Mojo Hunting In Morocco: A ride report of sorts.

Deleted account W · Jun 1, 2008

Dear reader, this is a tale of pure fiction unlike most of my other scribblings here, which are works of pure shite.
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I awoke with that horrible feeling that I was missing something; I turned to find my lovely assistant grunting sweetly beside me. So it must be something else. I donned my silk smoking jacket and fluffy mules and padded out to the garage.
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The bottom fell out of my world when I realised what was missing. My Mojo was gone. Some lowlife had had away with it during my slumbers.
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In its place was a child like scribbled note in green crayon on the back of an Anne Summers receipt for a pair of studded black leather shorts from their “Big Boy” range.
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It read:
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Waldin,
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We have your Mojo. If you want it back then be in Marrakech on the 19<sup>th</sup> and all will be revealed.
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Love and kisses,
Wild Bill Hiccup and Ali Bar Bill.
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I was shocked and immediately reached for the phone. The local dibble listened to my tale of woe. They said that they were sorry but as they'd been tasked to record the speed of every motor vehicle in the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1

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lace></st1:country-region> and then send the owners a £60 bill to cover the costs then they had little time left to be looking for a pair of Mojo kidnapers. There was only one option left; I tasked my lovely assistant with the job of booking the flight while I packed a quantity of unmentionables in a rather natty crocodile skin holdall.
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I was off on a mission to save my Mojo and I could sense that I would need all my finely honed wits and razor like reactions on this one. Just to cover all the bases I rang The Boy Burton and invited him along. His assistance on previous missions with regard to alcohol redistribution and male grooming techniques had proven invaluable. He agreed to come along for the ride as long as he got first dibs on the shower caps and tiny soaps in the hotel bathrooms. Fine by me.
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To be continued……….

Uinneag · Jun 1, 2008

One sits and waits with abated breath :popcorn

Steptoe · Jun 1, 2008

I take it this'll be a real report. Not one that requires vast computer knowledge of codec things, and all other possible methods herein to turn a reader off.

Lets bring it on :popcorn

John Armstrong · Jun 1, 2008

H.R.H. OONYACK said:
One sits and waits with abated breath

Still waiting

Mr K · Jun 1, 2008

Go baby!

John Armstrong · Jun 1, 2008

Deleted account 220427002 · Jun 1, 2008

Give the intrepid adventurer a chance to sip his Pimms and collect his thoughts

John Armstrong · Jun 1, 2008

TUNED IN said:
Give the intrepid adventurer a chance to sip his Pimms and collect his thoughts

As it's taking a while, maybe the Pimms was nicked along with the mojo

Trippy · Jun 1, 2008

Steptoe said:
I hope this'll be a real report, the type we have come to expect from Morrocan explorers of late. Not one that only has boring old photo's but one with snappy short films that record your adventure for us to share.

+1 to that.

Steptoe · Jun 1, 2008

Trippy said:
I hope this'll be a real report, the type we have come to expect from Morrocan explorers of late. Not one that only has snappy short films that record your adventure for us to share because you can't write anything humorous or interesting because of a lack of imagination.

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+1 to that

Trippy · Jun 1, 2008

Steptoe said:
The kind of report that will set you aside from other riders, sorry explorers, and earn you mucho respect with in the adventure motorcycling community

+ 1 to that.

Deleted account W · Jun 1, 2008

There must have been a mistake. My lovely assistant knew my usual travel requirements, Club Class and champagne as a minimum but yet I found myself sat on a rather sweaty plastic seat which was barely large enough for a child never mind a man of my sturdy build. It appeared I was on one of those economy airlines that I’d heard people of the lower orders enthusing about in the odd public bar I’d wandered into by mistake.
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The lady who I took to be a cheap hooker due to her ample use of eye liner and florescent lipstick turned out to be the air hostess. She could barely muffle her snorts of laughter when I asked the whereabouts of the in-flight cocktails and smoked salmon canapés. This was going to be a tough mission.
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I landed in Marrakech and waded through a customs hall full of Easy Jetters and BMI Babies let out of the UK to buy cheap fake Rolex watches and drink overprice Bacardi and Cokes in the hotel bars of Marrakech. A text message from The Boy Burton confirmed he’d rolled into the city this morning too. He’d meet me at The Hotel Benihill where we’d decide on our next move.
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As I walked out of the terminal to hail a hackney cab I sensed something was wrong, within seconds this was confirmed. A pair of used gentleman’s Y-fronts were forced over my head and I was bundled into the back of a Land Rover full of sweaty bike boots and helmets. I passed out from the smell within seconds.
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I awake to find The Boy Burton wafting Issey Miyake after shave under my nose to revive me. While performing his ablutions in the ensuite he’d heard the door slam and found me on the bedroom floor with the Y-Fronts still on my head. At first he took it that I’d been on a bender and had rolled in as usual a little worse for wear. But then he found a note pined to my cravat, we had been summoned to a briefing in the hotel bar by a group going by the name of The Moto Morocco Team at six.
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We were in The Hotel Benihill and from the balcony I could see the vehicle that had brought me here. I felt I was getting close to the miscreants who’d stole my Mojo.
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Steve the Kiwi · Jun 1, 2008

what are you talking about? ... you can see it parked in front of the Defender... :rob

Steptoe · Jun 1, 2008

Trippy said:
I hope this'll be a real report, the type we have come to expect from lightweight ex-Morrocan explorers . Not one that i have to read. My mouth moves when i read and i dribble on the keyboard which causes much mess. Plus i like looking at 3 minutes of landscapes, and 10 seconds of a bike going past out of focus
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+ 1 to that

Deleted account W · Jun 1, 2008

It was a plan of fiendish cunning. Wild Bill Hiccup and Ali Bar Bill explained in the hotel bar why myself, and as it turned out, five other gentleman motorcyclists had been summoned to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1

lace w:st="on">Morocco</st1

lace></st1:country-region> in the pursuit of our vehicles.
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Their business was bike tours and we were to be their travelling publicity campaign for two weeks. We would be tortured into riding on spectacular roads and forced to stop in exotic hotels along the way. We would all be photographed during this time and would be expected to smile and pretend we were enjoying the breath taking scenery and glorious sunshine. Maps were produced showing seriously wriggly roads and overnight stops in strangely foreign named towns. Only after all this would we be allowed to return to the <st1

lace w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">UK</st1:country-region></st1

lace> with our bikes.
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These men were evil.
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I turned to The Boy Burton and realised he was already half cooked on cheap G&T’s, I’d need to explain this all to him again when he'd dried out in the morning. I ordered a double myself and listened to the Mu’adh-dhin calling people to prayer from the medina and the sound of two Australian backpackers arguing with a waiter over a bar bill.
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Tomorrow we would begin the tour…………

Dickieboy · Jun 2, 2008

Waldin said:
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We were in The Hotel Benihill and from the balcony I could see the vehicle that had brought me here. I felt I was getting close to the miscreants who’d stole my Mojo.
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Is it true that since Waldin & Sir James stayed there that the hotel has changed it's name to 'The Hotel Benny Hill' :aidan

Deleted account W · Jun 2, 2008

Day One......

The bikes were revealed to us all the next day. My Mojo was back and I was a happy man again. Although I didn’t show my emotions, stiff upper lip and all that.
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The other bikes consisted of a BMW 650 ST, a 16 year old Paris Dakar airhead, a vanilla 1200, a full on tarts handbag 1200 Adv and a Honda Pan Galactica. The Boy Burton was on his 1150 SE and Wild Bill was riding his 1150 Adv.
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Wild Bill immediately spotted my powers of navigation and leadership ability and therefore told me to sit at the back of the cavalcade and just follow everyone else. Apparently I would be Tail End Charlie, which up until this moment I thought was a term that referred to Columbian Marching Powder snorted off the end of a gents appendage.
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We all filed out of the city and across the flat plain that Marakech sits on, heading east, then we started to climb North towards the falls at Ouzoud. Five kilometre before the falls we suffered our first mishap. Victor, a South African gent on the 650 had a severe case of target fixation with an Armco barrier on a switch back bend. His bike went over the Armco and he slid, rolled and bounced down the road.
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Victor escaped with bruises and grazes and his bike lost the foot rubber part of the gear lever, twisted the forks in the yokes and snapped it’s screen off. Victor was antisepticized and the forks straightened, the gear lever drilled and a bolt used to replace the foot rubber then gaffa tape solved the detached screen.
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While this was happening the second mishap of the day occurred, Jim on the PD passed out at the side of the road. We dosed him up with salt powders and water but he was in no state to ride. Ali Bar Bill returned with the trailer and the PD was loaded up.
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We lunched in Ouzoud on chicken tagine and had a look at the water fall.
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Then the third mishap of the day occurred, Walter on the 1200 Adv dropped his bike onto an Italians hire car in the car park. Much waving of insurance docs and Anglo-Italian diplomacy ensued. Walter seemed to take it in his stride.
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This was turning out to be a fun day and it was only lunch.
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We eventually made the hotel just outside Beni Mallal and chilled with a bottle of the local beer.

The Boy Burton spent an hour in the bathroom and then proceeded to turn our bedroom into what looked like a Chinese laundry. I wondered what fun tomorrow would bring.

Deleted account 220427002 · Jun 2, 2008

Good to see you trimmed the nose hair

John Armstrong · Jun 2, 2008

At that attrition rate, were any bikes and / or riders left at the end

Popeye · Jun 2, 2008

Waldin said:
...... dropped his bike onto an Italians car

Sounds oddly familiar

Mojo Hunting In Morocco: A ride report of sorts.

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