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.

DAY 28 WEDNESDAY 3rd FEBRUARY 2010

Another relaxing day at GH&DT. In the morning, Mikey wanted to visit Bansang Hospital to check on their solar panels as he had been told there was a problem with them. Myself, John and Gert also came along for the ride. First we had to negoiate the hour long section of soft sand to get from Sambel Kunda to the main road but it was significantly easier without any luggage on the bikes. The main road up river on the south side was surpringly good and we only took another hour to reach the hospital. Whilst Mikey went off to check out the electrical supply to the hospital, I noticed one of the Honda C90 scooters that had been donated by another group from UKGSer. Twice before, a group of several riders had ridden these little bikes all the way down to The Gambia and donated them to worthy causes including this hospital. Having just ridden down on our large bikes, it make us really appreciate the efforts of these riders who managed it on 90cc scooters. Another group had been due to leave around the same time as us but unfortunately due to the Mauritania issues they had had to postpone their trip until later. One of the doctors started chatting to me and telling me how useful these little scooters are and that he uses one daily to get out to see patients. The bikes obviously have a very hard life here in the extreme conditions as they are not built for use on off-road bumpy trails. A quick check over revealed that the bikes needed a bit of attention as they had suffered from not being able to get genuine Honda spare parts. The doctor introduced me to their Head of Maintenance who explained that they have to buy Nigerian made spares that are very poor quality and that makes it difficult for them to keep the bikes in perfect condition but they make every effort to service the bikes correctly and look after them with great care. He handed me a letter that had been sent to the UK detailing all the spares they needed to keep the bikes running. I checked over the couple of bikes parked outside and added a few more items to the list and promised that I would try to pass on these details to the "Scoots in the Sahara" group when I returned to the UK.
We then went inside to see what Mikey was up to with the solar panels. It turned out that somebody had topped up the enormous batteries with sulphuric acid instead of distilled water and this had ruined the batteries which were charged up by the solar panels. It had happened when the regular service engineer was away for a while and some well meaning person had tried to help. Unfortunately, Mikey's opinion was that these batteries were not now holding the charge and would need to be replaced at considerable cost.
We were then all ushered into the Chief Executive Officer's large office for a meeting with him and some of his Heads of Department. This was a bit strange as we had only called in unannounced but we were being treated as very important visitors. We were given ice cold drinks from his private fridge and all sat around a large board table. The CEO thanked us for showing an interest in his hospital and especially in the solar panels and the scooters. Mikey advised that he was unable to promise anything with the panels but that he would do his best to get something organised and likewise I mentioned that I would pass on the request for scooter spares to the riders I knew back home.
We had to get back to the GH&DT for 3.00 pm as we had planned to go out on a river trip. Once we all returned, it was a quick change from our biking gear to cooler wear for going out on a boat. We all piled into the Toyota again and headed down towards the river. Just as we entered the National Park there was a side warning that no felling of trees was allowed as it was a protected area. Around the next corner we were blocked by a lorry that was illegally loading large branches into the back. The lorry was a bit of an old wreck and it took him a few minutes of frantic revving to get enough power to release the air brakes and move enough to let us through. The road suddenly just stopped at the edge of the river even though there was no obvious sign of anywhere to get a boat from. After a short wait the boat appeared and we all jumped aboard. We motored up stream a few hundred yards where we then took on a local Park Warden who turned out to be a waste of time as his English was poor and he didn't seem interested in telling us anything about the surroundings. He stunned everyone when he suddenly turned around and demanded 150 Delasi each as a fee for being in the National Park and it was clear that Heather was not all happy about this. Luckily Heather was able to give us a much more informative talk about the various islands and the animals to be found on each one. We spotted a large male chimp by the edge of the river and those with better cameras than me were able to get decent pictures of him. We also noticed a large crocodile swimming very fast downriver and were again able to get photos from a distance. Unfortunately, we never saw any hippos but then that gives me a reason to return here with my wife to try to see some again in future.
When the boat returned to the drop off site, the river level, being tidal, had dropped a few feet meaning we would have to wade through soft mud to get ashore. The local boat men did their best to help us and even got buckets of water to help wash off the worst of the river mud.
In the evening we had to travel to another local village to meet the elder as he had been unable to join us at the welcoming ceremonies. We all sat inside his compound as darkness fell and he gave a speech about how grateful the people were for our help. Firstly, they greatly appreciated that we had raised money for them but perhaps more importantly, they respected the fact that we had actually ridden all the way to The Gambia to see them face to face. One of the younger villagers helped translate from the native Mandinka language into English and also translated our responses. We told them that the welcome we had received from them would be remembered for the rest of our lives and was the sort of thing that money can't buy.
A really enchanting and memorable day that will stay with me forever.

DAY 27 TUESDAY 2nd FEBRUARY 2010

Said goodbye this morning to the Dutch vet and two Scottish lads who had been staying at GH&DT. Still unable to communicate with my wife as phone can only receive texts but not send them or make calls. No internet access up river here so rather cut off from outside world here.The young vet Anna invited us to go with her on her fortnightly visit to local schools and to her clinic for horses at the nearby market. Several people all loaded into and on to the Toyota pick-up for the bumpy ride to the market first. Anna dealt with two horses first then left the local vet to carry on when we drove on to the schools. Anna took a class for an hour during which time she explained all about donkeys and how to keep them healthy. GH&DT have a policy of replacing the dreadful Senegalese bits which can cut an animals tongue with the conventional snaffle bit. A local donkey was then used as a prop as the vets showed the children how the teeth are filed and the children all seemed keen to learn. Back at the market, the vets exchanged ill-fitting or inappropriate tack for better more suitable equipment. One horse owner had used an old inner tube to stop the harness rubbing the horse. Anna took astrip of the rubber and rubbed it repeatedly over the owners arm until the friction burned him! He immediately understood why she was replacing it with on his otherwise good condition horse.
At dusk we walked down to a ridge overlooking the river to an observation point a few hundred feet above the water level. We were able to look down on the trees and see the wild monkeys swinging from tree to tree beneath us.

