Calum's Road Motorcycle Trip

DAY 35 WEDNESDAY 10th FEBRUARY 2010

2010-03-02T08:27:00.000-08:00

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

2010-03-02T08:23:00.000-08:00

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

2010-03-02T08:15:00.000-08:00

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.

DAY 32 SUNDAY 7th FEBRUARY 2010

2010-02-25T05:22:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-25T05:00:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-25T04:40:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-25T03:00:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-25T01:58:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-24T06:00:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-24T04:13:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-24T03:35:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-24T02:57:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-24T02:27:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-23T06:10:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-15T07:04:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-09T03:34:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-07T03:34:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-07T02:45:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-07T02:27:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-05T07:43:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-05T03:41:00.000-08:00

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.

DAY 14 WEDNESDAY 20TH JANUARY 2010

2010-01-29T06:04:00.001-08:00

First thing to do on waking was to check the bikes which had been left parked overnight outside the front of the hotel.We had paid a guard to keep an eye on them all night and Roger had risen early and found the guard watching over the bikes. So I was a little disappointed to find someone had fiddled with my seat and tank bag mounts but nothing was missing or damaged. After breakfast, two taxis were ordered to take us to the Mauritanian Embassy to apply for our visas. There were numerous purposeful looking overland vehicles parked up and down the street and a crowd of at least 20 people when we arrived just after 9.00 am. Apparently, the officials had opened the doors at 9.00 am, handed out the required forms to the waiting xcrowd and promptly locked the door again? At least half an hour later the process was repeated and this time I grabbed 7 forms in the scrumage to enable all our group to start completing them. Once all forms were completed we formed an orderly queue in typically British fashion. However, once the door was opened a fez inches there was a rush forward like Sales Day at Harrods as everyone pushed in and none of our crew were successful in getting inside. Lessons learned, we regrouped for round 2 with Roger and myself in pole position and with a firmer attitude. At the second attempt, we succeeded in getting past the burly "bouncer"controlling access. The clerk behind the glass window was a miserable looking character who merely grunted the minimum amount of words needed to perform his task; "Passport, Photocopy of Passport, 340 Dirhams". Damn, I had left my copy of my passport back at the hotel with all my copy documents. So when the demands were were fired at me I told him that Ihad a copy back at my hotel and would bring it when I came to collect the completed visa. I was stunned when he agreed to this, took my money and issued the receipt. We advised the other riders to tell the same story and that he only accepted Dirhams and not Euros. He then left his small office and came around to tell Roger and myself not to talk to th eothers as we had already been processed and that we must leave the area.
We immediately left and walked to a nearby bank to withdraw some more Dirhams. But first we had to cross the busy road. In theory, there are 2 lanes in each direction but in reality of Rabat there are up to 5 lanes on each side as drivers try to squeeze up as much as possible. It looks like total chaos but it actually seems to work and the traffic seems to keep constantly moving. Which is great until you take your mife in your hands and attempt to cross it. Roger and I agreed that it would be tragic to survive over 2,000 miles of riding and then be run over crossing the road. The prospect of being in an African hospital did not appeal either so we walked further down the road to a set of traffic lights in the mistaken belief that might make it easier to cross. Once safely across, we got our cash out of the hole in the wall machine and then had to cross back.
We flagged down local blue taxis for the return trip to the hotel and the fare was one fifth of the outbound fare.
John and I consulted my Berlitz guide to Morocco and wanted to explore the old part of the town on the hill. Grabbing a local taxi, he took us to the Medina across town for a very reasonable GBP2. Not long after entering the maze of the Medina, we were aproached by a local guide, John and I both agreed that we were prepared to pay for a guide to get the most out of out visit and this pleasant chap spoke excellent English. He led us around the narrow streets and pointed out all the points of interest including the vast Muslim cemetry besdie the seashore. After luch came the call to prayer and he abruptly ended the tour. I offered him the equivelent of GBP 10 for his 20 minute guide but he stunned us by demending GBP40. I made it clear he was not getting another penny out of me so he turned his attention to John who agreed to double my stake up to GBP20 or 200 Dirhams. Unfortunately, John only had a 200 Dirham note and there was no way on earth he was going to get any change from this shark. The guide then hurried off to his mosque no doubt to give thanks to the prophets/profits.
We wandered down and found a pleasant cafe to have cakes, mint tea and the strongest coffee I have ever seen. The bottom half of the glass was solid tar but it tasted surprisingly good.
Below this area was a wonderful souk that catered mainly for locals with just a few selling tourist related merchandise. John was able to source an Ipod charger to replace one damaged in Spain when he had a minor electrical fault. Further down this fascinating street there was a beautiful aroma of frying fish. A corner stall was doing a brisk trade selling freshly fried fish in traditional Moroccan bread with an assortment of vegetables. They were absolutely delicious and very cheap. You really could find everything under the sun for sale in these streets from food, clothing, electrical goods to tortoise. I was intrigued by the two boxes of tortoise for sale, one with what I assumed were fully grown ones and the other with very small young ones. I stopped to take photos of these and the stallholder noticed my interest and came over. H ethen opened a large box filled with dozens of baby chamelions. Not something you see at ASDA.
We took a taxi back to the hotel where teh others had just arrived with their completed visas. John and I jumped in yet another taxi and sped around to the Embassy to collect ours before they closed. We kept the taxi waiting as we ran into the embassy and got our passports complete with the all important visa. Back in the taxi I quickly check my visa and found they had made two mistakes, the dates were wrong and it only allowed single entry whereas I would need two entries to allow me to ride back north again. I asked the taxi driver do do a quick U turn back to the Embassy where I tried to explain the errors to a bored and disinterested official who simply told me to come back tomorrow and buy another one. I was not happy but I had no other option.
Once back at the hotel; I told the others that I would be delayed in the moring and Andres very kindly agreed to stay behind and then ride down with me to Marrakesh.
In the evening, all 8 of us walked to the Kasbar and found a marvellous authentic Moroccan restaurant where we enjoyed the traditional Moroccan dish of tagine (or "tangine" as some called it) which is a piping hot stew with a choice of flavours:
Overall an excellent day enjoying the experience of Morocco.

