THE ENFIELD STRIKES BACK

PROLOGUE

2007-09-14T15:20:00.001+01:00

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A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there existed a British Motorcycle Industry.It had been present at the birth of Motorcycling and had spawned many exciting developments along the way.

However, it had managed to push its head so deeply into the sand that the first thing it knew about any real competition to its existence was when it felt a deep, violating stabbing coming from its exposed rear.

Still its head stayed down and almost without exception, it withered and perished leaving little more than blue plaques on walls where once monolithic factories had produced great machines that thundered off of production lines.

Then, from over a distant horizon came a once familiar sound. At first, some thought it to be the ghost of Keith Moon keeping the beat on his Bass Drum. Others thought it was the sound of Thor and Woden battling it out in the heavens above.

"Dub-Dub-Dub-Dub" On and on it went. Getting closer and closer, - yet still oh-so-distant.

Then, from a garage forecourt, somewhere on the A38, came there came a plaintive cry.

"Quick, - Mother, throw some sand on the forecourt, I can hear an Bullet, and it's coming this way!"

Few had remembered that, at the closing of an Empire, the very technology that had caused the demise of the Industry had been exported to the only nation who could be trusted to keep the dream alive and carry on like the Sorcerer's Apprentice making the same old thing, in the same old way, because no one said to do otherwise.

THE BIKE THAT INDIA FELL IN LOVE WITH

India had been making bikes based on the machine that they had admired and chosen for their Armed Forces and Police so many years ago. Now manufactured to the highest of standards with CNC machining and even tightening up some of the nuts and bolts. They were now being rewarded with being able to find a ravenous market back in "Dear Old Blighty".

So many people are proud to be able to own a link to such a worthy inheritance but sadly many of them only get used as "Garage Ornaments" and for physiotherapy by over-polishing with "Magic Cloths" and potions.

This is the record of three variants of the saviour being taken on a 4500 mile expedition from the UK to the southernmost tip of the European mainland – Gibraltar,..........and then back again.

INTRODUCTIONS

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SMOKEY BILL

Bill has a 350 Enfield which he is loath to give up as it is the reasoning behind his nick name.

It is rumoured that he is going to switch to anthracite in it as a fuel to assist the current climate problems.

The bike that Bill took to Europe was an Enfield Bullet 500 electric start. He bought it for a few hundred quid in several baskets and proceeded to resurrect it from the floor up. The fact that it generally held up for a 4000+ mile trek is testimony to his skills and confidence as a mechanic.

These skills are second only to his ability as a rider. Now, if only he had longer legs and could reach the floor when he stops.......

BILL AND HIS W650 KWACKER

I apologise for having to use a picture with a Kawazaki in it on a Blog about Enfields but, as you will see as this Blog continues, this is the only incident, on record, where Bill is smiling.

PRINCE HENRY OF ROCKHAMPTON

Henry is the proprietor of Price Parts Motorcycles and it was his stupid idea to go on this trip.

For those who don't know Henry, he supplies an excellent service in all aspects of anything Enfield and, I have to say that, to watch him set about fixing a non running, fully loaded bike, spanners and oil flying all over the place, in temperatures of 35 degrees, while you and your mate wander across the road and have an ice cold beer is truly a sight to behold.

HENRY GETTING LONELY BOB OUT OF THE CLAG

Henry's daily hack is a Royal Enfield Lightning 535 with many mods. Samarat rockers, lightweight piston, rollerbearing big end, upgraded oil pumps, en-suite panniers..... the list goes on and on. It's more of a work in progress considering that Henry rarely has less that six bikes ready to go in his workshop and enough spares on the shelf to build another six.

The one mod that Henry did to his Lightning for the trip was to copy my mod by removing the twin seat and fit the "fat arse" U.S. style sprung solo seat. To this is added a piece of sheepskin.

You may laugh but no more "Enfield Arse"!

TINY TIM

Yours truly from Chepstow, South Wales. I've had an Enfield, of one sort or another for about 5 years and recenty went for the Electra with the alluminium lean burn engine.

My bike had done 6000 miles before we departed and has had a Delorto 32 m.m. carb, unrestricted Hitchcock’s exhaust and a Goldie silencer fitted along with the single seats (and sheepskin cover)

The rack has a large top box and large hard cased panniers attached to the sides. But more of that later.....

YOUR'S TRULY WITH HIS MOBILE CARTHORSE

I also had my Tom Tom Sat Nav with the maps for Western Europe. We decided that, rather than be led by the nose for the whole trip, we'd use the Sat Nav to get us out of the clag when we got lost beyond redemption.

I'd installed a weatherproof 12-volt cigarette socket into the battery cover to power the Sat Nav, Mobile Phone and Ipod chargers.

PREPARATION

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All three of the bikes were extensively serviced prior to departure to the extent that even when wheels were removed for tyres, tubes and tapes, wheel bearings were replaced. It's much easier to do something like this at one's leisure than on a fully loaded up bike in the heat of the noon-day sun somewhere.

Henry made use of his copious panniers to take as many spare as he thought we might need and could manage to squeeze in. On top of this, I had spare cables, tubes, a mini compressor, and as many tools as I could manage. Bill had one of his wife's old leather handbags with a selection of tools, a compact, comb and a lipstick! Now there's confidence for you. He must have thought he was going to get lucky at some point.

Henry and I both had cycle computers fitted to allow for a more accurate record of mileage and speeds etc. We had enough cable ties to tow a small ship, various nuts and bolts and, most importantly, full breakdown and repatriation cover.

We had all bought camping gear. Bill's first atempt at a tent was a £12.99 thing from Argos. It turned out to be the sort of thing you might buy for the kids to use in the garden on a Sunday afternoon. He had a "try-out" in it and found it was more akin to a canvas coffin. Henry and I had also bought weatherproof "stuff bags" which proved invaluable.

Added to that was a liberal amount of bungees, super glue, magic metal, liquid gasket, copper grease, spark plugs, insulating tape, rabbits foot....... and we were good to go.

FRIDAY 29th JUNE 2007

2007-09-14T15:17:00.000+01:00

WE'RE OFF!

I woke early (no surprise) and set off from Chepstow to meet up with Bill and Henry at Price Parts U.K. Headquarters at Rockhampton, Thornbury.

I got as far as the Severn Bridge and decided that I didn't have my mobile!
Back to base, only to discover that I had it all along! Too many pockets.

I MAKE IT TO HENRY'S

I arrived at Henry's at 8 o'clock. Ric was there and was going to accompany us to the Ferry at Poole and make sure that we really went.

RIC REFUELING

BILL CAN'T GET OFF

Bill arrived 10 minutes later and couldn't dismount unaided. Good job he wasn't going on his own.

After a passport and ticket check, we set off in the direction of Poole via Bath and the A350. We got as far as Bathampton, south of Bath when we ran into one of the many monsoon-like storms that this summer has brought us. Despite stopping to don waterproofs, I was soaked through to the skin within two miles. The rain lasted for almost an hour and then, brilliant sunshine started to dry us out.

What a site we must have made, four steaming Herberts heading for the coast!We arrived at the Ferry Terminal at Poole at 11 o'clock. I changed out of my "shower proof" coat and Kevlar lined strides and hung them both out to dry on the bike.

THE THREE AMIGOS

After a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, we boarded the Sea Cat Ferry and, with a wave to Ric we were off!

MY SHIP'S COME IN AT LAST

We parked the bikes on the car deck and stewards arrived to lash them down with ratchet straps. Perhaps they anticipated bad weather? We had booked reclining seats for the trip and, made our way from the car deck to the stern cabin where the recliners were. We were shown to our seats by another steward.

He returned a few minutes later and asked an elderly Gent and his Thai Bride for their tickets. They'd tried to blag two spare recliners and had no intention of paying any extra and told the steward so. Off went the steward and returned with a very hard faced officer. He explained without any emotion, that if the Gent didn't either (a) move or (b) pay the surcharge for the seats, he, and his wife, would be forcibly removed by members of the crew and his car would be off-loaded when the Ferry returned from France. Tomorrow!

I've rarely seen a wallet open so fast.

After a long blast on the ship's horn, we were off. Out of the harbour, past Brownsea Island and out into the channel.

That's when it happened.....

First the cold sweats, then the churning of the stomach. Five minutes at the toilet sink told me that this wasn't going to be a five minute thing!

I made it out onto the deck and, after carefully testing the wind direction (once a boy scout.....), spent the next five hours making a fine effort to try and turn myself inside-out. I became soaked from head to toe in sea spray but was welded to the ship's rail.

The steward came out onto the deck. "Sir,… sir… are you OK?"

I muttered a reply through a mouthful of drool and, of course, he couldn't make out my reply and so repeated his question. "Sir,… sir… are you OK sir?"

I turned to him and, mid hurl, tried again to make myself clear "Look mate, just F*** OFF and leave me alone to die. There's a good chap!"

Bill told me that, when he came back inside, the Officer asked the steward "How's the passenger on the deck?"

"I don't think he feels very well at all sir. I think he's rather ill." came the reply. Bill nearly split his sides when I told him the other side of the story later.

We stopped at Guernsey on the way which offered some respite. Then the last lap to St Malo. Back to the rail and situation normal. The steward came out again and forced a coat on me. Apparently the Captain could see me from the bridge and was concerned about hypothermia!

Then I spotted it.

" LAND HO!" I managed to mumble waving a shaky finger at the horizon. Just how must real sailors feel after weeks at sea?

Back inside to find that almost everyone had been ill. The waste bins were full of sick bags. At least I'd recycled mine to the fish. Cod anyone?