DAY 26 MONDAY 1st FEBRUARY 2010

Went for a walk around the village this morning and even with this early start it soon got incredibly hot. Everywhere we went we were greeted as honoured guests especially Mikey who was known to many villages as "Mike Solar Panels" an account of his previous visits to install the panels in many of the villages.
Next item on the agenda was to ride our bikes to the actual Calum's Road. Flags and bunting had been hung over the start of the road and "Welcome" banners erected. We rode a short distance down the road and then parked up and joined in a group of people who had all come together to talk about the construction of the road. This group included Heather from GH&DT who are handling the finances of the road and many elders of the nearby villages. They each gave a speech in which they they thanked us profusely for helping them with this project. One elder explained in detail how the new road would significantly improve their lives in three key areas by allowing them to reach the nearby town. Firstly, it would improve the income of the villages as it would allow them to tend to their rice fields and then get their crops to market. Secondly, it would improve the health of the people by helping them get to the clinic in the next town. Some of the women spoke movingly about how a child had died as they had been unable to reach the clinic in time for treatment. Thirdly, the education levels would be improved as the children would be able to go to the secondary school in the next town without the parents having to worry for hours if the children would make it safely home or not.
One chap told us how last year, he was wading back through chest high water, when he encountered a hippo! He thought he was going to be killed by it but obviously he survived to tell us the tale. More people are killed in Africa by hippos each year than by any other animal.
The official party then decided to walk along the road to meet up with another group who had walked from the village at the other end. John decided to ride his bike on the road so I elected to join him to ride to the end of the road where a river crossing connected to the next village. Villages used horse and carts to transport goods and all these horses were left in the shade to rest whilst the owners travelled across the river by boat. We were given a perfect demonstration of how difficult the current road is when donkey and cart attempted the return journey. The donkey fell down in a deep mud pit and had to be released from the cart which had to be manually dragged through the waterlogged ground. A local woman who had fallen into this stagnant water in previous years had subsequently died as a result of the infected water.
We had great fun riding the bikes back along the sandy tracks as today the bikes were completely unloaded of luggage and could be ridden as originally intended. We were still glad to get out of our hot biking gear as soon as we returned to base.
We had a quiet afternoon just relaxing during which I walked down to the local school. Barclays Bank who have generously sponsored me with £750 to the appeal, also gave me two boxes of pens to give to local schools so it was great to be able to give this small gift to the school's headmaster.
During the evening we could hear the sound of partying coming from the village so we went to investigate. The villages themselves had paid for drummers to attend for our welcoming reception but the drummers had decided to stay on a bit longer and party a bit more. It was amazing to see women of all ages with tiny babies strapped to their backs partying and dancing energetically whilst the babies slept on their backs. Not much call for a babysitting service in this village.

DAY 25 SUNDAY 31st JANUARY 2010

Good early start today to get to border before intense midday heat. Small Senegalese villages busy with many donkeys and carts filling the streets. Road was newly surfaced on first section but final part deteriorated to broken surface with some large potholes and craters. Exiting Senegal was surprisingly quick, efficient and no bungs were asked for or paid. In fact the police at the very last check point were very friendly and went some way to restoring our faith in this country.
Leaving on town I saw what I thought was a scrap yard with a line of broken down and bashed up old Mercs with numerous bits missing from each vehicle, but it turned out that it was in fact a taxi rank!
We had a long wait at two river crossings especially at second one where the ferry's motor was broken and the ferry had to be pulled across by steel ropes in the intense heat. I was starting to feel weak in the heat and we were beginning to run low on water. Once across at Georgetown, the old slave trading post, we were able to buy cold drinks and move on. Just 20kms from our destination, I signalled to Mikey that I needed to stop for more water or else I felt I might pass out. Suitable refreshed, we rode on the final piece of road and came upon the first of the amazing welcoming receptions laid on for us. It is hard to describe in words just how amazing the receptions were, the entire village was out to greet us, all chanting "Welcome, Welcome", dancing, banging drums, blowing whistles and waving bits of twigs. Special ceremonial dances were performed for us and we were made to feel like royalty. We parked up our bikes and joined in the celebrations thinking we had reached our final destination. After 20 minutes as darkness began to fall we were told that we still needed to ride several more kms to the Gambia Horse and Donkey Trust HQ. The roads went from OK to sandy dirt tracks and by now it was completely dark so the going was extremely difficult with a few bikes dropped due to the challenging conditions and general fatigue after a very long and hot day. It took a long time to complete those last couple of kms and at every little village we passed, everyone was outside celebrating our arrival. We found out later that all the villagers had been waiting all day for us to arrive and then we finally turned up in the dark and they, unlike us, were still full of energy. It was amassive relief to park up at GH&DT building although we were surrounded again by an amazing group of people all wanting to shake our hands and all still chanting "Welcome, Welcome". This was it! We had actually done it, we had ridden the 4,600 miles from UK to Sambel Kunda in The Gambia in 25 days. We had braved extreme cold temperature in UK and France, we had crossed Mauritania against Foreign Office advice, survived the heat of the Sahara, coped with the corrupt police of Senegal and made it all the way here! Apart from Richard's accident in Spain, the trip had largely been without incident. All seven bikes had run faultlessly from Roger's 1988 R80G/S, through my 1997 R1100GS, Glen's R1150GS and four of the newer R1200GSs. This trip has somewhat disproved the notion that the later model 1200s are unreliable and not suitable for Africa as they all ran with any problems whatsoever.