DAY 13 TUESDAY 19TH JAN 2010

2010-01-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

Finally, we have made it across on to African soil. Mileage reads 36,405 dock side in Tangier. Ferry took longer than expected then had to wait outside port for a berth to become available. You can feel the tingle of Africa immediately you land, the hussle of the locals trying to sell you the vehicle immigration forms that are available for free if you know where and who to ask. We were pounced on by these "helpful" locals offering us both the forms and assistance with co,pleting them. We politely declined as we were determined to enter the country without paying any backhanders to anyone. We had a very long wait before clearing customs but that gave me time to write up thge blog. After semmingly an hour of nothing happening I went to the customs office to find out how our papers were progressing. The Immigration process is the most inefficient imaginable. One man sits at an ancient PC which runs what looks like 20 year old DOS based software, where he very slowly single finger types the details of every person and every vehicle entering the country. I watched this process for half an hour not knowing whether to laugh or cry. A couple of weeks later this system would look a model of efficiency compared with what we later encoutered.
The process dragged on and on but I managed to obtain the papers for myself, John and Andres, all of whom had visited Morocco previously and therefore our details were already on the national police database. The others being first timers to Morocco had yet more forms to fill in more we could leave the docks.
It was decided to split into 2 groups of 4 riders rather than one of 8 which would be too difficult to keep together in Moroccan traffic. Our group comprising of me, John, Glen and Andres set off first out of Tangier taking care to adhere strictly to the speed limits which were rigorously enforced every fez miles on the main roads. There were a few surprises riding on Moroccan roads as they don't have the same Health & Safety concerns we have in the UK. Where workmen were working on the xentral reservation, they left they wheelbarrows unmarked in the outside lane!
Shortly after, we needed to syop for fuel for the bikes and lunch for ourselves. Despite the petrol station having a large sign saying "Cartes de Credit" they refused to accept our credit cards and insisted on cash only. The waiter in the nearby restaurant was friendly and spoke fluent English which he was pleased to use to welcome us to his country. We had some local speciality bread together with various cheeses and jams. I made a complete idiot of myself when he asked me what I wanted in the bread and I replied "Ham". In a Muslim country§ Luckily, I didn't ask for a bacon sandwich to follow.
Just over 120 miles later we entered Rabat where we needed to go to get our visas for Mauritania. By now it was gone 5.00 pm and the embassy would be closed but we wanted to locate its position for the following morning. Disappointingly, our satnavs only work partially in Africa, it can tell you where you are and where you want to get to but not how to get there as it does not have the road network in its memory. Timing wise, the rush hour in a Moroccan town is not the best time to be on the road. The driving standards are horrendous with frequent minor bumps considered the norm. On any gradient, various vehicles will roll back and collide with the vehicle behind which is especially scary when the vehicle in front is a large tipper truck and you are on a motorbike. At one junction an old Merc rolled back into another Merc leaving me trapped dangerously close to a truck which had started to move forwards. I sounded my horn to warn the dozy driver and he became irrate with me for hooting at him. He moved forwards but then deliberately swerved directly at me to try to knock me off my bike. I took immediate avoiding action then retaliated by aiming a steel toe capped boot at his rear door before disappearing through a gap in the traffic. Welcome to African driving standards.
The first hotel we found was full as was the second. We realised that it was getting late and we needed to find rooms as soon as possible. Andres and Glen sped away to the next hotel as soon as John had confirmed that the one he had just tried was also full. We soon lost them in the dense manic traffic and I was beginning to worry that we would not find a room and I was getting very hot in my riding gear. My main concern now was simply staying together with John as I didn't want to be alone in this situation. Whilst we were stuck in this awful traffic, two young kids on a 50cc scooter came alongside. In my best French, I asked the young rider (he looked about 12), if he could lead us to an available hotel. He consulted with his equally young pillion friend and confirmed he was willing to help us. Of course, on his tiny narrow scooter he could cut through the smallest of gaps denied to us on our heavily loaded bikes with wide panniers, although I managed to scrape through (sometimes literally) some very small gaps. He proudly deposited us outside a good looking hotel but I asked him to wait incase it was full. And of course, it was full as well so we were becoming increasingly desperate. Our young guides thought quickly and soon we were wizzing through the traffic to yet another hotel. By now, I was resigned to being told ever hotel was full so it was a reaction of surprise and delight to be told they had rooms available. I rushed outside to tell John this good nezs but he was on the phone to Andres who in formed him that he had booked us into a hotel back on the other side of town. Only problem was we had no way of finding this other hotel without the help of our young frinds again and again agreed to help. As we rode through the traffic a policeman tried to stop them, presumably for riding underage and riding with no crash helmets on! I signalled to the policeman that they were with us and they were OK. It was only later that I thought about how I would feel if anything untoward happened to these two kids. When they deposited us at the final hotel they went to ride off before we could even thank them. We both gave them the equivalent of a few pounds and they were genuinely surprised as they had been willing to help us for no reward.
I don't think I have ever been more relived to get out of my hot biking gear and have a much needed shower. Amazingly, a couple of British bikers we met at the motorwat services were also staying at the same hotel. Even more surprising was that the other group also found their way to our hotel so we were all together in one place again.
The hotel bar was a wonderful tiny smoky windowless dimly lit den with shady characters hiding in the shadows. One such character struck up a conversation with Andres and proclaimed him to be his best friend as he alledgedly loved the British so much. We were naturally suspicious of this instant friendship but again he proved to be totally genuine and had no alterior motive. After he had bought three of us beers we got it out of him that he was the owner of a nearby restaurant. We offered to dine at his restaurant but he never did give us the address. Instead we found a cheap local cafe round the corner where we had half chicken and chips with soft drink for about GBP 5.