Down to the car deck on legs of jelly. I managed to get underway on the bike.

That's when it happened…..

I fell straight over on the greasy car deck. So glad I bought the Crash Bars from Price Parts! Got the bike back up and made it out of the ship, only to find that Bill was lying on his side behind me down on the car deck. They wouldn't let Henry or me back onto the boat to help him, even though we protested that he was our Granddad!

With help from the stewards he emerged with only a bent footrest to show for his trouble. Henry jumped on it several times and un-bent it. I'm so glad we brought a skilled mechanic with us!

We decided that, given the way we (I) felt, camping tonight was out of the question. Henry looked up the address of a local "Formula 1" lodge. I hooked up the Sat Nav and Ozzy Ozbourne took us "straight F…F…F***ing" there.

SATURDAY 30th JUNE 2007

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The plan was to make an early start. That's what I like about plans, they change! We checked the bikes over and got underway around 9.30. It was overcast and spitting with rain so Rubber Knickers were the order of the day. We made our way past Rennes and generally south via dual carriageways and Motorway standard roads. This let us keep good average speeds (for Enfields).Fuel ran low so we pulled off the main drag and searched out a filling station. Refueled, got a replacement stop and tail lamp for Henry and off we went.

MR. GRUMPY?

That's when it happened…..
I led off from the petrol station and went back up the hill towards the dual carriageway. The look on the face of the poor little girl on her moped coming down the hill and round the bend on the same side of the road as me was epic!
Oops!A quick swerve and a look in the mirrors told me that Bill and Henry were too close for me to be able to deny that one.
'Pas de Problem!
The further south we got, the more the weather improved. Rubber Knickers were gone and we looked out a spot for lunch. We found a Spar Shop and loaded up on bread cheese and ham. We dined like Kings. Henry and Bill both crashed out on the grass and were snoring in unison!

ZZZZZZZ!

Half an hour later, we resumed towards Angoleme and from there, turned off towards Perignac and Mike Scott's palace. We turned on the Sat Nav and, after it sent us on two wild goose chases, we ended up on the right road.
I had no actual address for Mike's place, only a picture of the village church taken from his place. So we parked the bikes in the square and revved them up for a minute or two. That soon brought Mike out. It reminded me of the Tiger Tank scene from Kelly's Heroes!

MIKE'S PLACE IN PERIGNAC

We parked the bike in one of Mike's Barns and headed for the "fsst" sound of beer being opened.Mike's place was very welcoming after a day in the saddle. I felt like crap, especially after the trip on the ferry and then the ride down to Mikes. Those who know me will know how bad I must have felt when I went to bed without eating any of the fine chilli that Mike had laid on.For anyone planning a motorcycle trip in this region, I know that Mike is looking to provide accommodation at Perignac in the near future. It comes well recommended.

MIKE'S BARN

FIELD REPAIRS

STATSISTICS DAY 2
248 miles from St. Malo to Perignac
343 miles in total
Average 171.5 miles per day

SUNDAY 1st AUGUST 2007

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The next morning was a different story Mike rustled up a full English with French bangers (pork and paprika). It didn't touch the sides. Even the fried eggs were well received!
We attended to the bikes. Oil, tappets, tyre pressures etc. Only two problems turned up. Bill was now getting almost 85 m.p.g. However, he thinks if he switches to a thicker grade of oil, this figure should begin to rise a little.

There was not much that could be done about Bill’s oil consumption en route, except to keep a close eye on it to make sure it didn't run dry and to make sure that Bill rode at the back. I thought he'd left the smoke machine in Worcester?

The other problem was that Henry's bike was leaking oil from the inlet oil banjo connector. We managed to develop our first fault and it needed a copper washer which none of us had! Heads were being scratched to come up with a French translation for "copper washer".

Henry tightened things down as much as he could safely do and we all set off with Mike leading the way towards Bordeaux. This being Sunday and the fact that we were in France meant that we had almost as much chance of finding a free lunch as finding a copper washer shop. The same applies to Petrol! Strange country, France. If it's Sunday, then it's shut. Saying that, we did manage to find an unattended petrol station that had an automatic pump that took Visa.

We continued on through several sleepy towns and villages, most of which were made up of narrow streets with blocks of houses, four or five stories high that opened out right onto the narrow pavementWe were making our way through one such "Ville"......

That's when it happened.......

Bill was riding number two as we were coming up to a set of traffic lights. All of a sudden, Bill's bike let out a thunderous backfire and the whole scene in front of me disappeared in a cloud of blue / black smoke! The volume seemed to be amplified by the proximity of the buildings.

When the smoke cleared, Bill's carb was hanging like a severed head, Several people on the pavement had their hands over their hearts. One woman had her hand over her arse. An old fellow on the other side of the road was checking his fob watch. I can only assume that he thought that the noon day gun had gone off early? Two minutes later, the carb was re-attached and we were underway again.

We rode on as we had agreed, two hours or so, followed by a ten minute break. After a while, we found a converted petrol station that sold filled baguettes. That was lunch sorted. Oil levels were checked and we topped up Bill's bike, again. It had earned the nick-name "Amoco Cadiz" due to the amount of black stuff it was losing.

We rode through the French countryside with fields of sunflowers watching over us. Before we reached Bordeaux, Mike waved us off and headed back for Perignac.

We missed our turning as we approached Bordeaux and ended up riding right through the centre of the city. What a nice mistake to make. A lovely place. We hooked up the Sat Nav and we were soon winging our way out of Bordeaux, going south towards Biarritz.

The weather was getting warmer and the countryside was getting more rural. We were riding on a Motorway class road (the N10) through beautiful pine forests with mile upon mile of fragrant yellow flowered Broom.

LE MAGIC CLOTH

We took a break at one of the many picnic areas that are to be found along the road. Henry sparked up his petrol primus time-bomb and we soon had a cuppa in our hands. After a leak and another check of the bikes, we started to put our coats and helmets back on.

We decided that, as time was marching on, we would ride for about another hour and then look for a camp site. As I was sorting out my Ipod, Bill started his bike and started to tootle off. Henry and I discussed the pros and cons of music and riding for a minute and then we started up and made for the slip road to find Bill.

Thats's when it happened......

Bill was nowhere to be seen. Henry and I couldn't believe that he'd just blasted off down the motorway without us? I did a quick tour of the picnic area to see if he was about. Still no Bill. So we set off blindly down the motorway to see if we could find him.

We had, up to now, kept our speeds to around 50 or so. I set off at around 75 / 80 for 20 minutes to catch him up. Still no Bill. I had passed several services and Pit-Stops and slowed down as I passed each one to have a good look out for him. After 20 minutes, I stopped on the hard shoulder, just before an exit and waited for Henry. We decided that I'd wait on the motorway bridge and Henry would retrace our steps checking each Pit-Stop and junction along the road to see if he could flush him out. I got my bike up onto the bridge and Henry set off North bound. I managed to get my bike up onto the narrow pavement on the bridge, to get it off the road and to let it act as a beacon to Bill.

Then, as I tried to dismount, I lost balance and both me and the bike were lying in the road! I managed to crawl clear and some kind soul stopped and helped me get it back upright again.

Time was passing and I had doubts that we would ever regain contact with Bill this side of home. Bill had a mobile phone but didn't have any credit on it, let alone have it configured to work in France. The only logical thing I could think that he might do is to do the E.T. thing and phone home!

I decided to call Naomi, Bill's wife, and see if he had called.
"Hello Naomi, It's Tim"
"Oh - I'm fine thanks, and you?"
“The weather, oh it’s wonderfull…”
"Oh yes, were all OK thanks........except......"
"We seem to have lost Bill,..... a little bit!"

Everything considered, I think she was very calm. She promised to call me if he called her and I told her I'd let her know when (meaning “if”) we found him. Henry returned about an hour later and we decided that there was little more we could do so we said that we would carry on down the motorway and look for a camp site. We were both glum, the three were now two.

All-in-all, it had now been some 90 minutes since we'd last seen Bill. We set off south and after about 20 minutes I saw an exit which said fuel (I was getting low) and camping. I indicated right and checked behind to make sure Henry saw it.

Then, just as I was running up the slip road, there he was. The silly old sod! Bike parked on the edge of the slip road, Bill was sat on the armco barrier like a Garden Gnome! As we came to a halt and got off, Bill proceeded to bollock us.

"Where the blazes have you two been, I've been waiting here for ages?"
I didn't know whether to hug him or just kick him off the armco and down into the ditch! We got back on our bikes and set about following the signs for "Camping Lou Payou"

CAMPING LOU PAYOU

The site was less than a mile from the junction and was a small family run site that was almost empty. The unforeseen problem was that they had used sand to make up the tracks on the site and the top-heavy bikes didn't like it one bit. Once we allowed for it we managed without dropping any of the bikes.
We decided that the tents could wait a bit. We set about making Bill fluent in the necessary French phrases.
Bill approached the shop / reception / cafe.

"Trois beers s'il vouz plait mamoiselle....... por favour, thank you"

Well he came back with three cold ones so - success. We were about to down in one when Bill stopped us. "Toast!" he cried.

GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU 'THE QUEEN'

Beer always tastes better when the sun's out. After a couple more, we set about making camp and getting some nosh underway.

We phoned Naomi and put her mind at rest. She made me promise that we would make sure that Bill was "the meat in the sandwich" from now on.

IT'S TALL BUT NOT VERY WIDE?

The tents went up without too much trouble and we dined on Bully Beef and Beans from our supplies with French bread from the shop along with a bottle or two of red stuff.