DAY 24 SATURDAY 30th JANUARY 2010

Leisurely start leaving Zebrabar, although it was my turn to keep the others waiting as I couldn't find my keys just as we were leaving. I started to panic that I had lost my keys in the soft sand and then realised that they were in the seat lock. We had to head back towards St. Louis to refuel which meant passing the corrupt police check again. Gert was leading the way so I signalled him him as we approached to slow right down to a crawl. Sure enough, we were pulled over and Gert correctly indicated right and stopped at the required point with me alongside him. It was the same cop as yesterday morning and he remembered me and told me I could go as he knew all my papers were in order. In fact he insisted that I move along so I rode the remaining 200 yards to the petrol station to fill up. A few minutes later Gert turned up and told us that he had been fined an astronomical Euro 50 for " not indicating for long enough". It reminded me of the old "Not the Nine O'Clock News" sketch where the racist policeman had fined the black man for "wearing a loud shirt in a built up area".
After that we headed south and with every mile it got hotter and hotter with the temperature reaching 44 degrees. Considering that we started well below freezing in the UK, this is a considerable temperature range in one adventure. It is also a credit to our riding gear that it has coped with both extremes.
Along the way the locals were all exceedingly friendly, with big beeming smiles and waves from all age groups. It was humbling to see people living in such poverty who could be so friendly and positive to visitors to their country who were obviously significantly more wealthy than them.
We ended up at the Relais Hotel in Kaolack in Southern Senegal where they had a total of three rooms left, being two doubles and one triple so we all just fitted in here. It was a wonderful place with air-conditioned rooms, cold beers, a swimming pool (complete with drowned lizard in deep end) and an excellent restaurant. Gert had managed to pick up a nail in his rear tyre so he had to repair a puncture whilst the rest of us tried out the swimming pool.

DAY 23 FRIDAY 29th JANUARY 2010

Everyone seemed a bit subdued this morning after the drinking session last night. Today is a total chill out day doing as little as possible. The bikes are all checked over and air filters emptied of sand and cleaned again. Glen and I rode into St. Louis to go to the bank and for me to use the internet cafe. We fell victim to the corrupt police again. Riding slowly towards the town with manic taxi drivers overtaking us, we were pulled over and told we had been speeding. No radar gun or anything just the policeman's opinion. Firstly he wanted 12,000 CFA each (about £20) each and I was determined not to pay this much for a made up offense. Fortunately, Glen is more diplomatic than me (but then again, who isn't?) and he expertly reduced this fine down to 5,000 CFA ( about £7.50) each which I reluctantly agreed to pay to the slimy little creep. On the return journey I rode stupidly slowly up to the checkpoint and still got stopped. They had changed shifts and it was a different policeman who luckily wasn't as corrupt as the last one and I got away without paying anything.
In the evening we met an interesting biker called Nigel who was riding north from The Gambia. His website is at www.bignoseonetour.org. He entertained us with many amusing tales of his travels and adventures.

DAY 22 THURSDAY 28th JANUARY 2010

First chance in a week to have a lie in so it was 10.00 am before I woke in my mosquito netted bed in my deluxe chalet. Walked to the upper terrace above the bar and found all the other guys having breakfast of omelette, bread and cold beer! I unloaded my bike and spread out all of my gear from my panniers, being the first chance I had to properly unpack and sort out all my luggage. A boat taxi was arranged for 1.00 pm and this is the perfect way to enter St. Louis. Our first priority was to find a bank to get some local currency, the CFA. I was able to find a cash machine from memory down a side street but it was temporarily out of service. Another was located around the corner and then we were all set up with sufficient beer money to enjoy a late lunch in this lovely old town. The internet cafe that I had used years ago was now closed down but through an open window I could see the rows of old PCs encrusted with cobwebs. Luckily there was another internet cafe just around another block so I was able to post messages and update this blog. The others had taken an early taxi back to the Zebrabar but I stayed around a bit later and went for a walk all around town just before dusk. African towns seem to suddenly come alive at dusk with thousands of people appearing on the streets from nowhere. I walked over the magnificent iron bridge that linked the two parts of the town and saw just how rusty and corroded it was in places. It is for this reason that they have began work on a replacement new bridge running parallel to the old one. Once over the bridge it was starting to get drak so I flagged down a taxi and agreed a price to take me back to Zebrabar. Compared to most of the taxi, this one looked in relative good condition, some of the panels were not too bashed in and the windscreen only had one large crack down the centre. If the taxi in Mauri had looked like rejects from a banger race, then these in Senegal looked like the sort of cars used by clowns ina circus. Doors, bonnets and boots would just randomly spring open at any time if they turned a corner or went over a bump. My 15km taxi ride was an experience that I shall never forget. I think I had more near death experiences during that ride than I've had in the last 20 years. At one point we were on a narrow road at speed set on a collision course with a large lorry coming straight towards us. The taxi driver appeared to be playing "chicken" with the lorry driver with neither of them moving to one side. I counted down the seconds to impact then finally closed my eyes, said my final prayers and prepared to die. Suddenly, the driver swerved violently to the right off the road, bounced along the dirt and then rejoined the road a few hundred yards later. I opened my eyes and looked at him and he was totally calm as if nothing had happened whereas I was still shaking. On arrival at Zebrabar, I instantly grabbed a cold beer and joined the others for an excellent evening meal.
We rounded off a fantastic day by sitting drinking on the terrace listening to Roger play music from his phone. The choice of music for a bunch of hard core adventure motorcyclists? Abba's greatest hits!

