About Me

This blog is to record my trip from Calum's Road in Scotland to Calum's Road in The Gambia. For 20 years, Calum MacLeod toiled alone to build a road to his croft on the island of Raasay, near Skye. He began the arduous job in the 1960s after failing to win public funds for an upgrade, and his exploits featured in the best-selling 2006 book Calum's Road by the Raasay-based author Roger Hutchison. Now that story has inspired the building of a four-mile lifeline road for an impoverished part of Africa, supported by The Gambia Horse and Donkey Trust. To raise both funds and the profile of this worthy cause I will be joining a group of friends in January 2010 to ride on motorcycles from the site of the original Calum's Road on Raasay to the new Calum's Road in the Gambia Donating through Justgiving is quick, easy and totally secure. It’s also the most efficient way to sponsor me: The Gambia Horse And Donkey Trust gets your money faster. All sponsorship goes directly to the charity as I'm covering expenses for the trip myself. Thank you for your support. To sponsor me please visit Just Giving Website

Tuesday 2 March 2010

DAY 35 WEDNESDAY 10th FEBRUARY 2010

Today is definitely a day to remember for many reasons...
I woke at 6.00 am as the barman had insisted that it got light at 6.30 am. I left Zebrabar at 6.45 am still in pitch darkness and it finally got light at 7.30 am. At 8.00 am I had reached the Diama bridge just as the customs and police were opening up. Both sets of officials were quick and efficient so it obviously paid to get there early. By 9.00 am I was into the National Park and was paying the €10 to the park police. By 10.00 am I was half way along the infamous Diama off-road piste and by 11.00 am onto the tarmac road to Noackchott. I lost a bit of time in the chaos of Noakchott but was still well ahead of schedule. My very ambitious plan for today was to get to Noakchott by lunchtime, the border by tea time and get to the hotel in Dakhla by 9.00 pm in order to do all of Mauritania in one day. I raced through the empty desert at 85mph as there is no traffic and little wildlife apart from the odd camel to worry about. I had marked the only petrol station in the middle of the Sahara into my satnav on the way down and I was confident of reaching it with fuel to spare. I had not bothered to refuel in Noakchott as I did not have any Mauri currency and thought it was easier to use Moroccan dirhams when I got further north. With my 41 litre capacity fuel tank, I should be able to cover about 400 miles on one tank full. Unfortunately, I was wrong and the bike spluttered to a halt after riding only 360 miles, still about 10 miles short of where the petrol station was. I don’t think the petrol attendant yesterday in Senegal had completely filled the tank, instead he had just stopped when it reached a convenient 20,000 CFA and there was probably still room for another litre or 2. Also I had used a tiny amount in my petrol stove last night to cook my dinner. Also my high speed riding had undoubtedly increased the fuel consumption. Without all these issues, I would have made it easily to the petrol station. Instead I was now stopped in the middle of the Sahara without fuel. The first vehicle that came towards me stopped and asked if he could help. I explained that if I could lean the bike over to the right hand side, the fuel might flow into the side of the tank where the fuel pick up pipe was and that might be enough to get me the last few miles. They helped me lean the bike over and my solution half worked, it got me another five miles down the road but still five from the garage. I waited for ages but ages but nobody came so I realised that I would have to sort this out by myself. I removed the entire luggage off the bike and laid the bike down completely on the right hand side. Once all the remaining fuel had drained into the right hand side, I used a small set of locking pliers to clamp off the balance pipe to prevent the fuel flowing back. I struggled to lift the bike up and reload it but my plan had worked and the bike fired up again. I crawled slowly towards the petrol station but got stopped in a police check half way there. I was massively relieved to finally coast into the petrol station and roll to a halt alongside the unleaded pump. I was slightly concerned about paying due to my lack of any Mauritanian ougiya but felt sure they would be happy to accept either Moroccan dirhams or good old Euros. I waited for someone to come out to serve me (as is normal in Africa) but nobody came so I walked in the cafe to confirm that they would accept dirhams. “No problem, Dirhams OK” they replied. “Great then can I get some petrol please”, I asked. “Ah, big problem. We have no fuel until tomorrow afternoon”. Oh dear! Things were starting to look bleak at this point; I explained that I was completely stranded as it was impossible for me to go any further. To make matters worse, I was right in the middle of the route that the Foreign Office had said to avoid at all times due to kidnap risk i.e. the coast road between Nouadibou and Noakchott. This is the area where a total of 7 Westerners have been kidnapped in recent years so I wasn’t too keen to be stuck here for a second longer than I needed and certainly not overnight! The station owner came over and personally apologised for having no fuel and said he would arrange for his brother to drive 240 kms from Nouadibou to bring me back 20 lts. I asked how long that would take and when his brother would get back and he told me 10.00 pm, “Then you can go”. The thought of riding on that road after 10.00 pm scared me to death so I made the excuse that my