STATISTICS DAY 3
201 miles from Perignac to Camplig Lou Payou
544 miles in total
Average 181 miles per day

MONDAY 2nd AUGUST

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We awoke to rain on the tents. Depressing. Wet tents to put away and wet roads to ride on. But, by the time we were up and dressed, the rain had passed and the tents were dry enough after a good shake.

More beans for breakfast. That should help to keep the fuel bill down for the bikes! We packed away and paid our bill at the site and headed for the local garage to fill up.

Bugger me if Monsieur Price didn’t disappear into the garage with the French mechanic and reappear with “une rondelle de cuivre” in his hand and a big beaming smile on his face (Copper Washer to you). Ten minutes later and it was fitted. We set off for the Spanish border and the Pyrenees.

GONE FISHING

After an hour of steady riding, we turned off the N10 and headed for DAX. We began to climb into the Pyrenees. We had turned off from the main drag to cross via the mountains rather than skirt around the side. The scenery was spectacular. Little did we know that, on a scale of 1 to 10 for scenery we would see on this holiday, this would score around only 3.

We continued up into the mountains, and stopped in St. Jean Pied De Port at a small supermarket to buy some lunch. Bread, cheese, ham and a fresh cooked pizza.

DINNER IS SERVED

We also bought some provisions for our evening meal. Henry almost emptied the charcuterie counter for tomorrow’s breakfast. They say you should never shop for food when you’re hungry. They must have had Henry in mind when they said that!

Then it was onwards and upwards after checking the bikes again. Before long we were able to send a text back to base-camp “The Three Amigos sing Viva Espana”. We crossed the border at a place called Luzaide. Typical French. No marking of the border, no sign, no nothing. Just a mad dog barking right in the middle of the road, right on the border.

BORDER GUARD

FRANCO / SPANISH BORDER

We took a few photos with the “Welcome to Spain” sign in the background and sent some back to Frances at base camp. She had agreed to post pictures and daily reports on the Lonely Bob Fan Club Forum. A thankless task but apparently well received. We then carried on towards Pamplona (where they do the annual bull run). Now, if it was a Bullet Run……

We started to cut across Spain in a general south west line and stopped, late in the afternoon, in a small town to refuel. It was hot, damn hot! The bikes were glowing. Henry consulted his Camping Almanac and fond a site in a small town called Noverette. I put the town name into the Sat Nav and off we went. Half an hour later, we were in the town centre and following signs that said “Camping”. We ended up on the far side of the town with no further sign of a camp site. Henry and I had a huddle to try and make some sense of the directions in his book and the layout of the town. With that, I looked up to see Bill walking across the road to two local workmen in day-glo (or dago as Bill called it) orange overalls.

“Senior, Camping por favour?”

Now we didn’t have a clue what they said but the waving hands said “Back up the way you came and first left, old cock”

Who said Bill couldn’t speak the lingo?

Ten minutes later we were booking in and five minutes after that we were making camp. We were next to the toilet block but at least that would be a blessing at 3 a.m!

TENTS UP, READY FOR A BEER

Henry went to the shop and came back with some wine. No bread, no chips! I cooked up the provisions that Henry had bought for lunch along with some Uncle Ben’s boil in the bag rice.

That’s when it happened……

I turned to tell Henry that dinner would be in about half an hour and realised he was changing from his Kevlar jeans into some shorts – in the open air! Now why he decided he had to strip of his boxers as well, I’ll never know.

Suffice to say, I now qualify for the “I’VE SEEN PRICE’S PARTS” T shirt. There are times when you would welcome a little sun blindness, this was one of them.

We sat about and enjoyed our supper and the wine. We discussed the bikes and how well they were holding up. I hoped that this wasn’t tempting fate. They were parked lose by and could clearly hear us! I’d found that the entire engine and gearbox assembly was getting so hot that I had to make sure that my boots made no contact with the alloy casing or I would get burnt – through the leather! With the higher temperatures we were experiencing, we were stopping for a cool-down break every 60 – 90 minutes. Mucho agua also.

We decided that, at the rate that Bill’s bike was using oil, there would be no need to do an oil change when we reached southern Spain. It was more like a total loss system but, apart from the expense, there was no perceived problem.

The only niggle was that Bill’s bike had developed a habit of not wanting to start for about 10 minutes when it had been stopped. We tried a new plug and that seemed to help a little.

We had an early night, or at least tried to. It turned out that the toilet block was more of a “village pump” with people congregating to “chew the cud”. I unzipped the tent and stuck my head out….. a few choice words later and silence prevailed. I knew that we would be off early in the morning and couldn’t wait to hear the three Enfields bark-up.

STATSISTICS - DAY 4
198 miles Camping Lou Payou - Noverette
742 miles in total
Average 186 miles per day

TUESDAY 3rd JULY 2007

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In the morning, we set about cooking the rations that Henry and Bill had bought in France. A dozen sausages, pork belly, beans, eggs……

Did the pre-flight checks. We were now getting into the habit of getting the tents packed away before the sun makes it much above the horizon. To do any work in under this sun was murderous.

We set off across the Spanish Plains in the direction of Castella-y-Leon, Salamanca and on towards Caceres. We stopped in a Spanish Truck stop for lunch. Now that was an experience. A combination of our lack of Spanish and the waitress’s lack of English (and patience) led to a lot of guessing and pointing. We ended up going for a plate of “Pollo” on the basis that if it was chicken then it would be edible. Jackpot. Leg of chicken (or something that once had feathers) boiled then grilled with garlic and served with a small salad and hunks of bread. We couldn’t get over the amount of beer, and harder drinks, that the Spanish lorry drivers were knocking back. We made a mental note to give them more room when they passed us at 70+ mph.

EL TRUCKO STOPPO

We got lost several times. We stopped at a garage in one town and Henry asked for directions for a supermarket. Henry came back and decided that the directions that he’d been given were no good so we set off the opposite way. We inevitably got lost and I took the lead trying to get us back on track. We went with the traffic flow around the town and 10 minutes later arrived at the garage again! We decided to abandon plans for the supermarket and I switched on the Sat Nav. We entered the destination town and set off. Another 10 minutes and another circuitous route of the town and, yes you guessed it, back to the garage! Third time lucky and we made it out of town. It was no coincidence that my Ipod was playing “Hotel California”.

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave….” Cue Guitar Solo.

South of Caceres we needed to head west overland and head for a camp site that Henry had found in his “Boy’s Own book of places to camp”. The problem was that it didn’t have an address that the Sat Nav could understand. We pulled over onto the side of the road and started doing our ritual “map spinning”, to see which way up looked the most inviting. Enter the Spanish version of white van man (Hombre blanca vano?) He spoke no English. You’d think that they’d make the effort! After a lot of preamble, we managed to tell him where we wanted to go. He gestured for us to follow him and off he went. This went on for about 5 miles when he stopped at a junction. I gathered that this was where our paths parted.

I’ve never understood why some people, even though they know you don’t speak a word of their language, proceed to give you extensive directions – in their language! We might as well have started a card school. Eventually he stopped jabbering and waving his arms around and looked at me for some form of acknowledgement.

“Si seňor, muchas gracias” (I told you I was fluent). I hit the electric boot button and left him in the dust. “Hasta la vista – baby”

We stopped a little way down the road and put the village name near to the camp site into the Sat Nav and tried to follow that. Up one mountain, down another, along a valley and up another mountain….. it went on and on.

Between the Sat Nav and me, we ended up in a very quaint cobbled village.

QUAINT VILLAGE

We rounded a corner and came upon the village church where half a dozen women were sat on a stone bench outside the church, passing the time, like you do. We stopped the bikes and Bill decided to go for directions. He approached end of the rank of old girls and bowed low .

“Bounas tardes, seňoras”. They all giggled with his attempt at their tongue. He sat on the end of the row and tried to make his acquaintance with the old girl next to him. He took her arm and tried the thread it though his.

WHICH ONE'S BILL AGAIN?

That’s when it happened…..

She upped with her walking stick and started to rain blows down on Bill as if he was the Worcester rapist! Bill made a fast exit, wishing that he’d kept his helmet on.

Despite this debacle, Henry managed to get directions and we mounted up and made a swift exit from the village before any of the men woke up. We got ourselves back onto the main road and the Sat Nav regained its marbles and soon we were back on the road to Miranda De Castena and a camp site.

We went on and on, through very mountainous but barren land with no sign of civilisation. It was getting late in the day. Soon the sun would be going down behind some of the peaks. Things were getting so bad that both Henry and I had started to eye up the hilly countryside for a flattish bit that we could pitch our tents on.

Then we saw it. A sign for a “camp site”.

We followed the signs and, a mile or two out of the hill top village we ended up at a pair of locked gates. The view beyond them was bleak! The pedestrian gate on the side was open and so, in I went.

KOMMONDANT'S OFFICE

“Si” the proprietor said, they were open and he went for the key to the gates. A worrying sign. Things went downhill from there. The proprietor’s boyfriend (seemed like a nice boy!) showed us all to our pitch, once we had passed Passport Control and Immigration. When he had decided on which pitch we could have (there was only two other parties on the entire site!) he came out with pages of typed rules for the site. Perhaps it was because we were on bikes or the fact that Henry and I hadn’t shaved since England?

I stopped paying any attention and he equally ignored me sensing that my attitude (me, attitude? as if!) wasn’t doing much for the situation.