DAY 21 WEDNESDAY 27th JANUARY 2010

We thought that we had turned up for breakfast at 7.00 am and disappointed that the staff were not ready. Then the waiter pointed out it was only 6.00 am Mauri time and we were an hour early so it gave us plenty of time to get packed to get out of Noakchott early. The morning rush hour in Noakchott was the most manic and insane driving standards of all. It is funny how the week before we had thought Rabat was traffic was mad, but compared to Noakchott it was positively civilised. At least in Rabat they confined their driving to the actual road whereas in Mauri they use the dirt tracks beside the road to take shortcuts and overtake. Also the condition of the vehicles was noticeably worse with cars driven until they simply fell to bits, sometimes at a busy junction. At every police check all the officials were polite and welcoming.
About 30kms short of Rosso we turned off on to the new "road" which cuts across to the piste to Diama. This began over 50 miles of offroading on surfaces varying from soft sand to corrugated road. This was extremely exhausting due to th eintense midday heat so we had to stop frequently to take on water and get our breath back. We were fairly shattered by the time we got to the Mauri borderwhere we were swiftly processed (by African standards) by pleasant friendly officials. They even came to Bhuds aid when he dropped his bike and cut finger keeping up his tradition of bleeding in every country we visited.
The officials on the Senegalese side were the opposite, immediately confrontational and demanding money. Once across the bridge we were met with an official who demanded Euro 70 just to lift the barrier to allow us to proceed. We had read on various travellers website that this fee is negotiable so we made it clear we would not pay Euro 70 just for a barrier to be lifted. A stalemate ensued with all our bikes blocking the entrance whilst I walked past the barrier to the police control to enquire what documents were needed for entry into the country. Among the required documents was a receipt from the barrier man confirming that we had paid him. Welcome to classic African corruption, they are all in it together. I remembered the last time I had crossed this border and we had experienced similar problems. In that case we had managed to buy off the officials with copies of adult magazines! As soon as I had told barrier man that we wouldn´t pay his initial price he reduced it to Euro 40which still seemed expensive but at least confirmed that the price was open to negotiation. After a while, another police official was getting annoyed with us and threathened to have us all sent back to Mauritania if we did not clear the bridge. I related this info back to the group and we concluded our haggling with a final fee of our left over Mauri money amounting to around GBP 20. With hindsight we may have been better to pay up rather than be delayed for so long. The police chief then began the typical African practice of writing down all the details from our passports into a big book. I did wonder what the point of all this is? Does anyone ever look in these books to read who came in when and for what purpose? The customs documents I can understand as its purpose is to ensure that any foreign vehicle brought into the country is exported again and not sold in the country avioding import taxes. I queued at the customs window for an hour before he even took my papers at 5.50 pm and then he told me that the seven passports and logbooks would take a long time to process. Usually in Africa, you are told thatsomething will be be done in minutes and it takes hours so when you are told up front that something will take along time then you know they really mean it. They love their ribber stamps in Africa and this customs official had several in different sizes and colours. The countries are so poor that they can´t even afford new ink pads so the stamps in your passport are subsequently very faint and barely legible. Each bike needed a customs form which of course meant all the details from the logbook and passport written out twice, once on the formfor us to take with us and onceagain for their own records. The fee for this was supposed to be CFA 2,500 (about Euro 3.8) or CFA 5,000 depending on size and type of vehicle. Not surprisingly, our bikes were rated in the more expensive category but as we had no CFAs the fee was rounded up to a nice Euro 10 per bike making Euro 70 in total all of which went into the officials pocket. When the official completed the first form he stapled a receipt for CFA 2,500 to it but on the second formhis stapler run out of staples. Despite him repeatedly banging it on the desk it refused to work with no staples in it so no receipts were attached to any subsequent forms. I did not query this at the time as he gave the firm impression that you did not question anything he did. Over an hour later he finally handed back all the completed paperwork although by this time it was getting dark and we really didn´t want to ride on these roads at night but it appeared that we had little choice.
It was pitch dark by the time we set off towards St Louis with me leading on the treacherous roads. I kept on having toreduce my speed as I encountered all manor of obstacles and hazards inthe dark including unlit vehicles, donkeys feeding in the road, pedestrianswalking in the roaddressed all in black and crazy taxi drivers racing each other. Going into St Louis was like another Mad Max scene with some of the most beat up vehicles ever seen, many without any lights at all.
We were stopped in a police check and the first thing they queried was why we did not have receipts attached to our customs forms. We explained the situation but the equally corrupt police just openly told us we would have to make a contribution to the chief´s drinking fund.
Thoughts turned to getting a hotel in St Louis but I was determined to get us to Zebrabar which was 20kms south of the town. John had the brilliant idea again of hiring a local taxi to guide us through the chaos and take us directly there. We stopped in a petrol station and I began to haggle with a taxi driver just as a passenger jumped into the empty taxi. The passenger turned out to be anEnglish teacher who actually taught the children of the owners of Zebrabar. We agreed on a deal whereby we would follow the taxi as it drove the teacher home and from there the driver would guide us to the Zebrabar. It was a long 15 kms in the dark on rapidly deteriorating roads until we finally reached our destination. I shook hands with the taxi driver and thanked him profusely, I almost gave him a hug as I was so glad to finally be at the famous Zebrabar again. For a second I had the awful thought that it might be closed as there seemed to be little sign of life or any other guests but we soon found a member of staff to book us in. Glen as ever was the most organised amongst us and not only started to help sort out the chalets but also located the famous ice cold beers and got a round in. Well done that man!
The relief at being at Zebrabar with a cold beer was indescribable. When I had my annual medical check up in December, the nurse had warned me that my blood pressure was too high. She told me to sit calmly for five minutes and think of something relaxing. When she subsequently retestedme the results were normal so she asked me what I had thought of thathad relaxed me so much. I explained that I had dreamt of sitting on the terrace at Zebrabar with a cold beer in my hand. The nurse agreed that this definitely worked so I should hold that thought in my head. That thought had motivated me since I left home in Devon and rode through the snow and ice of England and France. It had kept me going when dealing with tedious African officialdom and now finally the dream was reality, Zebrabar and cold beer, almost perfect. The only part missing is my wife Ann who I have promised to bring to this little bit of paradise in Africa.
After a few more beers we all headed off to our chalets after avery tiring but enjoyable day.

