marrakech. He made great progress and went for a further 100km. In his haste and as his C90 was going faster than the speed of light, he accidently run over an old lady. Just a flesh wound. Kev did not see her as the lights on Munchy were a little dim to say least. Also, riding into the dazzling, setting sun did not help matters either. The old lady span round on her heels, clutching her washing basket and wondered what the hell had just happened to her. Kev did not hang around to find out. He ended up in a nice hotel, no, not a Moroccan jail cell but a proper nice hotel with swimming pool, jacuzzi and a massage was only 5Dirham. Apparently.
My hotel on the other hand was occupied by the international under 21s all girls mattress testers who were very thorough. Alledgedly.
This meant we both had a good nights sleep and dreamt all night.
Little house on the prairie
I awoke early the next morning to catch Kev waiting for me 100km away in the first garage out of the town he was in.
Marrakech was now in our sights. We were heading in the direction of the Atlas mountains that we have been following for the past few days. Since arriving in Morocco it's taken us about 23 days to get this far. A few more hours and we really believed we were going to be in Marrakech, in time for tea, fairy cakes and a nice slice of waterhog flan.
For the second time this trip, we arrived in town, at the same time, on the same road. Amazing!
We headed for a cheap hotel that, although it was full, we were able to 'book a bed' on the roof terrace. We had some more food (another Tagine) and had a quick shower.
I noticed Kev was shaking and foaming at the mouth.
"What's wrong"? I asked.
He turned south and silently pointed with a big smile.
"Alcohol"!
After 7 weeks with no booze, Kev, who now took on the stance of a bloodhound chasing an escaped criminal, eagerly set off towards the Grand Hotel Tazi, with me chasing after him as fast as I could.
" I must have some booze. I demand to have some booze", Kev shouted.
We had to work fast.
"A pair of quadruple whiskies and another pair of pints please landlord"............
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Monday, 4 January 2010
Just like that
North and South
So here we are back again and on the road heading south from the Rif mountains in northern Morocco.
It has been a long lay down which means we have become very lazy indeed and have not updated this blog as often as perhaps we should have.Our excuse is the weather. Whether or not we were going to get out of Chefchaouen. Its a nice enough place but after constant rain for what seemed like 40 days and 40 nights we decided enough was enough. Come rain or shine we will leave the next day. We waited for a small pocket of sunshine, put on all our wet weather gear (or should that read 'wet wet weather gear') then headed south.
Apples and Pears
We made an early start for the road to Fez (approx 200km) and I found out that 8am exists on my watch. I thought I only had 8pm. It would take us most of the day to reach Fez.
The weather wasn't ideal but it was ok. We started with all of our wet, wet weather gear on, found the pocket of sunshine and got out of town.
I would like to say it was all downhill but alas, no. The bikes were making progress though. The surgery I performed on the Vespa, on the rooftop, seems to have paid off. It sounded totally different but I was not so sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It sounded like it would go faster, so I decided it could only be a good thing.
Munchy the crunchy (its a girl by the way) was running kind of ok too. Not great but not exceptionally bad.
We have plenty of time for that to happen.
We also found out on the way;
Dogs like to try and eat my side panels but only when I'm riding at 100kmph past the gate/driveway they are guarding.
Munchy the crunchy makes donkeys re-enact the mad MB game 'Buckaroo'.
Riding the same speed as Kev makes me want to go to sleep but I think it must be part of the David Blaine act he performs.
But more importantly we found out that the mechanic in Tetouean was a better magician than Kev and performed various cunning stunts on his engine such as the, "Now you hear the banging, now you dont, now you hear the banging again but its louder" routine. Amazing.
Mines a pony, raise you a monkey
On the way to Fez, whilst stopping to adjust some loose nuts, we were passed by a couple of old Peugeot 205s and a couple of old Land Rovers with english plates, all dressed with rally stickers, roof racks and spot lights.
Thats we needed on our machines! Big stickers with large numbers on, maybe that would make us more reliable and maybe even help us go quicker. They were all 'J' reg and from UK.
We quickly put our screwdrivers away and chased after them. After a few km we caught up with them and we were menacingly close.
Kev took the lead and, wait for it ladies and gentklemen, he overtook a car.
Ok so it was only an old 205 but something more amazing happened.
He overtook the Land Rover too. I was watching from the rear of the convoy of 2 cars and 2 Land Rovers with glee.
"Look at Muchy go", I cried.
The look on the faces of these guys and girls driving their old bangers through Morocco must have been of total amazement.
They were being overtaken by little old Muchy the crunchy. A Honda C90.
The road was getting straighter so Kev went for the "Right. I'm going to have the lot of you" manoeuvre and proceeded to overtake the remaining 2 rally vehicles in one go. What class!
Munchy was happy munching away the km and those rally drivers were left flabbergasted.
They had just been overtaken by a C90.
I was still watching from behind and laughed out loud at this moment in sheer admiration of Kev and Munchy.
I waited for the rally drivers to recompose themselves and then suprised them by whizzing passed them all (or should that be wheezed passed them)?
One or two of the drivers/passengers waved back but most seemed to want ignore the fact that they had just been overtaken again but this time by a Vespa.
We watched them go past us again when we stopped for coffee but they did not see us as we sheltered from the downpour of rain in a cafe, so I'm guessing they thought we were still in front of them. Ha ha.
Eastenders
It was a nice scenic route which took us straight to Fez before 6pm. Once again whilst riding around the outside of the old medina walls looking for the right entrance, I took a stupid route and this time it took us through the fruit and veg market.
But there was one major difference.
Kev was directly behind me and he followed me in.
There was no vanishing act, no waiting or wondering where Kev was. We made it to the same town at the same time. I believe it was the force of Tommy Cooper.
After quickly haggling down the price of a hotel room and parking we were in another hotel in another town.
Our first impressions of Fez were not good. The hotel we ended up staying in was not too good. Kev had an ensuite sunken bath in his room. A drunk made us feel welcome by deliberately barging into us when we carrying our bags to the hotel. Well, he more or less bounced off Kev and took revenge on me by attempting to kick me. I was not in the mood for a fight and ignored him.
It was still raining, the food was more expensive than we were used to, the hotel was rubbish and the welcoming commitee was rather rude to say the least.
"I'm leaving at 7 o'clock in the morning and getting the f out of here", were Kevs comments.
I remained quiet as the weather did not look like it was going to get any better.
Dot Cotton
At early o'clock the next morning a bang on the door from Kev woke me up.
"Come on then, lets go", he said.
My reply was a little less friendly. I was ready to change hotels but did not want to be riding in what looked like another storm that was approaching.
I tried to talk him out of it but he was having none of it. He was going. Whatever. So I thought I'd better keep with him and reluctantly tagged along.
BIG mistake.
We rode in what was probably the worst weather I've ridden in during the whole trip so far and I was riding in it against my better judgement which did not put me in a good mood.
After 2 hours of battling with the rain and the wind I almost stopped in one of the few houses I saw dotted along the highway to ask for a bed for the night. I'd had enough. In all my years of riding I've never ever felt this way before no matter how bad the weather.
I was asking myself, "What the f am I riding in this crappy weather for"? I knew the answer which wound me up even more. The answer lay behind me somewhere on a C90. He too was beginning to ask himself the same question.
Sexy Deidre
I stopped at the first hotel I saw. Asked the price of a room. Scooped my jaw from the floor and once again got ready to be beaten up by the weather. I didnt realise hotels could be quite so expensive.
The directions out of town were not that clear and I ended up heading in the wrong direction. After 15 minutes the force turned me back the way I came, back into the town of Ifrane and it was here that I bumped into Kev who had the same problem as I had when trying to decide which road we needed. It was only about another 15km to the next town which had cheaper hotels but we did not even make it that far. After 2 or 3km we stopped at a motel and asked the price there. This was more reasonable, about £30 a night (we were used to paying around £5 a night). Kev, to his credit, offered to pay due to;
a) it was xmas ...and
b) for being such a dick for making us ride in the worst weather we've had so far. (Sorry Kev)
Kevs genourousity and having the chance to dry our clothes in a nice warm hotel (even the stairs in the corridor were heated - luxury!) made us more cheerful and we left the next day feeling a little more refreshed.
Well'ard
It is here that I will have to leave you all again as food is required. We are off into the Sahara tomorrow for a couple of days after which I promise to update this again.
So here we are back again and on the road heading south from the Rif mountains in northern Morocco.
It has been a long lay down which means we have become very lazy indeed and have not updated this blog as often as perhaps we should have.Our excuse is the weather. Whether or not we were going to get out of Chefchaouen. Its a nice enough place but after constant rain for what seemed like 40 days and 40 nights we decided enough was enough. Come rain or shine we will leave the next day. We waited for a small pocket of sunshine, put on all our wet weather gear (or should that read 'wet wet weather gear') then headed south.
Apples and Pears
We made an early start for the road to Fez (approx 200km) and I found out that 8am exists on my watch. I thought I only had 8pm. It would take us most of the day to reach Fez.
The weather wasn't ideal but it was ok. We started with all of our wet, wet weather gear on, found the pocket of sunshine and got out of town.
I would like to say it was all downhill but alas, no. The bikes were making progress though. The surgery I performed on the Vespa, on the rooftop, seems to have paid off. It sounded totally different but I was not so sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It sounded like it would go faster, so I decided it could only be a good thing.
Munchy the crunchy (its a girl by the way) was running kind of ok too. Not great but not exceptionally bad.
We have plenty of time for that to happen.
We also found out on the way;
Dogs like to try and eat my side panels but only when I'm riding at 100kmph past the gate/driveway they are guarding.
Munchy the crunchy makes donkeys re-enact the mad MB game 'Buckaroo'.
Riding the same speed as Kev makes me want to go to sleep but I think it must be part of the David Blaine act he performs.
But more importantly we found out that the mechanic in Tetouean was a better magician than Kev and performed various cunning stunts on his engine such as the, "Now you hear the banging, now you dont, now you hear the banging again but its louder" routine. Amazing.
Mines a pony, raise you a monkey
On the way to Fez, whilst stopping to adjust some loose nuts, we were passed by a couple of old Peugeot 205s and a couple of old Land Rovers with english plates, all dressed with rally stickers, roof racks and spot lights.
Thats we needed on our machines! Big stickers with large numbers on, maybe that would make us more reliable and maybe even help us go quicker. They were all 'J' reg and from UK.
We quickly put our screwdrivers away and chased after them. After a few km we caught up with them and we were menacingly close.
Kev took the lead and, wait for it ladies and gentklemen, he overtook a car.
Ok so it was only an old 205 but something more amazing happened.
He overtook the Land Rover too. I was watching from the rear of the convoy of 2 cars and 2 Land Rovers with glee.
"Look at Muchy go", I cried.
The look on the faces of these guys and girls driving their old bangers through Morocco must have been of total amazement.
They were being overtaken by little old Muchy the crunchy. A Honda C90.
The road was getting straighter so Kev went for the "Right. I'm going to have the lot of you" manoeuvre and proceeded to overtake the remaining 2 rally vehicles in one go. What class!
Munchy was happy munching away the km and those rally drivers were left flabbergasted.
They had just been overtaken by a C90.
I was still watching from behind and laughed out loud at this moment in sheer admiration of Kev and Munchy.
I waited for the rally drivers to recompose themselves and then suprised them by whizzing passed them all (or should that be wheezed passed them)?
One or two of the drivers/passengers waved back but most seemed to want ignore the fact that they had just been overtaken again but this time by a Vespa.
We watched them go past us again when we stopped for coffee but they did not see us as we sheltered from the downpour of rain in a cafe, so I'm guessing they thought we were still in front of them. Ha ha.
Eastenders
It was a nice scenic route which took us straight to Fez before 6pm. Once again whilst riding around the outside of the old medina walls looking for the right entrance, I took a stupid route and this time it took us through the fruit and veg market.
But there was one major difference.
Kev was directly behind me and he followed me in.
There was no vanishing act, no waiting or wondering where Kev was. We made it to the same town at the same time. I believe it was the force of Tommy Cooper.
After quickly haggling down the price of a hotel room and parking we were in another hotel in another town.
Our first impressions of Fez were not good. The hotel we ended up staying in was not too good. Kev had an ensuite sunken bath in his room. A drunk made us feel welcome by deliberately barging into us when we carrying our bags to the hotel. Well, he more or less bounced off Kev and took revenge on me by attempting to kick me. I was not in the mood for a fight and ignored him.
It was still raining, the food was more expensive than we were used to, the hotel was rubbish and the welcoming commitee was rather rude to say the least.