He did however seemed to have taken rather a shine to Henry and insisted on showing him the toilet block. I offered Henry the frying pan to take with him but he assured me he would be OK. He returned 10 minutes later and didn’t seem to be walking any differently. He had had to have a demonstration on everything from “how to turn on the shower” to “which sink to use for sock washing and which sink for co** washing”. Oh, and to top it all, the bar didn’t for another two hours! That didn’t fit in with our “early to bed, early to rise” routine. Neither did the fact that the gates would not be unlocked until 9 a.m.! Thank God it was only to be one night!

I looked around for the watchtowers and guard-dog patrols. If this was Stalag 31 then there must be an escape committee?

THE BEST PITCH IN TOWN

We managed to get him to compromise and sell us some beer that we could take back to the tents and so we rustled up some supper (Fray Bentos Steak & Kidney puddings) and sat around the camp fire getting pissed. Bill serenaded us with his version of several songs sung in the fashion of a German Camp Guard. Sounds so lame now but when you outside of several bottles of beer and some wine, we were all in tears. Stupid hysterics, I suppose?

STATSISTICS - DAY 5
300 miles Camping Noverette – Miranda De Castena
1042 miles in total
Average 208 miles per day

WEDNESDAY 4th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:12:00.001+01:00

We woke early – again. Broke camp and got some coffee on the go. We were soon all packed up and waiting at the gates for the curfew to end. There was no breakfast to be had on site, The best bet was to go into the local town, Miranda Del Castinar, and find somewhere.

MIRANDA DEL CASTINAR

We rode into the town were a little early for the one and only local bar / cafe. We could have had a lie in! We parked the bikes up and sat in the shade., watching the world go by.

A-SITTIN' IN THE SHADE

And, before you ask, yes – the sky was that colour. Then, as we sat and waited, along came an old fella with a pack mule. It was nice to see that someone was loaded up more that I was.

"HEY SENIOR, I USED TO HAVE ONE OF THOSE"

NICE ASS

The cafe opened and we went in for coffee and croisants for breakfast.

BREAKFAST IS SERVED

We had a long ride ahead of us and they wouldn’t involve dual carriageways so, we knew we needed to get some miles in. Henry's Camping Bible didn't show any sites between here and Ayomonte so it was a choice of slog on or camp rough and as it was just possible to make Ayomonte on the Spainish / Portugese border before nightfall, we decided to go for it. This would mean that Henry would be in the arms of his belovėd before the day ended. We agreed a route and, after finding a petrol station (down one mountain and up another) we set off. We hadn’t travelled more that 30 minutes when we reached the top of a mountain called Portillo. The scenery was breathtaking and it was a photo opportunity.

PORTILLO MOUNTAIN

ON THE TOP

"WHERE'S ME BIKE GONE?"

YOURS TRULY

Back on the bikes and down the other side of the mountain. The hair-pins were so sharp, I swear I could have “high fived” Henry or Bill as we passed each other.

ANOTHER HAIRPIN

We rode on and on with a break every now and then until lunch beckoned. We stopped in a village and relieved the local shop of some bread, cheese, ham and tomatoes, followed by melon. It tasted very good, I have to say.

LUNCH IN THE SHADE

On we went. As the land flattened out, the roads became better and better. The surface was like a Grand Prix circuit. And the bends, well the only way I can describe it is to say that UK bend design seems to be based on a French Curve. That is to say that you never know if the bend is going to tighten up on you or open out. These bends had been drawn with a compass. Once you had set yourself for the bend, you could push yourself all the way round on the throttle. Even with all the luggage on board, I was really enjoying myself. It went on for mile after mile. It was really enjoyable.

I was leading and I thought “To hell with it, let’s have a little fun” so I began to open up a bit more and really enjoy the road. I needed to concentrate hard on the road ahead so didn’t spend much time looking behind. I knew that I had stepped up the pace a good peg or two but, there were no junctions for anyone to get lost at so, onwards! When I came to an obvious resting place I could pull over and wait there for the others to catch up.

After about 10 minutes of this, I looked in my mirror and all I could see was Smokey Bill, right up my chuff!

How the mighty are fallen! Sorry Bill, I should have known better.

We stopped for fuel again and dipped the oil. Another pint or two for Bill. Then, on we went.

We were heading south towards the coast and the coastal Motorway that goes into Portugal. We could fork off right at some point and cut the corner. We found our turning and off we went.

That’s when it really happened…..

We had about 24 miles to go to Ayomonte. Henry overtook me and flagged me down. My luggage rack had broken and everything was about to fall off! We decided that the only thing to do at this stage was off load as much as we could onto the other bikes and secure the rest up on mine as best as we could and then limp the last 24 miles.

Both of my detachable side panniers went onto Henry’s bike. My top-box and associated luggage went onto my back seat with the help of a ratchet strap (I was certainly glad I packed that!). My large bag that was on my back seat was moved to Bill’s bike.

The light was fading as we set off. I was wedged between my tank bag and the top-box, like sitting between the two humps of a camel and perched on the unsprung point of my single saddle. I still don’t know how I got on, Or off again for that matter. The fastest I felt comfortable doing was 40 m.p.h. We soon finished the “cutting of the corner” and had to join the Motorway for the last 20 miles. That was hairy. The orange sun was setting in front of us and little did we know that my bag that Bill was carrying had slipped down and was covering his back light. Anyone approaching this slow trio from behind would be blinded by the sun and could very easilly ended in disaster for us all.

But as we turned off the Motorway in Ayomonte, we saw Lesley and her friend Jan on the side of the road. They led the way to the apartment via a road with speed bumps every 50 yards. Ten minutes later we were all holding a beer as I stood waiting for the circulation to come back to my groin.

NOTE THE ANGLE OF THE RACK

HENRY, THE PACK MULE

See what happens on the same day that I make fun of an overloaded donkey?

All in all, and interesting ride.

The ladies had laid on a lovely spread and lashings of beer and wine. We sat and told tales of the travels thus far, until the small hours.

No tents tonight! Bill and I rolled out our bed rolls in the lounge while Henry had a soft bed with Lesley.

STATSISTICS - DAY 6
350 miles Miranda De Castena - Ayomonte
1392 miles in total
Average 232 miles per day

THURSDAY 5th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:11:00.000+01:00

A day off today. Plenty of phone calls and pictures sent back to Frances. I’m really jealous that Henry has Leslie here. Still, there’s lots for me to do before we can set off again. I had to get my rack repaired if I was to be able to continue.

The odd-job man for the complex gave us some vague directions to where we might get some welding done so, after a fine breakfast, Bill and I set off for the blacksmiths and the others made for the beach. We rode round and round and weren’t getting anywhere. Then, out of the blue, found ourselves stopped by the sound of an angle grinder. I popped my head in the door and found a fully functioning workshop. I approached the guy who was obviously in charge (he had clean hands) and showed him the broken rack. A bracket had broken at the weld and it needed about 3 minutes with a mig welder. If he hadn’t spoken so fast, I would now be able to tell you what the Spanish for “Sod Off, English Pig” is!

I asked him if there was anywhere else?

I think he told me to try next door. Well, not being very impressed with the level of customer insolence, I moved on up the street. Another workshop and another guy fabricating another set of gates.

In I went, with my rack and asked if he could help. He must have spent last night drinking in the same bar as the last bloke. Same speech, same hand signals. I didn’t interrupt him. I just knew that I HAD to get this rack fixed.

I put on my best “puppy dog” face and looked him smack in the eye. “Senior,” I pointed to myself and said “desperado – por favor?”. It was all I could think to say. He tutted and sighed and grabbed the rack from me. Three minutes later it was fixed, as good as new.

He shoved the rack back in my hands and I opened my wallet asking him how much? The strange thing was he wouldn’t take any money. “For a drink – beer” I gestured with my hand. He smiled and still wouldn’t take anything. Strange people. Perhaps they just like to have a heavy duty moan now and then? Not like the English, what ho?

Bill and I made several attempt to find the others on the beach but, to be honest, it was too hot to be out in the noon-day sun, even for us mad dogs. So we did the only thing that could be done, in the circumstances. We found a bar with air conditioning and had a beer. Lunch was swordfish – cooked fresh. It was scrumptious.

We made our way back to the apartment later in the afternoon and refitted the rack and luggage. It transpired that the reason that the rack had failed was that I had bracketed my panniers from the same rack meaning that it was carrying some 300% of its design load! I rearranged my luggage as best I could so that there was less weight on the back of the rack. In addition, we lashed things up with as many cable ties as we could fit on. That would have to do.

It was decided that we’d go out for dinner to a tapas bar. We ended up in more of a restaurant and dined “al fresco”

THE LADIES

THE GENTLEMEN

Plate after plate of food came to the table and we all tried a bit of everything. We wandered off around the town afterwards and just managed to catch an Italian style ice cream shop which we raided for desert.

STATSISTICS - DAY 7
Just an extra 10 miles around Ayomonte
1402 miles in total
Average 200 miles per day

FRIDAY 6th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:10:00.000+01:00

After a good night’s sleep, we set off for Portugal and to meet a friend of Henry’s named Bart in Silves, Portugal. It was Bart’s birthday and we were invited to the party! A straight ride along the motorway to Silves would have been over in less than three hours so we decided to take a more circuitous route via the mountains. We soon left the motorway and started off inland, climbing up into the hills and winding our way ever higher. The scenery was nice but nothing compared to that which we had seen on the way down to Ayomonte. We knew that a break and lunch beckoned and as we rounded a bend we came across a tavern.

