Those of you who followed the RR of the first leg, from Hampshire to The Gambia, 'Gael warnings in West Africa', will recall this became two separate strands when I abandoned Drumacoon Lad close to expiry from food poisoning in the desert sands of Aleg, a notorious town East of Nouakchott in Mauritania.
Desert sands:
Drumacoon Lad rather ruined my rufty tufty adventure rider stories of bleached skeletons in the desert by making a swift recovery to health by cosseting himself in a Nouakchott hotel.
So he then had a great ride back through Mauritania and disported himself around Morocco, enchanting all the readers of his strand of this blog (and he is Joyce to my Beckett, I think...).
Meanwhile I carried on east into Mali, cunningly adopting the local blue clothing and shrinking myself into the local version of a leprechaun:
Anyway, not to repeat my peregrinations from Mali into the Casamance, including assorted electrickery issues, (which are briefly touched on in the aforementioned ride report), I ended up in The Gambia where I parked the bike securely and returned to the UK for a family wedding.
Three weeks later I returned...and to her great credit, my wife Kit agreed to join me.
Now you need to know, dear reader, that whilst Kit has ridden pillion on my various bikes since we first met over 35 years ago, the longest bike trip we have done together is a long weekend in Salcombe during August.
So you can understand how chuffed I was that she was willing to spend 2 1/2 weeks on the back of my old GS in 30-35C temperatures.
The departure from Gatwick to Banjul in November:
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Desert sands:
Drumacoon Lad rather ruined my rufty tufty adventure rider stories of bleached skeletons in the desert by making a swift recovery to health by cosseting himself in a Nouakchott hotel.
So he then had a great ride back through Mauritania and disported himself around Morocco, enchanting all the readers of his strand of this blog (and he is Joyce to my Beckett, I think...).
Meanwhile I carried on east into Mali, cunningly adopting the local blue clothing and shrinking myself into the local version of a leprechaun:
Anyway, not to repeat my peregrinations from Mali into the Casamance, including assorted electrickery issues, (which are briefly touched on in the aforementioned ride report), I ended up in The Gambia where I parked the bike securely and returned to the UK for a family wedding.
Three weeks later I returned...and to her great credit, my wife Kit agreed to join me.
Now you need to know, dear reader, that whilst Kit has ridden pillion on my various bikes since we first met over 35 years ago, the longest bike trip we have done together is a long weekend in Salcombe during August.
So you can understand how chuffed I was that she was willing to spend 2 1/2 weeks on the back of my old GS in 30-35C temperatures.
The departure from Gatwick to Banjul in November:
Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk