Despite the party the night before, we were up with the skylark. We wanted to try and get as close to Gibraltar as we could before the day was through. We had a lot of miles between us and home and as we wanted to take in Gibraltar, The Millau Bridge in France and call in on Brendan then we knew we had to get the daily average up. We also didn't want to have to do all of the trip from here to Calais on motorways but a high proportion was going to be inevitable if we were going to stay on track.
We wanted to avoid having to extend the holiday into the third week, so the available time was limited.
Added to this was the fact that I really didn’t fancy the ferry back from St. Malo to Poole and was thinking of trying a shorter crossing. I had phoned Frances, my wife, back in the UK and set her the task of seeing what was available on the Wonder-Web. She beavered away looking at all of the available options. It turned out that just about the best deal was the Channel Tunnel.
The added bonus was that the likelihood of seasickness via this route was reduced to zero! This appealed to me a lot. The downside was that it meant more miles and more expense. But the “one for all and all for one” spirit prevailed and we all agreed that this was the plan.
We wanted to avoid having to extend the holiday into the third week, so the available time was limited.
Added to this was the fact that I really didn’t fancy the ferry back from St. Malo to Poole and was thinking of trying a shorter crossing. I had phoned Frances, my wife, back in the UK and set her the task of seeing what was available on the Wonder-Web. She beavered away looking at all of the available options. It turned out that just about the best deal was the Channel Tunnel.
The added bonus was that the likelihood of seasickness via this route was reduced to zero! This appealed to me a lot. The downside was that it meant more miles and more expense. But the “one for all and all for one” spirit prevailed and we all agreed that this was the plan.
BACK OVER THE BORDER INTO SPAIN
Off we set along the motorway, past Faro and back towards Espania. Before long, we were on the Bridge over the Rio Guadiana, the border. From here, I would be able to see the dockside workshops where my friendly rack repairer worked!
Onwards towards Seville and then, we needed to take a different motorway towards Jerez and Cadiz and along the coast towards Gibraltar.
Onwards towards Seville and then, we needed to take a different motorway towards Jerez and Cadiz and along the coast towards Gibraltar.
The temperature was getting hotter and hotter and, even though I had always said I wouldn’t, I found myself riding in shorts and T shirt. I was not alone! It was now the low thirties and we climbed a long hill on the outskirts of Seville just before we had to negotiate the interchange with the motorway to Jerez.
That’s when it happened….
I was leading when, all of a sudden, my bike gave a clunk and felt as if it had jumped out of gear. I dropped to fourth and let out the clutch. No power at all. Nothing. I pulled over onto the hard shoulder and Henry and Bill pulled in behind me.
I explained the symptoms and we tried the electric start. The engine seemed to be turning over faster than normal. I tried the kick start things seemed too easy. Henry whipped out the plug and confirmed the fact. No compression. The tappet cover was the next thing he removed and we discovered the exhaust push rod was adrift. Off with the tank and off with the exhaust rocker cover and we found that the exhaust valve had seized in the open position. Henry managed to get to push rod back in place by de-adjusting and re-adjusting it.
Then, as we were thinking about what to do and as the engine began to cool down a little, the valve began to creep back. Before long, we had some compression back and, hey presto, it started! It turned out (we think) that the heat, the 3 mile long up-hill pull and the fact that my oil was a little low had caused the problem. Henry said that it was a known problem with this engine and was one of the reasons that the PAV port had been placed in the head from the exhaust pipe to cool the valve slightly. The fact that I had removed and blanked off the PAV port was another matter!
We were just about to start putting things back together when, up drew the Guardia Civil (Traficō Divisiōn) [Motorway Police to the you]. Bill ran over to them before they could get out of the car. He waved two fingers at them (yes, those two fingers) and shouted “We’ll only be a couple of minutes chaps”.
They both got out of the car, looking as menacing as could be. Gaucho moustaches, sun glasses, hats pulled low and guns on hips they swaggered over to us.
“Christ” I thought. “Where’s Clint Eastwood when you need him?”
All that was missing was the “Ting” of spurs on their boots. They brushed Bill aside and made their way over to Henry and me at the disassembled bike.
I babbled that we had fixed the problem and were nearly finished….. The driver waved his hand as if to say “silence”. He looked past me and approached the bike.
“Zis bike, ........... she has many, many years, si?”
Bugger me if the Enfield hadn’t done it again. Anyone who’s ever ridden an Enfield in recent times will attest to the amount of attention that they mistakenly think is being paid to them when it is really the bike that sucks people in! I suppose it’s a bit like Peter Stringfellow when he’s on the beach with his missus. They couldn’t have been more helpful. They even gave us directions to the nearest garage so I could top up with some oil.
We motored onwards to a campsite at a place called Conil De La Frontera. As with most of the site we had found, it was “Hobson’s Choice” and this time, it seemed that we had landed in the middle of a rave. It seems that if you’re a young Spaniard then the thing to do on a Saturday night is to go camping and do the music / drinking / jiggy-jiggy thing. Ah well……bless.
ANOTHER DAY - ANOTHER SITE
I went into town and got some provisions for dinner and breakfast. Chicken curry & rice and more pork and paprika bangers for breakfast. It seemed that Henry had pitched his tent in what used to be the main short-cut to the toilets and showers. He did the only thing that a Brit abroad could do, in the circumstances. He erected several garrotte lines at various heights to make sure that he didn’t miss out the people that were vertically challenged! There were many shrieks and squeals that evening followed by shouts of “Serves you bloody-well right” and “Get orf moi land!”. Ray Mears would have been so proud. It’s lucky Henry didn’t catch someone out who was sprinting to the bog with their “brown light” flashing.
HENRY'S FIRST GAROTTE LINE
BILL AT WORK - NOTE THE ONE BEHIND THE TREE!
STATSISTICS - DAY 9
245 miles Portimao – Conil De La Frontera
1781 miles in total
Average 198 miles per day
