Wednesday 14th November dawns sunny, warm and with the promise of another good day in Marrakech.
Bill (Fanum) and I are setting off for another day spent checking some pistes for the impending arrival of the Moto-Morocco riders.
Yesterday we tried a couple that provide an alternative route from Marrakech to the Tizi-n-Test, today the intention is to cross the pass and explore some of the tracks that lead off the road on the southern side so that if time allows we can add some more "off-road" to the first day's ride to Olad Berhil, if required.
We were about halfway up the road to the cafe near the top of the pass when it struck.
We were just clearing another village, Bill was ahead, I was just about to crank open the throttle and close my visor when something hit me hard just below my right eye.
The impact was hard enough for me to think at first that it was a stone thrown up but just as I realised that there was no traffic about that might have caused a stone to fly, I felt a sharp stab (as whatever it was) stung me.
I react badly to some stings and bites. I suppose it is an allergy of some kind. It manifests itself by massive swelling. The swelling is rapid and lasts for days.
When I say massive swelling that's not an over-statement either. The last time I was stung was about seven years ago, on my upper left arm. Within a couple of hours my arm was the same girth as my thigh. After six hours I could no longer bend my arm at the elbow and as the reaction spread down the affected limb I could no longer close my hand as the swelling spread the fingers. It took a week for the effects to go entirely.
Antihistamine has no effect. The skin is stretched to the point where it feels as though it will split and it gets hot. Very hot. About the only relief is ice and that relieves the burning and itching sensation but has no apparent effect upon the swelling.
With this is in mind, I've always been aware of the potential problems if stung near an airway but like most riders, I've had numerous yellow and black, flying/stinging things inside my helmet at one time or another over the last 33 years of riding.
Normally they are stunned or killed in the impact, it's only a matter of ejecting them before the stunned ones come-to and get angry.
In Spain last year with Clive, I thought one such had been ejected only to see it in a revived state crawling around the inside of my visor (it took two attempts to finally persuade it to leave
).
I'd pulled over once I realised that it wasn't a stone. The point of impact was starting to smart. After swearing profusely for a while (I have no idea what good I thought that would do but there you go) I had to catch Bill and tell him that I had a potential problem.
Bill, meanwhile had turned around after noticing that I was no longer in sight and we met in another small village.
I told him what had happened and that it was possibly more than just a sting in my case.
There was nothing for it but to start back towards Marrakech and see what happened viz any reaction. My biggest fear was that the swelling would mean that I couldn't keep my helmet on.
Almost as soon as we started back down the Tizi-n-Test, the whole of my head felt as though it was on fire. The sting itself was just still no more than a slight swelling below my right eye that was uncomfortable.
Soon the vision in that eye began to loose focus and it was swimming. Shutting that eye was the only option.
Now it may have been anxiety, those that know me may support my contention that I'm not a "flapper," I don't think I'm given over to panic but at this point I noticed that my breath was coming in short gasps and I was conscious of an increased pulse-rate (I could hear the pulses in my ears).
I'd never experienced a reaction like this before so I doubt it was anticipation induced anxiety.
The vision in my left eye was starting to swim too. Added to this my sense of balance was going as well. I knew that I was starting weave about, even on the few straight bits of the road (not many).
After just under 7km (I measured the distance later), I had to give-up and pull over. I managed to get off the bike but then just sort of folded up!
Bill had to physically half carry me to where I could sit down. There was still no real swelling but I was reacting in a manner that had never happened before.
Everything was spinning, I couldn't focus, I couldn't stand unaided, I felt weak as a kitten and now my sight was going; everything started to grey-out and then it all turned white. It was as though I'd suddenly become extremely light sensitive, whenever I turned my head towards the sunny areas, away from the shadows, everything turned white - no definition, no detail, just outlines but all white/grey.
I don't mind admitting publicly, I was scared. I'd experienced nothing like this in my 52 years and it did cross my mind that I may not see my 53rd year!
I wasn't getting better, in fact the worse was to come and after about 15 minutes Bill and I discussed our options. There was nothing he could do for me, either he sat and kept me company as I got better or as I died (it really did feel as though that was a possibility).
If I got better there was then the potential swelling problem and wearing a helmet.