headlight was terrible and I could only ride in daylight. He immediately suggested that I could spend the night there as his guest and he offered me the full use of all the facilities including showers if I wanted them. He then ordered me coffee and food and could not have been more welcoming. I was still very worried about spending the night at this location but it appeared that I had little choice and just had to make the best of it. Moments later, an excellent meal of fish and chips arrived which was much appreciated as I had only eaten bananas and snack bars all day in my rush to clock up the miles. A glass of crushed ice came with a cold can of fanta so I was being extremely well looked after. An American writer called Elias started chatting to me, telling me how he was hitchhiking down to Cape Town and writing articles on each country. We both agreed that the Mauritanian people were amongst the nicest we had met so far and he reassured me that I would be safe in their hands.
After an hour I was getting hot in my bike boots so decided to take them off as I wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Suddenly, a local put his head around the door, stared at me and asked if I was the motorcyclist. For a second, I wandered if this was the start of something terrible and whether I should hit the emergency button on my Spot satellite transmission beacon. Instead he explained that he had run out of petrol in the morning and had now arranged for two 20 lts cans to be delivered for him. He said he only needed 10 lts to get him to the next station and I could have the rest! Wow, I didn’t need asking twice so I buckled up my boots and ran outside. First I checked with the station owner as I didn’t want to offend him as he had already made arrangements for me. He was happy for me to accept this other fuel as it meant it would get me on my way before dark. I quickly poured all 30 lts into my empty tank and turned to pay the owner whatever price he wanted as I was so grateful. He looked taken aback when I offered to pay him and told me that he would not take any money as it was a gift to get me out of trouble in the desert. He said something like “Thank Allah” and explained it was his duty to help me. I then went over to the station owner to thank him for all his help and also to pay for the food and drink but again he would not accept any money and said it was Islamic hospitality to someone who needed it. I don’t know very much about Islam but these two gentlemen were great ambassadors both for their religion and their country. Incidents like these really do a lot to restore your basic faith in the goodness of people to help each other and made me feel very humble.
By now it was nearly 5.00 pm and I was determined to make the border before nightfall. In little over one hour I added 100 miles to my daily total mileage despite 3 or 4 police checks that I had to stop for. The turn off to the border was shut with a barrier across the road but the soldier on duty let me ride around it and continue the last 5 miles to the frontier (well he sort of let me, I just waved at him and rode around the barrier). The customs official was the same friendly one that I had dealt with the last time although this time his face was unwrapped unlike last time. I told him and his colleagues about the petrol situation and how grateful I was for how friendly and helpful everyone in Mauritania had been to me on both visits to the country. I felt a bit guilty and embarrassed that my passport showed that I had entered his country at exactly 8.00 am that morning and was leaving it again later the very same day. They completed the paperwork without delay following which the police did likewise. I was just about to ride off when I got stopped at another office (not sure who or what) and they wanted to input all my details into a computer, I assume this is an attempt to automate the immigration process and might one day replace the manual writing of all details into the big books. Once completed, they told me to hurry as the border would be closing soon. I jumped back on the bike and roared off into the no-mans-land/minefield, feeling confident that I knew my way now on the rock path on the edge. Unfortunately, it rapidly got dark by the time I was about half way across so I got lost. What a perfect way to end an already eventful day, lost in a minefield in the dark! Just then a car came towards me flashing his lights and telling me that the Moroccan side was shut so I would have to turn around and head back into Mauri. I hoped the Mauri end wasn’t also closed or else I would be stuck in the minefield overnight (can it get any worse?). Luckily, the Mauri border was still open so I rode past the cars queuing up for entry and straight into the compound. Various police all started to shout at me for jumping the queue but I explained that I had already completed the paperwork. The problem for them was that my passport said I had left Mauri on the 10th Feb but here I was coming back in and wanting to stay until the 11th. I was too tired to discuss it then and agreed to sort it out in the morning. I managed to get one of the excellent border tents and was supplied with a cooked meal and drinks (coke and bottled water) brought to my tent. The sandy area that we had struggled with two weeks before had now been concreted and this made it simple to ride my bike in, turn it round and park it up securely in the locked compound.
Altogether a very memorable day but that’s what adventure motorcycling is meant to be all about. I can now add “running out of fuel in middle of Sahara” and “getting lost in minefield in dark” to my motorcycling CV.