DAY 12 MONDAY 18TH JAN 2010

2010-01-28T09:26:00.000-08:00

This morning, for the first time ever, I was first down for breakfast. We wanted an early start to get to the tyre fitter and be ready as soon as he opened. Monday morning for Spaniards obviously doesn't start until 10.30 am when the owner of the Ducati and Harley dealer rolled up for work. His tyre changing equipment consisted of a blanket to go on the ground, two tyre levers, two blocks of wood, a manual press to break the beads and a compressor. When another Spanish customer asked why he didn't have any automated hydraulic machinery he replied "That is for cissies. Real men change tyres by hand". Unfortunately, our real man worked at typical Spanish speed in which the term "glacial" is considered rushed. After an hour and a half he had managed to change 3 tyres out of the 10 required. At this point we realised that this tyre changing task was going to take considerably longer than originally anticipated. It was decided to do the tyres first for the riders who still had to sort out their couriers for parcels home of winter riding gear that was no longer required. As the other riders are planning to fly their bikes back from The Gambia, they have no further use of the thick heavy winter wear that was essential for the first week of this trip. It therefore made much more sense to package it all up and send it home rather than have the weight and bulk of carrying it through Africa.
In contrast, I intend to ride back on my own own and return through Spain and France at the end of February so I will need all my gear. It was only later that I thought that I should have left my gear at this hotel in Spain to collect on my return journey but I never thought of that at the time.
We tried to hurry up our tyre fitter buy staning over him and even assisting in the task to keep him working. Eventually at around 2.00 pm the last tyre was fitted and we were away. The riders who needed the courier service had returned to the hotel to arrange this. I stopped off to get some cash on the way back and then returned to the hotel. Unfortunately, they had not been able to arrange the courier so we would have to stay over another night and not get the ferry until Tuesday. I wad bitterly disappointed as I was impatient to get over to Morocco. To add further insult to injury, the hotel moved us to inferior rooms which did little to improve my mood. After writing up my blog for an hour I had chilled out enough to enjoy a game of crazy golf with John, Glen and Andres. Despite claiming to have never held a golf club before, Andres managed to claim overall honours whilst I trailed in last place which obliged me to buy the next round at the 19th hole, the hotel bar.
When Roger and the other returned they advised that they had negotiated a good deal on the ferry crossing and had booked on to the 8.30 am sailing the following morning.
The buffet dinner at the hotel was again excellent and I could smell the fish soup before I entered the restaurant. Another mmod lifter for me so by the end of the meal I was chilled and relaxed and decided on a very early night before our moring crossing.

DAY 11 SUNDAY 17TH JANUARY 2010

2010-01-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

Rest day in Algercias. Woke at 7.00 am then again at 10.29am when little Spanish maid opened door to clean room. Realised that breakfast finished in one minute so waited for maid to close door before springing out of bed, getting dressed and flying down 2 flights of steps to enter breakfast room just as elderly waitress was starting to clear all the breakfast choices on to her large trolley. She looked irritated as I helped myself to things as she raced around clearing up. It was like a "2 minute supermarket trolloy dash" with her trying to clear things and me trying to grab them for my plate. The waiters found it amusing and were happy to hand me knife, fork, spoon and coffee cup as I raced around.
Out in the hotel car park all the other guys were fettling their bikes with a few minor issues being attended to. Different people wanted different things today so we split up. Glen set off on his own to ride up to Ronda, with John and Andres following him shortly afterwards. Apparently this is a spectactular road and a wonderful town with awe inspiring views into deep gorges cut by the river over millions of years. The remainder of the group being myself, Gert, Bhud and Mikey decided on a gentle cruise up the coast to Gibraltar. Being originally from Jersey I felt a certain affinity with the inhabitants of Gibraltar with it being a fellow Crown Dependancy. Some say Gibraltar is even more British than Britain itself these days as it seems trapped in a timewarp and appears more like Britain was in previous generations. Unfortunately, with it being Sunday, nearly everywhere was closed, again just like Britain in years gone by and unlike the current 24/7 culture. In the shop windows we noticed how cheap the alcohol was with Smirnoff Vodka at GBP7.50 and Bombay Saphire Gin at GBP 10.50 for 1 litre. You would have to go back a long way in the UK to find those prices.
We parked in the free motorcycle parking at Morrisons so popped in to buy a few things. It was a weird culture shock to suddenly be completely back in England! Even the staff looked and sounded the same as back home.
Leaving the supermarket we followed the road around the coast including some interestingly little tunnels. I couldn't resist reving my noisy bike in the tunnels which made one small child scream. At the southern tip near the lighthouse we found possibly the world's oldest ice-cream-man who looked at least 80. In typical British fashion, we all had a "99 with flake".
From the vieving area we had a panoramic view across the sea to Morocco. We hoped that soon we would be across the sea and on to the continent of Africa and leaving Europe behind. We tried to ride to the top of the rock but there was a barrier across the road and they wanted an extortionate GBP12.50 each to ride past. The bikes were turned around rather than pay GBP 50 for 4 bikes. We later discovered from John that had we attempted the same route a couple of hours later then there would have been no charge. Early night for most of us in anticipation of big day tomorrow when we should finally get to Morocco.