Back at the hotel sat the Land Rover and in the rear a collapsible, single-bike trailer for just this sort of occasion (where someone couldn't ride their bike etc.).
No choice really. Bill made me as comfortable as it's possible on the side of roads such as the Tizi-n-Test, then sped off back to Marrakech to return with the trailer.
I can't imagine how he felt on that ride/drive. What would he find when he got back in a few hours?
Meanwhile I was starting to shiver despite the sunshine. On top of everything I was visited by the "Marrakech Express" courtesy of the Moroccan Microbe.
On my elbows I crawled into the culvert under the hairpin bend on which I was situated, avoiding the places that others had obviously used for similar purposes (I'll save you these details, just let me say that I shall always associate the scent of Johnson's Baby Wipes with that day!).
Returning out of the culvert was a massive effort. My bike was parked on the bend and with no-one in sight I knew that it might attract unwarranted attention.
I half crawled and staggered to a patch of sunlight near my bike and lay down.
Then the vomiting began.
I've never vomited bile before. I was retching and heaving but only a clear gloopy liquid was being ejected and it burned my throat, mouth and nasal passages. Drinking water offered no relief.
I soon realised that as soon as I drank water it came back up again so I stopped doing that pretty quickly!
My bike, (in my opinion, the finest manifestation of the GS ever built outside of the factory Dakar models, fettled and personalised to my individual purposes) sat on the outside of a bend where it was in real danger of being scatted by any passing lorry. On it were my cameras, my wallet and passport etc. but I was past caring.
If I could have worked the buttons or read the screen I would have sent a text message adding codicils to my Last Will & Testament!
After a couple of hours I explored the possibility of moving. I staggered about a bit and found that if I leaned on the bike for support I could remain upright and give a cheery wave to passing vehicles as though I was just taking a break from riding.
Slowly I moved the bike away from the apex of the bend in short stages then feeling a bit steadier I rolled it across the road to the inside of the bend and an area that I could prop myself up against a pile of gravel in the sun.
There I lay giving the impression that I was just having a rest until; the appearance of the inevitable kids.
I couldn't just lay there and ignore them so I got to my feet with as much dignity and poise as I could muster and felt as relieved as those settlers who see the approach of the 7th Cavalry charging over the skyline to their rescue. In this case the "cavalry" was the Land Rover being hurled up the road by Bill (I know he had been "hurling" it because when he opened the back doors all the "carefully stowed" contents were now piled-up in the middle.
My condition had improved enough to the point where I'd rescinded my earlier decision to quit the weed and happily rolled myself a feg! In truth the hiatus in my use of the weed was more to do with an inability to roll one up.
I sort of collapsed into the front seat and with the bike on the recovery trailer set off down the pass.
We stopped for fuel and Bill gleefully took some pictures of my bike on the trailer.
I need to put it on record that it was the rider that that required recovery, not the bike.
I'm sure that Bill felt cheated that I was alive and that despite my V5 being in the Land Rover, he was not about to become the owner of a superior version of his "primer" (un)finished bag of nails!
With a solicitous prod of a fat, pink finger at the sting, Bill commented that it wasn't very swollen. I can tell you now that being nearly prodded in the eye by a digit attached to a BGT (Big Ginger Twat) makes one yearn for the ministrations of Doctor Crippen!
At about midnight I was woken by the sting. I discovered that the swelling had at last started as anticipated.
During the course of that night sleep wasn't possible so I amused myself by taking some photo's for your edification and amusement.
Now it should be said that whatever I may have possessed as 'youthful' looks were dismissed by the ravages of time and dissolute living many years ago. I have no illusions about ever possessing good looks (even my mother refused to kiss anything but my arse as a kid), so any comments about John Merrick or Quasimodo will not hurt my feelings or damage a fragile ego.
The midnight view.......
5:00 am..........
(I'm attempting a smile in the one above!)
A few days later the poison (or whatever) had slide down my neck and formed a lump on my chest.
There was some vestigial swelling around my eye for a while. At night the effects of gravity were removed and my eye would still be partially shut until the perpendicular posture allowed the swelling to slide down my fisog a little.
Now for the really scary one that I warned about in the title.
If you have a weak stomach read no further...........
At least my deformity wasn't permanent! Poor Bill!
Bill (Fanum) and I are setting off for another day spent checking some pistes for the impending arrival of the Moto-Morocco riders.
Yesterday we tried a couple that provide an alternative route from Marrakech to the Tizi-n-Test, today the intention is to cross the pass and explore some of the tracks that lead off the road on the southern side so that if time allows we can add some more "off-road" to the first day's ride to Olad Berhil, if required.
We were about halfway up the road to the cafe near the top of the pass when it struck.
We were just clearing another village, Bill was ahead, I was just about to crank open the throttle and close my visor when something hit me hard just below my right eye.
The impact was hard enough for me to think at first that it was a stone thrown up but just as I realised that there was no traffic about that might have caused a stone to fly, I felt a sharp stab (as whatever it was) stung me.
I react badly to some stings and bites. I suppose it is an allergy of some kind. It manifests itself by massive swelling. The swelling is rapid and lasts for days.
When I say massive swelling that's not an over-statement either. The last time I was stung was about seven years ago, on my upper left arm. Within a couple of hours my arm was the same girth as my thigh. After six hours I could no longer bend my arm at the elbow and as the reaction spread down the affected limb I could no longer close my hand as the swelling spread the fingers. It took a week for the effects to go entirely.
Antihistamine has no effect. The skin is stretched to the point where it feels as though it will split and it gets hot. Very hot. About the only relief is ice and that relieves the burning and itching sensation but has no apparent effect upon the swelling.
With this is in mind, I've always been aware of the potential problems if stung near an airway but like most riders, I've had numerous yellow and black, flying/stinging things inside my helmet at one time or another over the last 33 years of riding.
Normally they are stunned or killed in the impact, it's only a matter of ejecting them before the stunned ones come-to and get angry.
In Spain last year with Clive, I thought one such had been ejected only to see it in a revived state crawling around the inside of my visor (it took two attempts to finally persuade it to leave
).I'd pulled over once I realised that it wasn't a stone. The point of impact was starting to smart. After swearing profusely for a while (I have no idea what good I thought that would do but there you go) I had to catch Bill and tell him that I had a potential problem.
Bill, meanwhile had turned around after noticing that I was no longer in sight and we met in another small village.
I told him what had happened and that it was possibly more than just a sting in my case.
There was nothing for it but to start back towards Marrakech and see what happened viz any reaction. My biggest fear was that the swelling would mean that I couldn't keep my helmet on.
Almost as soon as we started back down the Tizi-n-Test, the whole of my head felt as though it was on fire. The sting itself was just still no more than a slight swelling below my right eye that was uncomfortable.
Soon the vision in that eye began to loose focus and it was swimming. Shutting that eye was the only option.
Now it may have been anxiety, those that know me may support my contention that I'm not a "flapper," I don't think I'm given over to panic but at this point I noticed that my breath was coming in short gasps and I was conscious of an increased pulse-rate (I could hear the pulses in my ears).
I'd never experienced a reaction like this before so I doubt it was anticipation induced anxiety.
The vision in my left eye was starting to swim too. Added to this my sense of balance was going as well. I knew that I was starting weave about, even on the few straight bits of the road (not many).
After just under 7km (I measured the distance later), I had to give-up and pull over. I managed to get off the bike but then just sort of folded up!
Bill had to physically half carry me to where I could sit down. There was still no real swelling but I was reacting in a manner that had never happened before.
Everything was spinning, I couldn't focus, I couldn't stand unaided, I felt weak as a kitten and now my sight was going; everything started to grey-out and then it all turned white. It was as though I'd suddenly become extremely light sensitive, whenever I turned my head towards the sunny areas, away from the shadows, everything turned white - no definition, no detail, just outlines but all white/grey.
I don't mind admitting publicly, I was scared. I'd experienced nothing like this in my 52 years and it did cross my mind that I may not see my 53rd year!
I wasn't getting better, in fact the worse was to come and after about 15 minutes Bill and I discussed our options. There was nothing he could do for me, either he sat and kept me company as I got better or as I died (it really did feel as though that was a possibility).
If I got better there was then the potential swelling problem and wearing a helmet.