DAY 34 TUESDAY 9th FEBRUARY 2010-02-26

Woken at 8.00 am by sound of dogs barking from French party parked in motorhome behind my chalet. Had breakfast on terrace and then sat there writing up blog detailing yesterdays epic ride. Very peaceful and relaxing environment as always at Zebrabar. The Zebrabar cat even came over and sat down beside me for a cuddle but suddenly spun around and bit me and hooked one of its very sharp claws deep into my thumb causing blood to drip out. After I had managed to extract the claw from my flesh, the cat was told to go away (or words to that effect). Decided to ride into St. Louis to get cash and use internet. Came across my favourite policeman at the edge of town and I was fully prepared for him. I rode well below 40kph hidden behind a lorry as I approached him, indicated when directed and then presented him with all my perfect paperwork. He remembered me from the week before and asked where all my friends were (probably meaning the rich ones who paid him Euro 50). I explained that they had all flown back and it was only me riding back. He asked me where I was going today and I told him the internet cafe. He asked if I would be drinking coffee and I wondered if he was inventing a new offense of riding with excess caffeine in your blood. However, he may have just been trying to be friendly as he let me pass with no further questions.
Parking outside the internet cafe, I soon acquired a “guardian” for my bike despite deliberately parking it right outside the door where I could see it whilst at the PC. He did do a good job of stopping all the local kids climbing all over it so I was happy to pay him the equivalent of one beer for his services. After a gentle ride back to Zebrabar, I had a very relaxing afternoon repacking my panniers and cleaning my gear. My jacket, bike trousers and crash helmet all smelled terrible after the hot sweaty conditions of recent weeks and there is nothing worse than having to put your head inside a dirty smelly crash helmet. Luckily, all the lining and padding in my helmet is removable for cleaning so I could give everything a thorough wash out. I decided that it was about time I used my petrol burning stove along with the ready meals I had carried for over 5,000 miles. I drained half a litre of petrol from the bike and cooked myself a tasty meal. Lessons learnt from the previous days ride meant I intended to have an early start on Wednesday as I have more borders and countries to cross so everything must be fully packed this evening and another early night in preparation.