"I'm leaving at 7 o'clock in the morning and getting the f out of here", were Kevs comments.
I remained quiet as the weather did not look like it was going to get any better.
Dot Cotton
At early o'clock the next morning a bang on the door from Kev woke me up.
"Come on then, lets go", he said.
My reply was a little less friendly. I was ready to change hotels but did not want to be riding in what looked like another storm that was approaching.
I tried to talk him out of it but he was having none of it. He was going. Whatever. So I thought I'd better keep with him and reluctantly tagged along.
BIG mistake.
After 2 hours of battling with the rain and the wind I almost stopped in one of the few houses I saw dotted along the highway to ask for a bed for the night. I'd had enough. In all my years of riding I've never ever felt this way before no matter how bad the weather.
I was asking myself, "What the f am I riding in this crappy weather for"? I knew the answer which wound me up even more. The answer lay behind me somewhere on a C90. He too was beginning to ask himself the same question.
The road to Marrakech
Sexy Deidre
I stopped at the first hotel I saw. Asked the price of a room. Scooped my jaw from the floor and once again got ready to be beaten up by the weather. I didnt realise hotels could be quite so expensive.
The directions out of town were not that clear and I ended up heading in the wrong direction. After 15 minutes the force turned me back the way I came, back into the town of Ifrane and it was here that I bumped into Kev who had the same problem as I had when trying to decide which road we needed. It was only about another 15km to the next town which had cheaper hotels but we did not even make it that far. After 2 or 3km we stopped at a motel and asked the price there. This was more reasonable, about £30 a night (we were used to paying around £5 a night). Kev, to his credit, offered to pay due to;
a) it was xmas ...and
b) for being such a dick for making us ride in the worst weather we've had so far. (Sorry Kev)
Kevs genourousity and having the chance to dry our clothes in a nice warm hotel (even the stairs in the corridor were heated - luxury!) made us more cheerful and we left the next day feeling a little more refreshed.
Well'ard
It is here that I will have to leave you all again as food is required. We are off into the Sahara tomorrow for a couple of days after which I promise to update this again.
Friday, 18 December 2009
Monday, 14 December 2009
Morocco
Lovely Jubbly
So here I am again, sitting in an internet cafe wondering what to write.
We both finally made it through the border and legged it for Chefchouean, in the Rif mountains of northern Morocco, which was about 100km from the border. We figured it would take 2 hours to reach this little town in the hills.
After about 40km we reached the town of Tetouan, where we decided to stay for the night. Actually Kevs C90, now named "Munchy the Crunchy", dictated that we stop at the nearest town that looked hospitable as Munchy was not feeling too well.
On the outskirts of Tetouen, whilst looking blindly for the gate into the old medina (old town) a big bald local guy, Abdul, a.k.a.Terry Savalas, pulled up besides us on his big Honda motorbike and confessed to feeling, "Lovely Jubbly".
"Follow me please. No worries mate".
Hubbly Bubbly
Even although we both knew he would make a bit of commission from us anyway he could, we followed Abdul straight to a cheap hotel (approx £6 per night for a room each) on the edge of the main square in the old medina. That was good enough. There was a lock up garage opposite the hotel that was safe enough for us to leave our bikes in overnight (approx £1 per night) The rooms we basic but so was our transport so it suited us fine. We have to have seperate rooms, which although more expensive, means that I can get a good nights sleep away from the excessively loud snoring jaws of Kev.
Curly Wurly
Tetouan is a pleasant town. It has a european feeling to it so was an easy town to get to know and an easy introduction to Morocco. It wasn't on our original destination but as mentioned earlier, Munchy was not in good shape so we stopped earlier than planned. This is not to say my vespa was in good shape either. I too had problems with my ride although they did not seem as bad as Kevs. Unfortunatly Kev is not with me at the time of writing to elaborate or defend himself on this subject because at the moment, he seems to be attached via a large rubber band to the hotel toilet. No sooner has he stepped out of the hotel, than he quickly springs back inside again, doing his David Blaine vanishing act. (which he also taught me but that comes a little later in the saga).
Mr. Whippy
After a good nights sleep and unpacking our bags for the first time, it was decided the next morning that Munchy needed an operation. After one night in the first hotel we fell into, I decided to look for a cheaper hotel as we were going nowhere for a few days. Hotel Essalam, around the corner, was a cheaper and cleaner place and close enough to the garage where our bikes were stored so we could check every now and then that they were ok. Dris, the guy at the hotel reception was extrememy helpful and friendly. Our Arabic was slowly getting better thanks to his patience and humour. Most nights were spent outside, smoking and talking in a mix of French, Spanish, English and Arabic. The days were spent searching for a surgeon/butcher for Munchy and, for me at least, eating far too many french patisseries and drinking copious amounts of fresh coffee. I'm in heaven!
Chocolate sprinkles
We eventually found the mechanic we were told was the best and biggest. We had been searching all over town for this garage, walking for what seemed like miles, asking strangers if they knew the whereabouts of the big, one and only, motorcycle mechanic. After searching for two days we found him, almost at the bottom of the street where we were staying, just three or four minutes walk away from the hotel. All the maps that were drawn for us (a series of straight lines and a picture of a bus), all the directions we were given (this way for 3 or 4kms), were all pretty useless. We found it more by chance than by being pointed in the right direction.
Pebble dash
Again, as Kev is not here to tell the story, heres what I believed happened at the mechanics...
Kev took his Munchy to the garage. The mechanic listened to the running engine. He then laughed. The mechanic then shouted to his colleagues to come and have a laugh, sorry I mean, look, at this weird bike. They laughed. More people came, shook there heads, murmurred the arabic equivalent of "Oh dear. No chance" and laughed some more.
In local arabic, the mechanic told Kev that, "If it was a camel he would shoot it, sell the carcass to the local tannery and with the profit, buy himself a small glass of coffee".
What actually happened was that Kev left the bike with the mechanic. After a couple of days we returned to witness the engine in pieces on the workbench. The crankshaft had been removed. The problem lays here. The big end bearings on the crankshaft had decided to call it a day and retire from the spinning world of bearings and decided to knock instead of spin. Hence the loud engine noises Munchy was making.
We believe that new bearings were fitted but its anybodies guess as the language barrier became as high as the price to fix it. That said, the mechanic worked extremely fast, putting aside the other mototbikes in his garage, to help Kev get back on the road asap.