DAY 20 TUESDAY 26TH JANUARY 2010

Had a good nights sleep in our communal tent although the surrounding tents may have suffered from the combined effects of seven bikers snoring away in ours. It was a team effort to physically drag each bike each bike back through the soft sand and out on to the tarmac road but good to start the day with some exercise. We were soon away from the border in the crisp morning air. With the early start, we made excellent progress and the average speed was only reduced by the numerous police checks. Without exception, the police were polite and welcoming being excellent ambassadors for their country. The impression was given that they were genuinely concerned for our safety and they all wished us well for our trip. The quality of the main road was a revelation as we had been led to believe it would be patchy in places, understandable considering Mauri is one of the poorest countries in the world. However, the road was excellent with much of it very recently refurbished to a high standard. I presume that they must have imported the road building skills as, apart from one other road heading east, this is effectively the only main road in the country. It was odd to see junctions on this quality road where all the side turnings only led to dirt tracks. The overall opinion of the group was that the quality of this third world road was far better than the general standard in the UK.
The weather gradually warmed towards midday but a strong wind blew from the east bringing a mild sand storm from the Sahara. At times the road disappeared beneath the sand but there were diggers at certain points to keep the road clear. Aproaching 200 miles from the border, I was leading the group and aware that we would need to stop for the riders with smaller fuel tanks to refill from their reserve tanks. The problem was finding somewhere sheltered from the wind in this bleak wilderness to fill with petrol and not half a ton of sand. Miraculously, a newly built petrol station appeared around the next corner complete with cafe, boulangerie and general store so all our prayers were answered.
Suitably replenished, both bikes and riders, we set off again for the next 150 miles to the capital Noakchott. We stopped for a photo break when we passed another herd of wild camels and it was pleasing to see that all passing vehicles stopped to check that we were OK in this harsh environment.
As we had entered the town, Mikey had taken the lead as he had copies of everyones fiche in his tank bag and it was more efficient for one person to deal with all the formalities. Although Mikey spoke very little French (and with a strong Scottish accent), he did an excellent job with all the officials. Ride up slowly, switch off engine, remove gloves and shake hands with official seemed to do the trick and ensure a smooth passage. I overtook Mikey to try to lead us to the Novatel Hotel that I had stayed at previously. Alas, my navigation skills were no better in central Noakchott than they had been in the minefield as all the roads looked equally chaotic. Soon we were in the old part of town which looked like a scene out of a Mad Max movie with crazy smashed up wrecks coming at you from all directions and the road surface covered in deep sand. I admitted defeat and asked a taxi driver to take us to the hotel and I'd try to follow him through the insane traffic. Bhud came to grief at one of the junctions but with the help of several locals managed to pick the bike up before any of us could get any photos. A local jumped down from his donkey and cart to help Bhud and then had to run to catch his donkey who carried on up the street without stopping. Fortunately, Bhud was totally unhurt in the tumble and we soon got to the hotel. Their initial quote was Euro 133 each for a single room which we all thought was expensive so I volunteered to ride up the road to the next hotel to compare prices and found a quote of Euro82 but at a lesser quality hotel. I came back and told the group and the conclusion was that we liked the posh hotel with its secure parking so we would try to bargain a deal and perhaps share rooms. With my best negotiating skills I succeeded it getting the rate for a twin room down from Euro169 to Euro137.
Whilst all this was going on, the group outside had been chatting to a visiting senior UK policeman who had just concluded a meeting in the hotel with his Mauri counterpart concerning anti-terrorism issues. The UK are helping Mauri deal with their terrorism issues but although Mauri is keen to take the required action they lack adequate resources. This policeman told the group that he considers Mauri to be very dangerous and that we should leave the country as soon as possible. He told us not to trust anyone and not to tell anyone our plans or movements as there are "spotters" who are relaying details of kidnapping targets to the terrorists. He described my planned solo trip to Mali as "total madness" and very strongly advised against it under any circumstances. The mood amongst the group had been fairly high after successfully reaching Noakchott but this info plunged everyone into a worried state again. In amongst the doom and gloom the policeman told us about an excellent little French restaurant hidden away down a back street near the hotel. He recommended it highly and told us that unlike everywhere else in Mauri, this place served alcohol!
Before heading out for dinner we gave the bikes a quick check over as we knew that riding through the deert had taken its toll on the machinery and the sand had got abolutely everywhere. John had problems with both his flip up crash helmet and his panniers as the fine sand had got into and jammed the hinges. However, a rinse out with water followed by a squirt of WD40 and all was well.Most riders alo cleaned out their air filters and emptied handfuls of sand from the airbox. I unscrewed the drain plug from my airbox expecting to see sand drain out but instead about half a litre of oil poured out over the hotels smart paved carpark. I remembered now that I had overfilled the engine oil by mistake when I serviced the bike in December. In my usual impatient manner, I had not waited sufficiently for all the cold new oil to drain to the bottom of the sump and therefore I had accidentally put too much in. This excess had subsequently been blown back into the bottom of the airbox which would alo explain why the bike had been running a bit rough at low revs.
Once the bike maintenance was completed we walked the coupe of hundred yards down a side street opposite the hotel to the French restaurant. There was a wooden door which led into a sort of holding room and to a large steel door at which we were told to knock and wait. Eventually, it was opennd and we were ushered into the restaurant/bar beyond. We asked in slight disbelief if they did in fact serve alcohol and the very attractive waitress confirmed that they did so 6 beers and one vodka were ordered without further delay. The drinks soon came and were so good we ordered another round. We had an excellent meal after which the proprietor (who looked like a French version of Peter Stringfellow) came over with è shot glasses and a bottle of French brandy and absolutely insisted that we all have a complimentary drink. A perfect end to a brilliant days riding through Mauritania.