TAVERNA

PLUS BEER

EQUALS SIESTA

The only problem was that they only served beer, no food! So we had a beer, well it would have been rude not to. Topped up with yet more agua. We were getting through litres of the stuff a day. Ten minutes later, Henry woke me up and we set off down the mountain.

We came across a little village and found a shop and did our “bread, cheese, ham and fruit” trick again. All eaten, sat on a bench in the shade on the side of the road in the village. Very picturesque.

We carried on down the hills, heading for a resort named Portimao where we could achieve our goal and prime directive, to have a dinner of B-B-Q’d sardines on the beach! We had looked forward to this from the early planning stages, months ago and it had become the goal for the entire trip. As Bill had said “we won’t need a map, keep the sun on your left in the morning and on our right in the afternoon and follow the scent of the sardines”.

We made Portimao mid afternoon and looked out a café / bar on the beach.

We asked expectantly for Beer and Sardines for three and looked aghast when we were told “No sardinas”. Disaster. We settled for the beer. Bill said that, when he had been to Portimao before with Naomi, there were numerous sardine stalls on the dockside where the river disappeared inland under a lattice work steel bridge. Well, I figured that as we were on the coast on the west side of Portimao, if we headed back through the town, and kept to the coast as much as we could then we would have to find the river and we would then find the bridge.

I led the way and followed my plan. For a moment, I thought It must have looked as if I knew where we were going. Just then, around a bend and voila, there was Bill’s bridge and the quayside. We parked the bikes up and surveyed the area for the sight or smell of sardines. Nothing. Bill said that the quay used to be festooned with little stalls, all cooking sardines over charcoal. Looks like the Health and Safety twats have made it to Portugal! We decided that we hadn’t come all this way to fail. Across the road from the quay was a very quaint local restaurant / bar. We ventured in. He had one of those large tanks where you can pick your lobster or crab for lunch. Henry approached the man.

One question, one word.

“Sardinas?”

“Sim” said the man, nodding his head. Another language mastered.

“One, two, three” bellowed Henry pointing to Bill, me and himself.

“Sim, sim, sim” and this time a thumbs up!

A one word language – great!

We’d already had a beer at the last place so opted for three cokes. The chef disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of bread and the back he went. He came back 5 minutes later with Octopus Salad. Now, I didn’t want to say too much about it because Henry and Bill both tucked in. I think of myself as adventurous but I couldn’t face a second fork-full.

Another 10 minutes and we had a plate of grilled sardines and potatoes to die for.

SARDINAS!

GOING DOWN A TREAT

Plenty of garlic, lemon and olive oil. A bit of careful knife work and the flesh lifted clear of the bone leaving a “Tom & Jerry” style fish skeleton. No bones to pick out of your mouth. They were well worth the ride. One of the best meals we had eaten so far.

ENFIELDS VERBOTTEN

BILL CAN'T GET INTO THE OLD COGGER'S HOME EITHER

Once we had finished, we returned to the bikes. Henry phoned Bart and got directions to a camp site. We struggled a bit but, before long we were at the gates of the best site we had seen so far. Henry went to the reception to book us in. Big problem. It turned out that it was a private site for members of the International Camping Club and that Enfields were not allowed. What prejudice. We were banjaxed.

It was getting late in the day and we had no idea where we could go. Henry decided to call Bart, his friend in Portugal whom we had come to visit. Bart knew of another site and would be with us in 10 minutes. Bill found some shade and we waited. Little did Bill know that he was sat on the steps of the local “Home for the Bewildered”.

True to his word, 10 minutes later, a black BMW car swooped around the corner and out got Bart. After the pleasantries, we all followed Bart to a site, right out on the Eastern side of town. We all checked in and Bill found a basket on the reception counter full of sweets. He was just about to hand them round when he realised that they were condoms! Perhaps I should have slipped a couple in the end of his sleeping bag? That would have set the cat among the pigeons when he got home!

We pitched our tents and had a lightning change of clothes and a quick wash. Then it was into Bart’s Beemer for the party! Out through the countryside to another town called Silves. Bart lived with his charming wife, in a two story house in town with a delightful roof garden. This was where the party was to be. Bart was from the Netherlands and his wife was from Argentina. Before the night ended, the roof garden would resemble the United Nations with people from over 8 different countries. A brand new gas B.B.Q. and a keg of beer greeted us. It turned out that they were having problems with the beer as it was serving 90% head and 10% beer! I gave them my experience from my barman days and soon, good beer with a respectable head was being produced.

THE OFFICIAL TASTER

I talked to Bart about our experience and how far we had travelled. Bart explained that he had an Enfield but that he couldn’t use it on the road at the mome3nt as it needed registering locally and he had mislaid the paperwork. I asked him if he had bought it locally.

“Oh no, I bought it in Madras” When he explained that he had then ridden it back overland via Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Turkey, Greece……… I felt very humbled. And there was me going on about a mere couple of thousand miles under my belt in civilised countryside. It made our effort seem like a walk in the park.

HENRY AND BART

A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR

Soon we were joined on the terrace by Bart’s parents, his brother and girlfriend and many more friends and acquaintances. All in all, we ended up with British, Dutch, Argentine, Brazilian, French, Portugese. It ended up more like a post Eurovision party. The party went on until the early morning and then we found that despite Bart’s best efforts, there wasn’t a taxi to be had for neither love nor money! Bart came up trumps again and ferried us back to our site in his car.

If you’re reading this Bart, thanks once again!

STATSISTICS - DAY 8
134 miles Ayomonte - Portimao
1536 miles in total
Average 192 miles per day

SATURDAY 7th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:09:00.000+01:00

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.

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.

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

SUNDAY 8th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:08:00.000+01:00

In the morning, we packed the tents away and got the bikes ready for the next dash. The bikes were being admired by a young Spanish couple in their 30’s. He was stripped to the waist and had the requisite Massey Ferguson tattoo that Harley owners the world over seem to have to wear along with the goatee and shaved head. He explained that he had a Hog but that he had come on holiday in his car, for some reason that never became clear. I explained with many hand signals and scattered Spanish that in the UK, Harley owners never wave; that they are inclined to be very elitist. He couldn’t get over this and, to be fair, was a nice chap. He then disappeared and, as if to make amends for his brethren, gave us a Harley Davidson bag which Bill now has. We thanked him and gave him that funny handshake thing that Harley owners seem to like. He was made up. He explained that he and his wife were coming to the Aces Café in 2009. I wonder if he meant the one in London or the Headquarters of the Lonely Bob Fan Club Worle?

BILL LENDS A HAND

We were waved off and, after another wrong turning or two, were soon on the way to Gibraltar via the coast road. After a few miles, we pulled over and Henry began a pre-agreed oil change routine. We agreed that bill’s bike could do without as the oil was being replenished often enough to make it not worth changing it. All went well and we cleaned up and continued on towards Gibraltar.

MORE THREE AMIGOS

WHERE'S ME BIKE?

DAVID HASSELHOFF WITHOUT HAIRPIECE

We hadn’t gone much further when Henry decided that the call of the surf was too great and we turned off to have a paddle in the Atlantic. If Leslie is reading this, only Bill and I looked at the girl with the dental floss bikini bottoms. If Naomi’s reading this it was Henry and me. If Frances is reading this, she knows it was me. Bill and I had a paddle whilst Henry went the whole hog and did his Baywatch impression. I still can’t see the resemblance to Pamela Anderson? We dried off and carried on along the coast.

THE DARK CONTINENT - NEXT YEAR?

I USED TO HAVE ONE OF THEM

As we approached Tarifa, we noticed, through the haze, the peak of the Atlas Mountains in Morocco. We could now claim that our bikes had seen Africa! The views were awesome as we climbed the mountain on the Spanish foothold of Hercules’ right foot and looked out towards another continent.

We stopped for tea and some photos and then it was on, past Algeceiras and around the bay to Gibraltar. The road seemed to go on for ages and ages. The Spanish being true to form, there wasn’t a single signpost for Gibraltar.

I never ceases to amaze me when an entire nation decides to act in such a childish manner. I know that they would like Gibraltar back, but acting like a two year old isn’t going to make it happen, is it? But, more of that later!

We were soon greeted with stupendous views of “The Rock”. I’m surprised that the Spanish Authorities didn’t have them air-brushed out or the view blocked from the road with advertising hoardings.

MAYBE IT'S OVER THERE?

THE ROCK

We had no problems at the border. We were waved straight through and we were in. We rode down to the southernmost headland, Europa Point, where there is now an enormous Mosque. We parked up the bikes and took some photos. It must have been “that time of day” as the P.A. on the minaret sparked up with the wailing sound extolling the greatness of their prophet. I remember thinking “you’ll have to shout louder than that old chum. They’ll never hear you in Morocco with just 30-watt horn speakers”.

BLESS THIS BIKE

We wound our way back into the town and found a pub where they were serving Sunday lunch! Sorted. It’s a shame that we had to make it such a whistle-stop visit. It would have been nice to visit the Rock and see the apes. Still, we had Bill.

We started to make our way back into Spain and cleared the Gibraltar customs with no problem. When we entered the Spanish customs area however, it was a different matter. We were all waved over to one side and fingers were pointed to every bag and case that we had. “open…..open,open”.

We all knew that the only thing to do was comply and this is what we did. Resistance is futile. We set about pissing them off as much as we could with compliance and looks of innocence. Before long they got bored and started to pick on another Brit. This one was in a camper, much more fun. We were waved off and Henry and I started our bikes.

That’s when it happened…..