Plastered
So, Munchy had been fixed. Or at least operated on to make him feel better. (Actually I'm not entirely sure if Munchy is a boy or a girl. I'll let you know) This meant we could continue on our journey to Chefchaouen, in the Rif mountains, a further 60km from Tetouan. This should only take about 1 hour maximum but took a little longer than that as Munchy was still recovering from his operation. As for my Vespa...(as yet - no name, but the carrot cruncher was a close contender).
This particular wasp was getting vertigo. It started in Spain really and very slowly got worse as we hit the Algarve. I was keeping quiet about it hoping it would miraculously get better or go away. Well it didn't. It was getting worse. Along fast straights and motorways it was fine. Ticking over it was fine. It didn't like shopping around town or enjoy going uphill. Any names to suit this kind of character would be greatly appreciated. Answers on a postcard please...
As we left for yet another very short journey to the next town it was getting bad. Kev on his Munchy would/could not exceed 70kmph. Me, on my Vespa with vertigo, could not go slower than 70kmph, otherwise it would just want to splutter to a snails pace. So when a hill showed itself I had to almost literally take a good fast run up to it to make it to the top. While Kev slowly but surely crawled his way to the top. This was getting to be a problem as we were after all going into the mountains.
Hammered
We arrived in Chefchaouen after about two hours. I arrived first, done the customary, "Wait for Kev routine", followed by the "Got bored waiting for Kev routine", then finished with a, "I' ll have to meet him at the hotel we agreed to meet at, should we get split up routine". The reason I only waited for 5 minutes instead of 10 minutes was because the local big boys kept asking how much my scooter was worth. Not, "Do you want to buy some hash"? Or, "You want hotel"? or even, "Come to my shop and see some blankets", but " How much is this worth"? This was a little worrying since I have no insurance against theft. So naturally I legged it, or should I say, limped it, uphill in search of the hotel we planned to stay in.
Unfortunatly for me, I done the kind of thing I told myself countless times not to do. I asked a policeman for directions. He of course gave me directions but not necessarily the easiest or clearest of directions, sending me up another very steep hill towards a small entrance to the old medina. The Bab (gate/entrance) to the centre of the old medina was barely big enough for my Vespa and I wasn't entirely sure I was allowed inside with my bike as it looked like a small narrow winding path with locals who were shopping and staring at me, wondering what I was about to try and do. A helpful guy lent me his son to show me the way to the hotel, which I would never have found coming in from this direction.
Spannered
What I was about to try and do was take the stupidest path into the heart of the old medina I could imagine. Some paths were quite steep and all were very narrow, with some high steps that the scooter could not clear without being lifted slightly. For my Vespa that suffers from vertigo, it was all too much and it decided to stop going up any more hills. Luckily, as the young kid sitting on the back of my Vespa had lots of friends shouting his name as he rode past on the passenger seat, they all helped me push the scooter uphill.
I say helped.
They pushed the scooter, not necassarily in the right direction but they were all happy enough to try and help.
I finally hit a downhill path were I 'bumped' the vespa back into action and made it to the centre of town. I found the hotel we agreed to meet at. Haggled my best but it was still too expensive. By this time Kev came strolling towards me, thanked me for waiting for him, then we both looked for another hotel with easier access for motorbikes. We found a most agreeable hotel for a most agreeable price and here we are now, living da vida loca.
You get the jist
The last few days have been spent searching for some decent local produce, which proved to be harder than I imagined. There are plenty of guys offering the best of the best but it is the worst of the worst. Its ok now though. I am most happy.
The rest of the last few days have consisted of me, on the hotel roof terrace, with my Vespa engine in pieces, replacing bearings and oil seals. I said I had a problem. Oil was leaking from the crankshaft onto my stator plate. I knew I didn't do a very good job of changing the bearings and seals a few days before I left UK so I packed some spares with me and have just finished putting everything back together. The engine is back in the chassis. It started second kick, ticked over pretty well for 30 seconds, I turned it off and thats how I left it as it was getting dark.
Yawn!
So tomorrow we will go for a test drive as Kev is also uncertain that his Munchy will make it to Fes, our next planned destination.
So far we have not broken down but have just had a few "teething problems", I would say. Actually, "Routine maintenace" is a better description.
Or can it.........?
So here I am again, sitting in an internet cafe wondering what to write.
We both finally made it through the border and legged it for Chefchouean, in the Rif mountains of northern Morocco, which was about 100km from the border. We figured it would take 2 hours to reach this little town in the hills.
After about 40km we reached the town of Tetouan, where we decided to stay for the night. Actually Kevs C90, now named "Munchy the Crunchy", dictated that we stop at the nearest town that looked hospitable as Munchy was not feeling too well.
On the outskirts of Tetouen, whilst looking blindly for the gate into the old medina (old town) a big bald local guy, Abdul, a.k.a.Terry Savalas, pulled up besides us on his big Honda motorbike and confessed to feeling, "Lovely Jubbly".
Kojak
We exchanged more hellos, listened to more catchphrases from bygone TV shows, a little more cockney rhyming slang and then I asked if he knew of a cheap hotel in the old medina, all whilst trying to ride slow enough for Kev, on his newly named Munchy, to keep up with us."Follow me please. No worries mate".
Hubbly Bubbly
Even although we both knew he would make a bit of commission from us anyway he could, we followed Abdul straight to a cheap hotel (approx £6 per night for a room each) on the edge of the main square in the old medina. That was good enough. There was a lock up garage opposite the hotel that was safe enough for us to leave our bikes in overnight (approx £1 per night) The rooms we basic but so was our transport so it suited us fine. We have to have seperate rooms, which although more expensive, means that I can get a good nights sleep away from the excessively loud snoring jaws of Kev.
Curly Wurly
Tetouan is a pleasant town. It has a european feeling to it so was an easy town to get to know and an easy introduction to Morocco. It wasn't on our original destination but as mentioned earlier, Munchy was not in good shape so we stopped earlier than planned. This is not to say my vespa was in good shape either. I too had problems with my ride although they did not seem as bad as Kevs. Unfortunatly Kev is not with me at the time of writing to elaborate or defend himself on this subject because at the moment, he seems to be attached via a large rubber band to the hotel toilet. No sooner has he stepped out of the hotel, than he quickly springs back inside again, doing his David Blaine vanishing act. (which he also taught me but that comes a little later in the saga).