Back at the hotel sat the Land Rover and in the rear a collapsible, single-bike trailer for just this sort of occasion (where someone couldn't ride their bike etc.).
No choice really. Bill made me as comfortable as it's possible on the side of roads such as the Tizi-n-Test, then sped off back to Marrakech to return with the trailer.
I can't imagine how he felt on that ride/drive. What would he find when he got back in a few hours?
Meanwhile I was starting to shiver despite the sunshine. On top of everything I was visited by the "Marrakech Express" courtesy of the Moroccan Microbe.
On my elbows I crawled into the culvert under the hairpin bend on which I was situated, avoiding the places that others had obviously used for similar purposes (I'll save you these details, just let me say that I shall always associate the scent of Johnson's Baby Wipes with that day!).
Returning out of the culvert was a massive effort. My bike was parked on the bend and with no-one in sight I knew that it might attract unwarranted attention.
I half crawled and staggered to a patch of sunlight near my bike and lay down.
Then the vomiting began.
I've never vomited bile before. I was retching and heaving but only a clear gloopy liquid was being ejected and it burned my throat, mouth and nasal passages. Drinking water offered no relief.
I soon realised that as soon as I drank water it came back up again so I stopped doing that pretty quickly!
My bike, (in my opinion, the finest manifestation of the GS ever built outside of the factory Dakar models, fettled and personalised to my individual purposes) sat on the outside of a bend where it was in real danger of being scatted by any passing lorry. On it were my cameras, my wallet and passport etc. but I was past caring.
If I could have worked the buttons or read the screen I would have sent a text message adding codicils to my Last Will & Testament!
After a couple of hours I explored the possibility of moving. I staggered about a bit and found that if I leaned on the bike for support I could remain upright and give a cheery wave to passing vehicles as though I was just taking a break from riding.
Slowly I moved the bike away from the apex of the bend in short stages then feeling a bit steadier I rolled it across the road to the inside of the bend and an area that I could prop myself up against a pile of gravel in the sun.
There I lay giving the impression that I was just having a rest until; the appearance of the inevitable kids.
I couldn't just lay there and ignore them so I got to my feet with as much dignity and poise as I could muster and felt as relieved as those settlers who see the approach of the 7th Cavalry charging over the skyline to their rescue. In this case the "cavalry" was the Land Rover being hurled up the road by Bill (I know he had been "hurling" it because when he opened the back doors all the "carefully stowed" contents were now piled-up in the middle.
My condition had improved enough to the point where I'd rescinded my earlier decision to quit the weed and happily rolled myself a feg! In truth the hiatus in my use of the weed was more to do with an inability to roll one up.
I sort of collapsed into the front seat and with the bike on the recovery trailer set off down the pass.
We stopped for fuel and Bill gleefully took some pictures of my bike on the trailer.
I need to put it on record that it was the rider that that required recovery, not the bike.
I'm sure that Bill felt cheated that I was alive and that despite my V5 being in the Land Rover, he was not about to become the owner of a superior version of his "primer" (un)finished bag of nails!
With a solicitous prod of a fat, pink finger at the sting, Bill commented that it wasn't very swollen. I can tell you now that being nearly prodded in the eye by a digit attached to a BGT (Big Ginger Twat) makes one yearn for the ministrations of Doctor Crippen!
At about midnight I was woken by the sting. I discovered that the swelling had at last started as anticipated.
During the course of that night sleep wasn't possible so I amused myself by taking some photo's for your edification and amusement.
Now it should be said that whatever I may have possessed as 'youthful' looks were dismissed by the ravages of time and dissolute living many years ago. I have no illusions about ever possessing good looks (even my mother refused to kiss anything but my arse as a kid), so any comments about John Merrick or Quasimodo will not hurt my feelings or damage a fragile ego.
The midnight view.......
5:00 am..........
(I'm attempting a smile in the one above!)
A few days later the poison (or whatever) had slide down my neck and formed a lump on my chest.
There was some vestigial swelling around my eye for a while. At night the effects of gravity were removed and my eye would still be partially shut until the perpendicular posture allowed the swelling to slide down my fisog a little.
Now for the really scary one that I warned about in the title.
If you have a weak stomach read no further...........
At least my deformity wasn't permanent! Poor Bill!
)