DAY 33 MONDAY 8th FEBRUARY 2010

Breakfast at gone 8.00 am was way behind schedule considering I had intended to leave early. It had taken a while to get to sleep last night as I was understandably nervous about what lay ahead. Strangely I had no appetite for breakfast as the nerves had kicked in and I faced up to the enormous task of the return trip on my own. Glen and a few others saw me off from the hotel just before 9.00 am with the total mileage on the bike reading 39,248 miles. I managed to get lost in the back streets of Banjul and turned up at the ferry terminal a few minutes after 9.00 am just as the ferry had departed so I would have to wait for the 10.00 am crossing. Bought my ticket for 15 Delasi (about 38p) for motorbike and rider for the one hour crossing and thought how that compared with the cost of my Jersey to St Malo one hour ferry crossing with Condor Ferries. The vehicle alongside me on the ferry was a mobile hearing clinic based on a nice new Land Rover. On its door it said it was supported by “The people of the Island of Jersey”. I was able to tell the people around me that that was where I came from. In any crowded situation like the ferry, you get surrounded by dozens of people who all want to be your friend and all want your email and home address. It is difficult to deal with as it is impossible to help everyone but at the same time it is hard not to appear rude if you decline. One young chap told me that he was a trainee engineer working with solar panels so I took his email address and promised to pass it on to Mikey to possibly make contact when he is next installing panels in the Gambia.
Once across to Barra, I was the first one off the ferry and headed due north to the border with Senegal. The police and customs formalities for leaving Gambia were straightforward although I was disappointed and saddened that my very last experience of Gambia was a corrupt customs official asking for cash when he processed my form. At least the Senegalese make up a reason for a fine, whereas this chap just blatantly asked for a bribe, at least he was direct. I didn’t have time to argue so just threw down a 100 Delasi note (about £2.50) and told him it was all I had left. He actually seemed happy enough, pocketed it and thanked me profusely so not such a bad experience. I was expecting worse on the Senegalese side but instead they were very efficient (by African standards) and only took about 30 minutes to write out all the required forms and no bribes were asked for. The correct amount was requested for the customs pass and I made sure that an official receipt was stapled to the form. By now it was exactly 12.00 midday and I had hardly covered any miles at all. The road up to Kaolack was being rebuilt so I was diverted on to a very dirty, sandy and bumpy alternative which could only be ridden at about 20 mph. As each hour passed it looked increasingly unlikely that I would reach Zebrabar near St. Louis before dark. Progress was made worse when I got totally lost in Kaolack and spent ages on sandy back roads trying to find the correct road out of town. Today was also one of the hottest I have ever ridden in and I was soon soaked in sweat. Every time I removed my jacket, its weight was increasing with the amount of sweat it had absorbed. Eventually, I found the correct road and at last started to make decent progress on well surfaced roads. With no more wrong turnings at any subsequent towns, I was again confident of reaching Zebrabar. On the main road I was overtaken by a new Toyota pickup which was being driven very fast but very competently so I tucked in behind him as my escort all the way to St. Louis. He seemed to know exactly where he could travel at high speed and when to slow down for villages and police checks so I was happy to let him lead me to my destination. Approaching St. Louis, I noticed a turn off to the left signalled “Zebrabar 13 kms” so I obviously took it but almost immediately wished I hadn’t. It was through soft sand only really suitable for a good 4x4 and not at all suitable for a heavily loaded motorbike with a hot and exhausted rider. I rode on thinking it would get better but it got worse. I pushed through soft sand seriously worried that I might get completely stuck and eventually my strength failed and I dropped the bike on the right hand side. I looked at the bike on its side and wondered if I had the energy to pick it up. The other riders had told me previously that if I was not able to pick up my bike unaided then I must fly back with them rather than ride back. So this was the crucial test, not helped by the shoulder injury I was still nursing from the crash a week earlier. I swore at the bike a few times to get the adrenalin flowing and then with a mighty heave I got it back vertical. An even bigger challenge was trying to get back on it as I struggled to balance it and swing a leg over the seat. By the time I had accomplished this, my lungs seemed fit to burst and my heart was pounding. I knew I needed to get my breath back or I would simply drop it again through total exhaustion. Fortunately, I still had plenty of water left so at least I was able to stay hydrated. After wobbling for another km I could see the sun getting lower in the sky and I prayed that I would get out of this dreadful sand before darkness fell. Around the next sand dune I rejoined the surfaced road and a few minutes later I was parked up at Zebrabar. I almost collapsed as I fell off the bike and staggered to the fridge to help myself to a cold beer. Never had one been so needed or appreciated. The barman remembered me from the previous week and told me that he had never seen anyone looking so sweaty and exhausted. I peeled off my biker gear which was all soaked in sweat. The barman told me that dinner was being served in 15 minutes at 7.00 pm so I needed to hurry up and get changed. I took the keys to the same chalet (no. 3) that I had previously and enjoyed a shower and then changed into clean dry clothes for dinner. There were seven of us for dinner in the inside dining room comprising of Dutch and German nationals. Naturally, they all spoke perfect English and were very welcoming towards me. One Dutch chap, whose English was so perfect and unaccented that I thought he was English, was touring on a KTM 640 similar to one I had recently sold. He was planning on riding across the north of the Sahara to Egypt. I wanted an early night as I was shattered and I had still not even unpacked my bike in my rush to get showered and changed. I was in bed and lights off before 9.00 pm after a particularly long hard day covering all of Senegal.