Mr. Whippy
Chocolate sprinkles
We eventually found the mechanic we were told was the best and biggest. We had been searching all over town for this garage, walking for what seemed like miles, asking strangers if they knew the whereabouts of the big, one and only, motorcycle mechanic. After searching for two days we found him, almost at the bottom of the street where we were staying, just three or four minutes walk away from the hotel. All the maps that were drawn for us (a series of straight lines and a picture of a bus), all the directions we were given (this way for 3 or 4kms), were all pretty useless. We found it more by chance than by being pointed in the right direction.
Pebble dash
Again, as Kev is not here to tell the story, heres what I believed happened at the mechanics...
Kev took his Munchy to the garage. The mechanic listened to the running engine. He then laughed. The mechanic then shouted to his colleagues to come and have a laugh, sorry I mean, look, at this weird bike. They laughed. More people came, shook there heads, murmurred the arabic equivalent of "Oh dear. No chance" and laughed some more.
In local arabic, the mechanic told Kev that, "If it was a camel he would shoot it, sell the carcass to the local tannery and with the profit, buy himself a small glass of coffee".
We believe that new bearings were fitted but its anybodies guess as the language barrier became as high as the price to fix it. That said, the mechanic worked extremely fast, putting aside the other mototbikes in his garage, to help Kev get back on the road asap.
Plastered
So, Munchy had been fixed. Or at least operated on to make him feel better. (Actually I'm not entirely sure if Munchy is a boy or a girl. I'll let you know) This meant we could continue on our journey to Chefchaouen, in the Rif mountains, a further 60km from Tetouan. This should only take about 1 hour maximum but took a little longer than that as Munchy was still recovering from his operation. As for my Vespa...(as yet - no name, but the carrot cruncher was a close contender).
This particular wasp was getting vertigo. It started in Spain really and very slowly got worse as we hit the Algarve. I was keeping quiet about it hoping it would miraculously get better or go away. Well it didn't. It was getting worse. Along fast straights and motorways it was fine. Ticking over it was fine. It didn't like shopping around town or enjoy going uphill. Any names to suit this kind of character would be greatly appreciated. Answers on a postcard please...
As we left for yet another very short journey to the next town it was getting bad. Kev on his Munchy would/could not exceed 70kmph. Me, on my Vespa with vertigo, could not go slower than 70kmph, otherwise it would just want to splutter to a snails pace. So when a hill showed itself I had to almost literally take a good fast run up to it to make it to the top. While Kev slowly but surely crawled his way to the top. This was getting to be a problem as we were after all going into the mountains.
Hammered
We arrived in Chefchaouen after about two hours. I arrived first, done the customary, "Wait for Kev routine", followed by the "Got bored waiting for Kev routine", then finished with a, "I' ll have to meet him at the hotel we agreed to meet at, should we get split up routine". The reason I only waited for 5 minutes instead of 10 minutes was because the local big boys kept asking how much my scooter was worth. Not, "Do you want to buy some hash"? Or, "You want hotel"? or even, "Come to my shop and see some blankets", but " How much is this worth"? This was a little worrying since I have no insurance against theft. So naturally I legged it, or should I say, limped it, uphill in search of the hotel we planned to stay in.
Spannered
What I was about to try and do was take the stupidest path into the heart of the old medina I could imagine. Some paths were quite steep and all were very narrow, with some high steps that the scooter could not clear without being lifted slightly. For my Vespa that suffers from vertigo, it was all too much and it decided to stop going up any more hills. Luckily, as the young kid sitting on the back of my Vespa had lots of friends shouting his name as he rode past on the passenger seat, they all helped me push the scooter uphill.
I say helped.
They pushed the scooter, not necassarily in the right direction but they were all happy enough to try and help.
I finally hit a downhill path were I 'bumped' the vespa back into action and made it to the centre of town. I found the hotel we agreed to meet at. Haggled my best but it was still too expensive. By this time Kev came strolling towards me, thanked me for waiting for him, then we both looked for another hotel with easier access for motorbikes. We found a most agreeable hotel for a most agreeable price and here we are now, living da vida loca.
You get the jist
The last few days have been spent searching for some decent local produce, which proved to be harder than I imagined. There are plenty of guys offering the best of the best but it is the worst of the worst. Its ok now though. I am most happy.
The rest of the last few days have consisted of me, on the hotel roof terrace, with my Vespa engine in pieces, replacing bearings and oil seals. I said I had a problem. Oil was leaking from the crankshaft onto my stator plate. I knew I didn't do a very good job of changing the bearings and seals a few days before I left UK so I packed some spares with me and have just finished putting everything back together. The engine is back in the chassis. It started second kick, ticked over pretty well for 30 seconds, I turned it off and thats how I left it as it was getting dark.
Yawn!
So tomorrow we will go for a test drive as Kev is also uncertain that his Munchy will make it to Fes, our next planned destination.
So far we have not broken down but have just had a few "teething problems", I would say. Actually, "Routine maintenace" is a better description.
Teething problems
Nothing can stop us now. Or can it.........?
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Photos
Here is a few pictures of our journey so far....
Ami Vinocasa
El Burro
Together
Put me clobber on...
And I think about leaving
Pitstop
The tools are out after just 70km but at least we can say we made it to Spain from Portugal , even if it is only 35km away from our starting point!
The computer keeps crashing so photos will be limited to just a few.
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
Honda C90...Bulletproof? My arse
...please excuse punctuation...another dodgy foreign keyboard...pictures coming soon...
Bullet
For the first time in the history of this blog...the voice of Kev...
"I was going slow uphill so Scott could keep up and too fast downhill so Scott could not keep up ...NOT...
but then I realized that the petrol gauge was going down quicker than I was moving. I looked down and noticed petrol leaking down my leg and over the spark plug:.
I pulled over; had a fag; tightened up the screws on the carb and realised I left the locktite with the guide book.
Damn.
Carried on for another 10km. Scott went ahead without me and as he had no mirrors he did not notice me on the side of the motorway.
Again.
I took a detour to a national park as I was bored with the motorway* and waited for Scott. Ended up in the town of Palace y Villafranca at the same hotel where Scott had been waiting for me. Stroke of luck.
From the hand of Scott again...
Now I will have to finish the story.
They pulled me over and wanted to fine me countless Euros as I did not have the 2 mandatory mirrors on my scooter that they said was required by law. That was their excuse anyway. They refused to talk or understand english.
I think they were jealous that everyone was looking at my scooter and not looking at them on their "manly" motorbikes.