Bill’s bike would not start. Electric boot or kick start brought the same response. Nothing. We started to investigate and after 5 minutes were getting nowhere. That’s when the border guard showed his caring side. With a wave of his hand he ushered us out of the shade of the covered customs inspection area and out into the blazing 33 degree afternoon sun. Arsehole. A sentiment backed up by the fact that they didn’t stop a single vehicle with Spanish plates all the time we were there.

We toiled on for 10 minutes and then spotted some shade alongside the customs office. We moved the bikes there and Henry soon had it down to a blocked jet in the carb.

“What’s do you think the problem is, Henry?” asked Bill.
Henry, without looking up barked “Crap in the carburetor Bill”
“Do you really think that’s going to help?” enquired Bill

The jet was soon cleared and the carburetor reattached. The bike started second or third prod.
Bill looked up and muttered “Bloody Dago petrol!”

Henry and I were in tears!

We soon got underway again in the direction of Ronda. Another site from the Price Parts Camping Almanac. We went part way by motorway and then cut overland to take in the scenic route. We ended up going round in a huge arc but I wouldn’t have missed the views for anything. We stopped in a pic-nic area for “tiffin”. Bill just wanted some shade.

HENRY'S TIME BOMB ON A WOODEN TABLE - GET READY TO LEG IT

BILL HIDES IN THE SHADE

We made it to the site at around 5 p.m. and booked in with the proprietor. He ruminated for a long time with regards to which pitch we could have. He finally decided on pitch number 77. We raided some provisions from his meagre store and made our way to pitch 77. We were surprised to see that we could have had any of the pitches from 20 – 99. They were all empty! Strange man. Saying that, he did raid the restaurant kitchen for me and come up with some garlic.

WE'RE GETTING GOOD AT THIS NOW

After some supper of chicken and pasta, Henry and I made our way to the bar for a beer and found that they had internet access. We logged on and left a few comments on the “Lonely Bob’s Fan Club” site and looked at some of the pictures that I had sent back to Frances she had managed to post.

We noticed that the bar was starting to clear down so we made our way back to the tents and turned in.

STATSISTICS - DAY 10
250 miles Conil De la Frontera – Ronda
2,031 miles in total
Average 203 miles per day

MONDAY 9th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:07:00.000+01:00

Up and away, nice and early. Making our way to a place called Valdepeňas. More views to die for. Fields and fields of olive trees. All planted out like soldiers. Little villages of white-washed houses nailed to the sides of steep hills looking as if the're grou7ped together for safety.

SO MANY OLIVES, SO FEW MARTINIS

We stopped in a town, along the way, to find some lunch. It was a busy town and the streets were cobbled, as usual. We stopped in traffic and all of a sudden, there was a rumpus behind me. I looked in my mirrors and poor Bill was on his side again! I blew my horn to stop Henry and got off to help Bill. A crowd had gathered and Bill, who was a little stunned and was in the arms of a beautiful young woman. No wonder he was stunned! Several people were collecting the various tins of food that had spilled from his luggage and were discussing what "corned beef" was. We got his bike upright and parked up and let Bill get up in his own time.

I thought that about 45 minutes would suit him but he was back on his feet in no time at all. No permanent damage done although, he had bruised his ribs a little. We dusted him off and decided to get ourselves a coffee and a sandwich.

COOLING DOWN

We finished lunch and soon got back on track. We were making good progress up the motorway, with me riding at the back, when a car passed me and the amount of gesticulating and pointing told me that the old luggage problem was back! We were just entering a long tunnel so there was nothing to do but carry on. The other side of the tunnel, I went to the front and then pulled over onto the hard shoulder. We examined the problem and lashed it up enough to get off at the next junction.

We found some shade and decided that radical surgery was the only way out of this mess. The rear seat was removed. The top box was removed from the rack and bolted to the brackets for the rear seat. The broken rack was mended with 3 metres of washing line and 24 cable ties. The panniers that had come adrift were reattached to the rack. The rear light and indicator assembly was cable tied to the bottom of the rack. Job done! You know you’re getting old when the Pit Crew begin to look so old.

THE OLDEST APPRENTICE IN TOWN

We had a site looked out from the book but, try as we may, we couldn’t find it. It was supposed to be right on top of one of the junctions on the Motorway adjacent to a large “Angel of the North” type statue. We had all the right landmarks but just couldn’t find the site. Then, all of a sudden, there it was. Behind locked gates. Bearing in mind that all we needed was a flat piece of grass / ground, it did cross my mind to see if we could find another way in but we decided to see if we could find an alternative instead.

Back into the town, down a lovely avenue which was lined with giant amphora, the large terra cotta vessels that they use to store wine and olive oil, although not at the same time. These were huge, some 3 metres tall. It was whilst admiring these that I failed to spot the speed bump.

Twang!

That’s when it happened….. again…..

My luggage problem had reappeared. I had just about had enough. I was all for calling the A.A. and calling it quits! Henry prevailed, yet again and more cable ties and string soon had me back on the road again. We decided to head back to the motorway and look out one of the many wagon drivers lodge type hotels for the night. We were so tired that we plumped for the first one we came across. We ended up with two twin rooms. Bill and I shared and Henry went in the other.

We ate in the attached restaurant / bar. Another mistake! Pollo & Patata Frito. Chicken and chips, right?

Wrong.

Recipe:
Take two or three scabby chicken portions out of the cat’s bowl. Attack them with a meat cleaver snapping them into bite sized pieces leaving shards of bone that can pierce gums. Add large one cup of very roughly chopped garlic. Add to this two or three very small new potatoes chopped to the size of rice grains. Fry the lot in some stale olive oil. Slop-up onto three plates. Go home for the night.
On the good side, the beer was cold and the bread wasn’t stale.

STATSISTICS - DAY 11
264 miles Ronda - Valdepenas
2295 miles in total
Average 209 miles per day

TUESDAY 10th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:06:00.000+01:00

We woke quite early and, after checking the bikes, started off towards Albacete. This turned out to be a busy, bustling market town - on market day! We were looking for a Pharmacist's shop for Henry. The wind noise from his crash helmet was driving him nuts and he wanted to try and get some wax ear plugs. How the hell he was going to explain that to a Spaniard, I don't know! Suddnely the 3 were 2. Bill was behind me but we'd lost Henry in the busy traffic. I rang him and he soon answered. We soon worked out we were in the same street some 250m apart and were soon waving at each other. Bill and I had found a parking space in the busy street but had attracted the attention of several Gypsies or, as Bill called them, greasy dagoes. We knew that if we left the bikes, then they would be picked clean in no time at all. So Bill stayed with the bikes and I walked back up the street to find Henry. He bought something to stick in his ears and we all re-grouped at the market and had a coffe before continuing on our way.

We were making good progress in the heat of the late morning when Henry disappeared from view. We retraced our steps and found him berating his dead bike at the side of the road, in the mid-day sun. What a strange problem. We had a spark, and fuel and compression. It even seemed to be happening at the right time. But each time Henry thought he’d fixed it, It would fizzle out again. I knew my priorities and went to buy some lunch. When I came back, Bill was stood with the biggest grin on his face. He had spotted a loose wire on the low tension side of Henry’s coil. Soon fixed and we found somewhere to go and sit to eat the bread, cheese, ham and fruit I’d bought.

WHO PUT THE "OO" IN TYPHOO?

On and on we went, in the general direction of Andorra. The scenery was getting better and better. Escarpments towered above us with rock stratifications painting crazy patterns on outcrops. I half expected to hear “neep neep” and see Road Runner flash by followed by Wylie B. Coyote dashing up the gorge. More wonderful Spanish tarmac and steady bends that go on and on.

STRATA

THE WAY AHEAD

OVERLOADED - MOI?

It was getting near to the time of day when we needed to find a site. We saw a signpost and turned left, as directed. The vista just got better and better. The road wound up a valley and through tunnels underneath a hilltop town.

VILLEL - HILL TOP TOWN

On the other side of the hill, we came across the only thing that could have been a camp site. We stopped and found someone who made it clear that there was no way that we could camp the night here. Even when I got my wallet out and started waving “Mucho Euros” at him.

We started back down the valley and had the idea to find somewhere off the road to pitch. We made our way up a track and found a field out of site of the road. The field had been used to grow straw which had been baled and had been left, scattered about in the field.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

We got some nosh underway and made decided that as there was no chance of rain, we might as well sleep “al fresco”. By the time Henry and me had made up our minds where to pitch, Bill was snoring for all he was worth. He had just laid down his bedroll and sleeping bag, laid on top and whamo! He was gone. We covered him up with everything we had, coats and a blanket.

STRAW BED - IKEA CATALOGUE PAGE 255

I looked at the ground and decided that, even with my bedroll, it looked a little stony. I dragged several of the straw bales together and made a bed. With my bedroll and sleeping bag on top, I was set fair. I’ve never seen so many stars since I hit my head on the garage door.

STATSISTICS - DAY 12
239 miles Valdepenas - Villel
2534 miles in total
Average 211 miles per day

WEDNESDAY 11th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:05:00.000+01:00

In the morning, we cleared the site to make sure that we weren’t going to be a nuisance to anyone. After the usual check of the bikes, we off, once again. Henry'e £4 fold up chair had given way underneath him Bill's had suffered the same fate under my bulk, a week earlier.

We set off after some coffee and generally headed north. We planned to make it as far as the south side of the Pyrenees, if we could. More and more landscapes to die for. Henry had to make a nature call. The “services” consisted of long concrete half-pipes fixed “end-up” to provide some privacy from the road.