Thursday 25 February 2010

DAY 32 SUNDAY 7th FEBRUARY 2010




Decided that I needed to go for a good walk today to burn off some of the excess calories I've consumed in recent days. Firstly, headed up the road to Bakau and called in briefly at the internet cafe I used a few days before. The staff there remembered me and were very friendly, asking me my name and making me very welcome. From there, I decided to walk all the way along towards to Butchers Shop restaurant where we would be eating tonight. I found my way to the Safari Gardens Hotel which is where I had stayed in the past. The owners of Safari Gardens are an English couple who deal with the Gambian end of the Plymouth Banjul Rally. They organise the auctions of all the cars and equipment for local charities. I met the owener Maurice and had a long chat with him about all things Gambian. They were very quiet as the Plymouth Banjul Rally had been cancelled this year due to the Mauritanian issues but a few hardy souls had still battled their way down in their old bangers to reach the place. Maurice explained that they had managed to auction off 12 cars the previous week including one connected to the GH&DT. He was fully aware of everything to do with Calum's Road and delighted that the project was going to go ahead after so many years of hoping and planning. It was great to chat to him again and really brought back some great memories of my previous visit there with my wife and sons.
When I had been walking the few miles south I was forever being hassled by taxis who could not believe that someone would walk from one town to the next so I had to politely refuse several offers of taxis rides. On the return journey of course it was the opposite, I wanted a taxi but couldn't find one! Then I remembered the Africa taxi drivers tactic of only ever buying enough fuel for one journey at a time so I walked to a petrol station and waited for a taxi to come in to refuel and sure enough I got a taxi within minutes to take me back to the Ocean Bay.
We all agreed to meet in the bar in the evening to meet up with Heather and Anna who had come down river to Banjul to join us for dinner at the Butchers Shop restaurant. We had to search around to find which bar people were in. The hotel had a few different bars, lobby, poolside and beechbar and they all had Happy Hours at different times so the trick was to drink in each one at the right time and then move on to the next one. We eventually got reunited and drove around to the restaurant which is famous in the Gambia for having a celebrity chef who has his own television show. I had recommended this restaurant to my parents who regularly visit the Gambia and they have always enjoyed their meals here. There were a total of 12 of us around the table being the "magnificent seven"(the group of seven riders), Rogers's wife Linda, Dave's wife Katherine, Heather, Anna and a local ex-politician known as "The Honourable" who had been very helpful to GH&DT in the past. We had yet another top quality meal with a top quality bill to go with it! The Gambian bank notes are only available in very small denominations of only a few pounds each so any large bill means a huge wad of notes that looks like a house brick. I can't remember the exact bill but we had piles and piles of money stacked up and needed a small box like a shoe box to put all the notes in.
We soon got back to the hotel but I wanted an early night as I knew that in the morning I would be setting off on my own for the solo ride back and it was finally sinking in just what I had let myself in for.