The 2 cops were giggling in Spanish to each other as they thought of what to write on their "On-the-spot-fine notepad".
I managed to explain in my best Spanglish that my vespa had no mirrors when it was made some 35 years ago.
"Manufacturer no fabricado", I shouted in a spanish accent, whilst pointing to the vespa.
They carefully felt their way around the legshields looking for some kind of bracket but found nothing. I prayed that they did not look under the handlebars where a bracket could be fitted.
I told them that I had ridden the vespa all the way from the UK through Portugal and Spain on my way to Algerciras, without mirrors.
This made them laugh even more and they had to let me go.
Phew!
I made a hasty get away and went to the nearest town to wait for Kevin. I arrived in Palace A something or other.....?
A crazy bus driver kept overtaking me and pointing; grinning like a spanish motorbike cop on laughing gas.
I found out he was another vespa freak and he led me to a cheap hotel where I later met up with Kevin again. He had re-appeared!
Happy
After we had some food; I pulled out a 20 euro note to pay; expecting lots of change; the owner took the lot; then he must have felt guilty he had ripped us off and gave us a "free" glass of ? fairy liquid? So nice...
...NOT...
I awoke to find (eventually) Kevin fixing his carb; again. With loctite this time.
We continued towards Algerciras to catch the ferry to Morocco. Kev was listening to drum n bass on his MP3 player then realised it was not drum n bass at all but his engine banging and knocking.
We got split up again in Jerez de la Frontera.
Kev done his David Blaine vanishing act again; literally about 50 metres away, at the bottom of a hill, on a ring road we were on.
TV
Again I waited...and waited...this time I could easliy turn back to find him, which I did but his trick was so good he had completely vanished; even though 2 seconds ago he was right behind me. His close up work was amazing.
After trying the toy walkie talkies for a while and searching high and low I could not find him.
So what did I do? he he he!
I headed off.
Towards the road we agreed to travel on beforehand.
Candid Camera
I went on the main road which we found out Kev was not allowed on as his bike was considered a toy and not fit for fast roads such as these.
I waited at a cafe; where after 1 hour or 2 Kev pulled up with his C90 banging away like a panel beater on amphetamines. He had to take the back roads reserved for gypsies riding donkeys where he says; and I dont believe a word of it; that he saw 'lots of people fixing vespas on the roadside'.
The original plan when we left the hotel that morning was to head straight for Algerciras. As we could not travel on normal roads we had a choice at the crossroads -
Follow the old peasants road towards Algerciras or ...
take a different road that had a couple of towns on it where we could hopefully find a hotel if needed.
Russ Abbott
In true proffessional explorer style we tossed a coin to decide which road to take. We ended up heading towards a great little town by the name of Alcala de los Gazules and decided to stay there the night. It had taken us 2 days to travel about 100km. We asked an extremely helpful local by the name of Juanma )many thanks Juanma for your expert knowledge; your guided tour and friendship) for a cheap hotel.
It would have been nice to stay a little longer here as it was such a nice town but we wanted to catch that elusive ferry.
I pursuaded Kev that he should at least limp the final 60km to Algerciras so we could get on the ferry and actually make it to Morocco to prove everyone wrong.
Well; thats what we did. It took a couple of hours to travel those last few kilometres but we made it onto the ferry and arrived in Ceuta at around 2pm.
Ceuta is actually a tax free Spanish province, )ah ha ive found the commar key) so it was another 3 or 4 km to the actual Moroccan border and a further 100km to our planned destination of Chefchouean in the Rif mountains.
Funnyfanny
At the actual border we could tell straight away that we were no longer in europe and in a different continent. It had the similar hustle and bustle of some of the asian countries we have both visited before in previous lives.
Mayhem. Languages we did not understand. Not having enough time to read the guide book we managed to buy earler we did not really know what the crack was to get through the border without getting ripped off, which was not so good.
" No Insurance".
Damn. What to do? I was told by my insurers that I would have to buy insurance on the border. After asking a few people at the border I was told that this was no longer possible.
What to do?
Itchy brown eye
Kev in the meantime was at another kiosk doing the same thing )he also had no green card/insurance but the official didnt seem to notice and he had his papers stamped and went straight through.
Of course I then rapidly went to the same kiosk, got my papers stamped and also went straight through. Unfortunatly the guy who helped Kev did not like me (as I filled out the forms myself and did not give him any money).
He called me a, "Bad man".
This little "hustler" also knew I did not have any insurance and threatened to tell the border officials this before I managed to enter Morocco.
"Ok.You win. How much do you want"? I said.
"10 Euros", was the reply.
I retalliated, "10 for that, you must be mad".
We agreed on 5 Euros. I only had a 20 euro note but he politely gave me 15 euros change and I promptly got on my scooter and was about to ride off quick. The alternative was to leave the scooter at the border with Kev, jump in a taxi with this little hustler )I use the word 'hustler' lightly) and drive 35km to get insurance. No chance.
Then next, the border official who was checking that the papers were stamped correctly etc noticed something was wrong with my documents.
Uh-oh!
All the time Kev had been patiently waiting just 10 metres away in Morocco proper, on his C90 ready to go.
"Where did you get these papers stamped"? asked the border official.
I had to lead him to the booth where I got the papers stamped, fearing the worst.
Would I actually be allowed into Morocco after riding 2500km to get this far?
Would I have to go to the nearest town in a taxi to Tetouan, to get insurance at an extortionate rate?
Will we make it to the town of Chefchouean in time for supper?
Will Kevs C90 go any further?
Will I ever find out where the "open bracket" - )) is on this keyboard?
Tune in next week to find out this and more in the next episode of A Long Lay Down.
Bullet
For the first time in the history of this blog...the voice of Kev...
"I was going slow uphill so Scott could keep up and too fast downhill so Scott could not keep up ...NOT...
but then I realized that the petrol gauge was going down quicker than I was moving. I looked down and noticed petrol leaking down my leg and over the spark plug:.
I pulled over; had a fag; tightened up the screws on the carb and realised I left the locktite with the guide book.
Damn.
Carried on for another 10km. Scott went ahead without me and as he had no mirrors he did not notice me on the side of the motorway.
Again.
I took a detour to a national park as I was bored with the motorway* and waited for Scott. Ended up in the town of Palace y Villafranca at the same hotel where Scott had been waiting for me. Stroke of luck.
From the hand of Scott again...