HENRY'S TOILET

Henry returned some minutes later and declared the services “the worst in Europe!”. He was not impressed. We hooked up the cookers and got some nosh on the go and a brew. What a view. I looked up and saw eagles soaring on the thermals. Another one to tick off in the "I Spy" book.

REAL AL FRESCO

EAGLES ON THE THERMALS

Bikes were checked and topped up with oil. On and on we went. Never getting bored. Trying to take in all that we were experiencing.

More roads to F1 standard. It seems to be the norm for Spain. Still, at least we know where all the EU money went. The strange thing is the roads are so good but there is no traffic.

CASTLES IN THE AIR

The vistas are so good that I have made plans to return here as a seperate touring holiday. Afternoon turned to evening and we needed another site. We took directions from a garage in a town, just south of the Pyrenees called Oliana. We found the site in the shadow of the Pyrenees. It had a pool and Henry went for a dip while Bill and I sampled the beer for him. We ate in the restaurant and settled in for a good night’s sleep.

THE VIEW FROM THE POOL

STATSISTICS - DAY 13
267 miles Villel - Oliana
2801 miles in total
Average 215 miles per day

THURSDAY 12th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T15:00:00.000+01:00

Up and away, up through the Pyrenees towards Andorra. More breathtaking views and the air was so cool and clear.

OLIANA LAKE

We tootled on up the mountain through tunnels and winding our way ever higher and, in no time found ourselves in Andorra. The town is full of duty free shops and garages full of cheap fuel. Shame we filled up last night when we asked for directions! We stopped in a Truck Stop for a “Bagette Breakfast”.

THE PROP STAND WILL BE THE NEXT THING TO GO

On up through the mountain. More breathtaking views. Then, a fork in the road and a choice of "tunnel" or “over the top”? No contest. We went left and upwards. Climbing on and on, all three bikes coping without question. This seems to be just what they were designed for.

A PHOTO OPPORTUNITY

THE VIEW

YET MORE BENDS

We reached the summit and sat there for a few minutes, feeling so chuffed with ourselves. Taking in the views and breathing in the clean crisp mountain air. I felt such achievement that all three bikes had held up so well and that they were coping with the mountain passes admirably. Then around the corner from the north side of the mountain came a gaggle of French cyclists. They’d made it all the way up from the French side without the benefit of any horsepower! Chuffed – no more!

PORT D'ENVALIRA - 2408m

AND ANOTHER BEND

TEA BREAK

The run down the other side was just as exhilarating. We eventually ran into a French town called Ax Les Thermes. As we climbed out of the far side of the town, zig zaging up the hair pin bends, I realised that Bill and Henry were no longer behind me. I turned around and went back to look for them.

Bill had come to a junction and was not sure which way to go. It was on a steep incline and he had tried to hold this bike on the front brake.

That’s where it happened…..

Twin leading shoe brakes don’t do “backwards” and so Bill decided that going over the side was preferable to going back down the mountain backwards. Henry tried to save him from toppling and he went over as a gesture of solidarity. So, we have the junction of three roads with two motorcyclists stranded on their sides in the middle. What do you think the French motorist does in this situation?

“’Pas de problem monsieur, we treat zem as if zey were zee mini roundabout, n’est pas?”

Not one of them stopped to help.

Once we were all vertical again, we decided that it was time for a cuppa. It seems to cure all. Henry sparked up his thermo nuclear device and we brewed up. Another hour or two’s riding and we stopped for lunch.

BILL, KEEPING WATCH

Bill kept watch for the Gendarmes while Henry and I did a little light shoplifting. Not the truth, of course, but the words do seem to fit the picture, don’t they? We tore apart a cooked chicken and it went down well with some French bread and yet another brew.

Restored, we headed across country to Carcassonne then picked up the Motorway east to Narbonne. We stopped in yet another services for some agua and fuel. The bikes were parked in front of the shop and a gaggle of French bikers on "plastic rockets" drew up. The usual gestures of friendship were exchanged and they gathered around our bikes pointing and talking amongst themselves, our languages deviding us. One of the French rideers had full multicolour leathers on complete with knee "sliders". Bill approached him and pointed to his outfit.

"Monsiurre, this" he said indicating the fine garment. "I have one just like this at home in England. Your's is very nice."

They all seemed to understand and their facial expressions indicated that they were either impressed, or maybe a little sceptical.

"The only difference is that these,- " said Bill, pointing out the sliders "On my suit, they are worn away to nothing - gone" Bill further explained by mimicing getting his knee down, first one side then the other, then back again.

They all realised that they had been teased and roared with laughter. British humour. Next year - Germany.

Before long, we were speeding (on Enfields?) north towards the next goal, The Millau Bridge, but before that, we needed another nights rest. We turned West off the autoroute and asked directions for “le camping”. We followed the grunts and gestures and found a delightful municipal site on the shores of Lac de Salagou. We were all soon fully erect on our pitch and headed over to the local bar.

When we found out that the beer equated to over £3.00 per pint, we decided that tonight was going to be a dry night. Being a municipal site it had no camp shop so we were stuck! Henry was almost in tears. Here we were, in the middle of the French Langadoc region, renowned for its abundance of cheap plonc and he was having none of it!

We went back to our pitch and set about getting some scram going. Chicken and mushrooms with pasta. We must have moaned a little too loud about the price of the beer and lack of wine as the chap in the next pitch appeared with a bottle of half tidy plonk rouge. It turned out that red wine didn’t agree with him and he couldn’t bear to see us in tears any longer. He then appeared with another.

HOW LONG CAN BILL STAY ON THE TOP BOX?

We got chatting and, although I’d never met him, he was from Newport, about 15 miles from me in South Wales. It turned out that Mike had worked in the same industry as me before he retired and we had many friends in common. Small world. The wine soon disappeared and so did Mike. He returned with a case of beers and the evening went into a spiral dive from that moment on. We ended up in front of their friend’s caravan having a merry old time, drinking their beer all night.

When we realised that everyone else had gone to bed (but not asleep, thanks to us) we said our goodbyes, thanked them for their hospitality and retired for the night.

STATSISTICS - DAY 14
240 miles Oliana – Lac de Salagou
3041 miles in total
Average 217 miles per day

FRIDAY 13th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T14:59:00.000+01:00

In the morning, Bill seemed to have developed ' a bit of a head'! Heaven only knows why? He emerged, just head and shoulders out of his tent, before collapsing again and muttering “I’m never drinking with that Henry Price again”. Another camera moment.

HALF AWAKE

We cooked up some breakfast. Bill didn't seem to feel much like a fried egg fo9r some reason? Plenty of nice strong coffee, after which Bill looked a little bit more human. We checked the bikes, topping up as required, and waving our hosts farewell, headed north for the bridge.

We motored on up the Autoroute Norde and I managed to do my “running out of juice trick” again. Henry came to my rescue with the contents of his unleaded primus stove and a little from his tank and I was back in business. Of the three bikes, mine was always going to be the problem. Henry had the larger capacity tank and Bill was achieving much better m.p.g. (for petrol at least) that I was. I don’t think that Bill ever went onto reserve throughout the whole trip.

Soon, around another bend and the bridge was beneath us! It is a magnificent structure and, considering its method of construction, i.e. that the deck of the bridge was shunted out from the northern end across to the southern end seems to be beyond belief!

THE BRIDGE

SILLY BEGGARS

After photographs and yet more admirers of the trio of Enfields in the car park, we set off again for Brendan’s place. We had arranged to meet Brendan in a bar in the town (good plan), at 4.30. I managed to get a message to him that we were on the way but were running late. We arrived, at last, just before 5.30. Brenda greeted us with ice cold beers and we presented him with his official Lonely Bob’s Magic Cloth to help him keep his shiny bullet in good order.

BRENDAN GETS HIS MAGIC CLOTH

BRENDAN'S WELCOME

After downing the beer, we followed Brendan for a mile or two to his delightful farmhouse which is really “in the sticks”. It has such a lot of character and there is plenty to keep Brendan busy for a little time to come. Saying that, we reckon that he has storage capacity for at least two dozen bikes! On the downside, Brendan explained that the winter usually brings over 1 metres of snow with it. Henry started to dream of an Enfield Snowmobile.

Brendan and Henry disappeared into the barn and, after rummaging around, found an old Solex trailer. No prizes for guessing whose bike it got attached to for a photo opportunity?

BULLET PLUS TRAILER

Brendan gave us the guided tour of the extensive land and outbuildings. An old bread oven exists which might yet be brought back to life. Pigs, horses, wildfowl

A COUPLE OF BIRDS WE MET AT BRENDANS

Brendan soon had the BBQ was ablaze and Monica had prepared a lovely spread and, not for the first time, we dined like Kings! We had to protect all of our food from the chickens who were not averse to jumping up and stealing from the plate on your lap! The dog did his bit as well; but more of him later.

The view to the West was an horizon silhouetting the volcanic mountains that hold the source of the Volvic water company. Not a caveman in site apart from the unshaven Henry and me! We chatted and swapped anecdotes until the light disappeared and then looked to bed down. Tomorrow, the plan was to get past Paris and as near to Calais as we could before stopping again. We would need a good night’s sleep to be ready for a long ride ahead.

We set about retiring for the night and Bill and I took up Brendan’s offer of a piece of lounge floor to park our bedrolls on. Henry, who was getting a taste for the outdoor life, pitched his tent in the yard.

The frisky dog settled onto his bed in the hallway behind the front door and Brendan et famile retired upstairs. We were all soon asleep until Bill woke in the wee-wee hours with the call of nature. In the darkness, and without his glasses, Bill groped his way out of the front room and dressed only in his pants and vest, began to feel his way along the wall of the hallway towards the ground floor bathroom.