DAY 10 SATURDAY 16TH JANUARY 2010

2010-01-16T09:44:00.000-08:00

GRANADE TO ALGERCIAS
Woke in time for breakfast today and ready to do some riding again. Bikes were loaded quickly and everyone was ready to leave. The procedure seems to be that six of us all get completely ready to go and only then does Roger start to put on his helmet and gloves...
The road out of Granada was a revelation, no snow, no ice, no rain and no vicious cross winds. Just pure riding pleasure on lovely roads with spectacular scenery in warm weather. This morning the thick winter gloves gave way to the thin summer gloves.
Another first for me was riding a bike whilst listening to an Ipod. My son Martin gave me an Ipod for Christmas and loaded all my favourite songs on to it. At the NEC Bike Show in early December I had ordered a set of custom made in-ear moulded speakers to come from USA. These arrived a couple of days before we left leaving no time to test them out. So the speakers and the Ipod were used for the first time as we left Granada. It is fair to say that I have a rather diverse taste in music with the range of artists going from Chas & Dave, Meatloaf, Susan Boyle, Dr Hook, Leona Lewis, Def Leppard, Beautiful South, Ian Drury, Jim Steinman to Queen. I put it on shuffle to get a random selection from that lot and it picked Meatloaf´s "Bat Out Of Hell" as we rode out of town. It was fun listening to the opening notes of each song and trying to guess both the artist and the track. Perhaps the greatest musical contrast was listening to Ian Drury and The Blockheads sing about "Sticky Vicky from Billericy" (apparently well known to Roger!) and then having Susan Boyle´s rendition of "Amazing Grace". The other riders expressed surprise at my tastes in music but I loved the variety.
The time seemed to pass much quicker today with the music and the varied scenery. On the left hand coastal side of the motorway is the hideous concrete overdevelopment such as Malaga whereas on the right hand side is a stunning mountain range.
Before we knew it, we were entering Algercias, the gateway to Africa at the southern tip of Spain having just passed Gibraltar. Glen was waiting for us at the hotel entrance to take photos of us all arriving.
Finally, after 10 days and just over 2,000 miles riding, the Calum´s Road crew were all together in one location. After swiftly unloading the bikes we checked into our massive rooms and changed into our shorts and sandals as we were in definite "summer mode" now. We were amazed to see there was a log fire burning in the hotel reception on what we would be happy to call a good summers day. It was then time to relax on the patio where Glen had kindly already arranged beers for us. From the hotel garden we could see numerous ships passing through the Straits of Gibraltar and the ferries going back and forth between Spain and Morocco. Soon we would be aboard one of those ferries but first we had to arrange to have our off-road tyres fitted. I rode around town trying to find a suitable tyre fitter but everywhere apparently closes early on a Saturday and doesn´t open again until Monday. Oh dear, it looks like we will have to have yet another rest day. If you have been following this blog since the start you may have noticed that recently we seem to ride for one day then rest for one day. At this pace it might take us a while to reach Calum´s Road but we have plenty of slack built into the timetable.
After the beers (or a few Vodkas in Roger´s case) we all set about giving the bikes a good once-over. Mikey needed to fit a new fuel filler cap which had been sent to the hotel especially. Roger decided to do an oil change on his old "airhead" BMW but we are sworn to secrecy about exactly how he disposed of the old waste oil!
From now on, once we cross to Africa, the blog will not be updated on the same day as we do not wish to disclose our exact location. I will of course continue to write up my notes but in future they will be a few days behind our actual location and may also depend on the availability of internet connection.
The real adventure begins here.
Thanks again to everyone who has donated to the www.justgiving.com/sidhorman link. It is great to see donations coming in whilst on the road and it is much appreciated.

DAY 9 FRIDAY 15TH JANUARY 2010

2010-01-16T09:37:00.000-08:00

REST DAY IN GRANADA
Zero mileage again today. I was shattered after yesterday ride in the strong cross winds. Didn´t wake up until 11.00 am so missed breakfast. Group meeting at lunchtime to arrange everything for Richard with travel and medical insurance.
Went for walk around Granada, it is a beautiful city. Found nice little authentic bar behind the cathedral in the old part of the town which served tasty parma ham sandwiches.
In the evening, four of the other guys went to see Richard in hospital and he appeared to be in good spirits although that may have been the result of all the morphine they gave him after an operation to pin his ankle.
No much else to report on today but we hope to move on to Algercias on Saturday now that we know Richard and his bike are both being taken care of.

DAY 8 THURSADAY 14TH JANUARY 2010

2010-01-15T03:03:00.000-08:00

BENIDORM TO GRANADA
Didn´t sleep well last night due to hotel room being too hot. The hotel had set the entire interior temperature to cater for their elderly winter guests. While this was was comfortable for the old folks it was uncomfortable for us hardened bikes who were more aclimatised to the sub zero temperatures of the UK and Northern France.
As soon as we were all dressed up in our bike gear, we couldn´t wait to get outside into the fresh morning air. Now a group of 7, we set off from Benidorm and immediately joined the motorway south. For the first time since last summer, I was actually warm whilst riding a bike. This made me realise why I actually ride a bike, because it is fun!
The fine weather did not last however and soon we were subjected to vicious cross winds so strong it would blow us across the two lanes of the motorway. Passing large trucks became "interesting" as they offered a very temporary reprieve from leaning the bike against the wind but it struck back with a vengeance once you came level with the front of the truck. You had to time it precisely to steer into the wind, too early and you would swerve towards the truck, too late and you got blown towards the central reservations.
In addition to these severe winds we then had to cope with driving rain as well making visability difficult. In some ways this was the worst of the riding conditions that we had encountered.
By the time we finally arrived in Grenada, we were all shattered from the efforts of riding and just wanted to find a decent hotel. We found a small bar to use as our base whilst we checked out the surrounding area. Andres knew central Grenada but since his last visit the city had introduced more one-way systems and pedestrianised areas so it was easier to search for a hotel on foot. The bar owner looked unimpressed as we spread out our dripping wet bike gear which caused puddles of water on his highly polished wooden floor. But as long as we were spending money, he was happy enough.
Whilst we were laughing and joking in the bar. Roger took a phone cal from Richard, who was the last member of our group to join us. He was due to be joining us here in Grenada having ridden down from Madrid this morning. Roger suddenly shouted for all of us to be very quiet as he was struggling to hear Richard on the phone but that something serious had happened. Richard had just informed Roger that he was phoning him from a nearby supermarket carpark but that he was stuck under his bike and may have a broken leg!" At first Roger thought it was a joke but quickly realised that Richard was serious. We managed to get the location of the carpark and immediately set about a plan to help him. Andres as the only Spanish speaker was immediately despatched along with Bhud who was competent with the satnav to locate Richard and find his way back to the bar.
As soon as Andres and Bhud arrived at the supermarket, they phoned to tell us that Richard had already been taken to hospital by ambulance. The local police were extremely helpful and professional and helped sort out Richard´s bike and marked on the satnav the precise location of the hospital. Andres rode off to the hospital to find out more details whilst Bhud stayed with Richard´s bike. We now needed to get Richard´s relatively undamaged bike recovered back to our hotel for safe storage. It was decided that I was best suited to ride Ricard´s bike as I rode a similar model whereas all of the other riders rode the later lighter machines. I of course agreed to help even though it meant a pillion ride across town on the back of another bike to get there. Like many experienced motorcyclists, I do not like to go pillion on another bike as I hate the feeling of not being in control. I need not have worried as Gert who carried me across town was an incredibly smooth rider and we were soon at the carpark where we found Bhud and the bike. Richard had originally planned to ride down all the way to South Africa and back up the Eastern side so he was carrying a substantial amout of gear on his bike. We unloaded some of the gear and spread the weight on to Gert´s and Bhuds bikes. I gave Richard´s bike a good check over as I was nervous of riding a bike that had been potentially damaged. We found out that Richard had been riding at very slow speed and just over balanced but had got his leg trapped under the pannier as the bike had toppled over. Consequently, damage to the bike was minimal but I still wanted to assure myself that everything worked correctly before I rode it back across town in the evening rush hour. I rode it back rather gingerly and soon had it safely stored in the hotel´s underground carpark.
Andres remained at the hospital but was unable to get much information on Richard other than he was obviously being kept in overnight.
The rest of our group were very subdued and saddened that a member oof the team had been injured and wouldn´t be able to continue the trip.
There was nothing more we could do for Richard that evening so we decided to get some much needed food. A restaurant was found just a few hundred yards from the hotel which looked promising. It advertised on the door a tourist menu for 12.5 Euros that looked good value so we decided to eat there. I had just grabbed a jacket quickly as we were leaving the hotel and it was my internal heated jacket complete with wires coming out and a big control switch with green and red buttons. I got some very funny looks as I walked into the restaurant from the other diners as I must have looked every inch a suicide bomber with this jacket on. Perhaps because of this, they put us in a separate area around the back! They then informed us that the 12.5 Euro menu was only available at lunch times and instead we would have to order from the very expensive looking a la carte selection. We soon ordered drinks including a good bottle of the local wine. The waiter tried four times to get the cork out of the bottle, each time just extracting a small amout of broken cork, much to his obvious embarrassment. Eventually, he admitted defeat and reurned with a fresh bottle. This time he managed to remove the seal and take the cork out in one smooth movement for which we gave him a slightly sarcastic round of applause.
The meal was fantastic and a real gastronomic delight. Each dish had numerous flavours and all six of us agreed it was one of the finest meals we made enjoyed in a long time.
We decided that due to Richard being in the nearby hospital that we would remain in Granada the following day so that we could assist with arranging whatever was needed for Richard and his bike.

2010-01-13T07:13:00.000-08:00

Woke this morning in luxury of Hotel Diplomatic in Benidorm. Hotel is so nice I don´t want to leave. Must bookmark this place for future reference, might even stay here on return trip.

Decided over breakfast to stay extra day here with John. Glen decided to ride on to Algercias. Got on hotel internet this morning but computer crashed a few times, usually just before I had completed long post.

Watched Sky News this morning and saw how bad weather was in Devon with reports of people stranded in their cars for several hours outside Exeter. I knew my wife Ann had a hospital appointment in Exeter yesterday so I was obviously concerned that she was OK. Glad to hear this morning that she had got home safely although our home in Devon is still cut off to all vehicles apart from 4x4s. Friends and neighbours have rallied around to help my wife both from the point of view of the extreme weather and also knowing that I am away. To any of them reading this blog, a big thank you from me.

Late morning, John and I went for a walk around Benidorm. The place has a reputation of Union Jacks and Lager Louts but at this time of year we appeared to be the only people under the age of 60 in town. It is like Eastbourne has just been moved south. The shops etc were surprisingly upmarket to what we had expected with very few tacky tourist type places although this may reflect the better part of town we are in.

So we went in search of tacky tourist attractions. :)

On the sea front we found a bar with a resident singer who looked at least 75. We passed on that and further down the sea front was alovely bar with two country singers complete with guitars aand cowboy hats. Every other customer was wrapped up with thick jackets, scarves and hats and I´m sat there in sandals, thin tropical trousers and very thin breathable t-shirt. After a few drinks the singers sounded good.

No mileage today but total trip mileage is now 1,549 miles to date.

The principal reason for this trip is to raise money for the road building in The Gambia. At last count my www.justgiving.com/sidhorman showed GBP 911 plus GBP 227 Gift Aid giving GBP 1,138. To this must be added GBP 750 due from Barclays Matched Fundraising giving a total of GBP 1,888. I also have commitments from other people who will pay up when I have completed the trip so I look on target to reach my minimum target of GBP 2,000.

For anyone who wants to follow our trip in real time, we are carrying satelite transmitter beacons which relay our positions onto Google maps. For reasons of security, we are not posting this on to the public domain but any friends can contact my wife for further details. For those friends on http://www.ukgser.com/ they can contact my very good friend Proff who will sort them out access.

After a few drinks listening to the country singers we moved on to the Western Saloon where they will be p`laying this evening. I foolishly challenged John to a game or two of pool thinking he was too old to be any good. Despite not having his satnav with him, John managed to find his way around a pool table and managed to beat me by 3 games to 2.

Got back to hotel and found out I can in fact upload photos on to this blog. Hopefully I have manged to attach some not just to this post but also to the previous ones.:)

Andres has just arrived in the hotel as I´m posting this. Roger and the other group should be here shortly so I will update again later this evening.

Back again. Roger and others arrived and soon we were all in the bar comparing notes on our journey so far. We then adjourned to a nearby Chinese restaurant and had an excellent meal.

DAY 6 TUESDAY 12TH JANUARY 2010

2010-01-12T10:18:00.000-08:00

First priority this morning was to go to the medical centre to get my infected knee sorted out. It was only a short walk around the block from our Ibis hotel. I walked in, rolled up my trouser leg and said " Infectado. Antibiotics. Por Favo". The lady there reached behind her gave me the antibiotics and rang up €4.75 on the till. I was in and out in under a minute, what fantastic service! Back at the hotel I put the cream and other stuff on my knee and then we packed up and left. We stopped for petrol for all three of us within one mile of the hotel so we would all be ready to clock up some decent miles today. Unfortunately, the lovely early morning sunshine of Zaragoza soon gave way to driving rain as we headed south towards Valencia. It then got worse as we road along the southern side of the Pyrenees with large snow drifts. We had thought we had left the snow behind us in France but it was back with a vengeance here. When we pulled off the main road at lunchtime to stop for a coffee, it was back to UK like condition and we even struggled to park the bikes in the snow and ice outside the cafe. At times the dual carriageway was reduced to effectively one lane where the snow ploughs had piled up a few feet of snow at the edges of the road.

Later on we stopped for a traditional Spanish tapas meal which was excellent. This was just north of Valencia and we were ahead of schedule so the plan was agree to ride the motorway ring road around Valencia and stop at the next village on the coast.

Unfortunately we let John "TwatNavMan" take the lead. No sooner were we on the ring road around the town when his twatnav told him to turn off and ahead directly into the centre of town. And of course, John always obeys everything his satnav tells him even it is patently and bloody obviously wrong! I´ve read stories in the papers of people who have supposedly driven their cars into river because their satnav told them to but I always thought it was a tabloid exaggeration. Now having ridden with John, I believe those stories as John will always trust his satnav 100% even when it defies all sense and logic.

So I rode up the inside of John and called across "You silly fellow. We are on the blooming wrong road again" (or it was something like that I shouted!).

Once out of Valencia, we called down to the coast but the small villages were like ghost towns, all being shut up for the winter. We therefore decided to ride on to good old Benidorm. We thought even us muppets must be able to find a hotel in Benidorm as it probably has the highest number of hotels per square inch of anywhere in the world.

Whilst John looked after the bikes, Glen and I went to haggle with the hotels for the best deal. They have lots of empty rooms at this time of year so we figured a good deal was possible. After the long ride of 321 miles today in poor conditions we felt we deserved a decent hotel. I thought I had done a good deal at the first hotel but just as I was about to hand over my passport and credit card, Glen came in and told me he had done an even better deal at the posher hotel up the road. Well done that man! We managed a quality 4* hotel with a double room each, underground parking and full breakfast for around 40 pounds each.

Wonderful rooms, best so far on this adventure.

Back to my infected knee. It is definately getting better than yesterday back it is still bad. I´m no expert on medical matters but I know enough to know that it should not be green and yellow. I´ve put a clean sterile dressing and antibiotic cream on it and the pain is reduced.

Tomorrow we plan to cruise down the Spanish coasat to Algercias and finally meet up with all the other riders on this trip. The original plan was to meet up in Scotland at the original Calum´s road. Plan B was to meet at Folkestone but the weather also distrupted that idea. Plan C is to all get together in Southern Spain before we all cross together into Africa. Then the real adventure begins...

DAY 5 MONDAY 11TH JANUARY 2010

2010-01-11T14:10:00.000-08:00

Left Bordeaux at 10.00 am. Third attempt at riding as a group of three. Exited hotel car park and John turned right and I turned left, not a good start. We had set our satnavs to the same destination but it was giving different directions. At end of street, John's said turn left, mine said straight ahead. Glen's said left so I went with the majority decision. Down next avenue, John's suddenly sent him off up minor side street. My patience was already exhausted so I carried on main road and rode on my own. Oh well it lasted all of 2 miles this time!

A few miles later we all met up again on autoroute. John pulled in behind me and we were riding as a group of three again. Then he suddenly disappeared again. Eventually I needed to stop for fuel and they rode past whilst I was refueling. Flew out of petrol station and caught them up just as they pulled in for fuel at next services. This continued for a while until we finally managed to ride as a group of three and we let John ride up front.

We crossed into Spain without even knowing it. Suddenly, John turned off to the right for no apparent reason, his infamous satnav was leading him astray again. John explained later that he mind ofter wondered and then he would notice his satnav telling him 'turn right in 100 yards' so he did, suddenly and without warning! He found his way back to us after going round in circles twice and having to pay the same toll road charge 3 times. Lovely roads in Spain and finally the sun came out and we could begin to enjoy riding the bikes.

I had a minor problem. On Day One my heated trousers had worked far too well and had managed to burn my right knee to the extent that a large blister developed. Unforunately, the blister burst and it got progressively worse to the point of being very painful. Today it was so swollen that the entire knee was red and obviously inflamed. I went into chemist in Zaragoza and they kept telling me I was 'infecktado' as if I was carrying bubonic plague. Apparently that is Spanish for 'infected' and the whole kneecap is infected and I need to go to a medical centre. I'll follow up in the morning.

We had an excellent tapas meal this evening washed down with some very nice Rioja wine. We know the weather is getting better as the red wine is now being served at the correct room temperature so things are definitely looking up.

Mileage today 318 miles about average so far. Tomorrow we plan to cruise down towards Valencia.

2010-01-10T07:42:00.000-08:00

DAY 4 SUNDAY 10TH JANUARY 2010

Rest day today in Bordeaux. Went for walk around town and found internet cafe to update this blog.

Hopefully, picture here should show woman driver trying to mark a Mark 2 Jag.

2010-01-10T07:14:00.000-08:00

DAY 3 SATURDAY 9TH JANUARY 2010
Woke up in Orleans at 5.00am and weather looked good with no new snow overnight. Woke again at 9.00 am to find fresh snowfall and carpark covered. Hopefully, at later date I will be able to upload photo to show just how bleak the conditions were. Had very basic breakfast in simple Formula 1 style hotel. Glen rang to say he was already on the road but that John was planning to stop in Paris until conditions improved.

I got going at 10.30 French time but forgot to switch on my Spot satelite transmitter until my first petrol stop. Very cold again and light snow but roads were well salted and gritted with numerous snow ploughs on roads although only salting first two lanes of motorway leaving outside overtaking lane with snow, ice and slush.

Stopped for fuel early, fuel consumption dropped to low 40s mpg due to slow speed running in low gears in the snow. Painfuly cold at times with hands and feet worst. Made frequent stops for coffee and soup at services before cold got too bad. Good to be clocking up the mies and heading south to supposedly warmer weather. French Météo this morning showed Bordeaux at amongst the coldest at -6. So far since leaving home in Devon, I have only ridden in sub zero temperatures.