Now I will have to finish the story.
Excellent
*Scott: What Kev means is; he got lost. I can tell you this now, as he has had to shoot off rather quickly to the hotel toilet.
If only he went that fast on his C90.
If only he went that fast on his C90.
Trigger
Whilst waiting for Kev; riding slowly; I had been pulled over by the fuzz. Heres what happened to me;They pulled me over and wanted to fine me countless Euros as I did not have the 2 mandatory mirrors on my scooter that they said was required by law. That was their excuse anyway. They refused to talk or understand english.
I think they were jealous that everyone was looking at my scooter and not looking at them on their "manly" motorbikes.
C.H.i.P.s
I managed to explain in my best Spanglish that my vespa had no mirrors when it was made some 35 years ago.
"Manufacturer no fabricado", I shouted in a spanish accent, whilst pointing to the vespa.
They carefully felt their way around the legshields looking for some kind of bracket but found nothing. I prayed that they did not look under the handlebars where a bracket could be fitted.
I told them that I had ridden the vespa all the way from the UK through Portugal and Spain on my way to Algerciras, without mirrors.
This made them laugh even more and they had to let me go.
Phew!
I made a hasty get away and went to the nearest town to wait for Kevin. I arrived in Palace A something or other.....?
A crazy bus driver kept overtaking me and pointing; grinning like a spanish motorbike cop on laughing gas.
I found out he was another vespa freak and he led me to a cheap hotel where I later met up with Kevin again. He had re-appeared!
Re-emerging
Happy
After we had some food; I pulled out a 20 euro note to pay; expecting lots of change; the owner took the lot; then he must have felt guilty he had ripped us off and gave us a "free" glass of ? fairy liquid? So nice...
...NOT...
I awoke to find (eventually) Kevin fixing his carb; again. With loctite this time.
We continued towards Algerciras to catch the ferry to Morocco. Kev was listening to drum n bass on his MP3 player then realised it was not drum n bass at all but his engine banging and knocking.
We got split up again in Jerez de la Frontera.
Kev done his David Blaine vanishing act again; literally about 50 metres away, at the bottom of a hill, on a ring road we were on.
Audience member: "Can you pull a rabbit out of your hat"?
Magician: "No but I can pull a hair out of my bum".
Again I waited...and waited...this time I could easliy turn back to find him, which I did but his trick was so good he had completely vanished; even though 2 seconds ago he was right behind me. His close up work was amazing.
After trying the toy walkie talkies for a while and searching high and low I could not find him.
So what did I do? he he he!
I headed off.
Towards the road we agreed to travel on beforehand.
Candid Camera
I went on the main road which we found out Kev was not allowed on as his bike was considered a toy and not fit for fast roads such as these.
I waited at a cafe; where after 1 hour or 2 Kev pulled up with his C90 banging away like a panel beater on amphetamines. He had to take the back roads reserved for gypsies riding donkeys where he says; and I dont believe a word of it; that he saw 'lots of people fixing vespas on the roadside'.
The original plan when we left the hotel that morning was to head straight for Algerciras. As we could not travel on normal roads we had a choice at the crossroads -
Follow the old peasants road towards Algerciras or ...
take a different road that had a couple of towns on it where we could hopefully find a hotel if needed.
Russ Abbott
In true proffessional explorer style we tossed a coin to decide which road to take. We ended up heading towards a great little town by the name of Alcala de los Gazules and decided to stay there the night. It had taken us 2 days to travel about 100km. We asked an extremely helpful local by the name of Juanma )many thanks Juanma for your expert knowledge; your guided tour and friendship) for a cheap hotel.
It would have been nice to stay a little longer here as it was such a nice town but we wanted to catch that elusive ferry.
I pursuaded Kev that he should at least limp the final 60km to Algerciras so we could get on the ferry and actually make it to Morocco to prove everyone wrong.
Well; thats what we did. It took a couple of hours to travel those last few kilometres but we made it onto the ferry and arrived in Ceuta at around 2pm.
Ceuta is actually a tax free Spanish province, )ah ha ive found the commar key) so it was another 3 or 4 km to the actual Moroccan border and a further 100km to our planned destination of Chefchouean in the Rif mountains.
Funnyfanny
At the actual border we could tell straight away that we were no longer in europe and in a different continent. It had the similar hustle and bustle of some of the asian countries we have both visited before in previous lives.
Mayhem. Languages we did not understand. Not having enough time to read the guide book we managed to buy earler we did not really know what the crack was to get through the border without getting ripped off, which was not so good.
Empty forms to fill in were shoved in our faces.
"Park the bikes here",
"No, move them here",
"No move them there".
Helpful hustlers
Guys clutching documents, telling us we needed to fill them in, then insisting that they fill them in for us. Of course they were going to ask for a small fee to 'help' us. So me being me, I wanted to do this myself.
Meanwhile Kev had a few guys helping him fill in his details. After getting a laser to the head from the medic )checking for flu we think) I handed in all the nessacary documents to the official. I had no insurance for Morocco )no green card) and the official threw the papers back at me, " No Insurance".
Damn. What to do? I was told by my insurers that I would have to buy insurance on the border. After asking a few people at the border I was told that this was no longer possible.
What to do?
Itchy brown eye
Kev in the meantime was at another kiosk doing the same thing )he also had no green card/insurance but the official didnt seem to notice and he had his papers stamped and went straight through.
Of course I then rapidly went to the same kiosk, got my papers stamped and also went straight through. Unfortunatly the guy who helped Kev did not like me (as I filled out the forms myself and did not give him any money).
He called me a, "Bad man".
This little "hustler" also knew I did not have any insurance and threatened to tell the border officials this before I managed to enter Morocco.
"Ok.You win. How much do you want"? I said.
"10 Euros", was the reply.
I retalliated, "10 for that, you must be mad".
We agreed on 5 Euros. I only had a 20 euro note but he politely gave me 15 euros change and I promptly got on my scooter and was about to ride off quick. The alternative was to leave the scooter at the border with Kev, jump in a taxi with this little hustler )I use the word 'hustler' lightly) and drive 35km to get insurance. No chance.
No chance
Uh-oh!
All the time Kev had been patiently waiting just 10 metres away in Morocco proper, on his C90 ready to go.
"Where did you get these papers stamped"? asked the border official.
I had to lead him to the booth where I got the papers stamped, fearing the worst.
Would I actually be allowed into Morocco after riding 2500km to get this far?