DAY 19 MONDAY 25th JANUARY 2010

Considering the overall standard of the hotel the breakfast was disappointing with only a few bits of bread, some hot water and milk and an empty jar of Nescafe. I asked the waiter for more coffee but he couldn't find any and after making a few phone calls, he told me it would take 10 minutes to send out for some.
We left just after 9.00am and had to double back 15 miles up the peninsular to rejoin the main road south. The sand was blowing so hard over the road that it was difficult to even see where the road was, We made good progress and got down to the border just after lunchtime. Firstly we had to exit from Morocco/Western Sahara. Just my luck but the passport office's computer system crashed when he attempted to enter my details. After that was fixed all 7 passports were processed and then it was on to the customs office to process the bikes. It was a relatively painless operation before moving to the first part of the Mauri process. I collected up all 7 passports together with the V5 logbooks and took them to the man in the next office. He had a massive book on his desk in which he wrote down all the details from your passport on the left hand side and all the details from your log book on the right hand side. The poor chap must have writers cramp atthe end of each day and must dream on one day getting a computer to ease his workload.
Once clear of the Moroccan side it was time to enter the few miles of no-mans-land between the two countries. To show there was no hard feelings from last nights discussion the rest of the group suggested that I could lead the way here as I liked going first. So I rode away with the border guard kindly reminding me "Be careful out there, remember it is a minefield. Do not wander off the path or you might hit a landmine. Good luck!".
We had 3 main options for transversing the minefield.
1. Pay one of the many guides who will alledgedly lead you through the safest route although there are many tales that they lead you into soft sand and then charge you to be towed out.
2. Simply follow another vehicle. Fine in theory but they took off too quickly for us to follow.
3. Get some suicidal idiot to volunteer to ride first and hope that he doesn't blow himself up.
We took the thrid optio with me as the volunteer as I had crossed this minefield before. I forgot to mention to the other guys that I did it 5 years ago, in a car, in the dark and ended up being towed out.
I charged into the minefield and made a mistake with the route but choosing a path with too much soft sand for our fully loaded bikes. We managed to select a firmer path after I took a shortcut between tracks whereas the others had lost all faith in my navigation and chose instead to retrace their tracks and take the other route.
Once at the Mauritanian border we had to join a long, slow moving queue of vehicles waiting to gain entry. It took nearly an hour just to reach the barrier to get into the compound with us moving up one car length every few minutes. During one attempt at moving up, I lost my footings and the bike crashed over onto to its right hand side with me underneath it. Several people came to my aid and it was soon back upright and I was completely unhurt. Once through the barrier at about 5.30pm, the first task was to give a copy of all our fiches to the military looking people in the first building. Next task was to take more fiches, passports and logbooks to the next building where another policeman repeatedd the process of writing down all our details in an even bigger book. Once he had completed this labourious task (which took about an hour) he passed everything to his colleague who wrote the details of our vehicles into our passports. Whilst all this was going on, Gert and I started to arrange to insurance. This was of course also very time consuming with lots more forms to be filled in. We had to buy insurance for Mauritania at Euro10 for 10 days and had the option of buying it for Senegal and The Gambia at further cost. I needed to extend this for a period of one monthto cover me for my return journey. Time was dragging on and we still had not got our passports back so we were starting to get concerned that it would be dark before we left the compound. Everyone from the Foreign Office to fellow travellers had told us that we absolutely MUST NOT ride in the dark in Mauri. All the recent kidnappings had taken place after dark and the 3 Spaniards had been captured on this very road. Our fears were not reduced when the Head of Security said he would phone through to each police check points to check we made it through to Noadibhou. It was then pointed out to us that there is a new camping faciltity within the border compound so it was the obvious choice to stop here. We were shown to a large new tent with 7 mattresses and pillows in what was a sharp contrast to our usual 4* luxury. I was fainally able to retrieve our passports at 7.30pm but there was still customs clearance to be finalised. The customs office consisted of a very broken down wooden hut lined with bits of cardboard nailed to the internal walls. It was a bit like the sort of old shed you might find on an English allotment but this was the official customs office for Mauritania. By now it was dark and the only light was from an oil burning lamp on his desk. The character behind the desk had his whole head and face wrapped up in Arabic headwear leaving just his piercing eyes staring at me. "Come back tomorrow. I am very tired. It is 8.00pm and I've been working all day" he advised. With the help of the fixer we had acquired, the customs man was persuaded to process out forms that evening to allow us an early start in the morning. We got chatting and he turned out to be a very helpful and friendly person and unlike my previous visits to Mauri he did not ask for any bribes to speed things up. I had to fill out a customs declaration form for each bike and forge every riders signature on different bits of paper just like Ihad done on all the insurance forms. The friendly customs chap kept telling me how much he liked the British and that we were very welcome into his country. A frenchman poked his head around the door to enquire if his forms could be processed that evening but my friendly official gave him a very firm "NON".
The delapidated shack also served as his living quarters so he told me I could wake him in the morning to lift the barrier to allow us to leave the compound. He smiled and siad that it officially opens at 8.00 am but as a special favour to his Bristish friends he would open up earlier if we wished.
By now it was 9.00 pm and dark so we moved to the tent where we were supplied with cans of coke, large bottles of water and a wonderful meal of chicken and vegetables. After all the dire warnings from the Foreign Office and others the welcome we received in Mauri was far better than we had expected. We all went to sleep very early in preparation for a big day to follow.