DAY 31 SATURDAY 6th FEBRUARY 2010

I had a choice today, I could either just sit by the pool and do nothing or put on my bike gear and ride to the airport with the others. Surprisingly, I chose to go to the airport with the others. The other six riders were all crating up their bikes for them to be flown back to the UK. I was the only one stupid enough to consider riding mine back alone. In fairness, they all had to be back due to work commitments and I think one or two might have liked to ride back as well. My shoulder was still hurting a little from my crash so right up until the last moment I still had the option of joining them and flying back. However, I was determined to ride back as this had been my original plan and I had already decided to cut out the Mali element of my planned trip but I did not want to miss out on the solo ride.
The first thing all the other riders had to do was drain all the fuel out of their tanks and dispose of it. Now my true intentions of coming to the airport with them were revealed, as I had a massive fuel tank on my bike that luckily was just about empty, in fact the low fuel warning light had just come on as we turned into the airport buildings. Roger having the oldest bike, was the easiest to work on and with a few seconds he had his petrol tank off and was pouring all its contents into my tank. Next easiest was Glen with his 1150 model on which it was also easy to fully remove the tank. Glen had very cleverly brought with him an extra fitting for the fuel pipe which allowed the fuel to be drained easily. I had tried to syphon it from the tank but the vapours from unleaded fuel in the hot climate were more than I could stomach. Next came the task of draining the newer 1200 cc models and this got a bit more complicated. As with modern cars, all the detailed bits are well hidden away under plastic covers etc so it took a bit longer to get to the fuel tanks and fuel pumps. Using Glen's bit of piping they were able to use the fuel pumps to pump the fuel out of first Mikey's bike and then the others. In no time at all, I had my 41 litre tank brimmed to the top and there was still a substantial amount of fuel left over which I think they gave to the airport workers. The other guys then had to make sure their batteries were disconnected and taped up before the bikes could be put on pallet boards. I rode back to the hotel on my bike whilst the other got a taxi back from the airport.
Another afternoon playing tourist relaxing by the pool. This is not how adventure motorcycling is meant to be, lying by the pool in a 5* hotel with a waiter bringing regular supplies of cold beer but I could get used to it.
The evening meal was at the Calypso restaurant next door. It was right on the beach and naturally it specialised in fish dishes so that is what I had. Another fantastic meal which is doing nothing to help with my supposed diet on this holiday. Last time I spent some time in Africa I lost a lot of weight but on this trip I think I might have actually put on weight due to the numerous excellent meals we have enjoyed.

DAY 30 FRIDAY 5th FEBRUARY 2010

A decent breakfast in our luxury hotel with German pork sausages, bacon and fried eggs. Nothing like a good breakfast to set you up nicely for the day. It was strange seeing flabby white English people again after so long away from them. The staff all spoke perfect English but some of the guests spoke to them as though they couldn't understand and just shouted louder, it almost made us feel ashamed to be British.
The helpful reception desk staff informed me that there were a couple of cash machines just up the road in Bakau so that would save me taking the bike and riding to Senegambia. After all the riding we had done in recent weeks, I was happy for the bike to not move an inch today and instead I was keen to take a good walk albeit slowly in the intense heat. After about a 20 minute walk I found both the bank cash machines but unfortunately both of them were out of service. I decided to go into the bank and get a cash advance on my visa card as I needed local currency. The paperwork was substantial, I think I filled in less forms when I purchased my house than I did getting some cash out of this bank. They took photocopies of my passport and it took about 30 minutes to complete all the forms but at least the bank did have a cold water dispenser that I was able to help myself to which made the wait bearable. Coming out of the bank I found an excellent little internet cafe, with decent PCs, low cost and a waitress who kept me supplied with ice cold Fanta every half hour. Got back to hotel and played at being a typical tourist for a few hours just reading a book, drinking a cold beer and going for a swim in the large pool.
In the evening the others announced that we were all going to the Clay Oven, an Indian restaurant. Now normally I'm no great fan of Indian food as I've been unlucky in the past and never had a really good Indian meal. This restaurant changed my opinion of Indian food forever as it was far and away the best Indian meal I've ever had and I would definitely recomment this restaurant to anyone else going to The Gambia. It was not cheap but that was more to do with the drinks bill rather than the bill for the food.
Another excellent day.

