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.