DAY 18 SUNDAY 24th JANUARY 2010

Woke at 6.00am, fell asleep and woke again when I heard doors banging at 8.00 am. Rushed to breakfast room which was full of UN soldiers all dressed in military uniforms. Only had time to grab a croissant but stilll charged for full breakfast, my fault for getting up late. I quickly packed and joined the others outside loading the bikes. After last nights antics, I half expected the others to pack up and leave without me. There were numerous police checks in the first few miles until we cleared the town completely. The scenery was stunning and apart from the roads themselves the landscape could have been from another planet. We came across a herd of camels so it was a good chance for a photo stop albeit in direct sunshine. We were about 25 miles from the next town and I suggested that we stop there briefly for a drink but the group decided to just ride through. I asked John if he wanted to stop and he agreed so we agreed to ride ahead to allow us time to stop very briefly. As we entered Boudour, John and I stopped at the first petrol station to refill. The strategy from Western Sahara southwards is that whenever you find a petrol station that is open and has petrol available it is wise to fill your tanks. I was surprised when the other 5 riders rode past without stopping although Glen turned in to the next petrol station down the road. John and I pulled up next door at a small cafe for a quick tea and coffee. Glen said he didn't want to delay at all as he wanted to get to Dakhla early to have time to explore the city. Just outside the town the other 4 riders had stopped on the cliff edge for photos I assumed. Having only just stopped a few minutes earlier, I decided to continue but was surprised when John and Glen also turned off. So now I waas riding by myself for the first time since France. I rode on enjoying the freedom of riding at my own pace and stopping whereever and whenever I wanted.
One place I had to stop was at a petrol station about 100 miles before Dakhla. This is where my car had blown up in 2005 and I had spent several hours here waiting to be rescued when I was taking part in the Plymouth Banjul Challenge. This time I just stopped for a quick photo and I was soon on my way again.
I was amazed at the improvements to the roads and general infrastructure since I last visited 5 years ago. Glen had told me that morning that our planned destination in Dakhla was the Regency Hotel. Riding into town I saw a massive sign for Regency Sahara which I assumed must be the right one. After our cheap downmarket hotel last night, we were clearly back up to our usual standards. I still can't get used to this idea of adventure motorcycling but staying in luxury hotels. Last time I stayed in Dakhla it was at the travellers campsite as you come into town but this time in in the poshest hotel in town. My room was massive, you enter into a central reception room and walk through into the spacious bedroom with quality furniture, flat screen TV and balcony. Also from the central room is a walk through dressing room leading to the toilet whilst another door takes you to the large modern bathroom. First thing to do was strip off the hot biking gear and dive into the decent sized bath. Suitably freshened up, it was time to explore the rest of the hotel and find the bar for my first beer in a couple of days and over 750 miles. At last the weather is properly hot and I can feel the sun burning my skin. I must remember to retrieve the sun lotion from the very bottom of my pannier. The hotel had wifi but no computers to use so I walked into town to find an internet cafe. It was a suitably cheap looking place up a flight of stairs into a small room with 9 PC desks and I was allocated no. 9. I wriggled the mouse and hit the enter key but nothing happened. I was just about to complain that the PC did not work when I realised I hadn't actually switched it on!
The internet connection was terribly slow with each page taking up to 3 minutes to update. It took me 2 hours to update one day of my blog and post messages to friends, some of whom were complaining that I had not spent enough time updating this blog! By the time I left the internet cafe it was dark and the temperature had dropped significantly.
At the hotel the other 6 bikes were parked outside the entrance but there was no sign of any of the riders. I asked the receptionist which room John was in so that I could find out if they were still around somewhere. John answered his door and told me that the group was very unhappy that I had rode off on my own today and had not waited with the others. This subjest was raised again when we all met in the bar for pre-dinner drinks. We had a "full and frank" discussion of all issues to try to clear teh air before we embarked on the next stage of our journey into Mauritania. I offered to break away from the group and make my own way to The Gambia as, after the incident at the restaurant the previous night, I did not feel part of any team spirit. However, I was wrong, as I realissed after our exchange of views which succeeded in clearing the air and settling our differences and misunderstandings. We all had a decent meal in the hotel restaurant and agreed we would aim to leave at 9.00am next morning for the ride down to the border with Mauritania.

DAY 17 SATURDAY 23rd JANUARY 2010

Planned to leave very early but John was a bit unwell so we hit the road at 8.45am. John led the way out of town but unfortunately did not see a red light at the entrance to a large roundabout. I nearly missed it as well and skidded to a halt just in time. We got away with that and were soon out of town and on the road to Tiznit which is where the others had spent last night. At 11.00 we stopped for our tradional morning coffeee break but kept the stop short as we had a lot of miles to cover today. The riding today was fairly boring in comparison to the exciting roads of yesterday. The roads were mostly flat and straight and you could see for miles until the horizon. The monotomy was interrupted in the afternoon when a herd of camels wandered across the road causing us to brake suddenly. It appears that Saharan camels have the same road sense as Dartmoor sheep. We stopped to take photos of the camels but they continued to keep moving after we had parked and were sonn hundreds of yards away.
We encountered several police checks as we crossed from Morocco to Western Sahara and a few of them requested all our details. We had prepared for this by producing dozens of copies of these "fiches" which included all personal details you could think of.
There were strong winds blowing from the Atlantic spreading sand across the road. It even rained at midday but luckily we avoided the short downpour as we were inside under cover having lunch at the time.
We stopped on the outskirts of Laayoune to see if the other group had sent a text to tell us where they were staying but nothing had been received. As we rode into the town we spied their 4 bikes parked outside a cheap looking 2* hotel so pulled up to join them. The hotel room reminded me of the sort of cheap French rooms I used to use when I first went motorcycle touring nearly 30 years ago. As we were on the outskirts of town there were no restaurants and we had to walk towards the town centre to find some. Roger and Bhud walked on ahead and we explored other areas. John very intelligently thought to ask a local phamacist for directions on the basis that a pharmacist is likely to be an educated man and able to speak English. A fish restaurant was recommned and the 5 of us walked to it and then texted Roger and Bhud to let them know exactly where we were. John and I went in and the restaurant owner pushed two tables together to create on large table for 7. We ordered drinks and then saw Roger and Bhud cross the road and go into the next door restaurant with all the others. This was the real low point of the trip and John and I ate in the original restaurant and had an excellent meal.