That's when it happened.....

The dog awoke at this point and instead of barking, decided to check out the stranger. In stealth mode, he crept up behind Bill, (shuffle shuffle) and decided to investigate the aroma. He planted his nose deep into the crevice of Bill’s underpants from behind. Bill, who until now hadn’t noticed the dog, was now suddenly fully awake and more than a little surprised, to say the least! As he shuffled, the dog shuffled with him until he disappeared into the sanctuary of the bathroom. Bill had tried hard to shuffle without exposing his 'main course' to the dog. Bill’s journey back to the bedroom was almost as exciting although, not so much of a surprise.

STATISTICS - DAY 15
245 miles Oliana – Brendans
3286 miles in total
Average 219 miles per day

SATURDAY 14th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T14:58:00.000+01:00

After a hearty breakfast, we mounted up and, with Brendan at the front, headed back to civilisation. We waved Brendan goodbye at the toll plaza for the motorway and headed for Paris and Le Périphérique! Why somewhere the size of Paris doesn’t have an M25 I do not know!

For those of you not familiar with Le Périphérique, it is a dual carriageway / motorway ring road around Paris. Being, what it is and where it is means that there are a great number of junctions, slip roads and flyovers squirting off in all directions, all on top of each other. Add to that the fact that we were going to have to negotiate it on a hot summer Sunday afternoon when the traffic was at its busiest and the fact this circus was full of French drivers who had spent all the morning at the battle de l'Arc de Triomphe topped off with the fact that we didn’t have a clue where we were going and you have an idea of our problem. It is a nightmare.

We had a good distance to go to keep on track with our required schedule if we were to make our booking at Calais so we really couldn’t afford too much time being lost. I decided that the best chance of success was to let the Sat Nav do the work. We pulled over and had a break south of Paris.

We had to enter the orbital at 6 o’clock and exit at just after 12 o’clock. I punched in a destination on the A1 out of Paris for Calais and explained to Bill and Henry that they needed to make sure that they kept close. It would be too easy to become separated in the war zone of traffic that we were about to encounter.

Deep breath, a quick flash of the Eifel Tower over the flat Paris landscape and we were in. It was hell! Like riding through an industrial washing machine on “heavy soiled wash”. We discovered that many French motorists like to wave to British tourists. Mainly with the middle finger of the left hand. And, apparently, the French for “Hello mate” is “merde!” I'm learning all the time. When I opened my eyes, we had come out the other end, on the right road, in good time, and no one missing! All together, a bloody miracle!

We continued north east towards Lille, looking out for either a camp site or a lodge. Mile after mile, nothing. We decided that time was marching on and we were knackered. We had covered more mile today than any other on the tour. We left the A1 at a little place called Roye. We found a cheapo lodge but it was full. The only other place in town was the Hotel Roye. It was not going to be cheap but took a vote on what to do. Bill wanted to go on and find somewhere cheaper. Henry and I were bushed and wanted to stay here. Bill agreed to go with the flow and we checked in to a triple bedded room. Henry and I showered and changed and wandered over to a local restaurant while Bill crashed out and watched some football on the TV.

THE ROYE HOTEL

Tomorrow would prove Bill to have been right and Henry and me wrong but - C'est la vie!

As a point of interest, Roye is very close to The Somme. Another day perhaps?

STATSISTICS - DAY 16
353 miles Brendan’s - Roye
3639 miles in total
Average 227 miles per day

SUNDAY 15th JULY 2007

2007-09-14T14:57:00.000+01:00

In the morning, we were up and away. If the luggage fell apart now, I could afford to ditch it. Next stop – home! As we got back onto the A1, within 5 miles we passed services with no less than 3 cheapo lodges! Isn’t it always the way?

We decided that a serious breakfast was called for and pulled in to the services. The coffee bar was open but we wanted something a little more substantial than that. We waited for a minute or two, on our own, at le grille. Eventually, a little French girl came out, took our order and cooked up three French versions of a Full English. The till in the grill area was closed so we went to pay at the coffee bar with our trays of food. We were waved away with lots of Gallic shrugs and jabbering.

I don’t know what it is, but food always tastes better when it’s free!
We were soon past Lille and on the way to Calais. My bike decided to run out of fuel in the main tank so I switched to reserve. I could manage 20 miles on reserve and the services were 25 miles away! When I ran out, we had to use Henry’s primus stove to transfer fuel from his and Bill’s tank to mine.

Another few miles and we were in Calais and we managed to find a truck stop garage that was open. We were a little early for the Tunnel but, apparently, that isn’t necessarily a problem. We checked in and managed to get assigned to an earlier crossing. Through various checkpoints and controls, into the train and up through it to the front with several other bikes.

CHECKPOINT CHARLIE

IN THE TRAIN

After what seemed like only a few minutes, we were back out in English Daylight. I looked out of a window and saw the blackest clouds you could imagine! We made our way out of the train and made our way (on the correct side of the road) towards the M20 and homeward bound. We stopped at the services and got a bacon sarnie. The clouds that I had seen had become bigger and more menacing. But what did we care? No more camping!

As we got towards Heathrow it started. At first a few spots, then more and then a full on deluge. The traffic on the M4 was at walking pace. Within seconds we were soaked to the skin. Henry had his waterproofs on but I think that even he had sprung a leak here and there. We pulled in to Reading Services to take stock and decided that, if the bikes would do it, so would we. It wasn’t cold, after all; just very wet.

Bill and Henry took junction 15 - Swindon East to head up to Cheltenham past the Air Balloon pub. I carried on alone and as I approached Leigh Delamare Services just past the Chippenham junction. I was trying to work out if I had enough fuel to make it the last 30 miles. I decided that I might as well fill up. As my back wheel crossed the line from the carriageway onto the slip road, the bike spluttered and I had to switch to reserve. My bike was a sentient being, I’m now convinced. A last tank of gas and onwards.

Within the hour I was stood in a hot shower still buzzing from the adrenalin.

A trip like this, as long as there are no disasters, is something to behold. But to be back home, dried out, showered and with the one you love, really takes some beating.

GAME OVER MAN!

STATSISTICS - DAY 17
342 miles Roye - Home
4066 miles in total
Average 240 miles per day

TOTAL STATISTICS
Distance travelled – 4066 miles
Petrol used – 262.73litres (57.80 Gallons)
Miles per gallon – 70.34
Total saddle time – 96.15 hours
Average speed – 43.60 m.p.h.

Bike drops
Bill – 5
Henry – 3
Me – 3
Feeling of accomplishment – PRICELESS!

EPILOGUE

2007-09-14T14:56:00.000+01:00

The trip, for me, was the realisation of a dream that I had harboured for many years. Back in the 70’s, I worked for what is now known as B.T. Andy McCormack, a friend of mine was planning an epic trip. He was to fly to San Francisco with his then girlfriend, now wife, Jean. He had taken his four week leave entitlement for the year, carried two weeks over from the previous year and was allowed to anticipate one week from the following year making 7 weeks in total. His request to be allowed to anticipate a couple of days 'sick' was not allowed.

He bought a Harley in San Fransisco and rode it back to New York. They flew back home and awaited the bike which followed by sea. I was green with envy. It was the late 70’s and I had a young family and commitments that made such thoughts pipe-dreams. I don’t care too much for Harleys but I feel that this trip has given me the same stupid grin that Mac had when he got home.

Leslie, Henry’s wife voiced concern, over dinner in Ayomonte, over how Henry and I had got on considering, as she put it “that you are two Alpha Males” (pass the bananas, please Henry).

Well, I have to say that we never argued once. We may have disagreed about which route to take and Bill and I did make a sport out of suggesting one thing and waiting for Henry to go for the exact opposite, as is his wont; but that was all good fun. Personally, I class it as some sort of achievement. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have at least one argument on holiday!

People “umm and ahh” about whether they should fit crash bars onto their Enfields. Let me tell you, regardless of the amount of protection they offer when you slip off, the crash bars make getting the bike upright again a much more practical proposition. I personally have had two friends who lost a leg in bike accidents. I don’t know that crash bars would have prevented their loss but I can’t see that they would have made it any worse.

Would I do it all again? You bet. With one or two provisos:

1. I wouldn’t look to cover as many miles in as many days. It’s OK doing 2 – 300 miles in a day but you should then enjoy the local environment for a day, or two.

2. I took enough changes of clothes for a clean change every day without having to wash anything until I got back. Big mistake. When your luggage space is restricted, you can plan to need no more than 3 changes of clothing for however long you go; washing as required.

3. Get a GOOD camp site book or even two. France has a good network of Municipal sites that are as cheap as chips.

4. Keep the numbers down. The more people you have, the less progress you will make each day.

5. Have a plan B. Always take out some good holiday insurance with repatriation. Mine, with the A.A. cost me £97. In the event of breakdowns that couldn’t be fixed, they would ship the bike back, give me a hire car to carry on and provide £45 per night for the remaining holiday as additional expenses. It would almost have been worth breaking down.

6. And finally, if Bill’s going, make sure he’s in the middle.

This trip wouldn't have been the same without my two Amigos and I thank them for their companionship and their support.

Also, to have somewhere "solid" to aim for with the comfort of a roof and a hot meal and good company makes the trip easier on the sanity. For this I thank Mike, Jan and Brendan.

The hospitality and interest in our travels shown by Bart and his family were most welcome; thank you all.

Finally, thank you for reading this and please feel free to leave any comments that you may have.

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