DAY 29 THURSDAY 4th FEBRUARY 2010


We left GH&DT at 8.25 am for the journey to Banjul. I actually enjoyed the soft sand section despite the bike being fully loaded again. I had the bike in 2nd gear and just blasted through the sand as it was the last time I would be riding this section so I wanted to have the most amount of fun through it. The road south of the river was very good at first so it allowed us a good cruising speed but as always it soon got worse as there were frequent road works. In Africa they don't have temporary traffic lights to take you around road works, instead they just divert you off road to the side of the road into the dirt. I was in third place in the group riding behind Roger with Mikey leading the way when we came to one such diversion. I was possibly riding too close to Roger in that the dust cloud thrown up from his bike had not fully cleared by the time I rode through it. A vehicle coming the other way did not slow down and created a bigger and thicker dust cloud. At the same time I hit a patch of very soft sand and lost control of the bike whilst travelling fairly quickly in 4th gear. I instantly hit the ground on my left side banging my elbow and left shoulder, fortunately hitting the ground in the soft sand area and not on the harder rock surface. Apparently the crash looked spectacular to the riders behind me who of course were soon on the scene to help me. I was dazed for a few minutes as I had also banged my head in the crash but there was no lasting damage. John poured cold water over my elbow to prevent swelling and then we checked over my bike for any damage. Surprisingly, there was little damage, these old BMWs are made very strongly, and there were just small scratches on the petrol tank and the alloy panniers. Considering the speed at which I crashed I think I had a very lucky escape. My guardian angel never gets to rest on this trip. Further down the road there were some giant potholes and Roger was unable to avoid hitting one full on which caused his pannier to fly off his bike and bounce down the road towards me like the bouncing bomb from Dambusters. We recovered his pannier and then all had to wait for the ferry across the river again to get to the north side. Once on the northern side of the river, the road was newly surfaced and we were able to ride at higher speeds which was welcomed as it allowed some cooling air in the midday heat. I only realised how much I had hurt my shoulder when I tried to wave to some villages. As soon as I tried to lift my arm to wave I got a sharp pain right across my back between the shoulders. At this point I had to think that I might have to fly my bike back with the others and give up my hope of riding it back solo. I discussed this with the other at a break and Roger advised me that it was still an option to fly back if my shoulder continued to hurt.
Then it was on towards the infamous Barra/Banjul ferry. On my last trip, this ferry had been one of the low points of the trip, having to wait for hours in the heat and being constantly hassled by the "bumsters" all trying to sell you something. However, this time we were herded directly to the front of the queue and able to go straight in to buy the tickets which Mikey proceeded to do on our behalf. Some obnoxious little jobsworth came up to me whilst I was stood by my bike and poked me three times between my shoulders and told me to move my bike up a few inches. I told him that firstly, I was unable to move my bike as Roger's bike was directly in front of mine and secondly, please do not poke me between the shoulders as I don't like being poked at the best of times and much less when I have just crashed my bike and injured my shoulder. When, a few moments later, he did the same thing again, I started to lose my temper, not helped by the intense heat that we were trying to shelter from. When he poked me in the back for a third time I was actually ready to break the offending finger that he was poking me with. Luckily, two heavily armed policemen had seen what had happened and quickly stepped in to prevent me ripping off this chaps finger and inserting it somewhere else in his body. They told this annoying little creep to go away and they calmed me down sufficiently. Some cold drinks were found and this helped to reduce everyones temperatures. Amazingly, we were moved through the large steel doors down to the end of the waiting area and again told to just head to the front of the queue. The Barra to Banjul ferry takes one hour and everyone is squeezed on so that no square inch of space is wasted. We were wedged in between a couple of large vans with only millimetres to spare on each side. At first I was worried about scratching the sides of these vans but soon realised that nobody cared about that sort of thing in The Gambia, and least of all on the Barra ferry. Glen was directly behind me and Glen doesn't like ferries or boats of any kind so this was a real endurance test for him. John who was in front of me had managed to get a piece of metal in his rear tyre but there was not enough space for him to repair it on the ferry so as soon as we got off he needed to attend to this. Luckily, I had an excellent little mini compressor which was able to inflate it enough to get us to the hotel.
Between the ferry port and the Ocean Hotel we got stopped by one police check. I had read in Lonely Planet guide book that the police in The Gambia could be even worse than the Senegalese so I was a bit concerned. However, they could not have been more polite or friendly. As soon as we explained about our charity mission, they thanked us for what we were doing in the country and said they would not detain us any longer.
After four days up river at GH&DT, we wanted a bit of luxury so headed for the Government owned 5* Ocean Bay Hotel at Cape Point. I went in first to do the negotiating for good deals on the rooms. The manager was a very pleasant man who knew all about the Horse and Donkey charity and even about Calum's Road. After much begging and pleading, he did us a very good rate for the rooms in this luxury hotel. We were soon checked in and checking out the excellent bar after a long days ride.
I needed extra alcohol for medicinal purposes to numb the pain in my shoulder.