DAY 16 FRIDAY 22ND JANUARY 2010

As arranged, we all left theh Ibis hotel at 8.30 am but split into two separate groups again. We were determined to avoid motorways and major roads and instead wanted to ride on some real Moroccan roads. It meant we would have to ride due south through the centre of town before picking up the N203 to Asni. The main roads of town soon gave way to much smaller roads and for almost the first time on this adventure we were actually leaning the bikes over to go around the sharp corners. The altitude increased and the scenery became stunning through the High Atlas mountains. I had my Ipod playing good music, I was enjoying riding my favourite motorcycle on spectactular roads in the company of good friends and thinking how incredibly lucky I am to be experiencing all this. I thought it couldn't get much better but of course it could. The one missing ingredient is my wife Ann who I am missing so much and I wish she was here with me to enjoy it as well. Then I thought how she might react if she actually were on the pillion seat as I flew around these bends with 1,000+ feet drops and thought that perhaps she might not enjoy the experience as much as I was doing.
The poverty of the subsistence farmers in the mountain regions was emphasized when we stopped and they looked at us as if we had come from another planet. Inthe mountains especially the humble donkey is still used as the main means of transporting all produce down the road.
We spent so much time simply enjoying ourselves on these fantastic roads that we didn't cover the desired mileage and would not get much further tan Agadir. John had previously visited Agadir in 2007 so he was elected to lead us into town and locate us a suitable hotel. He even managed to find the same deluxe hotel he had previously stayed in. They agreed a special off season deal for large rooms with sea views at a bargain price. This was originally meant to be a hard core adventurer expedition but so far the most we have roughed it is one night when we stayed in a 3* hotel rather than our usual 4* fare. So yet another luxury hotel had to be endured...
The panoramic view of the bay of Agadir was lovely when I hung my laundry out to dry on my balcony.
John led the four of us down to the seafront to find a restaurant. Many of the places were closed which was odd considering Agadir is marketed as a winter sun resort. Andres inability to walk too far meant we chose a nearby restaurant and this proved to be an excellent choice. Perhaps it was the lack of other people about but the service and food was excellent. In the very short walk back to the hotel of about 200 yards we were approached and offered cocaine, heroine and sex openly! It was rather sad to see these desperate women trying to sell themselves and added a bit of a sad note to an otherwise amazing day. The other sad note was that Andres would be leaqving us as he had promised his family that he would not ride through Mauritania. Andres informed us over dinner that he had just proposed to his girlfriend and she had agreed that they will get married by an Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas this coming summer.

DAY 15 THURSDAY 21ST JANUARY 2010

Two weeks ago I was buried in snow back home in Devon, now I am in the warm sunshine of Africa. Two lots of bad news this morning. Firstly, Glen is ill and has been up all night with the runs. He takes some rehydration powder for breakfast and then sits outside hotel vomitting in the bushes. Secondly, Andres limps into breakfast room on his crutches and announces that he has broken his leg! Luckily, it is only his artificial one so he only needs a few rivets to repair it Typical biker humour followed with questions asked as to whether it was covered under BMW warranty and had he bought a spare with him. He took it in the spirit intended although the leg was clearly causing him some discomfort. He would have to find a local engineer to hand rivet a repair and this would delay his departure by a few hours. John immediately offered to stay behind to help Andres and with Glen seemingly too ill to ride it looked like we would revert back into our two groups for the ride down to Marrakesh.
Meanwhile I checked out of hotel, walked past a vomitting Glen, climbed on to my bike and rode around to the Mauri Embassy to try to sort out the problems with my visa. Riding in the morning rush hour was actually great fun, hte air was cool and I was loving the cut and thrust of the driving.
Arriving at the Embassy, there was already a large group outside so Iresigned myself to a long wait outside the entrance. Then I had a bright idea and waited instead outside the separate exit door for someone to leave. As soon as the exit door opened I dived through much to the total surprise of the guard who was only used to letting people out and not having them coming in. I rushed up to the main building where there stood two large black men. One looked like a security guard ready to grab me and the other looked senior and important as he was very well dressed. I very politely greetedd the Senior one in French and explained the problems with my visa. He asked me if I had completed the form correctly and I confirmed that I had so he took me with him to the visa processing office. The surly official who had been so unhelpful yesterday, suddenly couldn't be more helpful and apologetic in the presence of his boss. They dug out my form and confirmed I had requsted a multi entry and therefore I paid the aditionl fee and he promised to process my visa "soon". He told me to wait outside and it would be brought out to me when completed. I used this time to write up my blogin the shade and learn to relax into African time again.
Whilst waiting I texted Andres to give him the good news that I should hopefully be back soon. Andres replied with equally good news that he had found a place near the hotel that was making repairs to his leg so hopefully we would not be delayed too long. John later told me of the strange sight of Andres hopping down the road on his one good leg with John walking alongside carrying Andres's artificial leg, apparently they got some strange stares from the locals!
Meanwhile back at the Embassy the hours were passing and nothing was happening. Finally at 11.30am he told me I wouldn't get it until 3.00pm as the Consul himself was not in the building to sign it. There was nothing I could do about it so I rode back to the hotel to join John and Andres who had kindly waited for me. Andres had fixed his bionic leg at a nearby saddlery centre and we walked a very short distance to the Magic Coq for lunch. I returned to Embassy before 3.00pm and as treated like royalty this time, ushered past all the waited crowd and taken inside and presented with my passport with big smiles from everyone. I made a big point of thanking them all in French and we all left happy and smiling. John and Andres had refueled next door so we were ready to set off for Marrakesh. Four hours and 200 miles later we stopped outside Marrakesh to find out from the other group where they were staying. They had texted us the GPS coordinates of the Ibis on thering road so we were able to easily find our way there.
It was decided to take 2 taxi into town to go to the famous Marrakesh square. We ate in the square then visited a barbers shop where most of our group had a haircut and/or a decent shave.
A long day but a fantastic adventure.