In afternoon, I stopped again at services and met an interesting Australian chap who was also a fan of BMW motorcycles. We chatted for ages about bikes and I even arranged to help him sell some sparess he had left over.

Another stage of 90 miles left me with only 60 to go to Bordeaux. I needed to stop again and had a decent meal but with the pitifuly small sized coffee you always get in France.

Eventualy Bordeaux was reached and Glen texted me to give me details of the city centre hotel he had checked into. I soon found it and rode around the block to the hotel carpark. Unfortunately, it had been a long day and I turned in to wrong underground car park by mistake. I realised my mistake when I exited the carpark an found I was locked out of it and my bike was locked in it! I managed to dive in behind a car before the large metal gates closed but now I had to work out how to get my bike out. Finally a car came to the exit and I was able to tailgate him out before the barrier came down.

In evening Glen and I went out for an excelent meal washed down with some of the wonderful local wine. Text received from John saying he had reached Poitiers and would join us in Bordeaux on Sunday afternoon.

2010-01-10T06:43:00.000-08:00

DAY 2 FRIDAY 8TH JANUARY 2010
No rush to leave hotel as temperatures still well below zero. By lunchtime we realised that it was never going to warm up as all of France was freezing varying from-2 to -7 so nothing was going to melt today.

Leaving the hotel, it immediately became obvious that John was very wary of the icy conditions and was riding extremely cautiously, at no more than walking pace. Once we reached the motorway it was safe to get up to more normal speeds but John would not go above 40mph which caused congestion on the 2 lane motorway as all other traffic was traveling much faster. I overtook John and gradually increased speed to 45 then 50 mph but John resolutely stuck at 40mph which I personally thought was dangerously slow on a busy motorway.

Glen ahead slowed up to wait for us and then suddenly indicated to take the next exit off the motorway. I tried to signal that we needed to stay on this motorway but he turned off and headed down the exit ramp to the roundabout. As I had no idea where he was going, I had no choice but to follow him around this large roundabout which in turn meant I lost sight of John behind. Glen did a complete lap of the roundabout and then took the exit to continue on the original route. I waited on the roundabout so that John would know which exit to take when he came around. Only he didn't come round but instead did a U turn and was heading back the way we had just come! To say I was unimpressed by this display of riding and navigation would be an understatement. It later transspired that both Glen and John had been suddenly told by their satnavs to do a U turn on the motorway! I presumed that they must have set their twatnavs to avoid motorways.

Glen suggested that he would go and find John and I should ride direct to Orleans and we would regroup there. Apparently, Glen and John never did find each other and each made their own way south with with Glen arriving in Orleans around 5.00 pm and John missing in action somewhere around Paris.

By the time I got to Orleans, the temperature was falling rapidly so I opted for the very first cheap hotel I found. Glen phoned shortly afterwards to tell me he had checcked into a different hotel on the other side of town. So at the end of our first day in France what started as 3 riders together ended as 3 riders in 3 different hotels with 50 miles apart.

2010-01-10T06:07:00.000-08:00

DAY 1
Received phone call from Glen mid morning suggesting that we finaly get going. Panic stations! Immediate problem is that bike is still snowed in. Thought of putting bike on trailer and towing to main road. Jumped in car but couldn't move at all due to snow and ice so had no option but to ride bike. Rolled bike out of garage into thick snow at least 6 inches deep. Only managed to move forwards thanks to big efforts of wife Ann and son Martin pushing. A fully (over) loaded GS is not light and took huge effort from all three of us to almost carry the bike to the end of the drive.

Finally it was time to hit the road after 12 months of preparation. Within 200 yards I had literally "hit the road" when the back end slid around and my leg slipped on the iceand down it went. I stood there with one leg either side of my horizontal bike shouting for help to pick it up. It took us about an hour to go the first mile from my garage and by this time I was boiling inside my riding gear.

Once I eventualy got to a salted and gritted main road I was able to speed up a bit. When the cold weather made itself felt, I was grateful for the heated clothing to keep me warm.

I was supposed to be at Glen's house near Shaftesbury at 1.00 pm but instead I rolled up just gone 3.00 pm. His wife told me he had left at 2.00 pm to get to Folkestone before darkness.

Darkess fell for me on the M3 approaching London and the temperature noticeably dropped and it started snowing again. At this point I thought to myself "What on earth am I doing here? Am I completely insane?". Then I rememberedd that I am insane so thats OK and carried on. The sign showingn upcoming servicess dispayed the bed symbol so I was very tempted to stop here for the night and go no further. Only the thick snow and ice on their ungritted carpark changed my mind so I rode on to the M25 in the rush hour at 5.00pm. The M25 turned into M26 and the realisation that I was only one hour away from Folkestone. However,I needed to stop as even with heated clothing I was still getting cold. The services carpark was ungritted and I worried that I would never get the bike out again.The other motorists who trudged into the cafe area looked at me as if I was a complete lunatic being out on a bike in this weather.

At Folkestone, the tunnel staff were very helpful and allowed me to go on the next available train without paying the £35 charge that the auto check-in had demanded. Once aboard the train, I was in a comparment with a large extended Orthodox Jewish family who were amazed when I told the, about our trip and they very kindly gave me drinks from their car.

Disemarking in Calias was a nightmare as there was thick snow that the French had made no effort to clear. Glen had told me that the hotel was a mere 1.5 miles away but in those conditions it took me over 20 minutes to get there. I slithered into the Ibis car park in conditions very similar to that whuch I had started the day in Devon but at least I had made it to France.
Milage total 315 miles but in these conditions it felt like at least twice that.

Change of Plans

2010-01-05T09:33:00.000-08:00

Well the original plans should have seen us all heading north to Scotland today. Unfortunately, the weather in UK for the last few days has led to a change of plans. It is -15c in northern Scotland with thick snow drifts making travel by motorcycle basically impossible.

Plan B was to simply all make our own way down to Folkestone and meet up there on Saturday night 9th January. Unfortunately, the weather has again played havoc with our plans as the snow and ice has crept south. The forecast is for worsening conditions this coming weekend with snow right down south into Kent and northern France.