Would I have to go to the nearest town in a taxi to Tetouan, to get insurance at an extortionate rate?
Will we make it to the town of Chefchouean in time for supper?
Will Kevs C90 go any further?
Will I ever find out where the "open bracket" - )) is on this keyboard?
Tune in next week to find out this and more in the next episode of A Long Lay Down.
Monday, 7 December 2009
Let the games commence
Fun
Now the fun and games commence as we left for Morocco on 3rd Dec 2009. Me, still on my trusty Vespa and Kev, finally joining me on his Honda C90. So far on this journey nothing of interest has happened to me, Kev, his van or the scooter.
On the Vespa, I ve travelled just over 2000km, averaging around 333km a day, riding for about 4 or 5 hours a day, likewise with Kev in his nice warm van, listening to his stereo, smoking tabs and that.
But now, with Kev ditching his van in Luz and finally getting on his C90, things start to get a little more interesting.
Games
In Luz, at Johns villa where we stayed for a week or so....many thanks to John by the way for letting us use his place...Kev transformed the place into a mini Mike Bavins ( a local motorbike workshop) and had his C90 up on a makeshift platform to prepare his bike.
Modifications included changing the oil 3 times,
stripping the carb a few times,
fitting a grill on the headlight which he later decided to take off in the end.
He also had another C90 there which was used for spares which I believe once belonged to Tom who is off on yet another C90 from John O Groats to Lands End sometime next year. Catch up with him here http://www.jogle.co.uk/
Olympic
I also decided to get my scooter up on the platform to change the oil and prepare the vespa. I changed the oil as planned, checked the nuts and bolts were all tight etc which they were.
I did not really know what else to do to it as it was running fine.
I wiped off the bugs that were splattered across the front.
What I did end up doing was bending the front mudguard getting it off the platform.
Nevermind. Probably the first of many knocks and scrapes to come.
A few days later, as I was sure there must be something I could do to the scooter to make it a little better, I decided to clean the cylinder head and piston which I found out was built up with coke.
Whoopee!
That was that.
Marathon
So we set off for Morocco. Spain is only about 30km from where we were staying in Portugal so our aim was to get at least to the other side of Seville and if the going was good and if we had time, head straight for the ferry at Algerciras which was an ambitious +500km ish away
Snickers
We left Luz de Tavira in Portugal at 12pm on 3rd Dec.
After 50km, in Spain, about 1 hour into what I would class as the start of the trip, I pulled over on the side of the road to see Kev with his toolkit out, holding a screwdriver and shaking his head.
Oh dear. So soon already?
His carb was coming loose and was leaking petrol if he went over 70kmph.
We soon got going again and making our way to Seville. My scooter did not enjoy going so slow, especially uphill so I overtook him uphill and let him overtake me downhill.
A few kilometres before Seville he did not overtake me.
So I waited....and I waited...and I waited...
Hmmmm? He could not have been that far behind but I could not see him.
I think his carb must still be playing up. I had to keep moving as we were on a motorway and those Spanish motorcycle cops I kept seeing needed some money to buy their kids Xmas presents. So I carried on at a very slow speed towards the road we agreed to meet on should something like this happen.
Knackers
I will leave you all in suspense now as I need some food and a coffee. Tomorrow, if Kev has had time to write anything for me to type into this blog, I will tell the rest of the story. It is getting more interesting believe me.
Au revoir
mange tout, mange tout
Now the fun and games commence as we left for Morocco on 3rd Dec 2009. Me, still on my trusty Vespa and Kev, finally joining me on his Honda C90. So far on this journey nothing of interest has happened to me, Kev, his van or the scooter.
Boring
On the Vespa, I ve travelled just over 2000km, averaging around 333km a day, riding for about 4 or 5 hours a day, likewise with Kev in his nice warm van, listening to his stereo, smoking tabs and that.
But now, with Kev ditching his van in Luz and finally getting on his C90, things start to get a little more interesting.
Games
In Luz, at Johns villa where we stayed for a week or so....many thanks to John by the way for letting us use his place...Kev transformed the place into a mini Mike Bavins ( a local motorbike workshop) and had his C90 up on a makeshift platform to prepare his bike.
Modifications included changing the oil 3 times,
stripping the carb a few times,
fitting a grill on the headlight which he later decided to take off in the end.
He also had another C90 there which was used for spares which I believe once belonged to Tom who is off on yet another C90 from John O Groats to Lands End sometime next year. Catch up with him here http://www.jogle.co.uk/
Olympic
I also decided to get my scooter up on the platform to change the oil and prepare the vespa. I changed the oil as planned, checked the nuts and bolts were all tight etc which they were.
I did not really know what else to do to it as it was running fine.
I wiped off the bugs that were splattered across the front.
What I did end up doing was bending the front mudguard getting it off the platform.
Nevermind. Probably the first of many knocks and scrapes to come.
A few days later, as I was sure there must be something I could do to the scooter to make it a little better, I decided to clean the cylinder head and piston which I found out was built up with coke.
Whoopee!
That was that.
Marathon
So we set off for Morocco. Spain is only about 30km from where we were staying in Portugal so our aim was to get at least to the other side of Seville and if the going was good and if we had time, head straight for the ferry at Algerciras which was an ambitious +500km ish away
Ambitious
Snickers
We left Luz de Tavira in Portugal at 12pm on 3rd Dec.
After 50km, in Spain, about 1 hour into what I would class as the start of the trip, I pulled over on the side of the road to see Kev with his toolkit out, holding a screwdriver and shaking his head.
Oh dear. So soon already?
His carb was coming loose and was leaking petrol if he went over 70kmph.
We soon got going again and making our way to Seville. My scooter did not enjoy going so slow, especially uphill so I overtook him uphill and let him overtake me downhill.
A few kilometres before Seville he did not overtake me.
So I waited....and I waited...and I waited...
Hmmmm? He could not have been that far behind but I could not see him.
I think his carb must still be playing up. I had to keep moving as we were on a motorway and those Spanish motorcycle cops I kept seeing needed some money to buy their kids Xmas presents. So I carried on at a very slow speed towards the road we agreed to meet on should something like this happen.
Knackers
I will leave you all in suspense now as I need some food and a coffee. Tomorrow, if Kev has had time to write anything for me to type into this blog, I will tell the rest of the story. It is getting more interesting believe me.
Au revoir
mange tout, mange tout
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