Plan C is leave as soon as possible to get to warmer climes. The problem I now have is simply getting away from home here in Devon. We awoke to snow and ice this morning as shown in attached photo. We live about two miles from a main road which means it is very difficult to travel by motorcycle as these minor roads are not gritted at all.

Latest plan is to review the situation on Wednesday morning and try to find a way to get away. Possibilities include loading bike on to trailer and taking as far as main road and then hopefully riding it from there in direction of Folkestone with the hope of crossing the Channel on Thursday.

Corporate Sponsorship

2009-12-19T04:19:00.000-08:00

Had two good bits of news this week.

Firstly, when I returned the BMW R1200GS to Ocean BMW Motorrad ( http://www.oceanbmwbikes.co.uk/ ) they waived the usual £15 + vat daily hire charge for a loan bike. I had ridden home on the bike on Tuesday afternoon and managed to get the bike filthy on Devon's mud covered roads. On Wednesday afternoon the salesman from Ocean phoned me and told me they needed the bike back for a customer to test ride it on Thursday morning. I decided to give the bike a good clean before returning it to them. The weather forecast was for sub-zero temperatures on Thursday morning so I decided to wimp out and return in on my bike trailer with a heavy duty bike cover over it to prevent it getting dirty again. I had to get up early and leave home at 7.00 am after spending time scrapping the ice off my car. Definitely the right decision to take the car and trailer. Bill at Ocean seemed genuinely surprised that I had taken the trouble to thoroughly clean their loan bike and that I had even returned it with more petrol in than when it left. I always believe in treating anyone else's vehicle as if it was my own.

Through my email, I received the latest newsletter from Touratech which featured an excellent article mentioning our Calum's Road trip. See: http://beta.maileasy.se/page.taf?versionid=61832

Next pleasant surprise was opening the mail to find a package of freebies from Touratech comprising of various stickers and a sew on patch.

Big thank you to both companies for their support. Our policy with the Calum's Road trip is that if we receive any discounts or free goods and services, we will donate a similar amount to the charity. Accordingly, I have therefore just made two donations of £20 each to cover the benefit received from these two companies.

Donations are shown at http://www.justgiving.com/sidhorman

December 15th

2009-12-15T11:53:00.000-08:00

More preparations for the bike today. The ABS warning light had been flashing for so long that I had grown used to it but it was time to get the problem resolved. The bike was booked into Ocean BMW Motorrad in Plymouth for 11.00 am this morning. Another opportunity to test my heated clothing on the cold hour-long ride south. The roads were very wet, dirty and slippery so by the time I arrived at Ocean it looked as if I had ridden over Dartmoor to get there. The bike dealership had changed a bit since I last visited and it was noticeably quieter than previously. They soon had my filthy bike in their nice clean workshop and began to diagnose the problem with the anti-lock braking system. Unfortunately it was not a simple reset and instead I would have to leave the bike with them for a new sensor to be fitted. They provided me with a new "59" plated R1200GS to return home on which was surprisingly pleasant to ride. The newer machine is lighter, more powerful and has sharper brakes than my older model 1100. Bill, the After Sales Manager advised me to return the bike with the same amount of fuel in and noted that it had approximately one third of a tank left. After riding around 15 miles, the fuel light lit up and flashed dire warnings that I must refuel within the next 40 miles. I was surprised when I stop in Okehampton and it only took 15 litres of normal unleaded to fill it to the brim. By comparison, my 1100 is fitted with the large capacity Touratech fuel tank that holds an enormous 41 litres and offers over 400 miles range.

Just past Okehampton, I called on my very good friend Proff who is a great fan of all things two wheeled BMW provided it was made before the early 1980s. I tried to fool him that I had bought the new 1200 but he was only concerned for a few seconds before quickly realising it was only a loan bike.

By the time I got the new 1200 back in my workshop, it looked as filthy as my 1100 had been. Not long after I arrived home, Bill phoned to tell me that they had managed to complete all the work on my bike and it was 100% fixed and ready for collection.

Thats another box ticked on my "to do" list and one less thing to worry about.

Monday 14th December

2009-12-14T12:00:00.000-08:00

Preparations are continuing with only 21 days to go until we leave.

First task this morning was phoning Counter Terrorism Department at Foreign Office to discuss the email I received on Friday. For those that don't know, the Foreign Office have advised that people should not travel to certain parts of Mauritania. Three Spanish aid workers were recently kidnapped on the main road through the country and Al Queda have claimed resonsibility. We have spent over one year planning this trip but we need to carefully consider all our options. There are 12 riders taking part in this event and we have been in constant contact today to keep each other up to date.

We still intend to set off from Calum's Road in Scotland on Friday 8th January 2010 and then head south towards Calum's Road in The Gambia. At this stage, we don't know if we will be able to progress further than Morocco and Western Sahara but we will try our best.

With just three weeks to go, most things are in place. I decided to give my bike a good run today despite it being very cold and wet. I have invested in heated clothing so today was an excellent chance to put it to the test. Northern Scotland in early January is sure to test its heating abilities. It was wonderful and worked superbly keeping me warm and dry all day.

I also called into my local branch of Barclays Bank to collect two boxes of the free pens they give out to customers. The children in Africa always ask for pens so these are an easy gift to take as they are small and light and therefore easy to carry on a motorcycle. They will be given out to the local school in The Gambia. Barclays Bank have very generously agreed to match my fundraising on a £ for £ basis so for every £1 donated a whole £2 goes to the charity. Please see my link to donate:
http://www.justgiving.com/sidhorman

Last minute additions to my tool kit included tubes of liquid metal and instant gasket. The Africans have a wonderful attitude to repairing things instead of simply replacing with new parts so we need to be prepared for all eventualities.

First post

2009-12-04T10:27:00.000-08:00

I'm making a blog to record my trip to Africa in January/February 2010.:)

Should be picture here of me on a previous trip to Africa on the motorbike.

I'm at the Col du Tichka mountain pass in Morocco. This was taken in January 2006 when we followed the Dakar Rally. I travelled with my then 14 year old son Martin as pillion on my BMW R1100GS.